Chapter II: Part 2

In connection of the swamp, is being thrown off, unceasingly, from the whole surface, in and around the city, one dense sheet of thick malaria. And to thicken this up, and add to its qualities, the whole city, from one extreme to the other, is filled with the most filthy masses of stench and corruption, that were ever suffered to remain above ground in a community claiming to be decent or civilized. In proof of this, go to that part of the city where you would certainly expect neatness and order, and look for some place to locate, to escape the steam and odor from piles of filth, and you will find on one side or the other of almost every dwelling, a horse stable, a mule yard, a negro pen, or piles of offals, from some lane or alley, which have been there from time immemorial. Again, you may look for a desirable dwelling, but none can you find, unless on one side or the other is a miserable shanty or hovel, filled with the most degraded human beings, either black or white. In further proof of what New Orleans is, in this respect, the following incident will give some idea of what is found there. In the summer of 1847, during the rage of the yellow fever, when hundreds were dying daily, the citizens and authorities, from some cause which I believe has never yet been made public, and perhaps only known to but _few_, got an impression, that filth and corruption _might possibly_ beget disease. Consequently they appointed a committee of examination to search the city, to ascertain if any thing could be found that would have such a tendency. In this arrangement, a very worthy and efficient gentleman, Mr. N., was assigned to Gravior, one of the principal streets in the second municipality. While on his mission he went into the _chamber_ of a house, but a few rods in rear of the St. Charles Hotel, occupied by an Irish family, and while conversing with the _lady_ of the house, his attention was attracted to another room by a noise like the grunting of swine, yet for the moment, he concluded it could not possibly be _up chamber_. The report, however, soon came again, and was so convincing that he arose and opened the door, and to his astonishment met an old sow nursing five pigs, which she had reared in that room, until they were almost large enough to become _gentlemen_ hogs. And this is _life_ in New Orleans. In connection with all this, every mouthful of food a person gets on the table is a mass of poison, disease and death. I refer now to meats, of every description. The animals of all kinds, to supply the city, are brought down from the upper States, bordering on the Ohio and Mississippi, in Steam Boats, and are, generally, from ten to fifteen days on the passage. They are forced into a change in food, water and other circumstances, during the passage. They eat but very little, and when they arrive in the city, are in a state of starvation; and in this condition are killed, and taken into the markets. Now this meat is as improper for the table as if the animal had died of ship fever; for the whole body is in a state of feverish inflammation, produced by the change of diet and the starving condition in which the animal is when killed. Consequently, the meat must produce a deleterious influence upon the health of those who eat it.

To present clearly, the condition that meats are in, when taken into the markets, the following facts are given. The Steamer Dove, in her trip to New Orleans, in Oct. 1848, was completely covered on her deck with coops full of chickens, as thick as could be crowded in, amounting to several thousand. The passage was long and tedious. For two days after being taken on board, the poultry began to sicken and die. The number dying daily increased, and for two or three days, before we arrived in the city, a large number died. On arriving, those living were immediately sold, and the next day, many of them were on the tables of the Hotels and boarding houses. Now if these chickens were wholesome, and proper food to be eaten, and would promote “health _and long_ LIFE,” then may we look for health in consuming the pent up damps and vapors of the dungeon or an emigrant ship. It is also in almost a putrid condition that butter and preserved meats are received, and they both have generally a rancid and forbidding taste and smell. Vegetables may be classed with other things, for they are usually produced by a forced growth; consequently, cannot become healthy and vigorous plants.

WATER IN NEW ORLEANS.

