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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales, by Robert L. Taylor
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales
+
+Author: Robert L. Taylor
+
+Release Date: December 23, 2006 [EBook #20171]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOV. BOB. TAYLOR'S TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales.
+
+"THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW,"
+
+"THE PARADISE OF FOOLS",
+
+"VISIONS AND DREAMS."
+
+ILLUSTRATED.
+
+    Published by
+    DeLONG RICE & COMPANY.
+    Nashville, Tenn.
+
+
+
+
+    COPYRIGHTED, 1896.
+    _All rights reserved by DeLong Rice & Co._
+
+    UNIVERSITY PRESS CO.,
+    NASHVILLE, TENN.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+This volume presents the first publication of the famous lectures
+of Governor Robert L. Taylor. His great popularity as an orator and
+entertainer, and his wide reputation as a humorist, have caused repeated
+inquiries from all sections of the country for his lectures in book
+form; and this has given rise to an earlier publication than was
+expected.
+
+The lectures are given without the slightest abridgment, just as
+delivered from the platform throughout the country. The consecutive
+chain of each is left undisturbed; and the idea of paragraphing, and
+giving headlines to the various subjects treated, was conceived merely
+for the convenience of the reader.
+
+In the dialect of his characters, the melody of his songs, and the
+originality of his quaint, but beautiful conceptions, Governor Taylor's
+lectures are temples of thought, lighted with windows of fun.
+
+                                                            DELONG RICE.
+
+
+
+
+  Temples of Thought,
+     Lighted with
+       Windows
+       Of Fun.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+  "THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW."                                9
+    Cherish the Little Ones                               19
+    Fat Men and Bald-Headed Men                           22
+    The Poet Laureate of Music                            23
+    The Convict and His Fiddle                            25
+    A Vision of The Old Field School                      27
+    The Quilting and the Old Virginia Reel                36
+    The Candy Pulling                                     44
+    The Banquet                                           48
+    There is Music All Around Us                          53
+    The Two Columns.                                      61
+    There is a Melody for Every Ear                       63
+    Music is the Wine of the Soul                         66
+    The Old Time Singing School                           72
+    The Grand Opera                                       78
+    Music                                                 80
+
+
+  "THE PARADISE OF FOOLS."                                83
+    The Paradise of Childhood                             90
+    The Paradise of the Barefooted Boy                    98
+    The Paradise of Youth                                104
+    The Paradise of Home                                 112
+    Bachelor and Widower                                 117
+    Phantoms                                             119
+    The False Ideal                                      121
+    The Circus in the Mountains                          123
+    The Phantom of Fortune                               128
+    Clocks                                               130
+    The Panic                                            133
+    Bunk City                                            135
+    Your Uncle                                           137
+    Fools                                                140
+    Blotted Pictures                                     143
+
+
+  "VISIONS AND DREAMS."                                  147
+    The Happy Long Ago                                   151
+    Dreams of the Years to Come                          160
+    From the Cave-man to the Kiss-o-phone                169
+    Dreams                                               175
+    Visions of Departed Glory                            178
+    Nature's Musicians                                   181
+    Preacher's Paradise                                  185
+    Brother Estep and the Trumpet                        189
+    "Wamper-jaw" at the Jollification                    190
+    The Tintinnabulation of the Dinner Bells             193
+    Phantoms of the Wine Cup                             196
+    The Missing Link                                     197
+    Nightmare                                            198
+    Infidelity                                           200
+    The Dream of God                                     201
+
+
+
+
+"THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW."
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I heard a great master play on the wondrous violin; his bow quivered
+like the wing of a bird; in every quiver there was a melody, and every
+melody breathed a thought in language sweeter than was ever uttered by
+human tongue. I was conjured, I was mesmerized by his music. I thought I
+fell asleep under its power, and was rapt into the realm of visions and
+dreams. The enchanted violin broke out in tumult, and through the rifted
+shadows in my dream I thought I saw old ocean lashed to fury. The wing
+of the storm-god brooded above it, dark and lowering with night and
+tempest and war. I heard the shriek of the angry hurricane, the loud
+rattling musketry of rain, and hail, and the louder and deadlier crash and
+roar of the red artillery on high. Its rumbling batteries, unlimbered on
+the vapory heights and manned by the fiery gunners of the storm, boomed
+their volleying thunders to the terrible rythm of the strife below. And
+in every stroke of the bow fierce lightnings leaped down from their dark
+pavilions of cloud, and, like armed angels of light, flashed their
+trenchant blades among the phantom squadrons marshalling for battle on
+the field of the deep. I heard the bugle blast and battle cry of the
+charging winds, wild and exultant, and then I saw the billowy monsters
+rise, like an army of Titans, to scale and carry the hostile heights of
+heaven. Assailing again and again, as often hurled back headlong into
+the ocean's abyss, they rolled, and surged, and writhed, and raged, till
+the affrighted earth trembled at the uproar of the warring elements.
+I saw the awful majesty and might of Jehovah flying on the wings of
+the tempest, planting his footsteps on the trackless deep, veiled in
+darkness and in clouds. There was a shifting of the bow; the storm died
+away in the distance, and the morning broke in floods of glory. Then the
+violin revived and poured out its sweetest soul. In its music I heard
+the rustle of a thousand joyous wings, and a burst of song from a
+thousand joyous throats. Mockingbirds and linnets thrilled the glad
+air with warblings; gold finches, thrushes and bobolinks trilled their
+happiest tunes; and the oriole sang a lullaby to her hanging cradle that
+rocked in the wind. I heard the twitter of skimming swallows and the
+scattered covey's piping call; I heard the robin's gay whistle, the
+croaking of crows, the scolding of blue-jays, and the melancholy cooing
+of a dove. The swaying tree-tops seemed vocal with bird-song while he
+played, and the labyrinths of leafy shade echoed back the chorus. Then
+the violin sounded the hunter's horn, and the deep-mouthed pack of fox
+hounds opened loud and wild, far in the ringing woods, and it was like
+the music of a hundred chiming bells. There was a tremor of the bow,
+and I heard a flute play, and a harp, and a golden-mouthed cornet;
+I heard the mirthful babble of happy voices, and peals of laughter
+ringing in the swelling tide of pleasure. Then I saw a vision of snowy
+arms, voluptuous forms, and light fantastic slippered feet, all whirling
+and floating in the mazes of the misty dance. The flying fingers now
+tripped upon the trembling strings like fairy-feet dancing on the
+nodding violets, and the music glided into a still sweeter strain.
+The violin told a story of human life. Two lovers strayed beneath the
+elms and oaks, and down by the river side, where daffodils and pansies
+bend and smile to rippling waves, and there, under the bloom of
+incense-breathing bowers, under the soothing sound of humming bees and
+splashing waters, there, the old, old story, so old and yet so new,
+conceived in heaven, first told in Eden and then handed down through
+all the ages, was told over and over again. Ah, those downward drooping
+eyes, that mantling blush, that trembling hand in meek submission
+pressed, that heaving breast, that fluttering heart, that whispered
+"yes," wherein a heaven lies--how well they told of victory won and
+paradise regained! And then he swung her in a grapevine swing. Young
+man, if you want to win her, wander with her amid the elms and oaks,
+and swing her in a grapevine swing.
+
+
+  "Swinging in the grapevine swing,
+   Laughing where the wild birds sing;
+   I dream and sigh for the days gone by,
+   Swinging in the grapevine swing."
+
+
+[Illustration: "SWINGING IN THE GRAPEVINE SWING."]
+
+
+  But swiftly the tides of music run, and swiftly speed the hours;
+  Life's pleasures end when scarce begun, e'en as the summer flowers.
+
+
+The violin laughed like a child and my dream changed again. I saw a
+cottage amid the elms and oaks and a little curly-head toddled at the
+door; I saw a happy husband and father return from his labors in the
+evening and kiss his happy wife and frolic with his baby. The purple
+glow now faded from the Western skies; the flowers closed their petals
+in the dewy slumbers of the night; every wing was folded in the bower;
+every voice was hushed; the full-orbed moon poured silver from the East,
+and God's eternal jewels flashed on the brow of night. The scene changed
+again while the great master played, and at midnight's holy hour, in the
+light of a lamp dimly burning, clad in his long, white mother-hubbard,
+I saw the disconsolate victim of love's young dream nervously walking
+the floor, in his bosom an aching heart, in his arms the squalling baby.
+On the drowsy air, like the sad wails of a lost spirit, fell his woeful
+voice singing:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+    With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by,
+    Danc-ing the ba-by ev-er so high; with my
+    La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by
+    Mam-ma will come to you bye and bye.
+
+
+It was a battle with king colic. But this ancient invader of the empire
+of babyhood had sounded a precipitate retreat; the curly head had fallen
+over on the paternal shoulder; the tear-stained little face was almost
+calm in repose, when down went a naked heel square on an inverted tack.
+Over went the work table; down came the work basket, scissors and all;
+up went the heel with the tack sticking in it, and the hero of the
+daffodils and pansies, with a yell like the Indian war-whoop, and with
+his mother-hubbard now floating at half mast, hopped in agony to a lounge
+in the rear.
+
+[Illustration: A BATTLE WITH KING COLIC.]
+
+There was "weeping and gnashing of teeth;" there were hoarse mutterings;
+there was an angry shake of the screaming baby, which he had awakened
+again. Then I heard an explosion of wrath from the warm blankets of the
+conjugal couch, eloquent with the music of "how dare you shake my little
+baby that way!!!! I'll tell pa to-morrow!" which instantly brought the
+trained husband into line again, singing:
+
+  "La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, dancing the baby ever so high,
+  With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, mamma will come to you bye and bye."
+
+
+The paregoric period of life is full of spoons and midnight squalls, but
+what is home without a baby?
+
+The bow now brooded like a gentle spirit over the violin, and the music
+eddied into a mournful tone; another year intervened; a little coffin
+sat by an empty cradle; the prints of baby fingers were on the window
+panes; the toys were scattered on the floor; the lullaby was hushed; the
+sobs and cries, the mirth and mischief, and the tireless little feet
+were no longer in the way to vex and worry. Sunny curls drooped above
+eyelids that were closed forever; two little cheeks were bloodless and
+cold, and two little dimpled hands were folded upon a motionless breast.
+The vibrant instrument sighed and wept; it rang the church bell's knell;
+and the second story of life, which is the sequel to the first, was told.
+
+Then I caught glimpses of a half-veiled paradise and a sweet breath from
+its flowers; I saw the hazy stretches of its landscapes, beautiful and
+gorgeous as Mahomet's vision of heaven; I heard the faint swells of its
+distant music and saw the flash of white wings that never weary, wafting
+to the bosom of God an infant spirit; a string snapped; the music ended;
+my vision vanished.
+
+The old Master is dead, but his music will live forever.
+
+
+
+
+CHERISH THE LITTLE ONES.
+
+
+Do you sometimes forget and wound the hearts of your children with
+frowns and the dagger of cruel words, and sometimes with a blow?
+Do you sometimes, in your own peevishness, and your own meanness, wish
+yourself away from their fretful cries and noisy sports? Then think that
+to-morrow may ripen the wicked wish; tomorrow death may lay his hand
+upon a little fluttering heart and it will be stilled forever. 'Tis then
+you will miss the sunbeam and the sweet little flower that reflected
+heaven on the soul. Then cherish the little ones! Be tender with the
+babes! Make your homes beautiful! All that remains to us of paradise
+lost, clings about the home. Its purity, its innocence, its virtue,
+are there, untainted by sin, unclouded by guile. There woman shines,
+scarcely dimmed by the fall, reflecting the loveliness of Eden's first
+wife and mother; the grace, the beauty, the sweetness of the wifely
+relation, the tenderness of maternal affection, the graciousness of
+manner which once charmed angel guests, still glorify the home.
+
+If you would make your homes happy, you must make the children happy.
+Get down on the floor with your prattling boys and girls and play horse
+with them; take them on your back and gallop them to town; don't kick up
+and buck, but be a good and gentle old steed, and join in a hearty horse
+laugh in their merriment. Take the baby on your knee and gallop him to
+town; let him practice gymnastics on top of your head and take your
+scalp; let him puncture a hole in your ear with his little teeth, and
+bite off the end of the paternal nose. Make your homes beautiful with
+your duty and your love, make them bright with your mirth and your
+music.
+
+Victor Hugo said of Napoleon the Great: "The frontiers of kingdoms
+oscillated on the map. The sound of a super-human sword being drawn from
+its scabbard could be heard; and he was seen, opening in the thunder his
+two wings, the Grand Army and the Old Guard; he was the archangel of
+war." And when I read it I thought of the death and terror that followed
+wherever the shadow of the open wings fell. I thought of the blood that
+flowed, and the tears that were shed wherever the sword gleamed in his
+hand. I thought of the human skulls that paved Napoleon's way to St.
+Helena's barren rock, and I said, 'I would rather dwell in a log cabin,
+in the beautiful land of the mountains where I was born and reared, and
+sit at its humble hearthstone at night, and in the firelight, play the
+humble rural tunes on the fiddle to my happy children, and bask in the
+smiles of my sweet wife, than to be the 'archangel of war,' with my
+hands stained with human blood, or to make the 'frontiers of kingdoms
+oscillate on the map of the world, and then, away from home and kindred
+and country, die at last in exile and in solitude.'
+
+
+
+
+FAT MEN AND BALD-HEADED MEN.
+
+
+It ought to be the universal law that none but fat men and bald-headed
+men should be the heads of families, because they are always good
+natured, contented and easily managed. There is more music in a fat
+man's laugh than there is in a thousand orchestras or brass bands.
+Fat sides and bald heads are the symbols of music, innocence, and meek
+submission. O! ladies listen to the words of wisdom! Cultivate the
+society of fat men and bald-headed men, for "of such is the Kingdom of
+Heaven." And the fat women, God bless their old sober sides--they are
+"things of beauty, and a joy forever."
+
+
+
+
+THE VIOLIN, THE POET LAUREATE OF MUSIC.
+
+
+How sweet are the lips of morning that kiss the waking world! How sweet
+is the bosom of night that pillows the world to rest. But sweeter than
+the lips of morning, and sweeter than the bosom of night, is the voice
+of music that wakes a world of joys and soothes a world of sorrows.
+It is like some unseen ethereal ocean whose silver surf forever breaks
+in song; forever breaks on valley, hill, and craig, in ten thousand
+symphonies. There is a melody in every sunbeam, a sunbeam in every
+melody; there is a flower in every song, a love song in every flower;
+there is a sonnet in every gurgling fountain, a hymn in every brimming
+river, an anthem in every rolling billow. Music and light are twin
+angels of God, the first-born of heaven, and mortal ear and mortal eye
+have caught only the echo and the shadow of their celestial glories.
+
+The violin is the poet laureate of music; violin of the virtuoso and
+master, _fiddle_ of the untutored in the ideal art. It is the aristocrat
+of the palace and the hall; it is the _democrat_ of the unpretentious
+home and humble cabin. As violin, it weaves its garlands of roses and
+camelias; as fiddle it scatters its modest violets. It is admired by the
+cultured for its magnificent powers and wonderful creations; it is loved
+by the millions for its simple melodies.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONVICT AND HIS FIDDLE.
+
+
+One bright morning, just before Christmas day, an official stood in
+the Executive chamber in my presence as Governor of Tennessee, and
+said: "Governor, I have been implored by a poor miserable wretch in
+the penitentiary to bring you this rude fiddle. It was made by his own
+hands with a penknife during the hours allotted to him for rest. It is
+absolutely valueless, it is true, but it is his petition to you for
+mercy. He begged me to say that he has neither attorneys nor influential
+friends to plead for him; that he is poor, and all he asks is, that when
+the Governor shall sit at his own happy fireside on Christmas eve, with
+his own happy children around him, he will play one tune on this rough
+fiddle and think of a cabin far away in the mountains whose hearthstone
+is cold and desolate and surrounded by a family of poor little wretched,
+ragged children, crying for bread and waiting and listening for the
+footsteps of their father."
+
+Who would not have been touched by such an appeal? The record was
+examined; Christmas eve came; the Governor sat that night at his own
+happy fireside, surrounded by his own happy children; and he played one
+tune to them on that rough fiddle. The hearthstone of the cabin in the
+mountains was bright and warm; a pardoned prisoner sat with his baby on
+his knee, surrounded by _his_ rejoicing children, and in the presence of
+_his_ happy wife, and although there was naught but poverty around him,
+his heart sang: "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;" and
+then he reached up and snatched his fiddle down from the wall, and
+played "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
+
+
+
+
+A VISION OF THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL.
+
+
+Did you never hear a fiddler fiddle? I have. I heard a fiddler fiddle,
+and the hey-dey-diddle of his frolicking fiddle called back the happy
+days of my boyhood. The old field schoolhouse with its batten doors
+creaking on wooden hinges, its windows innocent of glass, and its great,
+yawning fireplace, cracking and roaring and flaming like the infernal
+regions, rose from the dust of memory and stood once more among the
+trees. The limpid spring bubbled and laughed at the foot of the hill.
+Flocks of nimble, noisy boys turned somersaults and skinned the cat and
+ran and jumped half hammon on the old play ground. The grim old teacher
+stood in the door; he had no brazen-mouthed bell to ring then as we have
+now, but he shouted at the top of his voice: "Come to books!!!" And they
+came. Not to come meant "war and rumors of war." The backless benches,
+high above the floor, groaned under the weight of irrepressible young
+America; the multitude of mischievous, shining faces, the bare legs and
+feet, swinging to and fro, and the mingled hum of happy voices, spelling
+aloud life's first lessons, prophesied the future glory of the State.
+The curriculum of the old field school was the same everywhere--one
+Webster's blue backed, elementary spelling book, one thumb-paper, one
+stone-bruise, one sore toe, and Peter Parley's Travels.
+
+The grim old teacher, enthroned on his split bottomed chair, looked
+terrible as an army with banners; and he presided with a dignity and
+solemnity which would have excited the envy of the United States Supreme
+Court: I saw the school commissioners visit him, and heard them question
+him as to his system of teaching. They asked him whether, in geography,
+he taught that the world was round, or that the world was flat. With
+great dignity he replied: "That depends upon whar I'm teachin'. If my
+patrons desire me to teach the round system, I teach it; if they desire
+me to teach the flat system, I teach that."
+
+At the old field school I saw the freshman class, barefooted and with
+pantaloons rolled up to the knees, stand in line under the ever uplifted
+rod, and I heard them sing the never-to-be-forgotten b-a ba's. They sang
+them in the _olden_ times, and this is the way they sang: "b-a ba, b-e
+be, b-i bi-ba be bi, b-o bo, b-u bu-ba be bi bo bu."
+
+I saw a sophomore dance a jig to the music of a dogwood sprout for
+throwing paper wads. I saw a junior compelled to stand on the dunce
+block, on one foot--(_a la_ gander) for winking at his sweetheart in
+time of books, for failing to know his lessons, and for "various and
+sundry other high crimes and misdemeanors."
+
+A twist of the fiddler's bow brought a yell from the fiddle, and in
+my dream, I saw the school come pouring out into the open air. Then
+followed the games of "prisoner's base," "town-ball," "Antney-over;"
+"bull-pen" and "knucks," the hand to hand engagements with yellow
+jackets, the Bunker Hill and Brandywine battles with bumblebees, the
+charges on flocks of geese, the storming of apple orchards and hornet's
+nests, and victories over hostile "setting" hens. Then I witnessed the
+old field school "Exhibition"--the _wonderful_ "exhibition"--they call
+it Commencement now. Did you never witness an old field school
+"exhibition," far out in the country, and listen to its music? If you
+have not your life is a failure--you are a broken string in the harp of
+the universe. The old field school "exhibition" was the parade ground of
+the advance guard of civilization; it was the climax of great events in
+the olden times; and vast assemblies were swayed by the eloquence of the
+budding sockless statesmen. It was at the old field school "exhibition"
+that the goddess of liberty always received a broken nose, and the
+poetic muse a black eye; it was at the old field school "exhibition"
+that _Greece_ and _Rome_ rose and fell, in seas of gore, about every
+fifteen minutes in the day, and,
+
+  The American eagle, with unwearied flight,
+  Soared upward and upward, till he soared out of sight.
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MUSIC OF THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL EXHIBITION.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL ORATOR.]
+
+"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!!!!!!"
+
+[Illustration: 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
+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!
+
+[Illustration: 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 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!!!!"
+
+[Illustration: 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 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.
+
+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 our
+pioneer 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;"
+
+
+Long live the common people of America! Long live the fiddle and the
+bow, the symbols of their mirth and merriment!
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO COLUMNS.
+
+
+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!"
+
+
+
+
+THERE IS A MELODY FOR EVERY EAR.
+
+[Illustration: 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. The gabble 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:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+  "Men may come and men may go, but
+   I go on 'for-ev-oor' 'ev-oor'
+   I go on 'for-ev-o-o-r' 'e-v-o-o-r'
+   I go on 'for-ev-oor.'"
+
+
+It is a thing of beauty, and a "nightmare" forever.
+
+
+
+
+MUSIC IS THE WINE OF THE SOUL.
+
+
+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 rise again!" 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 down head-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----!"
+
+[Illustration: 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!"
+
+[Illustration: AFTER THE BANQUET.]
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD TIME SINGING SCHOOL.
+
+
+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."
+
+
+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."
+
+
+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, several inches 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.
+
+[Illustration: 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
+compromised in ascending notes and half notes, thus:
+
+  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_:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+  Sol sol, mi fa sol, la sol fa, re re re, re mi fa
+  Re mi fa, sol fa mi, do do do--
+  Si do re, re re re, mi do si do, re do si la sol,
+  Si do re, re mi fa sol la, sol fa mi, do do do."
+
+
+[Illustration: BEATING TIME.]
+
+
+
+
+THE GRAND OPERA.
+
+[Illustration: 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 the _Grand Opera_:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+  "When ethaer-r-r leeps and ethaer-r-r hairts,
+   Their-r-r tales auf luff sholl tell,
+   In longwidge whose ex-cess impair-r-r-ts.
+   The power-r-r-r they feel so well,
+   There-r-r-e may per-haps in-a such a s-c-e-n-e
+   Some r-r-re-co-lec-tion be,
+   Auf days thot haive as hop-py bean--
+   Then you'll-a r-r-r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r-r me-e-e,
+   Then you'll-a r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r,
+   You'll-a r-re-mem-ber a-me-e-e!!"
+
+
+
+
+MUSIC.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 ever new 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+"THE PARADISE OF FOOLS."
+
+
+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
+harmless tigers 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 a faultless 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."
+
+
+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:
+
+[Illustration: 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 joy
+   Just to kiss the dear boy,
+   For his charms and his beauty
+   No power can destroy."
+
+  "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!"
+
+
+[Illustration: ROMEO.]
+
+All paradise was imbued with the spirit of love. Oh, that it could have
+remained so 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 the flaming
+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" hope _does_ see 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.
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF CHILDHOOD.
+
+
+I saw a blue-eyed child, with sunny curls, toddling on the lawn before
+the door of a happy home. He toddled under the trees, prattling to the
+birds and playing with the ripening apples that fell upon the ground.
+He toddled among the roses and plucked their leaves as he would have
+plucked an angel's wing, strewing their glory upon the green grass at
+his feet. He chased the butterflies from flower to flower, and shouted
+with glee as they eluded his grasp and sailed away on the summer air.
+Here I thought his childish fancy had built a paradise and peopled it
+with dainty seraphim and made himself its Adam. He saw the sunshine
+of Eden glint on every leaf and beam in every petal. The flitting
+honey-bee, the wheeling June-bug, the fluttering breeze, the silvery
+pulse-beat of the dashing brook sounded in his ear notes of its swelling
+music. The iris-winged humming-bird, darting like a sunbeam, to kiss the
+pouting lips of the upturned flowers was, to him, the impersonation of
+its beauty. And I said: Truly, this is the nearest approach in this
+world, to the paradise of long ago. Then I saw him skulking like a
+cupid, in the shrubbery, his skirts bedraggled and soiled, his face
+downcast with guilt. He had stirred up the Mediterranean Sea in the slop
+bucket, and waded the Atlantic Ocean in a mud puddle. He had capsized
+the goslings, and shipwrecked the young ducks, and drowned the kitten
+which he imagined a whale, and I said: _There_ is the original Adam
+coming to the surface.
+
+[Illustration: THE PARADISE OF CHILDHOOD.]
+
+"Lo'd bless my soul! Jist look at dat chile!" shouted his dusky old
+nurse, as she lifted him, dripping, from the reeking pond. "What's you
+bin doin' in dat mud puddle? Look at dat face, an' dem hands an' close,
+all kivvered wid mud an' mulberry juice! You bettah not let yo' mammy
+see you while you's in dat fix. You's gwine to ketch it sho'. You's jist
+zackly like yo' fader--allers git'n into some scrape or nuddah, allers
+breakin' into some kind uv devilment--gwine to break into congrus some
+uv dese days sho'. Come along wid me dis instinct to de baff tub. I's
+a-gwine to dispurgate dem close an' 'lucidate some uv dat dirt off'n
+dat face uv yone, you triflin' rascal you!" And so saying, she carried
+him away, kicking and screaming like a young savage in open rebellion,
+and I said: _There_ is some more of the original Adam. Then I saw him
+come forth again, washed and combed, and dressed in spotless white, like
+a young butterfly fresh from its chrysalis. And when he got a chance,
+I saw him slip on his tip-toes, into the pantry;
+
+  I heard the clink of glassware,
+  As if a mouse were playing there,
+
+
+among the jam pots and preserves. There two little dimpled hands made
+trip after trip to a rose-colored mouth, bearing burdens of mingling
+sweets that dripped from cheek, and chin, and waist, and skirt, and
+shoes, subduing the snowy white with the amber of the peach, and the
+purple of the raspberry, as he ate the forbidden fruit. Then I watched
+him glide into the drawing room. There was a crash and a thud in there,
+which quickly brought his frightened mother to the scene, only to find
+the young rascal standing there catching his breath, while streams of
+cold ink trickled down his drenched bosom. And as he wiped his inky
+face, which grew blacker with every wipe, the remainder of the ink was
+pouring from the bottle down on the carpet, and making a map of darkest
+Africa. Then the rear of a small skirt went up over a curly head and the
+avenging slipper, in lightning strokes, kept time to the music in the
+air. And I said: _There_ is "_Paradise Lost_." The sympathizing, half
+angry old nurse bore her weeping, sobbing charge to the nursery and
+there bound up his broken heart and soothed him to sleep with her old
+time lullaby:
+
+[Illustration: PARADISE LOST.]
+
+  "Oh, don't you cry little baby, Oh, don't you cry no mo',
+   For it hurts ol' mammy's feelin's fo' to heah you weepin' so.
+   Why don't da keep temptation frum de little han's an' feet?
+   What makes 'em 'buse de baby kaze de jam an' zarves am sweet?
+
+   Oh, de sorrow, tribulations, dat de joys of mortals break,
+   Oh, it's heb'n when we slumber, it's trouble when we wake.
+
+   Oh, go to sleep my darlin', now close dem little eyes,
+   An' dream uv de shinin' angels, an' de blessed paradise;
+   Oh, dream uv de blood-red roses, an' de birds on snowy wing;
+   Oh, dream uv de fallin' watahs an' de never endin' spring.
+
+   Oh, de roses, Oh, de rainbows, Oh, de music's gentle swell,
+   In de dreamland uv little childun, whar de blessed sperrits dwell."
+
+
+"Dar now, dar now, he's gone. Bless its little heart, da treats it like
+a dog." And then she tucked him away in the paradise of his childish
+slumber.
+
+[Illustration: OLD BLACK "MAMMY."]
+
+The day will come when the South will build a monument to the good old
+black mammy of the past for the lullabies she has sung.
+
+I sometimes wish that childhood might last forever. That sweet fairy
+land on the frontier of life, whose skies are first lighted with the
+sunrise of the soul, and in whose bright-tinted jungles the lions, and
+leopards, and tigers of passion still peacefully sleep. The world is
+disarmed by its innocence, the drawn bow is relaxed, and the arrow is
+returned to its quiver; the Ægis of Heaven is above it, the outstretched
+wings of mercy, pity, and measureless love!
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I would rather be a barefooted boy with cheeks of tan and heart of joy
+than to be a millionaire and president of a National bank. The financial
+panic that falls like a thunderbolt, wrecks the bank, crushes the
+banker, and swamps thousands in an hour. But the bank which holds the
+treasures of the barefooted boy never breaks. With his satchel and his
+books he hies away to school in the morning, but his truant feet carry
+him the other way, to the mill pond "a-fishin'." And there he sits the
+livelong day under the shade of the tree, with sapling pole and pin
+hook, and fishes, and fishes, and fishes, and waits for a nibble of the
+drowsy sucker that sleeps on his oozy bed, oblivious of the baitless
+hook from which he has long since stolen the worm. There he sits, and
+fishes, and fishes, and fishes, and like Micawber, waits for something
+to "turn-up." But nothing turns up until the shadows of evening fall and
+warn the truant home, where he is welcomed with a dogwood sprout. Then
+"sump'n" _does_ turn up. He obeys the call of the Sunday school bell,
+and goes with solemn face, but e'er the "sweet bye and bye" has died
+away on the summer air, he is in the wood shed playing Sullivan and
+Corbett with some plucky comrade, with the inevitable casualties of
+_one_ closed eye, _one_ crippled nose, _one_ pair of torn breeches and
+_one_ bloody toe. He takes a back seat at church, and in the midst of
+the sermon steals away and hides in the barn to smoke cigarettes and
+read the story of "One-eyed Pete, the Hero of the _wild_ and _woolly_
+West." There is eternal war between the barefooted boy and the whole
+civilized world. He shoots the cook with a blow-gun; he cuts the strings
+of the hammock and lets his dozing grandmother fall to the ground; he
+loads his grandfather's pipe with powder; he instigates a fight between
+the cat and dog during family prayers, and explodes with laughter when
+pussy seeks refuge on the old man's back. He hides in the alley and
+turns the hose on uncle Ephraim's standing collar as he passes on his
+way to church, he cracks chestnut burrs with his naked heel; he robs
+birds' nests, and murders bullfrogs, and plays "knucks" and "base-ball."
+He puts asafetida in the soup, and conceals lizzards in his father's
+hat. He overwhelms the family circle with his magnificent literary
+attainments when he reads from the Bible in what he calls the "pasalms
+of David"--"praise ye the Lord with the pizeltry and the harp."
+
+[Illustration: THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY.]
+
+His father took him to town one day and said to him: "Now John, I want
+you to stay here on the corner with the wagon and watch these potatoes
+while I go round the square and see if I can sell them. Don't open your
+mouth sir, while I am gone; I'm afraid people will think you're a fool."
+While the old man was gone the merchant came out and said to John: "What
+are those potatoes worth, my son?" John looked at him and grinned. "What
+are those potatoes worth, I say?" asked the merchant. John still looked
+at him and grinned. The merchant turned on his heel and said: "You're a
+fool," and went back into his store. When the old man returned John
+shouted: "Pap, they found it out and I never said a word."
+
+His life is an endless chain of pranks and pleasures. Look how the
+brawling brook pours down the steep declivities of the mountain gorge!
+Here it breaks into pearls and silvery foam, there it dashes in rapids,
+among brown bowlders, and yonder it tumbles from the gray crest of a
+precipice. Thus, forever laughing, singing, rollicking, romping, till
+it is checked in its mad rush and spreads into a still, smooth mirror,
+reflecting the inverted images of rock, and fern, and flower, and tree,
+and sky. It is the symbol of the life of a barefooted boy. His quips,
+and cranks, his whims, and jollities, and jocund mischief, are but the
+effervescences of exuberant young life, the wild music of the mountain
+stream.
+
+If I were a sculptor, I would chisel from the marble my ideal of the
+monumental fool. I would make it the figure of a man, with knitted brow
+and clinched teeth, beating and bruising his barefooted boy, in the
+cruel endeavor to drive him from the paradise of his childish fun and
+folly. If your boy _will_ be a boy, let him be a boy still. And remember
+that he is following the paths which your feet have trodden, and will
+soon look back upon its precious memories, as you now do, with the
+aching heart of a care-worn man.
+
+[Illustration: THE WILD MUSIC OF THE MOUNTAINS.]
+
+(Sung to the air of Down on the Farm.)
+
+  Oh, I love the dear old farm, and my heart grows young and warm,
+    When I wander back to spend a single day;
+  There to hear the robins sing in the trees around the spring,
+    Where I used to watch the happy children play.
+  Oh, I hear their voices yet and I never shall forget
+    How their faces beamed with childish mirth and glee.
+  But my heart grows old again and I leave the spot in pain,
+    When I call them and no answer comes to me.
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF YOUTH.
+
+
+[Illustration: THE PARADISE OF YOUTH.]
+
+If childhood is the sunrise of life, youth is the heyday of life's ruddy
+June. It is the sweet solstice in life's early summer, which puts forth
+the fragrant bud and blossom of sin e'er its bitter fruits ripen and
+turn to ashes on the lips of age. It is the happy transition period,
+when long legs, and loose joints, and verdant awkwardness, first stumble
+on the vestibule of manhood. Did you never observe him shaving and
+scraping his pimpled face till it resembled a featherless goose, reaping
+nothing but lather, and dirt, and a little intangible fuzz? That is the
+first symptom of love. Did you never observe him wrestling with a pair
+of boots two numbers too small, as Jacob wrestled with the angel? That
+is another symptom of love. His callous heel slowly and painfully yields
+to the pressure of his perspiring paroxysms until his feet are folded
+like fans and driven home in the pinching leather; and as he sits at
+church with them hid under the bench, his uneasy squirms are symptoms of
+the tortures of the infernal regions, and the worm that dieth not; but
+that is only the penalty of loving. When he begins to wander through the
+fragrant meadows and talk to himself among the buttercups and clover
+blossoms, it is a sure sign that the golden shaft of the winged god has
+sped from its bended bow. Love's archer has shot a poisoned arrow which
+wounds but never kills. The sweet venom has done its work. The fever of
+the amorous wound drives the red current bounding through his veins, and
+his brain now reels with the delirium of the tender passion. His soul is
+wrapped in visions of dreamy black eyes peeping out from under raven
+curls, and cheeks like gardens of roses. To him the world is transformed
+into a blooming Eden, and _she_ is its only Eve. He hears her voice in
+the sound of the laughing waters, the fluttering of her heart in the
+summer evening's last sigh that shuts the rose; and he sits on the bank
+of the river all day long and writes poetry to her. Thus he writes:
+
+  "As I sit by this river's crystal wave,
+   Whose flow'ry banks its waters lave,
+   Me-thinks I see in its glassy mirror,
+   A face which to me, than life is dearer.
+   Oh, 'tis the face of my Gwendolin,
+   As pure as an angel, free from sin.
+   It looks into mine with one sweet eye,
+   While the other is turned to the starry sky.
+   Could I the ocean's bulk contain,
+   Could I but drink the watery main,
+   I'd scarce be half as full of the sea,
+   As my heart is full of love for thee!"
+
+
+Thus he lives and loves, and writes poetry by day, and tosses on his bed
+at night, like the restless sea, and dreams, and dreams, and dreams,
+until, in the ecstacy of his dream, he grabs a pillow.
+
+One bright summer day, a rural youth took his sweetheart to a Baptist
+baptizing; and, in addition to his verdancy and his awkwardness, he
+stuttered most distressingly. The singing began on the bank of the
+stream; and he left his sweetheart in the buggy, in the shade of a tree
+near by, and wandered alone in the crowd. Standing unconsciously among
+those who were to be baptized, the old parson mistook him for one of the
+converts, and seized him by the arm and marched him into the water. He
+began to protest: "ho-ho-hold on p-p-p-parson, y-y-y-you're ma-ma-makin'
+a mi-mi-mistake!!!" "Don't be alarmed my son, come right in," said the
+parson. And he led him to the middle of the stream. The poor fellow made
+one final desperate effort to explain--"p-p-p-p-parson, l-l-l-l-let me
+explain!" But the parson coldly said: "Close your mouth and eyes, my
+son!" And he soused him under the water. After he was thoroughly
+baptized the old parson led him to the bank, the muddy water trickling
+down his face. He was "diked" in his new seersucker suit, and when the
+sun struck it, it began to draw up. The legs of his pants drew up to his
+knees; his sleeves drew up to his elbows; his little sack coat yanked up
+under his arms. And as he stood there trembling and shivering, a good
+old sister approached him, and taking him by the hand said: "God bless
+you, my son, how do you feel?" Looking, in his agony, at his blushing
+sweetheart behind her fan, he replied in his anguish: "I fe-fe-fe-feel
+l-l-l-l-like a d-d-d-d-durned f-f-f-f-fool!"
+
+[Illustration: THE SEERSUCKER YOUTH AT THE BAPTIZING.]
+
+If I were called upon to drink a toast to life's happiest period,
+I would hold up the sparkling wine, and say: "Here is to youth, that
+sweet, Seidlitz powder period, when two souls with scarcely a single
+thought, meet and blend in one; when a voice, half gosling, half
+calliope, rasps the first sickly confession of puppy love into the
+ear of a blue-sashed maiden at the picnic in the grove!" But when she
+returns his little greasy photograph, accompanied by a little perfumed
+note, expressing the hope that he will think of her only as a sister,
+his paradise is wrecked, and his puppy love is swept into the limbo
+of things that were, the school boy's tale, the wonder of an hour.
+
+But wait till the shadows have a little longer grown. Wait till the
+young lawyer comes home from college, spouting Blackstone, and Kent, and
+Ram on facts. Wait till the young doctor returns from the university,
+with his whiskers and his diploma, to tread the paths of glory, "that
+lead but to the grave." Wait till society gives welcome in the brilliant
+ball, and the swallow-tail coat, and the patent leather pumps whirl with
+the decollette and white slippers till the stars are drowning in the
+light of morning. Wait till the graduate staggers from the giddy hall,
+in full evening dress, singing as he staggers:
+
+  "After the ball is over, after the break of morn,
+   After the dancer's leavin', after the stars are gone;
+   Many a heart is aching, if we could read them all--
+   Many the hopes that are vanished, after the ball."
+
+
+[Illustration: AFTER THE BALL.]
+
+It is then that "somebody's darling" has reached the full tide of his
+glory as a fool.
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF HOME.
+
+
+How rich would be the feast of happiness in this beautiful world of
+ours, could folly end with youth. But youth is only the first act in
+the "Comedy of Errors." It is the pearly gate that opens to the real
+paradise of fools.
+
+  "It's pleasures are like poppies spread--
+   You seize the flower, its bloom is shed,
+   Or like the snowfall on the river--
+   A moment white then melts forever."
+
+
+Whether it be the child at its mother's knee or the man of mature years,
+whether it be the banker or the beggar, the prince in his palace or the
+peasant in his hut, there is in every heart the dream of a happier lot
+in life.
+
+I heard the sound of revelry at the gilded club, where a hundred hearts
+beat happily. There were flushed cheeks and thick tongues and jests and
+anecdotes around the banquet spread. There were songs and poems and
+speeches. I saw an orator rise to respond to a toast to "Home, sweet
+home," and thus he responded:
+
+"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: John Howard Payne touched millions of
+hearts when he sang:
+
+  'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
+
+
+But as for me, gentlemen, give me the pleasures an' the palaces--give me
+liberty, or give me death. No less beautifully expressed are the tender
+sentiments expressed in the tender verse of Lord Byron:
+
+  "'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark
+   Bay deep mouthed welcome as we draw near home;
+   'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming,
+   And look brighter when we come."
+
+
+But as for me, gentlemen, I would rather hear the barkin' of a gatlin'
+gun than to hear the watch dog's honest bark this minute. I would rather
+look into the mouth of a cannon than to look into the eyes that are now
+waitin' to mark my comin' at this delightful hour of three o'clock in
+the morning."
+
+Then he launched out on the ocean of thought like a magnificent ship
+going to sea. And when the night was far spent, and the orgies were
+over, and the lights were blown out at the club, I saw him enter his own
+sweet home in his glory--entered it, like a thief, with his boots in his
+hands,--entered it singing softly to himself:
+
+  "I'm called little gutter pup, sweet little gutter pup,
+     Though I could never tell why--(hic),
+   Yet still I'm called gutter pup, sweet little gutter pup,
+     Poor little gutter pup--I--(hic)."
+
+
+He was unconscious of the presence of the white figure that stood at
+the head of the stairs holding up a lamp, like liberty enlightening
+the world, and as a tremulous voice called him to the judgment bar, the
+door closed behind him on the paradise of a fool, and he sneaked up the
+steps, muttering to himself, "What shadows we are--(hic)--what shadows
+we pursue." Then I saw him again in the morning, reaping temptation's
+bitter reward in the agonies of his drunk-sick; and like Mark Twain's
+boat in a storm,
+
+  "He heaved and sot, and sot and heaved,
+     And high his rudder flung,
+   And every time he heaved and sot,
+     A mighty leak he sprung."
+
+
+If I were a woman with a husband like "that," I would fill him so full
+of Keely's chloride of gold that he would jingle as he walks and tinkle
+as he talks and have a fit at every mention of the silver bill.
+
+The biggest fool that walks on God's footstool is the man who destroys
+the joy and peace of his own sweet home; for, if paradise is ever
+regained in this world, it must be in the home. If its dead flowers
+ever bloom again, they must bloom in the happy hearts of home. If its
+sunshine ever breaks through the clouds, it must break forth in the
+smiling faces of home. If heaven ever descends to earth and angels tread
+its soil, it must be in the sacred precincts of home. That which heaven
+most approves is the pure and virtuous home. For around it linger all
+the sweetest memories and dearest associations of mankind; upon it hang
+the hopes and happiness of the nations of the earth, and above it shines
+the ever blessed star that lights the way back to the paradise that was
+lost.
+
+[Illustration: RETURNING FROM THE CLUB.]
+
+
+
+
+BACHELOR AND WIDOWER.
+
+
+I saw a poor old bachelor live all the days of his life in sight of
+paradise, too cowardly to put his arm around it and press it to his
+bosom. He shaved and primped and resolved to marry every day in the year
+for forty years. But when the hour for love's duel arrived, when he
+stood trembling in the presence of rosy cheeks and glancing eyes, and
+beauty shook her curls and gave the challenge, his courage always oozed
+out, and he fled ingloriously from the field of honor.
+
+Far happier than the bachelor is old Uncle Rastus in his cabin, when he
+holds Aunt Dina's hand in his and asks: "Who's sweet?" And Dina drops
+her head over on his shoulder and answers, "Boaf uv us."
+
+A thousand times happier is the frisky old widower with his pink bald
+head, his wrinkles and his rheumatism, who
+
+  Wires in and wires out,
+  And leaves the ladies all in doubt,
+  As to what is his age and what he is worth,
+  And whether or not he owns the earth.
+
+
+He "toils not, neither does he spin," yet Solomon, in all his glory was
+not more popular with the ladies. He is as light-hearted as "Mary's
+little lamb." He is acquainted with every hog path in the matrimonial
+paradise and knows all the nearest cuts to the "sanctum sanctorum" of
+woman's heart. But his jealousy is as cruel as the grave. Woe unto the
+bachelor who dares to cross his path.
+
+An old bachelor in my native mountains once rose in church to give his
+experience, in the presence of his old rival who was a widower, and with
+whom he was at daggers' points in the race to win the affections of one
+of the sisters in Zion. Thus the pious old bachelor spake: "Brethren,
+this is a beautiful world. I love to live in it just as well to-day as
+I ever did in my life. And the saddest thought that ever crossed this
+old brain of mine is, that in a few short days at best, these old eyes
+will be glazed in death and I'll never get to see my loved ones in this
+world any more." And his old rival shouted from the "amen corner,"
+"_thank God!_"
+
+
+
+
+PHANTOMS.
+
+
+In every brain there is a bright phantom realm, where fancied pleasures
+beckon from distant shores; but when we launch our barks to reach them,
+they vanish, and beckon again from still more distant shores. And so,
+poor fallen man pursues the ghosts of paradise as the deluded dog chases
+the shadows of flying birds in the meadow.
+
+The painter only paints the shadows of beauty on his canvas; the
+sculptor only chisels its lines and curves from the marble; the sweetest
+melody is but the faint echo of the wooing voice of music.
