F 379 
 
 N5 T48 
 Copy 1 
 

-^ FOR OUR VISITORS, >^ 
 
 'v c-a.Mv^t\(L, Me 
 
 R liITTLiE 
 
 Hi 
 
 'Wfpat to See and 
 
 jHow to See it 
 
 I Hints ?or Gourptrg Outings, 
 
 -^€ew Orleans Picayune Office. 
 
 1B92. 
 
^^l 
 
 4.— OaKiana Kiaing r-ars. 
 
 PUBLIC SQL'AEES. 
 S;— Annunciation. 10.— Jackson 
 
 7.— Beauregard. 11.- 
 
 8. -Clay. l-^.- 
 
 9.— Cougo. 13.- 
 
 Lnfavetre. 
 >\ !!??iiii!rtnn. 
 Lee Circle. 
 
 L4.— City Hall. 
 15 .—Customhouse. 
 16.— United States Mint 
 5.— Palish I'rison. 
 24.— Picayune. 
 25.— Howard Library. 
 
 PUBLIC BUILBIXGS. 
 
 —Chanty Hospital. 
 
 — Touro Infirmary. 
 
 —Shakespeare Almshouee. 
 18.— Cotton Exchange. 
 19.— Sugar Exchange. 
 29. -Board of Trade. 
 
 1 7.— Metairie. 
 
 on _r I'lmelte. 
 
 CEMETERIES. 
 
 X.— Xew St. Louia 
 O.— Washlnarton. 
 
 T..-F.t. pfClV's. 
 
 ^SHWi' 
 
 
 -St. Patrick's Church. 
 -St. Theresa's Church. 
 -First Presb\'terian Church. 
 ■Christ Cathedral churcii. 
 St. Louis Cathedral. 
 -Jesuits' Church. 
 ■Trinity Church. 
 
 H— Temple of Sinai. 
 
 I.— St. Alphonsus' Church. 
 
 J.— Carondelet Street Metbodist 
 
 Church. 
 K.— New St. Joseph's Church. 
 P.— Archhishop's Chttrch and 
 
 Kesidence. 
 
 MAEKETS. 
 -Krench Market. 22— Poydias Market. 23— Mj^azlne Ifarket- 
 
1— Exposition OToands. a .Tootey CInb and Bnco 
 
 2;— City Paik. Coarse. 
 
 4.— Oaltlancl Eiaing Park. 
 
 PUBLIC SQUARES. 
 ^—Annunciation. 10.— Jackson. 
 
 I .—Beauregard. 1 V.— I.afayetic. 
 
 8.— Claj-. T2.-AV,i9r,i,)Btnn. 
 
 9.— Cougo. 13.— Lt-e Circle. 
 
 PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 
 
 14.— Cit.T Hall. 26.— Charity Hoapital. 
 
 lo.— Customliouse. 27.— Touro InflrmaiT. 
 
 1 6 United States Mint "" 
 
 5. — Pariah Pilson. 
 24. — Picayune. 
 25.— Howard Library. 
 
 CEMETERIES. 
 
 N.— New St. Louia 
 O.— WashiDffton. 
 T .-Rt. p„clT. •«. 
 
 
 CHURCHES 
 A.--St. Patrick's Church. 
 B.--St. Theresa's Church. 
 C- -First Presbyterian Church 
 D.--Chri3t Cathedral ChurcL. 
 E.- St Louis Cathedral. 
 F.--Jesuits' ChurcU. 
 n..-Trmlty Chui'ch. 
 
 H.— Temple of Sinai. 
 
 I.— St. Alphonsus' Church. 
 
 J.— Carondelet Street Methodist 
 
 Church. 
 K.— New St. Joseph's Church. 
 P Archbishop's Church and 
 
 Residence. 
 
 MARKETS. 
 21 — Krench Market. 22— Poydras Market 23— Magazlae Market- 
 
A WORD BY WAY OF WELCOME, 
 
 I 
 
 I offer yoii au omelette souflee, a palm leaf fan and a rose ! 
 
 It makes not the sliglitest dilierenee "what is one's first impres- 
 eion of this quaint and sunny old city lying half asleep, blinking as it 
 were, under her luminous skies, luxuriously lounging on the elbow of 
 the great yellow river ; m the end one is sure to conclude that when 
 she spoke, when first her tender message was breatiied into the ear, 
 it was ail invitation something like this : " I offer you a palm leaf fan, 
 an omelette soufllde and a rose." 
 
 It is early in the morning, late in the season and young in th© 
 year, but it is the time of all times when this old, half-French, half- 
 Spanish town of ours, with her beautiful women and foreign ways, 
 her odd, grim houses and lovely rose gardens, pink and bloomy, is at 
 her best. A sky more blue than the lid of Italy is overhead, and 
 against it are limned the dull grey belfries, the leaping steeples and 
 gilded crosses of her sanctuaries; roses blossom on her iron balconies, 
 a very balustrade of bloom is at the edge of her red tiled roofs in the 
 musty French quarter, tlie perfume of the sweet olive interpenetrate* 
 all Jier shady places, and the sense of a new, different and foreign life 
 impresses the stranger. 
 
 The very tankle of her street car bells has a novel and enticing 
 Bound, and in a little while one realizes that one has come here to en- 
 joy life, to get closer to nature and to human nature, to be glad over 
 the beauty of things and to melt the heart in the shining of the Avarm 
 sun— to see a city ten. riled with tropic vinos and framed in with, 
 roses, and a life all set to the music of singing birds. Of Avhat ac- 
 count IS It, t!ie current price of wheat, or tlie stock calls on the ex- 
 change ? Rather let us know what opera is to be sung to-night, and 
 shall we take lodgings m an entresol of the French quarter or m one 
 ot the big and Southern-looking hotels, or in a rose-grown cottage of 
 the Garden district. 
 
 New Orlea;;s is unlike any other American city ; her very name 
 is a souvenir of gayeties, her breath is as sweet as a willow copse in 
 June, and something :vbout her always makes one think of the opera 
 and the bal masque, the carnival, the palm leaf fan, the omelette 
 souliKe and the rose. She is not to be known in a day, and she Avill 
 unfold herself slowly, petal by i)etal, growing in charm each day, as 
 Venice does — surely not to be comprehended in an eye-flash. 
 
 When you started forth from that beautifu', frozen North where 
 there are icicles for daggers and snow banks for roses, and often grey 
 skies pent Avith ram, you tucked an organdy goAvn doAA^n into your 
 trunk and you thought how when you came South you would 
 
 M 
 
perhaps wear a red rose at your belt and pin a velvety bunch of Par- 
 ma violets at your throat. But I do not believe you realized the pos- 
 sibility of other charms than climate as belonging to the old southern 
 city, sprawling like a Victoria Regia, with its petals dipped in the 
 opaline lakes and the great yellow river. In truth, she does float like 
 a lily on her lakes, and she lifts to the skies a wondrous charm of old, 
 red roofs and old churches, narrow streets and curious shops, and a 
 strange and genial life. Thedwaif palms, the Spanish daggers, th§ 
 green latanias piercing the gloom of her dusky environment of cy- 
 press swamp, make one think of an invasion of Chinese ladies upris- 
 ing from the other side of the world ; and in her narrow courts and 
 dim, grey churches we find old world charms, and in the roses on her 
 balconies all the spicy perfumes of Araby. 
 
 New Orleans, with her southern homes, her gorgeous blooms 
 her superstitions, her southern ways, her generous life, her fine hos- 
 pitality and picturesque localities, her churches and cimeti^res, is not 
 for the pastime of a tourist who does a city between the rising up and 
 going down of the sun, and a continent in ten days. She does not too 
 freely reveal herself to an importunate one, and it is only by dint of 
 delightful dawdling and idle outings that you may come to know her 
 well, and how sw( et, and sunny, and genial she can be. Only in this 
 way may you find out that in her siiops are fabrics and confections 
 native alone to New Orleans, Paris and Madrid ; only in this way may 
 you get at the legends of her historical mansions, iAm charm of her 
 convents and churches, the customs of her sweet, Creole days. 
 
 The aesthetic attractions of New Orleans are inexhaustible ; they 
 grow upon one as the geniality and lovableness of the town and the 
 people grow upon one. At the end of a week you like tie place; at 
 the end of ten day s you pace her streets weaiing her rose colors on 
 tlie lapel of your coat, singing the music of her opera house — the mu- 
 sic of Verdi and Gounod and Meyerbeer — and at the end of a month 
 you will swear by her Spanish daggers, by the beautiful eyes of her 
 women, by the rose upon your balcony. 
 
