Carrie Foster.
Buffalo is a great city. You can start from it and go anywhere you want to, at most any hour of the day or night. There are as many as thirteen different railroad lines to choose from, to say nothing of steamboats and all that sort of thing. But it is the queerest laid out city in this country. A man Ellicott planned it almost a century ago, and meant to build a palace for himself right in the center, but he never did.
John Jones.
Mother says I ought to be able to write you a letter about Buffalo, because I’ve been there lots of times. But I can’t. What is there to write about a city, I should like to know? They are all alike; great long streets with big houses on both sides, or big stores or something, and churches every little way, and crowds of people in the streets getting in a fellow’s way all the time, and carts running over you, and carriages that you want to take a ride in and can’t; and an awful noise and smoke and hurly-burly. I’d rather spend one afternoon in the country in an apple orchard or a strawberry field, or by a trout stream, than to be a whole week in any city I ever saw. Buffalo has some splendid-looking houses and parks, and there is a lunatic asylum that I was interested in, because the people acted so queer. I don’t like Buffalo, however, nor any other big place.
Tom Hurst.
I think they must make flour enough in Buffalo to supply the world with bread. My father says that twelve years ago there were eleven great flouring mills there, and he doesn’t know how many more have been started since. At that time they made every year about two hundred and fifty thousand barrels of flour; but dear me! it would take more flour than that to feed the world, wouldn’t it? What a lot of things we do have to eat!
Jimmie Tucker.