Among our new advertisements is one of the Emerson House, East St. Cloud. Any one coming from St. Anthony to St. Cloud by stage, stops at the Emerson House and crosses from thence by ferry. We arrived there late at might, to find the house full and running over. The old gentleman tried hard to get rid of us by sending men to blow the ferry horn telling us, without any bows or scrapes, grinning smiles or fawning compliments, that he had no place for us. There were twenty men of the Red River train in the house beside other travelers, and he looked moody and nonplussed. We were destitute of that article deemed so essential to ladies traveling, a protector, but looked in his face and felt perfectly safe, and sure of any accomodation it was in his power to give. So, after he scolded the driver and ferryman, and scratched his head and wondered what he should do, he gave up his own room to our use, very much as Paddy gave the traveler his coat, "to get it out of the way." We slept well, and his bill in the morning gave no evidence of his having put himself to inconvenience. We set the old Col. down as a model western host, one who can safely be trusted with one's "things," bandboxes, babies and bundles, one who will give reliable information to strangers, use them well while it suits them to stay, but uses no arts to detain them for the sake of making bills.