annexed, till no Indian will hold an acre of land in Minnesota. At
present Fort Snelling is the nucleus of a recruiting camp. On the
point between the bluffs of the two rivers there is a plain,
immediately in front of the fort, and there we saw the newly-joined
Minnesota recruits going through their first military exercises.
They were in detachments of twenties, and were rude enough at their
goose step. The matter which struck me most in looking at them was
the difference of condition which I observed in the men. There
were the country lads, fresh from the farms, such as we see
following the recruiting sergeant through English towns; but there
were also men in black coats and black trowsers, with thin boots,
and trimmed beards--beards which had been trimmed till very lately;
and some of them with beards which showed that they were no longer
young. It was inexpressibly melancholy to see such men as these
twisting and turning about at the corporal's word, each handling
some stick in his hand in lieu of weapon. Of course, they were
more awkward than the boys, even though they were twice more
assiduous in their efforts. Of course, they were sad and wretched.
I saw men there that were very wretched--all but heart-broken, if
one might judge from their faces. They should not have been there
handling sticks, and moving their unaccustomed legs in cramped
paces. They were as razors, for which no better purpose could be
found than the cutting of blocks. When such attempts are made the
block is not cut, but the razor is spoiled. Most unfit for the
commencement of a soldier's life were some that I saw there, but I
do not doubt that they had been attracted to the work by the one
idea of doing something for their country in its trouble.

From Fort Snelling we went on to the Falls of Minnehaha.
Minnehaha, laughing water. Such, I believe, is the interpretation.
The name in this case is more imposing than the fall. It is a
pretty little cascade, and might do for a picnic in fine weather,
but it is not a waterfall of which a man can make much when found
so far away from home. Going on from Minnehaha we came to
Minneapolis, at which place there is a fine suspension bridge
across the river, just above the falls of St. Anthony and leading
to the town of that name. Till I got there I could hardly believe
that in these days there should be a living village called
Minneapolis by living men. I presume I should describe it as a
town, for it has a municipality, and a post-office, and, of course,
a large hotel. The interest of the place, however, is in the saw-
mills. On the opposite side of the water, at St. Anthony, is
another very large hotel--and also a smaller one. The smaller one
may be about the size of the first-class hotels at Cheltenham or
Leamington. They were both closed, and there seemed to be but
little prospect that either would be opened till the war should be
over. The saw-mills, however, were at full work, and to my eyes
were extremely picturesque. I had been told that the beauty of the
falls had been destroyed by the mills. Indeed, all who had spoken
to me about St. Anthony had said so. But I did not agree with
them. Here, as at Ottawa, the charm in fact consists, not in an
uninterrupted shoot of water, but in a succession of rapids over a
bed of broken rocks. Among these rocks logs of loose timber are
caught, which have escaped from their proper courses, and here they
lie, heaped up in some places, and constructing themselves into
bridges in others, till the freshets of the spring carry them off.
The timber is generally brought down in logs to St. Anthony, is
sawn there, and then sent down the Mississippi in large rafts.
These rafts on other rivers are, I think, generally made of unsawn
timber. Such logs as have escaped in the manner above described
are recognized on their passage down the river by their marks, and
are made up separately, the original owners receiving the value--or
not receiving it as the case may be. "There is quite a trade going
on with the loose lumber," my informant told me. And from his tone
I was led to suppose that he regarded the trade as sufficiently
lucrative, if not peculiarly honest.

There is very much in the mode of life adopted by the settlers in
these regions which creates admiration. The people are all
intelligent. They are energetic and speculative, conceiving grand
ideas, and carrying them out almost with the rapidity of magic. A
suspension bridge half a mile long is erected, while in England we
should be fastening together a few planks for a foot passage.
Progress, mental as well as material, is the demand of the people
generally. Everybody understands everything, and everybody intends
sooner or later to do everything. All this is very grand; but then
there is a terrible drawback. One hears on every side of
intelligence, but one hears also on every side of dishonesty. Talk
to whom you will, of whom you will, and you will hear some tale of
successful or unsuccessful swindling. It seems to be the
recognized rule of commerce in the far West that men shall go into
the world's markets prepared to cheat and to be cheated. It may be
said that as long as this is acknowledged and understood on all
sides, no harm will be done. It is equally fair for all. When I
was a child there used to be certain games at which it was agreed
in beginning either that there should be cheating or that there
should not. It may be said that out there in the Western States,
men agree to play the cheating game; and that the cheating game has
more of interest in it than the other. Unfortunately, however,
they who agree to play this game on a large scale do not keep
outsiders altogether out of the playground. Indeed, outsiders
become very welcome to them; and then it is not pleasant to hear
the tone in which such outsiders speak of the peculiarities of the
sport to which they have been introduced. When a beginner in trade
finds himself furnished with a barrel of wooden nutmegs, the joke
is not so good to him as to the experienced merchant who supplies
him. This dealing in wooden nutmegs, this selling of things which
do not exist, and buying of goods for which no price is ever to be
given, is an institution which is much honored in the West. We
call it swindling--and so do they. But it seemed to me that in the


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