ip; he do de work, and
I keeps de change," was the grinning reply, and it admirably illustrates
a peculiarity I have observed to be universal with the negro. When left
to his own direction, he invariably "goes into partenship" with some one
poorer than himself, and no matter how trivial the task, shirks all the
labor he can.

The silent darky and my portmanteau in the van, and the garrulous old
negro guarding my flank, I wended my way through the principal street to
the hotel. On the route I resumed the conversation:

"So, uncle, you say the people here are getting ready for a black
burying?"

"Yas, massa, gwine to bury all dem mis'able free niggas at de Norf."

"Why? What will you do that for?"

"Why for, massa! you ax why for!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"I don't know," I rejoined; "I'm a stranger here."

"Well, you see, massa, dem boblition niggas up dar hab gone and 'lected
a ole darky, dey call Uncle Abe; and Old Abe he'se gwine to come down
Souf, and cut de decent niggas' troats. He'll hab a good time--_he
will_! My young massa's captin ob de sogers, and he'll cotch de ole
coon, and string him up so high de crows won't scent him; yas, he
will;" and again the old darky's face opened till it looked like the
entrance to the Mammoth Cave. He, evidently, had read the Southern
papers.

Depositing my luggage at the hotel, which I found on a side street--a
dilapidated, unpainted wooden building, with a female landlord--I
started out to explore the town, till the hour for dinner. Retracing my
steps in the direction of the steamboat landing, I found the streets
nearly deserted, although it was the hour when the business of the day
is usually transacted. Soon I discovered the cause. The militia of the
place were out on parade. Preceded by a colored band, playing national
airs--in doleful keeping with the occasion--and followed by a motley
collection of negroes of all sexes and ages, the company was entering
the principal thoroughfare. As it passed me, I could judge of the
prowess of the redoubtable captain, who, according to Pompey, will hang
the President "so high de crows won't scent him." He was a
harmless-looking young man, with long, spindle legs, admirably adapted
to running. Though not formidable in other respects, there _was_ a
certain martial air about an enormous sabre which hung at his side, and
occasionally got entangled in his nether integuments, and a fiery,
warlike look to the heavy tuft of reddish h