But speaking of their mercurial nature: I was once spending the summer at a village in the mountains, and not far from my chamber-window were three or four cabins occupied by very cleanly, orderly negroes, who had hitherto been a source of no annoyance, for I am very fond of negroes and like to have them about me. These cabins were situated near the mouth of a deep ravine heavily wooded and producing echoes of beautiful distinctness. One evening negroes began to assemble in and around the largest cabin, and there was evidently to be a meeting of some very mournful--or at any rate solemn--character, for they came quietly, shook hands silently, and crept into their places with a stealthy gliding motion. It was a weird, uncanny scene. The moon rose slowly behind the great black mountains, and cast its rays upon the tree-tops and shimmered its light on the whitewashed cabins, and only half revealed the dark figures that glided like spectres in and out; but nothing could pierce the depths of that black ravine, and it was easy to believe it the abode of spirits blest or otherwise--especially otherwise. There was a long, oppressive silence: then they began to sing. What remarkable voices they have, especially the men--so full, so rich, so deep and sonorous! If the mental development of the negro is to involve change in his physical conformation, it is to be hoped it will not interfere with his chest and lungs, nor with that wonderful cavern in the back of his mouth and at the base of the nose. Some should be kept barbarians that they may continue to be vocal instruments. No one who has heard him only as a "minstrel" can have any conception of the exquisite mournfulness, the agonizing pathos, which the negro voice is capable of expressing; nor, we may fairly add, of the wild, devil-may-care jollity; but this last is more truly represented on the stage, the invariable adjuncts of caricature not only contributing to stimulate the comedian, but broadening the effect of his voice on the hearer. Why is it that we always have caricature in negro delineations--that we never have any simple representations of the reality or any touches of unalloyed pathos? In all Nature there is nothing more pathetic than a pitiful negro. You may paint the negro's lips and roach his hair, and even exaggerate the peculiarities of his feet, but I can pick you up one, out on the suburbs or down in the alleys, who has become old and feeble and cannot work any more, whose old master is dead and whose children have kicked him out, who steals and struggles and starves in ignorant terror of the poorhouse; and for yours people will raise their opera-glasses to their eyes--for mine, their handkerchiefs.