vals are also celebrated at the other church, but
always in proper season; for the minister there is not only sound and
orthodox in his doctrines, but he is also a planter on his own account,
and, therefore, able to understand that the interests of religion and
tobacco ought not to be brought into conflict.

Many parties are given every year, and they are attended by several
hundred negroes of both sexes, who have come from the different
"quarters," and even from other plantations in the vicinity. The owner
of the plantation always supplies an abundance of provisions--a sheep or
beef, flour and meal--for the feast that celebrates the general housing
of the crops, which is to the laborers what the harvest-supper is to the
peasantry of England. The year, with its varied labors and large
results, lies behind them, the wheat, tobacco, and corn have all been
gathered in, their hard work is done, and though in a few weeks the old
routine will begin again, they are now oblivious of it all. Hour after
hour they continue to dance, a new array of fresh performers taking the
place of those who are exhausted, and then the regular beating of their
feet on the floor can be heard at a considerable distance, with a dull,
monotonous sound, varied only by the hum of voices or noise of laughter
or the shrill notes of the musical instruments. These are the banjo and
accordion, the former being the favorite, perhaps because it is more
intimately associated with the social traditions of the negroes. Their
best performers play very skilfully on both, and indulge in as much
ecstatic by-play as musicians of the most famous schools. They throw
themselves into many strange contortions as they touch the strings or
keys, swaying from side to side, or rocking their bodies backward and
forward till the head almost reaches the floor, or leaning over the
instrument and addressing it in caressing terms. They accompany their
playing with their voices, but their _repertoire_ is limited to a few
songs, which generally consist in mere repetition of a few notes. All
their airs have been handed down from remote generations. Their words
deal with the ordinary incidents of the negro's life, and embody his
narrow hopes and aspirations, but they are rarely connected narratives.
As a rule, they are broken lines without relevancy or coherence, while
the choruses are so many meaningless syllables. The negroes seem to
derive no pleasure from music outside of those son