The French Market is in full bloom on Sunday morning each week, and this also shows the difference between the French popular feeling and that of the Anglo-Norman, who would regard such a circumstance as Sabbath-breaking.
The French Market is one of the most lively and picturesque scenes of New Orleans. One feels as if transported at once to a great Paris marché, with this difference, that one here meets with various races of people, hears many different languages spoken, and sees the productions of various zones. Here are English, Irish, Germans, French, Spaniards, Mexicans. Here are negroes and Indians. Most of those who offer articles for sale, are black Creoles, or natives, who have the French animation and gaiety, who speak French fluently, and “Bon jour, madame! bon jour, madame!” was addressed to me from many lips with the most cheerful smiles, revealing the whitest of teeth, as I wandered among the stalls, which were piled up with game, and fruit and flowers, bread and confectionery, grain and vegetables, and innumerable good things all nicely arranged, and showing that abundance in the productions of the earth, which involuntarily excited the feeling of a sheer impossibility that there could be any want on the earth, if all was as it should be. The fruit-stalls were really a magnificent sight; they were gorgeous with the splendid fruits of every zone, amongst which were many tropical ones quite new to me. Between two and three thousand persons, partly purchasers and partly sellers, were here in movement, but through all there prevailed so much good order and so much sunny, amiable vivacity, that one could not help being heartily amused. People breakfasted and talked and laughed, just as in the markets at Paris, and were vociferous and jocular, especially the blacks—the children of the tropics beaming with life and mirth. The whole was a real, sunny southern scene, full of sunshine, cheerful life, and good humour.