And now comes the water, and while I am writing, before me stands a tumbler of as pure water as was ever thrown from the bosom of the earth; hence those who have been in New Orleans, can fully realize that I can well appreciate the contrast. To dig a well and procure water in New Orleans, is a very easy matter; for you would have it, for more than two thirds of the time, even with the surface of the ground, and never, in the dryest time, more than a foot below. To drink freely of this water, no person would probably live but a short time. To furnish a supply of water for dwellings, every house has a cistern, from ten to fifteen feet high, standing above ground, for rain water. This water is used for drinking, cooking, and washing. Standing as this cistern does, exposed to the heat of the sun, the water becomes exceedingly warm, and always has a brackish, insipid taste. Another supply of water, to those who prefer it, is from the river. It is taken through the main part of the city in pipes, and this is the most disgusting and loathsome beverage, that a person ever put to his lips. To have some proper conception of this water, for drink, call to mind the filth from cities, towns, and villages, for an extent of two thousand miles, together with the dregs that are constantly being poured off from ten thousand boats of every class, from the floating palace of the magnificent “Autocrat,” down to the shabby coal carriers of the Monongahela, which are constantly floating upon its surface. And then look at the dirty gurgling mass, as it rolls along, and constantly boiling up from the bottom: dip up a tumbler full, each of which is thick with what you may call “_mud_,” if you please, and each glass-full will have at least, when left to settle, a tea spoon full of this “delicious” _mud_; and I am sure, it being so well mixed, that no other “_mud_” can be found as _rich_ as this. Yet those who live here, along the range of the Mississippi, drink it, and say they “_like it_.” But one thing is as certain as any cause and effect, that a more frightful source of disease does not exist in the Mississippi Valley, than the use of the river water for drink. As evidence of this, is the change it produces with almost every person when he commences taking it. The effect is a very powerful alterative influence upon the system, terminating as thorough as the most drastic cathartic. This derangement, in a majority of cases, follows with great obstinacy for weeks, and often months, baffling all remedies. The effect is a great irritation of the mucous coat of the stomach and alimentary canal, resulting in extreme prostration of the physical powers, and a general derangement of the whole system; thus rendering it an easy prey to the various diseases peculiar to a hot southern climate. Now, all these causes, and all the circumstances by which the inhabitants of New Orleans are surrounded, together with the excessive dissipation, in every manner prompted by human passion, make that city, as it truly is, “one great charnel house.”--Although there are periods when New Orleans is called “_very healthy_;” yet that time is, when the Yellow “_Jack_,” the Cholera, or “_Danza_,” is not sweeping the inhabitants off by scores every day. At all other times, while the mortality is three times as great as any other city of its size, with corresponding sickness, yet you will then hear, that it is “exceedingly healthy.” But notwithstanding all these reports, New Orleans never can be healthy. As well could health be enjoyed while living upon the adder’s breath, or breathing the odor from the deadly Upas tree.

POPULATION.

The population of New Orleans is about one hundred thousand, and this includes that portion who reside there during the fall and winter months. The number who may be regarded as residents, according to the proper understanding of what constitutes a residence, will probably not exceed sixty or seventy thousand. There is doubtless, every winter, a transient population of thirty or forty thousand, who spend from six to eight months in the city, and as soon as the warm season commences, take their departure in swarms, as regular as wild geese do from the North on the first appearance of a flake of snow. But on the return of cold weather they are not all of them found to return; for, as a general thing, a large majority get enough of New Orleans in one season. And separate from the Creole population, or that portion who are descendants of the first settlers, the French and Spanish, I do not think there is one in twenty of the residents of New Orleans, men who are now in business, who design to spend their days in the City. They are now, however, engaged in a routine of business that fixes them there for a time; yet they are firmly resolved, at no distant day, to seek another home. But before that time will be determined upon, by many who are now moving in the busy scenes of that fated City, they will be taken to a house and a resting place that will be more certain and unchanging than the bed of that mighty river which will forever pour its immense flood into the bosom of the Ocean. To the man of middle life, when he begins to turn the “descending scale,” and the warm current of his youthful blood begins to cool, and run sluggish through the channels of life, and before the bright visions of his fancy begin to flit the dark clouds of the uncertain future, to such a man will New Orleans present no charms, and the longer he remains there, will its varied and blighting realities appear more and more desolating. The Creole population know no other home, and consequently have nothing before them from which to make a comparison that will enable them to appreciate a higher and better state of existence. Hence they will always be found there. But to the adventurer, he who has come in from the Northern States, and whose early life is filled up with the impressions of the pure and wholesome associations of a well educated, refined and moral people, this City presents nothing that can call up the pleasing and delightful scenes of his early days, but the contrast is calculated to beget an insatiable hankering for his early home.

THE CREOLES.

The Creole population of New Orleans are a peculiar and singular people. And here it is proper to explain who are recognized as _Creoles_, for I find, that almost without exception, every person of the North understands the term, _Creole_, to mean that portion of the inhabitants who are, more or less, shaded with African blood; and in short, the impression is, that when you speak of them you are speaking of those called _Quadroons_. Yet they believe that in this class are included those of a much darker shade than the yellow persons or mulattoes who come strictly within the class of quarter-blooded Africans or _Quadroons_. The term Creole simply means _native born_. The Creoles are principally descendants of the French and Spanish settlers. They are exceedingly genteel, civil and courteous, and in all the embellishments that adorn the gentleman and lady, they excel, and in all their articles of dress they exhibit a degree of taste and perfection in arrangement, that makes them easily recognized in the common walks of life as well as in the promiscuous assembly. And yet they are strongly attached to the footsteps and ways of their fathers, and are exceedingly cautious in preserving their identity, and consequently do not desire to become familiar with the manners and custom of those “Goths and Vandals,” who have come down upon them from the North. This portion of the population of New Orleans reside principally in the first municipality, which is now the center of the City. The second municipality, or American part, as it is termed, is above, and the third is below. In the third, the inhabitants are a mixed mass, of all nations, kindreds, people, and tongues. The Creoles being thus hemmed in, are gradually yielding and giving way to the superior energy and force of character and adaptation to business of those who surround them, and have given tone and vigor to every thing of a business nature in New Orleans. Hence, the Creole reads in the future his destiny, and is compelled to reflect that what he now looks upon as Vandalism, will ere long crush every thing of his name and character in the dust. This foreshadowing of his doom makes him jealous of his more busy neighbors, and oftentimes, in view of the change that is going on like magic before him, he becomes exceedingly captious, and thus forbids himself to become social with his Yankee neighbors. But the immutable laws of population which will ever make the weak give room for the strong, force of character, influence and power of change in associations, the ingenuity and adaptation to business of those who surround them, and who already begin to mark them as their prey, will take every thing from their hands, and leave them in the shades of oblivion, only to be found by the cold and speechless marble that marks their final resting place.