+
+We stumble over the golden nuggets of contentment in pursuit of the
+phantoms of wealth, and what is wealth? It can not purchase a moment of
+happiness. Marble halls may open wide their doors and offer her shelter,
+but happiness will flee from a palace to dwell in a cottage. We crush
+under our feet the roses of peace and love in our eagerness to reach the
+illuminated heights of glory; and what is earthly glory?
+
+  "He who ascends to mountain tops shall find
+   The loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow;
+   He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
+   Must look down on the hate of those below.
+   Though high above the sun of glory glow,
+   And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
+   'Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
+   Contending tempests on his naked head."
+
+I saw a comedian convulse thousands with his delineations of the
+weaknesses of humanity in the inimitable "Rip Van Winkle." I saw him
+make laughter hold its sides, as he impersonated the coward in "The
+Rivals;" and I said: I would rather have the power of Joseph Jefferson,
+to make the world laugh, and to drive care and trouble from weary brains
+and sorrow from heavy hearts, than to wear the blood-stained laurels of
+military glory, or to be President of the United States, burdened with
+bonds and gold, and overwhelmed with the double standard, and three girl
+babies.
+
+
+
+
+THE FALSE IDEAL.
+
+
+It is the false ideal that builds the "Paradise of Fools." It is the
+eagerness to achieve success in realms we cannot reach, which breeds
+more than half the ills that curse the world. If all the fish eggs were
+to hatch, and every little fish become a big fish, the oceans would be
+pushed from their beds, and the rivers would be eternally "dammed"--with
+fish; but the whales, and sharks, and sturgeons, and dog-fish, and eels,
+and snakes, and turtles, make three meals every day in the year on fish
+and fish eggs. If all the legal spawn should hatch out lawyers, the
+earth and the fullness thereof would be mortgaged for fees, and mankind
+would starve to death in the effort to pay off the "aforesaid and the
+same." If the entire crop of medical eggs should hatch out full fledged
+doctors, old "Skull and Cross Bones" would hold high carnival among the
+children of men, and the old sexton would sing:
+
+  "I gather them in,
+   I gather them in."
+
+
+If I could get the ear of the young men who pant after politics, as the
+hart panteth after the water brook, I would exhort them to seek honors
+in some other way, for "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
+
+The poet truly said: "How like a mounting devil in the heart is the
+unreined ambition. Let it once but play the monarch, and its haughty
+brow glows with a beauty that bewilders thought and unthrones peace
+forever. Putting on the very pomp of Lucifer, it turns the heart to
+ashes, and with not a spring left in the bosom for the spirit's lip,
+we look upon our splendor and forget the thirst of which we perish."
+
+
+
+
+THE CIRCUS IN THE MOUNTAINS.
+
+
+[Illustration: THE CIRCUS IN THE MOUNTAINS.]
+
+I saw a circus in a mountain town. The mountaineers swarmed from far
+and near, and lined the streets on every hand with open mouth and bated
+breath, as the grand procession, with band, and clown, and camels,
+and elephants, and lions, and tigers, and spotted horses, paraded in
+brilliant array. The excitement was boundless when the crowd rushed
+into the tent, and they left behind them a surging mass of humanity,
+unprovided with tickets, and destitute of the silver half of the double
+standard. Their interest rose to white heat as the audience within
+shouted and screamed with laughter at the clown, and cheered the girl
+in tights, and applauded the acrobats as they turned somersaults over
+the elephant. But temptation whispered in the ear of a gentleman in tow
+breeches, and he stealthily opened his long bladed knife and cut a hole
+in the canvas. A score of others followed suit, and held their sides and
+laughed at the scenes within. But as they laughed a showman slipped
+inside, armed with a policeman's "billy." He quietly sidled up to the
+hole where a peeper's nose made a knot on the tent on the inside.
+"Whack!" went the "billy"--there was a loud grunt, and old "Tow
+Breeches" spun 'round like a top, and cut the "pigeon wing," while his
+nose spouted blood. "Whack!" went the "billy" again, and old "Hickory
+Shirt" turned a somersault backwards and rose "a-runnin'." The last
+"whack" fell like a thunderbolt on the Roman nose of a half drunk old
+settler from away up at the head of the creek. He fell flat on his back,
+quivered for a moment, and then sat up and clapped his hand to his
+bleeding nose and in his bewilderment exclaimed: "Well I'll be durned!
+hel-lo there stranger!" he shouted to a bystander, "whar wuz you _at_
+when the lightnin' struck the show?" Then I saw a row of bleeding noses
+at the branch near by, taking a bath; and each nose resembled a sore
+hump on a camel's back.
+
+[Illustration: "WHACK!" WENT THE "BILLY!"]
+
+So it is around the great arena of political fame and power. "Whack!"
+goes the "billy" of popular opinion; and politicians, like old "Tow
+Breeches," spin 'round with the broken noses of misguided ambition and
+disappointed hope. In the heated campaign many a would-be Webster lies
+down and dreams of the triumph that awaits him on the morrow, but he
+wakes to find it only a dream, and when the votes are counted his
+little bird hath flown, and he is in the condition of the old Jew.
+An Englishman, an Irishman and a Jew hung up their socks together on
+Christmas Eve. The Englishman put his diamond pin in the Irishman's
+sock; the Irishman put his watch in the sock of the Englishman; they
+slipped an egg into the sock of the Jew. "And did you git onny thing?"
+asked Pat in the morning. "Oh yes," said the Englishman, "I received a
+fine gold watch, don't you know. And what did you get Pat?" "Begorra,
+I got a foine diamond pin." "And what did you get, Jacob?" said the
+Englishman to the Jew. "Vell," said Jacob, holding up the egg. "I got
+a shicken but it got avay before I got up."
+
+
+
+
+THE PHANTOM OF FORTUNE.
+
+
+I would not clip the wings of noble, honorable aspiration. I would not
+bar and bolt the gate to the higher planes of thought and action, where
+truth and virtue bloom and ripen into glorious fruit. There are a
+thousand fields of endeavor in the world, and happy is he who labors
+where God intended him to labor.
+
+The contented plowman who whistles as he rides to the field and sings as
+he plows, and builds his little paradise on the farm, gets more out of
+life than the richest Shylock on earth.
+
+The good old spectacled mother in Israel, with her white locks and
+beaming face, as she works in her sphere, visiting the poor, nursing the
+sick, and closing the eyes of the dead, is more beautiful in her life,
+and more charming in her character, than the loveliest queen of society
+who ever chased the phantoms of pleasure in the ballroom.
+
+The humblest village preacher who faithfully serves his God, and leads
+his pious flock in the paths of holiness and peace, is more eloquent,
+and plays a nobler part than the most brilliant infidel who ever
+blasphemed the name of God.
+
+The industrious drummer who travels all night and toils all day to win
+comfort for wife, and children, and mother, and sister, is a better man,
+and a far better citizen, than the most successful speculator on Wall
+Street, who plays with the fortunes of his fellow-man as the wolf plays
+with the lamb, or as the cyclone plays with the feather.
+
+Young ladies, when the time comes to marry, say "yes" to the good-natured,
+big-hearted drummer. For he is a spring in a desert, a straight flush in
+a weary hand, a "thing of beauty and a joy forever," and he will never
+be at home to bother you.
+
+
+
+
+CLOCKS.
+
+
+Oliver Wendell Holmes says: "Our brains are seventy year clocks. The
+angel of life winds them up once for all, closes the case, and gives the
+key into the hand of the resurrection angel." And when I read it I
+thought, what a stupendous task awaits the angel of the resurrection,
+when all the countless millions of old rickety, rusty, worm-eaten clocks
+are to be resurrected, and wiped, and dusted, and repaired, for mansions
+in the skies! There will be every kind and character of clock and
+clockwork resurrected on that day. There will be the Catholic clock with
+his beads, and the Episcopalian clock with his ritual. There will be
+an old clock resurrected on that day wearing a broadcloth coat buttoned
+up to the throat; and when he is wound up he will go off with a whizz
+and a bang. He will get up out of the dust shouting, "hallelujah!" and
+he will proclaim "_sanctification!_" and "_falling from grace!_" and
+"_baptism by sprinkling and pouring!_" as the only true doctrine by
+which men shall go sweeping through the pearly gate, into the new
+Jerusalem. And he will be recognized as a Methodist preacher, a little
+noisy, a little clogged with chicken feathers, but ripe for the Kingdom
+of Heaven.
+
+There will be another old clock resurrected on that day, dressed
+like the former, but a little stiffer and straighter in the back,
+and armed with a pair of gold spectacles and a manuscript. When he is
+wound up he will break out in a cold sepulchral tone with, firstly:
+"_foreordination!_" secondly: "_predestination!_" and thirdly: "_the
+final perseverance of the saints!_" And he will be recognized as a
+Presbyterian preacher, a little blue and frigid, a little dry and
+formal, but one of God's own elect, and he will be labeled for Paradise.
+
+There will be an old Hard-shell clock resurrected, with throat whiskers,
+and wearing a shad-bellied coat and flap breeches. And when he is wound
+up a little, and a little oil is squirted into his old wheels, he will
+swing out into space on the wings of the gospel with: "My Dear Beloved
+Brethren-ah: I was a-ridin' along this mornin' a-tryin' to study up
+somethin' to preach to this dying congregation-ah; and as I rid up by
+the old mill pond-ah lo and behold! there was an old snag a sticking
+up out of the middle of the pond-ah, and an old mud turtle had clim
+up out uv the water and was a settin' up on the old snag a sunnin' uv
+himself-ah; and lo! and behold-ah! when I rid up a leetle nearer to
+him-ah, he jumped off of the snag, 'ker chugg' into the water, thereby
+proving emersion-ah!"
+
+Our brains _are_ clocks, and our hearts are the pendulums. If we live
+right in this world, when the Resurrection Day shall come, the Lord God
+will polish the wheels, and jewel the bearings, and crown the casements
+with stars and with gold. And the pendulums shall be harps encrusted
+with precious stones. They shall swing to and fro on angel wings, making
+music in the ear of God, and flashing His glory through all the blissful
+cycles of eternity!
+
+
+
+
+THE PANIC.
+
+
+Happy is the man who lives within his means, and who is contented with
+the legitimate rewards of endeavor. The dreadful panic that checks the
+progress of civilization and paralyzes the commerce of the world, is the
+death angel that follows speculation. Everything is staked and hazarded
+on contingences that are as baseless as the fabric of a dream. The day
+of settlement comes and nobody is able to settle. The borrower is
+powerless to meet his note in the bank; the banker is powerless to pay
+his depositors, and confidence is stampeded like a herd of cattle. The
+timid and suspicious old farmer catches the wild note of alarm, and
+deserting his plow and sleepy steers in the field, he mounts his mule,
+and urging him on with pounding heels, rushes pell-mell to the bank, and
+with bulging eyes, demands his money. The excitement spreads like fire.
+The blacksmith leaves his anvil, the carpenter his bench, and the tailor
+his goose. The tanner deserts his hide, and the shoemaker throws down
+his last to save his all. The mason with his trowel in his hand, rushes
+from the half-finished wall; Pat drops his hod between heaven and earth
+and slides down the ladder, muttering: "Oi'll have me moaney or _Oi'll_
+have blood!" The fat phlegmatic Dutchman, dozing behind his bar, wakes
+to the situation and waddles down the street, puffing and blowing like
+an engine, and muttering: "Mine Got in Himmel--mine debosit ish
+boosted!" And thus they make the run on the bank, gathering about it
+like the hosts of Armageddon. The bottom drops out, and millionaires
+go under like the passengers of a wrecked steamer.
+
+
+
+
+"BUNK CITY."
+
+
+Did you ever pass the remains of a "boom" town in your travels? Did you
+never gaze upon the remains of "Bunk City," where but yesterday all was
+life and bustle, and to-day it looks like the ruins of Babylon? The
+empty fields for miles and miles around are laid off and dug up in
+streets, and look like they had been struck with ten thousand streaks
+of chain lightning. Standing here and there are huge frames holding up
+mammoth sign boards, bearing the names of land companies, but the land
+companies are gone. Half driven nails are left to rust in a few old
+skeleton buildings, the brick lies unmortared in half finished walls,
+and tenantless houses stand here and there like the ghosts of buried
+hope. Down by the river stands the furnace, grim and silent as the
+extinct crater of Popocatepetl; and the great hotel on the hill looks
+like the tower of Babel two thousand years after the confusion of
+tongues. The last of the speculators, with his blue nose and his old
+battered plug hat which resembles an accordion that has been yanked by
+a cyclone, stands on the corner and contemplates his old sedge fields
+which have shrunk in value from one hundred dollars a front foot, to one
+_dollar for a hundred front acres_, and balefully sings a new song:
+
+  "After the boom is over, after the panic's on,
+   After the fools are leavin', after the money's gone,
+   Many a bank is "busted," if we could see in the room,
+   Many a pocket is empty, after the boom."
+
+
+
+
+"YOUR UNCLE."
+
+
+[Illustration: COMING.]
+
+An impecunious speculator once flooded a town with handbills and posters
+containing this announcement: "Your Uncle is coming." The streams of
+passers-by looked at the bill boards and wondered what it meant. The
+speculator rented the theatre, and one day a new flood of handbills and
+posters made this announcement: "Your Uncle is here." He gave orders
+to his stage manager to raise the curtain exactly at eight o'clock.
+The speculator himself stood in the door and received the admission fees
+and then disappeared. In their curiosity to see the performance of "Your
+Uncle," the villagers filled every seat in the theatre long before the
+hour for the performance arrived. The curtain rose at the appointed
+hour, and lo! on a board, in the center of the stage, was a card bearing
+this announcement in large letters: "_Your Uncle is gone._"
+
+What a splendid illustration of modern speculation and its willing
+victims who are so easily led into the "Paradise of Fools!"
+
+[Illustration: GONE.]
+
+
+
+
+FOOLS.
+
+
+But why mourn and brood over broken fortunes and the calamities of life?
+Why tarry in the doldrums of pessimism, with never a breeze to catch
+your limp and drooping sails and waft you on a joyous wave? Pessimism is
+the nightmare of the world. It is the prophet of famine, pestilence, and
+human woe. It is the apostle of the Devil, and its mission is to impede
+the progress of civilization. It denounces every institution established
+for human development as a fraud. It stigmatizes law as the machinery of
+injustice; it sneers at society as hollow-hearted corruption and
+insincerity; it brands politics as a reeking mass of rottenness, and
+scoffs at morality as the tinsel of sin. Its disciples are those who
+rail and snarl at everything that is noble and good, to whom a joke is
+an assault and battery, a laugh is an insult to outraged dignity, and
+the provocation of a smile is like passing an electric current through
+the facial muscles of a corpse.
+
+God deliver us from the fools who seek to build their paradise on the
+ashes of those they have destroyed. God deliver us from the fools whose
+life work is to cast aspersions upon the motives and characters of the
+leaders of men. I believe the men who reach high places in politics
+are, as a rule, the best and brainiest men in the land, and upon their
+shoulders rest the safety and well-being of the peace-loving,
+God-fearing millions.
+
+I believe the world is better to-day than it ever was before. I believe
+the refinements of modern society, its elegant accomplishments, its
+intellectual culture, and its conceptions of the beautiful, are glorious
+evidences of our advancement toward a higher plane of being.
+
+I think the superb churches of to-day, with the glorious harmonies of
+their choral music, their great pipe organs, their violins and cornets,
+and their grand sermons, full of heaven's balm for aching hearts, are
+expressions of the highest civilization that has ever dawned upon the
+earth. I believe each successive civilization is better, and higher, and
+grander, than that which preceded it; and upon the shining rungs of this
+ladder of evolution, our race will finally climb back to the Paradise
+that was lost. I believe that the society of to-day is better than it
+ever was before. I believe that human government is better, and nobler,
+and purer, than it ever was before. I believe the Church is stronger and
+is making grander strides toward the conversion of the world and the
+final establishment of the Kingdom of God on earth, than it ever made
+before.
+
+I believe that the biggest fools in this world are the advocates and
+disseminators of infidelity, the would-be destroyers of the Paradise
+of God.
+
+
+
+
+A BLOTTED PICTURE.
+
+
+I sat in a great theatre at the National Capital. It was thronged with
+youth, and beauty, old age, and wisdom. I saw a man, the image of his
+God, stand upon the stage, and I heard him speak. His gestures were the
+perfection of grace; his voice was music, and his language was more
+beautiful than I had ever heard from mortal lips. He painted picture
+after picture of the pleasures, and joys, and sympathies, of home. He
+enthroned love and preached the gospel of humanity like an angel. Then
+I saw him dip his brush in ink, and blot out the beautiful picture he
+had painted. I saw him stab love dead at his feet. I saw him blot out
+the stars and the sun, and leave humanity and the universe in eternal
+darkness, and eternal death. I saw him like the Serpent of old, worm
+himself into the paradise of human hearts, and by his seductive
+eloquence and the subtle devices of his sophistry, inject his fatal
+venom, under whose blight its flowers faded, its music was hushed, its
+sunshine was darkened, and the soul was left a desert waste, with only
+the new made graves of faith and hope. I saw him, like a lawless,
+erratic meteor without an orbit, sweep across the intellectual sky,
+brilliant only in his self-consuming fire, generated by friction with
+the indestructible and eternal truths of God.
+
+[Illustration: INFIDELITY.]
+
+That man was the archangel of modern infidelity; and I said: How true
+is holy writ which declares, "the fool hath said in his heart, there is
+no God."
+
+Tell me not, O Infidel, there is no God, no Heaven, no Hell!
+
+  "A solemn murmur in the soul tells of a world to be,
+   As travelers hear the billows roll before they reach the sea."
+
+
+Tell me not, O Infidel, there is no risen Christ!
+
+  When every earthly hope hath fled,
+    When angry seas their billows fling,
+  How sweet to lean on what He said,
+    How firmly to His cross we cling!
+
+
+What intelligence less than God could fashion the human body? What
+motive power is it, if it is not God, that drives that throbbing engine,
+the human heart, with ceaseless, tireless stroke, sending the crimson
+streams of life bounding and circling through every vein and artery?
+Whence, and what, if not of God, is this mystery we call the mind? What
+is this mystery we call the soul? What is it that thinks and feels and
+knows and acts? Oh, who can comprehend, who can deny, the Divinity that
+stirs within us!
+
+God is everywhere, and in everything. His mystery is in every bud, and
+blossom, and leaf, and tree; in every rock, and hill, and vale, and
+mountain; in every spring, and rivulet, and river. The rustle of His
+wing is in every zephyr; its might is in every tempest. He dwells in the
+dark pavilions of every storm cloud. The lightning is His messenger, and
+the thunder is His voice. His awful tread is in every earthquake and on
+every angry ocean; and the heavens above us teem with His myriads of
+shining witnesses. The universe of solar systems whose wheeling orbs
+course the crystal paths of space proclaim through the dread halls of
+eternity, the glory, and power, and dominion, of the all-wise,
+omnipotent, and eternal God.
+
+
+
+
+"VISIONS AND DREAMS."
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The infinite wisdom of Almighty God has made a plane of intelligence,
+and a horizon of happiness, for every being in the universe, from
+the butterfly to the archangel. And every plane has its own horizon,
+narrowest and darkest on the lowest level, but broad as the universe
+on the highest. Man stands on that wondrous plane where mortality and
+immortality meet. Below him is animal life, lighted only by the dim lamp
+of instinct; above him is spiritual life, illuminated by the light of
+reason and the glory of God. Below him is this old material world of
+rock, and hill, and vale, and mountain; above him is the mysterious
+world of the imagination whose rivers are dreams, whose continents are
+visions of beauty, and upon whose shadowy shores the surfs of phantom
+seas forever break.
+
+We hear the song of the cricket on the hearth, and the joyous hum of
+the bees among the poppies; we hear the light-winged lark gladden the
+morning with her song, and the silver-throated thrush warble in the
+tree-top. What are these, and all the sweet melodies we hear, but echoes
+from the realm of visions and dreams?
+
+The humming-bird, that swift fairy of the rainbow, fluttering down from
+the land of the sun when June scatters her roses northward, and poising
+on wings that never weary, kisses the nectar from the waiting flowers;
+how bright and beautiful is the horizon of his little life! How sweet is
+the dream of the covert in the deep mountain gorge, to the trembling,
+panting deer in his flight before the hunter's horn and the yelping
+hounds! How dear to the heart of the weary ox is the vision of green
+fields and splashing waters! And down on the farm, when the cows come
+home at sunset, fragrant with the breath of clover blossoms, how rich
+is the feast of happiness when the frolicsome calf bounds forward to the
+flowing udder, and with his walling eyes reflecting whole acres of "calf
+heaven" and his little tail wiggling in speechless bliss, he draws his
+evening meal from nature's commissariat. The snail lolls in his shell
+and thinks himself a king in the grandest palace in the world. And how
+brilliant is the horizon of the firefly when he winks his "other eye!"
+
+The red worm delves in the sod and dines on clay; he makes no after-dinner
+speeches; he never responds to a toast; but silently revels on in his
+dark banquet halls under the dank violets or in the rich mould by the
+river. But the red worm never reaches the goal of his visions and dreams
+until he is triumphantly impaled on the fishhook of the barefooted boy,
+
+  Who sees other visions and dreams other dreams,
+  Of fluttering suckers in shining streams.
+
+
+And Oh, there is no thrill half so rapturous to the barefooted boy as
+the thrill of a nibble! Two darkies sat on a rock on the bank of a
+river, fishing. One was an old darkey; the other was a boy. The boy got
+a nibble, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong into the surging waters
+and began to float out to the middle of the stream, sinking, and rising,
+and struggling, and crying for help. The old man hesitated on the rock
+for a moment; then he plunged in after the drowning boy, and after a
+desperate struggle, landed his companion safely on shore. A passer-by
+ran up to the old darkey and patted him on the shoulder and said: "Old
+man, that was a noble deed in you, to risk your life that way to save
+that good-for-nothing boy." "Yes boss," mumbled the old man, "I was
+obleeged ter save dat nigger, he had all de bate in his pocket!"
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY LONG AGO.
+
+
+Not long ago I wandered back to the scenes of my boyhood, on my
+father's old plantation on the bank of the river, in the beautiful land
+of my native mountains. I rambled again in the pathless woods with my
+rifle on my shoulder. I sat on the old familiar logs amid the falling
+leaves of autumn and heard the squirrels bark and shake the branches
+as they jumped from tree to tree. I heard the katydid sing, and the
+whip-poor-will, and the deep basso-profundo of the bullfrog on the bank
+of the pond. I heard the drumming of a pheasant and the hoot of a wise
+old owl away over in "Sleepy Hollow." I heard the tinkling of bells on
+the distant hills, sweetly mingling with the happy chorus of the song
+birds in their evening serenade. Every living creature seemed to be
+chanting a hymn of praise to its God; and as I sat there and listened
+to the weird, wild harmonies, a vision of the past opened before me.
+I thought I was a boy again, and played around the cabins of the old
+time darkies, and heard them laugh and sing and tell their stories as
+they used to long ago. My hair stood on ends again (I was afflicted with
+hair when I was a boy), and the chills played up and down my back when I
+remembered old Uncle Rufus' story of the panthers. He said: "Many years
+ago, Mas. Jeems was a-gwine along de path by de graveyard late in de
+evenin', an' bless de Lo'd, all of a sudden he looked up, an' dar was a
+painter crouchin' down befo' 'im, a-pattin' de ground wid his tail, an'
+ready to spring. Mas. Jeems wheeled to run, an' bless de Lo'd, dar was
+annudder painter, crouchin' an' pattin' de groun' wid his tail, in de
+path behind him, an' ready to spring. An' boaf ov dem painters sprung at
+de same time, right toards Mas. Jeemses head; Mas. Jeems jumped to one
+side. An' dem painters come to-gedder in de air. An' da was a-gwine so
+fast, an' da struck each udder wid sitch turble ambition dat instid ov
+comin' down, da went up. An' bless de Lo'd, Mas. Jeems stood dar an'
+watched dem painters go on up, an' up, an' up, till da went clean out
+o' sight a-fightin'. An' bless de Lo'd, de hair was a-fallin' for three
+days. Which fulfills de words ob de scripchah whar it reads, 'De young
+men shall dream dreams, an' de ol' men shall see visions.'"
+
+[Illustration: THE MUSIC OF THE OLD PLANTATION.]
+
+I remembered the tale Uncle Solomon used to tell about the first
+convention that was ever held in the world. He said: "It wuz a
+convenchun ov de animils. Bruder Fox wuz dar, an' Brudder Wolf, an'
+Brudder Rabbit, an' all de rest ov de animil kingdom wuz geddered
+togedder fur to settle some questions concarnin' de happiness ov de
+animil kingdom. De first question dat riz befo' de convenchun wuz,
+how da should vote. Brudder Coon, he took de floah an' moved dat de
+convenchun vote by raisin' der tails; whereupon Brudder Possum riz wid
+a grin ov disgust, an' said: 'Mr. Chaiahman, I's unanimous opposed to
+dat motion: Brudder Coon wants dis couvenchun to vote by raisin' der
+tails, kase Brudder Coon's got a ring striped an' streaked tail, an'
+wants to show it befo' de convenchun. Brudder Coon knows dat de 'possum
+is afflicted wid an ole black rusty tail, an I consider dat moshun an
+insult to de 'possum race; an' besides dat, Mr. Chaiahman, if you passes
+dis moshun for to vote by raisin yo' tails, de Billy-Goat's already
+voted!'"
+
+I sometimes think that Uncle Solomon's homely story of the goat would
+be a splendid illustration of some of our modern politicians. It is
+difficult to tell which side of the question they are on.
+
+[Illustration: THE HAPPY LONG AGO.]
+
+I remembered the yarn Uncle Yaddie once spun at the expense of
+Uncle Rastus. Rastus looked sour and said: "You bettah not go too fur;
+I'll tell about dem watermillions what disappeared frum Mas. Landon's
+watermillion patch." But Uncle Yaddie was undismayed by the threatened
+attack upon his own record, and said: "Some time ago Rastus concluded to
+go into de egg bizness, an' he prayed to de Lo'd to send him some hens,
+but somehow or nudder de hens never come; an' den he prayed to de Lo'd
+to send him after de hens, an' lo! an' behold! nex' mornin' his lot wus
+full ov chickens. Rastus fixed de nestiz, an' waited, an' waited fur de
+hens to lay, but somehow or nudder de hens wouldn't lay dat summer at
+all; an' Rastus kep git'n madder an' madder, till one day de ole rooster
+hopped up on de porch an begun to flop his wings an' crow. Rastus looked
+at him sideways, an' muttered, 'Yes! floppin' yo' wings an' crowin'
+aroun' heah like an ole fool, an' you caint lay a egg to save yo' life!'"
+
+The darkies fell over in the floor, and every body laughed except
+Rastus. But to appease his wrath, Uncle Yaddie rolled out a big
+"watermillion" from under the bed, which lighted up the face of the
+frowning old Rastus with smiles, and as the luscious red pulp melted
+away in his mouth, he cut the "pigeon wing" in the middle of the floor,
+and sang like a mocking bird:
+
+  "Oh, de honeymoon am sweet,
+   De chicken am good,
+   De 'possum, it am very very fine,
+   But give me, O, give me,
+   Oh, how I wish you would!
+   Dat watermillion hanging' on de vine!"
+
+
+Then old Uncle Newt rosined his bow, and the welkin rang with the music
+of the fiddle.
+
+There I sat in the old familiar woods and dreamed of the happy long ago,
+until a gang of blackbirds, spluttering in a neighboring treetop woke
+me. And when I rose from the log and threw myself into the shape of an
+interrogation point, and touched the trigger, at the crack of my rifle
+old bullfrogg shot into the pond; the hoot-owl "scooted" into his castle
+in the trunk of an old hollow tree; the blackbirds cut the "asymptote of
+a hyperbolical curve" in the air; the squirrel fell to the ground at my
+feet, with a bullet through his brain, and there was silence--silence in
+the frog pond; silence in the trees; silence in "Sleepy Hollow;" silence
+all around me.
+
+I shouldered my rifle and wended my way back to the old homestead on the
+bank of the river and silence was there. The voices of the happy long
+ago were hushed. The old time darkies were sleeping on the hill, close
+by the spot where my father sleeps. The moss-covered bucket was gone
+from the well. The old barn sheds had "creeled." The old house where
+I was born was silent and deserted.
+
+As I looked upon these scenes of my earliest recollection, I was
+softened and subdued into a sweet pensive sorrow, which only the
+happiest and holiest associations of by-gone years can call into being.
+There are times in our lives when grief lies heaviest on the soul; when
+memory weeps; when gathering clouds of mournful melancholy pour out
+their floods and drown the heart in tears.
+
+Oh, beautiful isle of memory, lighted by the morning star of life! where
+the roses bloom by the door, where the robins sing among the apple
+blossoms, where bright waters ripple in eternal melody! There are echoes
+of songs that are sung no more; tender words spoken by lips that are
+dust; blessings from hearts that are still. There's a useless cradle,
+and a broken doll; a sunny tress, and an empty garment folded away;
+there's a lock of silvered hair, and an unforgotten prayer, and _mother_
+is sleeping there!
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS OF THE YEARS TO COME.
+
+
+[Illustration: AMBITION'S DREAM.]
+
+There, under the shade of the sycamores, on my father's old farm, I used
+to dream of the years to come. I looked through a vista blooming with
+pleasures, fruiting with achievements, and beautiful as the cloud-isles
+of the sunset. The siren, ambition, sat beside me and fired my young
+heart with her prophetic song. She dazzled me, and charmed me, and
+soothed me, into sweet fantastic reveries. She touched me and bade me
+look into the wondrous future. The bow of promise spanned it. Hope was
+enthroned there and smiled like an angel of light. Under that shining
+arch lay the goal of my fondest aspirations. Visions of wealth, and of
+laurels, and of applauding thousands, crowded the horizon of my dream.
+I saw the capitol of the Republic, that white-columned pantheon of
+liberty, lifting its magnificent pile from the midst of the palaces,
+and parks, the statues, and monuments, of the most beautiful city in
+the world. Infatuated with this vision of earthly glory, I bade adieu
+to home and its dreams, seized the standard of a great political party,
+and rushed into the turmoil and tumult of the heated campaign. Unable to
+bear the armor of a Saul, I went forth to do battle armed with a fiddle,
+a pair of saddlebags, a plug horse, and the eternal truth. There was the
+din of conflict by day on the hustings; there was the sound of revelry
+by night in the cabins. The mid-night stars twinkled to the music of the
+merry fiddle, and the hills resounded with the clatter of dwindling shoe
+soles, as the mountain lads and lassies danced the hours away in the
+good old time Virginia reel. I rode among the mountain fastnesses like
+the "Knight of the woeful figure," mounted on my prancing "Rozenante,"
+everywhere charging the windmill of the opposing party, and wherever
+I drew rein the mountaineers swarmed from far and near to witness the
+bloodless battle of the contending candidates in the arena of joint
+discussion. My learned competitor, bearing the shield of "protection to
+American labor," and armed to the teeth with mighty argument, hurled
+himself upon me with the fury of a lion. His blows descended like
+thunderbolts, and the welkin rang with cheers when his lance went
+shivering to the center. His logic was appalling, his imagery was
+sublime. His tropes and similes flashed like the drawn blades of
+charging cavalry, and with a flourish of trumpets, his grand effort
+culminated in a splendid tribute to the Republic, crowned with
+Goldsmith's beautiful metaphor:
+
+  "As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
+   Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm;
+   Though 'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
+   Eternal sunshine settles on its head."
+
+
+I received the charge of the enemy "with poised lance, and visor down."
+I deluged the tall cliff under a flood of "mountain eloquence" which
+poured from my patriotic lips like molasses pouring from the bung-hole
+of the universe. I mounted the American eagle and soared among the
+stars. I scraped the skies and cut the black illimitable far out beyond
+the orbit of Uranus, and I reached the climax of my triumphant flight
+with a hyperbole that eclipsed Goldsmith's metaphor, unthroned the foe,
+and left him stunned upon the field. Thus I soared:
+
+"I stood upon the sea shore, and with a frail reed in my hand, I wrote
+in the sand, 'My Country, I love thee;' a mad wave came rushing by and
+wiped out the fair impression. Cruel wave, treacherous sand, frail reed;
+I said, 'I hate ye I'll trust ye no more, but with a giant's arm, I'll
+reach to the coast of Norway, and pluck its tallest pine, and dip it
+in the crater of Vesuvius, and write upon the burnished heavens; 'My
+Country, _I love thee_! And I'd like to see _any_ durned wave rub that
+out!!'"
+
+Between the long intervals of argument my speech grinned with anecdotes
+like a basketfull of 'possum heads. The fiddle played its part, the
+people did the rest, and I carved upon the tombstone of the demolished
+Knight these tender words:
+
+  "Tread softly 'round this sacred heap,
+   It guards ambition's restless sleep;
+   Whose greed for place ne'er did forsake him,
+   Don't mention office, or you'll wake him!"
+
+
+I reached the goal of my visions and dreams under that collossal dome
+whose splendors are shadowed in the broad river that flows by the shrine
+of Mt. Vernon. I sat amid the confusion and uproar of the parliamentary
+struggles of the lower branch of the Congress of the United States.
+"Sunset" Cox, with his beams of wit and humor, convulsed the house and
+shook the gallaries. Alexander Stephens, one of the last tottering
+monuments of the glory of the Old South, still lingering on the floor,
+where, in by-gone years the battles of his vigorous manhood were fought.
+I saw in the Senate an assemblage of the grandest men since the days
+of Webster and Clay. Conkling, the intellectual Titan, the Apollo of
+manly form and grace, thundered there. The "Plumed Knight," that grand
+incarnation of mind and magnetism, was at the zenith of his glory.
+Edmunds, and Zack Chandler, and the brilliant and learned Jurist, Mat.
+Carpenter, were there. Thurman the "noblest Roman of them all" was there
+with his famous bandana handkerchief. The immortal Ben Hill, the idol
+of the South, and Lamar, the gifted orator and highest type of Southern
+chivalry were there. Garland, and Morgan, and Harris, and Coke, were
+there; and Beck with his sledge-hammer intellect. It was an arena of
+opposing gladiators more magnificent and majestic than was ever
+witnessed in the palmiest days of the Roman Empire. There were giants
+in the Senate in those days, and when they clashed shields and measured
+swords in debate, the capitol trembled and the nation thrilled in every
+nerve.
+
+But how like the ocean's ebb and flow are the restless tides of politics!
+These scenes of grandeur and glory soon dissolved from my view like a
+dream. I "saved the country" for only two short years. My competitor
+proved a lively corpse. He burst forth from the tomb like a locust from
+its shell, and came buzzing to the national capital with "war on his
+wings." I went buzzing back to the mountains to dream again under the
+sycamores; and there a new ambition was kindled in my soul. A new
+vision opened before me. I saw another capitol rise on the bank of the
+Cumberland, overshadowing the tomb of Polk and close by the Hermitage
+where reposes the sacred dust of Andrew Jackson. And I thought if I
+could only reach the exalted position of Governor of the old "Volunteer
+State" I would then have gained the sum of life's honors and happiness.
+But lo! another son of my father and mother was dreaming there under the
+same old sycamore. We had dreamed together in the same trundle-bed and
+often kicked each other out. Together we had seen visions of pumpkin pie
+and pulled hair for the biggest slice. Together we had smoked the first
+cigar and together learned to play the fiddle. But now the dreams of our
+manhood clashed. Relentless fate had decreed that "York" must contend
+with "Lancaster" in the "War of the Roses." And with flushed cheeks and
+throbbing hearts we eagerly entered the field; his shield bearing the
+red rose, mine the white. It was a contest of principles, free from the
+wormwood and gall of personalities, and when the multitude of partisans
+gathered at the hustings, a white rose on every Democratic bosom, a red
+rose on every Republican breast, in the midst of a wilderness of flowers
+there was many a tilt and many a loud huzzah. But when the clouds of war
+had cleared away, I looked upon the drooping red rose on the bosom of
+the vanquished Knight, and thought of the first speech my mother ever
+taught me:
+
+  "Man's a vapor full of woes,
+   Cuts a caper--down he goes!"
+
+
+The white rose triumphed. But the shadow is fairer than the substance.
+The pathway of ambition is marked at every mile with the grave of some
+sweet pleasure slain by the hand of sacrifice. It bristles with thorns
+planted by the fingers of envy and hate, and as we climb the rugged
+heights, behind us lie our bloody footprints, before us tower still
+greater heights, scarred by tempests and wrapped in eternal snow. Like
+the edelweiss of the Alps, ambition's pleasures bloom in the chill air
+of perpetual frost, and he who reaches the summit will look down with
+longing eyes, on the humbler plain of life below and wish his feet had
+never wandered from its warmer sunshine and sweeter flowers.
+
+
+
+
+FROM THE CAVE-MAN TO THE "KISS-O-PHONE."
+
+
+But let us not forget that it is better for us, and better for the
+world, that we dream, and that we tread the thorny paths, and climb
+the weary steeps, and leave our bloody tracks behind in the pursuit
+of our dreams. For in their extravagant conceptions lie the germs
+of human government, and invention, and discovery; and from their
+mysterious vagaries spring the motive power of the world's progress.
+Our civilization is the evolution of dreams. The rude tribes of primeval
+men dwelt in caves until some unwashed savage dreamed that damp caverns
+and unholy smells were not in accord with the principles of hygiene.
+It dawned upon his _mighty_ intellect that one flat stone would lie on
+top of another, and that a little mud, aided by Sir Isaac Newton's law
+of gravitation, would hold them together, and that walls could be built
+in the form of a quadrangle. Here was the birth of architecture. And
+thus, from the magical dreams of this unmausoleumed barbarian was
+evolved the home, the best and sweetest evolution of man's civilisation.
+
+John Howard Payne touched the tenderest chord that vibrates in the
+great heart of all humankind when he gave to immortality his song of
+"Home, Sweet Home;" and thank God, the grand mansions and palaces of the
+rich do not hold all the happiness and nobility of this world. There
+are millions of humble cottages where virtue resides in the warmth and
+purity of vestal fires, and where contentment dwells like perpetual
+summer.
+
+The antediluvians plowed with a forked stick, with one prong for the
+beam and the other for the scratcher; and the plow boy and his sleepy
+ox had no choice of prongs to hitch to. It was all the same to Adam
+whether "Buck" was yoked to the beam or the scratcher. But some noble
+Cincinnatus dreamed of the burnished plowshare; genius wrought his dream
+into steel and now the polished Oliver Chill slices the earth like a
+hot knife plowing a field of Jersey butter, and the modern gang plow,
+bearing upon its wheels the gloved and umbrella'd leader of the Populist
+Party, plows up the whole face of the earth in a single day.
+
+What a wonderful workshop is the brain of man! Its noiseless machinery
+cuts, and carves, and moulds, in the imponderable material of ideas.
+It works its endless miracles through the brawny arm of labor, and the
+deft fingers of skill, and the world moves forward by its magic. Aladdin
+rubbed his lamp and the shadowy genii of fable performed impossible
+wonders. The dreamer of to-day rubs his fingers through his hair and the
+genii of his intellect work miracles which eclipse the most extravagant
+fantasies of the "Arabian Nights."
+
+A dreamer saw the imprisoned vapor throw open the lid of a teakettle,
+and lo! a steam engine came puffing from his brain. And now many a huge
+monster of Corliss, beautiful as a vision of Archimedes and smooth in
+movement as a wheeling planet, sends its thrill of life and power
+through mammoth plants of humming machinery. The fiery courser of the
+steel-bound track shoots over hill and plain, like a mid-night meteor
+through the fields of heaven, outstripping the wind.
+
+A dreamer carried about in his brain a great Leviathan. It was launched
+upon the billows, and like some collossal swan the palatial steamship
+now sweeps in majesty through the blue wastes of old ocean.
+
+Six hundred years before Christ, some old Greek discovered electricity
+by rubbing a piece of amber, and unable to grasp the mystery, he called
+it soul. His discovery slept for more than two thousand years until it
+awoke in the dreams of Galvani, and Volta, and Benjamin Franklin. In the
+morning of the nineteenth century the sculptor and scientist, Morse, saw
+in his dreams, phantom lightnings leap across continents, and oceans,
+and felt the pulse of thunder beat as it came bounding over threads of
+iron that girdled the earth. In each throb he read a human thought. The
+electric telegraph emerged from his brain, like Minerva from the brow of
+Jove, and the world received a fresh baptism of light and glory.
+
+In a few more years we will step over the threshold of the twentieth
+century. What greater wonders will the dreamers yet unfold? It may be
+that another magician, greater even than Edison, the "Wizzard of Menloe
+Park," will rise up and coax the very laws of nature into easy compliance
+with his unheard-of dreams. I think he will construct an electric
+railway in the form of a huge tube, and call it the "electro-scoot,"
+and passengers will enter it in New York and touch a button and arrive
+in San Francisco two hours before they started! I think a new discovery
+will be made by which the young man of the future may stand at his
+"kiss-o-phone" in New York, and kiss his sweetheart in Chicago with all
+the delightful sensations of the "aforesaid and the same." I think some
+Liebig will reduce foods to their last analyses, and by an ultimate
+concentration of their elements, will enable the man of the future to
+carry a year's provisions in his vest pocket. The sucking dude will
+store his rations in the head of his cane, and the commissary department
+of a whole army will consist of a mule and a pair of saddlebags. A train
+load of cabbage will be transported in a sardine box, and a thousand fat
+Texas cattle in an oyster can. Power will be condensed from a forty
+horse engine to a quart cup. Wagons will roll by the power in their
+axles, and the cushions of our buggies will cover the force that propels
+them. The armies of the future will fight with chain lightning, and the
+battlefield will become so hot and unhealthy that,
+
+  "He who fights and runs away
+   Will never fight another day."
+
+
+Some dreaming Icarus will perfect the flying machine, and upon the
+aluminium wings of the swift Pegassus of the air the light-hearted
+society girl will sail among the stars, and
+
+  "Behind some dark cloud, where no one's allowed,
+   Make love to the man in the moon."
+
+
+The rainbow will be converted into a Ferris wheel; all men will be bald
+headed; the women will run the Government--_and then I think the end of
+time will be near at hand_.
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS.
+
+
+I heard a song of love, and tenderness, and sadness, and beauty, sweeter
+than the song of a nightingale. It was breathed from the soul of Robert
+Burns. I heard a song of deepest passion surging like the tempest-tossed
+waves of the sea. It was the restless spirit of Lord Byron.
+
+I heard a mournful melody of despairing love, full of that wild, mad,
+hopeless longing of a bereaved soul which the mid-night raven mocked at
+with that bitterest of all words--"Nevermore!" It was the weird threnody
+of the brilliant, but ill-starred Poe, who, like a meteor, blazed but
+for a moment, dazzling a hemisphere, and then went out forever in the
+darkness of death.
+
+Then I was exalted, and lifted into the serene sunlight of peace, as
+I listened to the spirit of faith, pouring out in the songs of our own
+immortal Longfellow.
+
+With Milton I walked the scented isles of long lost Paradise, and caught
+the odor of its bloom, and the swell of its music. He led me through
+its rose brakes, and under the vermilion and flame of its orchids and
+honeysuckles, down to the margin of the limpid river, where the water
+lilies slept in fadeless beauty, and the lotus nodded to the rippling
+waves; and there, under a bridal arch of orange blossoms, cordoned by
+palms and many-colored flowers, I saw a vision of bliss and beauty from
+which Satan turned away with an envy that stabbed him with pangs unfelt
+before in hell! It was earth's first vision of wedded love.
+
+But the horizon of Shakespeare was broader than them all. There is no
+depth which he has not sounded, no height which he has not measured.
+He walked in the gardens of the intellectual gods and gathered sweets
+for the soul from a thousand unwithering flowers. He caught music from
+the spheres, and beauty from ten thousand fields of light. His brain was
+a mighty loom. His genius gathered and classified, his imagination spun
+and wove; the flying shuttle of his fancy delivered to the warp of
+wisdom and philosophy the shining threads spun from the fibres of human
+hearts and human experience; and with his wondrous woof of pictured
+tapestries, he clothed all thought in the bridal robes of immortality.
+His mind was a resistless flood that deluged the world of literature
+with its glory. The succeeding poets are but survivors as by the ark,
+and, like the ancient dove, they gather and weave into garlands only
+the "flotsam" of beauty which floats on the bosom of the Shakespearean
+flood.
+
+Oh, Shakespeare, archangel of poetry! The light from thy wings drowns
+the stars and flashes thy glory on the civilizations of the whole world!
