, and so will the stranger who next follows
after me: but do not let these bug-a-boo tales deter him from a walk
upon the Levee after ten P.M. It is not amongst these sons of industry,
however rude, that he will encounter either insult or danger: I have
traversed it often on foot and on horseback, and never met with the
first, or had the slightest cause to apprehend the latter.

In a city like this, amongst a concourse of strangers, the worst sort of
men are doubtless to be met with, as in all large cities; but surely not
in greater numbers. I question whether London or Paris can boast of less
crime in proportion; certainly, not fewer felonies. Here, it is too
true, a quarrel in hot blood is often followed by a shot or a stroke
with the ready poniard; but for this both parties are equally prepared,
and resolute to abide the issue: and for the stranger, all he has to do
is to keep out of low places of gambling and dissipation, and, if in a
large hotel, to keep his door locked; a precaution which would be as
much called for at Cheltenham or Spa, were the congregated numbers
equally great; although, in the latter places, I admit, the thieves
might be nicer men, better dressed, and not chewers of 'baccy.

The streets, after nightfall, are the very quietest I ever saw in any
place possessing one-third of the population. The theatres, I repeat, as
far as my observation goes, might serve as models to cities boasting
greater claims to refinement.

As a set-off, however, let the stranger visit the gambling tables, which
are numerous; the low balls, masked or other, occurring every night, for
whites or quadroons, or both; let him visit the low bar-rooms, or even
look into that of the first hotel, which bar forms a half-circle of
forty feet, yet is, during ten hours of the twenty-four, only to be
approached in turn, and whose daily receipt is said to exceed three
hundred dollars for drams; and he will, if such be his only sources of
information, naturally come to conclusions anything but favourable to
the moral condition of New Orleans.

The crowd so occupied, however, be it remembered, is composed of
strangers, or what is here called the transient population, at this
season counting at least forty thousand persons, the greatest proportion
of whom are here without a home except the bar-room of a public-house,
or a shelter save the bedchamber which they have in common with from
three to twenty companions, as luck or favour may p