SPLENDID BUILDINGS.

Of costly and splendid buildings in New Orleans, there are but very few worthy of note. The St. Charles Hotel, however, presents the proudest monument of that city, and of buildings of that character it stands unrivalled, and without a comparison in the world. This magnificent establishment, in size and beauty, in its external appearance, and architectural designs, impresses upon the beholder that sublimity and grandeur, which perfection in the science of architecture is ever calculated to produce. The most casual observer, when unconsciously brought to view this _speaking_ monument, feels an awe stealing over him, which at once charms him into the stillness of a statue; and he stands a silent gazer upon that tongueless yet speaking mass before him. There are other buildings in our country that are costly and magnificent in structure; yet in comparison to the St. Charles Hotel they fail in that speaking eloquence which it is the power of perfection in the science of architecture to display.

This immense structure was commenced in the spring of 1835 by an incorporated company, and was completed in three years.--The entire cost of the building was between five and six hundred thousand dollars. The front, on St. Charles Street, as viewed in passing down, presents a projecting portico of six Corinthian columns, standing on a granite basement, and four similar columns, on each side of the portico, ranging with the front wall of the centre part of the building. Behind these four columns is an open space, one hundred and forty feet long, covered with large granite slabs, thus affording a wide and extensive range for promenading. The entrance to the bar-room is on the front of the portico, in the basement, on each side of which is a range of stores in front. It occupies the centre of the main building, and is octangular, or eight square, and is seventy feet in diameter and twenty feet high. To support the floor above, is a range of heavy Ionic columns, in a circle round the room. In rear of this is a bathing establishment, consisting of fourteen rooms, perfectly arranged, and adapted to warm or cold baths. In the basement also are the wine and liquor cellars, store house, and other domestic apartments, necessary for such an immense establishment. The saloon, or reception room, for gentlemen, in which also is the office, is directly over the bar-room, and of equal size. In the centre of this room commences a winding stair-case, that leads through the upper stories to the dome. As it ascends up, in each story, around the stair way, is a space or gallery, that leads into a suite of bed rooms. The gentlemen’s dining room is one hundred and twenty feet long, fifty wide, and twenty-two feet high, beautifully finished in the Corinthian order of architecture. The floor above is supported by two rows of columns, arranged so as to give space for four tables, through the whole length of the rooms. The ladies’ dining room is in another part of the building, entirely separate, and is fifty two feet long and thirty six wide. The angle in front, and to the right of the portico, is the ladies drawing room, and is forty feet long and thirty two wide. The gentlemen’s sitting room is also in front, on the opposite side of the building, to the left of the portico. It is thirty eight feet square. There are, in the whole establishment, three hundred and fifty-two rooms, besides nine private parlors, with bedrooms adjoining. These rooms, throughout the whole building, are furnished with a taste and elegance, unsurpassed by any other Hotel in this or any other country. To complete and perfect this magnificent structure, a dome, in diameter and heighth, surmounts the centre of the building, that appears so perfectly in harmony with all the other parts, that to add to or diminish it would seem to destroy every line of beauty, which is now so richly displayed.--And yet to finish and fill up the conceptions of the imagination, on the top of this dome, away in the dizzy height, is a beautiful Corinthian turret, that keeps up, in its proportion, the image of perfection, that looks out from every part of this unrivalled specimen of architecture. The dome is fifty-six feet in diameter, and around this, at a distance of eleven feet, is a range of columns that support the projecting cap of the dome, thus making a beautiful gallery for promenade, from whence the eye can range at a glance over the whole city, and trace in the far distance the windings of the rushing tide of _many waters_ that lays before it.

