"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."
"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."
"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!!!!!!"
UNCLE "EPHRAHAM" CALLING THE FIGURES OF THE DANCE.UNCLE "EPHRAHAM" CALLING THE FIGURES OF THE DANCE.
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 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 Phœbe, how merry were we,When we sat under the juniper tree—The juniper tree-I-O."
"Oh! Sister Phœbe, how merry were we,When we sat under the juniper tree—The juniper tree-I-O."
"Oh! Sister Phœbe, 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; andsometimes 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 sosweet 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 whirlsOf 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'erWhen I reach the happy shore,Where I'll greet the friends who loved me long ago.
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.
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 whirlsOf 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.
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.
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'erWhen I reach the happy shore,Where I'll greet the friends who loved me long ago.
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 OLD VIRGINIA REEL.THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL.
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 bowlUntil it doth run over;Landlord fill the flowing bowlUntil 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."
"Landlord, fill the flowing bowlUntil it doth run over;Landlord fill the flowing bowlUntil 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."
"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 itsome 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 magnifercentbanquet—Oh! woman, woman, woman! when the mornin' stars sung together for joy—an' woman—God bless 'er——Great God, feller citerzens, caint you understand!!!!"
THE BANQUET.THE BANQUET.
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 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 snowTo where magnolia breezes blow;
From Maine's dark pines and crags of snowTo where magnolia breezes blow;
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 novelmethod 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 mountaincounty, 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 thisland 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 forwardlike 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.
It would be difficult, for those reared amid the elegancies and refinements of life in city and town, to appreciate the enjoyments of the gatherings and merry-makings of the great masses of the people who live in the rural districts of our country. The historian records the deeds of the great; he consigns to fame the favored few; but leaves unwritten the short and simple annals of the poor—the lives and actions of the millions.
The modern millionaire, as he sweeps through our valleys and around our hills in his palace car, ought not to look with derision on the cabins of America, for from their thresholds have come more brains and courage and true greatness than ever eminated from all the palaces of this world.
The fiddle, the rifle, the axe, and the Bible, symbolizing music, prowess, labor, and free religion, the four grand forces of our civilization, were the trusty friends and faithful allies of ourpioneer ancestry in subduing the wilderness and erecting the great Commonwealths of the Republic. Wherever a son of freedom pushed his perilous way into the savage wilds and erected his log cabin, these were the cherished penates of his humble domicile—the rifle in the rack above the door, the axe in the corner, the Bible on the table, and the fiddle with its streamers of ribbon, hanging on the wall. Did he need the charm of music, to cheer his heart, to scatter sunshine, and drive away melancholy thoughts, he touched the responsive strings of his fiddle and it burst into laughter. Was he beset by skulking savages, or prowling beasts of prey, he rushed to his deadly rifle for protection and relief. Had he the forest to fell, and the fields to clear, his trusty axe was in his stalwart grasp. Did he need the consolation, the promises and precepts of religion to strengthen his faith, to brighten his hope, and to anchor his soul to God and heaven, he held sweet communion with the dear old Bible.
The glory and strength of the Republic today are its plain working people.
"Princes and Lords may flourish and may fade,A breath can make them, as a breath has made;But an honest yeomanry—a Country's pride,When once destroyed, can never be supplied;"
"Princes and Lords may flourish and may fade,A breath can make them, as a breath has made;But an honest yeomanry—a Country's pride,When once destroyed, can never be supplied;"
"Princes and Lords may flourish and may fade,
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But an honest yeomanry—a Country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied;"
Long live the common people of America! Long live the fiddle and the bow, the symbols of their mirth and merriment!
Music wooes, and leads the human race ever onward, and there are two columns that follow her. One is the happy column, ringing with laughter and song. Its line of march is strewn with roses; it is hedged on either side by happy homes and smiling faces. The other is the column of sorrow, moaning with suffering and distress. I saw an aged mother with her white locks and wrinkled face, swoon at the Governor's feet; I saw old men tottering on the staff, with broken hearts and tear stained faces, and heard them plead for their wayward boys. I saw a wife and seven children, clad in rags, and bare-footed, in mid-winter, fall upon their knees around him who held the pardoning power. I saw a little girl climb upon the Governor's knee, and put her arms around his neck; I heard her ask him if he had little girls; then I saw her sob upon his bosom as though her little heart would break, and heard her plead for mercy for her poor, miserable, wretched, convict father.I saw want, and woe, and poverty, and trouble, and distress, and suffering, and agony, and anguish, march in solemn procession before the Gubernatorial door; and I said: "Let the critics frown and rail, let this heartless world condemn, but he who hath power and doth not temper justice with mercy, will cry in vain himself for mercy on that great day when the two columns shall meet! For, thank God, the stream of happy humanity that rolls on like a gleaming river, and the stream of the suffering and distressed and ruined of this earth, both empty into the same great ocean of eternity and mingle like the waters, and there is a God who shall judge the merciful and the unmerciful!"
