The South-West, by a Yankee. In Two Volumes. Volume 1

We succeeded in appeasing the ire of the offended janitress, and proceeded across a deserted court covered with short grass, to the principal entrance of the convent, which stands about seventy feet back from the street.

This edifice presents nothing remarkable, except its size, it being about one hundred feet in front, by forty deep. Its aspect is venerable, but extremely plain, the front being entirely destitute of ornament or architectural taste. It is stuccoed, and apparently was once white, but it is now gray with rust and age. It may be called either a French or Spanish building, for it equally evinces both styles of architecture; presenting that anomaly, characteristic of those old structures which give a fine antiquated air to that part of the city. Massive pilasters with heavy cornices, tall, deep windows, huge doorways, and flat roofs, are the distinguishing features of this style of building. Never more than two, the dwellings are usually but one very lofty story in height, and covered with a light yellow stucco, in imitation of dingy-white, rough hewn marble. In internal arrangement and decorations, and external appearance, they differ but little from each other. As we passed under the old, sunken portal, the confused muttering of some hundred treble tongues, mingled, now and then, with a deep bass grumble of authority, burst upon our ears, and intimated our proximity to the place where "young ideas are taught to shoot." Wishing to gratify our curiosity by rambling through the convent's deserted halls and galleries, before we entered the rooms whence the noise proceeded, we ascended a spacious winding stairway; but there was nothing to be seen in the second story, except deserted rooms, and we ascended yet another stair-case to a low room in the attic, formerly the dormitory of the nunnery. While on our return to the first floor, a gentleman, M. Priever, who was, as we afterward ascertained, principal of the public schools of the city, encountered us on the stairs, and politely invited us to visit the different school-rooms within the building. We first accompanied him to the extremity of a long gallery, where he ushered us into a pleasant room, in which a dozen boys were sitting round a table, translating Latin exercises into French. This class, he informed us, he had just taken from the primary school below stairs, to instruct in the elementary classics. From this gentleman we ascertained that there were in the city two primary schools, one within the convent walls, and the other a mile distant, in the northern faubourg. From these two schools, when properly qualified, the pupils are removed into the high, or classic school, kept within the convent. He observed that he had the supervision of these three schools—the high, and two primary—though each had its own particular teacher. The principals of the two convent schools are gentlemen distinguished both for urbanity and literary endowments. In the classical school, pupils can obtain almost every advantage which a collegiate course would confer upon them. The French and Spanish languages form a necessary part of their education; and but few young men resort to northern colleges from New-Orleans. It is the duty of the principal often to visit the primary schools—select from their most promising pupils, those qualified to enter the high school—form them into classes by daily recitations in his own room, (in which employment he was engaged when we entered,) and then pass them over to the teacher of the school they are prepared to enter.

With Mons. P. we visited the classical school, where fifty or sixty young gentlemen were pursuing the higher branches of study. The instructer was a Frenchman, as are all the other teachers. In this, and the other departments, the greater portion of the students also are of French descent; and probably about one-third, in all the schools, are of American parentage. Mons. P. informed me that the latter usually acquired, after being in the school six weeks, or two months, sufficient French for all colloquial purposes. He observed that the majority of the scholars, in all the departments, spoke both languages (French and English,) with great fluency. After hearing two or three classes translate Greek and Latin authors into French, and one or two embryo mathematicians demonstrate Euclid, in the same tongue, we proceeded to the opposite wing of the building, and were ushered into the rattle, clangor, and confusion of the primary department. We were politely received by Mons. Bigot, a Parisian, a fine scholar, and an estimable man. You have visited infant schools for boys, I believe; recall to mind the novel and amusing scenes you there beheld, and you will have an idea of this primary school. The only difference would be, that here the pupils are rough, tearing boys, from fifteen years of age to three. Here, as in the former, they marched and counter-marched, clapped their hands, stamped hard upon the floor, and performed various evolutions for the purpose of circulating the blood, which by sitting too long is apt to stagnate, and render them, particularly in this climate, dull and sleepy. We listened to some of their recitations, which were in the lowest elementary branches, and took our leave under infinite obligations to the politeness and attention of the gentlemanly superintendents.

