XV.

An old friend--Variety in the styles of building--Love for

flowers--The basin--Congo square--The African bon-ton of

New-Orleans--City canals--Effects of the cholera--Barracks

--Guard-houses--The ancient convent of the Ursulines--The

school for boys--A venerable edifice--Principal--Recitations

--Mode of instruction--Primary department--Infantry tactics

--Education in general in New-Orleans.

A quondam fellow-student, who has been some months a resident of this

city, surprised and gratified me this morning with a call. With what

strong--more than brotherly affection, we grasp the hand of an old

friend and fellow-toiler in academic groves! No two men ever meet like

old classmates a year from college!

After exchanging congratulations, he kindly offered to devote the day to

the gratification of my curiosity, and accompany me to all those places

invested with interest and novelty in the eye of a stranger, which I had

not yet visited.

On my replying in the negative to his inquiry, "If I had visited the

rail-way?" we decided on making that the first object of our attention.

Though more than a mile distant, we concluded, as the morning was

uncommonly fine, to proceed thither on foot, that we might, on the way,

visit the venerable convent of the Ursulines, the old Spanish barracks,

and one or two other places of minor interest.

Sallying from our hotel, we crossed to the head of Chartres-street, and

threaded our way among the busy multitude, who, moving in all

directions, on business or pleasure, thronged its well-paved side-walks.

On both sides of the way, for several squares, the buildings were

chiefly occupied by wholesale and retail dry goods dealers, who are

mostly northerners; so that a Yankee stranger feels himself quite at

home among them; but before he reaches the end of the long, narrow

street, he might imagine himself again a stranger, in a city of France.

The variety of the streets, here, is almost as great as the diversity of

character among the people. New-Orleans seems to have been built by a

universal subscription, to which every European nation has contributed a

street, as it certainly has citizens. From one, which to a Bostonian

looks like an old acquaintance, you turn suddenly into another that

reminds you of Marseilles. Here a street lined with long, narrow, grated

windows, in dingy, massive buildings, surrounded by Moorish turrets,

urns, grotesque ornaments of grayish stone and motley arabesque, would

bring back to the exiled Castilian the memory of his beloved Madrid. In

traversing the next, a Parisian might forget that the broad Atlantic

rolled between him and the boasted city of his nativity. Here is one

that seems to have been transplanted from the very midst of Naples;

while its interesting neighbour reminds one of the quaker-like plainness

of Philadelphia. There are not, it is true, many which possess decidedly

an individual character; for some of them contain such a heterogeneous

congregation of buildings, that one cannot but imagine their occupants,

in emigrating from every land under heaven, to have brought their own

houses with them. The most usual style of building at present, is after

the Boston school--if I may so term the fashion of the plain, solid,

handsome brick and granite edifices, which are in progress here, as well

as in every other city in the union; a style of architecture which owes

its origin to the substantial good taste of the citizens of the goodly

"city of notions." The majority of structures in the old, or French

section of New-Orleans, are after the Spanish and French orders. This

style of building is not only permanent and handsome, but peculiarly

adapted, with its cool, paved courts, lofty ceilings, and spacious

windows, to this sultry climate; and I regret that it is going rapidly

out of fashion. Dwellings of this construction have, running through

their centre, a broad, high-arched passage, with huge folding-doors, or

gates, leading from the street to a paved court in the rear, which is

usually surrounded by the sleeping-rooms and offices, communicating with

each other by galleries running down the whole square. In the centre of

this court usually stands a cistern, and placed around it, in large

vases, are flowers and plants of every description. In their love for

flowers, the Creoles are truly and especially French. The glimpses one

has now and then, in passing through the streets, and by the ever-open

doors of the Creoles' residences, of brilliant flowers and luxuriantly

blooming exotics, are delightfully refreshing, and almost sufficient to

tempt one to a "petit larceny." You may know the residence of a Creole

here, even if he resides in a Yankee building, by his mosaic-paved

court-yard, filled with vases of flowers.

