"General Wade Hampton needs horses," read the last order of the Governor to the citizens, on the twenty-first of January, 1865, "and I have told him he shall have them. Put aside your please-carriages for the time, and bring or send in your horses to Columbia. Colonel C.T. Hampton is charged by me with the duty of receiving with thanks all that will be sent, and of _taking_ all that are withheld. The horses will be paid for. No one shall suffer from his devotion to the State." The public conveyances kindly placed at our disposal by the authorities, showed how effectively this order had been carried out. Such a sorry looking set of horses, mules and donkeys, attached to omnibuses, army ambulances and fish-wagons, would appropriately have found a place in a Providence Antique and Horrible procession! Passing on to the Market Building we stopped to chat with the darkey shop-keepers who occupied the few stalls which were open. We purchased here some sugar-cane and strawberries, the first of the season. The darkeys proved to be pretty shrewd traders, and promptly declined all offers of Confederate currency in payment. One shook his woolly head, saying, "O, sar, we'd better _gib_ um to you, sar!" They had evidently acquired some of the sharpness of their old masters, one of whom I read about used to make his negroes _whistle_ while they were picking cherries, for fear they would _eat_ some! But now they could sing their Jubilee hymn, as their colored brethren sung it, marching through Richmond: "De whip is lost, de han'cuf broken, An' massa'l hab to _whistle_ for his _pay_; He's ole enough, big enough, an' ought to known better Dan to went an' run'd away: Ole massa run, ha! ha! De darkey stay, ho! ho! It mus' be now dat de kingdom's cummin', An' de year of Jubilo!" Some ragged negro boys on the street, who, by the way they danced, appeared to have india-rubber joints, and who ended their songs with a "shout" and a "break-down," were asked if they knew the John Brown song. "Oh, yeth, massa; we know ole John Brown." "Well, give it to us then." "John Brown's body lies a mold'ring in de clay, But his soul am a marchin' home!" "Good! give us some more!" "We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree, On Canaan's happy _sho'_!" Some of them doubtless still sing the new version, believing that Jeff Davis will yet be hung, on Canaan's happy shore; and so they are all "bound for the happy land of Canaan!" It has been stated as an indisputable _fact_, that some of the older negroes having never heard their masters mention the name of a Yankee except with a profane accompaniment, have been praying for years, "O Lord! bress, we beseech Thee, and speedily bring along de comin' of de _dam_ Yankees!"