Some boats have a narrow passage connecting the two galleries, but
fitted with a _grille_ door, to prevent intrusion into the harem
gallery; before, the paddle-box, on one side, is the steward's pantry,
and on the other, that indispensable luxury to an American, the barber's
shop; where, at all hours of the day, the free and enlightened, mounted
on throne-like chairs and lofty footstools, stretch their carcases at
full length, to enjoy the tweaking of their noses and the scraping of
their chins, by the artistic nigger who officiates. This distinguished
official is also the solo dispenser of the luxury of oysters, upon which
fish the Anglo-Saxon in this hemisphere is intensely ravenous. It looks
funny enough to a stranger, to see a notice hung up (generally near the
bar), "Oysters to be had in the barber's saloon." Everything is saloon
in America. Above this saloon deck, and its auxiliaries of barber-shop,
gallery, &c., is the hurricane-deck, whereon is a small collection of
cabins for the captain, pilots, &c.--there are always two of the latter,
and their pay each, the captain told me, is forty pounds a month--and
towering above these cabins is the wheel-house, lit all round by large
windows, whence all orders to the engineers are readily transmitted by
the sound of a good bell. The remainder of the deck--which is, in
fact, only the roof of the saloon-cabins and gallery--is open to all
those who feel disposed to admire distant views under the soothing
influence of an eternal shower of wood-cinders and soot. These vessels
vary in breadth from thirty-five to fifty feet, and from one hundred and
fifty to--the "Eclipse"--three hundred and sixty-five feet in length;
the saloons extending the whole length, except about thirty feet at each
end. They have obtained the name of "palace-steamers," and at a _coup
d'oeil_ they appear to deserve it, for they are grand and imposing, both
outside and inside; but many an European who has travelled in them will
agree with me in the assertion, that they might, with more propriety, be
termed "palace sepulchres;" not merely from the loss of life to which
their constant disasters give rise, but also from the contrast between
the grandeur outside and the uncleanliness within, of which latter I
have already given a sketch in my trip from Louisville.

Some idea may be formed of their solidity, when I tell you they are only
calculated to last five years; but at the end of three, it is generally