On arriving at Toulouse-street, which is the fifth intersecting

Chartres-street, we turned into it, and pursued our way to the basin, in

the rear of the city, which I was anxious to visit. A spectator in this

street, on looking toward either extremity, can discover shipping. To

the east, the dense forest of masts, bristling on the Mississippi,

bounds his view; while, at the west, his eye falls upon the humbler

craft, which traverse the sluggish waters of Lake Pontchartrain. This

basin will contain about thirty small vessels. There were lying along

the pier, when we arrived, five or six miserable-looking sloops and

schooners, compared to which, our "down easters" are packet ships. These

ply regularly between New-Orleans and Mobile, and by lading and

discharging at this point, have given to this retired part of the city

quite a business-like and sea-port air. The basin communicates with the

lake, four miles distant, by means of a good canal. A mile below the

basin, a rail-way has been lately constructed from the Mississippi to

the lake, and has already nearly superseded the canal; but of this more

anon.

Leaving the basin, we passed a treeless green, which, we were informed

by a passer-by, was dignified by the classical appellation of "Congo

Square." Here, our obliging informant gave us to understand, the

coloured "ladies and gentlemen" are accustomed to assemble on gala and

saints' days, and to the time of outlandish music, dance, not the

"Romaika," alas! but the "Fandango;" or, wandering in pairs, tell their

dusky loves, within the dark shadows, not of jungles or palm groves, but

of their own sable countenances. As the Congoese _elite_ had not yet

left their kitchens, we, of course, had not the pleasure of seeing them

move in the mystic dance, upon the "dark fantastic toe," to the dulcet

melody of a Congo _banjo_.

From the centre of this square, a fine view of the rear of the Cathedral

is obtained, nearly a mile distant, at the head of Orleans-street, which

terminates opposite the square. In this part of the town the houses were

less compact, most of them of but one story, with steep projecting

roofs, and graced by _parterres_; while many of the dwellings were half

embowered with the rich green foliage of the fragrant orange and lemon

trees. At the corner of rues St. Claude and St. Anne, we passed a very

pretty buff-coloured, stuccoed edifice, retired from the street, which

we were informed was the Masonic lodge. There are several others, I

understand, in various parts of the city. A little farther, on rue St.

Claude, in a lonely field, is a small plain building, denominated the

College of Orleans, which has yet obtained no literary celebrity.

Opposite to this edifice is the foot of Ursuline-street, up which we

turned, in our ramble over the city, and proceeded toward the river. It

may appear odd to you, that we should _ascend_ to the river; but such is

the case here. You are aware, from the descriptions in one of my former

letters, that the surface of the Mississippi, at its highest tide, is

several feet higher than the surrounding country; and that it is

restrained from wholly inundating it, only by banks, or _levees_,

constructed at low stages of the water. Nowhere is this fact so evident

as in New-Orleans. For the purpose of cleansing the city, water is let

in at the heads of all those streets which terminate upon the river, by

aqueducts constructed through the base of the Levee, and this artificial

torrent rushes _from_ the river down the gutters, on each side of the

streets, with as much velocity as, in other places, it would display in

seeking to mingle with the stream. Sometimes the impetus is sufficient

to carry the dirty torrents quite across the city into the swamps

beyond. But when this is not the case, it must remain in the deep drains

and gutters along the side-walks, impregnated with the quintessence of

all the filth encountered in its Augean progress, exhaling its noisome

effluvia, and poisoning the surrounding atmosphere. All the streets in

the back part of the city are bordered on either side with a canal of an

inky-coloured, filthy liquid, (water it cannot be termed) from which

arises an odour or incense by no means acceptable to the olfactory

sensibilities. The streets running parallel with the river, having no

inclination either way, are, as a natural consequence of their

situation, redolent of these Stygian exhalations. Why New-Orleans is

not depopulated to a man, when once the yellow fever breaks out in it,

is a miracle. From the peculiarity of its location, and a combination of

circumstances, it must always be more or less unhealthy. But were the

police, which is at present rather of a military than a civil character,

regulated more with a view to promote the comfort and health of the

community, the evil might be in a great measure remedied, and many

hundred lives annually preserved.

