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!!! suhwing, suhwing, suhwing!!!!!!"
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 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
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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-jack- eted 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 OLD VIRGINIA REEL.
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
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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 tomorrow 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 'ol-ogy,' but if there haint m-i-n-e-r-l in the deestrick which you gent-tul-men
