When the full but subdued chorus burst upon the ear, every heart felt the power of the simple strain; the master with his educated mind and cultivated taste, and the slave with the complete power of enjoyment with which the Creator has endowed him.
Hardly had the cadence of the last note died away, when "Shout, shout, the devil's about," was heard from a stentorian voice.

Above the peals of laughter with which the words were received, rose Jake's voice, "Come on, ole fiddler, play somefin a nigger kin kick up his heels to; what's de use of singing after dat fashion; dis aint no meetin." "What'll you have, Jake ?" said Bacchus.
"What'll I have?
Why, I never dances to but one tune," and Jake started the first line of "Oh, plantation gals, can't you look at a body," while Bacchus was giving a prelude of scrapes and twangs.

Jake made a circle of somersets, and come down on his head, with his heels in the air, going through flourishes that would have astonished an uninitiated observer.

As it was, Jake's audience were in a high condition of enjoyment.

They were in a constant state of expectation as to where he would turn up, or what would be the nature of the next caper.