Speculations and ConclusionsWE reached St. Paul, at the head of navigation of the Mississippi,and there our voyage of two thousand miles from New Orleans ended. It isabout a ten-day trip by steamer. It can probably be done quicker by rail.

I judge so because I know that one may go by rail from St. Louis to Hannibal--a distance of at least a hundred and twenty miles--in seven hours.

This is better than walking; unless one is in a hurry.

The season being far advanced when we were in New Orleans, the rosesand magnolia blossoms were falling; but here in St. Paul it was the snow,In New Orleans we had caught an occasional withering breath from overa crater, apparently; here in St. Paul we caught a frequent benumbingone from over a glacier, apparently.

But I wander from my theme. St. Paul is a wonderful town.

It is put together in solid blocks of honest brick and stone,and has the air of intending to stay. Its post-office was establishedthirty-six years ago; and by and by, when the postmaster receiveda letter, he carried it to Washington, horseback, to inquire whatwas to be done with it. Such is the legend. Two frame houses werebuilt that year, and several persons were added to the population.

A recent number of the leading St. Paul paper, the 'Pioneer Press,'

gives some statistics which furnish a vivid contrast to that oldstate of things, to wit: Population, autumn of the present year(1882), 71,000; number of letters handled, first half ofthe year, 1,209,387; number of houses built during three-quartersof the year, 989; their cost, $3,186,000. The increase of lettersover the corresponding six months of last year was fifty per cent.

Last year the new buildings added to the city cost above $4,500,000.

St. Paul's strength lies in her commerce--I mean his commerce.

He is a manufacturing city, of course--all the cities of thatregion are--but he is peculiarly strong in the matter of commerce.

Last year his jobbing trade amounted to upwards of $52,000,000.

He has a custom-house, and is building a costly capitol to replacethe one recently burned--for he is the capital of the State.

He has churches without end; and not the cheap poor kind,but the kind that the rich Protestant puts up, the kind thatthe poor Irish 'hired-girl' delights to erect. What a passionfor building majestic churches the Irish hired-girl has.

It is a fine thing for our architecture but too often we enjoyher stately fanes without giving her a grateful thought.

In fact, instead of reflecting that 'every brick and every stonein this beautiful edifice represents an ache or a pain, and a handfulof sweat, and hours of heavy fatigue, contributed by the backand forehead and bones of poverty,' it is our habit to forgetthese things entirely, and merely glorify the mighty temple itself,without vouchsafing one praiseful thought to its humble builder,whose rich heart and withered purse it symbolizes.

This is a land of libraries and schools. St. Paul has three public libraries,and they contain, in the aggregate, some forty thousand books.

He has one hundred and sixteen school-houses, and pays out more thanseventy thousand dollars a year in teachers' salaries.

There is an unusually fine railway station; so large is it,in fact, that it seemed somewhat overdone, in the matterof size, at first; but at the end of a few months it wasperceived that the mistake was distinctly the other way.

The error is to be corrected.

The town stands on high ground; it is about seven hundred feetabove the sea level. It is so high that a wide view of riverand lowland is offered from its streets.

It is a very wonderful town indeed, and is not finished yet.

All the streets are obstructed with building material,and this is being compacted into houses as fast as possible,to make room for more--for other people are anxious to build,as soon as they can get the use of the streets to pile up their bricksand stuff in.

How solemn and beautiful is the thought, that the earliest pioneerof civilization, the van-leader of civilization, is never the steamboat,never the railroad, never the newspaper, never the Sabbath-school,never the missionary--but always whiskey! Such is the case.

Look history over; you will see. The missionary comes after the whiskey--I mean he arrives after the whiskey has arrived; next comesthe poor immigrant, with ax and hoe and rifle; next, the trader;next, the miscellaneous rush; next, the gambler, the desperado,the highwayman, and all their kindred in sin of both sexes; and next,the smart chap who has bought up an old grant that covers all the land;this brings the lawyer tribe; the vigilance committee brings the undertaker.

All these interests bring the newspaper; the newspaper starts up politicsand a railroad; all hands turn to and build a church and a jail--and behold, civilization is established for ever in the land.

But whiskey, you see, was the van-leader in this beneficent work.

It always is. It was like a foreigner--and excusable in a foreigner--to be ignorant of this great truth, and wander off into astronomyto borrow a symbol. But if he had been conversant with the facts,he would have said--Westward the Jug of Empire takes its way.

