On my journey I met with an Englishman, a Mr. W——.  He dressed a la Mungo Park, wearing a jacket and trowsers of jean, and a straw hat.  He was a great pedestrian; had travelled through most of the southern States, and was now on his tour through this part of the country.  He was a gentleman about fifty,—­silent and retiring in his habits.  Enamoured of the orange-trees of Georgia, he intended returning there or to Carolina, and ending his days.  We agreed to visit the Falls of Niagara together, and accordingly quitted the boat at Tonawanta.  When we had dined, and had deposited our luggage in the safe keeping of the Niagara hotel-keeper, my companion shouldered his vigne stick, and to one end of which he appended a small bundle, containing a change of linen, &c., and I put on my shooting coat of many pockets, and shouldered my gun.  Thus equipped, we commenced our journey to the Great Falls.  The distance from Tonawanta to the village of the Falls, now called Manchester, is about eleven miles.  The way lies through a forest, in which there are but a few scattered habitations.  A great part of the road runs close to the river Niagara; and the occasional glimpses of this broad sheet of water, which are obtained through the rich foliage of the forest, added to the refreshing breeze that approached us through the openings, rendered our pedestrian excursion extremely delightful.

Towards evening we arrived at the village, and proceeded to reconnoitre, in order to fix our position for the night.  After having done this satisfactorily, we then turned our attention to the all-important operation of eating and drinking.  While supping, an eccentric-looking person passed out through the apartment in which we were.  His odd appearance excited our curiosity, and we inquired who this mysterious-looking gentleman was.  We were informed that he was an Englishman, and that he had been lodging there for the last six months, but that he concealed his real name.  He slept in one corner of a large barrack room, in which there were of course several other beds.  On a small table by his bed-side there were a few French and Latin books, and some scraps of poetry touching on the tender passion.  These, and a German flute, which we observed standing against the window, gave us some clue to his character.  He was a tall, romantic-looking young man, apparently about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age.  His dress was particularly shabby.  This the landlord told us was from choice, not from necessity, as he had two trunks full of clothes nearly new.  The reason he gave for dressing as he did, was his knowing, he said, that if he dressed well, people would be talking to him, which he wished to avoid; but, that by dressing as he did, he made sure that no one would ever think of giving him any annoyance of that kind.  I thought this idea unique:  and whether he be still at Niagara, or has taken up his abode at the foot of the Rocky mountains, I pronounce him to be a Diogenes without a tub.  He has read at least one page in the natural history of civilized man.