THE MID-NIGHT SERENADE.THE MID-NIGHT SERENADE.
The multitudinous harmonies of this world differ in pathos and pitch as the stars differ, one from another, in glory. There is a style for every taste, a melody for every ear. Thegabble of geese is music to the goose; the hoot of the hoot-owl is lovlier to his mate than the nightingale's lay; the concert of Signor "Tomasso Cataleny" and Mademoiselle "Pussy" awakeneth the growling old bachelor from his dreams, and he throweth his boquets of bootjacks and superannuated foot gear.
The peripatetic gentleman from Italy asks no loftier strain than the tune of his hand organ and the jingle of the nickels, "the tribute of the Cæsars."
The downy-lipped boy counts the explosion of a kiss on the cheek of his darling "dul-ci-ni-a del To-bo-so" sweeter than an echo from paradise; and it is said that older folks like its music.
The tintinnabulations of the wife's curtain lecture are too precious to the enraptured husband to be shared with other ears. And in the hush of the bed-time hour, when tired daddies are seeking repose in the oblivion of sleep, the unearthly bangs on the grand piano below in the parlor, and the unearthly screams and yells of the budding prima donna, as she sings to her admiring beau:
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It is a thing of beauty, and a "nightmare" forever.
Music is the wine of the soul. It is the exhileration of the palace; it is the joy of the humblest home; it sparkles and glows in the banquet hall; it is the inspiration of the church. Music inspires every gradation of humanity, from the orangoutang and the cane-sucking dude with the single eye glass,up to man.
There was "a sound of revelry by night," where youth and beauty were gathered in the excitement of the raging ball. The ravishing music of the orchestra charmed from the street a red nosed old knight of the demijohn, and uninvited he staggered into the brilliant assemblage and made an effort to get a partner for the next set. Failing in this, he concluded to exhibit his powers as a dancer; and galloped around the hall till he galloped into the arms of a strong man who quickly ushered him to the head of the stairs, and gave him a kick and a push; he went revolving down to the street below and fell flat on his back in the mud; but "truth crushed to earth will riseagain!" He rose, and standing with his back against a lamp post, he looked up into the faces that were gazing down, and said in an injured tone: "Gentlemen, (hic) you may be able to fool some people, but, (hic) you can't fool me, (hic) I know what made you kick me down them stairs, (hic, hic). You don't want me up there—that's the reason!" So, life hath its discords as well as its harmonies.
There was music in the magnificent parlor of a modern Chesterfield. It was thronged with elegant ladies and gentlemen. The daughter of the happy household was playing and singing Verdi's "Ah! I have sighed to rest me;" the fond mother was turning the pages; the fond father was sighing and resting up stairs, in a state of innocuous desuetude, produced by the "music" of old Kentucky Bourbon; but he could not withstand the power of the melody below. Quickly he donned his clothing; he put his vest on over his coat; put his collar on hind side foremost; buttoned the lower buttonhole of his coat on the top button, stood before the mirror and arranged his hair, and started down to see the ladies and listen to the music. But he stumped his toe at the top of the stairs, and slid downhead-foremost, and turned a somersault into the midst of the astonished ladies. The ladies screamed and helped him to his feet, all crying at once: "Are you hurt Mr. 'Rickety'—are you hurt?" Standing with his back against the piano he exclaimed in an assuring tone: "Why, (hic) of course not ladies, go on with your music, (hic) that's the way I always come down——!"
MR. "RICKETY."MR. "RICKETY."