This great van-leader arrived upon the ground which St. Paul now occupies,in June 1837. Yes, at that date, Pierre Parrant, a Canadian, built thefirst cabin, uncorked his jug, and began to sell whiskey to the Indians.

The result is before us.

All that I have said of the newness, briskness, swift progress,wealth, intelligence, fine and substantial architecture,and general slash and go, and energy of St. Paul, will applyto his near neighbor, Minneapolis--with the additionthat the latter is the bigger of the two cities.

These extraordinary towns were ten miles apart, a few months ago,but were growing so fast that they may possibly be joined now,and getting along under a single mayor. At any rate, within five yearsfrom now there will be at least such a substantial ligament of buildingsstretching between them and uniting them that a stranger will not be ableto tell where the one Siamese twin leaves off and the other begins.

Combined, they will then number a population of two hundred andfifty thousand, if they continue to grow as they are now growing.

Thus, this center of population at the head of Mississippi navigation,will then begin a rivalry as to numbers, with that center of populationat the foot of it--New Orleans.

Minneapolis is situated at the falls of St. Anthony, which stretch acrossthe river, fifteen hundred feet, and have a fall of eighty-two feet--a waterpower which, by art, has been made of inestimable value,business-wise, though somewhat to the damage of the Falls as a spectacle,or as a background against which to get your photograph taken.

Thirty flouring-mills turn out two million barrels of the verychoicest of flour every year; twenty sawmills produce two hundredmillion feet of lumber annually; then there are woolen mills,cotton mills, paper and oil mills; and sash, nail, furniture,barrel, and other factories, without number, so to speak.

The great flouring-mills here and at St. Paul use the 'new process'

and mash the wheat by rolling, instead of grinding it.

Sixteen railroads meet in Minneapolis, and sixty-five passenger trains arriveand depart daily. In this place, as in St. Paul, journalism thrives.

Here there are three great dailies, ten weeklies, and three monthlies.

There is a university, with four hundred students--and, better still,its good efforts are not confined to enlightening the one sex.

There are sixteen public schools, with buildings which cost $500,000;there are six thousand pupils and one hundred and twenty-eight teachers.

There are also seventy churches existing, and a lot more projected.

The banks aggregate a capital of $3,000,000, and the wholesale jobbing tradeof the town amounts to $50,000,000 a year.

Near St. Paul and Minneapolis are several points of interest--Fort Snelling, a fortress occupying a river-bluff a hundredfeet high; the falls of Minnehaha, White-bear Lake, and so forth.

The beautiful falls of Minnehaha are sufficiently celebrated--they do not need a lift from me, in that direction.

The White-bear Lake is less known. It is a lovely sheet of water,and is being utilized as a summer resort by the wealth and fashionof the State. It has its club-house, and its hotel, with the modernimprovements and conveniences; its fine summer residences;and plenty of fishing, hunting, and pleasant drives.

There are a dozen minor summer resorts around about St. Pauland Minneapolis, but the White-bear Lake is the resort.

Connected with White-bear Lake is a most idiotic Indian legend.

I would resist the temptation to print it here, if I could,but the task is beyond my strength. The guide-book names the preserverof the legend, and compliments his 'facile pen.' Without furthercomment or delay then, let us turn the said facile pen looseupon the reader--A LEGEND OF WHITE-BEAR LAKE.

Every spring, for perhaps a century, or as long as there has been a nationof red men, an island in the middle of White-bear Lake has been visitedby a band of Indians for the purpose of making maple sugar.

Tradition says that many springs ago, while upon this island,a young warrior loved and wooed the daughter of his chief,and it is said, also, the maiden loved the warrior.

He had again and again been refused her hand by her parents,the old chief alleging that he was no brave, and his old consortcalled him a woman!

The sun had again set upon the 'sugar-bush,' and the bright moon rosehigh in the bright blue heavens, when the young warrior took down hisflute and went out alone, once more to sing the story of his love,the mild breeze gently moved the two gay feathers in his head-dress,and as he mounted on the trunk of a leaning tree, the damp snow fellfrom his feet heavily. As he raised his flute to his lips, his blanketslipped from his well-formed shoulders, and lay partly on the snow beneath.

