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Ah no! there is no journey to Cuba this time! The journey from Mobile began under the most promising auspices. Octavia was gay and full of hope; she was now for the first time, after her sorrow, about to leave home and see new objects, and she was pleased to be   [p. 223]   with me, and I was pleased to be with her. The good Doctor Le V. had presented his little wife with a handsome sum of money, that she might be able thoroughly to enjoy herself in Cuba. Octavia's mother, and her two pretty little girls, had taken an affectionate leave of her, in the hope of seeing her return happy. Betsy was to travel with us, for Betsy spoke Spanish almost as well as Octavia; and Octavia could not dispense with Betsy, nor could Betsy live without Octavia; and Betsy was full of cheerful zeal, and managed cleverly and expeditiously all the business of the journey.

We went on board, and the morning sun arose gloriously over Lake Pontchartrain. We advanced the whole day calmly and in sunshine. We sat in Octavia's spacious cabin--I beg pardon, state-room--amid bouquets of flowers, inhaling the balmy atmosphere through the open window, and reading aloud, or conversing tranquilly with heartfelt, calm emotion. The moon shone gloriously in the evening. We sat on deck. Some gentlemen made our acquaintance; introduced themselves, or were introduced by others, and soon formed a circle around Octavia, whose naturally easy and agreeable style of conversation always exercises a captivating power. It was late when we retired to rest. I perceived in the middle of the night that our course was suddenly checked. I rose and looked out of the window; the moon shone bright over the mirror-like lake, and--we, had run aground. It was about one in the morning. The next morning at six o'clock we were to have been at New Orleans, to go on board the "Pacific" at nine! Such had been our plan. But now we must remain where we were until one o'clock the next day, when high water would carry us off. We had run aground on a sand-bank.

The next day was as beautiful as its predecessor; and when certain dark presentiments of our not being able to have any dinner were dissipated by the endeavors of some   [p. 224]   of the gentlemen, who had themselves rowed to land and there purchased provisions, and a most delicate and abundant dinner was the result, there was nothing disagreeable in our little misadventure, except that the journey to Cuba was delayed to an indefinite time, and that I probably should have to make the journey by myself, as Octavia could not remain so long from home.

It was not until ten o'clock at night that we reached land, and no rail-road train was then running which would convey us to New Orleans. Betsy, who was never without resources, looked after our effects, and took charge of every thing; and two polite gentlemen, who in genuine Anglo-American fashion constituted themselves our cavaliers, conducted us to a country house near the rail-way, where, though the family was absent, a fire was soon lighted for us in a large drawing-room.

It was the most beautiful night. There was a large garden around, which was full of half-tropical plants, of a palm-like growth, such as I had never seen before. I spent a part of the night in wandering about among the beautiful rare plants, all the more rare and beautiful from the moonlight which threw over them its mystical romantic light.

Our polite gentlemen, who had ordered a carriage, finally conveyed us safe and sound to New Orleans. At half past twelve we were at St. Charles's Hotel. It was quite full, and it was with difficulty that we obtained rooms up four flights of stairs. When I entered Octavia's room, I found her bathed in tears, lying with her face downward on a chair, and Betsy standing in the middle of the room, in a state of consternation, with her eyes riveted on her mistress.

"It was here, in this very room," whispered Betsy to me, "that she (casting a glance on Octavia) lived two years ago, with those two little girls, and here she dressed them for a children's ball!"

I raised gently the head of the weeping Octavia. She said mildly,

"Will you change rooms with me?"

"Most willingly!" replied I.

Betsy and I removed Octavia into my room, nor did I leave her until I saw her somewhat calmer.

Our rooms were nearly under the roof, and I could not prevent myself measuring, with my eye, the distance from my window down to the court below, thinking what sort of leap I should have to make in case of fire breaking out in the hotel during the night--for people must always keep themselves prepared for such emergencies in the great cities of America. I started with the conviction that such a leap as that would be--my very last.

The next morning I was glad and thankful to find myself calmly in my bed. I found my poor Octavia still sadly out of spirits, but I was so tender of her in her sorrow that I succeeded in drawing her away from images of death and corruption.

I shall this afternoon leave this hotel and remove to a private family, to which I am invited by young Miss W., from Massachusetts, in the name of her cousin. There was something so agreeable to me in her whole person and manner, and even in her mode of inviting me, that I immediately felt an inclination to accept the invitation, and gave a half promise. I had done that before I came to Mobile, and now this forenoon Miss W. called on me, and said, with her refined and somewhat arch smile, and her calm, resolute bearing,

"I consider myself, Miss Bremer, to have a right to inquire why you are at this place?"

I could not do other than consent to be taken to Annunciation Street, and to the house of Mr. C., this very afternoon. Miss W. obviated all my but's and if's; she is a true descendant of the Pilgrims in her steadfastness of purpose, to which is added that charm which makes it irresistible.

I here find myself once more among friends, Mr. Lerner H., Mr. and Mrs. G., with whom I shall, in about an hour's time, drive out upon a road, about six miles long, made of cockle-shells, which runs along the shore. It is one of the remarkable things of New Orleans. Mr. G. resides at Cincinnati, but has business at New Orleans, and he and his wife will remain at an hotel here during the winter months, together with their two children, two magnificent boys, the youngest still quite young, and their nurse, a stout, capital negro woman, a free negro, but bound by the silken bonds of attachment, stronger than the iron fetters of slavery. Many families take up their abode thus at hotels for several months, and many young couples live in the same way also during the first months of their marriage. That, however, is not so much because they relish hotel life, as because it is very expensive to establish themselves in their own houses in America, and a family generally will have a house wholly to themselves. A young couple will frequently not wait to be married until they are wealthy enough "to keep house," as it is termed. That, however, in the mean time, is the object after which they strive. I have heard many ladies complain of the emptiness and weariness of life in an hotel, and deplore its influence on young girls, who have in it only too many temptations to live merely for pleasure, admiration, and vanity.

Later. I have seen Octavia once more the ornament of society, although still pale and her eyes red with weeping, dressed in grand costume, in a black satin dress, which, from its many points and adornments, I call Yucca gloriosa, surrounded by a little court of gentlemen, "faire la belle conversation," in one of the splendid drawing-rooms of the hotel. Friends and admirers will soon make Octavia lively here, and I can now leave her comfortably, and go to a quieter home and to my amiable North Americans. Octavia is a rose, Anne W. is a   [p. 227]   diamond, Mrs. G. a genuine pearl, and you--you are my Agatha!