’At 4 o’clock ominous clouds began to gather in the south-east, and presently from the Gulf there came a blow which increased in severity every moment.  It was not safe to leave the landing then, and there was a delay.  The oaks shook off long tresses of their mossy beards to the tugging of the wind, and the bayou in its ambition put on miniature waves in mocking of much larger bodies of water.  A lull permitted a start, and homewards we steamed, an inky sky overhead and a heavy wind blowing.  As darkness crept on, there were few on board who did not wish themselves nearer home.’

There is nothing the matter with that.  It is good description, compactly put.  Yet there was great temptation, there, to drop into lurid writing.

But let us return to the mule.  Since I left him, I have rummaged around and found a full report of the race.  In it I find confirmation of the theory which I broached just now—­namely, that the trouble with the Southern reporter is Women:  Women, supplemented by Walter Scott and his knights and beauty and chivalry, and so on.  This is an excellent report, as long as the women stay out of it.  But when they intrude, we have this frantic result—­

‘It will be probably a long time before the ladies’ stand presents such a sea of foam-like loveliness as it did yesterday.  The New Orleans women are always charming, but never so much so as at this time of the year, when in their dainty spring costumes they bring with them a breath of balmy freshness and an odor of sanctity unspeakable.  The stand was so crowded with them that, walking at their feet and seeing no possibility of approach, many a man appreciated as he never did before the Peri’s feeling at the Gates of Paradise, and wondered what was the priceless boon that would admit him to their sacred presence.  Sparkling on their white-robed breasts or shoulders were the colors of their favorite knights, and were it not for the fact that the doughty heroes appeared on unromantic mules, it would have been easy to imagine one of King Arthur’s gala-days.’

There were thirteen mules in the first heat; all sorts of mules, they were; all sorts of complexions, gaits, dispositions, aspects.  Some were handsome creatures, some were not; some were sleek, some hadn’t had their fur brushed lately; some were innocently gay and frisky; some were full of malice and all unrighteousness; guessing from looks, some of them thought the matter on hand was war, some thought it was a lark, the rest took it for a religious occasion.  And each mule acted according to his convictions.  The result was an absence of harmony well compensated by a conspicuous presence of variety—­variety of a picturesque and entertaining sort.

All the riders were young gentlemen in fashionable society.  If the reader has been wondering why it is that the ladies of New Orleans attend so humble an orgy as a mule-race, the thing is explained now.  It is a fashion-freak; all connected with it are people of fashion.