He began his weird, wild love-song, but soon felt that he was cold,and as he reached back for his blanket, some unseen hand laid it gentlyon his shoulders; it was the hand of his love, his guardian angel.

She took her place beside him, and for the present they were happy;for the Indian has a heart to love, and in this pride he is as nobleas in his own freedom, which makes him the child of the forest.

As the legend runs, a large white-bear, thinking, perhaps, that polar snowsand dismal winter weather extended everywhere, took up his journey southward.

He at length approached the northern shore of the lake which now bearshis name, walked down the bank and made his way noiselessly throughthe deep heavy snow toward the island. It was the same spring ensuingthat the lovers met. They had left their first retreat, and were nowseated among the branches of a large elm which hung far over the lake.

(The same tree is still standing, and excites universal curiosityand interest.) For fear of being detected, they talked almost in a whisper,and now, that they might get back to camp in good time and therebyavoid suspicion, they were just rising to return, when the maiden uttereda shriek which was heard at the camp, and bounding toward the young brave,she caught his blanket, but missed the direction of her foot and fell,bearing the blanket with her into the great arms of the ferocious monster.

Instantly every man, woman, and child of the band were upon the bank,but all unarmed. Cries and wailings went up from every mouth.

What was to be done'? In the meantime this white and savage beast heldthe breathless maiden in his huge grasp, and fondled with his preciousprey as if he were used to scenes like this. One deafening yell fromthe lover warrior is heard above the cries of hundreds of his tribe,and dashing away to his wigwam he grasps his faithful knife,returns almost at a single bound to the scene of fear and fright,rushes out along the leaning tree to the spot where his treasure fell,and springing with the fury of a mad panther, pounced upon his prey.

The animal turned, and with one stroke of his huge paw broughtthe lovers heart to heart, but the next moment the warrior, with oneplunge of the blade of his knife, opened the crimson sluices of death,and the dying bear relaxed his hold.

That night there was no more sleep for the band or the lovers,and as the young and the old danced about the carcass of the dead monster,the gallant warrior was presented with another plume, and ereanother moon had set he had a living treasure added to his heart.

Their children for many years played upon the skin of the white-bear--from which the lake derives its name--and the maiden and the braveremembered long the fearful scene and rescue that made them one,for Kis-se-me-pa and Ka-go-ka could never forget their fearfulencounter with the huge monster that came so near sending them tothe happy hunting-ground.

It is a perplexing business. First, she fell down out of the tree--she and the blanket; and the bear caught her and fondled her--her and the blanket; then she fell up into the tree again--leaving the blanket; meantime the lover goes war-whoopinghome and comes back 'heeled,' climbs the tree, jumps down onthe bear, the girl jumps down after him--apparently, for shewas up the tree--resumes her place in the bear's arms alongwith the blanket, the lover rams his knife into the bear,and saves--whom, the blanket? No--nothing of the sort.

You get yourself all worked up and excited about that blanket,and then all of a sudden, just when a happy climax seemsimminent you are let down flat--nothing saved but the girl.

Whereas, one is not interested in the girl; she is notthe prominent feature of the legend. Nevertheless, there youare left, and there you must remain; for if you livea thousand years you will never know who got the blanket.

A dead man could get up a better legend than this one.

I don't mean a fresh dead man either; I mean a man that's been deadweeks and weeks.

We struck the home-trail now, and in a few hours were in thatastonishing Chicago--a city where they are always rubbing the lamp,and fetching up the genii, and contriving and achieving new impossibilities.

It is hopeless for the occasional visitor to try to keep up with Chicago--she outgrows his prophecies faster than he can make them.

She is always a novelty; for she is never the Chicago you saw when youpassed through the last time. The Pennsylvania road rushed us to NewYork without missing schedule time ten minutes anywhere on the route;and there ended one of the most enjoyable five-thousand-mile journeys I haveever had the good fortune to make.

APPENDIX A(FROM THE NEW ORLEANS TIMES DEMOCRAT OF MARCH 29, 1882.)VOYAGE OF THE TIMES-DEMOCRAT'S RELIEF BOAT THROUGH THE INUNDATEDREGIONSIT was nine o'clock Thursday morning when the 'Susie'

left the Mississippi and entered Old River, or what isnow called the mouth of the Red. Ascending on the left,a flood was pouring in through and over the levees onthe Chandler plantation, the most northern point in PointeCoupee parish. The water completely covered the place,although the levees had given way but a short time before.