 Shall it be Arcady or Bohemia? A dewy lane set with Cherokee 
 roses in the sweet suburb of Cairollton, or an entresol in the rue Koy- 
 al ? The New Orleans of " Madame Delphine," or the New Orleans 
 of Charles Dudley Warner ? It is all here. The purple wisteria is 
 threaded through all the branches of the magnolia trees, the roses are 
 red on the sunny walls and lie primly sweet against the pink jilaster- 
 ed sides of the pent-roofed cottages in the heart of French town ; the 
 culture and charm of good society, the brilliancy of fashionable life, 
 the amusement of the theatre and opera, the zest of foreign tongues, 
 the inexhaustible charm of a city that is like no other city in the 
 world. 
 
 A fine and world-famous opera house, a season of brilliant, 
 French opera ; a carnival equaling the Roman in splendor and char- 
 acteristic gayety, the parade and pomp of the firemen's celebration, 
 the solemn and picturesque ceremony of the Lenten season, ( a feat- 
 ure of every Catholic community ) these are such usual bids for favor. 
 
«uch well published iuvitutioii ciinls to the city, that it is hardly ne- 
 cessary to speak ot them. 
 
 There are famous old restaurants with chefs who are shrined as 
 saints in the memories of gourmets ; there are bizarre atti actions of 
 the markets, tlie picturesque stalls piled with pineapples and Dompa- 
 nos, cauliflowers and calico, garlic and bandanas; there are luggers 
 laden with goldeu oranges and bananas; there are ways electric 
 lighted, and paths where on]y the firefly winks in flame. In the pub- 
 lic parks you iiuiy have a rose, at the market stall a cup of French 
 toffee brewed on a charcoal brazier, in the opera house the music of 
 *' lligoletto" or " Les Huguenots," in the church the chanted mass 
 and perfume of incense, in the ballroom beautiful eyes and a pink 
 domino, and everywhere the breath of the sweet olive, the soft breath- 
 ings of the sweet, salt wind from the Mexican sea, and over head the 
 luminous, radiantly blue and tender sky. 
 
 For the artist, the invalid, the idler, the writer, the rich Avomau 
 of fashion, the man of the world, the busy worker taking a vacation, 
 NeAV Orleans is tlie veiy king, queen, and all the royal family, of win- 
 ter resorts. The picturesqueness of southern scenery and southern 
 architecture and southern character are alike at their best in this 
 city. Behind the pink and yellow stucco and the brick and mortar 
 crust of tall houses iu the French quarter are veritable bits of virgin 
 torests, fragments left over from the bois doi6 of tlie olden times ; in 
 the second-hand shops are mahoganies that have sheltered the knees 
 of princes of the blood royal ; iu the many courts and upon tlie trail- 
 ing vines and by amber and green water jars fortune ft)r the artist 
 jsits and awaits his coming; the courtly Creole, tlie dialect negro, all 
 are here. The sleepy charm of the public parks invites one's soul to 
 a loafing day in the sunshine. A promise of health breatlies down 
 from the blue, and, go where one will, one cannot get beyond the 
 songs of uncaged birds, the beauty of clambering roses, tlie sense and 
 cheerfulness and gaj^ety of light-hearted southern life. 
 
 As a winter resort this city offers advantages and inducements 
 peculiar to it alone. Its climate is delightful, its social life aud cul- 
 ture unexcelled, its attractions sire varied as are the attractions of any 
 ^eat cit3\ Less than an hour's rule distant are the health-giving 
 forests of pine, the white beaches of the Mexican gulf, the quaint lit- 
 tle fishing villages aud seaside resorts of the gulf coast. The Teche 
 and Acadian country is at our very door, famous hunting grounds 
 are near at hand, the famous scenic beauty of browu Tchefuncta liver 
 18 in the city's suburb, Mexico streams this way, the winter route to 
 California is this way, and when one wearies of Xew Orleans itself, 
 it is a point of departure for many wonderlands. 
 
 I never walk along that most fascinating of fashionable thor- 
 oughfares, Canal street — Avith its thousand and one familiar faces — 
 lor even the faces of a huge city, the composite face of its floating 
 population, grow familiar in time — that I am not reminded to regret 
 that 1 can have no first experience of it all. The jostle of the people, 
 lihe beautiful street manners of our public, the courtesy and good hu- 
 
mor, the "brilliant dressing of the women, the everlasting blare of 
 music, the constant processions and celebrations, the peddlers and 
 loafers, the vendors of hot roasted chestnuts, the amber-hucd, tur- 
 baned dispensers of pink pralines and yellow stageplanks with a rose- 
 bud for lagniappe, the mxiral adornments in tlie way of fat, Frenck 
 flower women— forty and scant of breath— the wheezing hand or- 
 gans—how delightfully it must impress one seeing and hearing it all 
 for the first time. Howl envy the sealskin-coated tourist just ar- 
 rived from Duluth or Penobscot, like a polar bear, panting, trans- 
 ported to the tropics; how I envy this one threading a path betwecB 
 the cotton bales and sugar barrels, sniffiug the sugary odors, hearing 
 the greasy, easy, negro lingo. Everything contains a subtle sugges- 
 tion of a southland, conveyed by the hue of oranges, the perfume of 
 violets, the swift smile of velvet eyes. To such a one every full-throat- 
 ed, pink-cheeked, shaven Frenchman, laughing and gesticulating, 
 with a red ilower on his coat that shows at a distance like the ribbon 
 of the Legion of Honor, may be Faust of the French opera ; every 
 handsome woman with black eyes may be a belle Creole, or the queen 
 rose in the garden district of girls ; the shimmering, fabrics in the 
 shop windows suggest pineapple organdies from Havana; the gro- 
 tesque masques, the coming carnival with its Rex and queen, its con- 
 fetti and pageants. Yet after all, who can so love the town as one 
 who knows the mosses on its old manses by heart, who knows the 
 haunts of the working people, the best place for omelette soufl^e, the 
 only place for Italian macaroni, the garden where the most roses are? 
 The electric light shows the way to the opera, the French mar- 
 ket, the cathedral, but out of the thoroughfare is a tiny cafe where 
 the coffee might be bottled and sold for perfume. At the fringe of 
 the town are convents that once were grand plantations, soon to be 
 under the snows of sweet orange blossoms. The long, narrow, black 
 tunnels of entrances to houses in French town give on open coui-ts 
 and pictures of most foreign-looking life. The song birds of the 
 opera live here, the violet vendor has there her beds of purple bloom, 
 and yonder the praline vendor concocts her rose leaf conserves or 
 peels pecans for your after diuner cup of caf6 noir. A poet dwells in 
 this big house, and across the way a ghost lives. A king once slept 
 and su<n'ed in yonder haunted chamber. 
 
 I look one way and see the salt-crusted funnel of an Indian 
 steamer, or the red sail on the catboat of a Barataria oysterman ; I 
 look the other way and, pvessednp by the dingy houses and the grave- 
 yard Avails by the old basin, I see the charcor.l schooners from the 
 Mississippi bayous— their sails trailing like the broken wings of a 
 gull. The air is warm and moist, it kisses the skin with a caress as 
 tender as the touch of love, it is a whisper of the southland, and its 
 breath is that of roses. A silver rod, old, faded golden rod, grown 
 gray with age, seif-planted on the pent roof of JIadame John's tumb- 
 ling cottage, trembles in the wind, and at an early hour a plump mar- 
 ket woman goes clacking in her wooden sabots. A street car bell 
 tankles and tlien the car conies to a halt and waits politely while a. 
 
irould-be passenger nxsnes Dack into lier house for something she has 
 forgotten. 
 
 Up in the Garden district where the big, southern mansions are, 
 tiieir verandahs and columns and gateways trellised with jessamine 
 Tine, all is sunshine and flowers. One may wander down the quiet 
 •treets, the shade trees arching over head as if this were some co'un- 
 Iry lane in an English shire, and never weary of the view nor lose the 
 impression that this is New Orleans, the king, the queen, and all the 
 Toyal family, of winter resorts. 
 
 And so, with all her products and her commerce, her busy marts 
 and her Ane buildings, her opera and theatres, and her balls and 
 routs, who desires that she shall offer you anything better than an 
 •melette soufHee, a palm leaf fan and a rose? 
 
