I have said the “great valley,” and well it deserves the appellation.  It contains as many square miles, with more tillable ground than the whole continent of Europe.  It measures about 1,341,649 square miles, and is therefore six times larger than France.  And this valley is as rich as it is extensive.  It is the “fat” valley.  Never did human eye behold a finer soil, or more luxuriant productions.  The treasures beneath the surface are as precious as those above.  The lead and copper mines are among the best in the world.  Iron and coal also abound.  Building materials, of beauty and strength, adapted to form cottages for the poor or palaces for the rich, are not wanting.  Nature has here furnished in lavish profusion everything necessary for converting the wilderness into smiling fields, studded with populous cities.

But we are not yet within the great valley.  We are only at its entrance, sailing up the “father of waters,” against the stream, at the rate of four or five miles an hour.  It is usual for sailing-vessels to be towed by steam-tugs to their destination; but, having a fair breeze, and no tug at hand, we were indebted to our sails alone.  The motion was exceedingly pleasant, after the tossings we had had in the Gulf of Mexico.  The vessel glided smoothly along, and new objects presented themselves continually on either hand.

My enjoyment of the scenery, however, was soon marred by an attack of fever and ague, which sent me below.  While I was down, several steam-tugs towing vessels down the river met us.  Their unearthly groans filled me with terror.  Their noise was not that of puff—­puff —­puff—­puff, like all the other steamers that I had ever heard, but something composed of a groan, a grunt, and a growl—­deep-drawn, as from the very caverns of Vulcan, and that at awfully-solemn intervals,—­grunt—­grunt—­grunt—­grunt!  This peculiarity, I was told, arose from their “high-pressure” engines.  The sound, thus explained, brought to my recollection all the dreadful stories of boiler explosions with which the very name of the Mississippi had become associated in my mind.  But (thought I) they have surely learned wisdom from experience, and are become more skilful or more cautious than they used to be!

While I was engaged with these reflections, our captain came down, and handed me a couple of New Orleans papers, which he had just received from the pilot.  Here was a treat; and, feeling a little better, I began with eagerness to open one of them out.  It was the New Orleans Bee of January 23; and, horresco referens, the first thing that caught my eye was the following paragraph:—­