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.