Our first visit to the Apostolic city was on the morning of one of those
golden days in early autumn, any one of which might have inspired
Longfellow's little poem, "A Day of Sunshine," they were so perfect.

The goodly ship on which we came was rounding a tract of low
meadow-land, skirted by some forest growths, when suddenly the streaming
sunlight was flashed back to us from the spires of the city of St. Paul
itself, sitting like a queenly crown at the head of this noblest of all
rivers.

All were surprised and delighted to find that, in the matter of its
location and general appearance, it so far exceeded what our fancies had
painted it. No correct idea had been conveyed by any representation of
it that we had ever seen, nor had any sketch sufficiently outlined it
for the imagination to fill up; yet we were prepared to see a _pretty_
city, though not looking for a _grand_ one. The view from the deck of
the steamer, as the traveller approaches the place, is one of the best.
The river makes an abrupt turn to the westward, in front of the city,
which is situated on the northern side of this elbow, immediately at the
turn, with its face full southward down the river. It would, after all,
fail to be as imposing as it is but for its location, which is greatly
elevated above the river, rising from it in irregular grades, with
intervening tables, back fully a mile to the summit of the high bluffs
forming the rear of the city.

The common impression in relation to all towns in the new States, and
with reason, too, is, that they are of such rapid growth, under
speculative influences, as to often possess no solid elements of
prosperity, and that, after the first wave of excitement dies out, they