 -^SOME OF OUR PECULIARITIES.^^' 
 
 The visitor to this old city should know tliat there is one portion 
 •f it best seen from the street cars, another portion which is only to 
 lie seen by lazy loitering on f :)ot, where one may stop at every parrot 
 •all, every "clang of a wooden shoon," every note of a gay chanson 
 floating down from dormer windows set in queer tiled roofs. He 
 must remembc r that he cannot get lost in Kew Orleans, as all street 
 •ars have their starting point on Canal street. 
 
 New Orleans is distinctly cut by Canal street into two phases of 
 life, two epoclis of history, two styles of architecture, two modes of 
 thought. Below Canal street, the faxous shopping thoroughfare of 
 the city, the old world architecture, the jalousicd verandahs, the 
 •unny, marble-flagged courts in which grow stately palms and olive 
 trees and huge magnolias, ti;e mosaic of tongues, the odalisque 
 l)eauty of many of the women, the concourse of convents, chapels, 
 ♦emeteries and churches, all of the Catholic faith, appeal with a 
 «trange, continental charm. 
 
 In the matter of architecture New Orleans has charming charac- 
 teristics. The fine, old Spanish houses below Canal street, the hand- 
 UTOught balconies of delicate iron work, the Spanish-looking mar- 
 kets, the beautiful courtyards and stone tunnel entrances to houses 
 fliat are enriched with arched and mullioned windows, and jalousies 
 and peaked roofs are as well as known as if Baedecker" had printed a 
 ^uide book about th: m. 
 
 The upper side of Canal street is the new portion of the city, 
 containing that famous section known as the Garden District, and 
 liere the tourist will see the most charr.ctei istic and beautiful southern 
 homes, houses set in lovely lawns, bowered in tropic plants, and with 
 wide, cool galleries draped with wisteria, yellow jessamine and cloth 
 •f-gold rose vines. 
 
6 
 
 Let us follow for a while at the lieels of an artist and see wliat 
 he sees of our carnival town. 
 
 First and foremost there are many odd sights that really seem 
 to be indigenous to this southern soil. 
 
 A milk cart rattles hy. Was ever its like seen before? It is a 
 tall, green box cart set above two wheels high up in the air — so higk 
 it seems to tower in a mighty fashion. The driver, almost invariably 
 a Spaniard or a Dago, stands up to drive, his head j ast visible between 
 the tall, tin urns that are set up in front and hi)ld the milk. 
 
 On the street near by a market woman goes by calling her vege- 
 tables, " fresh and fine." Her big basket is poised on her head, in her 
 hand she holds a scarlet bunch of radishes. The price she tells you 
 is a picayune a bunch, with " some shallots thrown in for lagniappe." 
 
 A little further on, a woman neatly dressed walks along th» 
 crowded street holding both hands up in the air. She says not a word, 
 but marches steadily on. Her hands are filled with lottery ticket* 
 arranged like a paper fan. Surely this is a sight to be seen no where 
 else in the country. 
 
 And now we are up in the heart of Canal street. Curiously 
 enough, almost all the fine retail shops are on the north, or lower, and 
 French side of the street, and this side is the favorite promenade. 
 After matinees it will be packed with people, with lounging lookers- 
 on, to whom it is somewhat of a drawing-room, with beautiful women, 
 more gaily dressed than you see women in any other city in the world ; 
 with idlers, gamblers, peddlers and strangers who have come to see 
 the sights. 
 
 Here, on a corner, is a jeweler's shop. The crowd is three deep 
 about its window, because in its window are displayed the jewels, the 
 crown, sceptre, necklace and ornaments that have been made ex- 
 pressly for the Carnival Queen and will be worn by her on Carnival 
 night. 
 
 Along the curbing next the neutral ground are drawn up long- 
 rows of low, open, one-horse barouches. These are the public vehi- 
 cles that are commonest in New Orleans. They are like those ia 
 common use in Paris. 
 
 In a little cozy corner formed by the angle of two fine shoir 
 windows sits a quaint, amber-hued old quadroon woman, with a blue, 
 red, green and yellow bandanna turban coifed as only a quadrooa 
 may upon her shapely head. She is a color as if she had been soaked 
 in tobacce juice or cut out of amber, and her features are clear cut 
 and fine. She smiles mighty sweet and seems to gently invite you to 
 buy her wares, but is too well bred to solicit your custom. Let us se* 
 what she has for sale in the shallow of her pretty oval Indian basket. 
 Her other name is the "Praline woman," so of course pralines 
 made of cocoanut and sugar, or sugar and pecans, or sugar and ros« 
 petals, cut in round flat cakes, are her chief stock in trade. Then she 
 will have squares of pecans baked in a thin molasses candy and pre- 
 served for sale on small squares of white paper. Also, there are pop- 
 corn balls soaked in molasses, yellow sticks of molasses candy, and at 
 
times the famous little rod pepper called " chili," and which epicures 
 love to bi'uise upon their dinner p^.ates. 
 
 Ou the corner of the street is a telegraph pole and the artist 
 stops to eye it eagerly, as if it were not a common one of its kind. It 
 is curiously deco; ated with funeral notices. There will be a double 
 sheet of paper, bordered with black, and printed on it the announce- 
 ment of death, the name, age and residence of the dead one, and an 
 invitation to all friends and acquaintances to attend the funeral at a 
 designated hour. These notices are posted on telegraph poles and 
 lampposts all over the city, and it is a quaint, native custom common 
 only to the kindly folk of the carnival city. 
 
 At the house of mourning crape or tarletau will be fastened, as 
 a token, on the door or gate, and a copy of the funeral card will be 
 pinned above it. In some parts of the city the door will remain open, 
 and it is a mark of respect for the passer-by to enter just for a mo- 
 ment the room where the dead are lying. 
 
 An interesting feature of Canal street is the flower 
 women, a fat, silent, row of elderly French ladies who, with their 
 wares, form the chief adornment of the buildings. They sit on low 
 stools beside th jir shallow wicker bowls and big baskets in which 
 their wares are prettily crowded. Dainty little boutonnieres of a sin- 
 gle rosebud and a bit of sweet olive are studded like floral nails 
 around the basket's rim and over the handle. The marble-like cam- 
 elias lie on soft beds of white cotton, and the stiff, round, hard bou- 
 quets of sweet, purple violets stand up prim as female grenadiers, 
 bristling in their embroidered white paper petticoats. The flower 
 women do not call their wares, they leave that for their roses and vi- 
 olets and pale daffodils to do. 
 
 We turn a cornei and find ourselves in the famous French quar- 
 ter of the town. Turbanned, quadroon women step briskly along the 
 streets. A mechanical piano down on the cobbles is being ground by 
 an Italian girl, who wears the flowing skirt, the green corset, chenille 
 shawl and white linen head-piece of the Venetian peasant. It is the 
 waltz song in Faust the piano plays, and from a high balcony away 
 Bp Tinder the eaves a silver coin sails down straight to the music ped- 
 dler's pretty brown palm. 
 
 Let us go through the tunneled entrance of the old house under 
 the wide, arched doorway, mullioned with small panes of colored 
 glass, and pause for a moment in the sunny, pink-plastered court. 
 How cool the red brick floor looks ; how Spanish-looking are the tall 
 eoliimns beside the corridor, all patched with color like some old Ital- 
 ian garden wall on the shore of blue Maggiore ! There are bits of 
 gallery everywhere, and in the shadowy comer of the old court stands 
 a huge, stone, water jar. A wide, winding stair leads up, up, up to the 
 balconied rooms under the eaves. Who would not delight to live 
 thus — au troisieme — where roses blow in huge jars and vines clamber 
 over the hand wrought, spidery rails of iron, and where a little child 
 leans wistfully looking down into the street after her silver coin and 
 the music that coaxed it from her? But a blacksmith's sign hangs 
 
10 
 
 At the corner of Baronne and Canal is tlie Whist, Ohess and 
 Checkers club house, cue of the largest and finest in the city, having 
 nearly one thousand members. 
 
 The Jesuits' church, on Baronne, near Canal, was designed by a 
 Jesuit x)riest. It is a moresque style of architecture. The interior of 
 the church is most beautiful. The altar cost $14,000; over it, in a 
 niche under the dome, s' ands a marble statue of the Virgin Maiy, 
 made at the order of Queen !Marie Amelie, of France, ond intended 
 for the royal chapel in the Tuilleries. New Orleans ladies bought it 
 for this church. 
 
