I had left Niagara on the afternoon of the 13th, and took stage for Lewistown, distance seven miles, fare thirty seven cents. After leaving this place, you pass near by the great gulf, which is torn from a level country to an immense depth, all the way to Lewistown. Its course is very winding, and the rapidity of the current is wonderful. There is no doubt in my mind but that the original scite of this huge water-fall was at the latter town, for here terminates very abruptly the high table land through which this deep-cut is rent and torn. The country between these two places is level—and nothing more can be said in its favor. The road is intolerable, and the people look savage. Just before we arrived at Lewistown, as I observed before, we descended a very high hill, down which the road is truly dangerous, and at whose base the town is handsomely situated. On the Canada side, directly opposite, is Queenstown, full in view. It forms a pretty cluster of houses, all built since the late war, as the town was burnt by the British, as well as Buffalo. From the inn at which we stopped is a fine view of the colossal monument of General Brock, situated on the heights of Queenstown. It is formed of a round column, rising 130 feet high, terminated by an appropriate emblem. It is erected within a few rods of the spot where this brave officer fell, and must have cost no small trifle to the king.

We arrived at this place about half after three in the afternoon of a rainy and disagreeable day. There is something truly grand all along the frontier as far as I have seen it. But great nations should have great landmarks. Towards evening I walked down to the river, which is but a short distance, but having spent its wrath, and left the upper region, as it were, it gradually expands, and flows quietly to wed its destined bride, Ontario. I could distinctly see the very spot on which poor Brock fell, for it was pointed out by a white-painted post, standing a few rods from the monumental column. It was from this height immediately opposite where I stood, that the British troops surprised our brave soldiers while taking a refreshment, and rushed upon them with such terrible fury as to cause them to leap the precipice, the first pitch of which is nearly 100 feet, surrounded by huge crags and rocks. But there was no alternative—for death behind them, by the bayonet, was sure. Many of these poor fellows were killed by the leap, while others clung to the rocks and there received the balls of the enemy, who, with deliberate aim, amused themselves by sending them into the dreadful abyss below. The thought that the theatre of this dreadful carnage was before me, caused me to shudder and cry aloud, "O the merciless horrors of war!"

On the morning of the 14th I was called up early to take stage for Rochester, distant eighty miles, fare $3.25. We started at 5 o'clock, six of us, and arrived at the wonderful mushroom of the west at 5 in the afternoon, over the great ridge road, the finest I have ever travelled. This road is truly remarkable. It seems to me that when old mother Nature, after having perfected the gigantic cataract originally begun at Lewistown, was so tickled and delighted with her production, that she resolved to make a pathway for the children of men to come and see her prodigy—accordingly she went to work and made this beautiful turnpike of from eight to twelve rods wide, of hard gravel and sand, through a low country of swamp and clay—and said to the children of men, "Travel, behold and wonder!" But, to speak seriously upon the subject. I should say that when the falls were at Lewistown, this remarkable natural turnpike was the shore and beach of Ontario, as the whole of the land lying between it and the lake is low and swampy. Its direction is in form of a curve, and parallel to the lake shore. Its elevation above the land on either side is from ten to thirty feet, and is perfectly hard, and free from stones and ruts.This indeed seems to be the country of the greats and the grands. Here we have the Grand Clinton Canal, the Great Western Turnpike, the Great and Grand Falls of Niagara, the Great Lakes, the scites of the Great Battles, the Great Ridge Road, and many others that I have not seen.

After leaving Lewistown for some miles, for the first time in my life I saw some woodland—all that I had heretofore seen, when compared to this, was brushwood. In the first place, there were thousands of trees of all sizes down and rotting, while those that were standing, were many of them 100 feet high, and from 6 to 8 feet in diameter, with occasionally a sapling of 3 feet in diameter by 80 feet high! Taking the whole of this road, it presents pretty nearly what I had supposed this country to be generally, as it was for the most part in possession of the pioneers, chequered with stumps, log cabins, and towering girdled trees, with fine wheat growing in the middle. It was matter of surprise to me how any person could winter in some of their rude dwellings and wretched hovels. The villages on this road are Hartland, Oak Orchard, Gaines, and Clarkson, all thriving little places.

