The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-04-26
AN APRIL PILGRIMAGE.
written for the Indianapolis Journal


The droughte of March hath pierced to the rose.
Than iongen folk to gon on pilgrimages
And palmeres for to seken strange strandes."
Conspicuously cherished in the mental chroni-
Gle which records my prowlings about quaint
and ever delightful dirty old New Orleans, Is the
remembrance of a reverential pilgrimage to the
Southern home of George w. Cable. the novel
ist whose entertaining delineatons of creole life
and character have made him SO popular in
the North, and so despised and rejected
in the passionate and dim-visioned South Tt
was not my wish or intention to cross the thresh-
old of the famous writer, to make unwarranted
theft of his time, to wag his right hand and ask
him how he did, to solicit the correct pronuncia-
tion of 'grandissimes," or make myself other
wise obnoxious. My sole desire, prompted by
lively curiosity which was modified to complete
innocuousness by respectful admiration was to
gaze from safe distance at Cables house and
home, and bear away with me to the humdrum,
unpoetic North, its mental photograph. With
this mild and wholly unobjectionable end in view,
one lovely, lazy, typical Southern afternoon, &C
companied by like-minded companion, ]
sailed forth; no, not Sailed that is
far too energetic word to describe walking in
New Orleans. There the brisk Northerner has
to cultivate a languid gait or make himself too
conspicuous for comfort. We strolIed, ramb.ed,
drifted dawded, sauntered, loitered, or any
other word which will apply to getting over the
ground at a leisurely pace only one remove from
stock still" The sun was warm, and gentle
breeze trifed with the new green of vines and
trees. The freshly deposited oystershells, with
which New Orleans folk mend their muddy
highways and byways, smote the nostrils with
horrd stencil, which the orange blossom the
magnolia fuscata and the sweet olive strug-
gled in vain to out-odor. The wooden
banquette was high and dry above the green, blue
and purple scum of the open sewers, and little
brown lizards scuttled precpitately back into
their homes, under the planks, our coming
steps affrighted them. After much consulting
lamp post hieroglyphies, and asking folks who
didn't know, we found Eighth street. Then,
after considerable crossing back and forth, and
peeking about for numbers, which New Orleans
applies to her houses in sublime disregard for
numerical symmetry, we happened on 229-the
eureka of our pilgrimage-Cab home. When
we found it, it was on the other side
of the street Things always are. 1t is
way they have. It was all for the best,
however, as it gave to our approach an air of
dignity and majestic generation which was
highly appropriate and becoming, and which,
plorably lacking. We stood opposite the
revered abode and INDUCED in few suitable
emotions, and then, with measured step and
slow, went over and inspected the premises at
short range. A brown wooden fence first pre-
scented itself, with the customary array of lock
and knob which make the New Orleans mans
house his castle 1t may be remarked, en- pas
SAINT, that this custom of locked gates
with a bell attached has its recommend
ing features. Fancy how delightful it must
be to peep through the blinds and see the broom
fend peddlers and agents of every kind and de-
gree crashing their teeth, tearing their hair,
perhaps ripping up the pavement and walking
off with it in their unbounded wrath at beng
held at bay. Mr.. Cables gate was locked, for
we slyly turned the knob to see. The gate-bell
wouldn't ring, probably having been pulled out
by the roofs by autograph seekers Not symp
tom of life was visible about the premises, so
we tarried there, craned our necks, and peeped
over the fence to our hearts content. About
twenty feet from the gate stood the
house, a plain, brown, wooden cottage.
1t was not seal brown, or an olive brown, a
tan brown, or any other aesthetic kind of brown,
but a good old fashioned brown brown The
house was built high above the ground, as all
New Orleans houses must be to avoid dampness,
and then they don't avoid it; and the spaces
on each side of the long slips lead
ing to the veranda, were partially filled by pic
turesque rockerles, which but imperfectly
screened from view the backyard. My friend,
who has mania for backyaris, threw out
timid insinuation that we might go around into
the alley and get rear view; but as New Or
leans has no alleys, | gently but firmly per-
suaded her to relinquish all such ideas Nice
grass plats were on each side of the walk, and
two tall orange trees stood fragrant sentinels on
each side of the steps, shedding perfume and
blossom on all ascending visitors. A pleasant
veranda ran across the front of the house, the
door and two windows on each side opening on
it, Door and windows were tightly closed, but
coy rocking chairs on the porch gave an ocou-
pied air to the house, and yelled the not at home
expression on its countenance Not soul was
to be seen near or far, in yards or in the ban
quette. It was the hour Of siesta. when all peo-
pie of sound mind were supposed to be drifting
down Slumber creek Cables black and yellow
cat was DOING on the doorstep, sole witness to
our eccentric behavior. If she objected to our
looking over the fence she was too lazy TO men
ton It, and after one languld Wink OF inquiry
dropped off to sleep. We gazed our fill at this
abode of genius until it grew monotonous Joa-
quin Miller was reported to be occuppying the
house, and we fondly hoped he would come out
and give zest and variety to the exercises by
singing an old sombrero, some of his rejected
MSS, or even Sierra swearword at us, but he
too, was lotus eating, and declined to appear.
After deep and satisfying draughts of odor from
Cables orange trees we reluctantly withdrew.
Not wishing to retire in any uncertainty as to
having poured out our libations on the wrong
door stone, we interviewed the corner grocery
an astute performance which might have occurred
in the first place. if we had thought of it. The
grocery where the Cables buy their soap and
starch, their eggs and potatoes their brooms and
clothes lines, and where the little Cables run for
stick candy and 'lagniappe," is in itself, an OBJ
ject of deep interest. 1t was clean little
grocery, and neat little woman pleasantly an
swered all our questions. Eyes, that
was where Mr.. Cable lived. The family
mara awau-had onnA Nnrth-somahodrr Alec