I RETURN TO MY MUTTONS,

219

steeple, much too diminutive in its proportions, and surmounted by
sundry ornaments ' which the unimaginative Scotchman found him-
self * quite unable to describe ;' and therefore was grateful when a
German tourist helped him out with the exclamation—6 By —, they
look exactly like bed-posts !' St. Louis is well equipped with stately
and noble public buildings now, and the little church, which the
people used to be so proud of, losfc its importance a long time ago.
Still, this would not surprise 3Ir. Murray, if he could come back;
for he prophesied the coining greatness of St. Louis with strong
confidence.

The further we drove in our inspection-tour, the more sensibly I

ASLEEP, IN SOUNDLESS VACANCY.
realized how the city had grown since I had seen it last; changes in
detail became steadily more apparent and frequent than at first, too :
changes uniformly evidencing progress, energy, prosperity*
But the change of changes was on the 6 levee.' This time, a
departure from the rule. Half a dozen sound-asleep steamboats where
I used to see a solid mile of wide-awake ones ! This was melancholy,
this was woful. The absence of the pervading and jocund steamboat-
man from the billiard-saloon was explained. He was absent because
he is no more. His occupation is gone, his power has passed away,
he is absorbed into the common herd, he grinds at the mill, a shorn
Samson and inconspicuous. Half a dozen lifeless steamboats, a mile
of empty wharves, a negro fatigued with whiskey stretched asleep, in