Such is American Caste,—­the most cruel under the sun.  And such it is, notwithstanding the claims set up by the American people, that they are Heaven’s Vicegerents, to teach to men, and to nations as well, the legitimate ideas of Christian Democracy.

To digress a moment.  This Caste-spirit of America sometimes illustrates itself in rather ridiculous ways.

A beautiful young lady—­a friend of mine—­attended, about two years since, one of the most aristocratic Schools of one of the most aristocratic Villages of New York.  She was warmly welcomed in the highest circles, and so amiable in temper was she, as well as agreeable in mind and person, that she soon became not only a favorite, but the favorite of the circle in which she moved.  The young gentlemen of the village were especially interested in her, and what matrimonial offer might eventually have been made her, it is not for me to say.  At the close of the second term, however, she left the school and the village; and then, for the first time, the fact became known (previously known only to her own room-mate) that she was slightly of African blood.  Reader,—­the consternation and horror which succeeded this “new development,” are, without exaggeration, perfectly indescribable.  The people drew long breaths, as though they had escaped from the fangs of a boa constrictor; the old ladies charged their daughters, that should Miss ——­ be seen in that village again, by no means to permit themselves to be seen in the street with her; and many other charges were delivered by said mothers, equally absurd, and equally foolish.  And yet this same young lady, according to their own previous showing, was not only one of the most beautiful in person and manners who had ever graced their circle, but was also of fine education; and in complexion as white as the whitest in the village.  Truly, this, our human nature, is extremely strange and vastly inconsistent!

Confessedly, as a class, the quadroon women of New Orleans are the most beautiful in America.  Their personal attractions are not only irresistible, but they have, in general, the best blood of America in their veins.  They are mostly white in complexion, and are, many of them, highly educated and accomplished; and yet, by the law of Louisiana, no man may marry a quadroon woman, unless he can prove that he, too, has African blood in his veins.  A law involving a greater outrage on propriety, a more blasphemous trifling with the heart’s affections, and evincing a more contemptible tyranny, those who will look at the matter from the beginning to the end, will agree with me, could not possibly have been enacted.

Colonel Fuller, of the “New York Mirror,” writing from New Orleans, gives some melancholy descriptions—­and some amusing ones too—­of the operations of this most barbarous law.

One I especially remember.  A planter, it seems, had fallen deeply in love with a charming quadroon girl.  He desired to marry her; but the law forbade.  What was he to do?  To tarnish her honour was out of the question; he had too much himself to seek to tarnish hers.  Here was a dilemma.  But he was not to be foiled.  What true heart will be, if there be any virtue in expedients?