Besides these, there are private schools for both sexes. The majority of the young ladies are educated by the Ursulines at the convent, in the lower faubourg. Some of the public schools are exclusively for English, and others exclusively for French children. Many pupils are also instructed by private tutors, particularly in the suburbs.

XVI.

In a preceding letter, I have alluded to an intended visit to the rail-way; near which, on my way thither, my last letter left me, in company with B., after having paid a visit to the Ursuline convent. On leaving Ursuline-street, which terminates at the river, we proceeded a short distance, to the rail-road, along the Levée, which was lined with ships, bearing the flags of nearly all the nations of the earth. The length of this rail-way is about five miles, terminating at Lake Pontchartrain. Its advantages to New-Orleans are incalculable. It has been to the city literally "an avenue of wealth" already. The trade carried on through this medium, bears no mean proportion to the river commerce. Ports, heretofore unknown to Orleans, as associated with traffic, carry on, now, a regular and important branch of trade with her. By it, a great trade is carried on with Mobile and other places along the Florida coast, and by the same means, the mails are transported with safety and rapidity. The country between New-Orleans and the nearest shore of the lake, is low, flat, marshy, and covered with a half-drowned and stunted forest. The lake, though near the city, formerly was inaccessible. Vessels laden with their valuable cargoes might arrive at the termination of the lake within sight of the city, but the broad marsh extending between them and the far-off towers of the wished-for mart, might as well have been the cloud-capped Jura, for any means of communication it could afford. But the rail-way has overcome this obstacle: coasting vessels, which traverse the lake in great numbers, can now receive and discharge their cargoes at the foot of the rail-way, upon a long pier extending far out into the lake. The discharged cargoes are piled upon the cars and in twenty minutes are added to the thousand shiploads, heaped upon the Levée; or, placed upon drays, are trundling to every part of the city.

When we arrived at the rail-way, the cars for passengers, eight or ten in number, were standing in a line under a long roof, which covers the end of the rail-way. A long train of baggage or cargo-cars were in the rear of these, all heavily laden. The steam-car, puffing and blowing like a bustling little man in a crowd, seemed impatient to dart forward upon the track. We perceived that all was ready for a start; and barely had time to hasten to the ticket-office, throw down our six "bits" for two tickets, and spring into the only vacant seats in one of the cars, before the first bell rang out the signal for starting.

All the cars were full; including two or three behind, appropriated to coloured gentlemen and ladies. Again the bell gave the final signal; and obedient thereto, our fiery leader moved forward, smoking like a race-horse, slowly and steadily at first—then, faster and faster, till we flew along the track with breathless rapidity. The rail-road, commencing at the Levée, runs for the first half mile through the centre of a broad street, with low detached houses on either side. A mile from the Levée we had left the city and all dwellings behind us, and were flying through the fenceless, uninhabited marshes, where nothing meets the eye but dwarf trees, rank, luxuriant undergrowth, tall, coarse grass, and vines, twisting and winding their long, serpentine folds around the trunks of the trees like huge, loathsome water-snakes. By the watch, we passed a mile-stone every three minutes and a half; and in less than nineteen minutes, arrived at the lake. Here, quite a village of handsome, white-painted hotels, cafés, dwellings, store-houses, and bathing rooms, burst at once upon our view; running past them, we gradually lessened our speed, and finally came to a full stop on the pier, where the rail-road terminates. Here we left the cars, which came thumping against each other successively, as they stopped; but the points of contact being padded, prevented any very violent shock to the occupants. The pier, constructed of piles and firmly planked over, was lined with sloops and schooners, which were taking in and discharging cargo, giving quite a bustling, business-like air to this infant port. Boys, ragged negroes, and gentlemen amateurs, were fishing in great numbers farther out in the lake; others were engaged in the delicate amusement of cray-fishing, while on the right the water was alive with bathers, who, disdaining the confined limits enclosed by the long white bathing-houses, which stretched along the south side of the pier, and yielding to the promptings of a watery ambition, were boldly striking out into the sluggish depths. To the east, the waters of the lake and sky met, presenting an ocean horizon to the untravelled citizens, who can have no other conception of the reality without taking a trip to the Balize. Light craft were skimming its waveless surface, under the influence of a gentle breeze, in all directions. A steamer, bearing the United States mail from Mobile, was seen in the distance, rolling out clouds of black smoke, and ploughing and dashing on her rapid way to the pier.

