FIGHTING THE INSECTS 



difficulty, although I am not telling its name nor that o£ its 

 author. We finally reached New Orleans, and I was fascinated 

 by the still very Frenchified city (this was in the spring of 

 1879). The French Quarter was still perfectly French, and, 

 in fact, on one side of Canal Street, it was as though you were 

 in France. 



It so happened that my chum, Mac Borden, had spent his 

 early boyhood in New Orleans. One thing he said to me before 

 I left Washington illustrated the inconsequence of some of 

 childhood's most vivid recollections. He said, "When you get 



to New Orleans, go to Number Esplanade Street. Go 



through the iron gate, down the brick walk to the front door 

 of the house. Ask for permission to go through into the back 

 yard, and then go down the brick walk to the stable. When 

 you get to the stable door count four rows of brick from the 

 left edge of the door towards yourself, and then three rows 

 to the left, and see if the brick is still there that has a little hole 

 in it where I fell down and broke off my tooth." 



We went to the old St. Charles Hotel, a distinctly American 

 institution, and paid six dollars a day each, American plan, 

 which, of course, included our meals. But the food did not suit 

 my English companion, and we dined every day at a famous 

 French restaurant on Canal Street. My economical mind was 

 shocked at the amount of the bill, which was seldom less than 

 fifteen dollars. We went to the French opera, and it must have 

 been then in its prime, for the performance was very good. The 

 audience was brilliant, and the conversation around us was 

 wholly in French. 



My English companion had been spending money like water, 

 apparently without the slightest regret. One day, however, we 

 boarded the ferry-boat to cross the Mississippi to Algiers. We 

 decided not to leave the boat, and returned to New Orleans 



[42] 



