In the afternoon I saw Mr. ——­ off for St. Simon’s; it is fifteen miles lower down the river, and a large island at the very mouth of the Altamaha.

The boat he went in was a large, broad, rather heavy, though well-built craft, by no means as swift or elegant as the narrow eight-oared long boat in which he generally takes his walks on the water, but well adapted for the traffic between the two plantations, where it serves the purpose of a sort of omnibus or stage-coach for the transfer of the people from one to the other, and of a baggage waggon or cart for the conveyance of all sorts of household goods, chattels, and necessaries.  Mr. ——­ sat in the middle of a perfect chaos of such freight; and as the boat pushed off, and the steersman took her into the stream, the men at the oars set up a chorus, which they continued to chaunt in unison with each other, and in time with their stroke, till the voices and oars were heard no more from the distance.  I believe I have mentioned to you before the peculiar characteristics of this veritable negro minstrelsy—­how they all sing in unison, having never, it appears, attempted or heard anything like part-singing.  Their voices seem oftener tenor than any other quality, and the tune and time they keep something quite wonderful; such truth of intonation and accent would make almost any music agreeable.  That which I have heard these people sing is often plaintive and pretty, but almost always has some resemblance to tunes with which they must have become acquainted through the instrumentality of white men; their overseers or masters whistling Scotch or Irish airs, of which they have produced by ear these rifacciamenti.  The note for note reproduction of ’Ah! vous dirai-je, maman?’ in one of the most popular of the so-called Negro melodies with which all America and England are familiar, is an example of this very transparent plagiarism; and the tune with which Mr. ——­’s rowers started him down the Altamaha, as I stood at the steps to see him off, was a very distinct descendant of ‘Coming through the Rye.’  The words, however, were astonishingly primitive, especially the first line, which, when it burst from their eight throats in high unison, sent me into fits of laughter.

    Jenny shake her toe at me,
    Jenny gone away;
    Jenny shake her toe at me,
    Jenny gone away. 
    Hurrah!  Miss Susy, oh! 
    Jenny gone away;
    Hurrah!  Miss Susy, oh! 
    Jenny gone away.

What the obnoxious Jenny meant by shaking her toe, whether defiance or mere departure, I never could ascertain, but her going away was an unmistakable subject of satisfaction; and the pause made on the last ‘oh!’ before the final announcement of her departure, had really a good deal of dramatic and musical effect.  Except the extemporaneous chaunts in our honour, of which I have written to you before, I have never heard the negroes on Mr. ——­’s plantation sing any words that could be said to have any sense.  To one, an extremely pretty, plaintive, and original air, there was but one line, which was repeated with a sort of wailing chorus—­