[Subsection]

We have passed Baton Rouge, as the political capital of Louisiana is called, situated upon a high bluff, upon the lofty shore of the Mississippi. A fine Capitol commands the little city, and a magnificent state prison, just completed, stands with its foundations in the waters of the Noah's flood.

The Mississippi is at this point very broad. There are in the river sand-banks and verdant islands. Its waters are now clearer; the sun shines; the scenery of the shores is pleasing and quiet: plantations, orange groves, white slave villages amid the green fields, extensive views beneath the mild heavens of summer. The river is full of   [p. 194]   vessels, steamers, boats, and barges. We are approaching the gay city of New Orleans.

I had some conversation to-day with our stewardess, a pretty, well-disposed mulatto-girl. I found her in her little cabin busily studying a large alphabet. I had seen her twice before so employed. "The steward," she said, "had promised to teach her to read in secret. He could read, that he could." She longed so much to be able to read. I found her one day in our saloon, standing before the open Bible, which always lies upon the table there. I asked her what she was doing. "Oh, this book," said she; "I turn and I turn over its leaves, and wish I understood what is on them. I try and try; I should be so happy if I could read, but I can not."

We are approaching New Orleans, "that gay city." In a couple of hours we shall be there. All the animals in Noah's Ark make themselves heard.