+
+  "Unwearied, unfettered, unwatched, unconfined,
+   Be my spirit like thee, in the world of the mind;
+   No leaning for earth e'er to weary its flight;
+   But fresh as thy pinions in regions of light."
+
+
+All honor to the poets and philosophers and painters and sculptors and
+musicians of the world! They are its honeybees; its songbirds; its
+carrier doves, its ministering angels.
+
+
+
+
+VISIONS OF DEPARTED GLORY.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I walked with Gibbon and Hume, through the sombre halls of the past, and
+caught visions of the glory of the classic Republics and Empires that
+flourished long ago, and whose very dust is still eloquent with the
+story of departed greatness. The spirit of genius lingers there still
+like the fragrance of roses faded and gone.
+
+I thought I heard the harp of Pindar, and the impassioned song of the
+dark-eyed Sappho. I thought I heard the lofty epic of the blind Homer,
+rushing on in the red tide of battle, and the divine Plato discoursing
+like an oracle in his academic shades.
+
+The canvas spoke and the marble breathed when Apelles painted and
+Phidias carved.
+
+I stood with Michael Angelo and saw him chisel his dreams from the
+marble.
+
+I saw Raphael spread his visions of beauty in immortal colors.
+
+I sat under the spirit of Paganini's power. The flow of his melody
+turned the very air into music. I thought I was in the presence of
+Divinity as I listened to the warbles, and murmurs, and the ebb and flow
+of the silver tides, from his violin. And I said: Music is the dearest
+gift of God to man. The sea, the forest, the field, and the meadow, are
+the very fountain heads of music.
+
+I believe that Mozart, and Mendelssohn, and Schubert, and Verdi, and all
+the great masters, caught their sweetest dreams from nature's musicians.
+I think their richest airs of mirth, and gladness, and joy, were stolen
+from the purling rivulet and the rippling river. I believe their
+grandest inspirations were born of the tempest, and the thunder, and the
+rolling billows of the angry ocean.
+
+
+
+
+NATURE'S MUSICIANS.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I sat on the grassy brink of a mountain stream in the gathering twilight
+of evening. The shadowy woodlands around me became a great theatre. The
+greensward before me was its stage.
+
+The tinkling bell of a passing herd rang up the curtain, and I sat there
+all alone in the hush of the dying day and listened to a concert of
+nature's musicians who sing as God hath taught them to sing. The first
+singer that entered my stage was Signor Grasshopper. He mounted a
+mullein leaf and sang, and sang, and sang, until Professor Turkey
+Gobbler slipped up behind him with open mouth, and Signor Grasshopper
+vanished from the footlights forevermore. And as Professor Turkey
+Gobbler strutted off my stage with a merry gobble, the orchestra opened
+before me with a flourish of trumpets. The katydid led off with a
+trombone solo; the cricket chimed in with his E. flat cornet; the
+bumblebee played on his violoncello, and the jay-bird, laughed with his
+piccolo. The music rose to grandeur with the deep bass horn of the big
+black beetle; the mocking bird's flute brought me to tears of rapture,
+and the screech-owl's fife made me want to fight. The tree-frog blew
+his alto horn; the jar-fly clashed his tinkling cymbals; the woodpecker
+rattled his kettledrum, and the locust jingled his tambourine. The music
+rolled along like a sparkling river in sweet accompaniment with the
+oriole's leading violin. But it suddenly hushed when I heard a ripple
+of laughter among the hollyhocks before the door of a happy country
+home. I saw a youth standing there in the shadows with his arm around
+"something" and holding his sweetheart's hand in his. He bent forward;
+lip met lip, and there was an explosion like the squeak of a new boot.
+The lassie vanished into the cottage; the lad vanished over the hill,
+and as he vanished he swung his hat in the shadows, and sang back to her
+his happy love song.
+
+[Illustration: LOVE AMONG THE HOLLYHOCKS.]
+
+Did you never hear a mountain love song? This is the song he sang:
+
+  "Oh, when she saw me coming she rung her hands and cried,
+   She said I was the prettiest thing that ever lived or died.
+   Oh, run along home Miss Nancy, get along home Miss Nancy,
+   Run along home Miss Nancy, down in Rockinham."
+
+
+The birds inclined their heads to listen to his song as it died away on
+the drowsy summer air.
+
+That night I slept in a mansion; but I "closed my eyes on garnished
+rooms to dream of meadows and clover blooms," and love among the
+hollyhocks. And while I dreamed I was serenaded by a band of mosquitoes.
+This is the song they sang:
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  "Hush my dear, lie still and slumber;
+     Holy angels guard thy bed;
+   Heavenly 'skeeters without number
+     Buzzing 'round your old bald head!!!"
+
+
+
+
+PREACHER'S PARADISE.
+
+
+There is no land on earth which has produced such quaint and curious
+characters as the great mountainous regions of the South, and yet no
+country has produced nobler or brainier men.
+
+When I was a barefooted boy my grandfather's old grist mill was the
+Mecca of the mountaineers. They gathered there on the rainy days to
+talk politics and religion, and to drink "mountain" dew and fight.
+Adam Wheezer was a tall, spindle-shanked old settler as dark as an
+Indian, and he wore a broad, hungry grin that always grew broader at the
+sight of a fat sheep. The most prominent trait of Adam's character, next
+to his love of mutton, was his bravery. He stood in the mill one day
+with his empty sack under his arm, as usual, when Bert Lynch, the bully
+of the mountains, with an eye like a game rooster's, walked up to him
+and said: "Adam, you've bin a-slanderin' of me, an' I'm a-gwine to give
+you a thrashin'." He seized Adam by the throat and backed him under
+the meal spout. Adam opened his mouth to squall and it spouted meal
+like a whale. He made a surge for breath and liberty and tossed Bert
+away like a feather. Then he shot out of the mill door like a rocket,
+leaving his old battered plug hat and one prong of his coat tail in the
+hands of the enemy. He ran through the creek and knocked it dry as he
+went. He made a bee line for my grandfather's house, a quarter of a mile
+away, on the hill. He burst into the sitting-room, covered with meal and
+panting like a bellowsed horse, frightening my grandmother almost into
+hysterics. The old lady screamed and shouted: "What in the world is the
+matter, Adam?" Adam replied: "That there durned Bert Lynch is down
+yander a-tryin' to raise a fuss with me."
+
+But every dog has his day. Brother Billy Patterson preached from the
+door of the mill on the following Sunday. It was his first sermon in
+that "neck of the woods," and he began his ministrations with a powerful
+discourse, hurling his anathemas against Satan and sin and every kind of
+wickedness. He denounced whiskey. He branded the bully as a brute and a
+moral coward, and personated Bert, having witnessed his battle with Adam.
+This was too much for the champion. He resolved to "thrash" Brother
+Patterson, and in a few days they met at the mill. Bert squared himself
+and said: "Parson, you had your turn last Sunday; it's mine to-day.
+Pull off that broadcloth an' take your medicine. I'm a-gwine to suck
+the marrow out'n them ole bones o' yourn." The pious preacher plead for
+peace, but without avail. At last he said: "Then, if nothing but a fight
+will satisfy you, will you allow me to kneel down and say my prayer
+before we fight?" "O yes, that's all right parson," said Bert. "But cut
+yer prayer short, for I'm a-gwine to give you a good sound thrashin'."
+
+The preacher knelt and thus began to pray: "Oh Lord, Thou knowest that
+when I killed Bill Cummings, and John Brown, and Jerry Smith, and Levi
+Bottles, that I did it in self defense. Thou knowest, Oh Lord, that when
+I cut the heart out of young Sliger, and strewed the ground with the
+brains of Paddy Miles, that it was forced upon me, and that I did it in
+great agony of soul. And now, Oh Lord, I am about to be forced to put in
+his coffin, this poor miserable wretch, who has attacked me here to-day.
+Oh Lord, have mercy upon his soul and take care of his helpless widow
+and orphans when he is gone!"
+
+And he arose whetting his knife on his shoe-sole, singing:
+
+  "Hark, from the tomb a doleful sound,
+   Mine ears attend the cry."
+
+
+But when he looked around, Bert was gone. There was nothing in sight but
+a little cloud of dust far up the road, following in the wake of the
+vanishing champion.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BROTHER ESTEP AND THE TRUMPET.
+
+
+During the great revival which followed Brother Patterson's first
+sermon and effective prayer, the hour for the old-fashioned Methodist
+love feast arrived. Old Brother Estep, in his enthusiasm on such
+occasions sometimes "stretched his blanket." It was his glory to get
+up a sensation among the brethren. He rose and said: "Bretheren, while
+I was a-walkin' in my gyardin late yisterday evenin', a-meditatin' on
+the final eend of the world, I looked up, an' I seed Gabrael raise his
+silver trumpet, which was about fifty foot long, to his blazin' lips,
+an' I hearn him give it a toot that knocked me into the fence corner
+an' shuck the very taters out'n the ground."
+
+"Tut, tut," said the old parson, "don't talk that way in this meeting;
+we all know you didn't hear Gabrael blow his trumpet." The old man's
+wife jumped to her feet to help her husband out, and said: "Now parson,
+you set down there. Don't you dispute John's word that-away--He mout
+a-hearn a toot or two."
+
+
+
+
+"WAMPER-JAW" AT THE JOLLIFICATION.
+
+
+The sideboard of those good old times would have thrown the prohibition
+candidate of to-day into spasms. It sparkled with cut glass decanters
+full of the juices of corn, and rye, and apple. The old Squire of the
+mill "Deestrict" had as many sweet, buzzing friends as any flower garden
+or cider press in Christendom. The most industrious bee that sucked at
+the Squire's sideboard was old "Wamper-jaw." His mouth reached from ear
+to ear, and was inlaid with huge gums as red as vermilion; and when he
+laughed it had the appearance of lightning. On the triumphant day of the
+Squire's re-election to his great office, when everything was lovely and
+"the goose hung high," he was surrounded by a large crowd of his fellow
+citizens, and Thomas Jefferson, in his palmiest days, never looked
+grander than did the Squire on this occasion. He was attired in his
+best suit of homespun, the choicest product of his wife's dye pot.
+His immense vest with its broad luminous stripes, checked the rotundity
+of his ample stomach like the lines of latitude and longitude, and
+resembled a half finished map of the United States. His blue jeans coat
+covered his body as the waters cover the face of the great deep, and
+its huge collar encircled the back of his head like the belts of light
+around a planet.
+
+The Squire was regaling his friends with his latest side-splitting
+jokes. Old "Wamper-jaw" threw himself back in his chair and exploded
+with peal after peal of laughter. But suddenly he looked around and
+said: "Gen-tul-men, my jaw's flew out'n jint!"
+
+His comrades seized him and pulled him all over the yard trying to get
+it back. Finally old "Wamper-jaw" mounted his mule, and with pounding
+heels, rode, like Tam O'Shanter, to the nearest doctor who lived two
+miles away. The doctor gave his jaw a mysterious yank and it popped back
+into socket. "Wamper-jaw" rushed back to join in the festivities at the
+Squire's. The glasses were filled again; another side-splitting joke was
+told, another peal of laughter went 'round, when "Wamper-jaw" threw his
+hand to his face and said: "Gen-tul-men, she's out agin!!!" There was
+another hasty ride for the doctor. But in the years that followed;
+"Wamper-jaw" was never known to laugh aloud. On the most hilarious
+occasions he merely showed his gums.
+
+[Illustration: "WAMPER-JAW."]
+
+
+
+
+THE TINTINNABULATION OF THE DINNER BELLS.
+
+
+How many millions dream on the lowest planes of life! How few ever reach
+the highest and like stars of the first magnitude, shed their light upon
+the pathway of the marching centuries! What multitudes there are whose
+horizons are lighted with visions and dreams of the flesh pots and soup
+bowls,--whose Fallstaffian aspirations never rise above the fat things
+of this earth, and whose ear flaps are forever inclined forward,
+listening for the dinner bells!
+
+  "The bells, bells, bells!
+   What a world of pleasure their harmony foretells!
+   The bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells!
+   The tintinnabulation of the dinner bells!"
+
+
+In my native mountains there once lived one of these old gluttonous
+dreamers. I think he was the champion eater of the world. Many a time I
+have seen him at my grandfather's table, and the viands and battercakes
+vanished "like the baseless fabric of a vision,"--he left not "a wreck
+behind." But one day, in the voracity of his shark-like appetite, he
+unfortunately undertook too large a contract for the retirement of an
+immense slice of ham. It scraped its way down his rebellious esophagus
+for about two inches, and lodged as tightly as a bullet in a rusty gun.
+His prodigious Adam's apple suddenly shot up to his chin; his eyes
+protruded, and his purple neck craned and shortened by turns, like a
+trombone in full blast. He scrambled from the table and pranced about
+the room like a horse with blind staggers. My grandfather sprang at him
+and dealt him blow after blow in the back, which sounded like the blows
+of a mallet on a dry hide; but the ham wouldn't budge. The old man ran
+out into the yard and seized a plank about three feet long, and rushed
+into the room with it drawn.
+
+"Now William," said he, "get down on your all-fours." William got down.
+"Now William, when I hit, you swallow." He hit, and it popped like a
+Winchester rifle.
+
+William shot into the corner of the room like a shell from a mortar, but
+in a moment he was seated at his place at the table again, with a broad
+grin on his face. "Is it down William?" shouted the old man. "Yes, Mr.
+Haynes, the durned thing's gone,--please pass the ham."
+
+[Illustration: "WHEN I HIT, YOU SWALLOW."]
+
+I thought how vividly that old glutton illustrated the fools who, in
+their effort to gulp down the sensual pleasures of this world, choke the
+soul, and nothing but the clap-board of hard experience, well laid on,
+can dislodge the ham, and restore the equilibrium.
+
+
+
+
+PHANTOMS OF THE WINE CUP.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A little below the glutton lies the plane of the drunkard whose visions
+and dreams are bounded by the horizon of a still tub. "A little wine for
+the stomach's sake is good," but in the trembling hand of a drunkard,
+every crimson drop that glows in the cup is crushed from the roses that
+once bloomed on the cheeks of some helpless woman. Every phantom of
+beauty that dances in it is a devil; and yet, millions quaff, and with
+a hideous laugh, go staggering to the grave.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE MISSING LINK.
+
+
+A little below the plane of the drunkard is the dude, that missing link
+between monkey and man, whose dream of happiness is a single eye-glass,
+a kangaroo strut, and three hours of conversation without a sensible
+sentence; whose only conception of life is to splurge, and flirt, and
+spend his father's fortune.
+
+"Out of the fullness of his heart his mouth singeth:"
+
+  "I'm a dandy; I'm a swell.
+   Just from college, can't you tell?
+   I'm the beau of every belle;
+   I'm the swellest of the swell.
+
+   I'm the King of all the balls,
+   I'm a Prince in banquet halls.
+   My daddy's rich, they know it well,
+   I'm the swellest of the swell."
+
+
+
+
+NIGHTMARE.
+
+
+Unhappily for us all, in the world of visions and dreams, there is a
+dark side to human life. Here have been dreamed out all the crimes which
+have steeped our race in shame since the expulsion from Eden, and all
+the wars that have cursed mankind since the birth of history. Alexander
+the Great was a monster whose sword drank the blood of a conquered
+world. Julius Cæsar marched his invincible armies, like juggernauts,
+over the necks of fallen nations. Napoleon Bonaparte rose with the
+morning of the nineteenth century, and stood, like some frightful comet,
+on its troubled horizon. Distraught with the dream of conquest and
+empire, he hovered like a god on the verge of battle. Kings and emperors
+stood aghast. The sun of Austerlitz was the rising sun of his glory and
+power, but it went down, veiled in the dark clouds of Waterloo, and
+Napoleon the Great, uncrowned, unthroned, and stunned by the dreadful
+shock that annihilated the Grand Army and the Old Guard, "wandered
+aimlessly about on the lost field," in the gloom that palled a fallen
+empire, as Hugo describes him, "the somnambulist of a vast, shattered
+dream."
+
+
+
+
+INFIDELITY.
+
+
+It is in the desert of evil, where virtue trembles to tread, where hope
+falters, and where faith is crucified, that the infidel dreams. To him,
+all there is of heaven is bounded by this little span of life; all there
+is of pleasure and love is circumscribed by a few fleeting years; all
+there is of beauty is mortal; all there is of intelligence and wisdom is
+in the human brain; all there is of mystery and infinity is fathomable
+by human reason, and all there is of virtue is measured by the relations
+of man to man. To him, all must end in the "tongueless silence of the
+dreamless dust," and all that lies beyond the grave is a voiceless shore
+and a starless sky. To him, there are no prints of deathless feet on its
+echoless sands, no thrill of immortal music in its joyless air.
+
+He has lost his God, and like some fallen seraph flying in rayless
+night, he gropes his way on flagging pinions, searching for light where
+darkness reigns, for life where Death is King.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAM OF GOD.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I have wondered a thousand times, if an infidel ever looked through a
+telescope. The universe is the dream of God, and the heavens declare
+His glory. There is our mighty sun, robed in the brightness of his
+eternal fires, and with his planets forever wheeling around him. Yonder
+is Mercury, and Venus, and there is Mars, the ruddy globe, whose poles
+are white with snow, and whose other zones seem dotted with seas and
+continents. Who knows but that his roseate color is only the blush of
+his flowers? Who knows but that Mars may now be a paradise inhabited by
+a blessed race, unsullied by sin, untouched by death? There is the giant
+orb of Jupiter, the champion of the skies, belted and sashed with vapor
+and clouds; and Saturn, haloed with bands of light and jeweled with
+eight ruddy moons; and there is Uranus, another stupendous world,
+speeding on in the prodigious circle of his tireless journey around the
+sun. And yet another orbit cuts the outer rim of our system; and on its
+gloomy pathway, the lonely Neptune walks the cold, dim solitudes of
+space. In the immeasurable depths beyond appear millions of suns, so
+distant that their light could not reach us in a thousand years. There,
+spangling the curtains of the black profound, shine the constellations
+that sparkle like the crown jewels of God. There are double, and triple,
+and quadruple suns of different colors, commingling their gorgeous hues
+and flaming like archangels on the frontier of stellar space. If we
+look beyond the most distant star, the black walls are flecked with
+innumerable patches of filmy light like the dewy gossamers of the
+spider's loom that dot our fields at morn. What beautiful forms we trace
+among those phantoms of light! circles, and elipses, and crowns, and
+shields, and spiral wreaths of palest silver. And what are they? Did
+I say phantoms of light? The telescope resolves them into millions of
+suns, standing out from the oceans of white hot matter that contain the
+germs of countless systems yet to be. And so far removed from us are
+these suns, that the light which comes to us from them to-night has been
+speeding on its way for more than two million years.
+
+What is that white belt we call the milky way, which spans the heavens
+and sparkles like a Sahara of diamonds? It is a river of stars: it is
+a gulf stream of suns; and if each of these suns holds in his grasp a
+mighty system of planets, as ours does, how many multiplied millions
+of worlds like our own are now circling in that innumerable concourse?
+
+Oh, where are the bounds of this divine conception! Where ends this
+dream of God? And is there no life and intelligence in all this throng
+of spheres? Are there no sails on those far away summer seas, no wings
+to cleave those crystal airs, no forms divine to walk those radiant
+fields? Are there no eyes to see those floods of light, no hearts to
+share with ours that love which holds all these mighty orbs in place?
+
+It cannot be, it cannot be! Surely there is a God! If there is not,
+life is a dream, human experience is a phantom, and the universe is
+a flaunting lie!
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration: Syrup of Figs]
+
+    ONE ENJOYS
+
+    Both the method and results when Syrup of Figs is taken; it is
+    pleasant and refreshing to the taste, and acts gently yet promptly
+    on the Kidneys, Liver, and Bowels, cleanses the system effectually,
+    dispels colds, headaches, and fevers and cures habitual constipation.
+    Syrup of Figs is the only remedy of its kind ever produced, pleasing
+    to the taste and acceptable to the stomach, prompt in its action and
+    truly beneficial in its effects, prepared only from the most healthy
+    and agreeable substances, its many excellent qualities commend it to
+    all and have made it the most popular remedy known.
+
+    Syrup of Figs is for sale in 50 cent bottles by all leading
+    druggists. Any reliable druggist who may not have it on hand will
+    procure it promptly for any one who wishes to try it. Do not accept
+    any substitute.
+
+    CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP CO.
+
+    San Francisco, Cal. Louisville, Ky. New York, N. Y.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+    VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY,
+    DEPARTMENT OF DENTISTRY
+
+    NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE.
+
+
+    A purely dental school--a training school for dentists--does what
+    it claims to do, as the results show. Regular Session will begin
+    Oct. 5th; ends March 31, 1898. Post-graduate and Practical Courses,
+    also.
+
+    FOR INFORMATION, ADDRESS
+    DR. W. H. MORGAN, Dean,
+    211 N. HIGH ST.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Balmer's Magnetic Inhaler]
+
+    A MAGIC CURE ... FOR ...
+
+    Catarrh, Asthma, Hay Fever, La Grippe, Sore Throat, etc.
+
+    A positive preventive and cure for all germ diseases. A quick cure
+    for colds. Used and praised by over a million Americans.
+
+    One minute's trial will convince you of its wonderful merit.
+    Endorsed by leading physicians. Every one guaranteed. Money refunded
+    if not satisfied. Will last two years and can be refilled by us
+    for 20 cents in stamps. Thousands have been sold under guarantee.
+    It speaks for itself. Show it and it sells itself. Price 50 cents
+    postpaid. Stamps taken.
+
+    AGENTS WANTED. Send 50 cents for one Inhaler and ask for wholesale
+    prices to agents. Address
+
+    BAPTIST AND REFLECTOR,
+        NASHVILLE, TENN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    NEW SOUTHERN HOTEL,
+    CHATTANOOGA, TENN.
+
+    Centrally located. Newly furnished. First-class in all respects.
+    Best ventilated and the best fire protection of any house in the
+    city. Prompt and polite service. Rates $2.50 to $3.00. Commercial
+    rates to travelling men. Special rates to excursions of five and
+    upwards.
+
+    W. O. PEEPLES, MANAGER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    THE SOUTH'S LEADING JEWELERS.
+
+    STIEF JEWELRY CO.
+    208 & 210 Union St., Nashville, Tenn.
+
+    Direct Importers of Fine DIAMONDS.
+    Dealers in Watches, Jewelry, and Fancy Goods.
+
+    We are strictly "Up-to-Date" in designs, with quality and prices
+    guaranteed. Write for our illustrated Catalogue, if unable to call
+    and see us. Special attention given to all mail orders.
+
+    _JAMES B. CARR, Manager._
+
+    LARGEST JEWELRY HOUSE IN THE SOUTH.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    HIGHEST AWARD.
+
+    STARR PIANOS
+
+    WORLD'S FAIR, 1893.
+
+    BUY DIRECT AND SAVE MONEY.
+
+    America's leading manufacturers and dealers. Branches in leading
+    cities of U. S.
+
+    FACTORIES: RICHMOND, IND.
+
+    JESSE FRENCH PIANO & ORGAN CO., NASHVILLE, TENN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Artistic Home Decorations.
+
+    We can show you effects never before thought of, and at moderate
+    prices, too.
+
+    Why have your house decorated and painted by inferior workmen,
+    when you can have it done by skilled workmen--by artists--for the
+    same price?
+
+    If you intend decorating, if only one room, call to see what we
+    are doing, and for whom.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TAPESTRY PAINTING.
+
+    2,000 tapestry painting to choose from. 38 artists employed,
+    including gold medalists of the Paris Salon. Send 25 cents for
+    compendium of 140 studies.
+
+WALL PAPER.
+
+    New styles, designed by gold medal artists. From 10 cents per
+    roll up. Will give you large samples if you will pay expressage.
+    A large quantity of last year's paper, $1 and $2 per roll;
+    now 10 c. and 25 c.
+
+DECORATIONS.
+
+    Color schemes--designs and estimates submitted free. Artists sent
+    to all parts of the world to do every sort of decorating and
+    painting. We are educating the country in color-harmony. Relief,
+    stained glass, wall paper, carpets, furniture, draperies, etc.
+    Pupils taught.
+
+DECORATIVE ADVICE.
+
+    Upon receipt of $1, Mr. Douthitt will answer any question on
+    interior decorations--color-harmony and harmony of form, harmony
+    of wall coverings, carpets, curtains, tiles, furniture, gas
+    fixtures, etc.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    JOHN F. DOUTHITT,
+    AMERICAN TAPESTRY DECORATIVE CO.
+    286 FIFTH AVENUE, near 30th St., NEW YORK.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Artistic Home Decorations.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MANUAL OF ART DECORATIONS.
+
+    The art book of the century. 200 royal quarto pages. 50 superb
+    full-page illustrations (11 colored) of modern home interiors and
+    tapestry studies. Price, $2. If you want to be up in decoration,
+    send $2 for this book. Worth $50.
+
+SCHOOL.
+
+    Six 3-hours tapestry painting lessons, in studio, $5. Complete
+    written instruction by mail, $1. Tapestry paintings rented;
+    full-size drawings, paints, brushes, etc., supplied. Nowhere,
+    Paris not excepted, are such advantages offered pupils. New
+    catalogue of 125 studies, 25 cents. Send $1 for complete
+    instruction in tapestry painting and compendium of 140 studies.
+
+TAPESTRY MATERIALS.
+
+    We manufacture tapestry materials superior to foreign goods,
+    and half the price. Book of samples, 10 cents. Send $1.50 for
+    2 yards No. 6, 50-inch goods, just for a trial order; worth $3.
+    All kinds of Drapery to match all sorts of Wall Papers, from
+    10 c. per yard up. THIS IS OUR GREAT SPECIALTY.
+
+GOBLIN PRINTED BURLAPS.
+
+    Over 100 new styles for wall coverings, at 25 cents per yard,
+    36 inches wide, thus costing the same as wall paper at $1 per
+    roll. 240 kinds of Japanese lida leather paper, at $2 per roll.
+
+GOBLIN ART DRAPERY.
+
+    Grecian, Russian, Venetian, Brazilian, Roman, Rococo, Dresden,
+    Festoon, College Stripe, Marie Antoinette, Indian, Calcutta,
+    Bombay, Delft, Soudan.
+
+    In order that we may introduce this line of new art goods, we
+    will send one yard of each of 50 different kinds of our most
+    choice patterns for $7.50.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    JOHN F. DOUTHITT,
+    AMERICAN TAPESTRY DECORATIVE CO.
+    286 FIFTH AVENUE, near 30th St., NEW YORK.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+    Free tuition. We will give one or more free scholarships in
+    every county in the U. S. Write us.
+
+    Positions Guaranteed _Under reasonable conditions_....
+
+    Will accept notes for tuition or can deposit money in bank until
+    position is secured. Car fare paid. No vacation. Enter at any
+    time. Open for both sexes. Cheap board. Send for free illustrated
+    catalogue.
+
+    Address J. F. DRAUGHON, Pres't, at either place.
+
+    Draughon's
+    Practical
+    Business Colleges,
+
+    NASHVILLE, TENN., GALVESTON AND TEXARKANA, TEX.
+
+    Bookkeeping, Shorthand, Typewriting, etc. The most thorough,
+    practical and progressive schools of the kind in the world, and the
+    best patronized ones in the South. Indorsed by bankers, merchants,
+    ministers and others. Four weeks in bookkeeping with us are equal
+    to twelve weeks by the old plan. J. F. Draughon, President, is
+    author of Draughon's New System of Bookkeeping, "Double Entry Made
+    Easy."
+
+    Home study. We have prepared, for home study, books on bookkeeping,
+    penmanship and shorthand. Write for price list "Home Study."
+
+    Extract. "PROF. DRAUGHON--I learned bookkeeping at home
+    from your books, while holding a position as night telegraph
+    operator." C. E. LEFFINGWELL, Bookkeeper for Gerber and Ficks,
+    Wholesale Grocers, South Chicago, Ill.
+
+    (_Mention this paper when writing._)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Young People.
+
+    FREE: $20.00 IN GOLD, Bicycle, Gold Watch, Diamond Ring, or a
+    Scholarship in Draughon's Practical Business College, Nashville,
+    Tenn., Galveston or Texarkana, Tex., or a scholarship in most any
+    other reputable business college or literary school in the U. S.
+    can be secured by doing a little work at home for the Youths'
+    Advocate, an illustrated semi-monthly journal. It is elevating in
+    character, moral in tone, and especially interesting and profitable
+    to young people, but read with interest and profit by people of all
+    ages. Stories and other interesting matter well illustrated. Sample
+    copies sent free. Agents wanted. Address Youths' Advocate Pub. Co.,
+    Nashville, Tenn.
+
+    [Mention this paper.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales, by Robert L. Taylor
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOV. BOB. TAYLOR'S TALES ***
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+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" />
+<meta content="pg2html (binary v0.18)" name="generator" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of
+    Gov. Bob Taylor's Tales,
+    by Taylor, Robert L.
+</title>
+<style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[*/
+    <!--
+ body { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; }
+    p { text-indent:   1em;
+        margin-top:    .75em;
+        font-size:     100%;
+        text-align:    justify;
+        margin-bottom: .75em; }
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; }
+    hr.full { width: 100%; }
+    .foot { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 85%; }
+    .poem { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left; }
+    .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; }
+    .poem p     { margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; }
+    .poem p.i2  { margin-left: 1.5em; }
+    .poem p.i3  { margin-left: 2.0em; }
+    .poem p.i4  { margin-left: 2.5em; }
+    .poem p.i5  { margin-left: 3.0em; }
+    .poem p.i8  { margin-left: 5.0em; }
+    .quote { margin-left: 6%; margin-right: 6%; text-indent: 0em; font-size: 90%; }
+    .figure { margin-left: 1%; margin-right: 1%; text-indent: 0em; text-align: center; font-size: 90%; font-variant: small-caps; }
+    span.pagenum { position: absolute; left: 0%; right: 95%; font-size: 8pt; color: gray; background-color: inherit; display: none; }
+    .center { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; }
+    .r { text-align: right; }
+    .sc { font-variant: small-caps; }
+    .midi { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; font-size: 80%!important; }
+    td { padding: 0em 0em 0em 2em; margin:0 ;}
+    td.no { padding: 0; }
+/*]]>*/
+    // -->
+</style>
+</head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales, by Robert L. Taylor
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales
+
+Author: Robert L. Taylor
+
+Release Date: December 23, 2006 [EBook #20171]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOV. BOB. TAYLOR'S TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div style="height: 2em;"><br /></div>
+
+<div>
+    <span class="pagenum"><a id="page1" name="page1"></a>[1]</span>
+</div>
+
+<a name="image-0001"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-001.png" alt="GOV. BOB TAYLOR'S TALES." width="400" height="430" />
+<!--
+<br />
+GOV. BOB TAYLOR'S TALES.<br />
+"THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW,"<br />
+"THE PARADISE OF FOOLS,"<br />
+"VISIONS AND DREAMS."
+-->
+</div>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page2" name="page2"></a>[2]</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page3" name="page3"></a>[3]</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h1>
+    Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales.
+</h1>
+
+<div class="center" style="margin: 3em 0em 3em 0em;">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<h2>
+    "THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW,"
+<br />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<br />
+"THE PARADISE OF FOOLS",
+<br />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<br />
+"VISIONS AND DREAMS."
+</h2>
+
+<div class="center" style="margin: 3em 0em 3em 0em;">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>
+ILLUSTRATED.
+</h3>
+
+<div class="center" style="margin: 3em 0em 3em 0em;">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="center"><small>
+Published by <br />
+DeLONG RICE &amp; COMPANY. <br />
+Nashville, Tenn.
+</small>
+</p>
+
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page4" name="page4"></a>[4]</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<p class="center"><small>
+<span class="sc">Copyrighted</span>, 1896. <br />
+<i>All rights reserved by DeLong Rice &amp; Co.</i>
+</small>
+</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent: 0;"><small>
+UNIVERSITY PRESS CO.,<br />
+NASHVILLE, TENN.
+</small>
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page5" name="page5"></a>[5]</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    PREFACE.
+</h2>
+<p>
+This volume presents the first publication of the famous lectures
+of Governor Robert L. Taylor. His great popularity as an orator and
+entertainer, and his wide reputation as a humorist, have caused repeated
+inquiries from all sections of the country for his lectures in book
+form; and this has given rise to an earlier publication than was
+expected.
+</p>
+<p>
+The lectures are given without the slightest abridgment, just as
+delivered from the platform throughout the country. The consecutive
+chain of each is left undisturbed; and the idea of paragraphing, and
+giving headlines to the various subjects treated, was conceived merely
+for the convenience of the reader.
+</p>
+<p>
+In the dialect of his characters, the melody of his songs, and the
+originality of his quaint, but beautiful conceptions, Governor Taylor's
+lectures are temples of thought, lighted with windows of fun.
+</p>
+<p class="r">
+<span class="sc">DeLong Rice</span>.
+</p>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page6" name="page6"></a>[6]</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<p class="center">
+Temples of Thought, <br />
+Lighted with <br />
+Windows <br />
+Of Fun.
+</p>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page7" name="page7"></a>[7]</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    CONTENTS.
+</h2>
+
+<table border="0" align="center" summary="Table of Contents">
+<tr><td class="no">  "THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW."                 </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0003"> 9 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Cherish the Little Ones                            </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0004">19 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Fat Men and Bald-Headed Men                        </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0005">22 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Poet Laureate of Music                         </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0006">23 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Convict and His Fiddle                         </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0007">25 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    A Vision of The Old Field School                   </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0008">27 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Quilting and the Old Virginia Reel             </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0009">36 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Candy Pulling                                  </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0010">44 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Banquet                                        </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0011">48 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    There is Music All Around Us                       </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0012">53 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Two Columns.                                   </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0013">61 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    There is a Melody for Every Ear                    </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0014">63 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Music is the Wine of the Soul                      </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0015">66 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Old Time Singing School                        </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0016">72 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Grand Opera                                    </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0017">78 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Music                                              </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0018">80 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td colspan="2"><hr /></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="no">  "THE PARADISE OF FOOLS."                  </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0019"> 83 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Paradise of Childhood                          </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0020"> 90 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Paradise of the Barefooted Boy                 </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0021"> 98 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Paradise of Youth                              </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0022">104 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Paradise of Home                               </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0023">112 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Bachelor and Widower                               </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0024">117 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Phantoms                                           </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0025">119 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The False Ideal                                    </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0026">121 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Circus in the Mountains                        </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0027">123 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Phantom of Fortune                             </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0028">128 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Clocks                                             </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0029">130 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Panic                                          </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0030">133 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Bunk City                                          </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0031">135 </a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page8" name="page8"></a>[8]</span>
+            Your Uncle                                         </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0032">137 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Fools                                              </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0033">140 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Blotted Pictures                                   </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0034">143 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td colspan="2"><hr /></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="no">  "VISIONS AND DREAMS."                     </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0035">147 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Happy Long Ago                                 </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0036">151 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Dreams of the Years to Come                        </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0037">160 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    From the Cave-man to the Kiss-o-phone              </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0038">169 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Dreams                                             </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0039">175 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Visions of Departed Glory                          </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0040">178 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Nature's Musicians                                 </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0041">181 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Preacher's Paradise                                </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0042">185 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Brother Estep and the Trumpet                      </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0043">189 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    "Wamper-jaw" at the Jollification                  </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0044">190 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Tintinnabulation of the Dinner Bells           </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0045">193 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Phantoms of the Wine Cup                           </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0046">196 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Missing Link                                   </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0047">197 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Nightmare                                          </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0048">198 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    Infidelity                                         </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0049">200 </a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>    The Dream of God                                   </td><td align="right"><a href="#h2H_4_0050">201 </a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page9" name="page9"></a>[9]</span>
+</div>
+
+<a name="h2H_4_0003" id="h2H_4_0003"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    "THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW."
+</h2>
+
+<a name="image-0002"><!--IMG--></a>
+<img src="images/ill-009.png" width="150" height="250" style="float:left;"
+alt="Man playing violin" />
+<p>
+I heard a great master play on the wondrous violin; his bow quivered
+like the wing of a bird; in every quiver there was a melody, and every
+melody breathed a thought in language sweeter than was ever uttered by
+human tongue. I was conjured, I was mesmerized by his music. I thought I
+fell asleep under its power, and was rapt into the realm of visions and
+dreams. The enchanted violin broke out in tumult, and through the rifted
+shadows in my dream I thought I saw old ocean lashed to fury. The wing
+of the storm-god brooded above it, dark and lowering with night and
+tempest and war. I heard the shriek of the angry hurricane, the loud
+rattling musketry of rain, and
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page10" name="page10"></a>[10]</span>
+
+                               hail, and the louder and deadlier crash and
+roar of the red artillery on high. Its rumbling batteries, unlimbered on
+the vapory heights and manned by the fiery gunners of the storm, boomed
+their volleying thunders to the terrible rythm of the strife below. And
+in every stroke of the bow fierce lightnings leaped down from their dark
+pavilions of cloud, and, like armed angels of light, flashed their
+trenchant blades among the phantom squadrons marshalling for battle on
+the field of the deep. I heard the bugle blast and battle cry of the
+charging winds, wild and exultant, and then I saw the billowy monsters
+rise, like an army of Titans, to scale and carry the hostile heights of
+heaven. Assailing again and again, as often hurled back headlong into
+the ocean's abyss, they rolled, and surged, and writhed, and raged, till
+the affrighted earth trembled at the uproar of the warring elements.
+I saw the awful majesty and might of Jehovah flying on the wings of
+the tempest, planting his footsteps on the trackless deep, veiled in
+darkness and in clouds. There was a shifting of the bow; the storm died
+away in the distance, and the morning broke in floods of glory. Then the
+violin revived and poured
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>[11]</span>
+
+                          out its sweetest soul. In its music I heard
+the rustle of a thousand joyous wings, and a burst of song from a
+thousand joyous throats. Mockingbirds and linnets thrilled the glad
+air with warblings; gold finches, thrushes and bobolinks trilled their
+happiest tunes; and the oriole sang a lullaby to her hanging cradle that
+rocked in the wind. I heard the twitter of skimming swallows and the
+scattered covey's piping call; I heard the robin's gay whistle, the
+croaking of crows, the scolding of blue-jays, and the melancholy cooing
+of a dove. The swaying tree-tops seemed vocal with bird-song while he
+played, and the labyrinths of leafy shade echoed back the chorus. Then
+the violin sounded the hunter's horn, and the deep-mouthed pack of fox
+hounds opened loud and wild, far in the ringing woods, and it was like
+the music of a hundred chiming bells. There was a tremor of the bow,
+and I heard a flute play, and a harp, and a golden-mouthed cornet;
+I heard the mirthful babble of happy voices, and peals of laughter
+ringing in the swelling tide of pleasure. Then I saw a vision of snowy
+arms, voluptuous forms, and light fantastic slippered feet, all whirling
+and floating in the mazes of the misty dance. The
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>[12]</span>
+
+                                                   flying fingers now
+tripped upon the trembling strings like fairy-feet dancing on the
+nodding violets, and the music glided into a still sweeter strain.
+The violin told a story of human life. Two lovers strayed beneath the
+elms and oaks, and down by the river side, where daffodils and pansies
+bend and smile to rippling waves, and there, under the bloom of
+incense-breathing bowers, under the soothing sound of humming bees and
+splashing waters, there, the old, old story, so old and yet so new,
+conceived in heaven, first told in Eden and then handed down through
+all the ages, was told over and over again. Ah, those downward drooping
+eyes, that mantling blush, that trembling hand in meek submission
+pressed, that heaving breast, that fluttering heart, that whispered
+"yes," wherein a heaven lies&mdash;how well they told of victory won and
+paradise regained! And then he swung her in a grapevine swing. Young
+man, if you want to win her, wander with her amid the elms and oaks,
+and swing her in a grapevine swing.
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Swinging in the grapevine swing, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Laughing where the wild birds sing; </p>
+<p class="i3">    I dream and sigh for the days gone by, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Swinging in the grapevine swing." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>[13]</span>
+</p>
+
+<a name="image-0003"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-013.png" width="400" height="609"
+alt="&quot;SWINGING IN THE GRAPEVINE SWING.&quot;" />
+<br />
+"SWINGING IN THE GRAPEVINE SWING."
+</div>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>[14]</span>
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   But swiftly the tides of music run, and swiftly speed the hours; </p>
+<p class="i2">   Life's pleasures end when scarce begun, e'en as the summer flowers. </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+The violin laughed like a child and my dream changed again. I saw a
+cottage amid the elms and oaks and a little curly-head toddled at the
+door; I saw a happy husband and father return from his labors in the
+evening and kiss his happy wife and frolic with his baby. The purple
+glow now faded from the Western skies; the flowers closed their petals
+in the dewy slumbers of the night; every wing was folded in the bower;
+every voice was hushed; the full-orbed moon poured silver from the East,
+and God's eternal jewels flashed on the brow of night. The scene changed
+again while the great master played, and at midnight's holy hour, in the
+light of a lamp dimly burning, clad in his long, white mother-hubbard,
+I saw the disconsolate victim of love's young dream nervously walking
+the floor, in his bosom an aching heart, in his arms the squalling baby.
+On the drowsy air, like the sad wails of a lost spirit, fell his woeful
+voice singing:
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>[15]</span>
+</p>
+
+<a name="image-0004"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<a href="images/ill-015.png"><img src="images/music-015.png"  width="400" height="291" alt="Sheet Music" /></a>
+</div>
+<p class="midi"><a href="music/015.midi">(Listen to MIDI version of the above)</a>
+<br />
+Sheet Music: <a href="music/015.png">Page 1</a>.
+</p>
+
+<!--
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">     With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by, </p>
+<p class="i4">     Danc-ing the ba-by ev-er so high; with my </p>
+<p class="i4">     La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by </p>
+<p class="i4">     Mam-ma will come to you bye and bye. </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+-->
+
+<p>
+It was a battle with king colic. But this ancient invader of the empire
+of babyhood had sounded a precipitate retreat; the curly head had fallen
+over on the paternal shoulder; the tear-stained little face was almost
+calm in repose, when down went a naked heel square on an inverted tack.
+Over went the work table; down came the work basket, scissors and all;
+up went the heel with the tack sticking in it, and the hero of the
+daffodils and pansies, with a yell like the Indian war-whoop, and with
+his
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>[16]</span>
+
+    mother-hubbard now floating at half mast, hopped in agony to a lounge
+in the rear.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0005"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-016.png" width="400" height="475"
+alt="A BATTLE WITH KING COLIC." />
+<br />
+A BATTLE WITH KING COLIC.
+</div>
+<p>
+There was "weeping and gnashing of teeth;" there were hoarse mutterings;
+there was an angry shake of the screaming baby, which he
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>[17]</span>
+
+                                                          had awakened
+again. Then I heard an explosion of wrath from the warm blankets of the
+conjugal couch, eloquent with the music of "how dare you shake my little
+baby that way!!!! I'll tell pa to-morrow!" which instantly brought the
+trained husband into line again, singing:
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, dancing the baby ever so high,</p>
+<p class="i2">   With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, mamma will come to you bye and bye."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+The paregoric period of life is full of spoons and midnight squalls, but
+what is home without a baby?
+</p>
+<p>
+The bow now brooded like a gentle spirit over the violin, and the music
+eddied into a mournful tone; another year intervened; a little coffin
+sat by an empty cradle; the prints of baby fingers were on the window
+panes; the toys were scattered on the floor; the lullaby was hushed; the
+sobs and cries, the mirth and mischief, and the tireless little feet
+were no longer in the way to vex and worry. Sunny curls drooped above
+eyelids that were closed forever; two little cheeks were bloodless and
+cold, and two little dimpled hands were folded upon a motionless breast.
+The vibrant instrument sighed and
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>[18]</span>
+
+                                   wept; it rang the church bell's knell;
+and the second story of life, which is the sequel to the first, was told.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then I caught glimpses of a half-veiled paradise and a sweet breath from
+its flowers; I saw the hazy stretches of its landscapes, beautiful and
+gorgeous as Mahomet's vision of heaven; I heard the faint swells of its
+distant music and saw the flash of white wings that never weary, wafting
+to the bosom of God an infant spirit; a string snapped; the music ended;
+my vision vanished.
+</p>
+<p>
+The old Master is dead, but his music will live forever.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>[19]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0004" id="h2H_4_0004"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    CHERISH THE LITTLE ONES.
+</h2>
+<p>
+Do you sometimes forget and wound the hearts of your children with
+frowns and the dagger of cruel words, and sometimes with a blow?
