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W E S T INDIES.
Christmas morning, I was awoke just as day dawned, by the sound of many merry voices, young and old, wishing massa and misses a good Christmas.
We got up, and dressed as
quickly as possible, to return the compliment, and found upwards of twenty negroes—both Laurel-Hill and St. Vincent people. When we came to the door, they all shook hands with us; some made long speeches, full of good wishes; and one female negro expressed what she no doubt considered the best wish of all.
She
meant that her master should enjoy a good old age; but she expressed it by saying, " Me massa, me hope you live long, very long; me hope you live to bury all your pic-a-ninnies." Songs and dances followed: the songs of their own composition, and full of good wishes for a good crop and good sugar. The giving out the Christmas allowances is a very merry scene: they flour each other's black faces and curly hair, and call out, " look at he white face ! and he white wig !"— with many other jokes of their own.
On Christmas