A Ramble of Six Thousand Miles through the United States of America | Page 6

twice, at an interval of seven miles, over aqueducts nearly fifty rods in
length, constructed of solid beams of timber. The country is very
beautiful, and for the most part well cultivated. The soil possesses
every variety of good and bad. The farms along the canal are valuable,
land being generally worth from fifty to a hundred dollars per acre.
Above Schenectady, a very ancient town, the bed of the canal gave way,
which of course obliged us to come to a dead halt. I hired, for myself
and two others, a family waggon (dignified here with the appellation of
carriage) to take us beyond the break, in expectation of being able to
get a boat thence onwards, but unfortunately all the upward-bound
boats had proceeded. We were, therefore, obliged to wait until next
morning. My fellow travellers having light luggage, got themselves and
it into a hut at the other side of the lock; but I, having heavy baggage,
which it was impossible to carry across, was compelled to remain on
the banks, between the canal and the Mohawk, all night. On the river
there were several canoes, with fishermen spearing by torch-light;
while on the banks the boatmen and boys, Mulattos and whites, were
occupied in gambling. They had tables, candles, dice, and cards. With
these, and with a quantum sufficit of spirits, they contrived to while
away the time until day-break; of course interlarding their conversation
with a reasonable quantity of oaths and imprecations. The breach being
repaired early in the morning, the boats came up, and we proceeded to
Utica.
Seven miles above Utica is seated Rome, a small and dirty town,
bearing no possible resemblance to the "Eternal City," even in its more

modern condition, as the residence of the "Triple Prince;" but, on the
contrary, having, if one could judge from the habitations, every
appearance of squalid poverty. Fifteen miles further on, we passed the
Little Falls. It was night when we came to them, but it being moonlight,
we had an opportunity of seeing them to advantage. The crags are here
stupendous--irregular and massive piles of rocks, from which spring the
lofty pine and cedar, are heaped in frightful disorder on each other, and
give the scene a terrifically grand appearance.
From Rome to Syracuse, a distance of forty-six miles, the canal is cut
through a swampy forest, a great portion of which is composed of dead
trees. One of the most dismal scenes imaginable is a forest of charred
trees, which is occasionally to be met with in this country, especially in
the route by which I was travelling. It is caused by the woods being
fired, by accident or otherwise. The aspect of these blasted monuments
of ruined vegetation is strange and peculiar; and the air of desertion and
desolation which pervades their neighbourhood, reminds one of the
stories that are told of the Upas valley of Java, for here too not a bird is
to be seen. The smell arising from this swamp in the night, was so bad
as to oblige us to shut all the windows and doors of the boat, which,
added to the bellowing and croaking of the bull frogs--the harsh and
incessant noise of the grasshoppers, and the melancholy cry of the
whip-poor-will, formed a combination not of the most agreeable nature.
Yet, in defiance of all this, we were induced occasionally to brave the
terrors of the night, in order to admire that beautiful insect the fire-fly,
or as it is called by the natives, "lightning bug." They emit a greenish
phosphorescent light, and are seen at this season in every part of the
country. The woods here were full of them, and seemed literally to be
studded with small stars, which emitted a bright flickering light.
After you pass Syracuse, the country begins to improve; but still it is
low and marshy, and for the most part unhealthy, as the appearance of
the people clearly indicates. In this country, as in every other, the
canals are generally cut through comparatively low lands, and the low
lands here, with few exceptions, are all swampy; however, a great deal
of the unhealthiness which pervades this district, arises from want of
attention. A large portion of the inhabitants are Low Dutch, who appear

never to be in their proper element, unless when settled down in the
midst of a swamp. They allow rotten timber to accumulate, and
stagnant pools to remain about 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