swamps, and melancholy cypress and funereal live oaks. There are the
solitary huts of the woodcutters, and bars of sand covered with cane
brake, and impenetrable forests, and the forbidding depths of the
jungle. Farther on there are the sugar plantations, and the levees, and
the great houses of the planters, and the huts of the negroes, and the
vivid greens of fields of sugar cane standing many feet high; and around
these the cypress swamp. And on every side in the midst of each
plantation the tall white towers of the sugar mills. It is all novel and
wonderful to me; and it helps me to forget my insistent thoughts of
Dorothy.

The steamer stopped to get wood. It was at a creole plantation. There
was a procession of carts here, each drawn by a team of mules, driven by
negroes, laughing and joking with each other. They were slaves hauling
wood to the sugar mills. We were soon off again on the silent river,
which had now broadened to the dimensions of a great lake.

Then we saw steeples, a dome; then the masts of numerous vessels, and
steamboats, and tall chimneys. Then we reached the levee of the city.
The boat was fastened, and I walked upon the streets of New Orleans. The
heat was no greater than I had felt in Illinois. And at night a breeze
stirred briskly from the harbor and the gulf beyond. This city of 50,000
people had immediate fascination for me.

In the evening I went to the Place d'Armes where a military band was
playing. There were races during the day just out of town. The cafes
were filled with people smoking and drinking, playing billiards and
dominoes. Ladies in gay costumes sat in the balconies, making
observations on the scene, the players, the passersby. French was spoken
everywhere. And everywhere was the creole beauty, with black eyes and
long silken lashes, and light skin faintly suffused with rose. I plunged
into these festivities in order to forget Dorothy.

I went to the Spanish Cathedral the next day, and saw on the porch
groups of gray-haired negroes waiting for alms. There were candles on
the altar, paintings of the stations of the cross on the pillars, and
confessional closets near the door. And here the lovely creole knelt
side by side with pure black descendants of the African negro.

Not anywhere did I see the negro treated worse than in Illinois, except
on one occasion. I was loitering on the dock looking at the steamboats
being loaded by slaves. A negro driving a wagon almost collid