The stock had been gathered in a large flat-boat, where,without food, as we passed, the animals were huddled together,waiting for a boat to tow them off. On the right-hand sideof the river is Turnbull's Island, and on it is a large plantationwhich formerly was pronounced one of the most fertile in the State.

The water has hitherto allowed it to go scot-free in usual floods,but now broad sheets of water told only where fields were.

The top of the protecting levee could be seen here and there,but nearly all of it was submerged.

The trees have put on a greener foliage since the water has poured in,and the woods look bright and fresh, but this pleasant aspect to the eyeis neutralized by the interminable waste of water. We pass mile after mile,and it is nothing but trees standing up to their branches in water.

A water-turkey now and again rises and flies ahead into the long avenueof silence. A pirogue sometimes flits from the bushes and crossesthe Red River on its way out to the Mississippi, but the sad-facedpaddlers never turn their heads to look at our boat. The puffingof the boat is music in this gloom, which affects one most curiously.

It is not the gloom of deep forests or dark caverns, but a peculiar kind ofsolemn silence and impressive awe that holds one perforce to its recognition.

We passed two negro families on a raft tied up in the willows this morning.

They were evidently of the well-to-do class, as they had a supply of mealand three or four hogs with them. Their rafts were about twenty feet square,and in front of an improvised shelter earth had been placed, on which theybuilt their fire.

The current running down the Atchafalaya was very swift,the Mississippi showing a predilection in that direction,which needs only to be seen to enforce the opinion of thatriver's desperate endeavors to find a short way to the Gulf.

Small boats, skiffs, pirogues, etc., are in great demand,and many have been stolen by piratical negroes,who take them where they will bring the greatest price.

From what was told me by Mr. C. P. Ferguson, a planternear Red River Landing, whose place has just gone under,there is much suffering in the rear of that place.

The negroes had given up all thoughts of a crevasse there,as the upper levee had stood so long, and when it didcome they were at its mercy. On Thursday a number weretaken out of trees and off of cabin roofs and brought in,many yet remaining.

One does not appreciate the sight of earth until he has traveledthrough a flood. At sea one does not expect or look for it,but here, with fluttering leaves, shadowy forest aisles, house-topsbarely visible, it is expected. In fact a grave-yard, if the moundswere above water, would be appreciated. The river here is knownonly because there is an opening in the trees, and that is all.

It is in width, from Fort Adams on the left bank of the Mississippito the bank of Rapides Parish, a distance of about sixty miles.

A large portion of this was under cultivation, particularly alongthe Mississippi and back of the Red. When Red River properwas entered, a strong current was running directly across it,pursuing the same direction as that of the Mississippi.

After a run of some hours, Black River was reached.

Hardly was it entered before signs of suffering became visible.

All the willows along the banks were stripped of their leaves.

One man, whom your correspondent spoke to, said that he had had onehundred and fifty head of cattle and one hundred head of hogs.

At the first appearance of water he had started to drivethem to the high lands of Avoyelles, thirty-five miles off,but he lost fifty head of the beef cattle and sixty hogs.

Black River is quite picturesque, even if its shores are under water.

A dense growth of ash, oak, gum, and hickory make the shoresalmost impenetrable, and where one can get a view down someavenue in the trees, only the dim outlines of distant trunkscan be barely distinguished in the gloom.

A few miles up this river, the depth of water on the bankswas fully eight feet, and on all sides could be seen,still holding against the strong current, the tops of cabins.

Here and there one overturned was surrounded by drift-wood, formingthe nucleus of possibly some future island.

In order to save coal, as it was impossible to get that fuel at any pointto be touched during the expedition, a look-out was kept for a wood-pile.

On rounding a point a pirogue, skilfully paddled by a youth, shot out,and in its bow was a girl of fifteen, of fair face, beautiful black eyes,and demure manners. The boy asked for a paper, which was thrown to him,and the couple pushed their tiny craft out into the swell of the boat.

Presently a little girl, not certainly over twelve years, paddled outin the smallest little canoe and handled it with all the deftnessof an old voyageur. The little one looked more like an Indianthan a white child, and laughed when asked if she were afraid.

She had been raised in a pirogue and could go anywhere.

