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My last I closed somewhat abruptly, as you perceived,
in the midst of a description of our railroad ride
to this city. I will now resume the notes of my journey
where I broke off, as I wish you to have a distinct impression
of the scenes in the entrance to New Orleans,
by the cars.

As we approached the city through a level landscape,
level as a lake, we flew past now a garden on this side,
now a Spanish-looking little villa on that, the gardens
richly foliaged with lemon and banana trees, and far
over-stretching verandahs shut in by curtains to keep
out the sun from the piazzas. Such gardens and villas
one after another in great numbers we passed for a mile
or so, when the houses grew more numerous, the gardens
narrower and narrower, and shops and small tenements
were crowding together, where once had stood the orange,
lemon, and banana tree. Side-walks of brick, as we
darted forward, now took the place of green way-side
paths by walls and fences, and stone pavements were
substituted for natural dirt roads. People began to grow
more numerous on the walks, carts laden with brick and
lumber, carts laden with vegetables and butcher's meat,
bread carts, and ice carts, and omnibuses (those

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unsightly vehicular monstrosities) rolled, gallopped, rattled,
thundered, raced, and rumbled past, and cross-street
wise, making it impossible almost to hear one's self speak
for the noise. Onward our car wheels bore us, deeper
and deeper into the living heart of the city. Nothing
but small shops were now to be seen on either hand, with
purchasing throngs going in and coming out of them,
while myriads of children seemed to swarm about the
doors, crawl along the curb-stones, paddle in the gutters,
and yell miscellaneously everywhere. I never saw so
many children in my life. Some were black, some not so
black, some yellow, some golden skinned, some tawny,
some delicate milk and gamboge color, and some pure
white, at least, such spots of their faces as the dirt suffered
to be visible, seemed to promise an Anglo-saxon
complexion underneath. The major part, however, were
olive brown, and plainly of French extraction; and I
could hear the bright black-eyed little urchins jabbering
French, to a marvel of correct pronunciation that would
have amazed a school girl.

At length the houses grew more stately, the streets
more genteel, the crowds more elegantly attired, and the
cars stopped, and we were in New Orleans!

In an instant we were besieged by a very great number
of polite gentlemen with whips in their hands and
eager visages thrust up to the window.

“Fiacre, madame!” “Hack, sir!” “Carriage, ma'am.”
“Will yer ladyship's bright eyes jist look at my iligant
haack?” insinuated a snub-nosed son of Green Erin,
with an old fur cap cocked on his head, the visor behind,
giving him a superlatively impudent look.

Seeing me apparently hesitate, he added with an

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eloquent intonation in his rich brogue. “It is vilvit
kushioned, m'im, and glass windies intirely, Miss, and
I've got the naatest tame dat'll take ye where ye wist in
no time at all, at all!”

At this juncture Isidore came to conduct me to a
carriage with the rest of our party. As we descended
the steps of the car, a Chinese, in his small tea-cup of a
blue cap, presented to my irresistible temptation, as he
thought, some beautiful kites made of blue, yellow, green,
and crimson tissue paper in the shape of superb butterflies.
They were two feet across the wings, and elegantly
constructed of light wire bent into the desired
shape, and covered with the paper. He asked but
twenty-five cents a piece, and they looked so invitingly
pretty, that I was half tempted to buy one for myself,
recollecting my girlish days, when I used to fly kites,
fish, and play ball with my brothers; but before I made
up my mind to this speculation, a slender sloe-eyed
quadroon girl of sixteen, with a superb smile, offered me
a delicious bouquet, from a basket filled with them, which
she was adroitly balancing on her head. The rival John-China-man
interposed one of his handsome kites between
my eyes and the bouquet, and while I was bewildered
which to choose, a Frenchman thrust nearer my face
than all, his forefinger, on which was perched a splendid
parrot, with a nose like the Duke of Wellington's.

“Puy de kitee, Meesee! twenty-vive cen',” eagerly
urged the Chinese.

“Mussier ne veu' 'pas le bouquet pour mamsel?”
softly and musically entreated the girl, of Isidore, in her
Creole patois.

“Buy pretty Pollee. Achetez mon joli oiseau!”

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