Part 2

It was at the old field school "exhibition" that the fiddle and the bow immortalized themselves. When the frowning old teacher advanced on the stage and nodded for silence, instantly there _was_ silence in the vast assembly; and when the corps of country fiddlers, "one of which I was often whom," seated on the stage, hoisted the black flag, and rushed into the dreadful charge on "Old Dan Tucker," or "Arkansas Traveller," the spectacle was sublime. Their heads swung time; their bodies rocked time; their feet patted time; the muscles of their faces twitched time; their eyes winked time; their teeth ground time. The whizzing bows and screaming fiddles electrified the audience who cheered at every brilliant turn in the charge of the fiddlers. The good women laughed for joy; the men winked at each other and popped their fists; it was like the charge of the Old Guard at Waterloo, or a battle with a den of snakes. Upon the completion of the grand overture of the fiddlers the brilliant programme of the "exhibition," which usually lasted all day, opened with "Mary had a little lamb;" and it gathered fury until it reached Patrick Henry's "Give me liberty or give me death!!!" The programme was interspersed with compositions by the girls, from the simple subject of "flowers," including "blessings brighten as they take their flight," up to "every cloud has a silver lining;" and it was interlarded with frequent tunes by the fiddlers from early morn till close of day.

Did you never hear the juvenile orator of the old field school speak? He was not dressed like a United States Senator; but he was dressed with a view to disrobing for bed, and completing his morning toilet instantly; both of which he performed during the acts of ascending and descending the stairs. His uniform was very simple. It consisted of one pair of breeches rolled up to the knees, with one patch on the "western hemisphere," one little shirt with one button at the top, one "gallus," and one invalid straw hat. His straw hat stood guard over his place on the bench, while he was delivering his great speech at the "exhibition." With great dignity and eclat, the old teacher advanced on the stage and introduced him to the expectant audience, and he came forward like a cyclone.

"The boy stood on the burnin' deck whence all but him had fled----The flames that lit the battle's wreck shown 'round him o'er the dead, yet beautiful and bright he stood----the boy stood on the burnin' deck----and he wuz the bravest boy that ever wuz. His father told him to keep a-stan'in' there till he told him to git off'n there, and the boy he jist kep' a stan'in' there----and fast the flames rolled on----The old man went down stairs in the ship to see about sump'n, an' he got killed down there, an' the boy he didn't know it, an' he jist kept a stan'in' there----an' fast the flames rolled on. He cried aloud: "say father, say, if _yit_ my task is done," but his father wuz dead an' couldn't hear 'im, an' the boy he jist kep' a stan'in' there----an' fast the flames rolled on.----They caught like flag banners in the sky, an' at last the ol' biler busted, an' the boy he went up!!!!!!!!"

At the close of this great speech the fiddle fainted as dead as a herring.

THE QUILTING AND THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL.

The old fiddler took a fresh chew of long, green tobacco, and rosined his bow. He glided off into "Hop light ladies, your cake's all dough," and then I heard the watch dog's honest bark. I heard the guinea's merry "pot-rack." I heard a cock crow. I heard the din of happy voices in the "big house" and the sizz and songs of boiling kettles in the kitchen. It was an old time quilting--the May-day of the glorious ginger cake and cider era of the American Republic; and the needle was mightier than the sword. The pen of Jefferson announced to the world, the birth of the child of the ages; the sword of Washington defended it in its cradle, but it would have perished there had it not been for the brave women of that day who plied the needle and made the quilts that warmed it, and who nursed it and rocked it through the perils of its infancy, into the strength of a giant. The quilt was attached to a quadrangular frame suspended from the ceiling; and the good women sat around it and quilted the live-long day, and were courted by the swains between stitches. At sunset the quilt was always finished; a cat was thrown into the center of it, and the happy maiden nearest to whom the escaping "kitty-puss" passed was sure to be the first to marry.

Then followed the groaning supper table, surrounded by giggling girls, bashful young men and gossipy old matrons who monopolized the conversation. There was a warm and animated discussion among the old ladies as to what was the most delightful product of the garden. One old lady said, that so "fur" as she was "consarned," she preferred the "per-turnip"--another preferred the "pertater"--another the "cow-cumber," and still another voted "ingern" king. But suddenly a wise looking old dame raised her spectacles and settled the whole question by observing: "Ah, ladies, you may talk about yer per-turnips, and your pertaters, and your passnips and other gyardin sass, but the sweetest wedgetable that ever melted on these ol' gums o' mine is the 'possum."