+Do you sometimes, in your own peevishness, and your own meanness, wish
+yourself away from their fretful cries and noisy sports? Then think that
+to-morrow may ripen the wicked wish; tomorrow death may lay his hand
+upon a little fluttering heart and it will be stilled forever. 'Tis then
+you will miss the sunbeam and the sweet little flower that reflected
+heaven on the soul. Then cherish the little ones! Be tender with the
+babes! Make your homes beautiful! All that remains to us of paradise
+lost, clings about the home. Its purity, its innocence, its virtue,
+are there, untainted by sin, unclouded by guile. There woman shines,
+scarcely dimmed by the fall, reflecting the loveliness of Eden's first
+wife and mother; the grace, the beauty, the sweetness of the wifely
+relation, the tenderness of maternal affection, the graciousness
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>[20]</span>
+
+ of
+manner which once charmed angel guests, still glorify the home.
+</p>
+<p>
+If you would make your homes happy, you must make the children happy.
+Get down on the floor with your prattling boys and girls and play horse
+with them; take them on your back and gallop them to town; don't kick up
+and buck, but be a good and gentle old steed, and join in a hearty horse
+laugh in their merriment. Take the baby on your knee and gallop him to
+town; let him practice gymnastics on top of your head and take your
+scalp; let him puncture a hole in your ear with his little teeth, and
+bite off the end of the paternal nose. Make your homes beautiful with
+your duty and your love, make them bright with your mirth and your
+music.
+</p>
+<p>
+Victor Hugo said of Napoleon the Great: "The frontiers of kingdoms
+oscillated on the map. The sound of a super-human sword being drawn from
+its scabbard could be heard; and he was seen, opening in the thunder his
+two wings, the Grand Army and the Old Guard; he was the archangel of
+war." And when I read it I thought of the death and terror that followed
+wherever the shadow of the open wings fell. I
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>[21]</span>
+
+                                              thought of the blood that
+flowed, and the tears that were shed wherever the sword gleamed in his
+hand. I thought of the human skulls that paved Napoleon's way to St.
+Helena's barren rock, and I said, 'I would rather dwell in a log cabin,
+in the beautiful land of the mountains where I was born and reared, and
+sit at its humble hearthstone at night, and in the firelight, play the
+humble rural tunes on the fiddle to my happy children, and bask in the
+smiles of my sweet wife, than to be the 'archangel of war,' with my
+hands stained with human blood, or to make the 'frontiers of kingdoms
+oscillate on the map of the world, and then, away from home and kindred
+and country, die at last in exile and in solitude.'
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>[22]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0005" id="h2H_4_0005"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    FAT MEN AND BALD-HEADED MEN.
+</h2>
+<p>
+It ought to be the universal law that none but fat men and bald-headed
+men should be the heads of families, because they are always good
+natured, contented and easily managed. There is more music in a fat
+man's laugh than there is in a thousand orchestras or brass bands.
+Fat sides and bald heads are the symbols of music, innocence, and meek
+submission. O! ladies listen to the words of wisdom! Cultivate the
+society of fat men and bald-headed men, for "of such is the Kingdom of
+Heaven." And the fat women, God bless their old sober sides&mdash;they are
+"things of beauty, and a joy forever."
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>[23]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0006" id="h2H_4_0006"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE VIOLIN, THE POET LAUREATE OF MUSIC.
+</h2>
+<p>
+How sweet are the lips of morning that kiss the waking world! How sweet
+is the bosom of night that pillows the world to rest. But sweeter than
+the lips of morning, and sweeter than the bosom of night, is the voice
+of music that wakes a world of joys and soothes a world of sorrows.
+It is like some unseen ethereal ocean whose silver surf forever breaks
+in song; forever breaks on valley, hill, and craig, in ten thousand
+symphonies. There is a melody in every sunbeam, a sunbeam in every
+melody; there is a flower in every song, a love song in every flower;
+there is a sonnet in every gurgling fountain, a hymn in every brimming
+river, an anthem in every rolling billow. Music and light are twin
+angels of God, the first-born of heaven, and mortal ear and mortal eye
+have caught only the echo and the shadow of their celestial glories.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>[24]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+The violin is the poet laureate of music; violin of the virtuoso and
+master, <i>fiddle</i> of the untutored in the ideal art. It is the aristocrat
+of the palace and the hall; it is the <i>democrat</i> of the unpretentious
+home and humble cabin. As violin, it weaves its garlands of roses and
+camelias; as fiddle it scatters its modest violets. It is admired by the
+cultured for its magnificent powers and wonderful creations; it is loved
+by the millions for its simple melodies.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>[25]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0007" id="h2H_4_0007"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE CONVICT AND HIS FIDDLE.
+</h2>
+<p>
+One bright morning, just before Christmas day, an official stood in
+the Executive chamber in my presence as Governor of Tennessee, and
+said: "Governor, I have been implored by a poor miserable wretch in
+the penitentiary to bring you this rude fiddle. It was made by his own
+hands with a penknife during the hours allotted to him for rest. It is
+absolutely valueless, it is true, but it is his petition to you for
+mercy. He begged me to say that he has neither attorneys nor influential
+friends to plead for him; that he is poor, and all he asks is, that when
+the Governor shall sit at his own happy fireside on Christmas eve, with
+his own happy children around him, he will play one tune on this rough
+fiddle and think of a cabin far away in the mountains whose hearthstone
+is cold and desolate and surrounded by a family of poor little wretched,
+ragged children, crying for bread and waiting and listening for the
+footsteps of their father."
+</p>
+<p>
+Who would not have been touched by such an
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>[26]</span>
+
+                                            appeal? The record was
+examined; Christmas eve came; the Governor sat that night at his own
+happy fireside, surrounded by his own happy children; and he played one
+tune to them on that rough fiddle. The hearthstone of the cabin in the
+mountains was bright and warm; a pardoned prisoner sat with his baby on
+his knee, surrounded by <i>his</i> rejoicing children, and in the presence of
+<i>his</i> happy wife, and although there was naught but poverty around him,
+his heart sang: "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;" and
+then he reached up and snatched his fiddle down from the wall, and
+played "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>[27]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0008" id="h2H_4_0008"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    A VISION OF THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL.
+</h2>
+<p>
+Did you never hear a fiddler fiddle? I have. I heard a fiddler fiddle,
+and the hey-dey-diddle of his frolicking fiddle called back the happy
+days of my boyhood. The old field schoolhouse with its batten doors
+creaking on wooden hinges, its windows innocent of glass, and its great,
+yawning fireplace, cracking and roaring and flaming like the infernal
+regions, rose from the dust of memory and stood once more among the
+trees. The limpid spring bubbled and laughed at the foot of the hill.
+Flocks of nimble, noisy boys turned somersaults and skinned the cat and
+ran and jumped half hammon on the old play ground. The grim old teacher
+stood in the door; he had no brazen-mouthed bell to ring then as we have
+now, but he shouted at the top of his voice: "Come to books!!!" And they
+came. Not to come meant "war and rumors of war." The backless benches,
+high above the floor, groaned under the weight of irrepressible young
+America; the multitude of mischievous, shining
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>[28]</span>
+
+                                                faces, the bare legs and
+feet, swinging to and fro, and the mingled hum of happy voices, spelling
+aloud life's first lessons, prophesied the future glory of the State.
+The curriculum of the old field school was the same everywhere&mdash;one
+Webster's blue backed, elementary spelling book, one thumb-paper, one
+stone-bruise, one sore toe, and Peter Parley's Travels.
+</p>
+<p>
+The grim old teacher, enthroned on his split bottomed chair, looked
+terrible as an army with banners; and he presided with a dignity and
+solemnity which would have excited the envy of the United States Supreme
+Court: I saw the school commissioners visit him, and heard them question
+him as to his system of teaching. They asked him whether, in geography,
+he taught that the world was round, or that the world was flat. With
+great dignity he replied: "That depends upon whar I'm teachin'. If my
+patrons desire me to teach the round system, I teach it; if they desire
+me to teach the flat system, I teach that."
+</p>
+<p>
+At the old field school I saw the freshman class, barefooted and with
+pantaloons rolled up to the knees, stand in line under the ever uplifted
+rod, and I heard them sing the never-to-be-forgotten
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>[29]</span>
+
+                                                      b-a ba's. They sang
+them in the <i>olden</i> times, and this is the way they sang: "b-a ba, b-e
+be, b-i bi-ba be bi, b-o bo, b-u bu-ba be bi bo bu."
+</p>
+<p>
+I saw a sophomore dance a jig to the music of a dogwood sprout for
+throwing paper wads. I saw a junior compelled to stand on the dunce
+block, on one foot&mdash;(<i>a la</i> gander) for winking at his sweetheart in
+time of books, for failing to know his lessons, and for "various and
+sundry other high crimes and misdemeanors."
+</p>
+<p>
+A twist of the fiddler's bow brought a yell from the fiddle, and in
+my dream, I saw the school come pouring out into the open air. Then
+followed the games of "prisoner's base," "town-ball," "Antney-over;"
+"bull-pen" and "knucks," the hand to hand engagements with yellow
+jackets, the Bunker Hill and Brandywine battles with bumblebees, the
+charges on flocks of geese, the storming of apple orchards and hornet's
+nests, and victories over hostile "setting" hens. Then I witnessed the
+old field school "Exhibition"&mdash;the <i>wonderful</i> "exhibition"&mdash;they call
+it Commencement now. Did you never witness an old field school
+"exhibition," far out in the country, and listen to
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>[30]</span>
+
+                                                     its music? If you
+have not your life is a failure&mdash;you are a broken string in the harp of
+the universe. The old field school "exhibition" was the parade ground of
+the advance guard of civilization; it was the climax of great events in
+the olden times; and vast assemblies were swayed by the eloquence of the
+budding sockless statesmen. It was at the old field school "exhibition"
+that the goddess of liberty always received a broken nose, and the
+poetic muse a black eye; it was at the old field school "exhibition"
+that <i>Greece</i> and <i>Rome</i> rose and fell, in seas of gore, about every
+fifteen minutes in the day, and,
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  The American eagle, with unwearied flight,</p>
+<p class="i2">  Soared upward and upward, till he soared out of sight.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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 <i>was</i> 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;
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>[31]<br />[32]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>[32]</span>-->
+
+       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.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0006"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-031.png" width="400" height="591"
+alt="MUSIC OF THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL EXHIBITION." />
+<br />
+MUSIC OF THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL EXHIBITION.
+</div>
+<p>
+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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>[33]<br />[34]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>[34]</span>-->
+
+                           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.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0007"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-033.png" width="400" height="586"
+alt="THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL ORATOR." />
+<br />
+THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL ORATOR.
+</div>
+<p>
+"The boy stood on the burnin' deck whence all but him had fled&mdash;&mdash;The
+flames that lit the battle's wreck shown 'round him o'er the dead,
+yet beautiful and bright he stood&mdash;&mdash;the boy stood on the burnin'
+deck&mdash;&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;and fast the flames rolled on&mdash;&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;an' fast the flames rolled on.
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>[35]</span>
+
+                                                  He cried aloud: "say
+father, say, if <i>yit</i> my task is done," but his father wuz dead an'
+couldn't hear 'im, an' the boy he jist kep' a stan'in' there&mdash;&mdash;an' fast
+the flames rolled on.&mdash;&mdash;They caught like flag banners in the sky, an'
+at last the ol' biler busted, an' the boy he went up!!!!!!!!"
+</p>
+<p>
+At the close of this great speech the fiddle fainted as dead as a
+herring.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>[36]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0009" id="h2H_4_0009"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE QUILTING AND THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL.
+</h2>
+<p>
+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&mdash;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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>[37]</span>
+
+ 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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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"&mdash;another preferred the "pertater"&mdash;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."
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>[38]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+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&mdash;("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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>[39]</span>
+
+              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&mdash;"Sho'
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>[40]</span>
+
+             nuf, sho' nuf&mdash;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&mdash;"'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&mdash;"Yes, dat's 'possum grease sho,&mdash;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."
+</p>
+<p>
+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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>[41]</span>
+
+                           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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+At length uncle "Ephraham" shouted: "Git yo' pardners for a
+cow-tillion."
+</p>
+<p>
+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:
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "Lay down de shovel an' de hoe&mdash;hoe&mdash;hoe, hang up de fiddle an' de bow,</p>
+<p class="i2">   For dar's no mo' work for poor ol' Ned&mdash;he's gone whar de good niggahs go."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he began! "Honah yo'
+pardnahs! swing dem co'nahs&mdash;swing yo' pardnahs! fust couple for'd an'
+back! half right an' leff fru! back agin! swing dem co'nahs&mdash;swing yo'
+pardnahs! nex'
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>[42]</span>
+
+               couple for'd an' back! half right and leff fru! back agin!
+swing dem co'nahs&mdash;swing yo' pardnahs! fust couple to de right&mdash;lady in
+de centah&mdash;han's all around&mdash;suhwing!!!&mdash;nex' couple suhwing!!! nex'
+couple suhwing!!! suh-wing, suh-wing, suh-wing!!!!!!"
+</p>
+<a name="image-0008"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-042.png" width="400" height="455"
+alt="UNCLE &quot;EPHRAHAM&quot; CALLING THE FIGURES OF THE DANCE." />
+<br />
+UNCLE "EPHRAHAM" CALLING THE FIGURES OF THE DANCE.
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>[43]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+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&mdash;stop de dance&mdash;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."
+</p>
+<p>
+And then the dancing subsided for the candy-pulling.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>[44]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0010" id="h2H_4_0010"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE CANDY PULLING
+</h2>
+<p>
+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:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Oh! Sister Ph&oelig;be, how merry were we, </p>
+<p class="i3">    When we sat under the juniper tree&mdash; </p>
+<p class="i3">    The juniper tree-I-O." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>[45]</span>
+
+            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&mdash;the boys got taffy on their chins; the girls got taffy on their
+waists&mdash;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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>[46]</span>
+
+                                       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.
+</p>
+<p class="center">
+(Sung by Gov. Taylor to air of "Down on the Farm.")
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   In the happy long ago, </p>
+<p class="i2">   When I used to draw the bow, </p>
+<p class="i2">   At the old log cabin hearthstone all aglow, </p>
+<p class="i2">   Oh! the fiddle laughed and sung, </p>
+<p class="i2">   And the puncheons fairly rung, </p>
+<p class="i2">   With the clatter of the shoe soles long ago. </p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   Oh! the merry swings and whirls </p>
+<p class="i2">   Of the happy boys and girls, </p>
+<p class="i2">   In the good old time cotillion long ago! </p>
+<p class="i2">   Oh! they danced the highland fling, </p>
+<p class="i2">   And they cut the pigeon wing, </p>
+<p class="i2">   To the music of the fiddle and the bow. </p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   But the mischief and the mirth, </p>
+<p class="i2">   And the frolics 'round the hearth, </p>
+<p class="i2">   And the flitting of the shadows to and fro, </p>
+<p class="i2">   Like a dream have passed away&mdash; </p>
+<p class="i2">   Now I'm growing old and gray, </p>
+<p class="i2">   And I'll soon hang up the fiddle and the bow. </p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   When a few more notes I've made, </p>
+<p class="i2">   When a few more tunes I've played, </p>
+<p class="i2">   I'll be sleeping where the snowy daises grow. </p>
+<p class="i2">   But my griefs will all be o'er </p>
+<p class="i2">   When I reach the happy shore, </p>
+<p class="i2">   Where I'll greet the friends who loved me long ago. </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Oh! how sweet, how precious to us all are the memories of the happy long
+ago!
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>[47]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="image-0009"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-047.png" width="400" height="464"
+alt="THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL." />
+<br />
+THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL.
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>[48]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0011" id="h2H_4_0011"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE BANQUET.
+</h2>
+<p>
+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&mdash;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:
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>[49]</span>
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Landlord, fill the flowing bowl </p>
+<p class="i3">    Until it doth run over; </p>
+<p class="i3">    Landlord fill the flowing bowl </p>
+<p class="i3">    Until it doth run over; </p>
+<p class="i3">    For to-night we'll merry merry be, </p>
+<p class="i3">    For to-night we'll merry merry be, </p>
+<p class="i3">    For to-night we'll merry merry be; </p>
+<p class="i3">    And to-morrow we'll get sober." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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&mdash;"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:
+</p>
+<p>
+"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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>[50]</span>
+
+                                            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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>[51]<br />[52]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>[52]</span>-->
+
+ banquet&mdash;Oh! woman, woman, woman! when the mornin' stars sung together
+for joy&mdash;an' woman&mdash;God bless 'er&mdash;&mdash;Great God, feller citerzens, caint
+you understand!!!!"
+</p>
+
+<a name="image-0010"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-051.png" width="400" height="284"
+alt="THE BANQUET." />
+<br />
+THE BANQUET.
+</div>
+
+<p>
+At the close of this great speech the curtain fell to slow music, and
+there was a panic in land stocks.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>[53]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0012" id="h2H_4_0012"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THERE IS MUSIC ALL AROUND US.
+</h2>
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   From Maine's dark pines and crags of snow </p>
+<p class="i2">   To where magnolia breezes blow; </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+It stretches from the Atlantic Ocean on the east, to the Pacific Ocean
+on the west"&mdash;and an old fellow jumped up in my crowd and threw his hat
+in the air and shouted: "Let 'er stretch, durn 'er&mdash;hurrah for the
+Dimocrat Party."
+</p>
+<p>
+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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>[54]</span>
+
+ 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&mdash;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&mdash;he's goin' to be
+a bolitician."
+</p>
+<p>
+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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>[55]</span>
+
+ 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:
+</p>
+<p>
+"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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>[56]</span>
+
+ 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."
+</p>
+<p>
+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
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page57" name="page57"></a>[57]</span>
+
+ like a roaring lion, to join issue in the great debate, and thus he
+"joined:"
+</p>
+<p>
+"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&mdash;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.
+</p>
+<p>
+"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?
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page58" name="page58"></a>[58]</span>
+
+ That's the pint in this canvass. He got it in the back,
+a-leadin' of the revance guard on the retreat&mdash;that's whar he got it."
+</p>
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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&mdash;the lives and actions
+of the millions.
+</p>
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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 our
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page59" name="page59"></a>[59]</span>
+
+ pioneer 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&mdash;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.
+</p>
+<p>
+The glory and strength of the Republic today are its plain working
+people.
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Princes and Lords may flourish and may fade, </p>
+<p class="i3">    A breath can make them, as a breath has made; </p>
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page60" name="page60"></a>[60]</span>
+</div>
+<p class="i3">    But an honest yeomanry&mdash;a Country's pride, </p>
+<p class="i3">    When once destroyed, can never be supplied;" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Long live the common people of America! Long live the fiddle and the
+bow, the symbols of their mirth and merriment!
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page61" name="page61"></a>[61]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0013" id="h2H_4_0013"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE TWO COLUMNS.
+</h2>
+<p>
+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.
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page62" name="page62"></a>[62]</span>
+
+ 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!"
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63"></a>[63]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0014" id="h2H_4_0014"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THERE IS A MELODY FOR EVERY EAR.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0011"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-063.png" width="400" height="347"
+alt="THE MID-NIGHT SERENADE." />
+<br />
+THE MID-NIGHT SERENADE.
+</div>
+<p>
+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. The
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page64" name="page64"></a>[64]</span>
+
+ gabble 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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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."
+</p>
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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:
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page65" name="page65"></a>[65]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="image-0012"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<a href="images/ill-065.png"><img src="images/music-065.png" width="400" height="291" alt="Sheet Music" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<!--
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Men may come and men may go, but </p>
+<p class="i3">    I go on 'for-ev-oor' 'ev-oor' </p>
+<p class="i3">    I go on 'for-ev-o-o-r' 'e-v-o-o-r' </p>
+<p class="i3">    I go on 'for-ev-oor.'" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+-->
+
+<p class="midi"><a href="music/065.midi">(Listen to MIDI version of the above)</a>
+<br />
+Sheet Music: <a href="music/065.png">Page 1</a>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is a thing of beauty, and a "nightmare" forever.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66"></a>[66]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0015" id="h2H_4_0015"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    MUSIC IS THE WINE OF THE SOUL.
+</h2>
+<p>
+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, <i>up to man</i>.
+</p>
+<p>
+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 rise
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page67" name="page67"></a>[67]</span>
+
+ again!" 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&mdash;that's the reason!" So, life hath its discords as well as its
+harmonies.
+</p>
+<p>
+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 down
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page68" name="page68"></a>[68]<br />[69]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page69" name="page69"></a>[69]</span>-->
+
+ head-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'&mdash;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&mdash;&mdash;!"
+</p>
+<a name="image-0013"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-068.png" width="400" height="505"
+alt="MR. &quot;RICKETY.&quot;" />
+<br />
+MR. "RICKETY."
+</div>
+<p>
+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,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page70" name="page70"></a>[70]</span>
+
+ 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:
+</p>
+<p>
+"Gen'lmen, (hic) you'll have to excuse me, (hic) I'm a stranger in this
+town!"
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page71" name="page71"></a>[71]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="image-0014"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-071.png" width="400" height="500"
+alt="AFTER THE BANQUET." />
+<br />
+AFTER THE BANQUET.
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page72" name="page72"></a>[72]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0016" id="h2H_4_0016"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE OLD TIME SINGING SCHOOL.
+</h2>
+<p>
+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:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "The rose is red; the violet's blue&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i3">   Sugar is sweet, and so are you."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+She read it and blushed, and turned it over and wrote on the back of it:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "As sure as the vine clings 'round the stump,</p>
+<p class="i3">   I'll be your sweet little sugar lump."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+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, several
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page73" name="page73"></a>[73]</span>
+
+ inches 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.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0015"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-074.png" width="400" height="273"
+alt="THE SINGING MASTER DELIVERING HIS GREAT SPEECH." />
+<br />
+THE SINGING MASTER DELIVERING HIS GREAT SPEECH.
+</div>
+<p>
+"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
+compromised
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page74" name="page74"></a>[74]<br />[75]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved up-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page75" name="page75"></a>[75]</span>-->
+
+            in ascending notes and half notes, thus:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  Do re mi fa sol la si do&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i2">  Do si la sol fa mi re do.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+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&mdash;sol mi do&mdash;All in unison&mdash;one, two, three, <i>sing</i>:
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76"></a>[76]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="image-0016"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<a href="images/ill-076.png"><img src="images/music-076.png" width="400" height="291" alt="Sheet Music" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<p class="midi"><a href="music/076.midi">(Listen to MIDI version of the above)</a>
+<br />
+Sheet Music: <a href="music/076.png">Page 1</a>.
+</p>
+
+<!--
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   Sol sol, mi fa sol, la sol fa, re re re, re mi fa </p>
+<p class="i2">   Re mi fa, sol fa mi, do do do&mdash; </p>
+<p class="i2">   Si do re, re re re, mi do si do, re do si la sol, </p>
+<p class="i2">   Si do re, re mi fa sol la, sol fa mi, do do do." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+-->
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page77" name="page77"></a>[77]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="image-0017"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-077.png" width="200" height="428"
+alt="BEATING TIME." />
+<br />
+BEATING TIME.
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page78" name="page78"></a>[78]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0017" id="h2H_4_0017"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE GRAND OPERA.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0018"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div style="float: left; width: 150px;" class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-078.png" width="150" height="276"
+alt="THE GRAND OPERA SINGER." />
+<br />
+THE GRAND OPERA SINGER.
+</div>
+<p>
+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&mdash;an humble young man from the
+mountains who never before had heard the <i>Grand Opera</i>:
+</p>
+
+<a name="image-0019"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="clear:both;">
+<a href="images/ill-078-079.png"><img src="images/music-078.png" width="400" height="691" alt="Sheet Music" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<p class="midi"><a href="music/078-079.midi">(Listen to MIDI version of the above)</a>
+<br />
+Sheet Music: <a href="music/078-079.png">Page 1</a>.
+</p>
+
+<!--
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "When ethaer-r-r leeps and ethaer-r-r hairts,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Their-r-r
+-->
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page79" name="page79"></a>[79]<br />[80]</span>
+
+<!--
+                            tales auf luff sholl tell, </p>
+<p class="i3">    In longwidge whose ex-cess impair-r-r-ts. </p>
+<p class="i3">    The power-r-r-r they feel so well, </p>
+<p class="i3">    There-r-r-e may per-haps in-a such a s-c-e-n-e </p>
+<p class="i3">    Some r-r-re-co-lec-tion be, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Auf days thot haive as hop-py bean&mdash; </p>
+<p class="i3">    Then you'll-a r-r-r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r-r me-e-e, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Then you'll-a r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r, </p>
+<p class="i3">    You'll-a r-re-mem-ber a-me-e-e!!" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+-->
+
+<!--<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80"></a>[80]</span></p>-->
+
+<a name="h2H_4_0018" id="h2H_4_0018"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    MUSIC.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0020"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div style="float: left; width: 83px;" class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-080.png" width="83" height="273"
+alt="Harp" />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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!
+</p>
+<p>
+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 ever
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page81" name="page81"></a>[81]</span>
+
+ new as the flitting hours, have floated on the air
+of heaven. The Seraph stood, with outstretched wings, on the horizon
+of heaven&mdash;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.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page82" name="page82"></a>[82]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="image-0021"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-082.png" width="150" height="125"
+alt="Bird" />
+<br />
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page83" name="page83"></a>[83]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0019" id="h2H_4_0019"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    "THE PARADISE OF FOOLS."
+</h2>
+<p>
+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
+harmless
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page84" name="page84"></a>[84]</span>
+
+ tigers 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 a
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page85" name="page85"></a>[85]</span>
+
+ faultless 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;
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "The lark was so brim-full of gladness and love,</p>
+<p class="i3">   The green fields below him&mdash;the blue sky above,</p>
+<p class="i3">   That he sang, and he sang, and forever sang he:</p>
+<p class="i3">   I love my Love, and my Love loves me."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+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:
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page86" name="page86"></a>[86]</span>
+</p>
+
+<a name="image-0022"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width: 301px;">
+<img src="images/ill-086a.png" width="301" height="266"
+alt="JULIET." />
+<br />
+JULIET.
+</div>
+<p class="center" style="clear:both; padding-top: 2em;">
+(Sung to the air of My Sweetheart's the Man in the Moon.)
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "My sweetheart's the lovely baboon, </p>
+<p class="i3">    I'm going to marry him soon; </p>
+<p class="i3">    'Twould fill me with joy </p>
+<p class="i3">    Just to kiss the dear boy, </p>
+<p class="i3">    For his charms and his beauty </p>
+<p class="i3">    No power can destroy." </p>
+</div>
+<a name="image-0023"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:right; width: 150px;">
+<img src="images/ill-086b.png" width="150" height="203"
+alt="ROMEO." />
+<br />
+ROMEO.
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "I'll sit in the light of the moon, </p>
+<p class="i3">    And sing to my darling baboon, </p>
+<p class="i3">    When I'm safe by his side </p>
+<p class="i3">    And he calls me his bride; </p>
+<p class="i3">    Oh! my Angel, my precious baboon!" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p style="clear:both; padding-top: 2em;">
+All paradise was imbued with the spirit of love. Oh, that it could have
+remained
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page87" name="page87"></a>[87]</span>
+
+ so 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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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 the
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page88" name="page88"></a>[88]</span>
+
+ flaming
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+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,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page89" name="page89"></a>[89]</span>
+
+ 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" hope <i>does</i> see a star! It is the star of
+Bethlehem. Thank God, "listening Love" <i>does</i> "hear the rustle of a
+wing!" It is the wing of the resurrection angel.
+</p>
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page90" name="page90"></a>[90]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0020" id="h2H_4_0020"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE PARADISE OF CHILDHOOD.
+</h2>
+<p>
+I saw a blue-eyed child, with sunny curls, toddling on the lawn before
+the door of a happy home. He toddled under the trees, prattling to the
+birds and playing with the ripening apples that fell upon the ground.
+He toddled among the roses and plucked their leaves as he would have
+plucked an angel's wing, strewing their glory upon the green grass at
+his feet. He chased the butterflies from flower to flower, and shouted
+with glee as they eluded his grasp and sailed away on the summer air.
+Here I thought his childish fancy had built a paradise and peopled it
+with dainty seraphim and made himself its Adam. He saw the sunshine
+of Eden glint on every leaf and beam in every petal. The flitting
+honey-bee, the wheeling June-bug, the fluttering breeze, the silvery
+pulse-beat of the dashing brook sounded in his ear notes of its swelling
+music. The iris-winged humming-bird, darting like a sunbeam, to kiss the
+pouting lips
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page91" name="page91"></a>[91]<br />[92]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page92" name="page92"></a>[92]</span>-->
+
+ of the upturned flowers was, to him, the impersonation of
+its beauty. And I said: Truly, this is the nearest approach in this
+world, to the paradise of long ago. Then I saw him skulking like a
+cupid, in the shrubbery, his skirts bedraggled and soiled, his face
+downcast with guilt. He had stirred up the Mediterranean Sea in the slop
+bucket, and waded the Atlantic Ocean in a mud puddle. He had capsized
+the goslings, and shipwrecked the young ducks, and drowned the kitten
+which he imagined a whale, and I said: <i>There</i> is the original Adam
+coming to the surface.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0024"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-091.png" width="400" height="500"
+alt="THE PARADISE OF CHILDHOOD." />
+<br />
+THE PARADISE OF CHILDHOOD.
+</div>
+<p>
+"Lo'd bless my soul! Jist look at dat chile!" shouted his dusky old
+nurse, as she lifted him, dripping, from the reeking pond. "What's you
+bin doin' in dat mud puddle? Look at dat face, an' dem hands an' close,
+all kivvered wid mud an' mulberry juice! You bettah not let yo' mammy
+see you while you's in dat fix. You's gwine to ketch it sho'. You's jist
+zackly like yo' fader&mdash;allers git'n into some scrape or nuddah, allers
+breakin' into some kind uv devilment&mdash;gwine to break into congrus some
+uv dese days sho'. Come along wid me dis instinct to de baff tub. I's
+a-gwine to dispurgate
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page93" name="page93"></a>[93]</span>
+
+ dem close an' 'lucidate some uv dat dirt off'n
+dat face uv yone, you triflin' rascal you!" And so saying, she carried
+him away, kicking and screaming like a young savage in open rebellion,
+and I said: <i>There</i> is some more of the original Adam. Then I saw him
+come forth again, washed and combed, and dressed in spotless white, like
+a young butterfly fresh from its chrysalis. And when he got a chance,
+I saw him slip on his tip-toes, into the pantry;
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">  I heard the clink of glassware,</span><br />
+<span class="i2">  As if a mouse were playing there,</span>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p style="text-indent: 0;">
+ among the jam pots and preserves. There two little dimpled hands made
+trip after trip to a rose-colored mouth, bearing burdens of mingling
+sweets that dripped from cheek, and chin, and waist, and skirt, and
+shoes, subduing the snowy white with the amber of the peach, and the
+purple of the raspberry, as he ate the forbidden fruit. Then I watched
+him glide into the drawing room. There was a crash and a thud in there,
+which quickly brought his frightened mother to the scene, only to find
+the young rascal standing there catching his breath, while streams of
+cold ink trickled down his drenched bosom. And as he wiped his inky
+face, which
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page94" name="page94"></a>[94]<br />[95]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page95" name="page95"></a>[95]</span>-->
+
+ grew blacker with every wipe, the remainder of the ink was
+pouring from the bottle down on the carpet, and making a map of darkest
+Africa. Then the rear of a small skirt went up over a curly head and the
+avenging slipper, in lightning strokes, kept time to the music in the
+air. And I said: <i>There</i> is "<i>Paradise Lost</i>." The sympathizing, half
+angry old nurse bore her weeping, sobbing charge to the nursery and
+there bound up his broken heart and soothed him to sleep with her old
+time lullaby:
+</p>
+<a name="image-0025"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-094.png" width="400" height="295"
+alt="PARADISE LOST." />
+<br />
+PARADISE LOST.
+</div>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Oh, don't you cry little baby, Oh, don't you cry no mo', </p>
+<p class="i3">    For it hurts ol' mammy's feelin's fo' to heah you weepin' so. </p>
+<p class="i3">    Why don't da keep temptation frum de little han's an' feet? </p>
+<p class="i3">    What makes 'em 'buse de baby kaze de jam an' zarves am sweet? </p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">    Oh, de sorrow, tribulations, dat de joys of mortals break, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Oh, it's heb'n when we slumber, it's trouble when we wake. </p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">    Oh, go to sleep my darlin', now close dem little eyes, </p>
+<p class="i3">    An' dream uv de shinin' angels, an' de blessed paradise; </p>
+<p class="i3">    Oh, dream uv de blood-red roses, an' de birds on snowy wing; </p>
+<p class="i3">    Oh, dream uv de fallin' watahs an' de never endin' spring. </p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">    Oh, de roses, Oh, de rainbows, Oh, de music's gentle swell, </p>
+<p class="i3">    In de dreamland uv little childun, whar de blessed sperrits dwell." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+"Dar now, dar now, he's gone. Bless its little heart, da treats it like
+a dog." And then
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page96" name="page96"></a>[96]<br />[97]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page97" name="page97"></a>[97]</span>-->
+
+ she tucked him away in the paradise of his childish
+slumber.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0026"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-096.png" width="250" height="400"
+alt="OLD BLACK &quot;MAMMY.&quot;" />
+<br />
+OLD BLACK "MAMMY."
+</div>
+<p>
+The day will come when the South will build a monument to the good old
+black mammy of the past for the lullabies she has sung.
+</p>
+<p>
+I sometimes wish that childhood might last forever. That sweet fairy
+land on the frontier of life, whose skies are first lighted with the
+sunrise of the soul, and in whose bright-tinted jungles the lions, and
+leopards, and tigers of passion still peacefully sleep. The world is
+disarmed by its innocence, the drawn bow is relaxed, and the arrow is
+returned to its quiver; the Ægis of Heaven is above it, the outstretched
+wings of mercy, pity, and measureless love!
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page98" name="page98"></a>[98]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0021" id="h2H_4_0021"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0027"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width: 150px;">
+<img src="images/ill-098.png" width="150" height="168" alt="boy, fishing" />
+</div>
+<p>
+I would rather be a barefooted boy with cheeks of tan and heart of joy
+than to be a millionaire and president of a National bank. The financial
+panic that falls like a thunderbolt, wrecks the bank, crushes the
+banker, and swamps thousands in an hour. But the bank which holds the
+treasures of the barefooted boy never breaks. With his satchel and his
+books he hies away to school in the morning, but his truant feet carry
+him the other way, to the mill pond "a-fishin'." And there he sits the
+livelong day under the shade of the tree, with sapling pole and pin
+hook, and fishes, and fishes, and fishes, and waits for a nibble of the
+drowsy sucker that sleeps on his oozy bed, oblivious of the baitless
+hook from which he has long since stolen the worm. There he sits, and
+fishes,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page99" name="page99"></a>[99]<br />[100]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>[100]</span>-->
+
+ and fishes, and fishes, and like Micawber, waits for something
+to "turn-up." But nothing turns up until the shadows of evening fall and
+warn the truant home, where he is welcomed with a dogwood sprout. Then
+"sump'n" <i>does</i> turn up. He obeys the call of the Sunday school bell,
+and goes with solemn face, but e'er the "sweet bye and bye" has died
+away on the summer air, he is in the wood shed playing Sullivan and
+Corbett with some plucky comrade, with the inevitable casualties of
+<i>one</i> closed eye, <i>one</i> crippled nose, <i>one</i> pair of torn breeches and
+<i>one</i> bloody toe. He takes a back seat at church, and in the midst of
+the sermon steals away and hides in the barn to smoke cigarettes and
+read the story of "One-eyed Pete, the Hero of the <i>wild</i> and <i>woolly</i>
+West." There is eternal war between the barefooted boy and the whole
+civilized world. He shoots the cook with a blow-gun; he cuts the strings
+of the hammock and lets his dozing grandmother fall to the ground; he
+loads his grandfather's pipe with powder; he instigates a fight between
+the cat and dog during family prayers, and explodes with laughter when
+pussy seeks refuge on the old man's back. He hides in the alley and
+turns
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>[101]</span>
+
+ the hose on uncle Ephraim's standing collar as he passes on his
+way to church, he cracks chestnut burrs with his naked heel; he robs
+birds' nests, and murders bullfrogs, and plays "knucks" and "base-ball."
+He puts asafetida in the soup, and conceals lizzards in his father's
+hat. He overwhelms the family circle with his magnificent literary
+attainments when he reads from the Bible in what he calls the "pasalms
+of David"&mdash;"praise ye the Lord with the pizeltry and the harp."
+</p>
+<a name="image-0028"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-099.png" width="400" height="325"
+alt="THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY." />
+<br />
+THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY.
+</div>
+<p>
+His father took him to town one day and said to him: "Now John, I want
+you to stay here on the corner with the wagon and watch these potatoes
+while I go round the square and see if I can sell them. Don't open your
+mouth sir, while I am gone; I'm afraid people will think you're a fool."
+While the old man was gone the merchant came out and said to John: "What
+are those potatoes worth, my son?" John looked at him and grinned. "What
+are those potatoes worth, I say?" asked the merchant. John still looked
+at him and grinned. The merchant turned on his heel and said: "You're a
+fool," and went back into his store. When the old man returned John
+shouted: "Pap,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>[102]</span>
+
+ they found it out and I never said a word."
+</p>
+<p>
+His life is an endless chain of pranks and pleasures. Look how the
+brawling brook pours down the steep declivities of the mountain gorge!
+Here it breaks into pearls and silvery foam, there it dashes in rapids,
+among brown bowlders, and yonder it tumbles from the gray crest of a
+precipice. Thus, forever laughing, singing, rollicking, romping, till
+it is checked in its mad rush and spreads into a still, smooth mirror,
+reflecting the inverted images of rock, and fern, and flower, and tree,
+and sky. It is the symbol of the life of a barefooted boy. His quips,
+and cranks, his whims, and jollities, and jocund mischief, are but the
+effervescences of exuberant young life, the wild music of the mountain
+stream.
+</p>
+<p>
+If I were a sculptor, I would chisel from the marble my ideal of the
+monumental fool. I would make it the figure of a man, with knitted brow
+and clinched teeth, beating and bruising his barefooted boy, in the
+cruel endeavor to drive him from the paradise of his childish fun and
+folly. If your boy <i>will</i> be a boy, let him be a boy still. And remember
+that he is following the paths which your feet have trodden, and will
+soon
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page103" name="page103"></a>[103]<br />[104]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page104" name="page104"></a>[104]</span>-->
+
+ look back upon its precious memories, as you now do, with the
+aching heart of a care-worn man.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0029"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-103.png" width="300" height="397"
+alt="THE WILD MUSIC OF THE MOUNTAINS." />
+<br />
+THE WILD MUSIC OF THE MOUNTAINS.
+</div>
+<p class="center">
+(Sung to the air of Down on the Farm.)
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   Oh, I love the dear old farm, and my heart grows young and warm, </p>
+<p class="i4">     When I wander back to spend a single day; </p>
+<p class="i2">   There to hear the robins sing in the trees around the spring, </p>
+<p class="i4">     Where I used to watch the happy children play. </p>
+<p class="i2">   Oh, I hear their voices yet and I never shall forget </p>
+<p class="i4">     How their faces beamed with childish mirth and glee. </p>
+<p class="i2">   But my heart grows old again and I leave the spot in pain, </p>
+<p class="i4">     When I call them and no answer comes to me. </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105"></a>[105]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0022" id="h2H_4_0022"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE PARADISE OF YOUTH.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0030"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width:200px;">
+<img src="images/ill-105.png" width="200" height="359"
+alt="THE PARADISE OF YOUTH." />
+<br />
+THE PARADISE OF YOUTH.
+</div>
+<p>
+If childhood is the sunrise of life, youth is the heyday of life's ruddy
+June. It is the sweet solstice in life's early summer, which puts forth
+the fragrant bud and blossom of sin e'er its bitter fruits ripen and
+turn to ashes on the lips of age. It is the happy transition period,
+when long legs, and loose joints, and verdant awkwardness, first stumble
+on the vestibule of manhood. Did you never observe him shaving
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page106" name="page106"></a>[106]</span>
+
+ and
+scraping his pimpled face till it resembled a featherless goose, reaping
+nothing but lather, and dirt, and a little intangible fuzz? That is the
+first symptom of love. Did you never observe him wrestling with a pair
+of boots two numbers too small, as Jacob wrestled with the angel? That
+is another symptom of love. His callous heel slowly and painfully yields
+to the pressure of his perspiring paroxysms until his feet are folded
+like fans and driven home in the pinching leather; and as he sits at
+church with them hid under the bench, his uneasy squirms are symptoms of
+the tortures of the infernal regions, and the worm that dieth not; but
+that is only the penalty of loving. When he begins to wander through the
+fragrant meadows and talk to himself among the buttercups and clover
+blossoms, it is a sure sign that the golden shaft of the winged god has
+sped from its bended bow. Love's archer has shot a poisoned arrow which
+wounds but never kills. The sweet venom has done its work. The fever of
+the amorous wound drives the red current bounding through his veins, and
+his brain now reels with the delirium of the tender passion. His soul is
+wrapped in visions of dreamy black eyes peeping
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107"></a>[107]</span>
+
+ out from under raven
+curls, and cheeks like gardens of roses. To him the world is transformed
+into a blooming Eden, and <i>she</i> is its only Eve. He hears her voice in
+the sound of the laughing waters, the fluttering of her heart in the
+summer evening's last sigh that shuts the rose; and he sits on the bank
+of the river all day long and writes poetry to her. Thus he writes:
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "As I sit by this river's crystal wave, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Whose flow'ry banks its waters lave, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Me-thinks I see in its glassy mirror, </p>
+<p class="i3">    A face which to me, than life is dearer. </p>
+<p class="i3">    Oh, 'tis the face of my Gwendolin, </p>
+<p class="i3">    As pure as an angel, free from sin. </p>
+<p class="i3">    It looks into mine with one sweet eye, </p>
+<p class="i3">    While the other is turned to the starry sky. </p>
+<p class="i3">    Could I the ocean's bulk contain, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Could I but drink the watery main, </p>
+<p class="i3">    I'd scarce be half as full of the sea, </p>
+<p class="i3">    As my heart is full of love for thee!" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Thus he lives and loves, and writes poetry by day, and tosses on his bed
+at night, like the restless sea, and dreams, and dreams, and dreams,
+until, in the ecstacy of his dream, he grabs a pillow.
+</p>
+<p>
+One bright summer day, a rural youth took his sweetheart to a Baptist
+baptizing; and, in addition to his verdancy and his awkwardness, he
+stuttered most distressingly. The singing
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page108" name="page108"></a>[108]</span>
+
+ began on the bank of the
+stream; and he left his sweetheart in the buggy, in the shade of a tree
+near by, and wandered alone in the crowd. Standing unconsciously among
+those who were to be baptized, the old parson mistook him for one of the
+converts, and seized him by the arm and marched him into the water. He
+began to protest: "ho-ho-hold on p-p-p-parson, y-y-y-you're ma-ma-makin'
+a mi-mi-mistake!!!" "Don't be alarmed my son, come right in," said the
+parson. And he led him to the middle of the stream. The poor fellow made
+one final desperate effort to explain&mdash;"p-p-p-p-parson, l-l-l-l-let me
+explain!" But the parson coldly said: "Close your mouth and eyes, my
+son!" And he soused him under the water. After he was thoroughly
+baptized the old parson led him to the bank, the muddy water trickling
+down his face. He was "diked" in his new seersucker suit, and when the
+sun struck it, it began to draw up. The legs of his pants drew up to his
+knees; his sleeves drew up to his elbows; his little sack coat yanked up
+under his arms. And as he stood there trembling and shivering, a good
+old sister approached him, and taking him by the hand said: "God bless
+you, my son,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page109" name="page109"></a>[109]<br />[110]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page110" name="page110"></a>[110]</span>-->
+
+ how do you feel?" Looking, in his agony, at his blushing
+sweetheart behind her fan, he replied in his anguish: "I fe-fe-fe-feel
+l-l-l-l-like a d-d-d-d-durned f-f-f-f-fool!"
+</p>
+<a name="image-0031"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-109.png" width="400" height="239"
+alt="THE SEERSUCKER YOUTH AT THE BAPTIZING." />
+<br />
+THE SEERSUCKER YOUTH AT THE BAPTIZING.
