[From _Oddities in Southern Life and Character_, edited by Henry
Watterson (Boston, 1883)]
Hence, as I have said, sir, I was utterly at a loss to determine where
the terminus of this great and indispensable road should be, until I
accidentally overheard some gentleman the other day mention the name of
"Duluth." [Great laughter.] Duluth! The word fell upon my ear with
peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a low
fountain stealing forth in the midst of roses, or the soft, sweet
accents of an angel's whisper in the bright, joyous dream of sleeping
innocence. Duluth! 'Twas the name for which my soul had panted for
years, as the hart panteth for the water-brooks. [Renewed laughter.] But
where was Duluth? Never, in all my limited reading, had my vision been
gladdened by seeing the celestial word in print. [Laughter.] And I felt
a profounder humiliation in my ignorance that its dulcet syllables had
never before ravished my delighted ear. [Roars of laughter.] I was
certain the draughtsman of this bill had never heard of it, or it would
have been designated as one of the termini of this road. I asked my
friends about it, but they knew nothing of it. I rushed to the library
and examined all the maps I could find. [Laughter.] I discovered in one
of them a delicate, hair-like line, diverging from the Mississippi near
a place marked Prescott, which I supposed was intended to represent the
river St. Croix, but I could nowhere find Duluth.
Nevertheless, I was confident it existed somewhere, and that its
discovery would constitute the crowning glory of the present century,
if not of all modern times. [Laughter.] I knew it was bound to exist
in the very nature of things; that the symmetry and perfection of our
planetary system would be incomplete without it [renewed laughter];
that the elements of material nature would long since have resolved
themselves back into original chaos if there had been such a hiatus in
creation as would have resulted from leaving out Duluth. [Roars of
laughter.] In fact, sir, I was overwhelmed with the conviction that
Duluth not only existed somewhere, but that wherever it was it was a
great and glorious place. I was convinced that the greatest calamity
that ever befell the benighted nations of the ancient world was in
their having passed away without a knowledge of the actual existence
of Duluth; that their fabled Atlantis, never seen save by the hallowed
vision of inspired poesy, was, in fact, but another name for Duluth;
that the golden orchard of the Hesperides was but a poetical synonym
for the beer gardens in the vicinity of Duluth. [Great laughter.] I
was certain that Herodotus had died a miserable death because in all
his travels and with all his geographical research he had never heard
of Duluth. [Laughter.] I knew that if the immortal spirit of Homer
could look down from another heaven than that created by his own
celestial genius upon the long lines of pilgrims from every nation of
the earth to the gushing fountain of poesy opened by the touch of his
magic wand; if he could be permitted to behold the vast assemblage of
grand and glorious productions of the lyric art called into being by
his own inspired strains, he would weep tears of bitter anguish that,
instead of lavishing all the stores of his mighty genius upon the fall
of Ilion, it had not been his more blessed lot to crystalize in
deathless song the rising glories of Duluth. [Great and continued
laughter.] Yet, sir, had it not been for this map, kindly furnished me
by the legislature of Minnesota, I might have gone down to my obscure
and humble grave in an agony of despair, because I could nowhere find
Duluth. [Renewed laughter.] Had such been my melancholy fate, I have
no doubt that, with the last feeble pulsation of my breaking heart,
with the last faint exhalation of my fleeting breath, I should have
whispered, "Where is Duluth?" [Roars of laughter.]