grand procession, and at night there were bon-*fires and a jollification that would have gladdened the soul of old Andrew Dexter. His desire was to be fulfilled, and the capitol was to stand on the very lot he had reserved for it on Goat Hill nearly thirty years before. The new building, erected by the city, was ready in in the fall of '47; the archives in one hundred and thirteen boxes were laboriously brought from Tuscaloosa in thirteen wagons, at a cost of $1325—figures as significant of poor transportation facilities as they are full of the magical number thirteen—and all was ready for the Legislature, which met in December. The effect on the city is vividly described in Garrett's Public Men:
"The novelty of the occasion, together with the greater
facilities to reach the seat of government, brought together
an immense concourse of people. . . . The
hotels were crowded to inconvenience, private boarding-*houses
were increased and thronged, and every avenue
to the capitol presented at all hours of the day a stirring
multitude. Candidates for the various offices were as
thick as blackbirds in a fresh plowed field in spring."
The new building was burned two years
later, but was immediately rebuilt on substantially
the same plan.