+</div>
+<p>
+If I were called upon to drink a toast to life's happiest period,
+I would hold up the sparkling wine, and say: "Here is to youth, that
+sweet, Seidlitz powder period, when two souls with scarcely a single
+thought, meet and blend in one; when a voice, half gosling, half
+calliope, rasps the first sickly confession of puppy love into the
+ear of a blue-sashed maiden at the picnic in the grove!" But when she
+returns his little greasy photograph, accompanied by a little perfumed
+note, expressing the hope that he will think of her only as a sister,
+his paradise is wrecked, and his puppy love is swept into the limbo
+of things that were, the school boy's tale, the wonder of an hour.
+</p>
+<p>
+But wait till the shadows have a little longer grown. Wait till the
+young lawyer comes home from college, spouting Blackstone, and Kent, and
+Ram on facts. Wait till the young doctor returns from the university,
+with his whiskers and his diploma, to tread the paths of glory, "that
+lead but to the grave." Wait
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page111" name="page111"></a>[111]</span>
+
+ till society gives welcome in the
+brilliant ball, and the swallow-tail coat, and the patent leather pumps
+whirl with the decollette and white slippers till the stars are drowning
+in the light of morning. Wait till the graduate staggers from the giddy
+hall, in full evening dress, singing as he staggers:
+</p>
+
+<a name="image-0032"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width:200px; padding-right: 1em;">
+<img src="images/ill-111.png" width="200" height="284"
+alt="AFTER THE BALL." />
+<br />
+AFTER THE BALL.
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "After the ball is over, after the break of morn,</p>
+<p class="i3">   After the dancer's leavin', after the stars are gone;</p>
+<p class="i3">   Many a heart is aching, if we could read them all&mdash;</p>
+<p class="i3">   Many the hopes that are vanished, after the ball."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+It is then that "somebody's darling" has reached the full tide of his
+glory as a fool.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page112" name="page112"></a>[112]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0023" id="h2H_4_0023"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em; clear:both;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE PARADISE OF HOME.
+</h2>
+<p>
+How rich would be the feast of happiness in this beautiful world of
+ours, could folly end with youth. But youth is only the first act in
+the "Comedy of Errors." It is the pearly gate that opens to the real
+paradise of fools.
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "It's pleasures are like poppies spread&mdash; </p>
+<p class="i3">    You seize the flower, its bloom is shed, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Or like the snowfall on the river&mdash; </p>
+<p class="i3">    A moment white then melts forever." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Whether it be the child at its mother's knee or the man of mature years,
+whether it be the banker or the beggar, the prince in his palace or the
+peasant in his hut, there is in every heart the dream of a happier lot
+in life.
+</p>
+<p>
+I heard the sound of revelry at the gilded club, where a hundred hearts
+beat happily. There were flushed cheeks and thick tongues and jests and
+anecdotes around the banquet spread. There were songs and poems and
+speeches. I saw an orator rise to respond to a toast to "Home, sweet
+home," and thus he responded:
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page113" name="page113"></a>[113]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: John Howard Payne touched millions of
+hearts when he sang:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,</p>
+<p class="i2">  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+But as for me, gentlemen, give me the pleasures an' the palaces&mdash;give me
+liberty, or give me death. No less beautifully expressed are the tender
+sentiments expressed in the tender verse of Lord Byron:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark</p>
+<p class="i3">   Bay deep mouthed welcome as we draw near home;</p>
+<p class="i3">   'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming,</p>
+<p class="i3">   And look brighter when we come."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+But as for me, gentlemen, I would rather hear the barkin' of a gatlin'
+gun than to hear the watch dog's honest bark this minute. I would rather
+look into the mouth of a cannon than to look into the eyes that are now
+waitin' to mark my comin' at this delightful hour of three o'clock in
+the morning."
+</p>
+<p>
+Then he launched out on the ocean of thought like a magnificent ship
+going to sea. And when the night was far spent, and the orgies were
+over, and the lights were blown out at the club, I saw him enter his own
+sweet home in his glory&mdash;entered it, like a thief, with his boots in
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page114" name="page114"></a>[114]</span>
+
+ his hands,&mdash;entered it singing softly to himself:
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "I'm called little gutter pup, sweet little gutter pup, </p>
+<p class="i5">      Though I could never tell why&mdash;(hic), </p>
+<p class="i3">    Yet still I'm called gutter pup, sweet little gutter pup, </p>
+<p class="i5">      Poor little gutter pup&mdash;I&mdash;(hic)." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+He was unconscious of the presence of the white figure that stood at
+the head of the stairs holding up a lamp, like liberty enlightening
+the world, and as a tremulous voice called him to the judgment bar, the
+door closed behind him on the paradise of a fool, and he sneaked up the
+steps, muttering to himself, "What shadows we are&mdash;(hic)&mdash;what shadows
+we pursue." Then I saw him again in the morning, reaping temptation's
+bitter reward in the agonies of his drunk-sick; and like Mark Twain's
+boat in a storm,
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "He heaved and sot, and sot and heaved, </p>
+<p class="i5">      And high his rudder flung, </p>
+<p class="i3">    And every time he heaved and sot, </p>
+<p class="i5">      A mighty leak he sprung." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+If I were a woman with a husband like "that," I would fill him so full
+of Keely's chloride of gold that he would jingle as he walks and tinkle
+as he talks and have a fit at every mention of the silver bill.
+</p>
+<p>
+The biggest fool that walks on God's footstool is the man who destroys
+the joy and peace
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page115" name="page115"></a>[115]</span>
+
+ of his own sweet home; for, if paradise is ever
+regained in this world, it must be in the home. If its dead flowers
+ever bloom again, they must bloom in the happy hearts of home. If its
+sunshine ever breaks through the clouds, it must break forth in the
+smiling faces of home. If
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page116" name="page116"></a>[116]</span>
+
+ heaven ever descends to earth and angels tread
+its soil, it must be in the sacred precincts of home. That which heaven
+most approves is the pure and virtuous home. For around it linger all
+the sweetest memories and dearest associations of mankind; upon it hang
+the hopes and happiness of the nations of the earth, and above it shines
+the ever blessed star that lights the way back to the paradise that was
+lost.
+</p>
+
+<a name="image-0033"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-115.png" width="400" height="582"
+alt="RETURNING FROM THE CLUB." />
+<br />
+RETURNING FROM THE CLUB.
+</div>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page117" name="page117"></a>[117]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0024" id="h2H_4_0024"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    BACHELOR AND WIDOWER.
+</h2>
+<p>
+I saw a poor old bachelor live all the days of his life in sight of
+paradise, too cowardly to put his arm around it and press it to his
+bosom. He shaved and primped and resolved to marry every day in the year
+for forty years. But when the hour for love's duel arrived, when he
+stood trembling in the presence of rosy cheeks and glancing eyes, and
+beauty shook her curls and gave the challenge, his courage always oozed
+out, and he fled ingloriously from the field of honor.
+</p>
+<p>
+Far happier than the bachelor is old Uncle Rastus in his cabin, when he
+holds Aunt Dina's hand in his and asks: "Who's sweet?" And Dina drops
+her head over on his shoulder and answers, "Boaf uv us."
+</p>
+<p>
+A thousand times happier is the frisky old widower with his pink bald
+head, his wrinkles and his rheumatism, who
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   Wires in and wires out, </p>
+<p class="i2">   And leaves the ladies all in doubt, </p>
+<div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page118" name="page118"></a>[118]</span>
+</div>
+<p class="i2">   As to what is his age and what he is worth, </p>
+<p class="i2">   And whether or not he owns the earth. </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+He "toils not, neither does he spin," yet Solomon, in all his glory was
+not more popular with the ladies. He is as light-hearted as "Mary's
+little lamb." He is acquainted with every hog path in the matrimonial
+paradise and knows all the nearest cuts to the "sanctum sanctorum" of
+woman's heart. But his jealousy is as cruel as the grave. Woe unto the
+bachelor who dares to cross his path.
+</p>
+<p>
+An old bachelor in my native mountains once rose in church to give his
+experience, in the presence of his old rival who was a widower, and with
+whom he was at daggers' points in the race to win the affections of one
+of the sisters in Zion. Thus the pious old bachelor spake: "Brethren,
+this is a beautiful world. I love to live in it just as well to-day as
+I ever did in my life. And the saddest thought that ever crossed this
+old brain of mine is, that in a few short days at best, these old eyes
+will be glazed in death and I'll never get to see my loved ones in this
+world any more." And his old rival shouted from the "amen corner,"
+"<i>thank God!</i>"
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page119" name="page119"></a>[119]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0025" id="h2H_4_0025"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    PHANTOMS.
+</h2>
+<p>
+In every brain there is a bright phantom realm, where fancied pleasures
+beckon from distant shores; but when we launch our barks to reach them,
+they vanish, and beckon again from still more distant shores. And so,
+poor fallen man pursues the ghosts of paradise as the deluded dog chases
+the shadows of flying birds in the meadow.
+</p>
+<p>
+The painter only paints the shadows of beauty on his canvas; the
+sculptor only chisels its lines and curves from the marble; the sweetest
+melody is but the faint echo of the wooing voice of music.
+</p>
+<p>
+We stumble over the golden nuggets of contentment in pursuit of the
+phantoms of wealth, and what is wealth? It can not purchase a moment of
+happiness. Marble halls may open wide their doors and offer her shelter,
+but happiness will flee from a palace to dwell in a cottage. We crush
+under our feet the roses of peace and
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page120" name="page120"></a>[120]</span>
+
+ love in our eagerness to reach the
+illuminated heights of glory; and what is earthly glory?
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "He who ascends to mountain tops shall find </p>
+<p class="i3">    The loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow; </p>
+<p class="i3">    He who surpasses or subdues mankind, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Must look down on the hate of those below. </p>
+<p class="i3">    Though high above the sun of glory glow, </p>
+<p class="i3">    And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, </p>
+<p class="i3">    'Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow </p>
+<p class="i3">    Contending tempests on his naked head." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+I saw a comedian convulse thousands with his delineations of the
+weaknesses of humanity in the inimitable "Rip Van Winkle." I saw him
+make laughter hold its sides, as he impersonated the coward in "The
+Rivals;" and I said: I would rather have the power of Joseph Jefferson,
+to make the world laugh, and to drive care and trouble from weary brains
+and sorrow from heavy hearts, than to wear the blood-stained laurels of
+military glory, or to be President of the United States, burdened with
+bonds and gold, and overwhelmed with the double standard, and three girl
+babies.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page121" name="page121"></a>[121]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0026" id="h2H_4_0026"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE FALSE IDEAL.
+</h2>
+<p>
+It is the false ideal that builds the "Paradise of Fools." It is the
+eagerness to achieve success in realms we cannot reach, which breeds
+more than half the ills that curse the world. If all the fish eggs were
+to hatch, and every little fish become a big fish, the oceans would be
+pushed from their beds, and the rivers would be eternally "dammed"&mdash;with
+fish; but the whales, and sharks, and sturgeons, and dog-fish, and eels,
+and snakes, and turtles, make three meals every day in the year on fish
+and fish eggs. If all the legal spawn should hatch out lawyers, the
+earth and the fullness thereof would be mortgaged for fees, and mankind
+would starve to death in the effort to pay off the "aforesaid and the
+same." If the entire crop of medical eggs should hatch out full fledged
+doctors, old "Skull and Cross Bones" would hold high carnival among the
+children of men, and the old sexton would sing:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "I gather them in,</p>
+<p class="i3">   I gather them in."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page122" name="page122"></a>[122]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+If I could get the ear of the young men who pant after politics, as the
+hart panteth after the water brook, I would exhort them to seek honors
+in some other way, for "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
+</p>
+<p>
+The poet truly said: "How like a mounting devil in the heart is the
+unreined ambition. Let it once but play the monarch, and its haughty
+brow glows with a beauty that bewilders thought and unthrones peace
+forever. Putting on the very pomp of Lucifer, it turns the heart to
+ashes, and with not a spring left in the bosom for the spirit's lip,
+we look upon our splendor and forget the thirst of which we perish."
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page123" name="page123"></a>[123]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0027" id="h2H_4_0027"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE CIRCUS IN THE MOUNTAINS.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0034"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-124.png" width="300" height="400"
+alt="THE CIRCUS IN THE MOUNTAINS." />
+<br />
+THE CIRCUS IN THE MOUNTAINS.
+</div>
+<p>
+I saw a circus in a mountain town. The mountaineers swarmed from far
+and near, and lined the streets on every hand with open mouth and bated
+breath, as the grand procession, with band, and clown, and camels,
+and elephants, and lions, and tigers, and spotted horses, paraded in
+brilliant array. The excitement was boundless when the crowd rushed
+into the tent, and they left behind them a surging mass of humanity,
+unprovided with tickets, and destitute of the silver half of the double
+standard. Their interest rose to white heat as the audience within
+shouted and screamed with laughter at the clown, and cheered the girl
+in tights, and applauded the acrobats as they turned somersaults over
+the elephant. But temptation whispered in the ear of a gentleman in tow
+breeches, and he stealthily opened his long bladed knife and cut a hole
+in the canvas. A score of others followed suit, and held their sides and
+laughed at the scenes within. But as they laughed a showman
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page124" name="page124"></a>[124]<br />[125]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved up-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page125" name="page125"></a>[125]</span>-->
+
+ slipped
+inside, armed with a policeman's "billy." He quietly sidled up to the
+hole where a peeper's nose made a knot on the tent on the inside.
+"Whack!" went the "billy"&mdash;there was a loud grunt, and old "Tow
+Breeches" spun 'round like a top, and cut the "pigeon wing," while his
+nose spouted blood. "Whack!" went the "billy" again, and old "Hickory
+Shirt" turned a somersault backwards and rose "a-runnin'." The last
+"whack" fell like a thunderbolt on the Roman nose of a half drunk old
+settler from away up at the head of the creek. He fell flat on his back,
+quivered for a moment, and then sat up and clapped his hand to his
+bleeding nose and in his bewilderment exclaimed: "Well I'll be durned!
+hel-lo there stranger!" he shouted to a bystander, "whar wuz you <i>at</i>
+when the lightnin' struck the show?" Then I saw a row of bleeding noses
+at the branch near by, taking a bath; and each nose resembled a sore
+hump on a camel's back.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0035"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-126.png" width="400" height="294"
+alt="&quot;WHACK!&quot; WENT THE &quot;BILLY!&quot;" />
+<br />
+"WHACK!" WENT THE "BILLY!"
+</div>
+<p>
+So it is around the great arena of political fame and power. "Whack!"
+goes the "billy" of popular opinion; and politicians, like old "Tow
+Breeches," spin 'round with the broken noses of misguided ambition and
+disappointed
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page126" name="page126"></a>[126]<br />[127]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved up-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page127" name="page127"></a>[127]</span>-->
+
+ hope. In the heated campaign many a would-be Webster lies
+down and dreams of the triumph that awaits him on the morrow, but he
+wakes to find it only a dream, and when the votes are counted his
+little bird hath flown, and he is in the condition of the old Jew.
+An Englishman, an Irishman and a Jew hung up their socks together on
+Christmas Eve. The Englishman put his diamond pin in the Irishman's
+sock; the Irishman put his watch in the sock of the Englishman; they
+slipped an egg into the sock of the Jew. "And did you git onny thing?"
+asked Pat in the morning. "Oh yes," said the Englishman, "I received a
+fine gold watch, don't you know. And what did you get Pat?" "Begorra,
+I got a foine diamond pin." "And what did you get, Jacob?" said the
+Englishman to the Jew. "Vell," said Jacob, holding up the egg. "I got
+a shicken but it got avay before I got up."
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page128" name="page128"></a>[128]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0028" id="h2H_4_0028"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE PHANTOM OF FORTUNE.
+</h2>
+<p>
+I would not clip the wings of noble, honorable aspiration. I would not
+bar and bolt the gate to the higher planes of thought and action, where
+truth and virtue bloom and ripen into glorious fruit. There are a
+thousand fields of endeavor in the world, and happy is he who labors
+where God intended him to labor.
+</p>
+<p>
+The contented plowman who whistles as he rides to the field and sings as
+he plows, and builds his little paradise on the farm, gets more out of
+life than the richest Shylock on earth.
+</p>
+<p>
+The good old spectacled mother in Israel, with her white locks and
+beaming face, as she works in her sphere, visiting the poor, nursing the
+sick, and closing the eyes of the dead, is more beautiful in her life,
+and more charming in her character, than the loveliest queen of society
+who ever chased the phantoms of pleasure in the ballroom.
+</p>
+<p>
+The humblest village preacher who faithfully serves his God, and leads
+his pious flock in the
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page129" name="page129"></a>[129]</span>
+
+ paths of holiness and peace, is more eloquent,
+and plays a nobler part than the most brilliant infidel who ever
+blasphemed the name of God.
+</p>
+<p>
+The industrious drummer who travels all night and toils all day to win
+comfort for wife, and children, and mother, and sister, is a better man,
+and a far better citizen, than the most successful speculator on Wall
+Street, who plays with the fortunes of his fellow-man as the wolf plays
+with the lamb, or as the cyclone plays with the feather.
+</p>
+<p>
+Young ladies, when the time comes to marry, say "yes" to the good-natured,
+big-hearted drummer. For he is a spring in a desert, a straight flush in
+a weary hand, a "thing of beauty and a joy forever," and he will never
+be at home to bother you.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page130" name="page130"></a>[130]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0029" id="h2H_4_0029"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    CLOCKS.
+</h2>
+<p>
+Oliver Wendell Holmes says: "Our brains are seventy year clocks. The
+angel of life winds them up once for all, closes the case, and gives the
+key into the hand of the resurrection angel." And when I read it I
+thought, what a stupendous task awaits the angel of the resurrection,
+when all the countless millions of old rickety, rusty, worm-eaten clocks
+are to be resurrected, and wiped, and dusted, and repaired, for mansions
+in the skies! There will be every kind and character of clock and
+clockwork resurrected on that day. There will be the Catholic clock with
+his beads, and the Episcopalian clock with his ritual. There will be
+an old clock resurrected on that day wearing a broadcloth coat buttoned
+up to the throat; and when he is wound up he will go off with a whizz
+and a bang. He will get up out of the dust shouting, "hallelujah!" and
+he will proclaim "<i>sanctification!</i>" and "<i>falling from grace!</i>" and
+"<i>baptism by sprinkling and pouring!</i>" as the only
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page131" name="page131"></a>[131]</span>
+
+ true doctrine by
+which men shall go sweeping through the pearly gate, into the new
+Jerusalem. And he will be recognized as a Methodist preacher, a little
+noisy, a little clogged with chicken feathers, but ripe for the Kingdom
+of Heaven.
+</p>
+<p>
+There will be another old clock resurrected on that day, dressed
+like the former, but a little stiffer and straighter in the back,
+and armed with a pair of gold spectacles and a manuscript. When he is
+wound up he will break out in a cold sepulchral tone with, firstly:
+"<i>foreordination!</i>" secondly: "<i>predestination!</i>" and thirdly: "<i>the
+final perseverance of the saints!</i>" And he will be recognized as a
+Presbyterian preacher, a little blue and frigid, a little dry and
+formal, but one of God's own elect, and he will be labeled for Paradise.
+</p>
+<p>
+There will be an old Hard-shell clock resurrected, with throat whiskers,
+and wearing a shad-bellied coat and flap breeches. And when he is wound
+up a little, and a little oil is squirted into his old wheels, he will
+swing out into space on the wings of the gospel with: "My Dear Beloved
+Brethren-ah: I was a-ridin' along this mornin' a-tryin' to study up
+somethin' to preach
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page132" name="page132"></a>[132]</span>
+
+ to this dying congregation-ah; and as I rid up by
+the old mill pond-ah lo and behold! there was an old snag a sticking
+up out of the middle of the pond-ah, and an old mud turtle had clim
+up out uv the water and was a settin' up on the old snag a sunnin' uv
+himself-ah; and lo! and behold-ah! when I rid up a leetle nearer to
+him-ah, he jumped off of the snag, 'ker chugg' into the water, thereby
+proving emersion-ah!"
+</p>
+<p>
+Our brains <i>are</i> clocks, and our hearts are the pendulums. If we live
+right in this world, when the Resurrection Day shall come, the Lord God
+will polish the wheels, and jewel the bearings, and crown the casements
+with stars and with gold. And the pendulums shall be harps encrusted
+with precious stones. They shall swing to and fro on angel wings, making
+music in the ear of God, and flashing His glory through all the blissful
+cycles of eternity!
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page133" name="page133"></a>[133]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0030" id="h2H_4_0030"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE PANIC.
+</h2>
+<p>
+Happy is the man who lives within his means, and who is contented with
+the legitimate rewards of endeavor. The dreadful panic that checks the
+progress of civilization and paralyzes the commerce of the world, is the
+death angel that follows speculation. Everything is staked and hazarded
+on contingences that are as baseless as the fabric of a dream. The day
+of settlement comes and nobody is able to settle. The borrower is
+powerless to meet his note in the bank; the banker is powerless to pay
+his depositors, and confidence is stampeded like a herd of cattle. The
+timid and suspicious old farmer catches the wild note of alarm, and
+deserting his plow and sleepy steers in the field, he mounts his mule,
+and urging him on with pounding heels, rushes pell-mell to the bank, and
+with bulging eyes, demands his money. The excitement spreads like fire.
+The blacksmith leaves his anvil, the carpenter his bench, and the tailor
+his goose. The tanner deserts his hide, and the
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page134" name="page134"></a>[134]</span>
+
+ shoemaker throws down
+his last to save his all. The mason with his trowel in his hand, rushes
+from the half-finished wall; Pat drops his hod between heaven and earth
+and slides down the ladder, muttering: "Oi'll have me moaney or <i>Oi'll</i>
+have blood!" The fat phlegmatic Dutchman, dozing behind his bar, wakes
+to the situation and waddles down the street, puffing and blowing like
+an engine, and muttering: "Mine Got in Himmel&mdash;mine debosit ish
+boosted!" And thus they make the run on the bank, gathering about it
+like the hosts of Armageddon. The bottom drops out, and millionaires
+go under like the passengers of a wrecked steamer.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page135" name="page135"></a>[135]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0031" id="h2H_4_0031"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    "BUNK CITY."
+</h2>
+<p>
+Did you ever pass the remains of a "boom" town in your travels? Did you
+never gaze upon the remains of "Bunk City," where but yesterday all was
+life and bustle, and to-day it looks like the ruins of Babylon? The
+empty fields for miles and miles around are laid off and dug up in
+streets, and look like they had been struck with ten thousand streaks
+of chain lightning. Standing here and there are huge frames holding up
+mammoth sign boards, bearing the names of land companies, but the land
+companies are gone. Half driven nails are left to rust in a few old
+skeleton buildings, the brick lies unmortared in half finished walls,
+and tenantless houses stand here and there like the ghosts of buried
+hope. Down by the river stands the furnace, grim and silent as the
+extinct crater of Popocatepetl; and the great hotel on the hill looks
+like the tower of Babel two thousand years after the confusion of
+tongues. The last of the speculators, with his blue nose and his old
+battered
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page136" name="page136"></a>[136]</span>
+
+ plug hat which resembles an accordion that has been yanked by
+a cyclone, stands on the corner and contemplates his old sedge fields
+which have shrunk in value from one hundred dollars a front foot, to one
+<i>dollar for a hundred front acres</i>, and balefully sings a new song:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "After the boom is over, after the panic's on,</p>
+<p class="i3">   After the fools are leavin', after the money's gone,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Many a bank is "busted," if we could see in the room,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Many a pocket is empty, after the boom."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page137" name="page137"></a>[137]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0032" id="h2H_4_0032"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    "YOUR UNCLE."
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0036"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-137.png" width="300" height="330"
+alt="COMING." />
+<br />
+COMING.
+</div>
+<p>
+An impecunious speculator once flooded a town with handbills and posters
+containing this
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page138" name="page138"></a>[138]</span>
+
+                announcement: "Your Uncle is coming." The streams of
+passers-by looked at the bill boards and wondered what it meant. The
+speculator rented the theatre, and one day a new flood of handbills and
+posters made this announcement: "Your Uncle is here." He gave orders
+to his stage manager to raise the curtain exactly at eight o'clock.
+The speculator himself stood in the door and received the admission fees
+and then disappeared. In their curiosity to see the performance of "Your
+Uncle," the villagers filled every seat in the theatre long before the
+hour for the performance arrived. The curtain rose at the appointed
+hour, and lo! on a board, in the center of the stage, was a card bearing
+this announcement in large letters: "<i>Your Uncle is gone.</i>"
+</p>
+<p>
+What a splendid illustration of modern speculation and its willing
+victims who are so easily led into the "Paradise of Fools!"
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page139" name="page139"></a>[139]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="image-0037"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-139.png" width="300" height="319"
+alt="GONE." />
+<br />
+GONE.
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page140" name="page140"></a>[140]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0033" id="h2H_4_0033"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    FOOLS.
+</h2>
+<p>
+But why mourn and brood over broken fortunes and the calamities of life?
+Why tarry in the doldrums of pessimism, with never a breeze to catch
+your limp and drooping sails and waft you on a joyous wave? Pessimism is
+the nightmare of the world. It is the prophet of famine, pestilence, and
+human woe. It is the apostle of the Devil, and its mission is to impede
+the progress of civilization. It denounces every institution established
+for human development as a fraud. It stigmatizes law as the machinery of
+injustice; it sneers at society as hollow-hearted corruption and
+insincerity; it brands politics as a reeking mass of rottenness, and
+scoffs at morality as the tinsel of sin. Its disciples are those who
+rail and snarl at everything that is noble and good, to whom a joke is
+an assault and battery, a laugh is an insult to outraged dignity, and
+the provocation of a smile is like passing an electric current through
+the facial muscles of a corpse.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page141" name="page141"></a>[141]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+God deliver us from the fools who seek to build their paradise on the
+ashes of those they have destroyed. God deliver us from the fools whose
+life work is to cast aspersions upon the motives and characters of the
+leaders of men. I believe the men who reach high places in politics
+are, as a rule, the best and brainiest men in the land, and upon their
+shoulders rest the safety and well-being of the peace-loving,
+God-fearing millions.
+</p>
+<p>
+I believe the world is better to-day than it ever was before. I believe
+the refinements of modern society, its elegant accomplishments, its
+intellectual culture, and its conceptions of the beautiful, are glorious
+evidences of our advancement toward a higher plane of being.
+</p>
+<p>
+I think the superb churches of to-day, with the glorious harmonies of
+their choral music, their great pipe organs, their violins and cornets,
+and their grand sermons, full of heaven's balm for aching hearts, are
+expressions of the highest civilization that has ever dawned upon the
+earth. I believe each successive civilization is better, and higher, and
+grander, than that which preceded it; and upon the shining rungs of this
+ladder of evolution, our race will finally
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page142" name="page142"></a>[142]</span>
+
+ climb back to the Paradise
+that was lost. I believe that the society of to-day is better than it
+ever was before. I believe that human government is better, and nobler,
+and purer, than it ever was before. I believe the Church is stronger and
+is making grander strides toward the conversion of the world and the
+final establishment of the Kingdom of God on earth, than it ever made
+before.
+</p>
+<p>
+I believe that the biggest fools in this world are the advocates and
+disseminators of infidelity, the would-be destroyers of the Paradise
+of God.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page143" name="page143"></a>[143]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0034" id="h2H_4_0034"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    A BLOTTED PICTURE.
+</h2>
+<p>
+I sat in a great theatre at the National Capital. It was thronged with
+youth, and beauty, old age, and wisdom. I saw a man, the image of his
+God, stand upon the stage, and I heard him speak. His gestures were the
+perfection of grace; his voice was music, and his language was more
+beautiful than I had ever heard from mortal lips. He painted picture
+after picture of the pleasures, and joys, and sympathies, of home. He
+enthroned love and preached the gospel of humanity like an angel. Then
+I saw him dip his brush in ink, and blot out the beautiful picture he
+had painted. I saw him stab love dead at his feet. I saw him blot out
+the stars and the sun, and leave humanity and the universe in eternal
+darkness, and eternal death. I saw him like the Serpent of old, worm
+himself into the paradise of human hearts, and by his seductive
+eloquence and the subtle devices of his sophistry, inject his fatal
+venom, under whose blight its flowers faded, its music
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page144" name="page144"></a>[144]<br />[145]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page145" name="page145"></a>[145]</span>-->
+
+ was hushed, its
+sunshine was darkened, and the soul was left a desert waste, with only
+the new made graves of faith and hope. I saw him, like a lawless,
+erratic meteor without an orbit, sweep across the intellectual sky,
+brilliant only in his self-consuming fire, generated by friction with
+the indestructible and eternal truths of God.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0038"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-144.png" width="300" height="369"
+alt="INFIDELITY." />
+<br />
+INFIDELITY.
+</div>
+<p>
+That man was the archangel of modern infidelity; and I said: How true
+is holy writ which declares, "the fool hath said in his heart, there is
+no God."
+</p>
+<p>
+Tell me not, O Infidel, there is no God, no Heaven, no Hell!
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "A solemn murmur in the soul tells of a world to be,</p>
+<p class="i3">   As travelers hear the billows roll before they reach the sea."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+Tell me not, O Infidel, there is no risen Christ!
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   When every earthly hope hath fled, </p>
+<p class="i4">     When angry seas their billows fling, </p>
+<p class="i2">   How sweet to lean on what He said, </p>
+<p class="i4">     How firmly to His cross we cling! </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+What intelligence less than God could fashion the human body? What
+motive power is it, if it is not God, that drives that throbbing engine,
+the human heart, with ceaseless, tireless
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page146" name="page146"></a>[146]</span>
+
+ stroke, sending the crimson
+streams of life bounding and circling through every vein and artery?
+Whence, and what, if not of God, is this mystery we call the mind? What
+is this mystery we call the soul? What is it that thinks and feels and
+knows and acts? Oh, who can comprehend, who can deny, the Divinity that
+stirs within us!
+</p>
+<p>
+God is everywhere, and in everything. His mystery is in every bud, and
+blossom, and leaf, and tree; in every rock, and hill, and vale, and
+mountain; in every spring, and rivulet, and river. The rustle of His
+wing is in every zephyr; its might is in every tempest. He dwells in the
+dark pavilions of every storm cloud. The lightning is His messenger, and
+the thunder is His voice. His awful tread is in every earthquake and on
+every angry ocean; and the heavens above us teem with His myriads of
+shining witnesses. The universe of solar systems whose wheeling orbs
+course the crystal paths of space proclaim through the dread halls of
+eternity, the glory, and power, and dominion, of the all-wise,
+omnipotent, and eternal God.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page147" name="page147"></a>[147]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0035" id="h2H_4_0035"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    "VISIONS AND DREAMS."
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0039"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width: 200px;">
+<img src="images/ill-147.png" width="200" height="226"
+alt="Angel over butterfly" />
+</div>
+<p>
+The infinite wisdom of Almighty God has made a plane of intelligence,
+and a horizon of happiness, for every being in the universe, from
+the butterfly to the archangel. And every plane has its own horizon,
+narrowest and darkest on the lowest level, but broad as the universe
+on the highest. Man stands on that wondrous plane where mortality and
+immortality meet. Below him is animal life, lighted only by the dim lamp
+of instinct; above him is spiritual life, illuminated by the light of
+reason and the glory of God. Below him is this old material world of
+rock, and hill, and vale, and mountain; above
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page148" name="page148"></a>[148]</span>
+
+ him is the mysterious
+world of the imagination whose rivers are dreams, whose continents are
+visions of beauty, and upon whose shadowy shores the surfs of phantom
+seas forever break.
+</p>
+<p>
+We hear the song of the cricket on the hearth, and the joyous hum of
+the bees among the poppies; we hear the light-winged lark gladden the
+morning with her song, and the silver-throated thrush warble in the
+tree-top. What are these, and all the sweet melodies we hear, but echoes
+from the realm of visions and dreams?
+</p>
+<p>
+The humming-bird, that swift fairy of the rainbow, fluttering down from
+the land of the sun when June scatters her roses northward, and poising
+on wings that never weary, kisses the nectar from the waiting flowers;
+how bright and beautiful is the horizon of his little life! How sweet is
+the dream of the covert in the deep mountain gorge, to the trembling,
+panting deer in his flight before the hunter's horn and the yelping
+hounds! How dear to the heart of the weary ox is the vision of green
+fields and splashing waters! And down on the farm, when the cows come
+home at sunset, fragrant with the breath of clover blossoms, how rich
+is the feast of happiness when the frolicsome calf bounds
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page149" name="page149"></a>[149]</span>
+
+ forward to the
+flowing udder, and with his walling eyes reflecting whole acres of "calf
+heaven" and his little tail wiggling in speechless bliss, he draws his
+evening meal from nature's commissariat. The snail lolls in his shell
+and thinks himself a king in the grandest palace in the world. And how
+brilliant is the horizon of the firefly when he winks his "other eye!"
+</p>
+<p>
+The red worm delves in the sod and dines on clay; he makes no after-dinner
+speeches; he never responds to a toast; but silently revels on in his
+dark banquet halls under the dank violets or in the rich mould by the
+river. But the red worm never reaches the goal of his visions and dreams
+until he is triumphantly impaled on the fishhook of the barefooted boy,
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   Who sees other visions and dreams other dreams, </p>
+<p class="i2">   Of fluttering suckers in shining streams. </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+And Oh, there is no thrill half so rapturous to the barefooted boy as
+the thrill of a nibble! Two darkies sat on a rock on the bank of a
+river, fishing. One was an old darkey; the other was a boy. The boy got
+a nibble, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong into the surging waters
+and began to float out to the middle of the stream, sinking, and rising,
+and struggling,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page150" name="page150"></a>[150]</span>
+
+ and crying for help. The old man hesitated on the rock
+for a moment; then he plunged in after the drowning boy, and after a
+desperate struggle, landed his companion safely on shore. A passer-by
+ran up to the old darkey and patted him on the shoulder and said: "Old
+man, that was a noble deed in you, to risk your life that way to save
+that good-for-nothing boy." "Yes boss," mumbled the old man, "I was
+obleeged ter save dat nigger, he had all de bate in his pocket!"
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page151" name="page151"></a>[151]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0036" id="h2H_4_0036"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE HAPPY LONG AGO.
+</h2>
+<p>
+Not long ago I wandered back to the scenes of my boyhood, on my
+father's old plantation on the bank of the river, in the beautiful land
+of my native mountains. I rambled again in the pathless woods with my
+rifle on my shoulder. I sat on the old familiar logs amid the falling
+leaves of autumn and heard the squirrels bark and shake the branches
+as they jumped from tree to tree. I heard the katydid sing, and the
+whip-poor-will, and the deep basso-profundo of the bullfrog on the bank
+of the pond. I heard the drumming of a pheasant and the hoot of a wise
+old owl away over in "Sleepy Hollow." I heard the tinkling of bells on
+the distant hills, sweetly mingling with the happy chorus of the song
+birds in their evening serenade. Every living creature seemed to be
+chanting a hymn of praise to its God; and as I sat there and listened
+to the weird, wild harmonies, a vision of the past opened before me.
+I thought I was a boy again, and played around the cabins of the
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page152" name="page152"></a>[152]<br />[153]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page153" name="page153"></a>[153]</span>-->
+
+ old
+time darkies, and heard them laugh and sing and tell their stories as
+they used to long ago. My hair stood on ends again (I was afflicted with
+hair when I was a boy), and the chills played up and down my back when I
+remembered old Uncle Rufus' story of the panthers. He said: "Many years
+ago, Mas. Jeems was a-gwine along de path by de graveyard late in de
+evenin', an' bless de Lo'd, all of a sudden he looked up, an' dar was a
+painter crouchin' down befo' 'im, a-pattin' de ground wid his tail, an'
+ready to spring. Mas. Jeems wheeled to run, an' bless de Lo'd, dar was
+annudder painter, crouchin' an' pattin' de groun' wid his tail, in de
+path behind him, an' ready to spring. An' boaf ov dem painters sprung at
+de same time, right toards Mas. Jeemses head; Mas. Jeems jumped to one
+side. An' dem painters come to-gedder in de air. An' da was a-gwine so
+fast, an' da struck each udder wid sitch turble ambition dat instid ov
+comin' down, da went up. An' bless de Lo'd, Mas. Jeems stood dar an'
+watched dem painters go on up, an' up, an' up, till da went clean out
+o' sight a-fightin'. An' bless de Lo'd, de hair was a-fallin' for three
+days. Which fulfills de words ob de scripchah whar it reads,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page154" name="page154"></a>[154]</span>
+
+ 'De young
+men shall dream dreams, an' de ol' men shall see visions.'"
+</p>
+<a name="image-0040"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-152.png" width="350" height="447"
+alt="THE MUSIC OF THE OLD PLANTATION." />
+<br />
+THE MUSIC OF THE OLD PLANTATION.
+</div>
+<p>
+I remembered the tale Uncle Solomon used to tell about the first
+convention that was ever held in the world. He said: "It wuz a
+convenchun ov de animils. Bruder Fox wuz dar, an' Brudder Wolf, an'
+Brudder Rabbit, an' all de rest ov de animil kingdom wuz geddered
+togedder fur to settle some questions concarnin' de happiness ov de
+animil kingdom. De first question dat riz befo' de convenchun wuz,
+how da should vote. Brudder Coon, he took de floah an' moved dat de
+convenchun vote by raisin' der tails; whereupon Brudder Possum riz wid
+a grin ov disgust, an' said: 'Mr. Chaiahman, I's unanimous opposed to
+dat motion: Brudder Coon wants dis couvenchun to vote by raisin' der
+tails, kase Brudder Coon's got a ring striped an' streaked tail, an'
+wants to show it befo' de convenchun. Brudder Coon knows dat de 'possum
+is afflicted wid an ole black rusty tail, an I consider dat moshun an
+insult to de 'possum race; an' besides dat, Mr. Chaiahman, if you passes
+dis moshun for to vote by raisin yo' tails, de Billy-Goat's already
+voted!'"
+</p>
+<p>
+I sometimes think that Uncle Solomon's homely
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page155" name="page155"></a>[155]<br />[156]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved down-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page156" name="page156"></a>[156]</span>-->
+
+ story of the goat would
+be a splendid illustration of some of our modern politicians. It is
+difficult to tell which side of the question they are on.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0041"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-155.png" width="350" height="379"
+alt="THE HAPPY LONG AGO." />
+<br />
+THE HAPPY LONG AGO.
+</div>
+<p>
+I remembered the yarn Uncle Yaddie once spun at the expense of
+Uncle Rastus. Rastus looked sour and said: "You bettah not go too fur;
+I'll tell about dem watermillions what disappeared frum Mas. Landon's
+watermillion patch." But Uncle Yaddie was undismayed by the threatened
+attack upon his own record, and said: "Some time ago Rastus concluded to
+go into de egg bizness, an' he prayed to de Lo'd to send him some hens,
+but somehow or nudder de hens never come; an' den he prayed to de Lo'd
+to send him after de hens, an' lo! an' behold! nex' mornin' his lot wus
+full ov chickens. Rastus fixed de nestiz, an' waited, an' waited fur de
+hens to lay, but somehow or nudder de hens wouldn't lay dat summer at
+all; an' Rastus kep git'n madder an' madder, till one day de ole rooster
+hopped up on de porch an begun to flop his wings an' crow. Rastus looked
+at him sideways, an' muttered, 'Yes! floppin' yo' wings an' crowin'
+aroun' heah like an ole fool, an' you caint lay a egg to save yo'
+life!'"
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page157" name="page157"></a>[157]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+The darkies fell over in the floor, and every body laughed except
+Rastus. But to appease his wrath, Uncle Yaddie rolled out a big
+"watermillion" from under the bed, which lighted up the face of the
+frowning old Rastus with smiles, and as the luscious red pulp melted
+away in his mouth, he cut the "pigeon wing" in the middle of the floor,
+and sang like a mocking bird:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Oh, de honeymoon am sweet, </p>
+<p class="i3">    De chicken am good, </p>
+<p class="i3">    De 'possum, it am very very fine, </p>
+<p class="i3">    But give me, O, give me, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Oh, how I wish you would! </p>
+<p class="i3">    Dat watermillion hanging' on de vine!" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Then old Uncle Newt rosined his bow, and the welkin rang with the music
+of the fiddle.
+</p>
+<p>
+There I sat in the old familiar woods and dreamed of the happy long ago,
+until a gang of blackbirds, spluttering in a neighboring treetop woke
+me. And when I rose from the log and threw myself into the shape of an
+interrogation point, and touched the trigger, at the crack of my rifle
+old bullfrogg shot into the pond; the hoot-owl "scooted" into his castle
+in the trunk of an old hollow tree; the blackbirds cut the "asymptote of
+a hyperbolical curve" in the air; the squirrel fell to the ground at my
+feet,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page158" name="page158"></a>[158]</span>
+
+ with a bullet through his brain, and there was silence&mdash;silence in
+the frog pond; silence in the trees; silence in "Sleepy Hollow;" silence
+all around me.
+</p>
+<p>
+I shouldered my rifle and wended my way back to the old homestead on the
+bank of the river and silence was there. The voices of the happy long
+ago were hushed. The old time darkies were sleeping on the hill, close
+by the spot where my father sleeps. The moss-covered bucket was gone
+from the well. The old barn sheds had "creeled." The old house where
+I was born was silent and deserted.
+</p>
+<p>
+As I looked upon these scenes of my earliest recollection, I was
+softened and subdued into a sweet pensive sorrow, which only the
+happiest and holiest associations of by-gone years can call into being.
+There are times in our lives when grief lies heaviest on the soul; when
+memory weeps; when gathering clouds of mournful melancholy pour out
+their floods and drown the heart in tears.
+</p>
+<p>
+Oh, beautiful isle of memory, lighted by the morning star of life! where
+the roses bloom by the door, where the robins sing among the apple
+blossoms, where bright waters ripple in
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page159" name="page159"></a>[159]</span>
+
+ eternal melody! There are echoes
+of songs that are sung no more; tender words spoken by lips that are
+dust; blessings from hearts that are still. There's a useless cradle,
+and a broken doll; a sunny tress, and an empty garment folded away;
+there's a lock of silvered hair, and an unforgotten prayer, and <i>mother</i>
+is sleeping there!
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page160" name="page160"></a>[160]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0037" id="h2H_4_0037"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    DREAMS OF THE YEARS TO COME.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0042"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-161.png" width="300" height="405"
+alt="AMBITION'S DREAM." />
+<br />
+AMBITION'S DREAM.
+</div>
+<p>
+There, under the shade of the sycamores, on my father's old farm, I used
+to dream of the years to come. I looked through a vista blooming with
+pleasures, fruiting with achievements, and beautiful as the cloud-isles
+of the sunset. The siren, ambition, sat beside me and fired my young
+heart with her prophetic song. She dazzled me, and charmed me, and
+soothed me, into sweet fantastic reveries. She touched me and bade me
+look into the wondrous future. The bow of promise spanned it. Hope was
+enthroned there and smiled like an angel of light. Under that shining
+arch lay the goal of my fondest aspirations. Visions of wealth, and of
+laurels, and of applauding thousands, crowded the horizon of my dream.
+I saw the capitol of the Republic, that white-columned pantheon of
+liberty, lifting its magnificent pile from the midst of the palaces,
+and parks, the statues, and monuments, of the most beautiful city in the
+world. Infatuated with this vision of earthly glory, I bade
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page161" name="page161"></a>[161]<br />[162]</span>
+
+<!-- Full page illustration moved up-->
+
+<!--<span class="pagenum"><a id="page162" name="page162"></a>[162]</span>-->
+
+ adieu to
+home and its dreams, seized the standard of a great political party,
+and rushed into the turmoil and tumult of the heated campaign. Unable to
+bear the armor of a Saul, I went forth to do battle armed with a fiddle,
+a pair of saddlebags, a plug horse, and the eternal truth. There was the
+din of conflict by day on the hustings; there was the sound of revelry
+by night in the cabins. The mid-night stars twinkled to the music of the
+merry fiddle, and the hills resounded with the clatter of dwindling shoe
+soles, as the mountain lads and lassies danced the hours away in the
+good old time Virginia reel. I rode among the mountain fastnesses like
+the "Knight of the woeful figure," mounted on my prancing "Rozenante,"
+everywhere charging the windmill of the opposing party, and wherever
+I drew rein the mountaineers swarmed from far and near to witness the
+bloodless battle of the contending candidates in the arena of joint
+discussion. My learned competitor, bearing the shield of "protection to
+American labor," and armed to the teeth with mighty argument, hurled
+himself upon me with the fury of a lion. His blows descended like
+thunderbolts, and the welkin rang with cheers when
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page163" name="page163"></a>[163]</span>
+
+ his lance went
+shivering to the center. His logic was appalling, his imagery was
+sublime. His tropes and similes flashed like the drawn blades of
+charging cavalry, and with a flourish of trumpets, his grand effort
+culminated in a splendid tribute to the Republic, crowned with
+Goldsmith's beautiful metaphor:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm;</p>
+<p class="i3">   Though 'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Eternal sunshine settles on its head."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+I received the charge of the enemy "with poised lance, and visor down."
