Their own increasing independence has taught them the sentimental and unsubstantial character of the ties binding them to England, and yet they know full well that with those ties severed their independence would soon disappear.
Michigan roads are all bad, but some are worse than others.
About Port Huron is sand.

Out of the city there is a rough stone road made of coarse limestone; it did not lead in the direction we wished to go, but by taking it we were able to get away from the river and the lake and into a country somewhat less sandy.
Towards evening, while trying to follow the most direct road into Lapeer, and which an old lady said was good "excepting one hill, which isn't very steep," we came to a hill which was not steep, but sand, deep, bottomless, yellow sand.

Again and again the machine tried to scale that hill; it was impossible.

There was nothing to do but turn about and find a better road.

An old farmer, who had been leaning on the fence watching our efforts, sagely remarked: "I was afeard your nag would balk on that thar hill; it is little but the worst rise anywhere's about here, and most of us know better'n to attempt it; but I guess you're a stranger." We dined at Lapeer, and by dark made the run of eighteen miles into Flint, where we arrived at eight-thirty.