Rochester.—I arose early, as usual, and found a delightful morning. After breakfast I spent several hours in rambling through and about this town of rapid growth. There is no great beauty about it, and at this time I consider it a dirty place. All the streets are filled with mud and rubbish. Building is the order of the day, but there are few houses in the place which can be called handsome; and even the best are nothing to what I have seen in the other towns. Yet when its natural advantages are considered, I know no place which can compare with it. Patterson and Brandywine are very far behind it. It is calculated for as many mills as there are spots to place them, and the water can be used five or six times within the distance of a mile. Water seems to be made to do every thing here. The blacksmiths have become so lazy that they even make it blow their bellows. There is an oil mill at this place, calculated for sixteen runs of stones, eight of which are now in operation; with many others having six, seven and eight, all in complete operation. Several manufactories and mills for different purposes are now building; and I have no hesitation in saying, that although Rochester can never be a handsome town, owing principally to its low situation, yet I believe it will see the time, perhaps very soon, when no place in the Union can exceed it in point of variety and manufactures. I shall say no more of the town, but will endeavor faintly to describe the water power.

The Genessee river falls, making a deep cut from what may be called the upper to the lower country, as there is no hill on either side of the river, as at Niagara, two hundred feet in less than a mile. The first fall is a perpendicular pitch of fifteen feet, above which is an artificial dam, whence all the water now used is taken. This is succeeded by a rapid for a short distance, when the whole bed of the river makes a tremendous leap of ninety feet perpendicular, forming a splendid rainbow, after which there is a gradual current for half a mile. Then, as if determined to make another desperate effort, it suddenly becomes much agitated, gives another bound of sixty feet perpendicular, becomes quiet and good-natured, and smoothly flows to Lake Ontario. Had I not just seen Niagara, I should have considered this a wonderful spectacle. The river is about as large as the Schuylkill at Fair Mount. But the most wonderful work of man I have yet seen in one spot since I left home, is the acqueduct crossing the river at this place, supported by eight stone arches. This must have been a work of time, and patience, and immense cost. There are also three bridges crossing the river, but they are nothing uncommon. The land around Rochester appears to be of the very first quality, and every thing is in uproar and confusion.

I left Rochester about dark for Montezuma, sixty-five miles, fare one cent and a quarter per mile, and a shilling a meal.

The morning of the 16th was fine and clear, and the country we were passing when I came on deck, was wild and but little settled. We had passed in the night the villages of Pittsford, Bushnell's, and Fulman's. The land some miles before we arrived at Palmyra, which is a considerable place, assumes a fine and fertile appearance, being considerably cleared, and looking flourishing and healthy. About noon we passed the village of Newark, thirty-seven miles east of Rochester. It is a very interesting and thriving place. After passing it there is a great sameness until you arrive near Lyons, the county town of Wayne. Lyons is finely elevated, and looks well. There is no other place of much size until you reach Montezuma, which is situated on the east side of the great marshes of the Seneca river, which are about six miles wide. The canal is here made to correspond in height with the river, which is about a mile wide, having apparently no current. The tow-path is composed of a bridge supported by piles, over which the horse passes. This place though transacting much business, can never, in my opinion, be either healthy or handsome, owing to its low, marshy situation. We arrived here about midnight—when I found my way, as speedily as possible, to the first tavern, glad to retire to a comfortable bed.