At length the feast was ended, the old folks departed and the fun and frolic began in earnest at the quilting. Old uncle "Ephraham" was an old darkey in the neighborhood, distinguished for calling the figures for all the dances, for miles and miles around. He was a tall, raw-boned, angular old darkey with a very bald head, and a great deal of white in his eyes. He had thick, heavy lips and a very flat nose. I will tell you a little story of uncle "Ephraham." He lived alone in his cabin, as many of the old time darkeys lived, and his 'possum dog lived with him. One evening old uncle "Ephraham" came home from his labors and took his 'possum dog into the woods and soon caught a fine, large, fat 'possum. He brought him home and dressed him; and then he slipped into his master's garden and stole some fine, large, fat sweet potatoes--("Master's nigger, Master's taters,") and he washed the potatoes and split them and piled them in the oven around the 'possum. He set the oven on the red hot coals and put the lid on, and covered it with red hot coals, and then sat down in the corner and nodded and breathed the sweet aroma of the baking 'possum, till it was done. Then he set it out into the middle of the floor, and took the lid off, and sat down by the smoking 'possum and soliloquized: "Dat's de fines' job ob bakin' 'possum I evah has done in my life, but dat 'possum's too hot to eat yit. I believes I'll jis lay down heah by 'im an' take a nap while he's coolin', an' maybe I'll dream about eat'n 'im, an' den I'll git up an' eat 'im, an' I'll git de good uv dat 'possum boaf times dat-a-way." So he lay down on the floor, and in a moment he was sleeping as none but the old time darkey could sleep, as sweetly as a babe in its mother's arms. Old Cye was another old darkey in the neighborhood, prowling around. He poked his head in at "Ephraham's" door ajar, and took in the whole situation at a glance. Cye merely remarked to himself: "I loves 'possum myself." And he slipped in on his tip-toes and picked up the 'possum and ate him from tip to tail, and piled the bones down by sleeping "Ephraham;" he ate the sweet potatoes and piled the hulls down by the bones; then he reached into the oven and got his hand full of 'possum grease and rubbed it on "Ephraham's" lips and cheeks and chin, and then folded his tent and silently stole away. At length "Ephraham" awoke--"Sho' nuf, sho' nuf--jist as I expected; I dreampt about eat'n dat 'possum an' it wuz de sweetest dream I evah has had yit." He looked around, but empty was the oven--"'possum gone." "Sho'ly to de Lo'd," said "Ephraham," "I nuvvah eat dat 'possum while I wuz a dreamin' about eat'n 'im." He poked his tongue out--"Yes, dat's 'possum grease sho,--I s'pose I eat dat 'possum while I wuz a dreamin' about eat'n 'im, but ef I did eat 'im, he sets lighter on my constitution an' has less influence wid me dan any 'possum I evah has eat in my bo'n days."

Old uncle "Ephraham" was present at the country dance in all his glory. He was attired in his master's old claw-hammer coat, a very buff vest, a high standing collar the corners of which stood out six inches from his face, striped pantaloons that fitted as tightly as a kid glove, and he wore number fourteen shoes. He looked as though he were born to call the figures of the dance. The fiddler was a young man with long legs, a curving back, and a neck of the crane fashion, embellished with an Adam's apple which made him look as though he had made an unsuccessful effort to swallow his own head. But he was a very important personage at the dance. With great dignity he unwound his bandana handkerchief from his old fiddle and proceeded to tune for the fray.

Did you never hear a country fiddler tune his fiddle? He tuned, and he tuned, and he tuned. He tuned for fifteen minutes, and it was like a melodious frog pond during a shower of rain.

At length uncle "Ephraham" shouted: "Git yo' pardners for a cow-tillion."

The fiddler struck an attitude, and after countless yelps from his eager strings, he glided off into that sweet old Southern air of "Old Uncle Ned," as though he were mauling rails or feeding a threshing machine. Uncle "Ephraham" sang the chorus with the fiddle before he began to call the figures of the dance:

"Lay down de shovel an' de hoe--hoe--hoe, hang up de fiddle an' de bow, For dar's no mo' work for poor ol' Ned--he's gone whar de good niggahs go."

Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he began! "Honah yo' pardnahs! swing dem co'nahs--swing yo' pardnahs! fust couple for'd an' back! half right an' leff fru! back agin! swing dem co'nahs--swing yo' pardnahs! nex' couple for'd an' back! half right and leff fru! back agin! swing dem co'nahs--swing yo' pardnahs! fust couple to de right--lady in de centah--han's all around--suhwing!!!--nex' couple suhwing!!! nex' couple suhwing!!! suh-wing, suh-wing, suh-wing!!!!!!"

About this time an angry lad who had been jilted by his sweetheart, shied a fresh egg from without; it struck "Ephraham" square between the eyes and broke and landed on his upper lip. Uncle "Ephraham" yelled: "Stop de music--stop de dance--let de whole circumstances of dis occasion come to a stan' still till I finds out who it is a scram'lin eggs aroun' heah."

And then the dancing subsided for the candy-pulling.

THE CANDY PULLING

The sugar was boiling in the kettles, and while it boiled the boys and girls played "snap," and "eleven hand," and "thimble," and "blindfold," and another old play which some of our older people will remember:

"Oh! Sister Phoebe, how merry were we, When we sat under the juniper tree-- The juniper tree-I-O."

And when the sugar had boiled down into candy they emptied it into greased saucers, or as the mountain folks called them, "greased sassers," and set it out to cool; and when it had cooled each boy and girl took a saucer; and they pulled the taffy out and patted it and rolled it till it hung well together; and then they pulled it out a foot long; they pulled it out a yard long; and they doubled it back, and pulled it out; and when it began to look like gold the sweethearts paired off and consolidated their taffy and pulled against each other. They pulled it out and doubled it back, and looped it over, and pulled it out; and sometimes a peachblow cheek touched a bronzed one; and sometimes a sweet little voice spluttered out; "you Jack;" and there was a suspicious smack like a cow pulling her foot out of stiff mud. They pulled the candy and laughed and frolicked; the girls got taffy on their hair--the boys got taffy on their chins; the girls got taffy on their waists--the boys got taffy on their coat sleeves. They pulled it till it was as bright as a moonbeam, and then they platted it and coiled it into fantastic shapes and set it out in the crisp air to cool. Then the courting in earnest began. They did not court then as the young folks court now. The young man led his sweetheart back into a dark corner and sat down by her, and held her hand for an hour, and never said a word. But it resulted next year in more cabins on the hillsides and in the hollows; and in the years that followed the cabins were full of candy-haired children who grew up into a race of the best, the bravest, and the noblest people the sun in heaven ever shone upon.

In the bright, bright hereafter, when all the joys of all the ages are gathered up and condensed into globules of transcendent ecstacy, I doubt whether there will be anything half so sweet as were the candy-smeared, ruby lips of the country maidens to the jeans-jacketed swains who tasted them at the candy-pulling in the happy long ago.

(Sung by Gov. Taylor to air of "Down on the Farm.")

In the happy long ago, When I used to draw the bow, At the old log cabin hearthstone all aglow, Oh! the fiddle laughed and sung, And the puncheons fairly rung, With the clatter of the shoe soles long ago.

Oh! the merry swings and whirls Of the happy boys and girls, In the good old time cotillion long ago! Oh! they danced the highland fling, And they cut the pigeon wing, To the music of the fiddle and the bow.

But the mischief and the mirth, And the frolics 'round the hearth, And the flitting of the shadows to and fro, Like a dream have passed away-- Now I'm growing old and gray, And I'll soon hang up the fiddle and the bow.

When a few more notes I've made, When a few more tunes I've played, I'll be sleeping where the snowy daises grow. But my griefs will all be o'er When I reach the happy shore, Where I'll greet the friends who loved me long ago.

Oh! how sweet, how precious to us all are the memories of the happy long ago!

THE BANQUET.

