A place that was making such a record as this was certain to receive a great deal of notice. As the city was built on the banks of the Ohio River, the one possible thread of travel at that time from the Atlantic coast to the remoter west, travelers of an investigating turn of mind--of whom there has always been a constant procession to this country--had to pass Cincinnati on their way; they usually paused for a time to see this wonderful city grow. It grew so fast that they could fairly see the process going on! During the time that Harriet Beecher lived in Cincinnati many noted writers stayed for a longer or shorter time in the city, observing things more or less closely, and afterward wrote about what they saw. Among them were Fenno Hoffman, Godfrey de Vigne, Chevalier, Harriet Martineau, Captain Marryat, Professor Frank Hall, Buckingham, Mrs. Steele, Charles Dickens, Sir Charles Lyell, who spoke chiefly of the geological formation; the Honorable Charles Augustus Murray, the Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley and Mary Howitt, who wrote most of her book in a quiet valley in the suburbs of the city. Captain Marryat said: “It is a beautiful, well-kept, clean town, reminding you of Philadelphia.... Situated on a hill on the banks of the Ohio, it is surrounded by a phalanx of other hills; so that, look up and down the streets whichever way you will, your eye reposes upon verdure and forest trees in the distance.” Other visitors noted also the “pretty gardens and ornamental shrubberies,” and some declared, with expressions of amazement, that every comfort and convenience was to be found in the city. Mrs. Steele called Cincinnati the “Queen of the West.” “We have explored it thoroughly by walking and riding, and we pronounce it wonderful,” she said. She was astonished that such a city could have come from what was so lately a wilderness. There were rows of handsome dwellings, surrounded by shade trees. An accidental opening among the trees gave you a glimpse of a pavilion where, among groves and gardens, the ladies and children of the family might enjoy the fresh air. But it is not to be supposed that all the distinguished visitors to this mid-country city of the United States should be thus pleasantly impressed. One went so far as to laugh at the idea of calling it the “Empire City of the West,” and substitutes for this proud title the obnoxious one, “Empire City of Pigs!” for this writer claimed that the pigs ran in the street with perfect comfort to themselves though perhaps not to the members of the human family. We find, however, that Harriet Beecher’s little brother enjoyed this Cincinnati custom hugely, for he would frequently be found walking soberly along by the side of a pig with his arm around its neck, or even sitting astride one of the monsters, gallantly riding it--at least for a few minutes!--to the great amusement of the populace.