1840. The roads near Detroit were inexpressibly bad. Many were the chances against our toppling load’s preserving its equilibrium. To our inexperience the risks seemed nothing less than tremendous—but the driver so often reiterated, “that a’n’t nothin’,” in reply to our despairing exclamations, and, what was better, so constantly proved his words by passing the most frightful inequalities (Michiganicé “sidlings”) in safety, that we soon became more confident and ventured to think of something else besides the ruts and mud-holes.—Mrs. Kirkland, ‘A New Home,’ p. 64.