Let us leave the "egg flip" of the country dance, and take a bowl of egg-nog at the banquet. It was a modern banquet for men only. Music flowed; wine sparkled; the night was far spent--it was in the wee sma' hours. The banquet was given by Col. Punk who was the promoter of a town boom, and who had persuaded the banqueters that "there were millions in it." He had purchased some old sedge fields on the outskirts of creation, from an old squatter on the domain of Dixie, at three dollars an acre; and had stocked them at three hundred dollars an acre. The old squatter was a partner with the Colonel, and with his part of the boodle nicely done up in his wallet, was present with bouyant hopes and feelings high. Countless yarns were spun; numberless jokes passed 'round the table until, in the ecstacy of their joy, the banqueters rose from the table and clinked their glasses together, and sang to chorus:

"Landlord, fill the flowing bowl Until it doth run over; Landlord fill the flowing bowl Until it doth run over; For to-night we'll merry merry be, For to-night we'll merry merry be, For to-night we'll merry merry be; And to-morrow we'll get sober."

The whole banquet was drunk (as banquets usually are), and the principal stockholders finally succumbed to the music of "Old Kentucky Bourbon," and sank to sleep under the table. The last toast on the programme was announced. It was a wonderful toast--"Our mineral resources:" The old squatter rose in his glory, about three o'clock in the morning, to respond to this toast, and thus he responded:

"Mizzer Churman and Gent-tul-men of the Banquet: I have never made mineralogy a study, nor zoology, nor any other kind of 'ology,' but if there haint m-i-n-e-r-l in the deestrick which you gent-tul-men have jist purchased from me at sitch magnifercent figers, then the imagernation of man is a deception an' a snare. But gent-tul-men, you caint expect to find m-i-n-e-r-l without plenty uv diggin'. I have been diggin' thar for the past forty year fur it, an' haint never struck it yit, I hope you gen-tul-men will strike it some time endurin' the next forty year." Here, with winks and blinks and clinched teeth, the old Colonel pulled his coat tail; he was spoiling the town boom. But he would not down. He continued in the same eloquent strain: "Gent-tul-men, you caint expect to find m-i-n-e-r-l without plenty uv diggin.' You caint expect to find nothin' in this world without plenty uv diggin'. There is no excellence without labor gent-tul-men. If old Vanderbilt hadn't a-been persevering in his pertickler kind uv dig-gin', whar would he be to-day? He wouldn't now be a rich man, a-ridin' the billers of old ocean in his magnifercent 'yatchet.' If I hadn't a-been perseverin', an' hadn't a-kep on a-dig-gin' an' a-diggin, whar would I have been to-day? I mout have been seated like you gent-tul-men, at this stupenduous banquet, with my pockets full of watered stock, and some other old American citizen mout have been deliverin' this eulogy on our m-i-n-e-r-l resources. Gent-tul-men, my injunction to you is never to stop diggin'. And while you're a-diggin', cultivate a love for the beautiful, the true and the good. Speakin' of the beautiful, the true, and the good, gent-tul-men, let us not forgit woman at this magnifercent banquet--Oh! woman, woman, woman! when the mornin' stars sung together for joy--an' woman--God bless 'er----Great God, feller citerzens, caint you understand!!!!"

At the close of this great speech the curtain fell to slow music, and there was a panic in land stocks.

THERE IS MUSIC ALL AROUND US.

There is music all around us, there is music everywhere. There is no music so sweet to the American ear as the music of politics. There is nothing that kindles the zeal of a modern patriot to a whiter heat than the prospect of an office; there is nothing that cools it off so quickly as the fading out of that prospect.

I stood on the stump in Tennessee as a candidate for Governor, and thus I cut my eagle loose: "Fellow Citizens, we live in the grandest country in the world. It stretches

From Maine's dark pines and crags of snow To where magnolia breezes blow;

It stretches from the Atlantic Ocean on the east, to the Pacific Ocean on the west"--and an old fellow jumped up in my crowd and threw his hat in the air and shouted: "Let 'er stretch, durn 'er--hurrah for the Dimocrat Party."

An old Dutchman had a beautiful boy of whom he was very proud; and he decided to find out the bent of his mind. He adopted a very novel method by which to test him. He slipped into the little fellow's room one morning and placed on his table a Bible, a bottle of whiskey, and a silver dollar. "Now," said he, "Ven dot boy comes in, ef he dakes dot dollar, he's goin' to be a beeznis man; ef he dakes dot Bible he'll be a breacher; ef he dakes dot vwiskey, he's no goot--he's goin' to be a druenkart." and he hid behind the door to see which his son would choose. In came the boy whistling. He ran up to the table and picked up the dollar and put it in his pocket; he picked up the Bible and put it under his arm; then he snatched up the bottle of whiskey and took two or three drinks, and went out smacking his lips. The old Dutchman poked his head out from behind the door and exclaimed: "Mine Got--he's goin' to be a bolitician."

