Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1885-03-16

glimmering, the 'beadle' passes /
that way and sea: is secured. But
the green, three hat, and
the red coat. so like the old uniform
Of the British, which the usher wears,
has driven all reverent thoughts away
so that soon one is ready to turn aside
for the next novelty.
Further down is the Bishops Pal
ace-a queer building, very old, very
clean, very comfortless. One can
readily see that life spent therein
would be devoted to serious thoughts,
for the grass and trees in the yards
are all that redeem it from desolation.
Connected is St. Mary's chapel,
where the Bishop, who sleeps be-
meath the altar of the French Cathe-
dral, long held service.
Around a corner, not far from this
chapel, is the best preserved, old
Dutch tile roof in the city. The
building itself is worth seeing. but
the roof rewards one for long tramp.
| would like to write the story of the
"Lover's Palm Tree" which grew
opposite the chapel, and of ''The
Haunted House" around the corner.
and of many other things, but time
and space forbid.
One of the sights of the Crescent
city is the French market, which
stretches along not far from the rivers
edge of French New Orleans. This
is open all days, but on Sunday
morning it is in gala dress and makes
its best appearance. No other mark
ct in America is more nearly related
than a seventeenth cousin. Squat
ting about one entrance are Indian
women, offering roots, herbs, a pow
der for soup, and rarely few vege-
tables. No, they don't offer them
for sale, they squat there with q
mute appeal in their faces, and you
buy because you don't want to see
that face peering at you through dim
twilight. In the long, low sheds,
which constitute the buildings. may
be found everything to eat, many
things TO drink, and more to use and
wear. Onions and garlic battle with
great piles of exquisite flowers, in
their effort to shed perfume through
the place-and the onions usually
get the best of it. A soda fountain
sizzles as low as it can, but the sput-
tering of the fish in the frying pan at
the little refreshment stand hard by,
puts it all out of time.
The vegetables are piled on plates
small potatoes at the bottom and
bouncing fellows where they show
well. Peas, beans. etc. are in sauc-
ers, spread thinly over the surface.
If the price IS asked, they tell you
so much a plate. Beets, radlshcs,
and turnips are tied up in queer little
bunches-vegetable bouquets. Chick
ems and cream cheese Ga dish unknown
in the north) are often so near neigh
bors, the cheese would suffer were
the chickens necks trfle longer.
Bread and cake keep company with
beans and cabbage, and little far
ther on are dishes 10 cook and serve
them in, and material for the cooks
trouseau. Row upon row of cream
yellow lunches of bananas hang
above odorous pine apples and lus-
cious oranges. Fruit, fish, fnery all
can be found. And the people
French, Italian, Spanish, Cubans
Irish, Swedes, Russians, Turks, Ne
groes, Americans, Indians-and
more; all talking, all intent on theil
business. 1t is place to open botl
eyes and ears and wonder how the
recording angel keeps up.
AT the river end of Esplanadt
street is the c. S. Mint on the op.
posite side and little nearer the riv.
Ell, is the Bethel, the sailors refuge
the only place that he can 60 and moi
meet temptation the only home ma.
ny seafaring man knows in any city
In Bethel, whether in London OF New
York, Liverpool or New Orleans, he
finds papers from every port, good
books, kind Christian counsel, and
if he will, he may, participate in re-
ligious services. Many man learns
his first lesson in Christianity in the
Bethel; many soul has been awak.
ened from its lethargy by the words
spoken IN the sailors refuge.
If ones steps turn into the narrow
streets below Esplanade, back only 8
little from the river, queer sights may
present themselves Of some OF
those quarters blood -curdling stores
were told years ago. Even now, the
breezes whisper of dark and some
times bloody deeds, but who is afraid
when Gods sunshine is DER all and
where can one see such mixtures of
humanity? 1t is not the Tapping OF
ghosts draperies that you hear-only
the swish of the weeks wash, which
hangs high above your head, for the
houses are huddled too closely to have
yards, SO by some queer arrangement
of ropes and pullies, the street does
duty as clothes yard. Very odd ii
looks to see, four stories above ones
head, festoons of white, frightened
here and there by red flannel shirt,
and sometimes completing our ma
tional colors by the addition of blue
calico dresses-a species of street
decoration not to be commended for
adoption.