There is a very pretty eminence near Montezuma, on the top of which is built a pleasant seat, commanding a fine prospect of the adjacent country. I took passage in the hack which runs from this place to Cayuga, on the east side of the lake of the same name, at the Long Bridge. Distance seven miles, fare thirty seven cents. In traveling these seven miles you go pretty much on the bank of Seneca & river canal. The river is the outlet not only of the Seneca, but also of the Cayuga lake, and the canal answers a common purpose for both. Along this river is an immense body of marsh, which if ever drained, will be equal to any meadows in the world.

We arrived at Cayuga about ten o'clock, when I was obliged to wait for the Ithaca steamboat, which plies up and down the lake daily. It did not arrive until I had ample time to look round and enjoy the interesting place. On board the steamboat I had the most interesting passage for about twenty-five miles that can well be imagined. The scenery on either side of the lake is indeed beautiful. The land rises with a gradual slope from the water's edge, until it attains the height of perhaps 600 feet, when it becomes pleasantly uneven. Farms in high state of cultivation, add greatly to the beauty of the prospect. Ten miles from our starting place we passed the village of Aurora on our left. It is one of the sweetest little spots that can possibly be imagined, and reminded me of Moore's description of some of the eastern Cashmerian villas. At night I was put ashore at Keeder's Ferry, a wretched place, twenty-five miles from Cayuga.

On the morning of the 19th I crossed the beautiful lake in a skiff. Its bosom was smooth as a mirror, and the water clear as the surrounding atmosphere. The lake is here three miles wide; and for the whole distance it seemed as if we were suspended in the very air. On the 20th, after having visited a relative in Northville, about two miles from the spot where I crossed, I got into the stage for Ithaca, distance twenty-one miles, fare seventy-five cents. For the first four miles the country is fine; it then becomes stony, hilly, and less productive. The village of Ludlow, distant ten miles from Northville, is situated in a very deep hollow, through which runs a mountain stream of singular beauty, and creating a fine water power. It makes a perpendicular pitch of about fifty feet, just above the village, and has a very wild and angry appearance. Ludlow is a charming place, possessing a most captivating society. Here are several mills; and, though situated as it were, in the depths, and entirely out of the way, it does considerable business. After leaving this place, it was nothing but up and down hill until we reached Ithaca. Just before we entered the town, we passed a very wild water fall of sixty feet, produced by the Fall Creek emptying into the lake.

Ithaca is situated at the head of Cayuga lake, surrounded on three sides by high hills, and ranks at least second in point of business, and fourth in size, among the towns of this western world. But it never can become a handsome place. It has a valuable water power from Fall Creek, already occupied by several mills and factories. The village is about as large as Trenton, and appears to be growing rapidly.

On the 21st, at daylight, I left Ithaca in the New York line, crammed as usual, with eight others in the coach. Immediately after leaving Ithaca, we ascended a hill nine hundred feet in height, and, strange as it may seem, we entered a hollow, and descended all the way to Owego, distance twenty-nine miles, with uncultivated hills on both sides. The land in this narrow valley appeared tolerably good, but principally in the hands of pioneers. We reached Owego, the capital of Broome County, at 11 o'clock. It is handsomely situated on the Susquehanna, which is here crossed by a bridge, and is a thriving little place. We now crossed the river, and started for Montrose, distant thirty-one miles—and now I may safely say we arrived at the back woods. All that appears to have been done here by man, is the making of a very bad road up and down tremendous hills—the rest is nature in her roughest and most repulsive appearance. There are but few houses on the road, (and those scarcely deserve that name,) until you approach Montrose. For the greater part of the distance it is an immense forest of white-pine and hemlock, looking in the highest degree savage and uncivilized—so that I was glad to reach Montrose, which we accomplished about five o'clock, distance sixty miles. Montrose is the county town, and indeed I may safely say it is all the town of Susquehanna County worth any notice.

