The little falls of the Mohawk form a lovely scene; the rocks over which the river runs are most fantastic in form.

The fall continues nearly a mile, and a beautiful village, called the Little Falls, overhangs it.
As many locks occur at this point, we quitted the boat, that we might the better enjoy the scenery, which is of the widest description.

Several other passengers did so likewise, and I was much amused by one of our Yankees, who very civilly accompanied our party, pointing out to me the wild state of the country, and apologizing for it, by saying, that the property all round thereabouts had been owned by an Englishman; "and you'll excuse me, ma'am, but when the English gets a spot of wild ground like this here, they have no notions about it like us; but the Englishman have sold it, and if you was to see it five years hence, you would not know it again; I'll engage there will be by that, half a score elegant factories--'tis a true shame to let such a privilege of water lie idle." We reached Utica at twelve o'clock the following day, pretty well fagged by the sun by day, and a crowded cabin by night; lemon-juice and iced-water (without sugar) kept us alive.

But for this delightful recipe, feather fans, and eau de Cologne, I think we should have failed altogether; the thermometer stood at 90 degrees.
At two, we set off in a very pleasant airy carriage for Trenton Falls, a delightful drive of fourteen miles.

These falls have become within the last few years only second in fame to Niagara.
The West Canada Creek, which in the map shows but as a paltry stream, has found its way through three miles of rock, which, at many points, is 150 feet high.