And I always wondered, about these, whether they had always a conscious and definite origin in some leading mind, or whether they grew by gradual accretion, in an almost unconscious way.

On this point I could get no information, though I asked many questions, until at last, one day when I was being rowed across from Beaufort to Ladies' Island, I found myself, with delight, on the actual trail of a song.

One of the oarsmen, a brisk young fellow, not a soldier, on being asked for his theory of the matter, dropped out a coy confession.

"Some good sperituals," he said, "are start jess out o' curiosity.

I been a-raise a sing, myself, once." My dream was fulfilled, and I had traced out, not the poem alone, but the poet.