She was bound out to pick willow leaves for the stock, and she pointedto a house near by with water three inches deep on the floors.

At its back door was moored a raft about thirty feet square,with a sort of fence built upon it, and inside of this some sixteencows and twenty hogs were standing. The family did not complain,except on account of losing their stock, and promptly brought asupply of wood in a flat.

From this point to the Mississippi River, fifteen miles, there is not a spotof earth above water, and to the westward for thirty-five miles thereis nothing but the river's flood. Black River had risen during Thursday,the 23rd, 1 inches, and was going up at night still.

As we progress up the river habitations become more frequent,but are yet still miles apart. Nearly all of them are deserted,and the out-houses floated off. To add to the gloom, almost everyliving thing seems to have departed, and not a whistle of a birdnor the bark of the squirrel can be heard in this solitude.

Sometimes a morose gar will throw his tail aloft and disappear in the river,but beyond this everything is quiet--the quiet of dissolution.

Down the river floats now a neatly whitewashed hen-house, thena cluster of neatly split fence-rails, or a door and a bloated carcass,solemnly guarded by a pair of buzzards, the only bird to be seen,which feast on the carcass as it bears them along. A picture-framein which there was a cheap lithograph of a soldier on horseback,as it floated on told of some hearth invaded by the water and despoiledof this ornament.

At dark, as it was not prudent to run, a place alongside the woods was huntedand to a tall gum-tree the boat was made fast for the night.

A pretty quarter of the moon threw a pleasant light over forest and river,making a picture that would be a delightful piece of landscape study,could an artist only hold it down to his canvas. The motion ofthe engines had ceased, the puffing of the escaping steam was stilled,and the enveloping silence closed upon us, and such silence it was!

Usually in a forest at night one can hear the piping of frogs,the hum of insects, or the dropping of limbs; but here nature was dumb.

The dark recesses, those aisles into this cathedral, gave forth no sound,and even the ripplings of the current die away.

At daylight Friday morning all hands were up, and up the Black we started.

The morning was a beautiful one, and the river, which is remarkablystraight, put on its loveliest garb. The blossoms of the haw perfumedthe air deliciously, and a few birds whistled blithely along the banks.

The trees were larger, and the forest seemed of older growth than below.

More fields were passed than nearer the mouth, but the same scenepresented itself--smoke-houses drifting out in the pastures, negro quartersanchored in confusion against some oak, and the modest residence justshowing its eaves above water. The sun came up in a glory of carmine,and the trees were brilliant in their varied shades of green.

Not a foot of soil is to be seen anywhere, and the water is apparently growingdeeper and deeper, for it reaches up to the branches of the largest trees.

All along, the bordering willows have been denuded of leaves, showing how longthe people have been at work gathering this fodder for their animals. An oldman in a pirogue was asked how the willow leaves agreed with his cattle.

He stopped in his work, and with an ominous shake of his head replied:

'Well, sir, it 's enough to keep warmth in their bodies and that'sall we expect, but it's hard on the hogs, particularly the small ones.

They is dropping off powerful fast. But what can you do? It 'sall we've got.'

At thirty miles above the mouth of Black River the waterextends from Natchez on the Mississippi across to the pinehills of Louisiana, a distance of seventy-three miles,and there is hardly a spot that is not ten feet under it.

The tendency of the current up the Black is toward the west.

In fact, so much is this the case, the waters of Red Riverhave been driven down from toward the Calcasieu country,and the waters of the Black enter the Red some fifteen milesabove the mouth of the former, a thing never before seen by eventhe oldest steamboatmen. The water now in sight of us is entirelyfrom the Mississippi.

Up to Trinity, or rather Troy, which is but a shortdistance below, the people have nearly all moved out,those remaining having enough for their present personal needs.

Their cattle, though, are suffering and dying off quite fast,as the confinement on rafts and the food they get breeds disease.

After a short stop we started, and soon came to a section wherethere were many open fields and cabins thickly scattered about.

Here were seen more pictures of distress. On the inside of the housesthe inmates had built on boxes a scaffold on which they placedthe furniture. The bed-posts were sawed off on top, as the ceilingwas not more than four feet from the improvised floor. The buildingslooked very insecure, and threatened every moment to float off.