The influence that this vast and magnificent structure has upon every one, is such that it places every other building in New Orleans so far in the back ground, that they will not receive even a passing notice. The St. Louis Hotel, however, is a building of much elegance and taste, yet presenting nothing remarkable to attract the attention of the passer by, except its immense size and the space it occupies. It fills the entire block, between Royal and Chartre Street, fronting on St. Louis, three hundred and ten feet, and on Royal and Chartre, in width, one hundred and twenty.--The original design of this immense building, was for a City Exchange, a Bank and Stores, a Hotel, and a large dancing room, in imitation of the Saloons of Paris. For a Hotel, the arrangements for such are, perhaps, the most complete and perfect of any other in the world; yet it has failed in every particular in being sustained, and this is in consequence of its location, being in the first municipality, or the French part of the city. Hence it can never become the resort of business men, or him who comes in for pasttime or pleasure. The determination of every thing in New Orleans is in another direction, and nothing hereafter will succeed unless it comes within the range of the American part of the City,--the second municipality. It is of no use to try in any other part, for “Capt. Scott” is there, and they may as well “give in” and “come down,” first as last, for they will surely be killed, if they don’t. There are no other buildings of note, or any that will rank with the common average in cities generally.

THE OLD SPANISH CATHEDRAL.

Perhaps, however, as an exception to this, may be considered the “Old Spanish Cathedral,” or Church of St. Louis. It stands in the centre of the “Crescent” and also of the City, overlooking the “Place d’Armes” or Parade Square. This unique and singular structure forcibly impresses the stranger by its ancient and venerable appearance, and is calculated to excite in the beholder, suspicion, that within its cold and gloomy walls have been perpetrated, dark and damning deeds, on which will dawn no light, until that time shall come when the crimes which have been committed within pent up walls, and in the dark haunts of vice, and under the fall of midnight, shall be spread out upon the long scroll that eternity has been rolling up. But the suspicion, that wrong or an impious act has been done within these consecrated doors, or within view of those sacred altars, would be sacrilege indeed, although it has stood here for more than half a century, and is now bearing upon its floor the footprints of three generations who have daily assembled here, and bowed in humble reverence and adoration before the image of their Savior. Yet could it reveal and unfold the records of the “confessional,” what tales of bleeding penitence--what strange and incomprehensible impulses of the human heart, would here be developed. But all these things are locked in the silent chambers of death, and rest with that venerable old man, Pere Antonio de Sedella, who was Curate of the parish for nearly fifty years. His image will live in the memory of succeeding generations, for the story of his virtues and the overflowings of his warm and generous heart will be told by the happy recipients of his favors, and impressed upon the records of every age. He was gathered to the home of his fathers in 1837, in the fullness of days, at the age of ninety years. His remains were deposited within these sacred walls, and lie buried at the foot of the altar where for half a century he daily knelt, presenting the case of some wayward and wandering child, who had poured into his ear, confessing the deeds and errors of the carnal heart, beseeching him, in the spirit of true penitence, to ask for mercy at the throne of grace.

PUBLIC GROUNDS.

Of public grounds, or places for promenade, there are none in New Orleans, and yet in no place in this country could beautiful walks and promenade grounds be made so enchanting as in that city. The climate and soil are such that every thing necessary to make such places desirable, and even charming, would come up, as by magic, if a beginning was only made. But as yet there has scarcely been a “picayune” devoted for any thing of this purpose. There are, however, inclosures of considerable extent, which no doubt were designed for this purpose. One of these is the “_Place d’Armes_,” inclosing about six acres of ground by a strong and well constructed iron fence. Although this place has long been noted, yet it is without ornament of any description, and has no attractions at any time, except on every _Sabbath_ day, when it is filled with the military of the city, who assemble here, under their respective officers, for inspection and review. This is also the place of reception for distinguished men, on all occasions of public demonstration in their behalf. And it was here, within this inclosure, four days after the “battle of New Orleans,” that General Jackson assembled the heroes of the 8th of January, and bade them farewell. And yet below, and in full view of this place, which on that memorable day, to all human conception, was a doomed city, to be given up to rapine and robbery, lay the “Plains of Chalmetta,” the “Battle ground,” the Waterloo of America, that field of glory and of arms, and not a stone, or a memento, meets the eye of the passer by, to tell where our brave soldiers, with their hearts on their bayonets, fought against such fearful odds, and the deeds of noble daring of those fathers and brothers, who there faced the cannon’s mouth, to save their homes, their wives and daughters, their mothers and sisters, from the grasp of an infuriated and brutal soldiery. But here, within the “Place d’Armes,” and in the very place, is fixed a stone, about eighteen inches square, where stood that “iron nerved old man,” and like an “infant wept,” when he received the warm grasp, and bade each soldier adieu, as the long line in single file passed before him. The stone is fixed deep in the ground, and is a “silent and impressive lecturer” on the records of the past; yet it is here simply as a memento of the footprints of the savior of his country. And here too, again and again, has the soldier, the statesman, and the civilian, met the warm embrace, and received the gratitude of the grey-haired old man, the mother, the son and daughter, presenting a monument more splendid and magnificent and enduring, than the lofty structure of granite or marble.

Of this somewhat interesting place, I cannot present a more graphic description, than the following, from a New Orleans paper.

THE PLACE D’ARMES.

