By damning those we have no mind to,”—
as Hudibras says.
“There is none good: no, not one.” We have all committed bad deeds, of some kind or other, whether they come within the pale of the law or not. If you demand strict justice, look to yourself. “Use every man after his desert,” says Hamlet, “and who shall ’scape whipping?”
My pious friends, remember that none of you are quite perfect. Remember, that if there is a God,—“And that there is, all Nature cries aloud!”—His eye is upon you; and if you cannot tolerate your fellow-creatures, simply because their sins happen to be of a different class from yours—though probably no worse—how can you expect Him to bear with you?
I did not remove from Saint Louis for four weeks, and during that time made a number of little excursions into the interior of the state, and also into the state of Illinois, which lies on the east side of the river.
I liked the “Mound City” very well. As it may not be generally known why Saint Louis is styled the “Mound City,” I will state that it is because the ground on which it is built was once occupied by numerous artificial mounds, supposed to have been built by the Indians.
It may not be out of place, either, to say a word regarding the pronunciation of the name of the city. I observed that all the citizens give it the old French pronunciation—that is, Saint Loo-ee—the final “s” not being sounded. It should be so pronounced by all, as the citizens of a place are generally accepted as authority in such matters. I observed the same fact in Louisville, Kentucky. The citizens there pronounce it Lou-ee-ville. It would sound harsh to them to hear it pronounced as it is spelled—Lou-is-ville. The sibilant sound of the “s” would make the drums of their ears quiver.
I was not at first favorably impressed with the water in Saint Louis; but I soon became fond even of that. The water is taken from the Mississippi river, and is always very muddy. Let an ordinary bucketful of it stand awhile, and an inch of “mire” will settle on the bottom. This muddy state of the fluid is owing to the turbid Missouri river, which empties into the Mississippi twenty miles above Saint Louis. Chemically, however, this water has been pronounced, by scientific men, the purest in the country. It is said to be perfectly free from all deleterious minerals, and, when the mud is taken from it, is as nearly pure water as can be produced.
The fire arrangements in Saint Louis, as in most western cities, are very imperfect. While there, it was my luck one day—and I had had the same luck in Louisville, where I made the same observations—to stand in the immediate presence of a destructive fire, when it first broke out. A heavy volume of black smoke rolled up toward the blue sky, the flames burst out through roofs and windows, and leaped for mad joy, walls crumbled down at their leisure, and I think that twenty-five minutes or half-an-hour elapsed before any steamer or hose-carriage made its appearance. I do not attach so much blame to the firemen themselves—although they are not so active as New York or Philadelphia firemen—as to the deficiency of the force. On this occasion I was told that the same firemen had been working all the afternoon, at a fire in a distant part of the city, and I could not wonder that they were a little tardy. Their force should be at least doubled—but I think they will realize this ere long. Louisville and Saint Louis are now fast recovering from the paralyzing effects of the recent unhappy war; they do not lack enterprise; and I predict that in a few years their arrangements for protecting property against the flames will be equal to those of the eastern cities.