not return to the time, or if their earnings were less than she thought proper—woe to them! Her own house-slaves had no better fate; on the slightest occasion—which never fails for those who desire it—she confined them in the cellar, fettered with iron chains, where she visited them only to practise her cruelty on them. I will not tell you the means which she used to indulge her lust of cruelty—the chronicles of heathenism and fanaticism know nothing worse. Enough—the doleful cries of her victims found their way above-ground, through stone walls and bolted doors, and made themselves heard. It was noised abroad in the city. The heart of the people swelled with indignation. They gathered in crowds round the house in which she lived; they vowed to release the victims, to pull down the house, and take vengeance on this monster in the shape of woman. The business was in rapid progress; the walls of the house were beginning to fall, when—the mayor appeared with an armed force. Madame Lallorue's house was preserved, and an opportunity was afforded her to escape through a back gate. She fled, half-dressed, out of New Orleans; and, somewhat later, left America.
She afterwards lived in Paris, and received there the income of an immense property acquired in Louisiana, by what means we know. She died, it is said, only a short time since.—Who can doubt a hell after death when they see the life and pleasure of such persons on earth! Madame Lallorue's husband, a Frenchman, still resides in New Orleans, and is said to be a man of good character. He must at that time have lived separate from his wife.
This circumstance occurred ten or twelve years since.
If it really be true that women are the worst of slave-owners, it must proceed from their temperament being in general more excitable, and from the climate having an unusually irritating effect upon the nervous system by its stimulating character; besides which, women generally exceed men in their extremes either of good or evil; they
