We had been pushing our way, daily, up to our arrival at Sandy Lake; but the word, from leaving that point, was, emphatically, push--and we can hardly be said to have taken proper time to eat or sleep. There was a shower of rain, during the night; it ceased at four o'clock, and we again embarked at five, in a cloudy and misty morning, and it continued cloudy all day. The current of the Mississippi continues to be strong; its velocity, during the ascent of this day, was computed by Capt. Douglass at two and a half miles per hour. We passed a rapid about six miles below Trout River, where there is a computed descent of three feet in a hundred and fifty yards. A few miles before reaching Trout River, we passed through a forest of dead pines, occupying ridges of sand, through which the river has cut its way. Four miles above the entrance of Trout River, we passed the mouth of a considerable stream, called by the Chippewas Mushkoda, or Prairie River, and encamped about five hundred yards above its mouth on a high sandy elevation. It was now eight o'clock P.M. We had ascended the river fifty-one miles, having been fifteen hours in our canoes, and we here first took our breakfast. This severity of fasting was, I think, quite unintentional, the mess-basket being in the other canoe, which kept ahead of us the entire day. We had this day observed specimens of the Unio and some other species of fresh-water shells along the shore. And of birds, besides the duck, plover, and loon, which frequent the water, we noticed the thrush, robin, blackbird, and crow. The comparative coolness of the day rendered the annoyance from mosquitos less severe than we had found them the preceding day. The night on this sandy and bleak elevation proved cool, with a heavy dew, which resulted in a dense fog in the morning. We found ice on the bottoms of the canoes, which are turned up at night, of the thickness of a knife-blade.