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 meantime, 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.