+I deluged the tall cliff under a flood of "mountain eloquence" which
+poured from my patriotic lips like molasses pouring from the bung-hole
+of the universe. I mounted the American eagle and soared among the
+stars. I scraped the skies and cut the black illimitable far out beyond
+the orbit of Uranus, and I reached the climax of my triumphant flight
+with a hyperbole that eclipsed Goldsmith's metaphor, unthroned the foe,
+and left him stunned upon the field. Thus I soared:
+</p>
+<p>
+"I stood upon the sea shore, and with a frail reed in my hand, I wrote
+in the sand, 'My Country, I love thee;' a mad wave came rushing by and
+wiped out the fair impression. Cruel wave,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page164" name="page164"></a>[164]</span>
+
+ treacherous sand, frail reed;
+I said, 'I hate ye I'll trust ye no more, but with a giant's arm, I'll
+reach to the coast of Norway, and pluck its tallest pine, and dip it
+in the crater of Vesuvius, and write upon the burnished heavens; 'My
+Country, <i>I love thee</i>! And I'd like to see <i>any</i> durned wave rub that
+out!!'"
+</p>
+<p>
+Between the long intervals of argument my speech grinned with anecdotes
+like a basketfull of 'possum heads. The fiddle played its part, the
+people did the rest, and I carved upon the tombstone of the demolished
+Knight these tender words:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Tread softly 'round this sacred heap, </p>
+<p class="i3">    It guards ambition's restless sleep; </p>
+<p class="i3">    Whose greed for place ne'er did forsake him, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Don't mention office, or you'll wake him!" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+I reached the goal of my visions and dreams under that collossal dome
+whose splendors are shadowed in the broad river that flows by the shrine
+of Mt. Vernon. I sat amid the confusion and uproar of the parliamentary
+struggles of the lower branch of the Congress of the United States.
+"Sunset" Cox, with his beams of wit and humor, convulsed the house and
+shook the gallaries. Alexander Stephens, one of the last tottering
+monuments of the glory of the
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page165" name="page165"></a>[165]</span>
+
+ Old South, still lingering on the floor,
+where, in by-gone years the battles of his vigorous manhood were fought.
+I saw in the Senate an assemblage of the grandest men since the days
+of Webster and Clay. Conkling, the intellectual Titan, the Apollo of
+manly form and grace, thundered there. The "Plumed Knight," that grand
+incarnation of mind and magnetism, was at the zenith of his glory.
+Edmunds, and Zack Chandler, and the brilliant and learned Jurist, Mat.
+Carpenter, were there. Thurman the "noblest Roman of them all" was there
+with his famous bandana handkerchief. The immortal Ben Hill, the idol
+of the South, and Lamar, the gifted orator and highest type of Southern
+chivalry were there. Garland, and Morgan, and Harris, and Coke, were
+there; and Beck with his sledge-hammer intellect. It was an arena of
+opposing gladiators more magnificent and majestic than was ever
+witnessed in the palmiest days of the Roman Empire. There were giants
+in the Senate in those days, and when they clashed shields and measured
+swords in debate, the capitol trembled and the nation thrilled in every
+nerve.
+</p>
+<p>
+But how like the ocean's ebb and flow are the
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page166" name="page166"></a>[166]</span>
+
+ restless tides of politics!
+These scenes of grandeur and glory soon dissolved from my view like a
+dream. I "saved the country" for only two short years. My competitor
+proved a lively corpse. He burst forth from the tomb like a locust from
+its shell, and came buzzing to the national capital with "war on his
+wings." I went buzzing back to the mountains to dream again under the
+sycamores; and there a new ambition was kindled in my soul. A new
+vision opened before me. I saw another capitol rise on the bank of the
+Cumberland, overshadowing the tomb of Polk and close by the Hermitage
+where reposes the sacred dust of Andrew Jackson. And I thought if I
+could only reach the exalted position of Governor of the old "Volunteer
+State" I would then have gained the sum of life's honors and happiness.
+But lo! another son of my father and mother was dreaming there under the
+same old sycamore. We had dreamed together in the same trundle-bed and
+often kicked each other out. Together we had seen visions of pumpkin pie
+and pulled hair for the biggest slice. Together we had smoked the first
+cigar and together learned to play the fiddle. But now the dreams of our
+manhood clashed.
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page167" name="page167"></a>[167]</span>
+
+ Relentless fate had decreed that "York" must contend
+with "Lancaster" in the "War of the Roses." And with flushed cheeks and
+throbbing hearts we eagerly entered the field; his shield bearing the
+red rose, mine the white. It was a contest of principles, free from the
+wormwood and gall of personalities, and when the multitude of partisans
+gathered at the hustings, a white rose on every Democratic bosom, a red
+rose on every Republican breast, in the midst of a wilderness of flowers
+there was many a tilt and many a loud huzzah. But when the clouds of war
+had cleared away, I looked upon the drooping red rose on the bosom of
+the vanquished Knight, and thought of the first speech my mother ever
+taught me:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "Man's a vapor full of woes,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Cuts a caper&mdash;down he goes!"</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+The white rose triumphed. But the shadow is fairer than the substance.
+The pathway of ambition is marked at every mile with the grave of some
+sweet pleasure slain by the hand of sacrifice. It bristles with thorns
+planted by the fingers of envy and hate, and as we climb the rugged
+heights, behind us lie our bloody footprints, before us tower still
+greater heights,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page168" name="page168"></a>[168]</span>
+
+ scarred by tempests and wrapped in eternal snow. Like
+the edelweiss of the Alps, ambition's pleasures bloom in the chill air
+of perpetual frost, and he who reaches the summit will look down with
+longing eyes, on the humbler plain of life below and wish his feet had
+never wandered from its warmer sunshine and sweeter flowers.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page169" name="page169"></a>[169]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0038" id="h2H_4_0038"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    FROM THE CAVE-MAN TO THE "KISS-O-PHONE."
+</h2>
+<p>
+But let us not forget that it is better for us, and better for the
+world, that we dream, and that we tread the thorny paths, and climb
+the weary steeps, and leave our bloody tracks behind in the pursuit
+of our dreams. For in their extravagant conceptions lie the germs
+of human government, and invention, and discovery; and from their
+mysterious vagaries spring the motive power of the world's progress.
+Our civilization is the evolution of dreams. The rude tribes of primeval
+men dwelt in caves until some unwashed savage dreamed that damp caverns
+and unholy smells were not in accord with the principles of hygiene.
+It dawned upon his <i>mighty</i> intellect that one flat stone would lie on
+top of another, and that a little mud, aided by Sir Isaac Newton's law
+of gravitation, would hold them together, and that walls could be built
+in the form of a quadrangle. Here was
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page170" name="page170"></a>[170]</span>
+
+ the birth of architecture. And
+thus, from the magical dreams of this unmausoleumed barbarian was
+evolved the home, the best and sweetest evolution of man's civilisation.
+</p>
+<p>
+John Howard Payne touched the tenderest chord that vibrates in the
+great heart of all humankind when he gave to immortality his song of
+"Home, Sweet Home;" and thank God, the grand mansions and palaces of the
+rich do not hold all the happiness and nobility of this world. There
+are millions of humble cottages where virtue resides in the warmth and
+purity of vestal fires, and where contentment dwells like perpetual
+summer.
+</p>
+<p>
+The antediluvians plowed with a forked stick, with one prong for the
+beam and the other for the scratcher; and the plow boy and his sleepy
+ox had no choice of prongs to hitch to. It was all the same to Adam
+whether "Buck" was yoked to the beam or the scratcher. But some noble
+Cincinnatus dreamed of the burnished plowshare; genius wrought his dream
+into steel and now the polished Oliver Chill slices the earth like a
+hot knife plowing a field of Jersey butter, and the modern gang plow,
+bearing upon its wheels the gloved and umbrella'd leader
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page171" name="page171"></a>[171]</span>
+
+ of the Populist
+Party, plows up the whole face of the earth in a single day.
+</p>
+<p>
+What a wonderful workshop is the brain of man! Its noiseless machinery
+cuts, and carves, and moulds, in the imponderable material of ideas.
+It works its endless miracles through the brawny arm of labor, and the
+deft fingers of skill, and the world moves forward by its magic. Aladdin
+rubbed his lamp and the shadowy genii of fable performed impossible
+wonders. The dreamer of to-day rubs his fingers through his hair and the
+genii of his intellect work miracles which eclipse the most extravagant
+fantasies of the "Arabian Nights."
+</p>
+<p>
+A dreamer saw the imprisoned vapor throw open the lid of a teakettle,
+and lo! a steam engine came puffing from his brain. And now many a huge
+monster of Corliss, beautiful as a vision of Archimedes and smooth in
+movement as a wheeling planet, sends its thrill of life and power
+through mammoth plants of humming machinery. The fiery courser of the
+steel-bound track shoots over hill and plain, like a mid-night meteor
+through the fields of heaven, outstripping the wind.
+</p>
+<p>
+A dreamer carried about in his brain a great
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page172" name="page172"></a>[172]</span>
+
+ Leviathan. It was launched
+upon the billows, and like some collossal swan the palatial steamship
+now sweeps in majesty through the blue wastes of old ocean.
+</p>
+<p>
+Six hundred years before Christ, some old Greek discovered electricity
+by rubbing a piece of amber, and unable to grasp the mystery, he called
+it soul. His discovery slept for more than two thousand years until it
+awoke in the dreams of Galvani, and Volta, and Benjamin Franklin. In the
+morning of the nineteenth century the sculptor and scientist, Morse, saw
+in his dreams, phantom lightnings leap across continents, and oceans,
+and felt the pulse of thunder beat as it came bounding over threads of
+iron that girdled the earth. In each throb he read a human thought. The
+electric telegraph emerged from his brain, like Minerva from the brow of
+Jove, and the world received a fresh baptism of light and glory.
+</p>
+<p>
+In a few more years we will step over the threshold of the twentieth
+century. What greater wonders will the dreamers yet unfold? It may be
+that another magician, greater even than Edison, the "Wizzard of Menloe
+Park," will rise up and coax the very laws of nature
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page173" name="page173"></a>[173]</span>
+
+ into easy compliance
+with his unheard-of dreams. I think he will construct an electric
+railway in the form of a huge tube, and call it the "electro-scoot,"
+and passengers will enter it in New York and touch a button and arrive
+in San Francisco two hours before they started! I think a new discovery
+will be made by which the young man of the future may stand at his
+"kiss-o-phone" in New York, and kiss his sweetheart in Chicago with all
+the delightful sensations of the "aforesaid and the same." I think some
+Liebig will reduce foods to their last analyses, and by an ultimate
+concentration of their elements, will enable the man of the future to
+carry a year's provisions in his vest pocket. The sucking dude will
+store his rations in the head of his cane, and the commissary department
+of a whole army will consist of a mule and a pair of saddlebags. A train
+load of cabbage will be transported in a sardine box, and a thousand fat
+Texas cattle in an oyster can. Power will be condensed from a forty
+horse engine to a quart cup. Wagons will roll by the power in their
+axles, and the cushions of our buggies will cover the force that propels
+them. The armies of the future will fight with
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page174" name="page174"></a>[174]</span>
+
+ chain lightning, and the
+battlefield will become so hot and unhealthy that,
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "He who fights and runs away</p>
+<p class="i3">   Will never fight another day."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+Some dreaming Icarus will perfect the flying machine, and upon the
+aluminium wings of the swift Pegassus of the air the light-hearted
+society girl will sail among the stars, and
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "Behind some dark cloud, where no one's allowed,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Make love to the man in the moon."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+The rainbow will be converted into a Ferris wheel; all men will be bald
+headed; the women will run the Government&mdash;<i>and then I think the end of
+time will be near at hand</i>.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page175" name="page175"></a>[175]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0039" id="h2H_4_0039"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    DREAMS.
+</h2>
+<p>
+I heard a song of love, and tenderness, and sadness, and beauty, sweeter
+than the song of a nightingale. It was breathed from the soul of Robert
+Burns. I heard a song of deepest passion surging like the tempest-tossed
+waves of the sea. It was the restless spirit of Lord Byron.
+</p>
+<p>
+I heard a mournful melody of despairing love, full of that wild, mad,
+hopeless longing of a bereaved soul which the mid-night raven mocked at
+with that bitterest of all words&mdash;"Nevermore!" It was the weird threnody
+of the brilliant, but ill-starred Poe, who, like a meteor, blazed but
+for a moment, dazzling a hemisphere, and then went out forever in the
+darkness of death.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then I was exalted, and lifted into the serene sunlight of peace, as
+I listened to the spirit of faith, pouring out in the songs of our own
+immortal Longfellow.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page176" name="page176"></a>[176]</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+With Milton I walked the scented isles of long lost Paradise, and caught
+the odor of its bloom, and the swell of its music. He led me through
+its rose brakes, and under the vermilion and flame of its orchids and
+honeysuckles, down to the margin of the limpid river, where the water
+lilies slept in fadeless beauty, and the lotus nodded to the rippling
+waves; and there, under a bridal arch of orange blossoms, cordoned by
+palms and many-colored flowers, I saw a vision of bliss and beauty from
+which Satan turned away with an envy that stabbed him with pangs unfelt
+before in hell! It was earth's first vision of wedded love.
+</p>
+<p>
+But the horizon of Shakespeare was broader than them all. There is no
+depth which he has not sounded, no height which he has not measured.
+He walked in the gardens of the intellectual gods and gathered sweets
+for the soul from a thousand unwithering flowers. He caught music from
+the spheres, and beauty from ten thousand fields of light. His brain was
+a mighty loom. His genius gathered and classified, his imagination spun
+and wove; the flying shuttle of his fancy delivered to the warp of
+wisdom and philosophy the shining threads
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page177" name="page177"></a>[177]</span>
+
+ spun from the fibres of human
+hearts and human experience; and with his wondrous woof of pictured
+tapestries, he clothed all thought in the bridal robes of immortality.
+His mind was a resistless flood that deluged the world of literature
+with its glory. The succeeding poets are but survivors as by the ark,
+and, like the ancient dove, they gather and weave into garlands only
+the "flotsam" of beauty which floats on the bosom of the Shakespearean
+flood.
+</p>
+<p>
+Oh, Shakespeare, archangel of poetry! The light from thy wings drowns
+the stars and flashes thy glory on the civilizations of the whole world!
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Unwearied, unfettered, unwatched, unconfined, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Be my spirit like thee, in the world of the mind; </p>
+<p class="i3">    No leaning for earth e'er to weary its flight; </p>
+<p class="i3">    But fresh as thy pinions in regions of light." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+All honor to the poets and philosophers and painters and sculptors and
+musicians of the world! They are its honeybees; its songbirds; its
+carrier doves, its ministering angels.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page178" name="page178"></a>[178]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0040" id="h2H_4_0040"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    VISIONS OF DEPARTED GLORY.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0043"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-178.png" width="300" height="300"
+alt="Roman ruins" />
+</div>
+<p>
+I walked with Gibbon and Hume, through the sombre halls of the past, and
+caught visions of the glory of the classic Republics and Empires that
+flourished long ago, and whose very
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page179" name="page179"></a>[179]</span>
+
+ dust is still eloquent with the
+story of departed greatness. The spirit of genius lingers there still
+like the fragrance of roses faded and gone.
+</p>
+<p>
+I thought I heard the harp of Pindar, and the impassioned song of the
+dark-eyed Sappho. I thought I heard the lofty epic of the blind Homer,
+rushing on in the red tide of battle, and the divine Plato discoursing
+like an oracle in his academic shades.
+</p>
+<p>
+The canvas spoke and the marble breathed when Apelles painted and
+Phidias carved.
+</p>
+<p>
+I stood with Michael Angelo and saw him chisel his dreams from the
+marble.
+</p>
+<p>
+I saw Raphael spread his visions of beauty in immortal colors.
+</p>
+<p>
+I sat under the spirit of Paganini's power. The flow of his melody
+turned the very air into music. I thought I was in the presence of
+Divinity as I listened to the warbles, and murmurs, and the ebb and flow
+of the silver tides, from his violin. And I said: Music is the dearest
+gift of God to man. The sea, the forest, the field, and the meadow, are
+the very fountain heads of music.
+</p>
+<p>
+I believe that Mozart, and Mendelssohn, and Schubert, and Verdi, and all
+the great masters,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page180" name="page180"></a>[180]</span>
+
+ caught their sweetest dreams from nature's musicians.
+I think their richest airs of mirth, and gladness, and joy, were stolen
+from the purling rivulet and the rippling river. I believe their
+grandest inspirations were born of the tempest, and the thunder, and the
+rolling billows of the angry ocean.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page181" name="page181"></a>[181]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0041" id="h2H_4_0041"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    NATURE'S MUSICIANS.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0044"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-181.png" width="300" height="325"
+alt="Birds" />
+</div>
+<p>
+I sat on the grassy brink of a mountain stream in the gathering twilight
+of evening. The shadowy woodlands around me became a great theatre. The
+greensward before me was its stage.
+</p>
+<p>
+The tinkling bell of a passing herd rang up the curtain, and I sat there
+all alone in the hush
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page182" name="page182"></a>[182]</span>
+
+ of the dying day and listened to a concert of
+nature's musicians who sing as God hath taught them to sing. The first
+singer that entered my stage was Signor Grasshopper. He mounted a
+mullein leaf and sang, and sang, and sang, until Professor Turkey
+Gobbler slipped up behind him with open mouth, and Signor Grasshopper
+vanished from the footlights forevermore. And as Professor Turkey
+Gobbler strutted off my stage with a merry gobble, the orchestra opened
+before me with a flourish of trumpets. The katydid led off with a
+trombone solo; the cricket chimed in with his E. flat cornet; the
+bumblebee played on his violoncello, and the jay-bird, laughed with his
+piccolo. The music rose to grandeur with the deep bass horn of the big
+black beetle; the mocking bird's flute brought me to tears of rapture,
+and the screech-owl's fife made me want to fight. The tree-frog blew
+his alto horn; the jar-fly clashed his tinkling cymbals; the woodpecker
+rattled his kettledrum, and the locust jingled his tambourine. The music
+rolled along like a sparkling river in sweet accompaniment with the
+oriole's leading violin. But it suddenly hushed when I heard a ripple
+of laughter among the hollyhocks before the door
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page183" name="page183"></a>[183]</span>
+
+ of a happy country
+home. I saw a youth standing there in the shadows with his arm around
+"something" and holding his sweetheart's hand in his. He bent forward;
+lip met lip, and there
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page184" name="page184"></a>[184]</span>
+
+ was an explosion like the squeak of a new boot.
+The lassie vanished into the cottage; the lad vanished over the hill,
+and as he vanished he swung his hat in the shadows, and sang back to her
+his happy love song.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0045"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-183.png" width="300" height="365"
+alt="LOVE AMONG THE HOLLYHOCKS." />
+<br />
+LOVE AMONG THE HOLLYHOCKS.
+</div>
+<p>
+Did you never hear a mountain love song? This is the song he sang:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Oh, when she saw me coming she rung her hands and cried, </p>
+<p class="i3">    She said I was the prettiest thing that ever lived or died. </p>
+<p class="i3">    Oh, run along home Miss Nancy, get along home Miss Nancy, </p>
+<p class="i3">    Run along home Miss Nancy, down in Rockinham." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+The birds inclined their heads to listen to his song as it died away on
+the drowsy summer air.
+</p>
+<p>
+That night I slept in a mansion; but I "closed my eyes on garnished
+rooms to dream of meadows and clover blooms," and love among the
+hollyhocks. And while I dreamed I was serenaded by a band of mosquitoes.
+This is the song they sang:
+</p>
+<a name="image-0046"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width: 150px; padding: 0em 1em 0em 0em;">
+<img src="images/ill-184.png" width="150" height="143"
+alt="mosquitos" />
+</div>
+<div class="poem" style="margin-left: 160px;">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "Hush my dear, lie still and slumber; </p>
+<p class="i5">      Holy angels guard thy bed; </p>
+<p class="i3">    Heavenly 'skeeters without number </p>
+<p class="i5">      Buzzing 'round your old bald head!!!" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page185" name="page185"></a>[185]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0042" id="h2H_4_0042"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em; clear:both;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    PREACHER'S PARADISE.
+</h2>
+<p>
+There is no land on earth which has produced such quaint and curious
+characters as the great mountainous regions of the South, and yet no
+country has produced nobler or brainier men.
+</p>
+<p>
+When I was a barefooted boy my grandfather's old grist mill was the
+Mecca of the mountaineers. They gathered there on the rainy days to
+talk politics and religion, and to drink "mountain" dew and fight.
+Adam Wheezer was a tall, spindle-shanked old settler as dark as an
+Indian, and he wore a broad, hungry grin that always grew broader at the
+sight of a fat sheep. The most prominent trait of Adam's character, next
+to his love of mutton, was his bravery. He stood in the mill one day
+with his empty sack under his arm, as usual, when Bert Lynch, the bully
+of the mountains, with an eye like a game rooster's, walked up to him
+and said: "Adam, you've bin a-slanderin' of me, an' I'm a-gwine to give
+you a thrashin'." He seized Adam by the throat and backed him under
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page186" name="page186"></a>[186]</span>
+
+ the meal spout. Adam opened his mouth to squall and it spouted meal
+like a whale. He made a surge for breath and liberty and tossed Bert
+away like a feather. Then he shot out of the mill door like a rocket,
+leaving his old battered plug hat and one prong of his coat tail in the
+hands of the enemy. He ran through the creek and knocked it dry as he
+went. He made a bee line for my grandfather's house, a quarter of a mile
+away, on the hill. He burst into the sitting-room, covered with meal and
+panting like a bellowsed horse, frightening my grandmother almost into
+hysterics. The old lady screamed and shouted: "What in the world is the
+matter, Adam?" Adam replied: "That there durned Bert Lynch is down
+yander a-tryin' to raise a fuss with me."
+</p>
+<p>
+But every dog has his day. Brother Billy Patterson preached from the
+door of the mill on the following Sunday. It was his first sermon in
+that "neck of the woods," and he began his ministrations with a powerful
+discourse, hurling his anathemas against Satan and sin and every kind of
+wickedness. He denounced whiskey. He branded the bully as a brute and a
+moral coward, and personated Bert, having witnessed
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page187" name="page187"></a>[187]</span>
+
+ his battle with Adam.
+This was too much for the champion. He resolved to "thrash" Brother
+Patterson, and in a few days they met at the mill. Bert squared himself
+and said: "Parson, you had your turn last Sunday; it's mine to-day.
+Pull off that broadcloth an' take your medicine. I'm a-gwine to suck
+the marrow out'n them ole bones o' yourn." The pious preacher plead for
+peace, but without avail. At last he said: "Then, if nothing but a fight
+will satisfy you, will you allow me to kneel down and say my prayer
+before we fight?" "O yes, that's all right parson," said Bert. "But cut
+yer prayer short, for I'm a-gwine to give you a good sound thrashin'."
+</p>
+<p>
+The preacher knelt and thus began to pray: "Oh Lord, Thou knowest that
+when I killed Bill Cummings, and John Brown, and Jerry Smith, and Levi
+Bottles, that I did it in self defense. Thou knowest, Oh Lord, that when
+I cut the heart out of young Sliger, and strewed the ground with the
+brains of Paddy Miles, that it was forced upon me, and that I did it in
+great agony of soul. And now, Oh Lord, I am about to be forced to put in
+his coffin, this poor miserable wretch, who has attacked me here to-day.
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page188" name="page188"></a>[188]</span>
+
+ Oh Lord, have mercy upon his soul and take care of his helpless widow
+and orphans when he is gone!"
+</p>
+<p>
+And he arose whetting his knife on his shoe-sole, singing:
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">  "Hark, from the tomb a doleful sound,</p>
+<p class="i3">   Mine ears attend the cry."</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+But when he looked around, Bert was gone. There was nothing in sight but
+a little cloud of dust far up the road, following in the wake of the
+vanishing champion.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0047"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-188.png" width="400" height="177"
+alt="Bert running away" />
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page189" name="page189"></a>[189]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0043" id="h2H_4_0043"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    BROTHER ESTEP AND THE TRUMPET.
+</h2>
+<p>
+During the great revival which followed Brother Patterson's first
+sermon and effective prayer, the hour for the old-fashioned Methodist
+love feast arrived. Old Brother Estep, in his enthusiasm on such
+occasions sometimes "stretched his blanket." It was his glory to get
+up a sensation among the brethren. He rose and said: "Bretheren, while
+I was a-walkin' in my gyardin late yisterday evenin', a-meditatin' on
+the final eend of the world, I looked up, an' I seed Gabrael raise his
+silver trumpet, which was about fifty foot long, to his blazin' lips,
+an' I hearn him give it a toot that knocked me into the fence corner
+an' shuck the very taters out'n the ground."
+</p>
+<p>
+"Tut, tut," said the old parson, "don't talk that way in this meeting;
+we all know you didn't hear Gabrael blow his trumpet." The old man's
+wife jumped to her feet to help her husband out, and said: "Now parson,
+you set down there. Don't you dispute John's word that-away&mdash;He mout
+a-hearn a toot or two."
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page190" name="page190"></a>[190]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0044" id="h2H_4_0044"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    "WAMPER-JAW" AT THE JOLLIFICATION.
+</h2>
+<p>
+The sideboard of those good old times would have thrown the prohibition
+candidate of to-day into spasms. It sparkled with cut glass decanters
+full of the juices of corn, and rye, and apple. The old Squire of the
+mill "Deestrict" had as many sweet, buzzing friends as any flower garden
+or cider press in Christendom. The most industrious bee that sucked at
+the Squire's sideboard was old "Wamper-jaw." His mouth reached from ear
+to ear, and was inlaid with huge gums as red as vermilion; and when he
+laughed it had the appearance of lightning. On the triumphant day of the
+Squire's re-election to his great office, when everything was lovely and
+"the goose hung high," he was surrounded by a large crowd of his fellow
+citizens, and Thomas Jefferson, in his palmiest days, never looked
+grander than did the Squire on this occasion. He was attired in his
+best suit of homespun, the choicest product of his wife's dye pot.
+His immense vest with its broad luminous
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page191" name="page191"></a>[191]</span>
+
+ stripes, checked the rotundity
+of his ample stomach like the lines of latitude and longitude, and
+resembled a half finished map of the United States. His blue jeans coat
+covered his body as the waters cover the face of the great deep, and
+its huge collar encircled the back of his head like the belts of light
+around a planet.
+</p>
+<p>
+The Squire was regaling his friends with his latest side-splitting
+jokes. Old "Wamper-jaw" threw himself back in his chair and exploded
+with peal after peal of laughter. But suddenly he looked around and
+said: "Gen-tul-men, my jaw's flew out'n jint!"
+</p>
+<p>
+His comrades seized him and pulled him all over the yard trying to get
+it back. Finally old "Wamper-jaw" mounted his mule, and with pounding
+heels, rode, like Tam O'Shanter, to the nearest doctor who lived two
+miles away. The doctor gave his jaw a mysterious yank and it popped back
+into socket. "Wamper-jaw" rushed back to join in the festivities at the
+Squire's. The glasses were filled again; another side-splitting joke was
+told, another peal of laughter went 'round, when "Wamper-jaw" threw his
+hand to his face and said: "Gen-tul-men, she's out agin!!!" There was
+another
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page192" name="page192"></a>[192]</span>
+
+ hasty ride for the doctor. But in the years that followed; "Wamper-jaw"
+was never known to laugh aloud. On the most hilarious occasions he
+merely showed his gums.
+</p>
+<a name="image-0048"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-192.png" width="200" height="370"
+alt="&quot;WAMPER-JAW.&quot;" />
+<br />
+"WAMPER-JAW."
+</div>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page193" name="page193"></a>[193]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0045" id="h2H_4_0045"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE TINTINNABULATION OF THE DINNER BELLS.
+</h2>
+<p>
+How many millions dream on the lowest planes of life! How few ever reach
+the highest and like stars of the first magnitude, shed their light upon
+the pathway of the marching centuries! What multitudes there are whose
+horizons are lighted with visions and dreams of the flesh pots and soup
+bowls,&mdash;whose Fallstaffian aspirations never rise above the fat things
+of this earth, and whose ear flaps are forever inclined forward,
+listening for the dinner bells!
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "The bells, bells, bells! </p>
+<p class="i3">    What a world of pleasure their harmony foretells! </p>
+<p class="i3">    The bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells! </p>
+<p class="i3">    The tintinnabulation of the dinner bells!" </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+In my native mountains there once lived one of these old gluttonous
+dreamers. I think he was the champion eater of the world. Many a time I
+have seen him at my grandfather's table, and the viands and battercakes
+vanished "like the baseless fabric of a vision,"&mdash;he left not "a wreck
+behind." But one day, in the voracity
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page194" name="page194"></a>[194]</span>
+
+ of his shark-like appetite, he
+unfortunately undertook too large a contract for the retirement of an
+immense slice of ham. It scraped its way down his rebellious esophagus
+for about two inches, and lodged as tightly as a bullet in a rusty gun.
+His prodigious Adam's apple suddenly shot up to his chin; his eyes
+protruded, and his purple neck craned and shortened by turns, like a
+trombone in full blast. He scrambled from the table and pranced about
+the room like a horse with blind staggers. My grandfather sprang at him
+and dealt him blow after blow in the back, which sounded like the blows
+of a mallet on a dry hide; but the ham wouldn't budge. The old man ran
+out into the yard and seized a plank about three feet long, and rushed
+into the room with it drawn.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Now William," said he, "get down on your all-fours." William got down.
+"Now William, when I hit, you swallow." He hit, and it popped like a
+Winchester rifle.
+</p>
+<p>
+William shot into the corner of the room like a shell from a mortar, but
+in a moment he was seated at his place at the table again, with a broad
+grin on his face. "Is it down William?" shouted the old man. "Yes, Mr.
+Haynes,
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page195" name="page195"></a>[195]</span>
+
+ the durned thing's gone,&mdash;please pass the ham."
+</p>
+<a name="image-0049"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-195.png" width="300" height="314"
+alt="&quot;WHEN I HIT, YOU SWALLOW.&quot;" />
+<br />
+"WHEN I HIT, YOU SWALLOW."
+</div>
+<p>
+I thought how vividly that old glutton illustrated the fools who, in
+their effort to gulp down the sensual pleasures of this world, choke the
+soul, and nothing but the clap-board of hard experience, well laid on,
+can dislodge the ham, and restore the equilibrium.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page196" name="page196"></a>[196]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0046" id="h2H_4_0046"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    PHANTOMS OF THE WINE CUP.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0050"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width: 75px;">
+<img src="images/ill-196a.png" width="75" height="99"
+alt="wine cup" />
+</div>
+<a name="image-0051"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:right; width:150px;">
+<img src="images/ill-196b.png" width="150" height="119"
+alt="tombstone" />
+</div>
+<p>
+A little below the glutton lies the plane of the drunkard whose visions
+and dreams are bounded by the horizon of a still tub. "A little wine for
+the stomach's sake is good," but in the trembling hand of a drunkard,
+every crimson drop that glows in the cup is crushed from the roses that
+once bloomed on the cheeks of some helpless woman. Every phantom of
+beauty that dances in it is a devil; and yet, millions quaff, and with
+a hideous laugh, go staggering to the grave.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page197" name="page197"></a>[197]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0047" id="h2H_4_0047"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em; clear:both;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE MISSING LINK.
+</h2>
+<p>
+A little below the plane of the drunkard is the dude, that missing link
+between monkey and man, whose dream of happiness is a single eye-glass,
+a kangaroo strut, and three hours of conversation without a sensible
+sentence; whose only conception of life is to splurge, and flirt, and
+spend his father's fortune.
+</p>
+<p>
+"Out of the fullness of his heart his mouth singeth:"
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i2">   "I'm a dandy; I'm a swell. </p>
+<p class="i3">    Just from college, can't you tell? </p>
+<p class="i3">    I'm the beau of every belle; </p>
+<p class="i3">    I'm the swellest of the swell. </p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i3">    I'm the King of all the balls, </p>
+<p class="i3">    I'm a Prince in banquet halls. </p>
+<p class="i3">    My daddy's rich, they know it well, </p>
+<p class="i3">    I'm the swellest of the swell." </p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page198" name="page198"></a>[198]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0048" id="h2H_4_0048"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    NIGHTMARE.
+</h2>
+<p>
+Unhappily for us all, in the world of visions and dreams, there is a
+dark side to human life. Here have been dreamed out all the crimes which
+have steeped our race in shame since the expulsion from Eden, and all
+the wars that have cursed mankind since the birth of history. Alexander
+the Great was a monster whose sword drank the blood of a conquered
+world. Julius Cæsar marched his invincible armies, like juggernauts,
+over the necks of fallen nations. Napoleon Bonaparte rose with the
+morning of the nineteenth century, and stood, like some frightful comet,
+on its troubled horizon. Distraught with the dream of conquest and
+empire, he hovered like a god on the verge of battle. Kings and emperors
+stood aghast. The sun of Austerlitz was the rising sun of his glory and
+power, but it went down, veiled in the dark clouds of Waterloo, and
+Napoleon the Great, uncrowned, unthroned, and stunned by the dreadful
+shock that annihilated the Grand Army
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page199" name="page199"></a>[199]</span>
+
+ and the Old Guard, "wandered
+aimlessly about on the lost field," in the gloom that palled a fallen
+empire, as Hugo describes him, "the somnambulist of a vast, shattered
+dream."
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page200" name="page200"></a>[200]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0049" id="h2H_4_0049"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    INFIDELITY.
+</h2>
+<p>
+It is in the desert of evil, where virtue trembles to tread, where hope
+falters, and where faith is crucified, that the infidel dreams. To him,
+all there is of heaven is bounded by this little span of life; all there
+is of pleasure and love is circumscribed by a few fleeting years; all
+there is of beauty is mortal; all there is of intelligence and wisdom is
+in the human brain; all there is of mystery and infinity is fathomable
+by human reason, and all there is of virtue is measured by the relations
+of man to man. To him, all must end in the "tongueless silence of the
+dreamless dust," and all that lies beyond the grave is a voiceless shore
+and a starless sky. To him, there are no prints of deathless feet on its
+echoless sands, no thrill of immortal music in its joyless air.
+</p>
+<p>
+He has lost his God, and like some fallen seraph flying in rayless
+night, he gropes his way on flagging pinions, searching for light where
+darkness reigns, for life where Death is King.
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page201" name="page201"></a>[201]</span>
+</p>
+<a name="h2H_4_0050" id="h2H_4_0050"><!-- H2 anchor --></a>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+    THE DREAM OF GOD.
+</h2>
+<a name="image-0052"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width: 150px;">
+<img src="images/ill-201.png" width="150" height="258"
+alt="telescope" />
+</div>
+<p>
+I have wondered a thousand times, if an infidel ever looked through a
+telescope. The universe is the dream of God, and the heavens declare
+His glory. There is our mighty sun, robed in the brightness of his
+eternal fires, and with his planets forever wheeling around him. Yonder
+is Mercury, and Venus, and there is Mars, the ruddy globe, whose poles
+are white with snow, and whose other zones seem dotted with seas and
+continents. Who knows but that his roseate
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page202" name="page202"></a>[202]</span>
+
+ color is only the blush of
+his flowers? Who knows but that Mars may now be a paradise inhabited by
+a blessed race, unsullied by sin, untouched by death? There is the giant
+orb of Jupiter, the champion of the skies, belted and sashed with vapor
+and clouds; and Saturn, haloed with bands of light and jeweled with
+eight ruddy moons; and there is Uranus, another stupendous world,
+speeding on in the prodigious circle of his tireless journey around the
+sun. And yet another orbit cuts the outer rim of our system; and on its
+gloomy pathway, the lonely Neptune walks the cold, dim solitudes of
+space. In the immeasurable depths beyond appear millions of suns, so
+distant that their light could not reach us in a thousand years. There,
+spangling the curtains of the black profound, shine the constellations
+that sparkle like the crown jewels of God. There are double, and triple,
+and quadruple suns of different colors, commingling their gorgeous hues
+and flaming like archangels on the frontier of stellar space. If we
+look beyond the most distant star, the black walls are flecked with
+innumerable patches of filmy light like the dewy gossamers of the
+spider's loom that dot our fields at morn. What
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page203" name="page203"></a>[203]</span>
+
+ beautiful forms we trace
+among those phantoms of light! circles, and elipses, and crowns, and
+shields, and spiral wreaths of palest silver. And what are they? Did
+I say phantoms of light? The telescope resolves them into millions of
+suns, standing out from the oceans of white hot matter that contain the
+germs of countless systems yet to be. And so far removed from us are
+these suns, that the light which comes to us from them to-night has been
+speeding on its way for more than two million years.
+</p>
+<p>
+What is that white belt we call the milky way, which spans the heavens
+and sparkles like a Sahara of diamonds? It is a river of stars: it is
+a gulf stream of suns; and if each of these suns holds in his grasp a
+mighty system of planets, as ours does, how many multiplied millions
+of worlds like our own are now circling in that innumerable concourse?
+</p>
+<p>
+Oh, where are the bounds of this divine conception! Where ends this
+dream of God? And is there no life and intelligence in all this throng
+of spheres? Are there no sails on those far away summer seas, no wings
+to cleave those crystal airs, no forms divine to walk those radiant
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page204" name="page204"></a>[204]</span>
+
+ fields? Are there no eyes to see those floods of light, no hearts to
+share with ours that love which holds all these mighty orbs in place?
+</p>
+<p>
+It cannot be, it cannot be! Surely there is a God! If there is not,
+life is a dream, human experience is a phantom, and the universe is
+a flaunting lie!
+</p>
+
+<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page205" name="page205"></a>[205]</span>
+</p>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2><span class="sc">Syrup of Figs</span></h2>
+
+<a name="image-0053"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure">
+<img src="images/ill-205.png" width="200" height="220"
+alt="Syrup of Figs" />
+</div>
+<h3>
+    ONE ENJOYS
+</h3>
+<p class="quote">
+    Both the method and results when Syrup of Figs is taken; it is
+    pleasant and refreshing to the taste, and acts gently yet promptly
+    on the Kidneys, Liver, and Bowels, cleanses the system effectually,
+    dispels colds, headaches, and fevers and cures habitual constipation.
+    Syrup of Figs is the only remedy of its kind ever produced, pleasing
+    to the taste and acceptable to the stomach, prompt in its action and
+    truly beneficial in its effects, prepared only from the most healthy
+    and agreeable substances, its many excellent qualities commend it to
+    all and have made it the most popular remedy known.
+</p>
+<p class="quote">
+    Syrup of Figs is for sale in 50 cent bottles by all leading
+    druggists. Any reliable druggist who may not have it on hand will
+    procure it promptly for any one who wishes to try it. Do not accept
+    any substitute.
+</p>
+<p class="center">
+    CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP CO.
+<br />
+    San Francisco, Cal.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Louisville, Ky.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;New York, N. Y.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page206" name="page206"></a>[206]</span>
+</p>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div style="border: thick dotted black; padding: 2em;">
+
+<h2 style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY, <br />
+DEPARTMENT OF DENTISTRY
+</h2>
+<h3 style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    A purely dental school&mdash;a training school for dentists&mdash;does what
+    it claims to do, as the results show. Regular Session will begin
+    Oct. 5th; ends March 31, 1898. Post-graduate and Practical Courses,
+    also.
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p style="font-family: sans-serif;">FOR INFORMATION, ADDRESS</p>
+<p class="i4" style="font-family: sans-serif;">    DR. W. H. MORGAN, Dean,</p>
+<p class="i8" style="font-family: sans-serif;">    211 N. HIGH ST.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<a name="image-0054"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="width: 150px; float:left;">
+<img src="images/ill-206.png" width="150" height="55"
+alt="Balmer's Magnetic Inhaler" />
+</div>
+
+<h2>
+    A MAGIC CURE
+<br />
+ ... FOR ...
+</h2>
+
+<p>
+    Catarrh, Asthma, Hay Fever, La Grippe, Sore Throat, etc.
+</p>
+<p>
+    A positive preventive and cure for all germ diseases. A quick cure
+    for colds. Used and praised by over a million Americans.
+</p>
+<p>
+    One minute's trial will convince you of its wonderful merit.
+    Endorsed by leading physicians. Every one guaranteed. Money refunded
+    if not satisfied. Will last two years and can be refilled by us
+    for 20 cents in stamps. Thousands have been sold under guarantee.
+    It speaks for itself. Show it and it sells itself. Price 50 cents
+    postpaid. Stamps taken.
+</p>
+<p>
+    <span class="sc">Agents Wanted.</span> Send 50 cents for one Inhaler and ask for wholesale
+    prices to agents. Address
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">    BAPTIST AND REFLECTOR,</p>
+<p class="i8">        NASHVILLE, TENN.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page207" name="page207"></a>[207]<br />[208]<br />[209]</span>
+</p>
+
+<!--
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page208" name="page208"></a>[208]</span></p>
+<p>[Blank Page]</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page209" name="page209"></a>[209]</span></p>
+-->
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<a name="image-0055"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:left; width: 200px;">
+<img src="images/ill-209a.png" width="200" height="131" alt="hotel" />
+</div>
+<h2 style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+    NEW SOUTHERN HOTEL,
+<br />
+    CHATTANOOGA, TENN.
+</h2>
+<p class="quote">
+    Centrally located. Newly furnished. First-class in all respects.
+    Best ventilated and the best fire protection of any house in the
+    city. Prompt and polite service. Rates $2.50 to $3.00. Commercial
+    rates to travelling men. Special rates to excursions of five and
+    upwards.
+</p>
+<p class="center" style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+    W. O. PEEPLES, <span class="sc">Manager</span>.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p class="center">
+    THE · SOUTH'S · LEADING · JEWELERS.
+</p>
+<h2>
+    STIEF JEWELRY CO.
+</h2>
+<p class="center">
+    208 &amp; 210 Union St., Nashville, Tenn.
+</p>
+<p class="quote">
+    Direct Importers of Fine DIAMONDS.
+</p>
+<p class="quote">
+    Dealers in Watches, Jewelry, and Fancy Goods.
+</p>
+<p class="quote">
+    We are strictly "Up-to-Date" in designs, with quality and prices
+    guaranteed. Write for our illustrated Catalogue, if unable to call
+    and see us. Special attention given to all mail orders.
+</p>
+<p class="center">
+    <i>JAMES B. CARR, Manager.</i>
+</p>
+<p class="center" style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+    LARGEST JEWELRY HOUSE IN THE SOUTH.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<a name="image-0056"><!--IMG--></a>
+<div class="figure" style="float:right; width: 200px;">
+<img src="images/ill-209b.png" width="200" height="181"
+alt="piano" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="center" style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+    HIGHEST AWARD.
+</p>
+<h2>
+    STARR PIANOS
+</h2>
+<p style="font-family: sans-serif;" class="center">
+    WORLD'S FAIR, 1893.
+<br />
+    BUY DIRECT AND SAVE MONEY.
+</p>
+<p style="text-indent: 0;">
+    America's leading manufacturers and dealers. Branches in leading
+    cities of U. S.
+</p>
+<p class="center" style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+    <span class="sc">Factories</span>: RICHMOND, IND.
+<br />
+    JESSE FRENCH PIANO &amp; ORGAN CO., NASHVILLE, TENN.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page210" name="page210"></a>[210]</span>
+</p>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+Artistic Home Decorations.
+</h2>
+
+<div class="center">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+    We can show you effects never before thought of, and at moderate
+    prices, too.
+</p>
+<p>
+    Why have your house decorated and painted by inferior workmen,
+    when you can have it done by skilled workmen&mdash;by artists&mdash;for the
+    same price?
+</p>
+<p>
+    If you intend decorating, if only one room, call to see what we
+    are doing, and for whom.
