Iola Leroy

spending his vacations at the watering places in the North, with their fashionable and not always innocent gayeties. Young, vivacious, impulsive, and undisciplined, without the restraining influence of a mother’s love or the guidance of a father’s hand, Leroy found himself, when his college days were over, in the dangerous position of a young man with vast possessions, abundant leisure, unsettled principles, and uncontrolled desires. He had no other object than to extract from life its most seductive draughts of ease and pleasure. His companion, who sat opposite him on the verandah, quietly smoking a cigar, was a remote cousin, a few years older than himself, the warmth of whose Southern temperament had been modified by an infusion of Northern blood.
Eugene was careless, liberal, and impatient of details, while his companion and cousin, Alfred Lorraine, was selfish, eager, keen, and alert; also hard, cold, methodical, and ever ready to grasp the main chance. Yet, notwithstanding the difference between them, they had formed a warm friendship for each other.
“Alfred,” said Eugene, “I am going to be married.”
Lorraine opened his eyes with sudden wonder, and exclaimed: “Well, that’s the latest thing out! Who is the fortunate lady who has bound you with her silken fetters? Is it one of those beautiful Creole girls who were visiting Augustine’s plantation last winter? I watched you during our visit there and thought that you could not be proof against their attractions. Which is your choice? It would puzzle me to judge between the two. They had splendid eyes, dark, luminous, and languishing; lovely complexions and magnificent hair. Both were delightful in their manners, refined and cultured, with an air of vivacity mingled with their repose of manner which was perfectly charming. As the law only allows us one, which is your choice? Miss Annette has more force than her sister, and if I could afford the luxury of a wife she would be my choice.”
“Ah, Alf,” said Eugene, “I see that you are a practical business man. In marrying you want a wife to assist you as an efficient plantation mistress. One who would tolerate no waste in the kitchen and no disorder in the parlor.”
“Exactly so,” responded Lorraine; “I am too poor to marry a mere parlor ornament. You can afford to do it; I cannot.”
“Nonsense, if I were as poor as a church mouse I would marry the woman I love.”
“Very fine sentiments,” said Lorraine, “and were I as rich as you I would indulge in them also. You know, when my father died I had great expectations. We had always lived in good style, and I never thought for a moment he was not a rich man, but when his estate was settled I found it was greatly involved, and I was forced to face an uncertain future, with scarcely a dollar to call my own. Land, negroes, cattle, and horses all went under the hammer. The only thing I retained was the education I received at the North; that was my father’s best investment, and all my stock in trade. With that only as an outfit, it would be madness for me to think of marrying one of those lovely girls. They remind me of beautiful canary birds, charming and pretty, but not fitted for the wear and tear of plantation life. Well, which is your choice?”
“Neither,” replied Eugene.
“Then, is it that magnificent looking widow from New Orleans, whom we met before you had that terrible spell of sickness and to whom you appeared so devoted?”
“Not at all. I have not heard from her since that summer. She was fascinating and handsome, but fearfully high strung.”
“Were you afraid of her?”
“No; but I valued my happiness too much to trust it in her hands.”
“Sour grapes!” said Lorraine.
“No! but I think that slavery and the lack of outside interests are beginning to tell on the lives of our women. They lean too much on their slaves, have too much irresponsible power in their hands, are narrowed and compressed by the routine of plantation life and the lack of intellectual stimulus.”
“Yes, Eugene, when I see what other women are doing in the fields of literature and art, I cannot help thinking an amount of brain power has been held in check among us. Yet I cannot abide those Northern women, with their suffrage views and abolition cant. They just shock me.”
“But your mother was a Northern woman,” said Eugene.
“Yes; but she got bravely over her Northern ideas. As I remember her, she was just as much a Southerner as if she had been to the manor born. She came here as a schoolteacher, but soon after she came she married my father. He was easy and indulgent with his servants, and held them with a very loose rein. But my mother was firm and energetic. She made the niggers move around. No shirking nor dawdling with her. When my father died, she took matters in hand, but she only outlived him a few months. If she had lived I believe that she would have retrieved our fortune. I know that she had more executive ability than my father. He was very squeamish about selling his servants, but she would have put every one of them in her pocket before permitting them to eat her out of house and home. But whom are you going to marry?”
“A young lady who graduates from a Northern seminary next week,” responded Eugene.
“I think you are very selfish,” said Lorraine. “You might have invited a fellow to go with you to be your best man.”
“The wedding is to be strictly private. The lady whom I am to marry has negro blood in her veins.”
“The devil she has!” exclaimed Lorraine, starting to his feet, and looking incredulously on the face of Leroy. “Are you in earnest? Surely you must be jesting.”
“I am certainly in earnest,” answered Eugene Leroy. “I mean every word I say.”
“Oh, it can’t be possible! Are you mad?” exclaimed Lorraine.
“Never was saner in my life.”
“What under heaven