From this point, there are about six hundred miles in one continuous stretch of navigation, up to the city of St. Paul.  On this upper river a smaller class of steamers are usually employed; though, at good stages of water, the larger boats are abundant; and, indeed, one of the most important lines in the upper river, the Northwestern Union Packet Company, employs five large steamers, which run between St. Louis and St. Paul, except in the very dry seasons.  The small steamers, so called, are really large and commodious; but so constructed—­as are in fact all of the steamers plying on our western rivers—­that they draw but little water, being large and nearly flat-bottomed, sitting on the surface like a duck, and moving along, when lightly loaded, with apparent ease and at a comparatively high rate of speed.

It is always a pleasing reflection to the tourist, and a comforting one to the invalid, to know that at least a portion of their journey may be performed on board of a well-kept and convenient steamship.  They contrast so favorably with the dusty train, that we wonder the latter are half as well patronized as they are, when the two means of conveyance are running on parallel lines.  But then we know very well that the man of business and people in haste do that which saves most time, regardless entirely of themselves, and more frequently of their neighbors, who have, in consequence of open windows, taken a thousand colds, and suffered pains, neuralgic and rheumatic, sufficient to have atoned for the sins of a world of such as these—­their inconsiderate fellow-travellers.  Then the quantity of dust and smoke and cinders to be swallowed and endured, the damage to eyes of those who would beguile the mind into that forgetfulness of self; so painfully reminded of both the strait-jacket and the old-time, cruel stocks.  Then the utter obliviousness to all hygienic law in the packing of a score or more of people, like so many herrings in a box, into sleeping cars, over-heated and worse ventilated, and not—­if measured by the rules of any common sense—­more than sufficient for a fourth of the number occupying.  How often have we risen in the morning, after spending the night in this manner, with a feeling akin to that which we fancy would come from being knocked in the head with a sack of meal, then gently stewed, and all out of pure fraternal regard to supply any deficiencies in our original bakings.  The operation is certainly quite neat, and entirely successful, since all who have tried it are left in no sort of doubt as to their having been, at least once, thoroughly cooked.  Perhaps a philosophical view is best, and all feel grateful for the double service rendered, while the charge for transportation only is incurred.