As for the sporting gentlemen, not having the honour to know them, I can only say that they looked like gentlemen, and that I wish, in all courtesy, that they had been more wisely employed.
But the Negro, or the coloured man of the lower class, was in his glory.

He was smart, clean, shiny, happy, according to his light.

He got up into trees, and clustered there, grinning from ear to ear.

He bawled about island horses and Barbadian horses--for the Barbadians mustered strong, and a fight was expected, which, however, never came off; he sang songs, possibly some of them extempore, like that which amused one's childhood concerning a once notable event in a certain island-- 'I went to da Place To see da horse-race, I see Mr.Barton A-wipin' ob his face.
'Run Allright, Run for your life; See Mr Barton A comin wid a knife.
'Oh, Mr Barton, I sarry for your loss; If you no believe me, I tie my head across.' That is--go into mourning.

But no one seemed inclined to tie their heads, across that day.