 In tills vicinity, running back from Baronne and Common 
 streets to Dryades, is the gi-eat Tulane University, given by the late 
 Paul Tulane. Its pi esident is William Preston Johnston. Its chief 
 features of interest are a free museum, art gallery and public library. 
 
 The red cars, starting on Baronne and Canal streets, traverse 
 Baronne, Howard avenue and St. Charles avenue to Jackson avenue 
 where they turn out to the river, passing Trinity ( Episcopal) church, 
 of which Rev. Wm. Snively is rector; one or two Eoman Catholic 
 churches and Protestant and Jewish orphan homes. 
 
 The green or Carrollton cars, starting also at the foot of Baronne 
 street, follow up St. Charles avenue straight to the river embankment 
 at Carrollton. A double fare is charged on this route, except to actu- 
 al residents above Napoleon avenue. It is a rose-lined route for the 
 whole seven miles, all the way to Carrollton. 
 
 Via this route, after leaving the Jesuit church and University, 
 the car crosses Poydras street, at which point is one of tlie finest city 
 markets. Two or three b'.ocks on up, at No. 237, St. Joseph street, is 
 the Women and Children's Hospital, open to the public. As the car 
 turns into St. Charles Avenue, via Howard Avenue, it passes Lee 
 Circle and the monument to the great General R. E. Lee. This is the 
 noblest monument in the South. At the corner of Calliope and 
 St. Charles is the Northern Methodist churcli. At the corner of 
 St. Andrew and St. Charles is the German Lutheran church. 
 At Sixth and St. Charles is Christ Catliedral of the Episcopal church. 
 Bishop Sessums lives next door. Rev. Mr. Ewing is the rector. The 
 Sunday School chapel, a mimic copy of the cliurch, and also the ad- 
 joining episcopal residence were the recent memorial gift of a womaa 
 member of the parish. The music here, as at the Jesuits', is very fine 
 and worth going to hear. 
 
 At the corner of General Taylor street and St. Charles avenue 
 is a Methodist church. Above Napoleon avenue, or the " second fare 
 station," one soon comes in the order named to the Academy of the 
 Sacred Heart, the Asylum for destitute Orphan Boys, "New Orleans 
 University" for colored pupils; the Jewish Orphans' Home, the 
 Shakespeare Almshouse, half a block off the avenue— the Leland 
 ( colored ) University and the Dominican Convent. 
 
 On and about this avenue are several famous florists whose gar- 
 dens are well worth a visit. 
 
 In Carrollton — the end of the route— are one or two restaurant* 
 
11 
 
 ■where rye bread aud the fajuous New Oi^eaiis creaiii cheese are to be 
 had in perfection. 
 
 Canal street cars, and also steam cars, run out Canal street along- 
 the faiuoxis neutral ground. It was the original intention to place at 
 the intersection of every street statues like that of Henry Clay at tlie 
 intersection of Canal and St. Charles streets. Many of the best and 
 most famous retail shops are in Canal street. The Grand Opera House 
 is here, aud most of tlie swell club houses are here The Pickwick 
 Club House at the corner of Caroudelet and Canal is a noticeably 
 bandsome building. 
 
 At the end of Canal street is a wonderful cluster of graveyards, 
 including the Metairie, one of the finest in the South and containing 
 many magnificent monuments to the Confederate dead. 
 
 Canal street cars will take the visitor to the principal cemeter- 
 ies, to Metairie cemetery and to the West End of tlie lake. From 
 there one may go byboat over to Spanish Fort, aud into town by the 
 Spanish Fort cars ; getting off, there is time to visit the crowded St, 
 Louis cemeteries, which lie in clustered groups of marbles reared 
 in monuments over many distinguished dead. 
 
 The Catholic burying grounds are tlie oldest. They are all 
 built with tombs above ground. The oldest, well worth a visit, are 
 the St. Louis cemeteries. The St. Louis No. 1 is the oldest gi'aveyard 
 in the city. By leaving the Rampart and Dauphine street car at Con- 
 ti street and walking towards the woods the visitor will come to this 
 place at the end of the first block. The Italian Society has a 850,000 
 tomb here. Richard Clark, claimed by Mrs. Myra Clark Gaines a.< 
 her father, lies in a tomb here. 
 
 At 53 N. Rampart is the Young Men's Gymnastic Club fitted up 
 with oriental splendor. 
 
 The Esplanade street cars take one into the French garden dis- 
 trict, as different in appearance as is the zoological garden of Amster- 
 dam to the London " Zoo," or the Jardin des Plautes of Paris is to the 
 English Kew gardens. Via this route one reaches the Jockey Club 
 grounds, to which cards of admission may be procured by apijlying at 
 193 Gravier street. 
 
 There are in New Orleans seventy-five hospitals, infirmaries, 
 asylums and convents. Many of these sk'e worth visiting, notably the 
 Soldiers' Home on Bayou St. John, reached by the Esplanade street 
 cars, riding to the end of the line and then walking down the bayou 
 half a block or so. The situation of this home, with its sweet garden 
 dropping off into a sunny old graveyard, is most lovely. 
 
 The beautiful Gothic chapel of St. Roche is a show place, and 
 with its quaint carapo santo and open air stations of the cross, is 
 reached by the Claiborne street cars that traverse several tree-lined 
 avenues. Tell the driver to stop at Washington street ; then walk 
 towards the woods for three blocks. 
 
 The United States Barracks are reached by the Rampart and 
 Dauphine street cars. From there, in good weather, it is a lovely 
 walk past plantations down to Chalmette, the National cemetery, and 
 
14 
 
 ^Mch Cable recently wrote the story in the Century Magazine. 
 
 Back toward Canal street, via rueEoyal, notice the queer entre- 
 sols or half stories in some of the tallest houses, the houses with 
 Spanish-looking jalousies painted green, the big " Forty Thieves " 
 water jars in the picturesque courtyards, and then, when Orleans 
 street is reached, turn out to Congo square. 
 
 Congo square, off North Eampart street, or the old " Place 
 -d'Armes," and the parish prison right behind it are worth a visit. 
 
 It was in Congo square that the terrible but just uprising of the 
 people finished the last act of the Mafia tragedy. 
 
 Following along Eampait street towards Canal, one sees to tk© 
 right the Italian churchj once the city's mortuary chapel. 
 
 Ghalmette, 
 
 Chalmette is properly the name of the plantation where the sol- 
 diers of the union are placed to rest, awaiting the reveille of the resur- 
 rection. The national cemetery has an interest beyond its use in the 
 minds of the public. It is laid out on the ground historic long before 
 the civil strife. Nearly eighty years ago American valor checked 
 Britisli discipline and dash on that very field, and taught the nations 
 of the world that invasion of the new republic was a hopeless enter- 
 prise. All around the burial plot are memorial marks of that won- I ' 
 derful battle. On one side is the beautiful estate of Dr. Bonzauo. U 
 Garden and mansion have been changed and modernized, but the 
 Toom is still shown where General Jackson made his headquarters. 
 In the rear is the neglected and forsaken Jackson monument. 
 
 A grateful government and people began its erection. There 
 were Imijosiug ceremonies. Distinguished men were present. 
 Eloquent speeches were declaimed. The popular heart was stirred to 
 enthusiasm. A simple but stately structure was begun. Then a busy / 
 people forgot, and the monument stands a broken column, dark and/' 
 ivy-grown. Of all Louisiana's illustrious sons who assisted in t^ 
 dedication. Judge Charles Gayarre is the only survivor. His dim-v.^ 
 ming vision rests upon the glories of the past, and in that radiance of 
 recollection the marble of the monument " scarce half made up " is 
 all unsullied. Kuuniug almost alongside of the residence and the 
 ruin is the trench across which no British soldier stepped, on the 8th 
 of January, 1815. Some distance below is the Pakenham canal, the 
 story of which is almost told by its name. Beyond the narrowed 
 stream stretch the broad acres of Corinne plantation, where the tents 
 of the English army were spread. From the uneven summit of the 
 unfinished shaft the whole landscape may be seen. Now it is a luxu- 
 rious garden, with a sandy road leading to its many entrances, aud 
 levee ramparts keeping back the attacking waters of the mighty Mis- 
 sissippi. 
 
 Many whose homes are here visit. Chalmette once a year. Some 
 
I.-, 
 
 have never seen it. Strangers always liiul it a liekl of deliglit. Artists 
 know it for a wonderland. The Clialmette this speaks of is the en- 
 tire territory within the lines of the Inst struggle of the second war. 
 So the term is now applied. 
 
