One could see very little of New Orleans in the short space of our stay, but we made the most of it. The city itself, in its historic and social aspects, is one of the most interesting in America and the least American. It has on it yet the traces of former Spanish and French ownership and occupation, but the equestrian statue of Old Hickory in Jackson Square, still known by its ancient name, the Place d'Armes, crowns all the past with the American idea. The monument of General Jackson is directly in front of the Cathedral of St. Louis of France. We entered this edifice and noted the reredos back of the high altar, emblazoned with the arms of St. Louis and the record of his virtues. While we were there, a large class of boys were being catechized, in the French tongue; again and again the answers would come in loud monotone. We noted, also, with interest, the unmistakable Gallic type, in head and eyes and hair, of the restless young scholars upon the benches. Some of our party took carriage drives, and some preferred the ubiquitous street cars. In various ways we each sought our pleasure. We went to the cemeteries, with their overground, oven-like tombs, necessitated by the water-soaked condition of the soil. The French burial places had that sombre effect which straight lines and extended alleys ever produce. Why this disposition of line should so impress the mind is very curious, but I have always found it so. One feels it at Versailles, as well as in the most up-to-date of places, like Chicago. The vanishing points of long distances, where, as it were, one can never hope to reach, produce in the mind a kind of sorrow; while the curve, which conceals the unseen, urges on to pursue and attain to that which is beyond. Audubon Park, which we visited, and the Arboretum produce more pleasing effects by the winding walks and constant variety of beautiful trees and flowers. It is rather a doleful thing to make even the very best kept cemeteries places for lounging pleasure. In the incongruity of such a situation, the frequent little green lizards flashing over the marble tombstones were a diversion. We caught one of them, and it was most curious to see it change color in its nervous alarm. From the most vivid green it became a dull blood red, and then brown, panting as if its heart would break; and not until it was well away from us did it return to its normal emerald tint. It must be confessed that the ludicrous ever lurks near one in such places, and often, also, that which is sadder than sad. For instance, in the midst of the silent sombreness of the French cemeteries it was a dreary incident in the drama of life to see the placards of "For sale" on monuments whose occupation was gone, for they who were enclosed therein were, for some cause or another, to be ousted from their rest.