What a queer neighborhood is that in the immediate vicinity of the _Place d’Armes_, in the First Municipality! A stranger can scarce realize that he is in an American city, so foreign an air pervades the vicinage. There one beholds the time-worn buildings of the old Spanish architects of the last century, crumbling and mouldering slowly away. In a few short years they will be numbered among the things which were, and in their places will soon spring up smart rows of brand new brick buildings, rejoicing in all the freshness of newly moulded clay and coatings of bright fresh paint, looking as if age could never creep on them and sap their foundations, loosen the mortar, rot the heavy beams and joists, cause great chinks and cracks to open in the walls and the roof, letting the rain and wind in to assist in the work of ruin and decay. Even the old _Place d’Armes_ itself has a queer, ancient, foreign look. The tall and aged sycamores, with the brown bark peeled off in great blotches from their trunks, leaving white-bald places; the dead and crackling branches, the dying leaves, changed by the approach of winter, but still clinging pertinaciously to the parent stock as if loth to fall and perish, seem to moan and mourn as the wind whistles through them, at the desolation which has crept into that old square. Where are its trim well-kept walks, where its neat benches, on which many a lover has uttered his devotion to his mistress and received from her lips his judgment? Where those gay promenaders, full of life and hope, uttering soft nothings and prattling in foreign tongues of _la Belle France_, or of deeds in old Spain! Where those children, rosy cheeked and cherry lipped, lightly bounding over the smooth grass and indulging in the pure and innocent sports of childhood, known only to that happy state of existence? Generations have slipped away while those old trees have been growing there--death has gathered them in by scores, and the cemeteries still tell the time when they retired to their quiet homes from the cares of the world forever. Bright wreaths of gay flowers sometimes may be seen upon the final receptacles of some of those old frequenters; evergreens growing around their graves, wetted by the tears of those in whose breasts the memory of the departed dwells ever. Where is the little fountain that once spouted so gaily in the centre of the square? where those funny, finny little denizens of the basin, in whose sportiveness the children took so much delight? Fish or fountain exist no longer; the little dolphins who never wagged their little tails, and who kept continually blowing little jets of water from their mouths--the plaster naiads, who watched over all, with a perpetual smile upon their lips, are gone also. The basin is filled up, and the next generation can only learn that there was once a fountain there! There is one old relic left yet--the black old gun which has bellowed forth from its great round throat a command to all blacks to get home as soon as possible, night after night, for many a long year. There stands the stout and hale old fellow yet, with iron constitution, affected but slightly by the hand of Time, and looking like some weather-beaten old veteran of the wars, who has been banged about a good deal, stood fire in frequent campaigns, but is still as rough and tough as the best youngster in the service.

Then there is the old cathedral, with its old towers and turrets frowning--all old places are by special poetical license invested with the power of frowning--over all, flanked on each side by the Court House and Municipal Hall, built in the olden time, and though furbished up, and whitewashed, and painted, still bearing the date of their origin upon them as plainly as the black looking ancient Cathedral. Those bells, too, in what time they first tolled a knell or rang for the quiet rest of some departed soul we cannot now tell. For many a year they have been cracked, but still are made to perform their office morning, noon and night, in obedience to the will of the founder of the Cathedral. No ghosts would infest those belfries or their neighborhood. In front stand a string of crazy old hacks and cabs, jingling jarvies and barouches, built long and long ago; the horses have a dejected air, and exhibit many points of a character which would indicate that they subsisted, like chameleons, upon very thin air, or dragged on a miserable existence in hopes of better days, living upon the force of imagination merely. You will be told, though, that these nags, “rum ’uns to look at though they be,” are “reg’lar good ’uns to go.” The drivers are mostly negroes who indulge in bad French and drink root beer at the stand of the fat old black woman at the corner. On one side of the square we have drinking houses, _cafes_ and _restaurants_--scarce any thing else. The corner is the resort of all the inhabitants of the region, a well kept place, where persons can indulge in dominoes, strong _cafe_ and all sorts of drinks from orange flower water and _eau sucre_ up to Cogniac. Every afternoon it is thronged, and a babel like confusion prevails from the mixture of languages, French, Spanish, German, Italian and English. In the same row of buildings is the well known _Cafe de Quatre Saisons_, and Victor’s _restaurant_, one of the crack places of resort in the city, where _bon vivants_ and _epicures_ have a decided propensity to congregate. On the opposite side is the queerest combination of trades. Here is a depot of the fruits of Pomona, with stacks of apples, piles of oranges, strings of bananas, baskets of pecans, walnuts and shell-barks; little monuments of guava jelly and pyramids of cocoa nuts, piled up like cannon balls. Presiding over all is a stout, olive colored Spaniard, in a striped guernsey shirt and fur cap--he is the deputy of the goddess, handles her luscious offerings and pockets the proceeds. Side by side with this is a hardware store, with long-legged spiders, and griddles, and sprawling gridirons; podgy, apopleptic looking iron pots and wide-mouthed copper kettles; casks of spike, coils of wire, shelves of knives and forks; packages of locks and bolts and bars and hooks, mute commentators upon the dishonesty of mankind. Then comes another fruit depot, another and another, all looking exactly alike, arranged the same and all attended by individuals of the same pattern. Hardware, perishable fruits and spirits are the commodities exclusively dealt in in this row. How the second story is occupied no one can say. The balcony railings are usually hung with damp and dingy looking clothes, sheets, towels, stockings, gowns, pants, and vests. Broken flower pots with starvling rose bushes and blighted geraniums, dragging out a miserable existence, may occasionally be seen, and pale, attenuated females with uncombed hair and drabbled dresses, deluging them with soap suds. An old man sometimes smokes his short clay pipe moodily, silent and alone, leaning over the balcony and listlessly watching the passers-by; and now and then a child will clamber upon the railings and terrify the beholder by demonstrations of descending head foremost to the pavement below. The inhabitants by day are few, but at night the place swarms--it is alive. Fiddles, flutes, tamborines, grinding organs are going it at a great rate; busy feet are toeing and heeling it, but whereaway it is hard to tell. The sounds issue through the chinks of the window shutters, creep out beneath the doors, curl out of the chimney tops with the smoke; a strange jumble of queer sounds, half expressed notes, abridged cachinations, bits of German glees, replete with consonants melodiously uttered, pervades the atmosphere with the indistinctness of a dream, till the Cathedral clock sonorously peals forth the hour of 12. Then the noise which has been gradually growing less and less distinct, suddenly subsides entirely--the lights fade away and the quiet of the night is disturbed no more.

