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