 On one of these sunny mornings ilr. James S. Zacharie, an ar- 
 tist and a reporter made a trip to the almost unknown country at the 
 city's very gates. It was not proposed to throw light on history. 
 That has all been written. It was only intended to draw a pencil 
 across scenes worth preserving. 
 
 On the same day the broad and well kept road leading to the 
 cemetery was punctuated with parties of sight-seers. Most of them 
 •were strangers. There was one group of Mexicans of wealtli. 
 Another was from the north, wearing furs in the warm, balmy weath- 
 er, because it is the fashion where winter is at home. All showed 
 signs of thorough enjoyment, and carried bunches of golden oranges 
 and fragrant orange leaves, bouquets of roses from gardens by the 
 -wayside, boughs of palmetto, fruit, fans of latania from the swamp 
 groves at the foot of the trees in the back country, and handfuls of 
 moss torn from the cloaks of the live oaks. 
 
 On the way Mr. Zacharie told many legends of the battle. His 
 father was one of the youngest soldiers under Jackson. Born late in 
 the past century, he was at school Avhen the alarm was sounded. The 
 British were coming. The boys had seen the Spanish flag give way 
 to the ensign of the French, and that in turn went down before the 
 stars and stripes. They loved the . last best. The spiiit of liberty 
 was abroad, and when Pakenham came there were no more loj-al 
 Americans than the Orleanians. The lads scaled the school fences, 
 procured firearms, and those who were not behind the earthworks 
 with Jackson guarded the app: oaches to the city in other" directions. 
 The stars and stripes floated long. Then came the flag of the soA'er- 
 eign state of Louisiana ; then the stars and bars. Once more the 
 stars and stripes, and under them ilr. Zacharie's father died. Now 
 bis son, proud of American success, but admitting tlie valor of the 
 British, is assisting tlie ninety-third Highlanders to erect a monument 
 over the spot where their intrepid leader fell and tlie soldiers suc- 
 cumbed to the steady fire of the siirest and coolest marksmen the 
 Avorld has knoAvn. 
 
 The carriage rolled by the monument, the trench, the rows of 
 graA^es of latter-day heroes, and the talk turned on Villere. 
 
 " There's the old Villere place," said Mr. Zacharie, pointing 
 down the road. Back from the road, with the railroad embankment 
 as an additional levee, with rose bower on one side and orchard on 
 the other, stands the group of long, low buildings, eacli room opening 
 Tipon the grounds, and broad galleries running all around the houses. 
 Tlio main building has needed little repair since the long ago Avhen 
 plantation carpenters constructed it of choicest timber, with nails 
 and hinges forged by workmen on the place. The doors and shutters 
 are of solid cypress and the largo and curiously shaped hinges of 
 ■wrought iron. The same fanciful hinges are on the low doors be- 
 
16 
 
 tween the connecting rooms. Wood and iron work are known to b© 
 150 years old, and show little sign of wear or decay. In those daya 
 factories and shops were not convenient, and the city was far away 
 and not easy of reach. So tlie sons of the plantation emx)loyers and 
 employes were taught carpentry and iron working as soon as tliey 
 were strong enough to wield the tools. Many of these plantation 
 workmen became especially skilled, wrought fanciful designs, and 
 made tlie guns they shot with, some of the weapons doing deadly 
 work against the red coated invaders. 
 
 In the time of Governor Villere the place was known as Conseil 
 plantation, and was managed by his eldest son, Gabriel, and another 
 son. Both were in the building when the first red coat broke through 
 the reeds along what is now called Pakenham canal. The latter con- 
 nects with bayou Bieuvenu. It was along the bayou that the English 
 camei:it3 the city from lalio Borgne, ani the canal wa? cut to admit 
 the passage of the boats and stores. The section of the amiy stationed 
 in New Orleans was totally unaware of the enemy's presence, and 
 under the direction of the skilled English engineers the ditch was 
 completed in a single night, the troops moving forward with the work. 
 There are virtually no rear rooms in the cozy little mansion, but on 
 the side facing the woods is the long dining-room, which connects 
 with the parlor fronting the river. 
 
 One story goes that Gabriel Villere was shaving himself with 
 his back to the fields. While he was viewing himself in the glass ho 
 saw the red coats appear at the window. Flight was useless and he 
 kept on shaving. The soldiers entered and told him he was their 
 prisoner. He gallantly replied that it was the fortune of war and 
 would accompany them after he obtained his coat with their kind per- 
 mission. The olficer in charge of the detachment as courteously 
 granted the request. 
 
 Villere's plan of escape was formed in an instant. He had been 
 preparing to go to the city, and his horse was saddled outside. Now 
 the batture formation by the generous river has removed the house 
 2G00 feet from the water, the view of the roadway is unobstructed, 
 and there is a thick grove of trees from the drive to the levee. Then 
 the Mississippi rolled by only one hundred feet from the mansion, the 
 plantation ran to the water's edge, and a dense canebrake lined the 
 bank. Villere walked through the parlor, quickly opened the door, 
 cleared the gallery with two bounds, jumped into the saddle and 
 dashed into the cane. There he abandoned the animal and crept 
 along to a point where he knew he would find a boat. A favorite 
 pointer, faithful to his master, f voUowed and found the fugitive. The 
 dog refused to turn back, and Villere, fearing that the canine's bark 
 or movements might reveal his ^hereabouts, drew his knife and cut 
 his favorite's throat Villere, as an experienced hunter, knew how to 
 proceed without noise, found a boat, crossed the river, rode down the 
 right bank, recrossed to the city and notified the authorities of the 
 arrival of the British. His prompt action led to the rapid and efii- 
 cient defense measures organized by the local and military ofticials^^ 
 
17 
 
 Mr. Fleitas, whose father was also oue of the boy defenders of 
 Louisiana homes, tells the story somewhat differently and obtained 
 his version direct from the Villeres. It was the younger brother who 
 gave the alarm. The family were at dinner and young Villere sat 
 facing the window. He saw the first red-coat break through the 
 hedge, and comprehended the situation with the glance. He thought 
 of country before family or self, left the table abruptly, rushed 
 through the parlor bareheaded, jumped over the gallery and made his 
 way through the cane. His pointer followed and was killed by his 
 owner's hand. The British were not aware of the escape of the mes- 
 senger, and made prisoners of the rest of the household. When Gen- 
 eral Pakenham assumed command he installed himself in the house. 
 
 The arrangement of the rooms has been little disturbed. In the 
 corner towards the city, facing the river, is the bedroom the general 
 occupied. It is a small room, appearing of less size than it really is 
 on account of the immense bedstead which bccui)ies half the apart- 
 ment. It is Oxie of the ante-bellum castles of sleep, carved of solid 
 mahogany, with immense posts, high, square canopy, and the body of 
 the bed only a few inches from the floor. A dressing-case of mahog- 
 any takes up the remaining space to the doorway, and is also exquis- 
 itely carved. 
 
 From the bed-chamber it is but a step to the cheerful parlor. 
 Tlu-ougli doors and windows streams the sunshine, and tliere is not a 
 dark corner in it. It is no place for shadows, and even the pictures, 
 seen through the panes, changing with the season, are always bright. 
 In the well ordered home of the present occupant there are old paint- 
 ings, rare vases and objec+s of art, dainty, comfortable chairs, invi- 
 ting to siestas, and flowers spreading perfume the year round. 
 
 It must have been much the same then. And then, as now, one 
 of the main charms of the room was the large, open fireplace, extend- 
 ing some distance into the room, to snug up closer to the occupants — 
 an open-hearted open hearth, stretching its arms in welcome. Even 
 in summer old friends come near it from force of habit, and the cats 
 curl up before it in winter and summer. General Pakenham was host, 
 by force of arms, during several black and stormy weeks of winter, 
 received his officers and held his councils before it, and the logs 
 crackled and sputtered flame and gave forth genial warmth for the 
 usurpers, as well as for the rightful owners. The brass andirons, 
 heirlooms in the Fleitas family, have since been added to the throne 
 of cheer. 
 
