As we approached Cincinnati the number of farms, and the extent of cultivated country, indicated the comparative magnitude of that city.  Fields in this country have nothing like the rich appearance of those in England and Ireland, being generally filled with half-rotten stumps, scattered here and there among the growing corn, producing a most disagreeable effect.  Then, instead of the fragrant quickset hedge, there is a “worm fence”—­the rudest description of barrier known in the country—­which consists simply of bars, about eight or nine feet in length, laid zig-zag on each other alternately:  the improvement on this, and the ne plus ultra in the idea of a west country farmer, is what is termed a “post and rail fence.”  This denomination of fence is to be seen sometimes in the vicinity of the larger towns, and is constructed of posts six feet in length, sunk in the ground to the depth of about a foot, and at eight or ten feet distance; the rails are then laid into mortises cut into the posts, at intervals of about thirteen or fourteen inches, which completes the work.

Cincinnati is built on a bend of the Ohio river, which takes here a semicircular form, and runs nearly west; it afterwards flows in a more southerly direction.  A complete chain of hills, sweeping from one point of the bend round to the other, encloses the city in a sort of amphitheatre.  The houses are mostly brick, and the streets all paved.  There are several spacious and handsome market houses, which on market days are stocked with all kinds of provisions—­indeed I think the market of Cincinnati is very nearly the best supplied in the United States.  There are many respectable public buildings here, such as a court-house, theatre, bazaar, (built by Mrs. Trollope, but the speculation failed), and divers churches, in which you may see well-dressed women, and hear orthodox, heterodox, and every other species of doctrine, promulgated and enforced by strength of lungs, and length of argument, with pulpit-drum accompaniment, and all other requisites ad captandum vulgus.

The city stands on two plains:  one called the bottom, extends about 260 yards back from the river, and is three miles in length, from Deer Creek to Mill Creek; the other is fifty feet higher than the first, and is called the Hill; this extends back about a mile.  The bottom is sixty-five feet above low water mark.  In 1815 the population was estimated at 6000, and at present it is supposed to be upwards of 25,000 souls.  By means of the Dayton canal, which runs from that town nearly parallel with the “Big Miami” river, a very extensive trade, for all kinds of produce, is established with the back country.  Steamers are constantly arriving at, and departing from the wharf, on their passage up and down the river.  This is one of the many examples to be met with in the western country, of towns springing into importance within the memory of comparatively young men—­a log-house is still standing, which is shewn as the first habitation built by the backwoodsman, who squatted in the forest where now stands a handsome and flourishing city.