On ascending Ursuline-street, we remarked what I had previously noticed

in several other streets, upon the doors of unoccupied dwellings,

innumerable placards of "Chambre garnie," "Maison a louer," "Appartement

a louer," &c. On inquiry, I ascertained that their former occupants had

been swept away by the cholera and yellow fever, which have but a few

weeks ceased their ravages. Four out of five houses, which we had seen

advertised to let, in different parts of the city, were French, from

which I should judge that the majority of the victims were Creoles. The

effects of the awful reign of the pestilence over this devoted city,

have not yet disappeared. The terrific spirit has passed by, but his

lingering shadow still casts a funereal gloom over the theatre of his

power. The citizens generally are apparelled in mourning; and the public

places of amusement have long been closed.

The old Ursuline convent stands between Ursuline and Hospital streets,

and opposite to the barracks, usually denominated the "Old Spanish

Barracks." Crossing rue Royale, we first visited those on the south

side of Hospital-street. On inquiring of an old, gray-headed soldier,

standing in front of a kind of guard-house, if the long, massive pile of

brick, which extended from the street more than two hundred feet to the

rear, "were the barracks?" he replied, with genuine Irish brogue, "Which

barracks, jintlemen?" Ignorant of more than one place of the kind, we

repeated the question with emphasis. "Why yes, yer 'onours, its thim

same they are, an' bad luck to the likes o' them." We inquired "if the

regiment was quartered here?" "The rigiment is it, jintlemen! och, but

it's not here at all, at all; divil a rigiment has been in it (the city

meaning) this many a month. The sogers, what's come back, is quarthered,

ivery mother's son o' them, in the private hoose of a jintleman jist

by."

"Why did they leave the city?"

"For fear o' the cholery, sure. But there's a rigiment ixpicted soon,

and they'll quarther here, jintlemen; and we're repeerin' the barracks

to contain thim, till the new ones is ericted; 'cause these is not the

illigant barracks what's goin' to be ericted, sure."

Finding our Milesian so communicative, we questioned him farther, and

obtained much interesting information. From the street, the barracks,

which are now unoccupied, present the appearance of a huge arcade,

formed by a colonnade of massive brick pillars, running along its whole

length. Some portion of the front was stuccoed, giving a handsome

appearance to that part of the building. The whole is to be finished in

the same manner, and when completed, the structure will be a striking

ornament to New-Orleans: probably a rival of the "splendid new edifice"

about to be erected in a lower part of the city. Though called the

"Spanish Barracks," I am informed that they were erected by the Duke of

Orleans, when he governed this portion of the French possessions.

Immediately opposite to the barracks, in the convent yard, are two very

ancient wooden guard-houses, blackened and decayed with age, about

thirty feet in height, looking very much like armless windmills, or

mammoth pigeon-houses.

The convent next invited our notice. It has, till within a few years,

been very celebrated for its school for young ladies, who were sent here

from all the southern part of the Union, and even from Europe. A few

years since, a new convent was erected two miles below the city, whither

the Ursuline ladies have removed; and where they still keep a

boarding-school for young ladies, which is highly and justly celebrated.

The old building is now occupied by the public schools. Desirous of

visiting so fine a specimen of cis-Atlantic antiquity, and at the same

time to make some observation of the system of education pursued in this

city, we proceeded toward the old gateway of the convent, to apply for

admittance.

We might have belaboured the rickety gate till doomsday, without gaining

admittance, had not an unlucky, or rather, lucky stroke which we decided

should be our last, brought the old wicket rattling about our ears,

enveloping us in clouds of dust, as it fell with a tremendous crash

upon the pavement. At this very alarming _contre temps_, we had not time

to make up our minds whether to beat a retreat, or encounter the assault

of an ominously sounding tongue, which thundered "mutterings dire," as

with anger in her eye, and wonder in her mien, the owner rushed from a

little porter's lodge, which stood on the right hand within the gate,

"To see what could in nature be the matter,

To crack her lugs with such a ponderous clatter."

We succeeded in appeasing the ire of the offended janitress, and

proceeded across a deserted court covered with short grass, to the

principal entrance of the convent, which stands about seventy feet back

from the street.

