The police of this place I should imagine at present better than in the Northern cities, since noise or disturbance in the streets is a thing unknown, and after ten at night everything is usually still and quiet, excepting upon the Levee, where work at this season appears to go on by night as by day.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] These ways oftimes, in continued wet weather, become impassable, to the great injury of business: but remedy there is none, save patience; for any animal under the size of an elephant would be lost in the mud, swallowed wholly up.
[4] That this task would not be difficult I have the best authority for asserting,—the experience of one of the ablest and most honourable-minded men of this or any other country, Captain R. S——n. Finding on the great work, in the conducting of which he was a principal, the usual number of riots and disputes, he, with the practical good sense for which he is distinguished, applied himself to discover the cause: this he generally traced up to some real or fancied injustice complained of by the labourer, and quickly resented by outrage on his part. He next personally interfered, heard patiently, decided fairly, and in a kind manner made clear the ground of every decision for or against the labourers. In a short time he by this course completely won the confidence of these poor fellows, and not another riot occurred. In his absence even, however prolonged, any dispute growing to violence was quieted in a moment by one of the elders suggesting that they should wait quietly till the Captain came home.
No decision, however, against their views was ever objected to; and it was most gratifying to me to hear Captain S——n assert that he had never met with any class of men whose regard for even-handed justice appeared so strong as that of these poor Irish labourers.
THE LEVEE MARKET.
Viewed at an early hour, the large market-place on the Levee is a lounge of a most amusing kind, exhibiting at one glance a more striking picture of the variety of people to be found here than might be attained in any other place.
Here may be seen the Spanish creole, cloaked and capped, followed by a half-naked slave, making, with a grave quiet air, and in slow deliberate speech, his frugal market. Bustling along directly in his wake, but with frequent halts and crossings from side to side, comes a lively daughter of France, her market-slave leading a little boy fancifully dressed à la hussarde; with these she holds a running fire of chatter, only interrupted by salutations to passing friends, or nods and smiles to those more distant. Look yet a little longer, and, yawing along in squads of three and four abreast, you will see sailors of all kinds cheapening fruit and vegetables, together with cooks, stewards, and all their dingy subordinates. Here is the up-looking, dare-devil Jack of Old England; the clean, holiday-looking, well-dressed seaman of Marseilles, with large gold ear-rings twinkling beneath the rim of his high-crowned bright glazed hat. Next, moving stealthily by, with an uneasy, restless look, notice a couple of low-built, light-limbed, swarthy fellows, moustached and bearded, one wearing a red shirt and a broad-leafed Panama hat, the other clad in a white blouse with a scarlet worsted sash drawn about his hips, a Montero cap, naked legs, and white canvass slippers.