New Orleans Courtyards 
by a failure of memory to picture all the details 
of the old home in Spain. Note the tapering 
columns, round in the upper storey, square 
in the lower! The beautiful doorway, the 
ornate window frames, the great stairway! 
Could any one question the hospitality of 
such an entrance ? No tired traveler was 
ever turned from that door. Round par¬ 
terres dot the garden in front, with their 
quaint bouquets of geraniums, roses and 
jasmine. From one trellis a rose vine care¬ 
lessly clambers up to the gallery; on the 
other side the wistaria, which has just 
that its builder planted. He and they young 
alike, and starting in life. 1 he flowers he 
knew would come in time, with the children, 
but the trees must he planted by the grand¬ 
father. 
In many parts of progressive, that is, 
“American” New Orleans, fences are done 
away with; a lawn stretches from house to 
street, and shares the pleasure of the indi¬ 
vidual enjoyment of the flowers, with the 
chance passer-by. But in the old town, high 
fences are raised, or there may be a hedge of 
wide leaved banana trees planted in clumps, 
AN OLD HOUSE ON BAYOU ROAD 
finished blooming, is putting forth its tender 
green leaflets, as cool and fresh as the lime 
flowers in old Oxford. So well do the Japan¬ 
ese understand the beauty of the wistaria 
that knowing travelers time their journeys 
to correspond with the blooming of the vine. 
But here in Louisiana, the vine sheds its 
flowers unapplauded, though it is the first 
authentic proclamation that spring has come. 
No one journeys from afar to see the flower, 
but no courtyard ever satisfies its owner till 
this free-growing, generous bloomer is in it. 
The “old survivor” stands amid the trees 
which soon thicken into a dense screen with¬ 
out the dangerous briars of the old and form¬ 
erly much used Cherokee rose hedge. When 
these bananas, the first of trees to leaf, un¬ 
fold their long cones of tender green, what a 
balm it is to winter-tired eyes. And on the 
hot days of summer, the rustling of the long 
leaves quite cools the air and makes the 
dreamer dream of bubbling fountains. 
No ramble through New Orleans is com¬ 
plete without a visit to the Archbishopric, 
for here history lingers and association is 
fadeless, though its garden, to-day, is prac- 
262 