On the morning of the 23d, at two o'clock, I took my seat in the U.S. mail stage for Nazareth, distant one hundred and five miles, fare five dollars and a half. The country for the first twenty-two miles, until you reach Tunkhannock, is very similar to the last day's ride, very hilly and sterile. After passing Tunkhannock, the road for about fifteen miles is mostly along the Susquehanna, on the side of the mountains, running on a shelf, which, in some places, is four hundred feet above the water, and is rather dangerous. After leaving this narrow road, we opened into the fair Valley of Wyoming. This is by far the most delightful valley I ever saw, being exceedingly fertile and highly picturesque. Mountains surround it on all sides, and cultivated farms are constantly occurring, while the noble river meanders through the very centre. It is the spot on which so many brave fellows were massacred in the revolution. We passed the battle ground; and the identical spot was pointed out to us by a passenger who resided in the neighborhood, where the unfortunate individuals were interred, within fifty yards of the road. We arrived at Wilkesbarre at two o'clock. This place is located on the east bank of the Susquehanna, near the foot of the mountain, and though celebrated even in song for its romantic beauty, I was disappointed in its appearance. It is not so large as I had supposed; yet it is a clean little place, having many good buildings, and a very interesting society. Immediately on leaving it we plunged into a wild and desolate mountainous region, extending thirty miles—and yet there are many beautiful lakes on the very summit of the hills, said to be permanent. About ten miles from Wilkesbarre we came to the Shades of Death, a hideous place, calculated to awaken feelings of the gloomiest kind. We passed Stoddardtsville, composed of a few desolate looking houses on the terrible height. At the Lehigh, which is here quite small, there is a mill, though now partly fallen down. How it is supplied with grain in that dreary region, I am utterly unable to conjecture. At length over this mountainous country, and its intolerable log roads, we put up at Pokono for the night, distant eighty miles from Montrose.

We descended the Pokono on the morning of the 24th, at two o'clock—and I can truly say I never had a ride which caused me so much uneasiness; for it was steep as a house-roof, and I could not see the road for the fog, so gave myself up to the mercy of the driver. We got down safe, passed the Wind Gap, and arrived at Nazareth, distant twenty-five miles. Nazareth is a pleasant little place, peopled by a most amiable community. I left it next morning for Easton, distant seven miles, and by night was at my own door.

Annexed is a list of places through which my journey lay, with their distances—which may possibly be useful in directing some who are desirous of spending three weeks in traveling over the most interesting portion of the Union.

Outward.—New York, 90 miles. Albany, 160; Schenectady, 16; Amsterdam, 16; Schoharie Creek, 7; Canawaga, 4; Sparkers, 3; Canajoharie, 3; Fort Plain, 16; Little Falls, 12; Frankford, 10; Utica, 4; Whitesborough, 3; Oriskany, 8; Rome, 7; New London, 4: Oneida Creek, 5; Conastota, 4; New Boston, 4; Chittinings, 8; Manlius, 9; Syracuse, 8; Nine Mile Creek, 6; Canton, 6; Jordan, 6; Weedsport, 3; Auburn, 10; Cayuga Bridge, 9; Seneca Falls, 3; Waterloo, 5: Geneva, 6; Canandaigua, 16; E. Bloomfield, 9; W. do. 5; Lima, 4; E. Avon, 5; Avon P.O., 2; Caledonia, 8; Le Roy, 6; Batavia, 11; Pembroke, 14: Clarence, 8; Williamsville, 8; Buffalo, 10; Black Rock, 3; Tonewanto, 9; Niagara Falls, 11; Lewistown, 7.

Returning.—Rochester, 90; Pittsford, 10; Bushnells, 3; Fulmans, 3; Palmyra, 13; Port-Gilron, 5: Newark, 3; Lyons, 7; Clyde, 9; Montezuma, 11; Cayuga, 10; Aurora, 15; Keeder's Ferry, 10; Nashville, 12; Ludlowville, 11; Ithaca, 12; Owego, 60; Montrose, 30; Tunkhannock, 21; Wilkesbarre, 30; Stoddartsville, 15: Pokono, 15; Wind Gap, 15; Nazareth, 10; Easton, 7; Newtown, 41.