a lady." The tune of this William had learned from Alice singing it to the
piano. He begged her to teach him the words. She did so, telling him of the
chorus part, in which many were to unite. Bacchus prepared an
accompaniment; a number of them sang it together. William sang the solos.
He had a remarkably good voice and fine taste; he therefore did justice to
the sweet song. When the full but subdued chorus burst upon the ear, every
heart felt the power of the simple strain; the master with his educated
mind and cultivated taste, and the slave with the complete power of
enjoyment with which the Creator has endowed him.

Hardly had the cadence of the last note died away, when "Shout, shout, the
devil's about," was heard from a stentorian voice. Above the peals of
laughter with which the words were received, rose Jake's voice, "Come on,
ole fiddler, play somefin a nigger kin kick up his heels to; what's de use
of singing after dat fashion; dis aint no meetin."

"What'll you have, Jake?" said Bacchus.

"What'll I have? Why, I never dances to but one tune," and Jake started the
first line of "Oh, plantation gals, can't you look at a body," while
Bacchus was giving a prelude of scrapes and twangs. Jake made a circle of
somersets, and come down on his head, with his heels in the air, going
through flourishes that would have astonished an uninitiated observer. As
it was, Jake's audience were in a high condition of enjoyment. They were
in a constant state of expectation as to where he would turn up, or what
would be the nature of the next caper. Now, he cut the pigeon-wing for a
length of time that made the spectators hold their breath; then he would,
so to speak, stand on his hands, and with his feet give a push to the
barrel where Uncle Bacchus was sitting, and nearly roll the old man
underneath. One moment he is dancing with every limb, making the most
curious contortions of his face, rolling out his tongue, turning his eyes
wrong side out. Suddenly, he stretches himself on the grass, snoring to a
degree that might be heard at almost any distance. Starting up, he snaps
his fingers, twirls round, first on one foot, and then on the other, till
feeling the time approaching when he must give up, he strikes up again:

"Shout, shout, the devil's about;
Shut the door and keep him out,"

leaps frog over two or three of the servants' shoulders, disappearing from
among them in an immoderate state of conceit and perspiration.