DWELLING HOUSES.

The dwelling houses in New Orleans, at least seven-tenths of them, are the most miserable apologies for the comfort and convenience of a family that can be imagined, and there are but very few modern built, and well arranged, and completed, with a view to make a house desirable for a residence. The reason for this, doubtless, is the excessively _high price for building lots_; and the enormous expense of building obliges those who build, to erect as cheap buildings as possible. A house designed for renting, also, is built as cheap as can be done, for such an one will command nearly as much rent as the most splendid mansion, if it has equally as much room and as favorable location. Hence you will find, in every part of the city, in the best locations, the miserable old Spanish house, only one story high, renting from eight to twelve hundred dollars a year, and the building is not worth twenty dollars. And yet these buildings will remain where they are until swept away, either by fire or water. The excessively high price of rents for buildings, for any purpose, together with the enormous expense of living, will very much retard the rapid improvement, and permanent advancement of New Orleans.

“GOING SOUTH TO SEEK A FORTUNE.”

The impression prevails very generally, in almost every section of this country, that wealth can be accumulated with great ease, and quite rapidly here, and this has caused a great excess of business men, and much competition. Consequently profits are small, and but very few make annually more than enough to meet expenses, and many very soon become satisfied with the experiment of “going South” to make a fortune. You will not, therefore, find but very few “_old merchants_,” in New Orleans. And with this view also, “to seek their fortunes,” will you find hundreds of young men, in the fall of the year, wending their way South, to look up a way of business for themselves, and yet not one in every fifty obtain employment, or meet with any thing to do. I have seen many such come into New Orleans, with letters of introduction and recommendation of the highest character, and failing to get business, and too proud to return home, and being on expense, and without any income, would soon spend all their means in hand, and finally, from necessity as it were, would drop into the floods and whirlpools of dissipation, and be taken as straitway down to ruin and destruction, as if they were forced by the irresistible laws of gravitation. I have also watched the bright hopes and cheerful countenance of many a young man when he first looked in upon the wild and animating scenes which are here presented. He feels at once a new impulse stealing over him, and the bright visions of his fancy, which have led him on, he imagines will be more than realized, for the _substance_ and the _life_ before him he believes to be real, and in which he will soon participate. But little does he dream that all he witnesses is as false and groundless as the baseless fabric of his own wild fancy. I have thus followed him, a few short months, moving among the busy throng that fill up these streets, and finally night after night have left him in the low roofless hovel, feeding at the table with the most miserable and degraded herd of Slaves in human form. This is no sketch of scenes drawn out in vivid colors of fancy, for it is stern, living reality, and language contains no power to embellish them, for they are before you, in the history of thousands, who have been buried here, and gone down to a premature grave. And here let me say to the young man of the north, if you should have a desire, or an idea come up, of “_going South_,” check it at once,--crush the thought, ere it brings before you treasures of a golden harvest, which you may imagine is in store for you there; for let me assure you that the day has long since passed when fortunes can be easily gathered at the “_South_,” or in New Orleans; and no other place in this widespread country can be found, where so few realize the anticipations which urge them on to engage in the pursuits and business of the day and when the hour of trial comes, and blasted hopes gather thick around, so many sink away into the vortex of irretrievable ruin, and if ever known again it is amid the scenes of vice and dissipation, herding with vagabonds and gamblers. And this is the fate of hundreds of the business men of New Orleans. And this too is no fancy sketch, but the reality of every day life. And yet these men are worthy of a better fate.

