The Boston Public Library [pp. 629-631]

1.S8t1.]
OV -lA l'O
ON BAYOU TECHE.
T RE tourist who penetrates the swampy region lying along the
gulf to the westward of New Orleans as far as Berwick Bay,
and thence takes a new departure up Bayou T6chle, will find himself
in a country appropriately styled the Garden of Louisiana. Ascend ing the stream as it winds and turns some forty miles to New Iberia,
he will traverse a belt of land not two miles in average width, bounded
on either side by solemn forests and dreary swamps; and he will
survey, with wonder and delight, the exuberance of Nature around
him. Plantations of majestic sugar-cane fill up the background of
the picture seen through the vistas of the mighty oaks and the beauti ful magnolias that abound. The pleasant mansions of these parishes
are built with their rear verandas often overhanging the water, their
uniform white affording a striking contrast to the varied hues of green
all about them. Ponderous brick sugar-factories are seen in the
middle distance; and every aspect of these plantation dwellings is
that of ease, comfort, and hospitality. Nature, in truth, in these fertile
regions sets an example to man of profusion. Orange-groves are
frequent; and tropical fruits of almost every variety abound;
the varied tints of brilliant flowers meet the eye on every side;
the trees are clad in almost perennial green, and many of the
vegetabl]e products are twice harvested in the year. A little farther
xup he country, where the prairie-land widens out on either hand, we
should find the descendants of those who left Acadia with the Gabriels
and the Benedicts of that sorrowful episode. They are a simple, good hearted people, unmistakably French in their ways as well as their
language. The war laid the dreadful hands of fire and ravage upon
them, as upon the dwellers of all the Tdehe country; but the years
of peace must have restored nearly all that was destroyed through out these interesting regions.
The traveller oa this IitWe stream, which in places is hardly of
sufficient width to permit the passage of two steamboats abreast, will
look with ever-increasing i'erest upon the eccentricity as well as the
profusion of the vegetable.growths that thicken about him. If he
can succeed in withdrawing his attention from the swarming tribes
of animal and insect life wiich these teeming elements are continu ally bringing forth, he will mot fail to note the parasitic moss which
depends in graceful festoon from the trees, often forming grotesque
shapes and figures. The trees on opposite sides of the bayou some times interlock their brandies above your head, and stretch a green
canopy between you and the sky. Drooping branches sweep the sides
of your boat, and your hands may frequently pluck fruits or flowers
from the stem. There is always shade enomagh to shut away the sun,
and the heat is not more oppressive than tat of much of the summer
weather that we experience un the latitude if New York. But, to the
easy-going planners, whose cool, attractivrre mansions border this
stream, the mid-day heat off ese summer days brings rest, repose, or
idling, in the most comfortal,e nook that can be found.
All this exuberance of vegetation is the aatural and ordinary condition of this region during more than half the months of the year.
Sometimes it assumes ex~traadinary phases-more so, no doubt, to
strangers than to the natives, the latter nrot regarding them with
special wonder. I was a witness to one of these unusual exhibitions,
of which I desire to make a brief mention:
May, 1863, I had taken passage on one of the small steamers
of the quartermasters department at Franilin; and with both paddle-wheels working, and the current with us, we were descending
the stream at the rate of perhaps twelve miles an hour. Standing at the bow, that I might the better overlook the fair panorama,
I saw straight ahead what seemed at first sight to be the abrupt
termination of the bayou, forming a cul-de-sac of water. There was
no turn of the stream to promote this delusion; I knew that its
channel ought to be directly ahead; but, instead, I saw what seemed
at first an impassable bulwark of vegetation, green and flourishing,
with not a glimpse of water in it.
"It's that blasted grass!" the captain prosaically ejaculated.
"Sam, go down and tell the engineer to get up steam lively. We've
got a job on hand to break through there."
The engine quickly responded, the smoke-pipes puffed vehemently,
and the boat dashed her bows into the midst of the apparent barrier.
it yielded, parting on either side as we cleft our course through, leaving behind us a passage where the water could be seen just the width
U TE C ~IE 629
of the boat. Elsewhere the mass of leaves was stationary and unbroken, and I had the novel sensation of sailing through a green meadow.
In many places the growth was so rank that the location of the banks
could hardly have been determined to a certainty without running the
boat ashore; and, for a full mile, as we made our way through this
natural barrier, we found it continuous and unbroken.
I use the word barrier without exaggeration; for, as we proceeded,
the motion of the boat became slower, and presently ceased entirely,
although the engine was steadily at work. Upon examination, it was
discovered that the paddle-wheels had, in their revolutions, torn up
great masses of this vegetation, with roots and fibres a yard in length,
which had filled the paddle-boxes, and actually clogged the wheels to
such an extent that motion was simply impossible. With much labor
the accumulations were removed, and we continued on our way,
emerging into the open water of the bayou after no small delay to
our progress by this strange trick of Nature's handiwork.
JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS
THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY.
HERE are few institutions of wider fame in the country than that
about which the following sketch is concerned. The pride with
which it is regarded is by no means local and sectional, but it is felt
wherever a scrap of information respecting its riches and firee-hand edness meets the eye.
Its records demonstrate two significant points: first, that its care
and regard for its own valuable property induce a similar care and
respect from all classes of users; second, that the public may be al most completely trusted with 180,000 volumes, unrestrained by any
vouchers whatsoever.
Nothing is demanded but the name, the residence, and the occupa.
tion of the person who applies for the privileges of the library, and he
is thenceforth free to select any book of fiction, history, philosophy,
theology, general literature, politics, medical jurisprudence, art, sci ence, political economy, and bear it home to his garret or parlor, and
there devour it at his sovereign pleasure. He needs no responsible
friend, no money to deposit, no fee whatever to pay; after it is ascer tained that his representations concerning himself are true, then the
vast collection is as open to him as if he owned it. He has no trouble
but to find his book upon the catalogue, write its number, together
with his name, upon a slip of paper, and the volume is placed in his
hands in full confidence.
This is an extraordinary transaction!
It would be difficult to understand how the relations of borrower
and lender could be more intimate with advantage to both.
On one day, in the current year (May 6th), 2,324 books, repre senting $5,000, were placed in the hands of the subscribers, without
the least shadow of legal security. Last year the total issue of the
library was 322,445 volumes, valued at $700,000, all delivered into the
charge of applicants who had given no other recommendation than
residence in the city limits. Certainly, there could hardly be a more
complete exhibition of trust. There could be no possible means of
security against theft or mutilation. The holder of the book, if so'
disposed, might baffle all attempts to recover it in a dozen ways, or
might return the volume so injured that its further issue would iD
prevented, and yet easily escape the least suspicion of culpability
Yet, with this almost absolute freedom to borrow and to take away
out of sighlt and influence of the library, what is the result? How
many volumes, out of the 180,000 possessed, are lost beyond redemption in a full working year? How many persons, out of the 300,000
who apply for favors, prove faithless and incapable of trust?
In the year 1870, the number was-twenty! Twenty books, having the value of perhaps $50. In other words, one book in 9,000; or
one issue in 15,000; or $1 in $10,000.
These losses are infinitesimal. They convey no sense of deprivation to the library, and in actual fact are none, for greater ones were
calculated upon, and it was felt that the benefits of a true publicity
would far overmatch any ills sustained by carelessness or theft.
The freest of the great English libraries require that each and all
subscribers shall have the indorsement of some responsible men of
the town. Some of the most successful popular libraries in all countries-the Mercantile of New York, for instance-are open upon pay