Two old banqueters banqueted at a banquet. They banqueted all night long, and kept the banquet up together all the next day after the banquet had ended. They kept up their banqueting a week after the banquet was over. But they got separated one morning and met again in the afternoon. One of them said: "Good mornin':" The other said: "Good evenin'!" "Why;" said one, "It's mornin' an' that's the sun; I've investigated the queshtun." "No-sir-ee," said the other, "You're mistaken, it's late in the evenin' an' that's the full moon." They concluded they would have no difficulty about the matter, and agreed to leave it to the first gentleman they came to to settle the question. They locked arms and started down the street together; they staggered on till they came upon another gentleman in the same condition,hanging on a lamp post. One of them approached him and said: "Friend (hic) we don't desire to interfere with your meditation, (hic) but this gen'lman says it's mornin' an' that's the sun; I say it's evenin' an' that's the full moon, (hic) we respectfully ask you (hic) to settle the question." The fellow stood and looked at it for a full minute, and in his despair replied:
"Gen'lmen, (hic) you'll have to excuse me, (hic) I'm a stranger in this town!"
AFTER THE BANQUET.AFTER THE BANQUET.
Did you never hear the music of the old time singing school? Oh! who can forget the old school house that stood on the hill? Who can forget the sweet little maidens with their pink sun bonnets and checkered dresses, the walks to the spring, and the drinks of pure, cold water from the gourd? Who can forget the old time courtships at the singing school? When the boy found an opportunity he wrote these tender lines to his sweetheart:
"The rose is red; the violet's blue—Sugar is sweet, and so are you."
"The rose is red; the violet's blue—Sugar is sweet, and so are you."
"The rose is red; the violet's blue—
Sugar is sweet, and so are you."
She read it and blushed, and turned it over and wrote on the back of it:
"As sure as the vine clings 'round the stump,I'll be your sweet little sugar lump."
"As sure as the vine clings 'round the stump,I'll be your sweet little sugar lump."
"As sure as the vine clings 'round the stump,
I'll be your sweet little sugar lump."
Who can forget the old time singing master? The old time singing master with very light hair, a dyed mustache, a wart on his left eyelid, and with one game leg, was the pride of our rural society; he was the envy of man and the idol of woman. His baggy trousers, severalinches too short, hung above his toes like the inverted funnels of a Cunard steamer. His butternut coat had the abbreviated appearance of having been cut in deep water, and its collar encircled the back of his head like the belts of Jupiter and the rings of Saturn. His vest resembled the aurora borealis, and his voice was a cross between a cane mill and the bray of an ass. Yet beautiful and bright he stood before the ruddy-faced swains and rose-cheeked lassies of the country, conscious of his charms, and proud of his great ability. He had prepared, after a long and tedious research of Webster's unabridged dictionary, a speech which he always delivered to his class.
THE SINGING MASTER DELIVERING HIS GREAT SPEECH.THE SINGING MASTER DELIVERING HIS GREAT SPEECH.
"Boys and girls," he would say, "Music is a conglomeration of pleasing sounds, or a succession or combernation of simultaneous sounds modulated in accordance with harmony. Harmony is the sociability of two or more musical strains. Melody denotes the pleasing combustion of musical and measured sounds, as they succeed each other in transit. The elements of vocal music consist of seven original tones which constitute the diatonic scale, together with its steps and half steps, the whole being compromisedin ascending notes and half notes, thus:
Do re mi fa sol la si do—Do si la sol fa mi re do.
Do re mi fa sol la si do—Do si la sol fa mi re do.
Do re mi fa sol la si do—
Do si la sol fa mi re do.
Now, the diapason is the ad interium, or interval betwixt and between the extremes of an octave, according to the diatonic scale. The turns of music consist of the appoggiatura which is the principal note, or that on which the turn is made, together with the note above and the semi-tone below, the note above being sounded first, the principal note next and the semi-tone below, last, the three being performed sticatoly, or very quickly. Now, if you will keep these simple propersitions clear in your physical mind, there is no power under the broad canister of heaven which can prevent you from becoming succinctly contaminated with the primary and elementary rudiments of music. With these few sanguinary remarks we will now proceed to diagnosticate the exercises of the mornin' hour. Please turn to page thirty-four of the Southern harmony." And we turned. "You will discover that this beautiful piece of music is written in four-four time, beginning on the downward beat. Now, take the sound—sol mi do—All in unison—one, two, three,sing:
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BEATING TIME.BEATING TIME.
THE GRAND OPERA SINGER.THE GRAND OPERA SINGER.