Retracing our steps to the head of the pier, we entered a very handsome café, or hotel, crowded with men. The eternal dominos were rattling on every table, glasses were ringing against glasses, and voices were heard, in high-toned conversation, in all languages, with mingled oaths and laughter; the noise and confusion were sufficient, without a miracle, to make a deaf man hear. All these persons, probably, were from the city, and had come down to the lake to amuse themselves, or kill an hour. The opposite café was equally crowded; while the billiard-rooms adjoining were filled with spectators and players. Clouds of tobacco-smoke enveloped the multitude, and the rooms rung with "Sacré bleu!" "Mon Dieu!" "Diable!" and blunt English oaths of equal force and import.

The first bell for the return had rung, and the passengers rushed to the cars, which were soon filled; the signal for starting was given, and the locomotive again led the van, with as much apparent importance as that with which the redoubtable and twice immortal Major Downing might be supposed to precede his gallant "rigiment of down easters." We had passed two-thirds of the distance when we were alarmed by a sudden and tremendous shouting from the forward car. The cry was echoed involuntarily along the whole train, and every head was instantly darted from the windows. The cause of the alarm was instantly perceptible. Less than a quarter of a mile ahead, a cow was lying very quietly and composedly, directly in the track of the flying cars. The shouts of the frightened passengers on discovering her, either petrified her with utter fear—for such yellings and whoopings were never heard before on this side Hades—or did not reach her, for she kept her position with the most complacent nonchalance. The engineer instantly stopped the locomotive, but though our momentum was diminished, it was too late to effect his object; in thirty seconds from the first discovery of the cow, the engine passed over the now terrified animal, with a jump—jump—and a grinding crash, and with so violent a shock as nearly to throw the car from the track; the next, and the next car followed—and the poor animal, the next instant, was left far behind, so completely severed, that the rear cars passed over her without any perceptible shock.

In a few minutes afterward, we arrived at the city, having been one minute longer in returning than in going to the lake. The rail-way has become, if not a very fashionable, at least a very general resort, for a great portion of the inhabitants of New-Orleans, particularly on Sabbaths and holydays. Lake Pontchartrain, the destination of all who visit the rail road for an excursion of pleasure, is, to New-Orleans, what Gray's Ferry was in the olden time to the good citizens of Philadelphia; or Jamaica pond is, at present, to the most worthy citizens of the emporium of notions; or what "Broad's" is to the gay citizens of Portland.[7] When we alighted from the car, the omnibus was at its stand at the head of the rail-way; so, jumping into it, with twenty others, the horn was blown with an emphasis, the whip was cracked with a series of inimitable flourishes, and in fifteen minutes after leaving the car, we were safely deposited near our hotel. If our jolting ride home, through the rough, deep-guttered streets, did not increase our appetite for the good things awaiting us at the table d'hote, it at least demonstrated to us the superiority of rail-ways over unpaved streets, which every now and then are intersected, for the sake of variety, with a gutter of no particular width, and a foot and a half deep, more or less, by the "lead."

FOOTNOTE:

XVII.

During my accustomed peregrinations around the city yesterday, I dropped into the hall of the legislature, which was in session in the government house,—that large, handsome edifice, erected on Canal-street, alluded to in a former letter. The senate and house of representatives were literally both upper houses, being convened on the second floor of the building.