 The Corinne plantation is now the estate of Mr. F. P. Fleitas, a 
 typical and representative Louisianian. In winter he is a king upon 
 his own domain. There is no better liver, no more hospitable enter- 
 tainer than the Louisiana sugar planter. He possesses the quality of a 
 good general in selecting his staff, knows considerable of engineering 
 and practical chemistry, is a keen, if confiding, business man, and is 
 as open-handed as nature. His period of labor is brief but trying. 
 During that time weather does not deter him nor sleep receive much 
 attention. Before and after the grinding he has considerable leisure 
 
18 
 
 for enjoyment and culture, is a part of the gay city tlirong during 
 Carnival, comes to New Orleans as often as there is any special at- 
 traction, spend occasional evenings at the club, keeps on good terms 
 with society, takes a large interest in civic afiairs, and is altogether a 
 man. In the warm season, altliougli possessing a summer residence of 
 his own, he joins the merry throng on the wing and seeks change and 
 pastime at the famed resorts at home and abroad. This is a sketch of 
 a class, not of the master of " Corinne," but he belongs to the class. 
 Mr. Fleitas has an excellent library, which is a great companion, and 
 when he wearies of studying books he has but to step out of doors and 
 read nature. He is one of the summer wanderers, too, and during 
 that period Gruy de Maupassant and other bright wits of gay Paris can 
 tell where he is to be found. 
 
 He was at home when the party called, and courteously assented 
 to act as guide to the points of historic interest on the place. 
 
 The tourists went afoot, and before they had gone far they wer(?i^" 
 in ecstacy. Nature seems to be at her best in these Louisiana estates. 
 Beauty of form and color, of grouping and perspective are dealt out 
 with lavish hand. There are no pale, delicate tints, except sometimes 
 in the sky overhead. The stretches of grass are dotted with blendin'^ 
 bloom, and rush into the arms of luxuriant swamp growth where na- 
 ture fairly runs riot. 
 
 At this time of the year the tawny queen wears a thick veil of 
 moss, each different tree weaving a distinct texture into the general 
 fabric, shielding from the weather and producing wondrous effects of 
 light and shadow. Nor was all the picture purely landscape. On one 
 side, through a low, spreading group of trees with interwoven branch- 
 es, as if locking arms and bending their shoulders for a common bur- 
 den, the cows came home. On a little ridge alongside the Pakenham 
 canal, half hidden by the tangled, wild growth, climbing up from the 
 shrinking stream, were a trio of negro women fisliing. One stood, one 
 crouched and the other was lying flat on the ground, all three motion- 
 less, fantastically dressed, with bandanas combining half the colors of 
 the rainbow tied turban-like about their heads. As the party left the 
 house a giant negro came through the field. He stepped slowly and 
 pompously, looked neither to the right nor the left ; carried a large 
 tin bucket in one hand and an immense spoon in the other. He util- 
 ized the implements as a gong, striking the bucket with the spoon, 
 elevating his arm to the same angle at each stroke and never varying 
 the movement in time. It was the dinner bell for the poultry. The 
 chickens issued from their houses, peacocks marched up in even and 
 brilliant ranks, and the Guinea hens came over the fence in a body. 
 Each company remained distinct as they formed in line behind the 
 commissary, and there was no confusion when the corn was skillfully 
 distributed, although several roosters fought pitched battles for the 
 spoils on the edge of the camp. 
 
 A few yards from the house the visitors found a tree which is a 
 monument in itself. It was once a fruitful pecan tree. Now it is 
 stripped of its branches, only a few blasted and battered limbs pio- 
 
19 
 
 trade, and a long gash, wliich tJie liglitning cut deep into tlie gnarled 
 trunk, explains the reason. Bcmeath this tree Pakenhani's entrails 
 TTore buried. 
 
 After the British retreated from before the murderous rifles of 
 the Americans they carried tlieir wounded with them. Pakenham was 
 first taken from the field, and his mourning escort laid him to rest 
 under the shade of the p(?can Avhere he fell asleep. Colonel Dale, the 
 intrepid commander of tlie Ninety-third Highlanders, who propose to 
 honor him with a monument, and another officer who, like Dale and 
 Pakenham, died at the head of his men, were also picked up by com- 
 rades and carried to the rear. It was determined to give them decent 
 burial whatever else betide. 
 
 A young colored man, named Willijimson, wlio liad been found 
 on the place, was pressed into service and dug a broad grave at the 
 base of the tree into which the bodies were reverently lowered. Wil- 
 liamson treasured tlie memory of the event and related Uie incidents 
 of the day to several generations. He lived near tlie spot all his life, 
 and only died five years ago, being accidentally drowned. Some of 
 the bones of tlie bodies were uneartlied five years ago. They would 
 have been sent to England, only they crumbled into dust as soon as 
 touched. Portions of the belts remained, however, to sliow the rank 
 "•x>'f the officers. Tlie tree is still a giant, twelve feet in diameter, and 
 will be allowed to stand. It is of interest outside of its moituary 
 significance. 
 
 Governor Villere, tlie second governor of the State of Louisiana, 
 was known as one of the finest marksmen in the section. Every 
 morning he would step down from the rear gallery, duelling pistol in 
 hand, and fire at the tree. lie always aimed at the same spot and 
 never missed. The constant practice made a gaping wound in the 
 trunk which nature never healed. 
 
 Around the pecan tree of many memories was the orchard and 
 garden of the plantation. The space is still devoted to the same pur- 
 pose. There are orange and persimmon, pecan and peach and other 
 trees, and at the end of the orchard begin the neatly laid out 
 beds of vegetables. Through the centre of the cabbage plot runs a 
 ditch dug for drainage and watering purposes. The canal was only 
 made of late years. Once it was overshadowed by trees and formed 
 a convenient and sheltered spot to which the British brought their 
 wounded. ]Many dieu there and \yere buried where they expired. The 
 remains of the departed were disturbed in the digging. Belts and 
 swords were brought up by the spades, and more relics are being con- 
 stantly found. A year ago a sword came back from the grave. Bul- 
 lets, around which the bodies have turned to dust, are shaken from 
 the sides of the excavation by the flowing water. Elderberry bushes 
 now fringe the sides of the stream, and on the crest of the bank, 
 where tlu^ bridge is buiit, stands a rude cross, upon the arms of whicli 
 «tand the garden syirinklers. It was designed for utility, but the 
 
30 
 
 pious imagination can easily transform it into a mute witness of the- 
 hope of heaven of the soldiers slain. 
 
 The tourists turned back, recrossed the rustic bridge of sighs, 
 passed through the house-yard and the gate leading to the fields, and 
 stood upon the banks of the Pakenham canal. 
 
 Nearing the river the canal has filled to a considerable extent, 
 and where once the English iiag floated over the tents of the soldiery 
 now stand negro cabins. Perhaps the daily passage of the laborers 
 has trodden down the banks and destroyed the traces of the triumph 
 of British engineering. That can be forgiven the black folks for the 
 sake of their ancestors. Two regiments of Jamaica negroes charged 
 with the British, supporting the riglit wing of the column of attack. 
 In the very heart of Jackson's line, in the thickest of the fight, stood 
 gallantly by their guns well clad and well fed freemen of color, under 
 D'Aquiu and Savary. The latter troop formed a marked contrast to 
 the Jamaicans, who suffered so from cold as to be of little use in battle. 
 
 As the canal runs its course into the open it deepens and broad- 
 ens. Where the knot of negresses were fishing, just before the drain- 
 ing wheel is reached, there is a clear space of running water and from 
 that point out boats can easily make their way to bayou Bienveuue. 
 Hunters andfisheraneu often paddle along the same course traversed 
 by the British boats. 
 
 The landing point of the English troops was at tlie wide gate 
 opening upon the canal road. The embarkation in the small boats 
 occurred at Battery Bienvenue, which was afterwards built at the 
 suggestion of General Jackson, who was convinced of its value as a 
 place to be defended by the act of the invaders. 
 
 The guides were talking of the battle while the artist sketched 
 a bit of the canal. 
 
