said,) the finest Court House and house of entertainment in the state--and from viewing them, I have no reason to doubt the saying. The said _Inn_ is the one at which I put up; and the Hall and apartments are really finished and furnished superbly. Yet, like most such houses, the eating is nothing to boast of--and the charges are certainly _fine_. This place supports six extensive Hotels and a Theatre. There are three Churches--one of which is an ornament to this, and would be to any place. Its situation is certainly pleasant, being at the head of the _Great Lake_; but nothing to compare with Geneva. Here the Grand Canal terminates by another spacious Basin, filled with boats. I took a walk, as it was a pleasant evening, the wind blowing fresh up the lake--down to the Buck. But instead of the smooth and beautiful expanse of the Cayuga, Seneca, and Canandaigua, was heard the roar of the Atlantic. The surf dashed against the shore with violence, and the breakers advanced and receded in rapid succession--and it was to me almost irreconcilable that it was nothing but Lake Erie. I counted something like 30 vessels of considerable size at the wharves, for navigating this fresh water sea. And to make the matter short, Buffalo is a brisk and pleasant place. And now, whether I am credited or not, I state it as a fact, independent and absolute--that the distance from Weedsport to Batavia is 100 miles--that it is as thickly settled on each side of the road as far as can be seen, as is the road from New York to Philadelphia, being about the same distance--that the towns and villages are as much finer and neater, as the land is better--and that there are 10 trees and stumps along the latter, where there is one along the former,--and as to scenery, the odds are so much in favor of the former, that I cannot, nor will not, attempt to compare them. _Extract No. 7_ I left Buffalo on the 12th in the stage for Niagara Falls, or Manchester, distant from Buffalo twenty-three miles, fare one dollar. For the first time since I set out, I had plenty of room, as there were but six in the stage. We came to Black Rock in one and a half miles--it is a smart place, but never can equal Buffalo. I was here informed that a passage could be procured to Waterloo, in Upper Canada, on the opposite side, whence a stage runs to Chippewa. But as the current flows at the rate of nine miles an hour towards the great falls, I declined the experiment. The canal passes directly by the side of the river, until you arrive at the village of Tontawanto, distant twelve miles, where it takes the creek, by being dammed at its mouth. This place is near the Indian village of the same name, and is truly a low, dirty, and savage-looking town--so the sooner I leave it, the better. Our road has been, and still continues along the banks of the rapid Niagara. But of all the roads I have ever seen, travelled, or heard of, this comes nearer to shaking soul out of body than any other.