Even in their solitary moments, too, there seems to be no brooding discontent about them. They are talking continually to themselves, and their soliloquies seem full of fun--at least, if we may believe the merry laughs excited by what they themselves are saying. This morning, I followed down to the very extreme end of the town an old negro, who, though he was somewhat lame in one leg, seemed very agile and vigorous. There was something about the man that caught my fancy; for though he was very plainly dressed, in a sort of frieze jacket and a pair of blue linen trousers, he was very clean: his white wool looked respectable, and his black skin shone like ebony. His occupation, at the time, was the humble one of carrying a large dead pig upon his back. These people are a curious study to me, having seen so little of them, and having received but a one-sided view of their character and of their treatment. So I watched him along the way, keeping a little behind, and on one side of him. Some distance down the street, at a house with a little garden before it, a huge monkey, with a face horridly human, was sitting, chained to a tree, eating what seemed to me a potato. The negro stopped, with the pig still upon his back, and gazed thoughtfully at the monkey for a moment or two. The brute grinned and chattered at the man, and held up his doubled fist in rather a pugilistic attitude. The negro grinned, and said aloud--"Ah, massa Jacko, you damn like old folks!" And on he marched upon his way. I must explain to you that "old folks," in negro parlance, means, generally, the mother and father of the speaker. At the further part of the town, where a rough paling encircled a piece of ground intended to be built upon, my black friend stopped, and deliberately unshouldered his pig, setting him up on his hind feet against the boards. But he could not be without his joke, even at his mute companion. Indeed, this race seems to have a poetical way of animating everything. "Ah, massa piggy." he said, "I carried you long way; you look mighty stiff. I damn tired too. So we both rest ourselves." As we were now at the outskirts of the town, and as I was afraid of losing myself if I went further, I turned back to my inn, which is tolerably comfortable, although a poor looking place enough. It is called the Exchange Hotel; and there you had better write to me, as when I go onward, I shall request my very civil landlady to forward all letters to me by the speediest conveyance.