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WE left for St. Louis in the 'City of Baton Rouge,' on adelightfully hot day, but with the main purpose of my visit butlamely accomplished. I had hoped to hunt up and talk with ahundred steamboatmen, but got so pleasantly involved in thesocial life of the town that I got nothing more than merefive-minute talks with a couple of dozen of the craft.

I was on the bench of the pilot-house when we backed out and'straightened up' for the start—the boat pausing for a 'goodready,' in the old-fashioned way, and the black smoke piling outof the chimneys equally in the old-fashioned way. Then we beganto gather momentum, and presently were fairly under way andbooming along. It was all as natural and familiar—and so werethe shoreward sights—as if there had been no break in my riverlife. There was a 'cub,' and I judged that he would take thewheel now; and he did. Captain Bixby stepped into thepilot-house. Presently the cub closed up on the rank of steamships. Hemade me nervous, for he allowed too much water to show betweenour boat and the ships. I knew quite well what was going tohappen, because I could date back in my own life an

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