It takes 5 hands to manage a boat of this size: they are the steward, the helmsman, and two drivers, who relieve each other as occasion may require: we have relays of horses every 20 miles, and thus we are gliding to the West. At 12 A. M. we arrived at the little falls of the Mohawk, distant 88 miles from our place of embarkation, and this being the wildest place on the canal, I shall notice it particularly. The river falls in less than half a mile 50 feet, by one continued rapid, which is surrounded by five locks, one directly above the other. There has evidently been a terrible effort with the little Mohawk, in days of yore, to break through the crags of the mountain barrier, which it evidently has done by the appearance of the rocks, which are worn away in a variety of forms on all sides. There being about 20 boats waiting to pass the locks, which would occupy some time, the captain very politely offered to accompany me to the village situated on the opposite side of the river, which is crossed by a very handsome aqueduct of hewn stone, to supply the canal as a feeder. The village is of considerable size, with several very pretty buildings, located amongst the rocks and crags not unlike Mauch Chunk, being quite destitute of soil. There is a splendid water power at this place, but the most interesting sight was to see the fountains which are before almost every house, supplied from a rivulet led from the mountains, and which are spouting in all directions. _Extract No. 4_