“——­In love,
  His thoughts came down like a rushing stream.”

At last he got it.  A capital thought, which could have crept out of no one’s brain, save that of a most desperate lover.  He hit upon the expedient of extracting a little African blood from the veins of one of his slaves, and injecting it into his own.  The deed done, the letter of the law was answered.  He made proposals, was accepted, and they were married,—­he being willing to risk his caste in obedience to a love higher and holier than any conventionalism which men have ever contrived to establish.

O, Cupid, thou art a singular God! and a most amazing philosopher!  Thou goest shooting about with thy electrically charged arrows, bringing to one common level human hearts, however diverse in clime, caste, or color.

Let not the reader suppose, however, that the white people of America are in the habit of exercising such honor towards the people of color, as is here ascribed to this planter.  Far from it.  The laws of the Southern States, on the one hand, (I allude not now to any particular law of Louisiana, but to the laws of the Slave States in general), have deliberately, and in cold blood, withheld their protection from every woman within their borders, in whose veins may flow but half a drop of African blood; while the prejudice against color of the Northern States, on the other hand, is so cruel and contemptuous of the rights and feelings of colored people, that no white man would lose his caste in debauching the best educated, most accomplished, virtuous and wealthy colored woman in the community, but would be mobbed from Maine to Delaware, should he with that same woman attempt honorable marriage.  Henry Ward Beecher, (brother of Mrs. Stowe) in reference to prejudice against color, has truly said of the Northern people—­and the truth in this case in startling and melancholy—­that, “with them it is less sinful to break the whole decalogue towards the colored people, than to keep a single commandment in their favour.”

But to return to the narrative.  Miss King, previously to the consummation of our engagement, consulted her father, who at once gave his consent.  Her sister not only consented, but, thanks to her kind heart, warmly approved the match.  Her brothers, of whom there were many, were bitterly opposed.  Mrs. King—­a step-mother only—­was not only also bitterly opposed, but inveterately so.  Bright fancies and love-bewildering conceptions were what, in her estimation, we ought not to be allowed to indulge.

In passing, it is proper to say, that this lady, though not lacking a certain benevolence,—­especially that sort which can pity the fugitive, give him food and raiment, or permit him at her table even,—­is, nevertheless, extremely aristocratic of heart and patronizing of temper.  This statement is made upon quite a familiar acquaintance with Mrs. King, and out of no asperity of feeling.  I cherish none, but only pity for those who nurture a prejudice, which, while it convicts them of the most ridiculous vanity, at the same time shrivels their own hearts and narrows their own souls.