their houses, and from these there arises an effluvium which is most
unpleasant in warm weather, which, however, they do not seem to perceive.

We entered Rochester, through an aqueduct thirty rods in length, built of
stone, across the Genessee river. Rochester is the handsomest town on this
line. Some of the houses here are tastefully decorated. All the windows
have Venetian blinds, and generally there are one or two covered balconies
attached to the front of each house. Before the doors there are small
_parterres_, planted with rose-trees, and other fragrant shrubs. About
half a mile from the town are the Falls of Genessee. The water glides over
an even bed of limestone rock, ninety-six feet above the level of the
river below. There is a beautiful regularity in this fall, but its extreme
uniformity divests it of picturesque effect. Here the celebrated diver,
Sam. Patch, subsequently met his fate in diving off this precipice. He had
performed similar feats at the Falls of Niagara, without sustaining any
injury. He was not killed by the fall; but is supposed to have fainted
when midway from, his leap, as his arms were observed to relax, and his
legs to open, before he reached the water.

On my journey I met with an Englishman, a Mr. W----. He dressed _à la Mungo
Park_, wearing a jacket and trowsers of jean, and a straw hat. He was a
great pedestrian; had travelled through most of the southern States, and
was now on his tour through this part of the country. He was a gentleman
about fifty,--silent and retiring in his habits. Enamoured of the
orange-trees of Georgia, he intended returning there or to Carolina, and
ending his days. We agreed to visit the Falls of Niagara together, and
accordingly quitted the boat at Tonawanta. When we had dined, and had
deposited our luggage in the safe keeping of the Niagara hotel-keeper, my
companion shouldered his vigne stick, and to one end of which he appended
a small bundle, containing a change of linen, &c., and I put on my