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Show The Morning Calls in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Yesterday, Christmas morning, I took a stroll through some of the narrow streets of the old French quarter of our city where The jingle of the ragmen's bells and the son of the "L? Can be heard on every crossing, and in every passage way, And the cries of "Clothes ?, madam!' and ? ? ? ?." Are followed closely by the organ grinding out the "Heel and Toe" As I walked through the quaint streets I noticed that many of the quaint streets I noticed that many of the houses, once the scenes of mirth and pleasure of the old creole days, were in a dilapidated condition, and that the roofs of some projected far over ba?quette under the weight of the heavy tile covering. Many of these old corner buildings are now occupied by creoles, Spanish and Italians, who sell fruit of all kinds and ? creole, a favorite beverage with the creole children. These people take great pains in decorating their shop windows, and always point to them with pride. Every evening, Sunday especially, these small shops are crowded with little children who come from all parts of the district to spend their ? for ? or for a cool glass of biere creole. On shop window particularly, attracted my attention. In the center there was a beautiful pyramid of plan?, made of all colors, with fruit of all kinds tastefully arranged in front and on either side of the pyramid, making altogether a very pretty picture for the children that crowded around the window every evening. AS I stood there gazing into the little shop window, the sweet and solemn music of the chime of bells suddenly pealed forth from the towers of the St. Louie Cathedral, and in a minute alter wards old and young, grave and gay, could be seen, with beads in hand, hurrying along in the direction of the old cathedral to attend mass. I passed on, and when I reached the corner I saw and old negro chimneysweep, with his bundle of palmetto leves thrown across his shoulder singing> "? Is chomlnee!" Don't yer want a chimly-sweep! I ken climb de talles' housetop, an' I'll clean yo' chimly cheap. "? Is chemilneo!" I'll do de job up neat, K? I want ter mak' a quarter fo' ter b'y some bread for eat?" Then the march? de ?, or vender of rice cakes came along crying; "Belle calas tout chaud," followed by the charcoal man singing: "Charcoals, coals, cosly, cosly, for' ze reech an' po'. Charcoaly fo' ze nicey gall a-standn' at ze ?! My hosey ‘ole very white, de coaly ? are black, Kem up an' b'y ‘e's very cheep! ????? As the last notes of the charcoal vender's song died out upon the air I was startled, on turning the corner, by the loud, piercing cry of a vicious looking Italian, ?: "Teen a feexy, madam!" being a somewhat nervous temperament, his unearthly yell caused me to jump two feet in the air. When I Stuck terra ? I found myself face to face with a dark-haired son of Italy. We eyed on another for fully three minutes. I am certain he enjoyed the sudden jump his terrible yell caused me to take, for as I turned to go I noticed that a cunning smile overspread his dark, grim visage. I soon go over my fright and when I reached the center of the square of Burgundy, near Orleans street, I was approached by a sickly-looking Chinaman, "with smile child-like and bland," who thrust a handful of cigars under my probeseis and said; "Ciglar, sir?" "How much?" I asked "Floo he plicargoon; he de belly bes' Hatvana" I didn't doubt that they were; but one thing I can say, they were the largest cigars I ever saw. I thought that if I purchased two of them I would be obliged to hire a boy to carry one, while I smoked the other; so, taking in consideration the extra expense, and ?, the great dange of losing my balance in crossing bridges, I simply said. "They are very cheap, John; but have you no smaller ones?' "Him all me glot. Me habbe slom mo' to-moller.' "All right, John; I'll come down and take a boy of you to-morrow. Good by. "Bly-bly," echoed John as I turned the corner. That's the last I'll see of that almond-eyed son of the Celestial Empire. Had I purchased those "ciglars" I would have been lying "under the sod and dew," and my spirit would already be waiting patiently on the golden shore, with club in hand, to receive the almon-eyed individual that caused me to leave this world with lodk-jaw. When I reached the corner of Orleans street I met an old negro, whose song si familr to every berson below Canal street. He carried a basket on his head, and was followed by five or six innocent-looking dogs. "What do you sell, old man?" I asked "I sells ? and swamp lily." "What is the swamp-lily good for?" "If you bile it an' mak' a good strong tea, it's gwine to break de ? kid of fever nine times out of ten. De ? is a root used by de creoles fo' ? purposes. Dey mir a little yellow ? in clear water an' dis ? root brings de flo's an' kitchen tables ? as white as milk. Dey beats des ? ? scrubbin' brushes dat mos/ of de white people use now-a-days." "Do you sell many of them?" "Well, yeas, I gives to fo' a nickel, an' four ob dem' Ill lae' jus as log as one dese hair brushes, De creole families use dem altogedder." When I left the old nigger he stood on the corner and sang; "?, madam? O ?; Goes scrubbin' bruth fo' all, Dey's de bes' ter cleam yo kitchen, an' de dinin'-room an' hall. To pieces fo' a nickel! ? is w'at I cry; An if you want a scrubbin' brush, w'y come along an' b'y!' Passing out Orleans street, I met a little Italian vender with a string of garlic thrown across his shoulder, yelling; "Garleek, madam! Nice ? an' orange dime a dozen," Then an old darkey came along shouting; Cl? Poles! Followed by a little Tenton crying; "Sausage, sausage, three links for a dhimel' So from early morn till close of day, you hear the vender's yell. "?! ?! ?! and "Nice oyster in ? shell." Then comes the Italian vender with his "garleek" on a string. And the ? scissors grinder with his "ting-ling a-ling." (New Orleans ? |