The rooms are large and sufficiently comfortable, though devoid of any architectural display. The number of senators is seventeen; of representatives, fifty. The majority, in both houses, are Creoles: there being, as I was informed, nine, out of the seventeen senators, French, and a small French majority in the house. The residue are citizenized northerners, and individuals from other states, who embody no mean portion of the political talents and statesman-like qualities of the legislature. Among many, to whom I had the pleasure of an introduction, and whose public characters are well and honourably known, I will mention Mr. Tenney, a native of New-Hampshire, and an alumnus of Dartmouth college. He has, like many other able and enterprising sons of New-England, struggled with no little distinction through all the vicissitudes of a young lawyer's career, till the suffrages of his adopted fellow-citizens have elevated him to the honourable station of senator, in the legislature of the state which he has chosen for his home. There are other northerners also, who, though in different stations, have arrived at distinction here. Their catalogue is not large, but it is brilliant with genius. The honourable career of the accomplished and lamented Gurley is well known to you. He was a man eminently distinguished, both for his public and social virtues; and in his death his adopted state has lost one of the brightest stars of her political constellation. And Ripley too, though shining in a southern sky, sheds a distinguished lustre over the "land of the north"—the country of his birth.

There is generally a large amount of business brought before this legislature, and its sessions seldom terminate before March or April. In their transactions, as a legislative body, there is a total absence of those little, though natural prejudices, which might be presumed to exist among members, so different from each other in education, language, and peculiarity of thought. If a bill is introduced by an American, the French members do not feel a disposition to oppose its passage on that account; nor, when it is brought in by a Frenchman, do they support it more eagerly or unanimously for that reason. A spirit of mutual cordiality, as great as can be looked for in a political assembly, pervades their whole body, to the entire exclusion of local prejudices. Neither is there an exclusive language used in their legislative proceedings. It is not necessary that the American members should speak French, or vice versa, though it would be certainly more agreeable were it universally understood by them; as all speeches made by Frenchmen, are immediately translated into English, while those made by the Americans are repeated again, by the translator, to the French part of the house, in their own language. This method not only necessarily consumes a great deal of time, and becomes excessively tedious to all parties, but diminishes, as do all translations, the strength, eloquence, and force of a speech; and, of course, lessens the impression. It is not a little amusing, to study the whimsical contortions of a Frenchman, while, with shrugging shoulders and restless eyes, he listens to, and watches the countenance of, some American party opponent, who may have the floor. The latter thunders out his torrent of eloquence, wherein the nicest epithets are not, perhaps, the most carefully chosen, in his zeal to express his political gall against his Gallic opponent; while monsieur fidgets about in happy ignorance, till the honourable member concludes,—when he jumps up, runs his open hand, chin, and nose, almost in the face of the interpreter, "arrectis auribus," and chafing like a lion; and before the last sentence is hurriedly completed, flings down his gantlet,—throws his whole soul into a rush of warm eloquence, beneath the edifying sound of which, his American antagonist feels that it is now his time to look foolish, which he does with a most commendable expression of mock sang froid, upon his twitching, try-to-be philosophic features.

The president of the senate and speaker of the house are Frenchmen: it is expected, however, that gentlemen filling these stations will readily speak French and English. By an act of a former legislature, slaves from other states could not be sold in this state, nor even those belonging to Louisiana, unless they were owned here previous to the passage of the law. The penalties for a violation of this law were fine and imprisonment to the vender, and the forfeiture of the slave, or his value. The law occasioned greater inconvenience to the citizens of the state, than its framers had foreseen. It again became a subject-matter for legislation, and a large portion of the members advocated its repeal. This was the subject of discussion when I was present, and the question of repeal was ably and warmly supported by Mr. Tenney, who is one of the state senators. Though he is doubtful whether the repeal will be effected this session, he is sanguine that it will be carried during the next annual assembly of the legislature.[8]

