They walked up a street that was intersected at various and irregular intervals, by numerous other streets, that were as narrow, if not more so, than the one they were following was wide. In the center of the wide street were four car lines. This part of the street was raised above the other, and was protected by a curbing, that prevented anything with wheels from crossing, only at the intersections. Wyeth remembered this. It was something he had never seen elsewhere, and he wondered who could have conceived the idea of making one street so wide, and then crossing it with others that were so narrow that only one single street car track was possible, and, when passing down it, the wagons on either side had to hug the curbing closely, or be collided with. "A beautiful place," he commented, pointing to the maze of electric lights that lined the narrow cross streets, and made their way as bright as day--brighter, he came afterwards to see, when it rained. "This town was settled by French and Spaniards many years ago, and they were very artistic in planning for the future of the city," said the other. "It is apparent on all sides; I can see that," Wyeth agreed. "There are some of the most beautiful colored people here you ever saw," said the other. "There is one now," said Wyeth, as a woman, different from the kind he had been accustomed to, passed by. "Creole," advised the other. "And this is their native soil, so I understand," said Wyeth, turning his head to take another look at the woman with the beautiful face. "There are some," said the porter, "who cannot speak English at all." "Indeed!" exclaimed Wyeth. "Yes," went on the other. "Plenty cannot speak a word of English, and they may be found in what is called the French district. It is there you find them with the most beautiful skin, and the finest and heaviest hair you ever saw." "I hear they have frightful tempers," said Wyeth. "Is it true?" "I would advise you to avoid any conflict with them, lest you find out," said the other, smiling amusedly. "What is that?" said Wyeth, pointing to a bar before which stood many men drinking. "Why, what?" said the other, then replied: "A saloon." "And they are open on Sunday?" Yet he was not surprised when he had thought, for he had seen the same elsewhere. But the other replied: "The saloons never close here." "Never close! What do you mean?" said Wyeth. "What I say," from the other. "And still I do not understand you," said Wyeth. And then added: "What time do they open in the morning?" "They do not close at night; therefore, they do not have to go to the trouble of opening in the morning." "Uh huh!" "There are saloons here that boast of having not closed since before the Revolutionary War." "Good night!" Wyeth laughed. "Something historical down here!" "You'll learn more when you have been here a while. This is the city of history--American history. We turn here."