Near the houses were cattle standing breast high in the water,perfectly impassive. They did not move in their places, but stoodpatiently waiting for help to come. The sight was a distressing one,and the poor creatures will be sure to die unless speedily rescued.

Cattle differ from horses in this peculiar quality. A horse,after finding no relief comes, will swim off in search of food,whereas a beef will stand in its tracks until with exhaustion it drops inthe water and drowns.

At half-past twelve o'clock a hail was given from a flat-boatinside the line of the bank. Rounding to we ran alongside,and General York stepped aboard. He was just then engagedin getting off stock, and welcomed the 'Times-Democrat'

boat heartily, as he said there was much need for her.

He said that the distress was not exaggerated in the least.

People were in a condition it was difficult even for one to imagine.

The water was so high there was great danger of their housesbeing swept away. It had already risen so high that it wasapproaching the eaves, and when it reaches this point there isalways imminent risk of their being swept away. If this occurs,there will be great loss of life. The General spoke of the gallantwork of many of the people in their attempts to save their stock,but thought that fully twenty-five per cent. had perished.

Already twenty-five hundred people had received rations from Troy,on Black River, and he had towed out a great many cattle,but a very great quantity remained and were in dire need.

The water was now eighteen inches higher than in 1874, and there wasno land between Vidalia and the hills of Catahoula.

At two o'clock the 'Susie' reached Troy, sixty-five miles abovethe mouth of Black River. Here on the left comes in Little River;just beyond that the Ouachita, and on the right the Tensas.

These three rivers form the Black River. Troy, or a portionof it, is situated on and around three large Indian mounds,circular in shape, which rise above the present waterabout twelve feet. They are about one hundred and fiftyfeet in diameter, and are about two hundred yards apart.

The houses are all built between these mounds, and hence are allflooded to a depth of eighteen inches on their floors.

These elevations, built by the aborigines, hundreds of years ago,are the only points of refuge for miles. When we arrived we found themcrowded with stock, all of which was thin and hardly able to stand up.

They were mixed together, sheep, hogs, horses, mules, and cattle.

One of these mounds has been used for many years as the grave-yard,and to-day we saw attenuated cows lying against the marble tomb-stones,chewing their cud in contentment, after a meal of corn furnishedby General York. Here, as below, the remarkable skill of the womenand girls in the management of the smaller pirogues was noticed.

Children were paddling about in these most ticklish crafts with all thenonchalance of adepts.

General York has put into operation a perfect system in regardto furnishing relief. He makes a personal inspection of the placewhere it is asked, sees what is necessary to be done, and then,having two boats chartered, with flats, sends them promptlyto the place, when the cattle are loaded and towed to the pinehills and uplands of Catahoula. He has made Troy his headquarters,and to this point boats come for their supply of feed for cattle.

On the opposite side of Little River, which branches to the leftout of Black, and between it and the Ouachita, is situatedthe town of Trinity, which is hourly threatened with destruction.

It is much lower than Troy, and the water is eight and ninefeet deep in the houses. A strong current sweeps through it,and it is remarkable that all of its houses have not gone before.

The residents of both Troy and Trinity have been cared for, yet someof their stock have to be furnished with food.

As soon as the 'Susie' reached Troy, she was turned over to General York,and placed at his disposition to carry out the work of relief more rapidly.

Nearly all her supplies were landed on one of the mounds to lighten her,and she was headed down stream to relieve those below. At Tom Hooper's place,a few miles from Troy, a large flat, with about fifty head of stock on board,was taken in tow. The animals were fed, and soon regained some strength.

To-day we go on Little River, where the suffering is greatest.

DOWN BLACK RIVERSaturday Evening, March 25.

We started down Black River quite early, under the direction of General York,to bring out what stock could be reached. Going down river a flatin tow was left in a central locality, and from there men poled her backin the rear of plantations, picking up the animals wherever found.

In the loft of a gin-house there were seventeen head found, and aftera gangway was built they were led down into the flat without difficulty.

Taking a skiff with the General, your reporter was pulled up to a littlehouse of two rooms, in which the water was standing two feet on the floors.

In one of the large rooms were huddled the horses and cows of the place,while in the other the Widow Taylor and her son were seated on a scaffoldraised on the floor. One or two dug-outs were drifting about in the roamready to be put in service at any time. When the flat was brought up,the side of the house was cut away as the only means of gettingthe............