THE CHURCHES.

Of the churches in this city, not including those of the Roman order, and the influence of professing christians, there cannot be much said in their favor; yet there has been something done by them, and some influence of a favorable tendency has been quietly and slowly working, which in some degree checks the wild rage of human passion, or at least has driven it back from the public view, and to a great extent from the light of day. And the reason, doubtless, why more has not been done, and why a more salutary influence is not produced by religious efforts, is that the christian standard is as much below the Bible requirements of christian life, as the moral standard is degraded below that point which justly forbids almost every man a character for morality. Hence, when the christian standard falls far below, as it does here, the ordinary estimation of a moral life, it cannot be expected that the influence of professing christians of such a grade, can be very forcible or of much avail. And I apprehend that nothing will ever be done here to crush those monster evils that stalk through these streets at midday, and to indulge and participate in which is not unbecoming a _gentleman_, a _good citizen_, a _moral man_, and a _christian_, unless it is by raising up a proper moral standard, by which men shall be tested who are to be the recipients of patronage and public favor. This, however, would look like a hard beginning, for some _one_ would be called upon “to throw the first stone.” And I fear echo would answer, Where is he?

There are a number of Churches in the City, and many of them of recent organization. The Episcopalians have five, Presbyterians three, Methodists two, Baptists one, Universalists one. The Clergymen who officiate in them are generally men of distinguished talent and ability, and the morning service, on the Sabbath, is usually well attended. In the afternoon the audience is very small, consisting only of a small portion even of the members. No Church could be well sustained in New Orleans, with a second rate preacher. They must be men of popular talent, of forcible and attractive eloquence, and withal not very _close_ preachers. Hence the influence of preaching and of Christian teaching is superficial indeed. The principal cause, and doubtless, the great obstacle in the christian and moral standard of New Orleans, is the total disregard and desecration of the Sabbath. Not only is this done by professed christians, but by those who have been differently educated and early impressed with the benefits and wholesome and salutary influence produced by a due observance of this day.

THE SABBATH.

The Sabbath appears to be regarded by almost every one as a holiday, and its return is as much desired for a day of pleasure, as if no other day was appropriate for such purposes. Military Parades are never on any other day but the Sabbath. Horse racing, when a large purse is at stake on the most famous races, are on the Sabbath. Theatres and circuses have the most attractive bills and greatest display on Sabbath evening. Bull fights also are never on any other day, and in fact, exhibitions of every kind are usually on the Sabbath. And yet, in this enlightened age and against the good sense and judgment of every other section of this country, and in full view of the evils that flow from these examples, the authorities grant permits and licenses for these things, and men in the highest official stations in the State and city favor them by their presence on the Sabbath. And also, against these outrages and other evils that are begotten by them, the pulpit is as silent as if they were in accordance with the rituals of the church. And more than this, will you be astonished to see, not only _good men_, but _professing christians_, mingling in the crowded throng that keep up these rounds of moral pollution and dissipation. But in all these evils the authorities are chargeable with more censure than all others, for they have the power to prevent and suppress entirely these blighting curses that pervade this city. But compared with other causes that seek no hiding place, amidst the whirlwind and rage of human passion that lays desolate every refined and noble impulse of the human heart, the desecration of the Sabbath is but as the breath of the summer breeze, compared to the tornado’s blast.

SOCIAL RELATIONS.

The social relations of the great mass of the citizens of New Orleans are peculiar, and doubtless unlike any other place within the wide range of civilization. And the principles by which the intercourse in society is regulated, are strange indeed; especially to those who have been educated and taught to believe there is some meaning and worth in virtue and chastity, and that licentiousness, fornication, and adultery are crimes, if not in the sight of heaven, at least should be so considered in a moral point of view, as well as against the sacredness of the domestic circle and peace of society. But here these evils, together with the outrages of prostitution, appear to be regarded as matters that come as much within the routine of the social relations, and the open and unrestricted indulgence of the citizens, as a general thing, as any of the common civilities of life. Hence, to be openly known in the practice of these vices--as a libertine, or living in adultery, or as an excessively licentious man, does not degrade him, or make him the less favored or less respectable. In fact, there appears to be no such condition known here as adultery, fornication, or prostitution; and I doubt very much whether they have any such words in their Dictionary. To the man who is notoriously of this description it appears to give a force of character, and a degree of consequence, that commands respect and deference, that makes him the beau ideal of a fine fellow and a gentleman. The light in which these things are regarded here, and the present practice in respect to them, at an earlier day than this, would have surprised any one, but considering the character of the early settlers, it would perhaps be remarkable indeed if this had not been exhibited; for those who first came into New Orleans were mere adventurers, without attachments to home or place, and many of them without social relations or even kindred. Consequently they were creatures of circumstance, and while mingling in the varied scenes of the Mississippi valley, it would be strange indeed if they should not have met with females of the same class, and to whom they would become attached as companions. To presume otherwise would be to conclude against the experience of every age, as well as against the natural impulses of the human heart.