This edifice presents nothing remarkable, except its size, it being

about one hundred feet in front, by forty deep. Its aspect is venerable,

but extremely plain, the front being entirely destitute of ornament or

architectural taste. It is stuccoed, and apparently was once white, but

it is now gray with rust and age. It may be called either a French or

Spanish building, for it equally evinces both styles of architecture;

presenting that anomaly, characteristic of those old structures which

give a fine antiquated air to that part of the city. Massive pilasters

with heavy cornices, tall, deep windows, huge doorways, and flat roofs,

are the distinguishing features of this style of building. Never more

than two, the dwellings are usually but one very lofty story in height,

and covered with a light yellow stucco, in imitation of dingy-white,

rough hewn marble. In internal arrangement and decorations, and external

appearance, they differ but little from each other. As we passed under

the old, sunken portal, the confused muttering of some hundred treble

tongues, mingled, now and then, with a deep bass grumble of authority,

burst upon our ears, and intimated our proximity to the place where

"young ideas are taught to shoot." Wishing to gratify our curiosity by

rambling through the convent's deserted halls and galleries, before we

entered the rooms whence the noise proceeded, we ascended a spacious

winding stairway; but there was nothing to be seen in the second story,

except deserted rooms, and we ascended yet another stair-case to a low

room in the attic, formerly the dormitory of the nunnery. While on our

return to the first floor, a gentleman, M. Priever, who was, as we

afterward ascertained, principal of the public schools of the city,

encountered us on the stairs, and politely invited us to visit the

different school-rooms within the building. We first accompanied him to

the extremity of a long gallery, where he ushered us into a pleasant

room, in which a dozen boys were sitting round a table, translating

Latin exercises into French. This class, he informed us, he had just

taken from the primary school below stairs, to instruct in the

elementary classics. From this gentleman we ascertained that there were

in the city two primary schools, one within the convent walls, and the

other a mile distant, in the northern faubourg. From these two schools,

when properly qualified, the pupils are removed into the high, or

classic school, kept within the convent. He observed that he had the

supervision of these three schools--the high, and two primary--though

each had its own particular teacher. The principals of the two convent

schools are gentlemen distinguished both for urbanity and literary

endowments. In the classical school, pupils can obtain almost every

advantage which a collegiate course would confer upon them. The French

and Spanish languages form a necessary part of their education; and but

few young men resort to northern colleges from New-Orleans. It is the

duty of the principal often to visit the primary schools--select from

their most promising pupils, those qualified to enter the high

school--form them into classes by daily recitations in his own room, (in

which employment he was engaged when we entered,) and then pass them

over to the teacher of the school they are prepared to enter.

With Mons. P. we visited the classical school, where fifty or sixty

young gentlemen were pursuing the higher branches of study. The

instructer was a Frenchman, as are all the other teachers. In this, and

the other departments, the greater portion of the students also are of

French descent; and probably about one-third, in all the schools, are of

American parentage. Mons. P. informed me that the latter usually

acquired, after being in the school six weeks, or two months, sufficient

French for all colloquial purposes. He observed that the majority of the

scholars, in all the departments, spoke both languages (French and

English,) with great fluency. After hearing two or three classes

translate Greek and Latin authors into French, and one or two embryo

mathematicians demonstrate Euclid, in the same tongue, we proceeded to

the opposite wing of the building, and were ushered into the rattle,

clangor, and confusion of the primary department. We were politely

received by Mons. Bigot, a Parisian, a fine scholar, and an estimable

man. You have visited infant schools for boys, I believe; recall to mind

the novel and amusing scenes you there beheld, and you will have an idea

of this primary school. The only difference would be, that here the

pupils are rough, tearing boys, from fifteen years of age to three.

Here, as in the former, they marched and counter-marched, clapped their

hands, stamped hard upon the floor, and performed various evolutions for

the purpose of circulating the blood, which by sitting too long is apt

to stagnate, and render them, particularly in this climate, dull and

sleepy. We listened to some of their recitations, which were in the

lowest elementary branches, and took our leave under infinite

obligations to the politeness and attention of the gentlemanly

superintendents.

Besides these, there are private schools for both sexes. The majority of

the young ladies are educated by the Ursulines at the convent, in the

lower faubourg. Some of the public schools are exclusively for English,

and others exclusively for French children. Many pupils are also

instructed by private tutors, particularly in the suburbs.