the Kentucky side. In front the great Ohio rolls its broad yellow tide. Great bridges

span it here and there, and busy boats ply from side to side. At every point great steamers are warped to the shore two and three deep-most unnavigable-looking craft, huge edifices of flimsy wood, all windows, doors, and railings, miniature piazzas, long verandas, awnings; and great chimneys, one on each side, interlaced together by all manner of cross-bars and stays, and each ending in a violent mitred decoration, reminding one of nothing so much as of the paper pantalets which adorn the broiled lamb chop. They are huge structures of wood, some propelled by side wheels, others with one great wheel across the stern, which makes them look like saw-mills gone astray, all fresh in the glory of white paint, and adorned with names instinct with legends of wild races on the moon-lit waters, of great games of poker, and of grand explosions. Nowadays, however, they have become very commonplace in their functions compared with what they were in the old days of the river, but they remain the agents of a great and thriving industry. Else why the crowd of vehicles of all kinds and of noisy men of all classes that fills that wide and steep slope of de

batable land between the water and the houses, that dusty strip which the river, being low, does not contest just now, and which is known as the levee? It might be the commerce of a nation which is crowded upon it-every conceivable merchandise, in bale and barrel and box and crate and sack, destined everywhere, and carried and tugged and shouted at by negroes and whites alike. Behind all of this scene of nervous and active life rises the city, marked out in broad masses of light and shadow, compact upon the lower plateau, and steadily climbing and effacing the hills round about it. These glimpses are had of it when the propitious air lifts the dense curtain that rises from Cincinnati's countless industries, mingles it with the clouds, and hangs the sky with fantastic draperies of changing vapor.

The exterior of Cincinnati is as deep in color as that of London. Its trees are of the same ebony as those in the London parks, and its stone and brick work has the same disposition to solemn black. It has less of newness and of the ephemeral virtues of fresh paint than perhaps any other of our cities, and courts instead the air of a serious and well-rooted prosperity, founded in the antiquities and traditions of its less than a century of existence. About it, in the suburbs, at Clifton, and even within the city limits, artists do not fail to find abundant material. The canal, which is known as the "Rhine," and which is a sort of territorial line of de

space of one human life. William Moody, the first white child born at the settlement (March 17, 1790), died there in 1879, an eye-witness to one of the most amazing developments of trade and commerce ever seen by mortal man. Baby Moody opened his infant eyes upon a vast and unfrequented river a "white settlement," harassed by Indians, and where no inhabitant was quite sure, on retiring to rest at night, that he would not be scalped before morning. Before he died this native-born pioneer walked the pathways of that same hamlet, now magically changed into the gay bustling streets of a splendid and ever-growing city. Many of the more aged citizens of Cincinnati remember the Indians. The

| father of ex-Mayor Henry Spencer was captured by Indians when his son (who was still living in 1881, a venerable and respected gentleman) was a boy eleven years old. But at present there is never a bird in the gay Zoo Gardens of a rarer breed than your Indian, of the sort whose ancestors formerly peopled these rich alluvial bottoms, and made life hideous for the hardy pioneers who bravely laid the ground-plan for the superb metropolitan structure which we now see. Sturdy, imposing figures these founders of Cincinnati's greatness present in the fast-gathering gloom that there is about the early history of the city. Great seriousness of purpose, a most absorbing sense of inde

pendence, and a most American belief in the fullness of their destiny, and in the material resources of their country and of their river-these things most of all characterize them, and explain their vigorous individuality and the impress they have left upon the present.

Daniel Gano, famous for his hospitality, for his social character and influence, and for his generous public spirit, was one of them. So also was George Graham, an acute Pennsylvania youth, who settled in Cincinnati in 1822, in his twenty-fourth year, and took prompt hold of the steamboat trade, then almost at its birth. Few men did more than he to promote the prosperity and shape the commercial policy of Cincinnati, and in his later years he held numerous honorable preferments to which his fellow-citizens called him. He was president of the Academy of Natural Sciences, and of the State Natural History Society, and for forty years a trustee of the Cincinnati College. In the law there were the honored careers of Bellamy Storer and David K. Este names that will always be held in reverential esteem.

white men, her southern neighbor, the elegant little Lexington, still looked down upon the social and literary aspirations of the town on the banks of the Ohio. The Rev. Timothy Flint, writing in 1826, says: "If its only rival, Lexington, be, as she contends, the Athens of the West, this place [Cincinnati] is struggling to become its Corinth." The struggles of Cincinnati as against Lexington in respect to leadership in trade, literature, art, and science are almost as remote in the city's annals as the pioneers' warfare with the red-skins.

The first name by which Cincinnati was called was L'Osanteville. This pedantic appellation was bestowed upon the little village by the mysterious process of using the L to mean Licking River, the O to signify opposite, and santeville to indicate a healthy town-altogether, a fine situation opposite the Licking.

In 1790, General St. Clair was sent as Governor of the Northwest Territory. He fixed his headquarters for a time at L'Osanteville, and before he departed he had rebaptized the infant city. His choice of the word Cincinnati was a happy one. In good sooth each man of that day was a Cincinnatus, a patriot, who, having aided his country to achieve her crown of self-government on the battlefields of the sea-board, now retired in peace to the fertile slopes of the interior, there to pursue the noble aims of husbandry.

The first immigration to Cincinnati came from New England, about the years between 1825 and 1830; this was supplemented by an important and aristocratic element consisting of families of birth and social standing who removed thither from Virginia. That Cincinnati, being in a State so far west as Ohio, should ever receive any immigration from the remote shores of the Old World, was a possibility not dreamed of fifty years ago. Writing in 1841, Charles Cist enthusiastically prophesies: "I venture the prediction that within one hundred years from this time Cincinnati will be the greatest city in America, and by the year 2000, the greatest city in the world.... Most of the great cities of antiquity, some of which were of immense extent, were situated in the inte

rivers meandering through rich alluvial territories; for example, Thebes, Memphis, and Ptolemais, the ancient and once populous capital of Egypt." At great length Mr. Cist explains how this result was achieved, and he hoped it might be again, without the aid of foreign immigrationa desideratum unlooked-for in those days. Yet ten years later there was at least one German in Cincinnati to reproach Mr. Cist for having failed to celebrate his sourkrout in the "Correctory," and at present there are-well, go "over the Rhine" in Cincinnati, some bright moonlight evening, and see for yourself how many Germans there are there.

About the year 1835 there broke out, one scarcely knows how, a sort of Cincinnati fever in England. In the British Museum I have looked at a number of