. The Southern States. the fringe of the town are convents that once weregrand plantations, soon to be under thesnows of sweet orange blossoms. Thelong, narrow, black tunnels of entrancesto houses in Frenchtown give on opencourts and pictures of most foreign-looking life. The song birds of theopera live here, the violet vendor hasthere her beds of purple bloom, andyonder the praline vendor concocts herrose leaf conserves or peels pecans foryour after-dinner cup of cafe noir. Apoet dwells in this big house, and acrossthe way a ghost lives. A king onceslept and snored in yonder hauntedchamber. I
. The Southern States. the fringe of the town are convents that once weregrand plantations, soon to be under thesnows of sweet orange blossoms. Thelong, narrow, black tunnels of entrancesto houses in Frenchtown give on opencourts and pictures of most foreign-looking life. The song birds of theopera live here, the violet vendor hasthere her beds of purple bloom, andyonder the praline vendor concocts herrose leaf conserves or peels pecans foryour after-dinner cup of cafe noir. Apoet dwells in this big house, and acrossthe way a ghost lives. A king onceslept and snored in yonder hauntedchamber. I look one way and see the salt-crusted funnel of an Indian steamer, orthe red sail on the catboat of a Baratariaoysterman ; I look the other way and,pressed up by the dingy houses and thegraveyard walls by the old basin, I seethe charcoal schooners from the Missis-sippi bayous, their sails trailing like thebroken wings of a gull. The air iswarm and moist, it kisses the skin witha caress as tender as the touch of love,. A BIT OK OLD DAUPHINK STKKET. NEW ORLEANS: THE SOUTHERN METROPOLIS. 411 it is a whisper of the southland, and itsbreath is that of roses. A silver rod,old, faded golden rod, grown gray withage, self planted on the pent roof ofMadame Johns tumbling cottage, trem-bles in the wind, and at an early hour aplump market-woman goes clacking inher wooden sabots. A street-car belltankles and then the car comes to a haltand waits politely while a would-be pas-senger rushes back into her house forsomething she has forgotten. Up in the Garden district, where thebig. Southern mansions are, their veran-dahs and columns and gateways trellisedwith jessamine vine, all is sunshine andflowers. One may wander down thequiet streets, the shade trees archingo\erhead as if this were some countrylane in an English shire, and neverweary of the view nor lose the impressionthat this is New Orleans, the kino- the queen, and all the royal family, of winterresorts. And so, with all her products
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubj, booksubjectagriculture
