It seems that he had some misgivings of his fate, for a pet bear, which he had always taken with him on his former break-neck adventures, and which had constantly leaped after him without injury, he on this occasion left behind, in the care of a friend, to whom he bequeathed him "in case of his not returning." We saw the bear, which is kept at the principal hotel; he is a noble creature, and more completely tame than I ever saw any animal of the species.
Our journey now became wilder every step, the unbroken forest often skirted the road for miles, and the sight of a log-hut was an event.

Yet the road was, for the greater part of the day, good, running along a natural ridge, just wide enough for it.
This ridge is a very singular elevation, and, by all the enquiry I could make, the favourite theory concerning it is, that it was formerly the boundary of Lake Ontario, near which it passes.
When this ridge ceased, the road ceased too, and for the rest of the way to Lockport, we were most painfully jumbled and jolted over logs and through bogs, till every joint was nearly dislocated.
Lockport is beyond all comparison, the strangest looking place I ever beheld.

As fast as half a dozen trees were cut down, a _factory_ was raised up; stumps still contest the ground with pillars, and porticos are seen to struggle with rocks.

It looks as if the demon of machinery, having invaded the peaceful realms of nature, had fixed on Lockport as the battle-ground on which they should strive for mastery.

The fiend insists that the streams should go one way, though the gentle mother had ever led their dancing steps another; nay, the very rocks must fall before him, and take what form he wills.