Leaving the government house, with its assembled wisdom, I repaired to my hotel, where I was to await the arrival of a friend, who had invited me to accompany him in a ride a few miles below the city on the banks of the river. I believe, in all my letters, I have yet been silent respecting this hotel; I will, however, while waiting for my equestrian friend, remedy that deficiency; for true to your wish, I will write of all and every thing worthy of notice; and I am half of your mind, that whatever is worthy the attention of a tourist, merits the passing record of his pen. "Bishop's hotel," so designated from its landlord, has been recently constructed, and is one of the largest in the Union. The Tremont possesses more architectural elegance; and Barnum's, the pride of Baltimore, is a handsomer structure. In the appearance of Bishop's, there is nothing imposing, but its height. It has two fronts, one on Camp, the other on Common-street. It is uniformly, with the exception of an angular tower, five stories in height; its bar-room is more than one hundred feet in length, and universally allowed to be the most splendid in America. The dining room, immediately over it, on the second floor, is of the same size; in which from two hundred and fifty to three hundred dine daily, of whom, probably, not twenty are French. The table is burthened with every luxury which can be procured in this luxurious climate. The servants are numerous, and with but two or three exceptions, slaves. They are willing, active, and intelligent. In this important point, Bishop's hotel is every way superior to the Tremont. There "pampered menials," whose every look and manner speak as plainly as anything but the tongue can speak, "if you desire anything of us, sir, be mighty civil, or you may whistle for it, for be assured, sir, that we are every whit as good as you." The insolence of these servants is already proverbial. But white servants, any where, and under any circumstances, are far from agreeable. In this point, and it is by no means an unimportant one, Bishop's is unequivocally superior to the Boston palace. With the coloured servant it is in verity, "Go, and he goeth—Come, and he cometh—Do this, and he doeth it."

The sleeping apartments are elegantly furnished, and carpeted, and well ventilated. There are two spacious drawing-rooms, contiguous to the magnificent dining hall, where lounging gentlemen can feel quite at home; and one of these contains a piano for the musical. From the top of the tower, which is one of the most elevated stations in the city, there is, to repay the fatigue of climbing the "weary, winding way," to the summit—a fine panoramic view of the whole city, with its sombre towers, flat roofs, long, dark, narrow streets, distant marshes, and the majestic Mississippi, sweeping proudly away to the north, and to the south, alive with dashing steamers, and glancing with white sails. The horizon, on every side, presents the same low, level, unrelieved line, that for ever meets the eye, which way soever it turns in the lower regions of the Mississippi. A day or two after I arrived here, I ascended to the top of this tower. The morning was brilliant, and the atmosphere was so pure, that distant objects seemed to be viewed through the purest crystalline medium. I would recommend every stranger, on his arrival at New-Orleans, to receive his first general impression of the city, from this eminence. He will regret, however, equally with others, that the pleasure he derives from the prospect cannot be enhanced by the aid of a good telescope, or even a common ship's spy-glass in either of which articles, the "lookout" is singularly deficient; but the enterprise, good taste, and obliging manner of Mr. Bishop have contributed in all else, throughout his extensive establishment, to the comfort, content, and amusement, of his numerous guests. A peculiarity in this hotel, and in one or two others here, is the exclusion of ladies from among the number of boarders; it is, properly, a bachelor establishment. There are, however, hotels of high rank in the city, where ladies and families are accommodated. They are kept by ladies, and often agreeably unite, with the public character of a hotel, the pleasures and advantages of social society. The boarding-house of Madame Wilkinson, widow of the late Gen. Wilkinson, a lady distinguished for her talents and accomplishments; that of Madame Herries, the widow of a titled foreigner, I believe, in Canal-street, and one or two others kept in good style, in Chartres-street, are the principal in the city.

Richardson's, a large hotel on Conti-street, is a bachelor establishment, where the up-country merchants usually put up, when they arrive in the city to purchase goods; though many of them, from choice or economy, remain as boarders or lodgers on board the steamers which bring them to New-Orleans, and on which, with their goods, they return to their homes. Young unmarried men here, usually have single furnished rooms, where they lodge, breakfast, and sup, dining at some hotel. There are, in some of the streets, long blocks of one story houses, with but one or two rooms in each, built purposely to be let out to bachelors. Indeed, there are neither hotels nor boarding-houses enough to accommodate one-tenth part of this class of forlorn bipeds. This independent way of living, in practice among so large a portion of the citizens and sojourners, in this city of anomalies, necessarily produces a peculiarity of character and habits among its observers, which has its natural and deteriorating effect upon the general state of society.

