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The Great Lone Land - A Narrative of Travel and Adventure in the North-West of America by William Francis Butler
page 64 of 378 (16%)
the last named city is some hundred miles more to the north than the
first. But latitude is no criterion of summer heat in America, and the
short Arctic summer of the Mackenzie River knows often a fiercer heat
than the swamp lands of the Carolinas. So, putting together a very light
field-kit, I started early one morning from St. Paul for the new town of
Duluth, on the extreme westerly end of Lake Superior.

Duluth, I was told, was the very newest of new towns, in fact it only had
an existence of eighteen months; as may be inferred, it had no past, but
any want in that respect was compensated for in its marvellous future. It
was to be the great grain emporium of the North-west; it was to kill St.
Paul, Milwaukie, Chicago, and half-a-dozen other thriving towns; its
murderous propensities seemed to have no bounds; lots were already
selling at fabulous prices, and everybody seemed to have Duluth in some
shape or other on the brain. To reach this paradise of the future I had
to travel 100 miles by the Superior and Mississippi railroad, to a
halting-place known as the End of the Track-a name which gave a very
accurate idea of its whereabouts and general capabilities. The line was,
in fact, in course of formation, and was being rapidly pushed forward
from both ends with a view to its being opened through by the 1st day of
August. About forty miles north-east of St. Paul we entered the region of
pine forest. At intervals of ten or twelve miles the train stopped at
places bearing high-sounding titles, such as Rush City, Pine City; but
upon examination one looked in vain for any realization of these names,
pines and rushes certainly were plentiful enough, but the city part of
the arrangement was nowhere visible. Upon asking a fellow-passenger for
some explanation of the phenomena, he answered, "Guess there was a city
hereaway last year, but it busted up or gone on." Travellers unacquainted
with the vernacular of America might have conjured up visions of a
catastrophe not less terrible than that of Pompeii or Herculaneum, but
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