ILLEGITIMATE FAMILIES.

There are hundreds of men and women now living together, who have around them large families, and yet were never married. Connections of this kind exist in New Orleans to a much greater extent than is generally known. As evidence on this point, a very worthy and intelligent lady living in the Third Municipality informed me that a Methodist minister accidentally left at her house his book of record for marriages, which the law now requires every clergyman to keep. In looking it through, she found that he had married within the last two years thirty-three of her neighbors, heads of families, and many of them having children that were married, who had been living together as man and wife, and as such every one regarded them. They had been privately married to enable the children to inherit their property, as a law in Louisiana has been enacted with a view to meet these very cases.

CONCUBINAGE.

There is also another condition in the social relations, that but very few individuals could reconcile themselves to sustain. It is in supporting and having two families. There are a large number of business men from the North--captains and officers of Steam Boats, and captains of French, English, and American vessels--who spend more than half the time in this city, and many of them have families at home; yet here they have their mistresses and children, and are as much at home with them as with their lawful wives. The condition and connection of these persons together are perfectly understood, as is also the fact, with most of them, that they have another family. Yet these things are not often made a matter of others’ business, and consequently they are all “very respectable.” This class of females, to some extent, live as confidingly honest, and as strictly preserve the character of a wife, as if the man had no other attachments. And any act on her part of infidelity would be regarded as a sufficient cause of separation, and she would be discarded as readily as if they were lawfully married. Such separations often occur from jealousy, or from suspicion of attachment to another. And when a separation has actually been made, the parties appear more hostile, and manifest a more deadly hatred towards each other, than is ever witnessed in separations of those lawfully connected. And these quarrels are seldom if ever reconciled, but continue to increase with a savage hatred, that not unfrequently ends sadly to the one or the other, or to the individual who has seduced the woman from her alliance. These men who thus live in these connections are generally persons of ample means, and usually appear to be proud of the distinction of being able to support two families.

KEPT MISTRESSES.

There is another class of individuals here who have not the means to support two families. They are usually men engaged in the same business with the others, and required to be absent from the city nearly half of the time. These men have their mistresses, either white or colored, with whom they live as companions. And the regulations of these connections are that while the man is in the city, the house which the woman occupies is their home, jointly and as distinctly as if they were married; and when he is absent, the women seeks other companions, for the time being, and in doing this does not hazard the displeasure of “her husband,” as she calls him. By this liberty that she has of seeking promiscuous company, and the assistance she gets from “_her man_,” she is able to support herself in great style, and with as much ease and comfort around her as can be desired. They usually occupy a room, or suite of rooms, a parlor and bed room, that are furnished with as much elegance and splendor as money can purchase. Most of the females living in these connections have been flattered and seduced away from their homes, by glowing descriptions and representations of the pleasures and gaities and unceasing enjoyments which constitute a life in New Orleans. Connections of this character are as much a matter of contract, and the terms and conditions by which each shall be governed are as definite, as any other business transaction can be, and thus they live for years, and in many instances an attachment for each other is the result, and they finally settle down as man and wife, and often sooner or later are married, and become comparatively respectable.

EXTENT OF LICENTIOUSNESS.

The extent of licentiousness and prostitution in New Orleans is doubtless without a parallel, and probably is double that of any other place in the whole range of the civilized world. The indulgence and practice is so general and common that men do not seek to cover up their acts, or go in disguise; but in all these things, keeping their mistresses, or frequenting bed houses, and having women come to their rooms at night, they do it as openly, and as much before the eyes of the world, as any other act among the common civilities of the social circle. Some idea of the extent of prostitution and licentiousness which is exhibited on every side, can be formed from the fact that at least three-fifths of the dwellings and rooms in a large portion of the city are occupied by prostitutes, or by one or the other class of kept mistresses. Those women who are the companions of one man, and hold that position under a pledge of confidence not to seek intercourse with others, hold themselves very much above the character of prostitutes, and regard themselves as respectable; and as such many of them move in society with some degree of favor and consequence. But however true and devoted the men who keep them may think they are, not one-twentieth part of them but what have other favorites, with whom they meet, not only in their own rooms, but also at the houses of assignation. And in this same condition are living many men with their wives, in whom they have most implicit confidence; yet they have their chosen and confidential companions and friends with whom they meet, not only in their own houses, but at the rooms of assignation. Yet in doing this they are only indulging in the same course that their husbands are following, in meeting other companions in the same way and under the same circumstances. And with all these individuals, of every class, is carried out the wild rage of human passion, that is nursed and fostered by every association and connection in the social relations of New Orleans.

REGULAR PROSTITUTES.