FOOTNOTE:

XVIII.

I intended in my last letter, to give you some account of an equestrian excursion along the banks of the river, and of a visit to the new Ursuline convent, two miles below the city; but a long digression about hotels and bachelors brought me to the end of my letter before I could even mention the subject. I will now fulfil my intention, in this letter, which will probably be the last you will receive from me, dated at New-Orleans.

Mounting our horses, at the door of the hotel, which were accoutred with clinking curbs, flashing martingales, and high-pummelled Spanish saddles, covered with blue broadcloth, the covering and housings being of one piece, as is the fashion here, we proceeded by a circuitous route to avoid the crowded front streets, toward the lower faubourg. In our ride, we passed the banks of the city, most of which are in Bienville-street or its vicinity. With but one exception, there is nothing in their external appearance to distinguish them from the other ordinary buildings, by which they are surrounded. The one referred to, whose denomination I do not recollect, is decidedly one of the handsomest structures in the south. It is lofty and extensive, with an imposing front and handsome columns, and stuccoed, so as to resemble the finest granite. And so perfect is the resemblance, that one can only assure himself that it is a deception, by reflecting that this beautiful material is used here little except in ornamental work; it being imported in small quantities from a great distance, by water, and its transportation being attended with too much expense to admit of its general adoption, as a material for building. The episcopal and presbyterian churches we also passed; both are plain buildings. Under the latter, an infant school is kept, which has been but lately organized, and is already very flourishing. It is under the care of northerners, as are most schools in this place, which are not French.

Of the permanent population of this city—which does not exceed fifty-one or two thousand, of whom thirty thousand are coloured—between fifteen and sixteen thousand are Catholics, and nearly six thousand Protestants; among whom are about seven hundred communicants. The Catholic communicants number about six thousand and five hundred. There are ten Protestant churches, over which preside but seven or eight clergymen. Though the number of the former so much exceeds that of the latter, there are in this city in all, but six churches and chapels of the Catholic denomination, in which about twenty-five priests regularly officiate. There is here but one church to every three thousand and two hundred inhabitants, the estimate, for the most religious nations, being a church and clergyman for about every one thousand of the population.

As we rode along, I was struck with the appearance of the peculiar dress worn by the French inhabitants. The gentlemen, almost without exception, wear pantaloons of blue cottonade, coarse and unsightly in its appearance, but which many exquisites have recently taken a fancy to adopt. Their coats are seldom well fashioned; narrow, low collars, large flat buttons, hardly within hail of each other, and long, narrow skirts being the bon-ton. Their hats are all oddly shaped, and between the extremity of their pantaloons and their ill-shaped shoes, half a yard of blue striped yarn stocking shocks the fastidious eye. The ladies dress with taste, but it is French taste; with too much of the gew-gaw to please the plain republican, and, "by the same token," correct taste of a northerner. Many fine women, with brunette complexions, are to be seen walking the streets with the air of donnas. They wear no bonnets, but as a substitute, fasten a veil to the head; which, as they move, floats gracefully around them. These are termed "quadroons," one quarter of their blood being tinged with African. I have heard it remarked, that some of the finest looking women in New-Orleans are "quadroons." I know not how true this may be, but they certainly have large fine eyes, good features, magnificent forms, and elegantly shaped feet.