I heard a great Italian Tenor sing in the Grand Opera, and Oh! how like the dew on the flowers is the memory of his song! He was playing the role of a broken-hearted lover in the opera of the "Bohemian Girl." I can only repeat it as it impressed me—an humble young man from the mountains who never before had heard theGrand Opera:
Sheet Music
(Listen to MIDI version of the above)Sheet Music:Page 1.
Harp
The spirit of music, like an archangel, presides over mankind and the visible creation. Her afflatus, divinely sweet, divinely powerful, is breathed on every human heart, and inspires every soul to some nobler sentiment, some higher thought, some greater action.
O music, sweetest, sublimest ideal of Omniscience, first-born of God, fairest and loftiest Seraph of the celestial hierarchy, Muse of the beautiful, daughter of the Universe!
In the morning of eternity, when the stars were young, her first grand oratorio burst upon raptured Deity, and thrilled the wondering angels; all heaven shouted; ten thousand times ten thousand jeweled harps, ten thousand times ten thousand angel tongues caught up the song; and ever since, through all the golden cycles, its breathing melodies, old as eternity, yet evernew as the flitting hours, have floated on the air of heaven. The Seraph stood, with outstretched wings, on the horizon of heaven—clothed in light, ablaze with gems; and with voice attuned, swept her burning harp strings, and lo! the blue infinite thrilled with her sweetest note. The trembling stars heard it, and flashed their joy from every flaming center. The wheeling orbs that course their paths of light were vibrant with the strain, and pealed it back into the glad ear of God. The far off milky way, bright gulf-stream of astral glories, spanning the ethereal deep, resounded with its harmonies, and the star-dust isles floating in that river of opal, re-echoed the happy chorus from every sparkling strand.
Bird
Have you ever thought of the wealth that perished when paradise was lost? Have you ever thought of the glory of Eden, the first estate of man? I think it was the very dream of God, glowing with ineffable beauty. I think it was rimmed with blue mountains, from whose moss-covered cliffs leaped a thousand glassy streams that spread out in mid-air, like bridal veils, kissing a thousand rainbows from the sun. I think it was an archipelago of gorgeous colors, flecked with green isles, where the grapevine staggered from tree to tree, as if drunk with the wine of its own purple clusters, where peach, and plum, and blood-red cherries, and every kind of berry, bent bough and bush, and shone like showered drops of ruby and of pearl. I think it was a wilderness of flowers, redolent of eternal spring and pulsing with bird-song, where dappled fawns played on banks of violets, where leopards, peaceful and tame, lounged in copses of magnolias, where harmlesstigers lay on snowy beds of lilies, and lions, lazy and gentle, panted in jungles of roses. I think its billowy landscapes were festooned with tangling creepers, bright with perennial bloom, and curtained with sweet-scented groves, where the orange and the pomegranate hung like golden globes and ruddy moons. I think its air was softened with the dreamy haze of perpetual summer; and through its midst there flowed a translucent river, alternately gleaming in its sunshine and darkening in its shadows. And there, in some sweet, dusky bower, fresh from the hand of his Creator, slept Adam, the first of the human race; God-like in form and feature; God-like in all the attributes of mind and soul. No monarch ever slept on softer, sweeter couch, with richer curtains drawn about him. And as he slept, a face and form, half hidden, half revealed, red-lipped, rose-cheeked, white bosomed and with tresses of gold, smiled like an angel from the mirror of his dream; for a moment smiled, and so sweetly, that his heart almost forgot to beat. And while yet this bright vision still haunted his slumber, with tenderest touch an unseen hand lay open the unconscious flesh in his side, and forth from the painless wound afaultless being sprang; a being pure and blithesome as the air; a sinless woman, God's first thought for the happiness of man. I think he wooed her at the waking of the morning. I think he wooed her at noon-tide, down by the riverside, or by the spring in the dell. I think he wooed her at twilight, when the moon silvered the palm tree's feathery plumes, and the stars looked down, and the nightingale sang. And wherever he wooed her, I think the grazing herds left sloping hill and peaceful vale, to listen to the wooing, and thence themselves, departed in pairs. The covies heard it and mated in the fields; the quail wooed his love in the wheat; the robin whistled to his love in the glen;
"The lark was so brim-full of gladness and love,The green fields below him—the blue sky above,That he sang, and he sang, and forever sang he:I love my Love, and my Love loves me."
"The lark was so brim-full of gladness and love,The green fields below him—the blue sky above,That he sang, and he sang, and forever sang he:I love my Love, and my Love loves me."
