The Daily Gate City

St. Paul, Minn., July 16, 1867.
Dear Sabbath School: How are you all? I am up here in Minnesota.
The wonders of the river would be a good subject for some of you to write on. It talks, laughs, smiles, cries, joys and sorrows, without ever saying a word. Do you understand that? If you do not, think about it, and tell me what you think when I get back. Thinking is your privilege as well as mine, and you must all learn to think too as some of the very little boys or girls would say. Writing something of your own will help you to think, and the sooner you learn to write the better. All who know how to write hold up your hands and be counted. (The Secretary must put that down). Now all who will try to write as fast as they can hold up hands and be counted. Very good.
But that is not what I begun to write to you. As many as are in favor of hearing about my boat ride up the river, say "aye."
All right; that is if you have all voted.
Supposing you have, and are listening with your brightest smiles and happiest faces, I will tell you.
First, it was on the water. Are you fond of boating? There is something very fine and grand about it, when you are able to enjoy it. Then to spend days on the boat, to live there, to eat and sleep and walk about there, to go to bed at night in a cosy bed, and to get up in the morning and find yourself hundred miles on your way. All this is very fine, and just what I did on the steamer Dubuque. It is the way I came six hundred miles up the Mississippi river, from Keokuk to St. Paul. Very soon after we lost sight of the bluffs, where some of you live, it grew dark. There were two berths in my room.
When I retired in the lower berth there was one man in the upper one. When I woke up in the morning there was another man in it. Can you tell how that was?
We had been going and stopping all the night, and one of my room mates had gotten out at Burlington, the other had gotten on. One must get used to such doings on steamboats. The next day was the Fourth of July, and I suppose we had a hundred and fifty flags flying from our deck. Before the passengers were up some one had gone around and nailed up the beautiful little flags to almost every place that would hold one. I say "little," because they were nearly all small, such as you might have handled, but then they were our dear, bright, starry flags, and I felt proud of them, something like a boy or girl with new shoes, or bonnet on, and who says to everyone, "Look at my shoes," "Look at my pretty bonnet."
Yes, I just felt like strutting up and down that deck and saying to every town we passed, "look at our flags," and if they did not show flags enough themselves I felt hurt, because it seemed to me everybody ought to have one. I keep a new one about as large as the palm of my hand, and I would not part with it. When I was away off in the East I had a larger one with me. It is better to carry the flag securely in your heart than to make any other show of it. It is to love it, and honor it, and guard it sacredly. Every boy and girl of the United States should do this, because there is no flag under the sun that represents so great and good a government as ours. I say it is not important to make much outward show but such show whoever wears our bright banner next his heart is apt to show it on the Fourth of July. As we came up the river that day, while so many were out on pic-nics, with plays and speeches, and so on, I wanted to see a flag flying from every window, and here and there we saw them. As we drew near Muscatine, just after breakfast, I stood on the upper deck, near a young man, bronzed by the sun and a little lame, who said, "Is that Muscatine river?" I replied, "Yes, sir:" Then I found him out. He was an ex-soldier-had not been home since he enlisted in sixty one, had been in many dangers; had lost his father and mother, who died in his absence, and was now on his way to that home from which he had been away so long, and from which two had been taken, the two who were so dear to him. He, in battle was kept alive-they at home were wrapped in the winding sheet. My heart was drawn to that young man. At Muscatine we saw a number of flags flying. Among them one all torn and blackened. That the soldier saw first, and pointed out to me. That flag had a history all its own. There the boys fired at us! Fired with fire crackers and pistols that made a loud noise without doing any damage. After that we had "cheers and took aboard a party of excursionists, and left on our way, right proudly fluttering one hundred flags and over in the breeze. Once or twice I unwrapped a flag that was folded around its staff, that it might flutter, and I felt like kissing every one of them. By noon that day we were at Davenport and Rock Island. Here again we saw a good deal of the Fourth, and a large crowd of pic-nicers on the Island. They seemed glad to see us pass the bridge, about which I would like to tell you, but have not time now. Up, up the river we came. Again it was night, and at one or two stations we saw a display of fireworks. The day after was Friday. The largest town we passed was Dubuque. All that day the scenery was enchanting. The river wound through many Islands, between high hills and bluffs. Sometimes we swept very near them. All the while they were turning to us some new face of beauty, and when the sun went down the way the trees and hills trembled and danced as reflected on the bright water was wonderful. At times the rolling river banks drew near together ahead of us as if to meet, so we could not see where the river ran; but as we floated on the green banks opened and we had no obstruction. O, it was charming to sit on deck and view it by the hour. Again it was night. In the morning it was Saturday, and that night, between six and seven, we saw another cluster city they call St Paul. About us I may tell you at another time. I hope this letter is not too long.
Lovingly, your friend,
J. R. EFFINGER.