+</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>
+TAPESTRY PAINTING.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    2,000 tapestry painting to choose from. 38 artists employed,
+    including gold medalists of the Paris Salon. Send 25 cents for
+    compendium of 140 studies.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+WALL PAPER.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    New styles, designed by gold medal artists. From 10 cents per
+    roll up. Will give you large samples if you will pay expressage.
+    A large quantity of last year's paper, $1 and $2 per roll;
+    now 10 c. and 25 c.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+DECORATIONS.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    Color schemes&mdash;designs and estimates submitted free. Artists sent
+    to all parts of the world to do every sort of decorating and
+    painting. We are educating the country in color-harmony. Relief,
+    stained glass, wall paper, carpets, furniture, draperies, etc.
+    Pupils taught.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+DECORATIVE ADVICE.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    Upon receipt of $1, Mr. Douthitt will answer any question on
+    interior decorations&mdash;color-harmony and harmony of form, harmony
+    of wall coverings, carpets, curtains, tiles, furniture, gas
+    fixtures, etc.
+</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">
+JOHN F. DOUTHITT, <br />
+<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+<small>AMERICAN TAPESTRY DECORATIVE CO.</small></span><br />
+286 FIFTH AVENUE, near 30th St., NEW YORK.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page211" name="page211"></a>[211]</span>
+</p>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<h2>
+Artistic Home Decorations.
+</h2>
+
+<div class="center">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>
+MANUAL OF ART DECORATIONS.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    The art book of the century. 200 royal quarto pages. 50 superb
+    full-page illustrations (11 colored) of modern home interiors and
+    tapestry studies. Price, $2. If you want to be up in decoration,
+    send $2 for this book. Worth $50.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+SCHOOL.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    Six 3-hours tapestry painting lessons, in studio, $5. Complete
+    written instruction by mail, $1. Tapestry paintings rented;
+    full-size drawings, paints, brushes, etc., supplied. Nowhere,
+    Paris not excepted, are such advantages offered pupils. New
+    catalogue of 125 studies, 25 cents. Send $1 for complete
+    instruction in tapestry painting and compendium of 140 studies.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+TAPESTRY MATERIALS.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+    We manufacture tapestry materials superior to foreign goods,
+    and half the price. Book of samples, 10 cents. Send $1.50 for
+    2 yards No. 6, 50-inch goods, just for a trial order; worth $3.
+    All kinds of Drapery to match all sorts of Wall Papers, from
+    10c. per yard up. THIS IS OUR GREAT SPECIALTY.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+GOBLIN PRINTED BURLAPS.
+</h3>
+<p>
+    Over 100 new styles for wall coverings, at 25 cents per yard,
+    36 inches wide, thus costing the same as wall paper at $1 per
+    roll. 240 kinds of Japanese lida leather paper, at $2 per roll.
+</p>
+
+<h3>
+GOBLIN ART DRAPERY.
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Grecian, Russian, Venetian, Brazilian, Roman, Rococo, Dresden,
+Festoon, College Stripe, Marie Antoinette, Indian, Calcutta,
+Bombay, Delft, Soudan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In order that we may introduce this line of new art goods, we
+will send one yard of each of 50 different kinds of our most
+choice patterns for $7.50.
+</p>
+
+<div class="center">
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+<img src="images/titledec.png" alt="*** ***" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">
+JOHN F. DOUTHITT, <br />
+<span style="font-family: sans-serif;">
+<small>AMERICAN TAPESTRY DECORATIVE CO.</small></span><br />
+286 FIFTH AVENUE, near 30th St., NEW YORK.
+</p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="page212" name="page212"></a>[212]</span>
+</p>
+
+<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+<div style="border: thick dotted black; padding: 2em;">
+
+<p>
+    <b>Free tuition</b>. We will give one or more free scholarships in
+    every county in the U. S. Write us.
+</p>
+<p style="float: left; text-indent: 0; padding-right: 1em;">
+    <i><big>Positions ...<br /> Guaranteed</big><br /> Under reasonable<br /> conditions</i>....
+</p>
+<p>
+    Will accept notes for tuition or can deposit money in bank until
+    position is secured. <b>Car fare paid.</b> No vacation. Enter at any
+    time. Open for both sexes. Cheap board. <b>Send for free illustrated
+    catalogue.</b>
+</p>
+<p class="center">
+    Address <span class="sc">J. F. Draughon</span>, Pres't, at either place.
+</p>
+<p style="float: left; text-indent: 0; padding-right: 1em;">
+    <big>Draughon's<br />
+    Practical ...<br />
+    Business ...</big>
+</p>
+<div style="float:right;"><h2><big><i>Colleges,</i></big></h2></div>
+<p class="center" style="font-family: sans-serif; clear:both;">
+    NASHVILLE, TENN., GALVESTON AND TEXARKANA, TEX.
+</p>
+<p>
+    <b>Bookkeeping, Shorthand, Typewriting, etc.</b> The most thorough,
+    practical and progressive schools of the kind in the world, and the
+    best patronized ones in the South. Indorsed by bankers, merchants,
+    ministers and others. <b>Four weeks</b> in bookkeeping with us are equal
+    to <b>twelve weeks</b> by the old plan. J. F. Draughon, President, is
+    author of Draughon's New System of Bookkeeping, "Double Entry Made
+    Easy."
+</p>
+<p>
+    <b>Home study.</b> We have prepared, for home study, books on bookkeeping,
+    penmanship and shorthand. Write for price list "Home Study."
+</p>
+<p>
+    <b>Extract.</b> "<span class="sc">Prof. Draughon</span>&mdash;I learned bookkeeping at home
+    from your books, while holding a position as night telegraph
+    operator." <span class="sc">C. E. Leffingwell</span>, Bookkeeper for Gerber and Ficks,
+    Wholesale Grocers, South Chicago, Ill.
+</p>
+<p class="center">
+    (<i>Mention this paper when writing.</i>)
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2 style="float: left; text-indent: 0; padding-right: 1em;">
+Young People.
+</h2>
+<p>
+    <b>FREE: $20.00 IN GOLD, Bicycle, Gold Watch, Diamond Ring</b>, or a
+    <b>Scholarship</b> in Draughon's Practical Business College, Nashville,
+    Tenn., Galveston or Texarkana, Tex., or a scholarship in most any
+    other reputable business college or literary school in the U. S.
+    can be secured by doing a little work at home for the Youths'
+    Advocate, an illustrated semi-monthly journal. It is elevating in
+    character, moral in tone, and especially interesting and profitable
+    to young people, but read with interest and profit by people of all
+    ages. Stories and other interesting matter well illustrated. Sample
+    copies sent free. Agents wanted. Address Youths' Advocate Pub. Co.,
+    Nashville, Tenn.
+</p>
+<p class="center">
+    [Mention this paper.]
+</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales, by Robert L. Taylor
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+</body>
+</html>
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-105.png b/20171-h/images/ill-105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9e29b59
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-105.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-109.png b/20171-h/images/ill-109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b2eb0fd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-109.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-111.png b/20171-h/images/ill-111.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cb009ed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-111.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-115.png b/20171-h/images/ill-115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3a50fef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-115.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-124.png b/20171-h/images/ill-124.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e59e268
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-124.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-126.png b/20171-h/images/ill-126.png
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-126.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-137.png b/20171-h/images/ill-137.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27bd9ed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-137.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-139.png b/20171-h/images/ill-139.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f63cb74
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-139.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-144.png b/20171-h/images/ill-144.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7ffc076
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-144.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-147.png b/20171-h/images/ill-147.png
new file mode 100644
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diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-152.png b/20171-h/images/ill-152.png
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-152.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-155.png b/20171-h/images/ill-155.png
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-155.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-161.png b/20171-h/images/ill-161.png
new file mode 100644
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+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-161.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-178.png b/20171-h/images/ill-178.png
new file mode 100644
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diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-181.png b/20171-h/images/ill-181.png
new file mode 100644
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diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-183.png b/20171-h/images/ill-183.png
new file mode 100644
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+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-183.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-184.png b/20171-h/images/ill-184.png
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-184.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-188.png b/20171-h/images/ill-188.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8fd44a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-188.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-192.png b/20171-h/images/ill-192.png
new file mode 100644
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+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-192.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-195.png b/20171-h/images/ill-195.png
new file mode 100644
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+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-195.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-196a.png b/20171-h/images/ill-196a.png
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
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diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-196b.png b/20171-h/images/ill-196b.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4a29660
--- /dev/null
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diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-201.png b/20171-h/images/ill-201.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f20e584
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-201.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-205.png b/20171-h/images/ill-205.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c96013d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-205.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-206.png b/20171-h/images/ill-206.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0eb35a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-206.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-209a.png b/20171-h/images/ill-209a.png
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-209a.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/ill-209b.png b/20171-h/images/ill-209b.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f77b98
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/ill-209b.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/music-015.png b/20171-h/images/music-015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e3ad572
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/music-015.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/music-065.png b/20171-h/images/music-065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4634e4e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/music-065.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/music-076.png b/20171-h/images/music-076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..18fe8ef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/music-076.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/music-078.png b/20171-h/images/music-078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f0fb1a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/music-078.png
diff --git a/20171-h/images/titledec.png b/20171-h/images/titledec.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..acc33a8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/images/titledec.png
diff --git a/20171-h/music/015.ly b/20171-h/music/015.ly
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6480ab5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/015.ly
@@ -0,0 +1,74 @@
+\version "2.8.8"
+
+\paper {
+ indent = 0\mm
+}
+
+trackAchannelA = \relative c {
+ 
+  \time 3/4 
+
+  \partial 4
+  e'8 f8 |
+  % 2
+  g2\glissando e'4 |
+  % 3
+  f,2\glissando d'4 |
+  % 4
+  e,2 c'8 c |
+  % 5
+  c4( \stemDown g) \stemNeutral e |
+\break
+  % 6
+  d( f) a |
+  % 7
+  a( g) g |
+  % 8
+  f e d |
+  % 9
+  e2 e8 f |
+\break
+  % 10
+  g2\glissando e'4 |
+  % 11
+  f,2\glissando d'4 |
+  % 12
+  e,2 c'8 c |
+  % 13
+  c4( \stemDown g) \stemNeutral e |
+\break
+  % 14
+  d e f |
+  % 15
+  \stemUp b( \stemNeutral a8) g4. |
+  % 16
+  f e4 d8 |
+  % 17
+  c2
+
+}
+\addlyrics { With my la -- e, lo -- e, hush -- a -- bye ba -- by,
+             Danc-ing the ba -- by ev -- er so high;
+             with my La -- e, lo -- e, hush -- a -- bye ba -- by,
+             Mam -- ma will come4. to you bye and bye. }
+
+trackA = <<
+  \context Voice = channelA \trackAchannelA
+>>
+
+
+\score {
+  <<
+    \context Staff=trackA \trackA
+  >>
+\midi { \tempo 4 = 140  }
+\layout {
+ \context {
+  \Score \remove "Bar_number_engraver"
+}
+\context {
+   \Staff \remove "Time_signature_engraver"
+  }
+ }
+
+}
diff --git a/20171-h/music/015.midi b/20171-h/music/015.midi
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c943abd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/015.midi
diff --git a/20171-h/music/015.png b/20171-h/music/015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b06d545
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/015.png
diff --git a/20171-h/music/065.ly b/20171-h/music/065.ly
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4804e85
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/065.ly
@@ -0,0 +1,50 @@
+\version "2.8.8"
+
+\paper {
+ indent = 0\mm
+}
+
+trackAchannelA = \relative c {
+  
+%  \tempo 4 = 80
+
+  \key d \major
+
+  fis'8.\noBeam fis16\noBeam g8.\noBeam g16\noBeam a8.\noBeam d16\noBeam d8.\noBeam d16\noBeam |
+  \break
+  % 2
+  d8\noBeam b\noBeam cis\noBeam a\noBeam a16\noBeam d8.\noBeam a16\noBeam d8.\noBeam |
+  \break
+  % 3
+  d8\noBeam b\noBeam cis\noBeam a\noBeam a\noBeam fis'\fermata\noBeam d16\noBeam b8.\fermata\noBeam |
+  \break
+  % 4
+  a8\noBeam fis\noBeam e\noBeam a\noBeam fis16\noBeam d8.\noBeam r4 \bar "||"
+}
+
+\addlyrics { "\"Men" may come and men may go, but
+            I go on 'for -- ev -- oor' 'ev -- oor'
+ 	     I go on 'for -- ev -- o-o-r' 'e-v -- o-o-r'
+ 	     I go on 'for -- ev -- "oor.'\""
+}
+
+trackA = <<
+  \context Voice = channelA \trackAchannelA
+>>
+
+
+\score {
+  <<
+    \context Staff=trackA \trackA
+  >>
+\midi { \tempo 4 = 80  }
+\layout {
+ \context {
+  \Score \remove "Bar_number_engraver"
+}
+\context {
+   \Staff \remove "Time_signature_engraver"
+  }
+ }
+ 
+}
diff --git a/20171-h/music/065.midi b/20171-h/music/065.midi
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19bb13a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/065.midi
diff --git a/20171-h/music/065.png b/20171-h/music/065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3de9504
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/065.png
diff --git a/20171-h/music/076.ly b/20171-h/music/076.ly
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f354e58
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/076.ly
@@ -0,0 +1,70 @@
+\version "2.8.8"
+
+\paper {
+ indent = 0\mm
+}
+
+trackAchannelA = \relative c {
+
+  \key c \major
+  
+  \stemUp
+
+  d''4 d b8 c d4 |
+  % 2
+  e8 d c4 a8 a a4 |
+  % 3
+  a b c2 |
+  \break
+  % 4
+  a4 b c2 |
+  % 5
+  d4 c b2 |
+  % 6
+  g4 g g2 |
+  \break
+  % 7
+  f4 g a2 |
+  % 8
+  a4 a a2 |
+  % 9
+  b4 g f g |
+  % 10
+  a8\noBeam g\noBeam f\noBeam e\noBeam d2 |
+  \break
+  % 11
+  f4 g a2 |
+  % 12
+  a4 b c8 d e4 |
+  % 13
+  d c b2 |
+  % 14
+  g4 g g2 \bar "||"
+  
+}
+
+\addlyrics { Sol sol, mi fa sol, la sol fa, re re re, re mi fa
+             Re mi fa, sol fa mi, do do do --
+	     Si do re, re re re, mi do si do, re do si la sol,
+	     Si do re, re mi fa sol la, sol fa mi, do do "do.\""
+}
+
+trackA = <<
+  \context Voice = channelA \trackAchannelA
+>>
+
+
+\score {
+  <<
+    \context Staff=trackA \trackA
+  >>
+\midi { \tempo 4 = 120  }
+\layout {
+ \context {
+  \Score \remove "Bar_number_engraver"
+}
+\context {
+   \Staff \remove "Time_signature_engraver"
+  }
+ }
+}
diff --git a/20171-h/music/076.midi b/20171-h/music/076.midi
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a59e9f4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/076.midi
diff --git a/20171-h/music/076.png b/20171-h/music/076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3b154e8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/076.png
diff --git a/20171-h/music/078-079.ly b/20171-h/music/078-079.ly
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3c25254
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/078-079.ly
@@ -0,0 +1,92 @@
+\version "2.8.8"
+
+\paper {
+ indent = 0\mm
+}
+
+trackAchannelA = \relative c {
+  
+%  \tempo 4 = 140 
+
+  \key bes \major
+
+  \partial 8
+  f'8 |
+  % 2
+  g4 a ees' ees |
+  % 3
+  ees8[ d] \acciaccatura d c[ bes] \stemUp bes4. \stemUp a8 |
+\break
+  % 4
+  g4 bes \stemNeutral a c |
+  % 5
+  \stemUp bes2 \stemNeutral r4 f |
+\break
+  % 6
+  g a ees' ees |
+  % 7
+  ees8[( d)] \acciaccatura d c[ bes] \stemUp bes4. \stemNeutral a8 |
+\break
+  % 8
+  g4.. g16 d'4.. c16 |
+  % 9
+  f,2 r4 f |
+\break
+  % 10
+  d' \stemUp c8. \melisma a16 \melismaEnd \stemNeutral f4 f |
+  % 11
+  \times 2/3 { f8( g a) } \times 2/3 { bes8( c cis) } d4 d |
+\break
+  % 12
+  d a bes( \acciaccatura { c16[ \stemUp bes] \stemNeutral } a8) g |
+  % 13
+  a2\fermata r4 f |
+\break
+  % 14
+  g a ees' ees |
+  % 15
+  ees8. d16 \melisma \acciaccatura d8 c8. \melismaEnd bes16 \melisma \stemUp bes4. \melismaEnd \stemNeutral a8 |
+\break
+  % 16
+  g4 \stemUp bes \stemNeutral a \acciaccatura { c16[ bes] } g8 \melisma f \melismaEnd |
+  % 17
+  f'2( f8) ees d c |
+\break
+  % 18
+  bes[ f] e[ f] d'4.\fermata c8 |
+  % 19
+  bes4 r4 r2 \bar "||"
+}
+
+\addlyrics {
+    "\"When" eth -- aer-r-r leeps and eth -- aer -- r -- r hairts. Their-r-r
+    tales auf luff sholl tell, In
+    long -- widge whose ex -- cess im -- pair -- r-r-ts The
+    power-r-r-r they feel so well, There-r-r-e
+    may per -- haps in-a such a s-c-e-n-e Some
+    r-r-re -- co -- lec -- tion be, Auf
+    days thot haive as hop -- py bean __ Then
+    you'll-a r-r-r-re -- mem -- b-a-e-r-r-r me-e-e, Then you'll-a r-re-
+    mem -- b-a-e-r-r, You'll-a r-re -- mem -- ber "a-mee-e-e!!\""
+}
+
+trackA = <<
+  \context Voice = channelA \trackAchannelA
+>>
+
+
+\score {
+  <<
+    \context Staff=trackA \trackA
+  >>
+\midi { \tempo 4 = 140  }
+\layout {
+ \context {
+  \Score \remove "Bar_number_engraver"
+}
+\context {
+   \Staff \remove "Time_signature_engraver"
+  }
+ }
+
+}
diff --git a/20171-h/music/078-079.midi b/20171-h/music/078-079.midi
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fad2210
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/078-079.midi
diff --git a/20171-h/music/078-079.png b/20171-h/music/078-079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c7ceafc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171-h/music/078-079.png
diff --git a/20171.txt b/20171.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..85b852b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/20171.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,3914 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales, by Robert L. Taylor
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales
+
+Author: Robert L. Taylor
+
+Release Date: December 23, 2006 [EBook #20171]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOV. BOB. TAYLOR'S TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Kentuckiana Digital Library)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales.
+
+"THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW,"
+
+"THE PARADISE OF FOOLS",
+
+"VISIONS AND DREAMS."
+
+ILLUSTRATED.
+
+    Published by
+    DeLONG RICE & COMPANY.
+    Nashville, Tenn.
+
+
+
+
+    COPYRIGHTED, 1896.
+    _All rights reserved by DeLong Rice & Co._
+
+    UNIVERSITY PRESS CO.,
+    NASHVILLE, TENN.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+This volume presents the first publication of the famous lectures
+of Governor Robert L. Taylor. His great popularity as an orator and
+entertainer, and his wide reputation as a humorist, have caused repeated
+inquiries from all sections of the country for his lectures in book
+form; and this has given rise to an earlier publication than was
+expected.
+
+The lectures are given without the slightest abridgment, just as
+delivered from the platform throughout the country. The consecutive
+chain of each is left undisturbed; and the idea of paragraphing, and
+giving headlines to the various subjects treated, was conceived merely
+for the convenience of the reader.
+
+In the dialect of his characters, the melody of his songs, and the
+originality of his quaint, but beautiful conceptions, Governor Taylor's
+lectures are temples of thought, lighted with windows of fun.
+
+                                                            DELONG RICE.
+
+
+
+
+  Temples of Thought,
+     Lighted with
+       Windows
+       Of Fun.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+  "THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW."                                9
+    Cherish the Little Ones                               19
+    Fat Men and Bald-Headed Men                           22
+    The Poet Laureate of Music                            23
+    The Convict and His Fiddle                            25
+    A Vision of The Old Field School                      27
+    The Quilting and the Old Virginia Reel                36
+    The Candy Pulling                                     44
+    The Banquet                                           48
+    There is Music All Around Us                          53
+    The Two Columns.                                      61
+    There is a Melody for Every Ear                       63
+    Music is the Wine of the Soul                         66
+    The Old Time Singing School                           72
+    The Grand Opera                                       78
+    Music                                                 80
+
+
+  "THE PARADISE OF FOOLS."                                83
+    The Paradise of Childhood                             90
+    The Paradise of the Barefooted Boy                    98
+    The Paradise of Youth                                104
+    The Paradise of Home                                 112
+    Bachelor and Widower                                 117
+    Phantoms                                             119
+    The False Ideal                                      121
+    The Circus in the Mountains                          123
+    The Phantom of Fortune                               128
+    Clocks                                               130
+    The Panic                                            133
+    Bunk City                                            135
+    Your Uncle                                           137
+    Fools                                                140
+    Blotted Pictures                                     143
+
+
+  "VISIONS AND DREAMS."                                  147
+    The Happy Long Ago                                   151
+    Dreams of the Years to Come                          160
+    From the Cave-man to the Kiss-o-phone                169
+    Dreams                                               175
+    Visions of Departed Glory                            178
+    Nature's Musicians                                   181
+    Preacher's Paradise                                  185
+    Brother Estep and the Trumpet                        189
+    "Wamper-jaw" at the Jollification                    190
+    The Tintinnabulation of the Dinner Bells             193
+    Phantoms of the Wine Cup                             196
+    The Missing Link                                     197
+    Nightmare                                            198
+    Infidelity                                           200
+    The Dream of God                                     201
+
+
+
+
+"THE FIDDLE AND THE BOW."
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I heard a great master play on the wondrous violin; his bow quivered
+like the wing of a bird; in every quiver there was a melody, and every
+melody breathed a thought in language sweeter than was ever uttered by
+human tongue. I was conjured, I was mesmerized by his music. I thought I
+fell asleep under its power, and was rapt into the realm of visions and
+dreams. The enchanted violin broke out in tumult, and through the rifted
+shadows in my dream I thought I saw old ocean lashed to fury. The wing
+of the storm-god brooded above it, dark and lowering with night and
+tempest and war. I heard the shriek of the angry hurricane, the loud
+rattling musketry of rain, and hail, and the louder and deadlier crash and
+roar of the red artillery on high. Its rumbling batteries, unlimbered on
+the vapory heights and manned by the fiery gunners of the storm, boomed
+their volleying thunders to the terrible rythm of the strife below. And
+in every stroke of the bow fierce lightnings leaped down from their dark
+pavilions of cloud, and, like armed angels of light, flashed their
+trenchant blades among the phantom squadrons marshalling for battle on
+the field of the deep. I heard the bugle blast and battle cry of the
+charging winds, wild and exultant, and then I saw the billowy monsters
+rise, like an army of Titans, to scale and carry the hostile heights of
+heaven. Assailing again and again, as often hurled back headlong into
+the ocean's abyss, they rolled, and surged, and writhed, and raged, till
+the affrighted earth trembled at the uproar of the warring elements.
+I saw the awful majesty and might of Jehovah flying on the wings of
+the tempest, planting his footsteps on the trackless deep, veiled in
+darkness and in clouds. There was a shifting of the bow; the storm died
+away in the distance, and the morning broke in floods of glory. Then the
+violin revived and poured out its sweetest soul. In its music I heard
+the rustle of a thousand joyous wings, and a burst of song from a
+thousand joyous throats. Mockingbirds and linnets thrilled the glad
+air with warblings; gold finches, thrushes and bobolinks trilled their
+happiest tunes; and the oriole sang a lullaby to her hanging cradle that
+rocked in the wind. I heard the twitter of skimming swallows and the
+scattered covey's piping call; I heard the robin's gay whistle, the
+croaking of crows, the scolding of blue-jays, and the melancholy cooing
+of a dove. The swaying tree-tops seemed vocal with bird-song while he
+played, and the labyrinths of leafy shade echoed back the chorus. Then
+the violin sounded the hunter's horn, and the deep-mouthed pack of fox
+hounds opened loud and wild, far in the ringing woods, and it was like
+the music of a hundred chiming bells. There was a tremor of the bow,
+and I heard a flute play, and a harp, and a golden-mouthed cornet;
+I heard the mirthful babble of happy voices, and peals of laughter
+ringing in the swelling tide of pleasure. Then I saw a vision of snowy
+arms, voluptuous forms, and light fantastic slippered feet, all whirling
+and floating in the mazes of the misty dance. The flying fingers now
+tripped upon the trembling strings like fairy-feet dancing on the
+nodding violets, and the music glided into a still sweeter strain.
+The violin told a story of human life. Two lovers strayed beneath the
+elms and oaks, and down by the river side, where daffodils and pansies
+bend and smile to rippling waves, and there, under the bloom of
+incense-breathing bowers, under the soothing sound of humming bees and
+splashing waters, there, the old, old story, so old and yet so new,
+conceived in heaven, first told in Eden and then handed down through
+all the ages, was told over and over again. Ah, those downward drooping
+eyes, that mantling blush, that trembling hand in meek submission
+pressed, that heaving breast, that fluttering heart, that whispered
+"yes," wherein a heaven lies--how well they told of victory won and
+paradise regained! And then he swung her in a grapevine swing. Young
+man, if you want to win her, wander with her amid the elms and oaks,
+and swing her in a grapevine swing.
+
+
+  "Swinging in the grapevine swing,
+   Laughing where the wild birds sing;
+   I dream and sigh for the days gone by,
+   Swinging in the grapevine swing."
+
+
+[Illustration: "SWINGING IN THE GRAPEVINE SWING."]
+
+
+  But swiftly the tides of music run, and swiftly speed the hours;
+  Life's pleasures end when scarce begun, e'en as the summer flowers.
+
+
+The violin laughed like a child and my dream changed again. I saw a
+cottage amid the elms and oaks and a little curly-head toddled at the
+door; I saw a happy husband and father return from his labors in the
+evening and kiss his happy wife and frolic with his baby. The purple
+glow now faded from the Western skies; the flowers closed their petals
+in the dewy slumbers of the night; every wing was folded in the bower;
+every voice was hushed; the full-orbed moon poured silver from the East,
+and God's eternal jewels flashed on the brow of night. The scene changed
+again while the great master played, and at midnight's holy hour, in the
+light of a lamp dimly burning, clad in his long, white mother-hubbard,
+I saw the disconsolate victim of love's young dream nervously walking
+the floor, in his bosom an aching heart, in his arms the squalling baby.
+On the drowsy air, like the sad wails of a lost spirit, fell his woeful
+voice singing:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+    With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by,
+    Danc-ing the ba-by ev-er so high; with my
+    La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye ba-by
+    Mam-ma will come to you bye and bye.
+
+
+It was a battle with king colic. But this ancient invader of the empire
+of babyhood had sounded a precipitate retreat; the curly head had fallen
+over on the paternal shoulder; the tear-stained little face was almost
+calm in repose, when down went a naked heel square on an inverted tack.
+Over went the work table; down came the work basket, scissors and all;
+up went the heel with the tack sticking in it, and the hero of the
+daffodils and pansies, with a yell like the Indian war-whoop, and with
+his mother-hubbard now floating at half mast, hopped in agony to a lounge
+in the rear.
+
+[Illustration: A BATTLE WITH KING COLIC.]
+
+There was "weeping and gnashing of teeth;" there were hoarse mutterings;
+there was an angry shake of the screaming baby, which he had awakened
+again. Then I heard an explosion of wrath from the warm blankets of the
+conjugal couch, eloquent with the music of "how dare you shake my little
+baby that way!!!! I'll tell pa to-morrow!" which instantly brought the
+trained husband into line again, singing:
+
+  "La-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, dancing the baby ever so high,
+  With my la-e, lo-e, hush-a-bye baby, mamma will come to you bye and bye."
+
+
+The paregoric period of life is full of spoons and midnight squalls, but
+what is home without a baby?
+
+The bow now brooded like a gentle spirit over the violin, and the music
+eddied into a mournful tone; another year intervened; a little coffin
+sat by an empty cradle; the prints of baby fingers were on the window
+panes; the toys were scattered on the floor; the lullaby was hushed; the
+sobs and cries, the mirth and mischief, and the tireless little feet
+were no longer in the way to vex and worry. Sunny curls drooped above
+eyelids that were closed forever; two little cheeks were bloodless and
+cold, and two little dimpled hands were folded upon a motionless breast.
+The vibrant instrument sighed and wept; it rang the church bell's knell;
+and the second story of life, which is the sequel to the first, was told.
+
+Then I caught glimpses of a half-veiled paradise and a sweet breath from
+its flowers; I saw the hazy stretches of its landscapes, beautiful and
+gorgeous as Mahomet's vision of heaven; I heard the faint swells of its
+distant music and saw the flash of white wings that never weary, wafting
+to the bosom of God an infant spirit; a string snapped; the music ended;
+my vision vanished.
+
+The old Master is dead, but his music will live forever.
+
+
+
+
+CHERISH THE LITTLE ONES.
+
+
+Do you sometimes forget and wound the hearts of your children with
+frowns and the dagger of cruel words, and sometimes with a blow?
+Do you sometimes, in your own peevishness, and your own meanness, wish
+yourself away from their fretful cries and noisy sports? Then think that
+to-morrow may ripen the wicked wish; tomorrow death may lay his hand
+upon a little fluttering heart and it will be stilled forever. 'Tis then
+you will miss the sunbeam and the sweet little flower that reflected
+heaven on the soul. Then cherish the little ones! Be tender with the
+babes! Make your homes beautiful! All that remains to us of paradise
+lost, clings about the home. Its purity, its innocence, its virtue,
+are there, untainted by sin, unclouded by guile. There woman shines,
+scarcely dimmed by the fall, reflecting the loveliness of Eden's first
+wife and mother; the grace, the beauty, the sweetness of the wifely
+relation, the tenderness of maternal affection, the graciousness of
+manner which once charmed angel guests, still glorify the home.
+
+If you would make your homes happy, you must make the children happy.
+Get down on the floor with your prattling boys and girls and play horse
+with them; take them on your back and gallop them to town; don't kick up
+and buck, but be a good and gentle old steed, and join in a hearty horse
+laugh in their merriment. Take the baby on your knee and gallop him to
+town; let him practice gymnastics on top of your head and take your
+scalp; let him puncture a hole in your ear with his little teeth, and
+bite off the end of the paternal nose. Make your homes beautiful with
+your duty and your love, make them bright with your mirth and your
+music.
+
+Victor Hugo said of Napoleon the Great: "The frontiers of kingdoms
+oscillated on the map. The sound of a super-human sword being drawn from
+its scabbard could be heard; and he was seen, opening in the thunder his
+two wings, the Grand Army and the Old Guard; he was the archangel of
+war." And when I read it I thought of the death and terror that followed
+wherever the shadow of the open wings fell. I thought of the blood that
+flowed, and the tears that were shed wherever the sword gleamed in his
+hand. I thought of the human skulls that paved Napoleon's way to St.
+Helena's barren rock, and I said, 'I would rather dwell in a log cabin,
+in the beautiful land of the mountains where I was born and reared, and
+sit at its humble hearthstone at night, and in the firelight, play the
+humble rural tunes on the fiddle to my happy children, and bask in the
+smiles of my sweet wife, than to be the 'archangel of war,' with my
+hands stained with human blood, or to make the 'frontiers of kingdoms
+oscillate on the map of the world, and then, away from home and kindred
+and country, die at last in exile and in solitude.'
+
+
+
+
+FAT MEN AND BALD-HEADED MEN.
+
+
+It ought to be the universal law that none but fat men and bald-headed
+men should be the heads of families, because they are always good
+natured, contented and easily managed. There is more music in a fat
+man's laugh than there is in a thousand orchestras or brass bands.
+Fat sides and bald heads are the symbols of music, innocence, and meek
+submission. O! ladies listen to the words of wisdom! Cultivate the
+society of fat men and bald-headed men, for "of such is the Kingdom of
+Heaven." And the fat women, God bless their old sober sides--they are
+"things of beauty, and a joy forever."
+
+
+
+
+THE VIOLIN, THE POET LAUREATE OF MUSIC.
+
+
+How sweet are the lips of morning that kiss the waking world! How sweet
+is the bosom of night that pillows the world to rest. But sweeter than
+the lips of morning, and sweeter than the bosom of night, is the voice
+of music that wakes a world of joys and soothes a world of sorrows.
+It is like some unseen ethereal ocean whose silver surf forever breaks
+in song; forever breaks on valley, hill, and craig, in ten thousand
+symphonies. There is a melody in every sunbeam, a sunbeam in every
+melody; there is a flower in every song, a love song in every flower;
+there is a sonnet in every gurgling fountain, a hymn in every brimming
+river, an anthem in every rolling billow. Music and light are twin
+angels of God, the first-born of heaven, and mortal ear and mortal eye
+have caught only the echo and the shadow of their celestial glories.
+
+The violin is the poet laureate of music; violin of the virtuoso and
+master, _fiddle_ of the untutored in the ideal art. It is the aristocrat
+of the palace and the hall; it is the _democrat_ of the unpretentious
+home and humble cabin. As violin, it weaves its garlands of roses and
+camelias; as fiddle it scatters its modest violets. It is admired by the
+cultured for its magnificent powers and wonderful creations; it is loved
+by the millions for its simple melodies.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONVICT AND HIS FIDDLE.
+
+
+One bright morning, just before Christmas day, an official stood in
+the Executive chamber in my presence as Governor of Tennessee, and
+said: "Governor, I have been implored by a poor miserable wretch in
+the penitentiary to bring you this rude fiddle. It was made by his own
+hands with a penknife during the hours allotted to him for rest. It is
+absolutely valueless, it is true, but it is his petition to you for
+mercy. He begged me to say that he has neither attorneys nor influential
+friends to plead for him; that he is poor, and all he asks is, that when
+the Governor shall sit at his own happy fireside on Christmas eve, with
+his own happy children around him, he will play one tune on this rough
+fiddle and think of a cabin far away in the mountains whose hearthstone
+is cold and desolate and surrounded by a family of poor little wretched,
+ragged children, crying for bread and waiting and listening for the
+footsteps of their father."
+
+Who would not have been touched by such an appeal? The record was
+examined; Christmas eve came; the Governor sat that night at his own
+happy fireside, surrounded by his own happy children; and he played one
+tune to them on that rough fiddle. The hearthstone of the cabin in the
+mountains was bright and warm; a pardoned prisoner sat with his baby on
+his knee, surrounded by _his_ rejoicing children, and in the presence of
+_his_ happy wife, and although there was naught but poverty around him,
+his heart sang: "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;" and
+then he reached up and snatched his fiddle down from the wall, and
+played "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
+
+
+
+
+A VISION OF THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL.
+
+
+Did you never hear a fiddler fiddle? I have. I heard a fiddler fiddle,
+and the hey-dey-diddle of his frolicking fiddle called back the happy
+days of my boyhood. The old field schoolhouse with its batten doors
+creaking on wooden hinges, its windows innocent of glass, and its great,
+yawning fireplace, cracking and roaring and flaming like the infernal
+regions, rose from the dust of memory and stood once more among the
+trees. The limpid spring bubbled and laughed at the foot of the hill.
+Flocks of nimble, noisy boys turned somersaults and skinned the cat and
+ran and jumped half hammon on the old play ground. The grim old teacher
+stood in the door; he had no brazen-mouthed bell to ring then as we have
+now, but he shouted at the top of his voice: "Come to books!!!" And they
+came. Not to come meant "war and rumors of war." The backless benches,
+high above the floor, groaned under the weight of irrepressible young
+America; the multitude of mischievous, shining faces, the bare legs and
+feet, swinging to and fro, and the mingled hum of happy voices, spelling
+aloud life's first lessons, prophesied the future glory of the State.
+The curriculum of the old field school was the same everywhere--one
+Webster's blue backed, elementary spelling book, one thumb-paper, one
+stone-bruise, one sore toe, and Peter Parley's Travels.
+
+The grim old teacher, enthroned on his split bottomed chair, looked
+terrible as an army with banners; and he presided with a dignity and
+solemnity which would have excited the envy of the United States Supreme
+Court: I saw the school commissioners visit him, and heard them question
+him as to his system of teaching. They asked him whether, in geography,
+he taught that the world was round, or that the world was flat. With
+great dignity he replied: "That depends upon whar I'm teachin'. If my
+patrons desire me to teach the round system, I teach it; if they desire
+me to teach the flat system, I teach that."
+
+At the old field school I saw the freshman class, barefooted and with
+pantaloons rolled up to the knees, stand in line under the ever uplifted
+rod, and I heard them sing the never-to-be-forgotten b-a ba's. They sang
+them in the _olden_ times, and this is the way they sang: "b-a ba, b-e
+be, b-i bi-ba be bi, b-o bo, b-u bu-ba be bi bo bu."
+
+I saw a sophomore dance a jig to the music of a dogwood sprout for
+throwing paper wads. I saw a junior compelled to stand on the dunce
+block, on one foot--(_a la_ gander) for winking at his sweetheart in
+time of books, for failing to know his lessons, and for "various and
+sundry other high crimes and misdemeanors."
+
+A twist of the fiddler's bow brought a yell from the fiddle, and in
+my dream, I saw the school come pouring out into the open air. Then
+followed the games of "prisoner's base," "town-ball," "Antney-over;"
+"bull-pen" and "knucks," the hand to hand engagements with yellow
+jackets, the Bunker Hill and Brandywine battles with bumblebees, the
+charges on flocks of geese, the storming of apple orchards and hornet's
+nests, and victories over hostile "setting" hens. Then I witnessed the
+old field school "Exhibition"--the _wonderful_ "exhibition"--they call
+it Commencement now. Did you never witness an old field school
+"exhibition," far out in the country, and listen to its music? If you
+have not your life is a failure--you are a broken string in the harp of
+the universe. The old field school "exhibition" was the parade ground of
+the advance guard of civilization; it was the climax of great events in
+the olden times; and vast assemblies were swayed by the eloquence of the
+budding sockless statesmen. It was at the old field school "exhibition"
+that the goddess of liberty always received a broken nose, and the
+poetic muse a black eye; it was at the old field school "exhibition"
+that _Greece_ and _Rome_ rose and fell, in seas of gore, about every
+fifteen minutes in the day, and,
+
+  The American eagle, with unwearied flight,
+  Soared upward and upward, till he soared out of sight.
+
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: MUSIC OF THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL EXHIBITION.]
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: THE OLD FIELD SCHOOL ORATOR.]
+
+"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!!!!!!"
+
+[Illustration: 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
+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!
+
+[Illustration: 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 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!!!!"
+
+[Illustration: 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 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.
+
+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 our
+pioneer 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;"
+
+
+Long live the common people of America! Long live the fiddle and the
+bow, the symbols of their mirth and merriment!
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO COLUMNS.
+
+
+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!"
+
+
+
+
+THERE IS A MELODY FOR EVERY EAR.
+
+[Illustration: 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. The gabble 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 Caesars."
+
+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:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+  "Men may come and men may go, but
+   I go on 'for-ev-oor' 'ev-oor'
+   I go on 'for-ev-o-o-r' 'e-v-o-o-r'
+   I go on 'for-ev-oor.'"
+
+
+It is a thing of beauty, and a "nightmare" forever.
+
+
+
+
+MUSIC IS THE WINE OF THE SOUL.
+
+
+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 rise again!" 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 down head-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----!"
+
+[Illustration: 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!"
+
+[Illustration: AFTER THE BANQUET.]
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD TIME SINGING SCHOOL.
+
+
+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."
+
+
+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."
+
+
+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, several inches 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.
+
+[Illustration: 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
+compromised in ascending notes and half notes, thus:
+
+  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_:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+  Sol sol, mi fa sol, la sol fa, re re re, re mi fa
+  Re mi fa, sol fa mi, do do do--
+  Si do re, re re re, mi do si do, re do si la sol,
+  Si do re, re mi fa sol la, sol fa mi, do do do."
+
+
+[Illustration: BEATING TIME.]
+
+
+
+
+THE GRAND OPERA.
+
+[Illustration: 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 the _Grand Opera_:
+
+[Illustration: (Sheet Music)]
+
+  "When ethaer-r-r leeps and ethaer-r-r hairts,
+   Their-r-r tales auf luff sholl tell,
+   In longwidge whose ex-cess impair-r-r-ts.
+   The power-r-r-r they feel so well,
+   There-r-r-e may per-haps in-a such a s-c-e-n-e
+   Some r-r-re-co-lec-tion be,
+   Auf days thot haive as hop-py bean--
+   Then you'll-a r-r-r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r-r me-e-e,
+   Then you'll-a r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r,
+   You'll-a r-re-mem-ber a-me-e-e!!"
+
+
+
+
+MUSIC.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+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 ever new 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.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+"THE PARADISE OF FOOLS."
+
+
+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
+harmless tigers 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 a faultless 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."
+
+
+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:
+
+[Illustration: 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 joy
+   Just to kiss the dear boy,
+   For his charms and his beauty
+   No power can destroy."
+
+  "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!"
+
+
+[Illustration: ROMEO.]
+
+All paradise was imbued with the spirit of love. Oh, that it could have
+remained so 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 the flaming
+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" hope _does_ see 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.
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF CHILDHOOD.
+
+
+I saw a blue-eyed child, with sunny curls, toddling on the lawn before
+the door of a happy home. He toddled under the trees, prattling to the
+birds and playing with the ripening apples that fell upon the ground.
+He toddled among the roses and plucked their leaves as he would have
+plucked an angel's wing, strewing their glory upon the green grass at
+his feet. He chased the butterflies from flower to flower, and shouted
+with glee as they eluded his grasp and sailed away on the summer air.
+Here I thought his childish fancy had built a paradise and peopled it
+with dainty seraphim and made himself its Adam. He saw the sunshine
+of Eden glint on every leaf and beam in every petal. The flitting
+honey-bee, the wheeling June-bug, the fluttering breeze, the silvery
+pulse-beat of the dashing brook sounded in his ear notes of its swelling
+music. The iris-winged humming-bird, darting like a sunbeam, to kiss the
+pouting lips of the upturned flowers was, to him, the impersonation of
+its beauty. And I said: Truly, this is the nearest approach in this
+world, to the paradise of long ago. Then I saw him skulking like a
+cupid, in the shrubbery, his skirts bedraggled and soiled, his face
+downcast with guilt. He had stirred up the Mediterranean Sea in the slop
+bucket, and waded the Atlantic Ocean in a mud puddle. He had capsized
+the goslings, and shipwrecked the young ducks, and drowned the kitten
+which he imagined a whale, and I said: _There_ is the original Adam
+coming to the surface.
+
+[Illustration: THE PARADISE OF CHILDHOOD.]
+
+"Lo'd bless my soul! Jist look at dat chile!" shouted his dusky old
+nurse, as she lifted him, dripping, from the reeking pond. "What's you
+bin doin' in dat mud puddle? Look at dat face, an' dem hands an' close,
+all kivvered wid mud an' mulberry juice! You bettah not let yo' mammy
+see you while you's in dat fix. You's gwine to ketch it sho'. You's jist
+zackly like yo' fader--allers git'n into some scrape or nuddah, allers
+breakin' into some kind uv devilment--gwine to break into congrus some
+uv dese days sho'. Come along wid me dis instinct to de baff tub. I's
+a-gwine to dispurgate dem close an' 'lucidate some uv dat dirt off'n
+dat face uv yone, you triflin' rascal you!" And so saying, she carried
+him away, kicking and screaming like a young savage in open rebellion,
+and I said: _There_ is some more of the original Adam. Then I saw him
+come forth again, washed and combed, and dressed in spotless white, like
+a young butterfly fresh from its chrysalis. And when he got a chance,
+I saw him slip on his tip-toes, into the pantry;
+
+  I heard the clink of glassware,
+  As if a mouse were playing there,
+
+
+among the jam pots and preserves. There two little dimpled hands made
+trip after trip to a rose-colored mouth, bearing burdens of mingling
+sweets that dripped from cheek, and chin, and waist, and skirt, and
+shoes, subduing the snowy white with the amber of the peach, and the
+purple of the raspberry, as he ate the forbidden fruit. Then I watched
+him glide into the drawing room. There was a crash and a thud in there,
+which quickly brought his frightened mother to the scene, only to find
+the young rascal standing there catching his breath, while streams of
+cold ink trickled down his drenched bosom. And as he wiped his inky
+face, which grew blacker with every wipe, the remainder of the ink was
+pouring from the bottle down on the carpet, and making a map of darkest
+Africa. Then the rear of a small skirt went up over a curly head and the
+avenging slipper, in lightning strokes, kept time to the music in the
+air. And I said: _There_ is "_Paradise Lost_." The sympathizing, half
+angry old nurse bore her weeping, sobbing charge to the nursery and
+there bound up his broken heart and soothed him to sleep with her old
+time lullaby:
+
+[Illustration: PARADISE LOST.]