If a stranger should feel disposed to judge, whether the British watch-word, "Beauty and Booty," was based on a sufficient consideration, let him promenade the streets at twilight, and he will be convinced of the propriety of its first item. Then, windows, balconies, and doors, are alive with bright eyes, glancing scarfs, gay, bonnetless girls, playing children, and happy groups of every age. Street after street, square after square, will still present to him the same delightful scene of happy faces, and merry voices. The whole fair population seem to have abandoned their houses for the open air. How the bachelors of New-Orleans thread their way at sunset, through these brilliant groups of dark, sparkling eyes, without being burned to a cinder, passeth my comprehension. Every Sunday evening there is an extra turn out, when the whole city may be found promenading the noble Levée. This is an opportunity, which no stranger should omit, to observe the citizens under a new aspect. A ramble through the various streets, a few twilights successively, and a promenade on the Levée, on a Sabbath evening, will bring all the fair Creoles of the city, in review before him, and if that will not repay him for his trouble, let him go play "dominos!"

In our ride, we passed the commercial library. Its collection is valuable but not large. By the politeness of Monsieur D. I received a card for admittance during my stay; and I have found it an agreeable oasis of rest, after rambling for hours about the city. Its advantages in a place like this, where there are no circulating libraries, are very great. Passing the rail-way, in the vicinity of which is the Gentilly road, the famous duelling ground, we arrived at the "cotton press," a short distance below, on the left, fronting the river. It is a very extensive brick building with wings, having a yard in the rear, capable of containing fifty thousand bales of cotton. There is a rail-way, extending from the river to the press, on which the cotton is conveyed from the steamers, passing under a lofty arched way through the centre of the building, to the yard. All the cotton brought down the river, in addition to its original compression by hand, as it is baled up on the plantations, is again compressed by steam here, which diminishes the bale cubically, nearly one third. A ship can consequently take many more bales, than if the cotton were not thus compressed. There are, also, one or two more steam cotton-presses in the upper part of the city, which I have not had an opportunity of visiting. After passing this last building we overtook a cart loaded with negroes, proceeding to the country. To our inquiry, one of them answered,—while the others exhibited ivory enough to sheathe a ship's bottom, "We Wirginny niggurs, Massas: new massa, he juss buy us, and we be gwine to he plantation. Plenty sugar dere, massa!" They all appeared contented and happy, and highly elated at their sweet anticipations. Say not that the slavery of the Louisiana negroes is a bitter draught.

An old, plain, unassuming, and apparently deserted building, a little retired from the road and half-hidden in shrubbery, next attracted our attention. Over its front was a sign informing us that it was the "Lyceum pour les jeunes gens." We could not learn whether it had teacher or pupil, but from appearances we inferred that it was minus both. A padre, in the awkward black gown peculiar to his order, which is seldom laid aside out of doors, passed just at this time; and to our inquiries respecting the lyceum, though framed, me judice, in very respectable lingua Franca, he deigned us no other reply than a pleasant smile, and a low-toned, sonorous "Benedicite." With others, we were equally unsuccessful. One, of whom we inquired, and who appeared as though he might find an amber-stone among a heap of pebbles, if he were previously informed that it was the colour of whiskey—replied, "Why, I dont cozactly know, stranngers, seeing I aint used to readin', overmuch, but to my eye, it looks consarnedly like a tavern-sign."

"Why do you think so, my man?"

"Why, you see, I can't, somehow, make out the first part; but the last word spells gin, as slick as a tallow whistle—I say, strannger, ye haint got nothin o' no small-sized piccaiune about ye, have ye?"—We threw our intelligent informant, who was no doubt some stray prodigal son from old Kentuck or down east—though his ignorance of the art of reading belied his country—the required fee for his information, and continued our ride. We were now quite out of the city; the noble Mississippi rolled proudly toward the sea on our right, its banks unrelieved by a single vessel:—while on our left, embowered in shrubbery, public and private buildings lined the road, which wound pleasantly along the level borders of the river.

