We waited in this meadow for the passing of a train of rail-road carriages, which run between Rochester and a small village about three miles distant, where the river was said to be very beautiful. We hailed them as they went by, and proceeded in them to their destination. The view itself, from this point, though romantic and pretty, was scarce worth going out of the way for; the walk back, however, was delightful. The river runs here through a deep gully, the banks rising precipitously above a hundred feet on each side of it. On one side they are beautifully and thickly wooded; the other presents a bare wall of reddish rock lying in very regular strata. About a mile and a half below the falls, the channel of the river contracts itself, and the water, forcing its way through some irregular rocky projections, forms a very pretty miniature cataract. We walked along the high margin of the glen, upon some very thick soft turf, looking down upon the deep bed of the water, and enjoying a delicious fresh breeze. 'Tis curious enough, that upon this strip of turf, close to the high road, under the shelter of a group of trees, we found a couple of tomb-stones. They were carefully railed round, and bore the names of a man and his wife, without, however, assigning any cause for their choice of a burial-place so public and unhallowed. The last mile of our walk was by no means so agreeable as the previous part had been. Nearing the town, we had to leave the brink of the river and follow the dusty track of the rail-road. When we reached Rochester, we dined; after which I went and lay down, and slept till tea-time. When I came down to tea, found the gentlemen profoundly busied: ---- writing home, Mr. ---- journalising, my father poring over maps and road-books, to find out if we could not possibly get as far as Niagara to-morrow. _Tuesday, 16th._