 " The men of this section who fought with Jackson," said Mr. 
 Fleitas, " were fitted to make an effective defense. The hunters of 
 Louisiana were the equals of the marksmen of Kentucky. They were 
 all dead shots. Even the boys could shoot with accuracy. It was 
 bred in them by necessity. No wagons delivered fresh meat daily. 
 The families could not all afford to raise fowls. Their daily food de- 
 pended upon their skill with firearms. They knew notliing of drill 
 or discipline, but when the command ' fire 'was given, it almost meant 
 a man for every bullet. What could the bravest army hope for 
 against such shooting? " 
 
 History answers the question. « 
 
 A good deal has been said about the Americans being en- 
 trenched behind cotton bales. This is only partially true. The cot- 
 ton was used in the first defensive fight in December. The character 
 of the British works on the 8th of January was more peculiar. The 
 grinding season had just closed and the sugar yield of the plantations 
 around was packed away in hogsheads. The English troops levied on 
 these, rolled them forward like heavy artillery and made their breast- 
 works of the crop. The Americans respected the value of the sugar 
 yield and depended upon mother earth for shelter. The ditch they 
 
31 
 
 dug is just below Dr. Bonzano's place and the Hues of the excavation 
 are still visible. The mud was piled up off the upper side of the 
 ditch, which was full of water and difficult to cross without the ex- 
 ceptions taken by the American shot guns and rifles. Jackson chose 
 the lino w^hich was the shortest route from lake to river. The trench 
 was cut iu an angular fashion to guard against the enfilading fire of 
 the enemy. It miglit have proved valuable had Pakeuham's original 
 scheme been successful. A large corps was to have crossed the river 
 during the night, carried the works on the right bank, established 
 batteries opposite Jackson's line and poured in a flanking fire across 
 the Mississippi at the same time that the attack was sounded on this 
 side. The troops were delayed in getting over, and when Morgan's 
 position was taken by Thornton Pakenham was already dead and his 
 army beaten back. Had the whole English plan been carried out ic is 
 doubtful if the result would have been different. The hunters could 
 not have been turned from their aim, and British valor could not 
 have crossed the ditch. The gallant enemy found its way into the 
 trench despite the certain death the boldness meant. Red coats filled 
 the slippery pit and the coats turned darker crimson with the blood 
 that was the price of daring. 
 
 Peace has smoothed out the wrinkled front, spread a green 
 sward over the gory avenue, and weeping willows, that somehow fol 
 low death, have absorbed the stains of carnage. The old plantation 
 liouse, which was Jackson's headquarters, has been transformed into 
 Dr. Bonzano's beautiful mansion, new buildings added, a lovely gar- 
 den planted, and all trace of war erased. But in the rear the wrecked 
 and deserted monument still stands as a grim sentinel. The brick 
 base has become damp w^ith mold, fighting off the foothold, but many 
 climb it. A chill wind sweeps down through the uninviting entrance, 
 but many venture in. The rusting staircase of iron is broken and 
 tottering, but visitors, ambitious to see the light from the summit, 
 make their way to the uneven crest. The names of many of the pil- 
 grims luive been cut into the bricks in jagged letters. 
 
 The tourists reached the top just as the sunset was creeping 
 down upon the city. Tliey looked upon a different New Orleans from 
 thiit in which Jackson, Villere, Claiborne and others gathered an army 
 that checked the advance of a foe famed to be resistless. The pros- 
 porous city now stretches the tip of a wing almost to the very line 
 that Jackson drew and that Pakenham deepened and dyed in blood. 
 
A Word about Churches, 
 
 Witkout representing any enormous wealth, there are in New 
 Orleans many churches distinguished for real architectiu'al beauty^ 
 and many with pretty histories and legends attached to them. 
 
 It is a hit dif&cult for the youngsters of to-day to realize that 
 once in New Orleans there was an estahlished church. Of course, ia 
 its early days New Orleans possessed an exclusively Catholic commu- 
 nity, and all the churches were of that faith. 
 
 In 17^1 the first cliurch was built in New Orleans, a tiny wooden 
 affair witli a cheap altar. It stood on the site of the present fine cath- 
 edral. The first church was the work of Capuchin friars. The ca- 
 thedral founded, and, in fact, built ia 1794, is a quaint, irregular build- 
 ing of a nondescript architecture, but such as one sees frequently iu 
 ancient towns in France. Its fat towers aud needle steejjles and 
 broad front seem to bulge out into the street, aud it can be seen even 
 from Canal street, putting out into the rue Chartres a smoke-gray 
 shape, as if resolved out of the fogs on the river that flows by beyond 
 Jackson square. 
 
 To this day masses are said iu the cathedral for the repose of 
 the soul of its founder, the rich, Spanish Don Almonaster. And there 
 are times every week when the soft-voiced, melancholy bell in the 
 high, cathedral belfry tolls in memory of the don. 
 
 By the time of the year 1805 the little city had so grown, that a^ 
 number of Protestants were of its population, and the Protestants 
 held a meeting and determined to have a church of their faith. It was 
 put to a vote of what denomination the new minister should be, 
 and by a large majority it was voted he should be an Episcojialian. 
 
 The Protestant church was erected outside the city proper, ( ia 
 respect to the established church ) and it was Christ church, at the 
 corner of Bourbon and Canal streets, afterwards removed to Dau- 
 phine and Canal. 
 
 The survivor or posterity of this first church is the elegant and 
 picturesque stone and stucco sanctuary at the corner of Sixth street 
 and St. Charles avenue. 
 
 The present Christ church is a model of modern elegance. It is 
 a church provided with all the comforts. It is the only one in the city 
 lighted by electricity, which, however, sometimes goes out and leaves 
 the congregation all in the dark. The decorations of Christ church 
 are florid, and crimson and yellow in fres<?o and wood work embellish 
 the interior. It is famous for its fine organist, Mr. Florian Shaffter, 
 and its beautiful music. 
 
23 
 
 Since 1856 tlie Rev. B. M. Palmer has been pastor of the Lafa- 
 yette Park Presbyterian church. This familiar, fine, old, brown 
 cluirch was completed just thirty-thi-ee years ago. The reputation of 
 tlie pastor of this church is world-wide, and visitors to New Orleans are 
 always desirous of hearing the mass music at the Jesuits', in Baronne 
 street, and a sermon by Dr. Palmer. 
 
 On Camp street is a grand, old. Catholic church, that not many 
 persons know is modeled after York Minster. It is considered to be 
 one of the most perfect examples of church architecture in the United 
 States. The tower is of the most exquisite proportions, and one never 
 tires looking at it. It is a brick church stuccoed, and this rough stuc- 
 co gives St. Patrick's a venerable look that satisfies the artistic eye. 
 
 The steeple of St. Theresa's, in Camp street, leaps into the sky, 
 and under it, in the belfry, are the broad, grey lattices that liide the 
 clanging bell. It is such a steeple and such a belfry as one sees only 
 in the gray towns of north Germany or Holland. The lattices are 
 like the flanges of a mill wheel, and under their quaint, dusty eaves 
 the town birds build their nests. 
 
 The church of churches among sentimentalists and the devout 
 is St. Eoche's, a little Gothic church, set, like a French mortuary cha- 
 pel, in the midst of a graveyard. It is to this church that many of the 
 faithful, of all faiths, come to make a novena. It is said that prayers 
 made at this shrine are almost always answered. On Good Friday the 
 image of Christ on the cross lies on the stone floor before the altar 
 where hundreds fall on their knees and kiss the sacred symbol. 
 
 If there is any person who does not know what " Renaissance " 
 architecture means, that ijerson should go up into Dryades street and 
 take a look at St. John's church ; this is pure renaissance. 
 
 In the picturesque church of St. Alphonsus is some famous 
 wood carving from Belgium, famous pictures from Rome, superb 
 stained glass windows, and magnificent frescoes. 
 
 The Italian church is in North Rampart street, three blocks 
 from Canal. This was built to be the mortuary chapel for the city, 
 and was used for that purpose at a time when the cathedral, being the 
 only church in the city, was always overcrowded with funerals. It 
 has of late years been the Italian church, and it is also famous for its 
 image of St. Bartholomeo and for an altar before which novenas for 
 health are made. The altar is literally plastered with wax arms, legs, 
 breasts, heads, feet, eyes and crutches deposited there by the faithful 
 who have been cured by prayer in this place of prayers. 
 
 Trinity church, in Jackson street, is f amoixs as " the Bishop's 
 church." Nearly every rector this church has ever had has become a 
 bishop. Bishop Polk, Bishop Beckwith, Bishop Galleher, Bishop 
 Thompson and Bishop Han-is were all, at one time or another, rectors 
 of Trinity. The Bishop Polk Memorial Window in Trinity is one of 
 the finest in the world. It is a modern reproduction of the art of ma- 
 king stained glass windows in mediaeval times. 
 
 A grand and imposing structure, with two superbly set rose 
 
24 
 
 Tvindows in the transeept, is the pink brick and grey stone St. Ste- 
 phen's church in Napoleon avenue. 
 
 Temple Sinai is a handsome synagogue in Carondelet street, 
 near tlie corner of Delord street. It is famous for its fine music at the 
 Saturday services. 
 
 SOUVEMRS" AHD BOOKSTORES. 
 
