If, even on his landing at New York, he had found himself surrounded by a peculiar foreign-looking kind of life, how much more was this the case here, where the tropical countries were wafting their warm luxurious breath towards him! The innumerable ships and vessels of all descriptions which bounded the shores with a forest of masts, the multitude of steamers arriving and departing, the sailing-boats shooting backwards and forwards across the river, the little fruit-boats, the crowding of wagons with goods on the shore, the movements of the cheerful, well-dressed crowd, which seemed to be thrown together there from all quarters of the globe,--all these so occupied his senses, that he scarcely noticed that the ship was landed and moored to the quay, and his attention was first called to the fact by the idlers and business-people who pressed on board. Helldorf, who had been several times before in this capital of the South, and to whom the bustling and picturesque scene was no longer a novelty, had, meanwhile, handed over the luggage belonging to them both to a drayman or carter, whose number he took, and the friends lounged slowly across the Levee,[20] up into the town. "What do you think of New Orleans?" asked Helldorf, at last, as they turned into one of the principal streets which ran parallel with the river, and Werner stopped, really astonished at all the magnificence and splendour which met his wondering eye on every side. "There certainly is something grand about such a city," said Werner; "but it's too much for me, it oppresses more than it pleases. It is beautiful to see once, but I don't think that it would please me for a continuance." "Exactly my idea," said Helldorf; "however, my friend, in a week or two it will present a different spectacle. As soon as the yellow fever comes in here, the most of the occupants (those who possess the means, that is to say,) go out, and of those who remain a large number die off like flies. I was once in New Orleans in September, and all these streets, now so crowded with people, were deserted and empty, and as silent as the grave; many were even boarded up, and on innumerable doors black crape fluttered, or boards were hung out, containing cautions from approaching too near, as the pestilence was raging within." "I suppose Germans don't remain here much, for the climate must be especially pernicious to them." "Germans usually form one half of the entire number of victims," said Helldorf; "they come here, live intemperately and dissolutely, and expect to be able to endure and to keep in health, where thousands of their countrymen perish miserably, and are buried like dogs. Oh, my friend, 'tis a melancholy chapter that, and we'll talk more about it some other time. For the present, while 'tis yet cool, we'll stroll about a little; by-and-by, it will be insufferably hot in the streets. Will you deliver your letters of recommendation here?" "No, I'll not vex myself any more," replied Werner.