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below Commerce is all gone but a piece about big enough
for dinner. Lots of buzzards there on wreck of Grand
Tower, fishing for drowned men, etc.

Man living above Jessup timber behind Hat Island
says 29 steamboats have been lost in sight of his house.

Hannibal: Garth's coachman called for me at 10 in-
stead of 7:30—excused himself by saying, "De time is
mos' an hour and a half slower in de country en what it is
in de town—you will be in plenty of time, Boss—some-
times we shoves out early for church, Sunday mawnings,
and fetches up dar right plumb in de middle of de ser-
mon—diffunce in de time—a body can't make no calcula-
tions about it."

Alas! everything was changed in Hannibal—but when
I reached Third or Fourth street the tears burst forth,
for I recognized the mud. It at least was the same—the
same old mud—the mud that Annie Macdonald got
stuck in.

The water above Dubuque is olive green, beautiful and
semi-transparent with the sun on it. Upper Mississippi
the home of superb sunsets.

The bluffs all along up above St. Paul are exquisitely
beautiful. Where the rough broken turreted rocks stand
up against a sky above the steep verdant slope, they are
inexpressibly rich and mellow in color—soft dark brown
mingled with dull green—the very place to make an
artist worship. Remind one of the old houses in Spanish
New Orleans.

Eight years ago boats like the Minneapolis used to go
into St. Paul with 150 people. Men used to say, "Got 28
cars of wheat, Captain!"

"I'll take two o' them."

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