 There are excellent bookstores in New Orleans, and the second- 
 hand book shops in Poydras street, Roylal, and Exchange Alley are 
 particularly inviting, reminding one in the nature and value of their 
 possessions, of the bookstores along the Seine in Paris. These are to 
 be found fringing the sidewalks and with dingy rooms crammed to 
 the ceilings "with precious volumes. It is said that more rare French 
 and Spanish volumes are to be found at these New Orleans stalls than 
 in any other city in the country. 
 
 imong the many curious and inexpensive souvenirs a visitor 
 may buy to take home are to be mentioned "pineapple linen" dresses, 
 Indian baskets and file, both bought in the markets, a short rope of 
 garlic, guava jellies, preserved figs and oranges, a set of crab shells, 
 used to serve stuffed tomatoes, egg plants, etc., in, and not hurt by 
 being used in the stove. The little eating stalls in the markets are 
 worthy of note. Famous dishes with "market-house boarders " are 
 "baked beans, bread pudding, roasted pork and potato salad. The 
 coffee in all the market-houses is generally delicious. Most of the 
 " second-hand shops" are in French town, and the tourist on the look- 
 out for them will find a number. 
 
Street Nomenclature, 
 
 The nomenclature of our streets has already been made the sub- 
 ject of more than one pleasant magazine article. We have the 
 nine muses in a row, beginning at a point just above Lee Circle, 
 and in the French quarter history, romance and religion have been 
 exliausted for characteristic names. New Orleans is the most ijictu- 
 resquely named city, in the matter of streets, in the country. What 
 is there lacking -nhen you learn that a beautiful j)rima donna lives in 
 Calliope street ; that the pink domino you met at the bal masqu^ 
 dwells in Terpsichore street ; that the little, lost child crying on the 
 corner only knows that her home is in Goodchildreu street ; that the 
 snarling couple who are doing New Orleans tell you that they are 
 stopping in Felicity street, and that the priest who confesses you 
 lodges in Piety street, and the descendant of a French king inhabits 
 an entresol in the rue Bourbon, and the Indian herb doctor lives in a 
 cottage in the upper end of Tchoupitoulas street ! You may walk 
 far along the path of Love until you come to Desire. Madness and 
 Insanity go hand in hand. Between Law and Virtue a Magistrate is 
 backed by Liberal Force. Agriculture and Industry yield Abundance 
 and Pleasure — Benefits Humanity. In tlie vicinity of Dublin and Vi- 
 enna dwell Socrates, Byi'on,Cato and Brutus; and finally, in soldierly- 
 array are drawn up all the generals of the Mexican war. 
 
 -^OUTIKGS.)- 
 
 The country about New Orleans is nothing if not characteristi- 
 cally southern ; the land of Evangeline lies bej^ond our doorway, and 
 Arcady — sweet Arcady — the old hiding places of Lafitte, the first 
 camp grounds of Iberville are near enough to be familiar haunts. 
 
 The rude huts of the Choctaw Indians are biit over the water- 
 way, nestled under the pines and bay trees of St. Tammany. The 
 mouth of the Mississippi, the giilf and the great jetties are but a 
 few hours' ride away, and all aboTit the great, sprawling city lie 
 orange orchards, wliite with blossoms or golden with fruit, cane fields 
 and cotton plantations. 
 
 Among the out of town excursions are trips to Chalmette, over 
 
26 
 
 the lake to Mandeville, over the lake to the pine woods and Bay St, 
 Louis, Pass Christian and Biloxi, the steam cars to Shell Beach, via 
 cars into the pin j hills of Mississippi, Magnolia, Chatawa, or by boat 
 to Bayou Sara, to Vicksburg, or up the beautiful Atchaf alaya river. 
 The Teche country, in vrhich dwell the peaceful and picturesque 
 Acadians, is less than half a day's journey by rail. 
 
 Mandeville, one of the most picturesque of southern watering 
 places, is reached by excursion steamers from Milneburg. By taking 
 the morning train of the L. and N. road at Mobile depot, one can 
 spend a charming day in Mississippi and return to the city in the 
 evening. " The Bay" is the nearest of these famous " over-the-lake" 
 watering places. It is one of the oldest and has a lovely drive of 
 many miles on the beach. Beautiful residences are at Pass Christian, 
 the nest station, also a shell drive on the lake front. 
 
 Biloxi, where Iberville landed in 1699, is for all the world like 
 some quaint French fishing village. It is the most populous and thriv- 
 ing town on the coast. Its bay is always full of a tangle of sloops and 
 small schooners ; and long piers hung with fish nets, crab baskets, 
 lines and poles. 
 
 Ocean Springs is further away still. Then come the beautiful 
 dark rivers and bayous, and Moss Point, Pascagoula, where the creo- 
 sote works are, and after further flying through the scented pine 
 lands Mobile is reached. The excursion to the watering places can 
 be made in a day. To Mobile one must devote a day and a night. 
 ^'Beauvoir," Mrs. Jefferson Davis' home, is the second station going 
 ■east after leaving Mississippi City. 
 
 Returning to New Orleans, a pleasant railway excursion can be 
 made up the Jackson road, stopping at Kennerville, which is on the 
 river ; or proceeding to Magnolia, Areola or Chatawa, the latter one 
 of the prettiest hill towns of Mississippi, lying on the banks of the 
 dark, fern-fringed Tangipahoa. 
 
 A pleasant day can be spent by taking the Shell Beach road, 
 which gives a run of an hour and a half down to the gulf . The trip 
 can be made in six or eight hours, carries one through plantations, a 
 touch of southern jungle, and finally brings one out on the shelving, 
 shelly beach, with the gray gulf waters lashing and lapping at one's 
 feet. None of these excursions are expensive or will occupy much time . 
 
 The up-river excursion to Bayou Sara gives one opportunity to 
 see the very best part of the Mississippi river scenery, its orange 
 groves and cane plantations, with negro quarters all tidy and all oc- 
 cupied. Tlie old town of Plaquemine, the beautiful colleges in St. 
 James parish, the imposing State capitol building at Baton Eouge, 
 set on lis terraced hills, all are worthy of the two and a half days' 
 time, or t. I'ttle less, it takes to make the trip. 
 
 There are small boats going daily to the jetties, but the luxury 
 of a river trip is only tested by a journey up the Mississippi. 
 
 These bi^ boats stop continuously, and the tourist has ample 
 opportunity to see plantation life, southern villages, and how it is t» 
 be boating r.-ong the Mississippi. 
 
A steamboat trip can be made up bayou Teclic to Kew Iberia 
 and the old towu of St. Martinsville. Some of the liuest suyar plan- 
 tations in the State are to be seen tliis -way. From New Iberia a little 
 railroad will carry one to the salt mines — an excursion occupying 
 ubout three hours. 
 
 A charming outing from New Orleans is to Abita Spiiujirs, Cov- 
 ington and the Bogue Falia — one of tlie lovliest and most jihoto- 
 graphable rivers in the South. 
 
 By going to Morgan City excursions on boats and steam tugs 
 can be made at a small cost down to "Last Island" — and through 
 the beautiful "\\inding ways, by which the broad Atchafalaya reaches 
 the gulf. New Iberia is in the heart of a great duck, snipe and fish- 
 ing country. Bayou Lafourche is a boat trip, occupying about three 
 days. This bayou is scarcely less lovely than the Teche. An outing 
 par excellence is to Abita springs, to Covington and the beautiful 
 Bogue Falia A delightful river trip is from New Orleans to Monroe 
 or Alexandria, or even to Shreveport. It takes about four days to go 
 up and has all the charming elements of southerri steamboat tr.avel. 
 
 And now, whether you take our summer land on boat, en voi- 
 ture, or in your own canoe, the PiCAru^K wishes t!ie readers of thi& 
 much pleasure and a bou voyage ! 
 
4>' 
 
 III At 
 
 
 NICHOLiSOK St CO., 
 Ptopnetors. 
 
 ®tef Mtm (ffif If itm# Pkmisiif 
 
 IS THE BEST AND MOST POPULAR NEWS AND FAMILY 
 PAPER PUBLISHED IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 DAILY PICAyUNE: 
 
 One Year $12.00 
 
 Six Mouths 6.00 
 
 SUNDAY PICAYUNE 
 
 One Year $2.00 
 
 Six Moutbs 1.00 
 
 AVEEKIiY PICAYUNE: 
 
 16 PAGES. 
 One Yew $100 
 
# 
 
 tl>