"The lark was so brim-full of gladness and love,
The green fields below him—the blue sky above,
That he sang, and he sang, and forever sang he:
I love my Love, and my Love loves me."
Love songs bubbled from the mellow throats of mocking-birds and bobolinks; dove cooed love to dove; and I think the maiden monkey, fair "Juliet" of the House of Orang-outang, waited on her cocoanut balcony for the coming of her "Romeo," and thus plaintively sang:
JULIET.JULIET.
(Sung to the air of My Sweetheart's the Man in the Moon.)
"My sweetheart's the lovely baboon,I'm going to marry him soon;'Twould fill me with joyJust to kiss the dear boy,For his charms and his beautyNo power can destroy."ROMEO.ROMEO."I'll sit in the light of the moon,And sing to my darling baboon,When I'm safe by his sideAnd he calls me his bride;Oh! my Angel, my precious baboon!"
"My sweetheart's the lovely baboon,I'm going to marry him soon;'Twould fill me with joyJust to kiss the dear boy,For his charms and his beautyNo power can destroy."
"My sweetheart's the lovely baboon,
I'm going to marry him soon;
'Twould fill me with joy
Just to kiss the dear boy,
For his charms and his beauty
No power can destroy."
ROMEO.ROMEO.
"I'll sit in the light of the moon,And sing to my darling baboon,When I'm safe by his sideAnd he calls me his bride;Oh! my Angel, my precious baboon!"
"I'll sit in the light of the moon,
And sing to my darling baboon,
When I'm safe by his side
And he calls me his bride;
Oh! my Angel, my precious baboon!"
All paradise was imbued with the spirit of love. Oh, that it could have remainedso forever! There was not a painted cheek in Eden, nor a bald head, nor a false tooth, nor a bachelor. There was not a flounce, nor a frill, nor a silken gown, nor a flashy waist with aurora borealis sleeves. There was not a curl paper, nor even a threat of crinoline. Raiment was an after thought, the mask of a tainted soul, born of original sin. Beauty was unmarred by gaudy rags; Eve was dressed in sunshine, Adam was clad in climate.
Every rich blessing within the gift of the Almighty Father was poured out from the cornucopia of heaven, into the lap of paradise. But it was a paradise of fools, because they stained it with disobedience and polluted it with sin. It was the paradise of fools because, in the exercise of their own God-given free agency, they tasted the forbidden fruit and fell from their glorious estate. Oh, what a fall was there! It was the fall of innocence and purity; it was the fall of happiness into the abyss of woe; it was the fall of life into the arms of death. It was like the fall of the wounded albatross, from the regions of light, into the sea; it was like the fall of a star from heaven to hell. When the jasper gate forever closed behind the guilty pair, and theflaming sword of the Lord mounted guard over the barred portal, the whole life-current of the human race was shifted into another channel; shifted from the roses to the thorns; shifted from joy to sorrow, and it bore upon its dark and turbulent bosom, the wrecked hopes of all the ages.
I believe they lost intellectual powers which fallen man has never regained. Operating by the consent of natural laws, sinless man would have wrought endless miracles. The mind, winged like a seraph, and armed like a thunderbolt, would have breached the very citadel of knowledge and robbed it of its treasures. I think they lost a plane of being only a little lower than the angels. I believe they lost youth, beauty, and physical immortality. I believe they lost the virtues of heart and soul, and many of the magnificent powers of mind, which made them the images of God, and which would have even brushed aside the now impenetrable veil which hides from mortal eyes the face of Infinite Love; that Love which gave the ever-blessed light, and filled the earth with music of bird, and breeze, and sea; that Love whose melodies we sometimes faintly catch, like spirit voices,from the souls of orators and poets; that Love which inlaid the arching firmament of heaven with jewels sparkling with eternal fires. But thank God, their fall was not like the remediless fall of Lucifer and his angels, into eternal darkness. Thank God, in this "night of death" hopedoessee a star! It is the star of Bethlehem. Thank God, "listening Love"does"hear the rustle of a wing!" It is the wing of the resurrection angel.
The memories and images of paradise lost have been impressed on every human heart, and every individual of the race has his own ideal of that paradise, from the cradle to the grave. But that ideal in so far as its realization in this world is concerned, is like the rainbow, an elusive phantom, ever in sight, never in reach, resting ever on the horizon of hope.