At La Crosse we took steamer up the Mississippi--in the Indian language, the “Great River,” but here a stream not more than 120 yards in width--for St. Paul, in Minnesota. The river was very low, and the steamer--a flat-bottomed, stern-wheel boat, drawing only a few inches of water--frequently stuck fast on the sand bars, giving us an opportunity of seeing how an American river-boat gets over shallows. Two or three men were immediately sent overboard, to fix a large pole. At the top was a pulley, and through this a stout rope was run, one end of which was attached to a cable passed under the boat, the other to her capstan. The latter was then manned, the vessel fairly lifted up, and the stern wheel being put in motion at the same time, she swung over the shoal into deep water. The scenery was very pretty, the river flowing in several channels round wooded islets; along the banks were fine rounded hills, some heavily timbered, others bare and green. When we reached Lake Pippin, an expansion of the Mississippi, some seven or eight miles long, and perhaps a mile in width, we found a most delightful change from the sultry heat we had experienced when shut up in the narrow channel. Here the breeze blew freshly over the water, fish splashed about on every side, and could be seen from the boat, and we were in the midst of a beautiful landscape. Hills and woods surround the lake; and, about half way, a lofty cliff, called the “Maiden’s Rock,” stands out with bold face into the water. It has received its name from an old legend that an Indian maiden, preferring death to a hated suitor forced upon her by her relatives, leaped from the top, and was drowned in the lake below. Beyond Lake Pippin the river became more shallow and difficult, and we were so continually delayed by running aground that we did not reach St. Paul until several hours after dark. St. Paul, the chief city of the State of Minnesota, is the great border town of the North Western States. Beyond, collections of houses called cities dwindle down to even a single hut--an outpost in the wilderness. One of these which we passed on the road, a solitary house, uninhabited, rejoiced in the name of “Breckenridge City;” and another, “Salem City,” was little better.