It overran the
country like cocoa-grass. Fields, roads, woodlands, that were once
'Sieur George's places of retreat from mankind, were covered all over
with little one-story houses in the "Old Third," and fine residences and
gardens up in "Lafayette." Streets went slicing like a butcher's knife,
through old colonial estates, whose first masters never dreamed of the
city reaching them,--and 'Sieur George was still away. The four-story
brick got old and ugly, and the surroundings dim and dreamy. Theatres,
processions, dry-goods stores, government establishments, banks, hotels,
and all spirit of enterprise were gone to Canal Street and beyond, and
the very beggars were gone with them. The little trunk got very old and
bald, and still its owner lingered; still the lady, somewhat the worse
for lapse of time, looked from the balcony-window in the brief southern
twilights, and the maid every morning shook a worn rug or two over the
dangerous-looking railing; and yet neither had made friends or enemies.
The two rooms, from having been stingily kept at first, were needing
repairs half the time, and the occupants were often moving, now into
one, now back into the other; yet the hair-trunk was seen only by
glimpses, the landlord, to his infinite chagrin, always being a little
too late in offering his services, the women, whether it was light or
heavy, having already moved it.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303