The mind can easily call up the picture—the locusts and catalpas clustered around the back porch of our old plantation home—Mammy in her low chair under our favorite tree—the baby in her lap—the group of children all around her, all waiting impatiently for her to croon the baby to sleep and go with us to gather the jasmine flowers for “Miss ’Gusta’s” pomatum, or the raspberries for “Ole Mistis’s” lunch. We must have been of a sentimental turn, for the chief favorite was a doleful ditty, called LORD LOVELL Lord Lovell, he stood at his castle gate, A-combing his milk-white steed, When out came the lady Nancy Bell, To wish her lover good speed-speed-speed, To wish her lover good speed. “Oh, where are you going, Lord Lovell?” she said, “And where are you going?” said she. “I’m going away, Lady Nancy Bell, Strange countries for to see-see-see, Strange countries for to see.” And when he’d been gone a year and a day, Strange countries for to see, A languishing thought came over his mind. His lady-love for to see-see-see, His lady-love for to see. So he rode and he rode on his milk-white steed, Till he came to London town, And there he heard the great church bell, And the people were gathered around-’round-’round, And the people were gathered around. “Oh, what is the matter?” Lord Lovell, he said, “And what is the matter?” said he. And then they said: “A lady is dead; Some called her the Lady Nancy-cy-cy, Some called her the Lady Nancy.” Lady Nancy, she died as it might be to-day, Lord Lovell, he died on the morrow; Lady Nancy, she died of pure, pure love, Lord Lovell, he died of sorrow-row-row, Lord Lovell, he died of sorrow. Lady Nancy was buried on one hill top; Lord Lovell was buried on t’other; And out of her bosom there grew a red rose, And out of her lover’s a brier-er-er, And out of her lover’s a brier. They grew and they grew, to the church steeple top, And they couldn’t grow any higher; And then they formed a true lover’s knot, knot, Which all true lovers admire-er-er, Which all true lovers admire. The tune is even more ridiculous than the words, and the repetition in each stanza is positively ludicrous. Next in our esteem was a comic hunting song, of which I recall these stanzas: They hunted and they hollered, And the first thing they did find Was a frog in the marshes, And that they left behind. Look a-there, now! Look a-there! Some said it was a frog, And some said nay; Some said it was a bird With its feathers shot away. Look a-there, now! Look a-there! So they hunted and they hollered, And the next thing they did find Was the moon in the elements, And that they left behind. Look a-there, now! Look a-there!