There is no music like the music of political discussion. I have heard almost a thousand political discussions. I heard the great debate between Blaine and Ben Hill; I heard the angry coloquies between Roscoe Conkling and Lamar; I have heard them on down to the humblest in the land. But I prefer to give you a scrap of one which occurred in my own native mountains. It was a race for the Legislature in a mountain county, between a straight Democrat and a straight Republican. The mountaineers had gathered at the county site to witness the great debate. The Republican spoke first. He was about six feet two in his socks, as slim as a bean pole, with a head about the size of an ordinary tin cup and very bald, and he lisped. Webster in all his glory in the United States Senate never appeared half so great or half so wise. Thus he opened the debate:

"F-e-l-l-o-w T-h-i-t-i-t-h-e-n-s: I come befo' you to-day ath a Republikin candidate, fer to reprethent you in the lower branch uv the Legithlachah. And, fellow thitithens, ef I thould thay thumpthin conthernin' my own carreckter, I hope you will excuthe me. I sprung frum one of the humbletht cabins in all thith lovely land uv thweet liberty; and many a mornin' I have jumped out uv my little trundle bed onto the puncheon floor, and pulled the splinterth and the bark off uv the wall of our 'umble cabin, for to make a fire for my weakley parenth. Fellow thitithenth, I never had no chanthe. All that I am to-day I owe to my own egtherthionth!! and that aint all. When the cloud of war thwept like a bethom of destructhion over this land uv thweet liberty, me and my connecthion thouldered our musketh and marched forth on the bloody battlefield to fight for your thweet liberty! Fellow thitithenth, if you can trust me in the capathity uv a tholjer, caint you trust me in the capathity uv the Legithlature? I ask my old Dimocrat competitor for to tell you whar he wath when war shook thith continent from its thenter to its circumputh! I have put thith quethtion to him on every stump, and he's ath thilent ath an oysthter. Fellow citithenth, I am a Republikin from printhiple. I believe in every thing the Republikin Party has ever done, and every thing the Republikin Party ever expecthts to do. Fellow thitithenth, I am in favor of a high protective tarriff for the protecthion of our infant induthtreth which are only a hundred yearth old; and fellow thitithenth, I am in favor of paying of a penthun to every tholjer that fit in the Federal army, while he lives, and after hethe dead, I'm in favor of paying uv it to hith Exthecutor or hith Adminithtrator."

He took his seat amid great applause on the Republican side of the house, and the old Democrat who was a much older man, came forward like a roaring lion, to join issue in the great debate, and thus he "joined:"

"Feller Citerzuns, I come afore you as a Dimocrat canderdate, fur to ripresent you in the lower branch of the house of the Ligislator. And fust and fomust, hit becomes my duty fer to tell you whar I stand on the great queshtuns which is now a-agitatin' of the public mind! Fust an' fomust, feller citerzuns, I am a Dimocrat inside an' out, up one side an' down tother, independent defatigly. My competitor axes me whar I wuz endurin' the war--Hit's none uv his bizness whar I wuz. He says he wuz a-fightin' fer yore sweet liberty. Ef he didn't have no more sense than to stand before them-thar drotted bung-shells an' cannon, that's his bizness, an' hit's my bizness whar I wuz. I think I have answered him on that pint.

"Now, feller citerzuns, I'll tell you what I'm fur. I am in favor uv payin' off this-here drotted tariff an' stoppin' of it; an' I'm in favor of collectin' jist enuf of rivenue fur to run the Government ekernomical administered, accordin' to Andy Jackson an' the Dimocrat flatform. My competitor never told you that he got wounded endurin' the war. Whar did he git hit at? That's the pint in this canvass. He got it in the back, a-leadin' of the revance guard on the retreat--that's whar he got it."

This charge precipitated a personal encounter between the candidates, and the meeting broke up in a general battle, with brickbats and tan bark flying in the air.