The town of Humboldt is the county seat for Sherburne county.
It lies
between the Mississippi and Snake rivers. The part of the town which I
saw was a very small part. Mr. Brown's residence, which is
delightfully situated on the shore of a lake, is at once the court
house and the post office, besides being the general emporium and
magnate of Humboldt business and society. Furthermore, it is the place
where the stage changes horses and where passengers on the down trip
stop to dine. It was here we stopped to dine; and as the place had
been a good deal applauded for its table-d'hote, a standard element of
which was said to be baked fish, right out of the big lake, I at least
had formed very luxurious expectations. Mr. Brown was away. We had met
his lively countenance on his way up to a democratic caucus. Perhaps
that accounted for our not having baked fish, for fish we certainly
did not have. The dinner was substantial, however, and yielded to
appetites which had been sharpened by a half day's inhalation of
serene October air. We had all become infused with a spirit of
despatch; and were all ready to start, and did start, in half an hour
from the time we arrived at the house.
We had not proceeded far after dinner before meeting the Monticello
stage, which runs between the thriving village of that name on the
west bank of the Mississippi and St. Paul.
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