Shortly after leaving the Lyceum, we noticed on our left, at some distance from the road, a large building, of more respectable appearance and dimensions than the last. A sign here too informed us, whatever our ingenious literary sign-reader might have rendered it, that there was the "College Washington." Our information respecting this institution was in every respect as satisfactory as that which we had obtained concerning the Lyceum. Not an individual urchin, or grave instructer, was to be seen at the windows, or within the precincts. Its halls were silent and deserted. I have made inquiries, since I returned, of old residents, respecting it. No one knows any thing of it. Some may have heard there was such a college. Some may even have seen the sign, in passing: but the majority learned for the first time, from my inquiries, that there was such an institution in existence. So we are all equally wise respecting it. Passing beautiful cottages, partially hidden in foliage, tasteful villas, and deserted mansions, alternately, our attention was attracted by a pretty residence, far from the road, at the extremity of an extensive grass-plat, void of shrub or any token of horticultural taste. Had the grounds been ornamented, like all others in the vicinity, with shrubbery, it would have been one of the loveliest residences on the road; but, as it was, its aspect was dreary. We were informed that it was the residence of the British consul; but he seems to have left his national passion for ornamental gardening, shrubbery walks, and park-like grounds, at home; denying himself their luxurious shade and agreeable beauty, in a climate where, alone, they are really necessary for comfort—where the cool covert of a thickly foliaged tree is as great a luxury to a northerner, as a welling fountain in the desert to the fainting Arab.

In a short ride from the residence of the consul, we arrived opposite to the Ursuline convent, a very large and handsome two-story edifice, with a high Spanish roof, heavy cornices, deep windows, half concealed by the foliage of orange and lemon trees, and stuccoed, in imitation of rough white marble. Three other buildings, of the same size, extended at the rear of this main building, forming three sides of the court of the convent, of which area this formed the fourth, each building fronting within upon the court, as well as without. There are about seventy young ladies pursuing a course of education here—some as boarders, and others as day scholars. The boarders are kept very rigidly. They are permitted to leave the convent, to visit friends in the city, if by permission of parents, but once a month. None are allowed to see them, unless they first obtain written permission, from the parents or guardians of the young ladies.

As my friend had an errand at the convent, we called. Proceeding down a long avenue to the portal on the right side of the grounds, we entered, and applied our riding whips to the door for admission. We were questioned by an unseen querist, as to our business there, as are all visiters. The voice issued from a tin plate, perforated with innumerable little holes, and resembling a colander fixed in the wall, on one side of the entrance. If the visiters give a good account of themselves, and can show good cause why they should speak with any of the young ladies, they are told to open the door at the left; whereupon, they find themselves in a long, dimly-lighted apartment, without any article of furniture, except a backless form. Three sides of this room are like any other—but, the fourth is open to the inner court, and latticed from the ceiling to the floor, like a summer-house. Approaching the lattice, the visiter, by placing his eye to the apertures, has a full view of the interior, and the three inner fronts of the convent. A double cloister extends above and below, and around the whole court; where the young ladies may be seen walking, studying, or amusing themselves. She, for whom the visiter has inquired, now approaches the grate demurely by the side of one of the elderly ladies of the sisterhood; and the visiter, placing his lips to an aperture, as to the mouth of a speaking trumpet, must address her, and thus carry on his conversation; while the elder nun stands within earshot, that peradventure she may thereby be edified.

The young ladies are here well and thoroughly educated;—even dancing is not prohibited, and is taught by a professor from the city. The religious exercises of the convent are of course Roman Catholic; but no farther than the daily routine of formal religious services, are the tenets of their faith inculcated upon the minds of the pupils. Some Protestant young ladies, allured by the romantic and imposing character of the Catholic religion, embrace it: but a few years after leaving the convent, are generally sufficient to efface their new faith and bring them back to the religion of their childhood. But the instances are very rare in which a Protestant becomes a religieuse, or leaves the convent a Catholic: though a great portion of the young ladies under the charge of the Ursuline sisterhood are of Protestant parentage.

The remainder of our ride was past orange gardens and French villas, so like all we had passed nearer the city, that they presented no variety; after riding a mile below the convent, we turned our horses' heads back to the city, and in less than an hour arrived at our hotel just in time to sit down to one of Bishop's sumptuous dinners.