THE TOWN. 59

 certain wild note in it, which it will take many
 generations yet to tame. Oh, my Lawd," he
 says, leaning forward, his elbows resting on
 his ragged knees, and the reins slipping care-
 lessly between his fingers,-

 Oh, my Lawd, don't you forgit me,
 Oh, my Lawd, don't you forgit me,
 Oh, my Lawd, don't you forgit me,
 Down by Bab'lon's stream "
 With this morning freshness in the sparkling
 air, he sings because he cannot help it; -long
 ago the Lord remembered the captivity in
 Babylon, -but the song has found no deeper
 meaning in his soul; it is only a simple re-
 joicing in the sunshine. It is hard to realize,
 in the comfortable content among the negroes,
 living tranquil, sleepy lives in the old town,
 that these words were ever sung with tears
 and prayers; such pain meant alertness and
 eager life, for which one looks now, for the
 most part, in vain. These people would surely
 never rouse themselves to contradict the man
who asserted, with grim disdain of all intense
life, that the happiest moment each day, to the