+
+  "Oh, don't you cry little baby, Oh, don't you cry no mo',
+   For it hurts ol' mammy's feelin's fo' to heah you weepin' so.
+   Why don't da keep temptation frum de little han's an' feet?
+   What makes 'em 'buse de baby kaze de jam an' zarves am sweet?
+
+   Oh, de sorrow, tribulations, dat de joys of mortals break,
+   Oh, it's heb'n when we slumber, it's trouble when we wake.
+
+   Oh, go to sleep my darlin', now close dem little eyes,
+   An' dream uv de shinin' angels, an' de blessed paradise;
+   Oh, dream uv de blood-red roses, an' de birds on snowy wing;
+   Oh, dream uv de fallin' watahs an' de never endin' spring.
+
+   Oh, de roses, Oh, de rainbows, Oh, de music's gentle swell,
+   In de dreamland uv little childun, whar de blessed sperrits dwell."
+
+
+"Dar now, dar now, he's gone. Bless its little heart, da treats it like
+a dog." And then she tucked him away in the paradise of his childish
+slumber.
+
+[Illustration: OLD BLACK "MAMMY."]
+
+The day will come when the South will build a monument to the good old
+black mammy of the past for the lullabies she has sung.
+
+I sometimes wish that childhood might last forever. That sweet fairy
+land on the frontier of life, whose skies are first lighted with the
+sunrise of the soul, and in whose bright-tinted jungles the lions, and
+leopards, and tigers of passion still peacefully sleep. The world is
+disarmed by its innocence, the drawn bow is relaxed, and the arrow is
+returned to its quiver; the AEgis of Heaven is above it, the outstretched
+wings of mercy, pity, and measureless love!
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I would rather be a barefooted boy with cheeks of tan and heart of joy
+than to be a millionaire and president of a National bank. The financial
+panic that falls like a thunderbolt, wrecks the bank, crushes the
+banker, and swamps thousands in an hour. But the bank which holds the
+treasures of the barefooted boy never breaks. With his satchel and his
+books he hies away to school in the morning, but his truant feet carry
+him the other way, to the mill pond "a-fishin'." And there he sits the
+livelong day under the shade of the tree, with sapling pole and pin
+hook, and fishes, and fishes, and fishes, and waits for a nibble of the
+drowsy sucker that sleeps on his oozy bed, oblivious of the baitless
+hook from which he has long since stolen the worm. There he sits, and
+fishes, and fishes, and fishes, and like Micawber, waits for something
+to "turn-up." But nothing turns up until the shadows of evening fall and
+warn the truant home, where he is welcomed with a dogwood sprout. Then
+"sump'n" _does_ turn up. He obeys the call of the Sunday school bell,
+and goes with solemn face, but e'er the "sweet bye and bye" has died
+away on the summer air, he is in the wood shed playing Sullivan and
+Corbett with some plucky comrade, with the inevitable casualties of
+_one_ closed eye, _one_ crippled nose, _one_ pair of torn breeches and
+_one_ bloody toe. He takes a back seat at church, and in the midst of
+the sermon steals away and hides in the barn to smoke cigarettes and
+read the story of "One-eyed Pete, the Hero of the _wild_ and _woolly_
+West." There is eternal war between the barefooted boy and the whole
+civilized world. He shoots the cook with a blow-gun; he cuts the strings
+of the hammock and lets his dozing grandmother fall to the ground; he
+loads his grandfather's pipe with powder; he instigates a fight between
+the cat and dog during family prayers, and explodes with laughter when
+pussy seeks refuge on the old man's back. He hides in the alley and
+turns the hose on uncle Ephraim's standing collar as he passes on his
+way to church, he cracks chestnut burrs with his naked heel; he robs
+birds' nests, and murders bullfrogs, and plays "knucks" and "base-ball."
+He puts asafetida in the soup, and conceals lizzards in his father's
+hat. He overwhelms the family circle with his magnificent literary
+attainments when he reads from the Bible in what he calls the "pasalms
+of David"--"praise ye the Lord with the pizeltry and the harp."
+
+[Illustration: THE PARADISE OF THE BAREFOOTED BOY.]
+
+His father took him to town one day and said to him: "Now John, I want
+you to stay here on the corner with the wagon and watch these potatoes
+while I go round the square and see if I can sell them. Don't open your
+mouth sir, while I am gone; I'm afraid people will think you're a fool."
+While the old man was gone the merchant came out and said to John: "What
+are those potatoes worth, my son?" John looked at him and grinned. "What
+are those potatoes worth, I say?" asked the merchant. John still looked
+at him and grinned. The merchant turned on his heel and said: "You're a
+fool," and went back into his store. When the old man returned John
+shouted: "Pap, they found it out and I never said a word."
+
+His life is an endless chain of pranks and pleasures. Look how the
+brawling brook pours down the steep declivities of the mountain gorge!
+Here it breaks into pearls and silvery foam, there it dashes in rapids,
+among brown bowlders, and yonder it tumbles from the gray crest of a
+precipice. Thus, forever laughing, singing, rollicking, romping, till
+it is checked in its mad rush and spreads into a still, smooth mirror,
+reflecting the inverted images of rock, and fern, and flower, and tree,
+and sky. It is the symbol of the life of a barefooted boy. His quips,
+and cranks, his whims, and jollities, and jocund mischief, are but the
+effervescences of exuberant young life, the wild music of the mountain
+stream.
+
+If I were a sculptor, I would chisel from the marble my ideal of the
+monumental fool. I would make it the figure of a man, with knitted brow
+and clinched teeth, beating and bruising his barefooted boy, in the
+cruel endeavor to drive him from the paradise of his childish fun and
+folly. If your boy _will_ be a boy, let him be a boy still. And remember
+that he is following the paths which your feet have trodden, and will
+soon look back upon its precious memories, as you now do, with the
+aching heart of a care-worn man.
+
+[Illustration: THE WILD MUSIC OF THE MOUNTAINS.]
+
+(Sung to the air of Down on the Farm.)
+
+  Oh, I love the dear old farm, and my heart grows young and warm,
+    When I wander back to spend a single day;
+  There to hear the robins sing in the trees around the spring,
+    Where I used to watch the happy children play.
+  Oh, I hear their voices yet and I never shall forget
+    How their faces beamed with childish mirth and glee.
+  But my heart grows old again and I leave the spot in pain,
+    When I call them and no answer comes to me.
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF YOUTH.
+
+
+[Illustration: THE PARADISE OF YOUTH.]
+
+If childhood is the sunrise of life, youth is the heyday of life's ruddy
+June. It is the sweet solstice in life's early summer, which puts forth
+the fragrant bud and blossom of sin e'er its bitter fruits ripen and
+turn to ashes on the lips of age. It is the happy transition period,
+when long legs, and loose joints, and verdant awkwardness, first stumble
+on the vestibule of manhood. Did you never observe him shaving and
+scraping his pimpled face till it resembled a featherless goose, reaping
+nothing but lather, and dirt, and a little intangible fuzz? That is the
+first symptom of love. Did you never observe him wrestling with a pair
+of boots two numbers too small, as Jacob wrestled with the angel? That
+is another symptom of love. His callous heel slowly and painfully yields
+to the pressure of his perspiring paroxysms until his feet are folded
+like fans and driven home in the pinching leather; and as he sits at
+church with them hid under the bench, his uneasy squirms are symptoms of
+the tortures of the infernal regions, and the worm that dieth not; but
+that is only the penalty of loving. When he begins to wander through the
+fragrant meadows and talk to himself among the buttercups and clover
+blossoms, it is a sure sign that the golden shaft of the winged god has
+sped from its bended bow. Love's archer has shot a poisoned arrow which
+wounds but never kills. The sweet venom has done its work. The fever of
+the amorous wound drives the red current bounding through his veins, and
+his brain now reels with the delirium of the tender passion. His soul is
+wrapped in visions of dreamy black eyes peeping out from under raven
+curls, and cheeks like gardens of roses. To him the world is transformed
+into a blooming Eden, and _she_ is its only Eve. He hears her voice in
+the sound of the laughing waters, the fluttering of her heart in the
+summer evening's last sigh that shuts the rose; and he sits on the bank
+of the river all day long and writes poetry to her. Thus he writes:
+
+  "As I sit by this river's crystal wave,
+   Whose flow'ry banks its waters lave,
+   Me-thinks I see in its glassy mirror,
+   A face which to me, than life is dearer.
+   Oh, 'tis the face of my Gwendolin,
+   As pure as an angel, free from sin.
+   It looks into mine with one sweet eye,
+   While the other is turned to the starry sky.
+   Could I the ocean's bulk contain,
+   Could I but drink the watery main,
+   I'd scarce be half as full of the sea,
+   As my heart is full of love for thee!"
+
+
+Thus he lives and loves, and writes poetry by day, and tosses on his bed
+at night, like the restless sea, and dreams, and dreams, and dreams,
+until, in the ecstacy of his dream, he grabs a pillow.
+
+One bright summer day, a rural youth took his sweetheart to a Baptist
+baptizing; and, in addition to his verdancy and his awkwardness, he
+stuttered most distressingly. The singing began on the bank of the
+stream; and he left his sweetheart in the buggy, in the shade of a tree
+near by, and wandered alone in the crowd. Standing unconsciously among
+those who were to be baptized, the old parson mistook him for one of the
+converts, and seized him by the arm and marched him into the water. He
+began to protest: "ho-ho-hold on p-p-p-parson, y-y-y-you're ma-ma-makin'
+a mi-mi-mistake!!!" "Don't be alarmed my son, come right in," said the
+parson. And he led him to the middle of the stream. The poor fellow made
+one final desperate effort to explain--"p-p-p-p-parson, l-l-l-l-let me
+explain!" But the parson coldly said: "Close your mouth and eyes, my
+son!" And he soused him under the water. After he was thoroughly
+baptized the old parson led him to the bank, the muddy water trickling
+down his face. He was "diked" in his new seersucker suit, and when the
+sun struck it, it began to draw up. The legs of his pants drew up to his
+knees; his sleeves drew up to his elbows; his little sack coat yanked up
+under his arms. And as he stood there trembling and shivering, a good
+old sister approached him, and taking him by the hand said: "God bless
+you, my son, how do you feel?" Looking, in his agony, at his blushing
+sweetheart behind her fan, he replied in his anguish: "I fe-fe-fe-feel
+l-l-l-l-like a d-d-d-d-durned f-f-f-f-fool!"
+
+[Illustration: THE SEERSUCKER YOUTH AT THE BAPTIZING.]
+
+If I were called upon to drink a toast to life's happiest period,
+I would hold up the sparkling wine, and say: "Here is to youth, that
+sweet, Seidlitz powder period, when two souls with scarcely a single
+thought, meet and blend in one; when a voice, half gosling, half
+calliope, rasps the first sickly confession of puppy love into the
+ear of a blue-sashed maiden at the picnic in the grove!" But when she
+returns his little greasy photograph, accompanied by a little perfumed
+note, expressing the hope that he will think of her only as a sister,
+his paradise is wrecked, and his puppy love is swept into the limbo
+of things that were, the school boy's tale, the wonder of an hour.
+
+But wait till the shadows have a little longer grown. Wait till the
+young lawyer comes home from college, spouting Blackstone, and Kent, and
+Ram on facts. Wait till the young doctor returns from the university,
+with his whiskers and his diploma, to tread the paths of glory, "that
+lead but to the grave." Wait till society gives welcome in the brilliant
+ball, and the swallow-tail coat, and the patent leather pumps whirl with
+the decollette and white slippers till the stars are drowning in the
+light of morning. Wait till the graduate staggers from the giddy hall,
+in full evening dress, singing as he staggers:
+
+  "After the ball is over, after the break of morn,
+   After the dancer's leavin', after the stars are gone;
+   Many a heart is aching, if we could read them all--
+   Many the hopes that are vanished, after the ball."
+
+
+[Illustration: AFTER THE BALL.]
+
+It is then that "somebody's darling" has reached the full tide of his
+glory as a fool.
+
+
+
+
+THE PARADISE OF HOME.
+
+
+How rich would be the feast of happiness in this beautiful world of
+ours, could folly end with youth. But youth is only the first act in
+the "Comedy of Errors." It is the pearly gate that opens to the real
+paradise of fools.
+
+  "It's pleasures are like poppies spread--
+   You seize the flower, its bloom is shed,
+   Or like the snowfall on the river--
+   A moment white then melts forever."
+
+
+Whether it be the child at its mother's knee or the man of mature years,
+whether it be the banker or the beggar, the prince in his palace or the
+peasant in his hut, there is in every heart the dream of a happier lot
+in life.
+
+I heard the sound of revelry at the gilded club, where a hundred hearts
+beat happily. There were flushed cheeks and thick tongues and jests and
+anecdotes around the banquet spread. There were songs and poems and
+speeches. I saw an orator rise to respond to a toast to "Home, sweet
+home," and thus he responded:
+
+"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen: John Howard Payne touched millions of
+hearts when he sang:
+
+  'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
+
+
+But as for me, gentlemen, give me the pleasures an' the palaces--give me
+liberty, or give me death. No less beautifully expressed are the tender
+sentiments expressed in the tender verse of Lord Byron:
+
+  "'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark
+   Bay deep mouthed welcome as we draw near home;
+   'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming,
+   And look brighter when we come."
+
+
+But as for me, gentlemen, I would rather hear the barkin' of a gatlin'
+gun than to hear the watch dog's honest bark this minute. I would rather
+look into the mouth of a cannon than to look into the eyes that are now
+waitin' to mark my comin' at this delightful hour of three o'clock in
+the morning."
+
+Then he launched out on the ocean of thought like a magnificent ship
+going to sea. And when the night was far spent, and the orgies were
+over, and the lights were blown out at the club, I saw him enter his own
+sweet home in his glory--entered it, like a thief, with his boots in his
+hands,--entered it singing softly to himself:
+
+  "I'm called little gutter pup, sweet little gutter pup,
+     Though I could never tell why--(hic),
+   Yet still I'm called gutter pup, sweet little gutter pup,
+     Poor little gutter pup--I--(hic)."
+
+
+He was unconscious of the presence of the white figure that stood at
+the head of the stairs holding up a lamp, like liberty enlightening
+the world, and as a tremulous voice called him to the judgment bar, the
+door closed behind him on the paradise of a fool, and he sneaked up the
+steps, muttering to himself, "What shadows we are--(hic)--what shadows
+we pursue." Then I saw him again in the morning, reaping temptation's
+bitter reward in the agonies of his drunk-sick; and like Mark Twain's
+boat in a storm,
+
+  "He heaved and sot, and sot and heaved,
+     And high his rudder flung,
+   And every time he heaved and sot,
+     A mighty leak he sprung."
+
+
+If I were a woman with a husband like "that," I would fill him so full
+of Keely's chloride of gold that he would jingle as he walks and tinkle
+as he talks and have a fit at every mention of the silver bill.
+
+The biggest fool that walks on God's footstool is the man who destroys
+the joy and peace of his own sweet home; for, if paradise is ever
+regained in this world, it must be in the home. If its dead flowers
+ever bloom again, they must bloom in the happy hearts of home. If its
+sunshine ever breaks through the clouds, it must break forth in the
+smiling faces of home. If heaven ever descends to earth and angels tread
+its soil, it must be in the sacred precincts of home. That which heaven
+most approves is the pure and virtuous home. For around it linger all
+the sweetest memories and dearest associations of mankind; upon it hang
+the hopes and happiness of the nations of the earth, and above it shines
+the ever blessed star that lights the way back to the paradise that was
+lost.
+
+[Illustration: RETURNING FROM THE CLUB.]
+
+
+
+
+BACHELOR AND WIDOWER.
+
+
+I saw a poor old bachelor live all the days of his life in sight of
+paradise, too cowardly to put his arm around it and press it to his
+bosom. He shaved and primped and resolved to marry every day in the year
+for forty years. But when the hour for love's duel arrived, when he
+stood trembling in the presence of rosy cheeks and glancing eyes, and
+beauty shook her curls and gave the challenge, his courage always oozed
+out, and he fled ingloriously from the field of honor.
+
+Far happier than the bachelor is old Uncle Rastus in his cabin, when he
+holds Aunt Dina's hand in his and asks: "Who's sweet?" And Dina drops
+her head over on his shoulder and answers, "Boaf uv us."
+
+A thousand times happier is the frisky old widower with his pink bald
+head, his wrinkles and his rheumatism, who
+
+  Wires in and wires out,
+  And leaves the ladies all in doubt,
+  As to what is his age and what he is worth,
+  And whether or not he owns the earth.
+
+
+He "toils not, neither does he spin," yet Solomon, in all his glory was
+not more popular with the ladies. He is as light-hearted as "Mary's
+little lamb." He is acquainted with every hog path in the matrimonial
+paradise and knows all the nearest cuts to the "sanctum sanctorum" of
+woman's heart. But his jealousy is as cruel as the grave. Woe unto the
+bachelor who dares to cross his path.
+
+An old bachelor in my native mountains once rose in church to give his
+experience, in the presence of his old rival who was a widower, and with
+whom he was at daggers' points in the race to win the affections of one
+of the sisters in Zion. Thus the pious old bachelor spake: "Brethren,
+this is a beautiful world. I love to live in it just as well to-day as
+I ever did in my life. And the saddest thought that ever crossed this
+old brain of mine is, that in a few short days at best, these old eyes
+will be glazed in death and I'll never get to see my loved ones in this
+world any more." And his old rival shouted from the "amen corner,"
+"_thank God!_"
+
+
+
+
+PHANTOMS.
+
+
+In every brain there is a bright phantom realm, where fancied pleasures
+beckon from distant shores; but when we launch our barks to reach them,
+they vanish, and beckon again from still more distant shores. And so,
+poor fallen man pursues the ghosts of paradise as the deluded dog chases
+the shadows of flying birds in the meadow.
+
+The painter only paints the shadows of beauty on his canvas; the
+sculptor only chisels its lines and curves from the marble; the sweetest
+melody is but the faint echo of the wooing voice of music.
+
+We stumble over the golden nuggets of contentment in pursuit of the
+phantoms of wealth, and what is wealth? It can not purchase a moment of
+happiness. Marble halls may open wide their doors and offer her shelter,
+but happiness will flee from a palace to dwell in a cottage. We crush
+under our feet the roses of peace and love in our eagerness to reach the
+illuminated heights of glory; and what is earthly glory?
+
+  "He who ascends to mountain tops shall find
+   The loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow;
+   He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
+   Must look down on the hate of those below.
+   Though high above the sun of glory glow,
+   And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
+   'Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
+   Contending tempests on his naked head."
+
+I saw a comedian convulse thousands with his delineations of the
+weaknesses of humanity in the inimitable "Rip Van Winkle." I saw him
+make laughter hold its sides, as he impersonated the coward in "The
+Rivals;" and I said: I would rather have the power of Joseph Jefferson,
+to make the world laugh, and to drive care and trouble from weary brains
+and sorrow from heavy hearts, than to wear the blood-stained laurels of
+military glory, or to be President of the United States, burdened with
+bonds and gold, and overwhelmed with the double standard, and three girl
+babies.
+
+
+
+
+THE FALSE IDEAL.
+
+
+It is the false ideal that builds the "Paradise of Fools." It is the
+eagerness to achieve success in realms we cannot reach, which breeds
+more than half the ills that curse the world. If all the fish eggs were
+to hatch, and every little fish become a big fish, the oceans would be
+pushed from their beds, and the rivers would be eternally "dammed"--with
+fish; but the whales, and sharks, and sturgeons, and dog-fish, and eels,
+and snakes, and turtles, make three meals every day in the year on fish
+and fish eggs. If all the legal spawn should hatch out lawyers, the
+earth and the fullness thereof would be mortgaged for fees, and mankind
+would starve to death in the effort to pay off the "aforesaid and the
+same." If the entire crop of medical eggs should hatch out full fledged
+doctors, old "Skull and Cross Bones" would hold high carnival among the
+children of men, and the old sexton would sing:
+
+  "I gather them in,
+   I gather them in."
+
+
+If I could get the ear of the young men who pant after politics, as the
+hart panteth after the water brook, I would exhort them to seek honors
+in some other way, for "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
+
+The poet truly said: "How like a mounting devil in the heart is the
+unreined ambition. Let it once but play the monarch, and its haughty
+brow glows with a beauty that bewilders thought and unthrones peace
+forever. Putting on the very pomp of Lucifer, it turns the heart to
+ashes, and with not a spring left in the bosom for the spirit's lip,
+we look upon our splendor and forget the thirst of which we perish."
+
+
+
+
+THE CIRCUS IN THE MOUNTAINS.
+
+
+[Illustration: THE CIRCUS IN THE MOUNTAINS.]
+
+I saw a circus in a mountain town. The mountaineers swarmed from far
+and near, and lined the streets on every hand with open mouth and bated
+breath, as the grand procession, with band, and clown, and camels,
+and elephants, and lions, and tigers, and spotted horses, paraded in
+brilliant array. The excitement was boundless when the crowd rushed
+into the tent, and they left behind them a surging mass of humanity,
+unprovided with tickets, and destitute of the silver half of the double
+standard. Their interest rose to white heat as the audience within
+shouted and screamed with laughter at the clown, and cheered the girl
+in tights, and applauded the acrobats as they turned somersaults over
+the elephant. But temptation whispered in the ear of a gentleman in tow
+breeches, and he stealthily opened his long bladed knife and cut a hole
+in the canvas. A score of others followed suit, and held their sides and
+laughed at the scenes within. But as they laughed a showman slipped
+inside, armed with a policeman's "billy." He quietly sidled up to the
+hole where a peeper's nose made a knot on the tent on the inside.
+"Whack!" went the "billy"--there was a loud grunt, and old "Tow
+Breeches" spun 'round like a top, and cut the "pigeon wing," while his
+nose spouted blood. "Whack!" went the "billy" again, and old "Hickory
+Shirt" turned a somersault backwards and rose "a-runnin'." The last
+"whack" fell like a thunderbolt on the Roman nose of a half drunk old
+settler from away up at the head of the creek. He fell flat on his back,
+quivered for a moment, and then sat up and clapped his hand to his
+bleeding nose and in his bewilderment exclaimed: "Well I'll be durned!
+hel-lo there stranger!" he shouted to a bystander, "whar wuz you _at_
+when the lightnin' struck the show?" Then I saw a row of bleeding noses
+at the branch near by, taking a bath; and each nose resembled a sore
+hump on a camel's back.
+
+[Illustration: "WHACK!" WENT THE "BILLY!"]
+
+So it is around the great arena of political fame and power. "Whack!"
+goes the "billy" of popular opinion; and politicians, like old "Tow
+Breeches," spin 'round with the broken noses of misguided ambition and
+disappointed hope. In the heated campaign many a would-be Webster lies
+down and dreams of the triumph that awaits him on the morrow, but he
+wakes to find it only a dream, and when the votes are counted his
+little bird hath flown, and he is in the condition of the old Jew.
+An Englishman, an Irishman and a Jew hung up their socks together on
+Christmas Eve. The Englishman put his diamond pin in the Irishman's
+sock; the Irishman put his watch in the sock of the Englishman; they
+slipped an egg into the sock of the Jew. "And did you git onny thing?"
+asked Pat in the morning. "Oh yes," said the Englishman, "I received a
+fine gold watch, don't you know. And what did you get Pat?" "Begorra,
+I got a foine diamond pin." "And what did you get, Jacob?" said the
+Englishman to the Jew. "Vell," said Jacob, holding up the egg. "I got
+a shicken but it got avay before I got up."
+
+
+
+
+THE PHANTOM OF FORTUNE.
+
+
+I would not clip the wings of noble, honorable aspiration. I would not
+bar and bolt the gate to the higher planes of thought and action, where
+truth and virtue bloom and ripen into glorious fruit. There are a
+thousand fields of endeavor in the world, and happy is he who labors
+where God intended him to labor.
+
+The contented plowman who whistles as he rides to the field and sings as
+he plows, and builds his little paradise on the farm, gets more out of
+life than the richest Shylock on earth.
+
+The good old spectacled mother in Israel, with her white locks and
+beaming face, as she works in her sphere, visiting the poor, nursing the
+sick, and closing the eyes of the dead, is more beautiful in her life,
+and more charming in her character, than the loveliest queen of society
+who ever chased the phantoms of pleasure in the ballroom.
+
+The humblest village preacher who faithfully serves his God, and leads
+his pious flock in the paths of holiness and peace, is more eloquent,
+and plays a nobler part than the most brilliant infidel who ever
+blasphemed the name of God.
+
+The industrious drummer who travels all night and toils all day to win
+comfort for wife, and children, and mother, and sister, is a better man,
+and a far better citizen, than the most successful speculator on Wall
+Street, who plays with the fortunes of his fellow-man as the wolf plays
+with the lamb, or as the cyclone plays with the feather.
+
+Young ladies, when the time comes to marry, say "yes" to the good-natured,
+big-hearted drummer. For he is a spring in a desert, a straight flush in
+a weary hand, a "thing of beauty and a joy forever," and he will never
+be at home to bother you.
+
+
+
+
+CLOCKS.
+
+
+Oliver Wendell Holmes says: "Our brains are seventy year clocks. The
+angel of life winds them up once for all, closes the case, and gives the
+key into the hand of the resurrection angel." And when I read it I
+thought, what a stupendous task awaits the angel of the resurrection,
+when all the countless millions of old rickety, rusty, worm-eaten clocks
+are to be resurrected, and wiped, and dusted, and repaired, for mansions
+in the skies! There will be every kind and character of clock and
+clockwork resurrected on that day. There will be the Catholic clock with
+his beads, and the Episcopalian clock with his ritual. There will be
+an old clock resurrected on that day wearing a broadcloth coat buttoned
+up to the throat; and when he is wound up he will go off with a whizz
+and a bang. He will get up out of the dust shouting, "hallelujah!" and
+he will proclaim "_sanctification!_" and "_falling from grace!_" and
+"_baptism by sprinkling and pouring!_" as the only true doctrine by
+which men shall go sweeping through the pearly gate, into the new
+Jerusalem. And he will be recognized as a Methodist preacher, a little
+noisy, a little clogged with chicken feathers, but ripe for the Kingdom
+of Heaven.
+
+There will be another old clock resurrected on that day, dressed
+like the former, but a little stiffer and straighter in the back,
+and armed with a pair of gold spectacles and a manuscript. When he is
+wound up he will break out in a cold sepulchral tone with, firstly:
+"_foreordination!_" secondly: "_predestination!_" and thirdly: "_the
+final perseverance of the saints!_" And he will be recognized as a
+Presbyterian preacher, a little blue and frigid, a little dry and
+formal, but one of God's own elect, and he will be labeled for Paradise.
+
+There will be an old Hard-shell clock resurrected, with throat whiskers,
+and wearing a shad-bellied coat and flap breeches. And when he is wound
+up a little, and a little oil is squirted into his old wheels, he will
+swing out into space on the wings of the gospel with: "My Dear Beloved
+Brethren-ah: I was a-ridin' along this mornin' a-tryin' to study up
+somethin' to preach to this dying congregation-ah; and as I rid up by
+the old mill pond-ah lo and behold! there was an old snag a sticking
+up out of the middle of the pond-ah, and an old mud turtle had clim
+up out uv the water and was a settin' up on the old snag a sunnin' uv
+himself-ah; and lo! and behold-ah! when I rid up a leetle nearer to
+him-ah, he jumped off of the snag, 'ker chugg' into the water, thereby
+proving emersion-ah!"
+
+Our brains _are_ clocks, and our hearts are the pendulums. If we live
+right in this world, when the Resurrection Day shall come, the Lord God
+will polish the wheels, and jewel the bearings, and crown the casements
+with stars and with gold. And the pendulums shall be harps encrusted
+with precious stones. They shall swing to and fro on angel wings, making
+music in the ear of God, and flashing His glory through all the blissful
+cycles of eternity!
+
+
+
+
+THE PANIC.
+
+
+Happy is the man who lives within his means, and who is contented with
+the legitimate rewards of endeavor. The dreadful panic that checks the
+progress of civilization and paralyzes the commerce of the world, is the
+death angel that follows speculation. Everything is staked and hazarded
+on contingences that are as baseless as the fabric of a dream. The day
+of settlement comes and nobody is able to settle. The borrower is
+powerless to meet his note in the bank; the banker is powerless to pay
+his depositors, and confidence is stampeded like a herd of cattle. The
+timid and suspicious old farmer catches the wild note of alarm, and
+deserting his plow and sleepy steers in the field, he mounts his mule,
+and urging him on with pounding heels, rushes pell-mell to the bank, and
+with bulging eyes, demands his money. The excitement spreads like fire.
+The blacksmith leaves his anvil, the carpenter his bench, and the tailor
+his goose. The tanner deserts his hide, and the shoemaker throws down
+his last to save his all. The mason with his trowel in his hand, rushes
+from the half-finished wall; Pat drops his hod between heaven and earth
+and slides down the ladder, muttering: "Oi'll have me moaney or _Oi'll_
+have blood!" The fat phlegmatic Dutchman, dozing behind his bar, wakes
+to the situation and waddles down the street, puffing and blowing like
+an engine, and muttering: "Mine Got in Himmel--mine debosit ish
+boosted!" And thus they make the run on the bank, gathering about it
+like the hosts of Armageddon. The bottom drops out, and millionaires
+go under like the passengers of a wrecked steamer.
+
+
+
+
+"BUNK CITY."
+
+
+Did you ever pass the remains of a "boom" town in your travels? Did you
+never gaze upon the remains of "Bunk City," where but yesterday all was
+life and bustle, and to-day it looks like the ruins of Babylon? The
+empty fields for miles and miles around are laid off and dug up in
+streets, and look like they had been struck with ten thousand streaks
+of chain lightning. Standing here and there are huge frames holding up
+mammoth sign boards, bearing the names of land companies, but the land
+companies are gone. Half driven nails are left to rust in a few old
+skeleton buildings, the brick lies unmortared in half finished walls,
+and tenantless houses stand here and there like the ghosts of buried
+hope. Down by the river stands the furnace, grim and silent as the
+extinct crater of Popocatepetl; and the great hotel on the hill looks
+like the tower of Babel two thousand years after the confusion of
+tongues. The last of the speculators, with his blue nose and his old
+battered plug hat which resembles an accordion that has been yanked by
+a cyclone, stands on the corner and contemplates his old sedge fields
+which have shrunk in value from one hundred dollars a front foot, to one
+_dollar for a hundred front acres_, and balefully sings a new song:
+
+  "After the boom is over, after the panic's on,
+   After the fools are leavin', after the money's gone,
+   Many a bank is "busted," if we could see in the room,
+   Many a pocket is empty, after the boom."
+
+
+
+
+"YOUR UNCLE."
+
+
+[Illustration: COMING.]
+
+An impecunious speculator once flooded a town with handbills and posters
+containing this announcement: "Your Uncle is coming." The streams of
+passers-by looked at the bill boards and wondered what it meant. The
+speculator rented the theatre, and one day a new flood of handbills and
+posters made this announcement: "Your Uncle is here." He gave orders
+to his stage manager to raise the curtain exactly at eight o'clock.
+The speculator himself stood in the door and received the admission fees
+and then disappeared. In their curiosity to see the performance of "Your
+Uncle," the villagers filled every seat in the theatre long before the
+hour for the performance arrived. The curtain rose at the appointed
+hour, and lo! on a board, in the center of the stage, was a card bearing
+this announcement in large letters: "_Your Uncle is gone._"
+
+What a splendid illustration of modern speculation and its willing
+victims who are so easily led into the "Paradise of Fools!"
+
+[Illustration: GONE.]
+
+
+
+
+FOOLS.
+
+
+But why mourn and brood over broken fortunes and the calamities of life?
+Why tarry in the doldrums of pessimism, with never a breeze to catch
+your limp and drooping sails and waft you on a joyous wave? Pessimism is
+the nightmare of the world. It is the prophet of famine, pestilence, and
+human woe. It is the apostle of the Devil, and its mission is to impede
+the progress of civilization. It denounces every institution established
+for human development as a fraud. It stigmatizes law as the machinery of
+injustice; it sneers at society as hollow-hearted corruption and
+insincerity; it brands politics as a reeking mass of rottenness, and
+scoffs at morality as the tinsel of sin. Its disciples are those who
+rail and snarl at everything that is noble and good, to whom a joke is
+an assault and battery, a laugh is an insult to outraged dignity, and
+the provocation of a smile is like passing an electric current through
+the facial muscles of a corpse.
+
+God deliver us from the fools who seek to build their paradise on the
+ashes of those they have destroyed. God deliver us from the fools whose
+life work is to cast aspersions upon the motives and characters of the
+leaders of men. I believe the men who reach high places in politics
+are, as a rule, the best and brainiest men in the land, and upon their
+shoulders rest the safety and well-being of the peace-loving,
+God-fearing millions.
+
+I believe the world is better to-day than it ever was before. I believe
+the refinements of modern society, its elegant accomplishments, its
+intellectual culture, and its conceptions of the beautiful, are glorious
+evidences of our advancement toward a higher plane of being.
+
+I think the superb churches of to-day, with the glorious harmonies of
+their choral music, their great pipe organs, their violins and cornets,
+and their grand sermons, full of heaven's balm for aching hearts, are
+expressions of the highest civilization that has ever dawned upon the
+earth. I believe each successive civilization is better, and higher, and
+grander, than that which preceded it; and upon the shining rungs of this
+ladder of evolution, our race will finally climb back to the Paradise
+that was lost. I believe that the society of to-day is better than it
+ever was before. I believe that human government is better, and nobler,
+and purer, than it ever was before. I believe the Church is stronger and
+is making grander strides toward the conversion of the world and the
+final establishment of the Kingdom of God on earth, than it ever made
+before.
+
+I believe that the biggest fools in this world are the advocates and
+disseminators of infidelity, the would-be destroyers of the Paradise
+of God.
+
+
+
+
+A BLOTTED PICTURE.
+
+
+I sat in a great theatre at the National Capital. It was thronged with
+youth, and beauty, old age, and wisdom. I saw a man, the image of his
+God, stand upon the stage, and I heard him speak. His gestures were the
+perfection of grace; his voice was music, and his language was more
+beautiful than I had ever heard from mortal lips. He painted picture
+after picture of the pleasures, and joys, and sympathies, of home. He
+enthroned love and preached the gospel of humanity like an angel. Then
+I saw him dip his brush in ink, and blot out the beautiful picture he
+had painted. I saw him stab love dead at his feet. I saw him blot out
+the stars and the sun, and leave humanity and the universe in eternal
+darkness, and eternal death. I saw him like the Serpent of old, worm
+himself into the paradise of human hearts, and by his seductive
+eloquence and the subtle devices of his sophistry, inject his fatal
+venom, under whose blight its flowers faded, its music was hushed, its
+sunshine was darkened, and the soul was left a desert waste, with only
+the new made graves of faith and hope. I saw him, like a lawless,
+erratic meteor without an orbit, sweep across the intellectual sky,
+brilliant only in his self-consuming fire, generated by friction with
+the indestructible and eternal truths of God.
+
+[Illustration: INFIDELITY.]
+
+That man was the archangel of modern infidelity; and I said: How true
+is holy writ which declares, "the fool hath said in his heart, there is
+no God."
+
+Tell me not, O Infidel, there is no God, no Heaven, no Hell!
+
+  "A solemn murmur in the soul tells of a world to be,
+   As travelers hear the billows roll before they reach the sea."
+
+
+Tell me not, O Infidel, there is no risen Christ!
+
+  When every earthly hope hath fled,
+    When angry seas their billows fling,
+  How sweet to lean on what He said,
+    How firmly to His cross we cling!
+
+
+What intelligence less than God could fashion the human body? What
+motive power is it, if it is not God, that drives that throbbing engine,
+the human heart, with ceaseless, tireless stroke, sending the crimson
+streams of life bounding and circling through every vein and artery?
+Whence, and what, if not of God, is this mystery we call the mind? What
+is this mystery we call the soul? What is it that thinks and feels and
+knows and acts? Oh, who can comprehend, who can deny, the Divinity that
+stirs within us!
+
+God is everywhere, and in everything. His mystery is in every bud, and
+blossom, and leaf, and tree; in every rock, and hill, and vale, and
+mountain; in every spring, and rivulet, and river. The rustle of His
+wing is in every zephyr; its might is in every tempest. He dwells in the
+dark pavilions of every storm cloud. The lightning is His messenger, and
+the thunder is His voice. His awful tread is in every earthquake and on
+every angry ocean; and the heavens above us teem with His myriads of
+shining witnesses. The universe of solar systems whose wheeling orbs
+course the crystal paths of space proclaim through the dread halls of
+eternity, the glory, and power, and dominion, of the all-wise,
+omnipotent, and eternal God.
+
+
+
+
+"VISIONS AND DREAMS."
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The infinite wisdom of Almighty God has made a plane of intelligence,
+and a horizon of happiness, for every being in the universe, from
+the butterfly to the archangel. And every plane has its own horizon,
+narrowest and darkest on the lowest level, but broad as the universe
+on the highest. Man stands on that wondrous plane where mortality and
+immortality meet. Below him is animal life, lighted only by the dim lamp
+of instinct; above him is spiritual life, illuminated by the light of
+reason and the glory of God. Below him is this old material world of
+rock, and hill, and vale, and mountain; above him is the mysterious
+world of the imagination whose rivers are dreams, whose continents are
+visions of beauty, and upon whose shadowy shores the surfs of phantom
+seas forever break.
+
+We hear the song of the cricket on the hearth, and the joyous hum of
+the bees among the poppies; we hear the light-winged lark gladden the
+morning with her song, and the silver-throated thrush warble in the
+tree-top. What are these, and all the sweet melodies we hear, but echoes
+from the realm of visions and dreams?
+
+The humming-bird, that swift fairy of the rainbow, fluttering down from
+the land of the sun when June scatters her roses northward, and poising
+on wings that never weary, kisses the nectar from the waiting flowers;
+how bright and beautiful is the horizon of his little life! How sweet is
+the dream of the covert in the deep mountain gorge, to the trembling,
+panting deer in his flight before the hunter's horn and the yelping
+hounds! How dear to the heart of the weary ox is the vision of green
+fields and splashing waters! And down on the farm, when the cows come
+home at sunset, fragrant with the breath of clover blossoms, how rich
+is the feast of happiness when the frolicsome calf bounds forward to the
+flowing udder, and with his walling eyes reflecting whole acres of "calf
+heaven" and his little tail wiggling in speechless bliss, he draws his
+evening meal from nature's commissariat. The snail lolls in his shell
+and thinks himself a king in the grandest palace in the world. And how
+brilliant is the horizon of the firefly when he winks his "other eye!"
+
+The red worm delves in the sod and dines on clay; he makes no after-dinner
+speeches; he never responds to a toast; but silently revels on in his
+dark banquet halls under the dank violets or in the rich mould by the
+river. But the red worm never reaches the goal of his visions and dreams
+until he is triumphantly impaled on the fishhook of the barefooted boy,
+
+  Who sees other visions and dreams other dreams,
+  Of fluttering suckers in shining streams.
+
+
+And Oh, there is no thrill half so rapturous to the barefooted boy as
+the thrill of a nibble! Two darkies sat on a rock on the bank of a
+river, fishing. One was an old darkey; the other was a boy. The boy got
+a nibble, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong into the surging waters
+and began to float out to the middle of the stream, sinking, and rising,
+and struggling, and crying for help. The old man hesitated on the rock
+for a moment; then he plunged in after the drowning boy, and after a
+desperate struggle, landed his companion safely on shore. A passer-by
+ran up to the old darkey and patted him on the shoulder and said: "Old
+man, that was a noble deed in you, to risk your life that way to save
+that good-for-nothing boy." "Yes boss," mumbled the old man, "I was
+obleeged ter save dat nigger, he had all de bate in his pocket!"
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY LONG AGO.
+
+
+Not long ago I wandered back to the scenes of my boyhood, on my
+father's old plantation on the bank of the river, in the beautiful land
+of my native mountains. I rambled again in the pathless woods with my
+rifle on my shoulder. I sat on the old familiar logs amid the falling
+leaves of autumn and heard the squirrels bark and shake the branches
+as they jumped from tree to tree. I heard the katydid sing, and the
+whip-poor-will, and the deep basso-profundo of the bullfrog on the bank
+of the pond. I heard the drumming of a pheasant and the hoot of a wise
+old owl away over in "Sleepy Hollow." I heard the tinkling of bells on
+the distant hills, sweetly mingling with the happy chorus of the song
+birds in their evening serenade. Every living creature seemed to be
+chanting a hymn of praise to its God; and as I sat there and listened
+to the weird, wild harmonies, a vision of the past opened before me.
+I thought I was a boy again, and played around the cabins of the old
+time darkies, and heard them laugh and sing and tell their stories as
+they used to long ago. My hair stood on ends again (I was afflicted with
+hair when I was a boy), and the chills played up and down my back when I
+remembered old Uncle Rufus' story of the panthers. He said: "Many years
+ago, Mas. Jeems was a-gwine along de path by de graveyard late in de
+evenin', an' bless de Lo'd, all of a sudden he looked up, an' dar was a
+painter crouchin' down befo' 'im, a-pattin' de ground wid his tail, an'
+ready to spring. Mas. Jeems wheeled to run, an' bless de Lo'd, dar was
+annudder painter, crouchin' an' pattin' de groun' wid his tail, in de
+path behind him, an' ready to spring. An' boaf ov dem painters sprung at
+de same time, right toards Mas. Jeemses head; Mas. Jeems jumped to one
+side. An' dem painters come to-gedder in de air. An' da was a-gwine so
+fast, an' da struck each udder wid sitch turble ambition dat instid ov
+comin' down, da went up. An' bless de Lo'd, Mas. Jeems stood dar an'
+watched dem painters go on up, an' up, an' up, till da went clean out
+o' sight a-fightin'. An' bless de Lo'd, de hair was a-fallin' for three
+days. Which fulfills de words ob de scripchah whar it reads, 'De young
+men shall dream dreams, an' de ol' men shall see visions.'"
+
+[Illustration: THE MUSIC OF THE OLD PLANTATION.]
+
+I remembered the tale Uncle Solomon used to tell about the first
+convention that was ever held in the world. He said: "It wuz a
+convenchun ov de animils. Bruder Fox wuz dar, an' Brudder Wolf, an'
+Brudder Rabbit, an' all de rest ov de animil kingdom wuz geddered
+togedder fur to settle some questions concarnin' de happiness ov de
+animil kingdom. De first question dat riz befo' de convenchun wuz,
+how da should vote. Brudder Coon, he took de floah an' moved dat de
+convenchun vote by raisin' der tails; whereupon Brudder Possum riz wid
+a grin ov disgust, an' said: 'Mr. Chaiahman, I's unanimous opposed to
+dat motion: Brudder Coon wants dis couvenchun to vote by raisin' der
+tails, kase Brudder Coon's got a ring striped an' streaked tail, an'
+wants to show it befo' de convenchun. Brudder Coon knows dat de 'possum
+is afflicted wid an ole black rusty tail, an I consider dat moshun an
+insult to de 'possum race; an' besides dat, Mr. Chaiahman, if you passes
+dis moshun for to vote by raisin yo' tails, de Billy-Goat's already
+voted!'"
+
+I sometimes think that Uncle Solomon's homely story of the goat would
+be a splendid illustration of some of our modern politicians. It is
+difficult to tell which side of the question they are on.
+
+[Illustration: THE HAPPY LONG AGO.]
+
+I remembered the yarn Uncle Yaddie once spun at the expense of
+Uncle Rastus. Rastus looked sour and said: "You bettah not go too fur;
+I'll tell about dem watermillions what disappeared frum Mas. Landon's
+watermillion patch." But Uncle Yaddie was undismayed by the threatened
+attack upon his own record, and said: "Some time ago Rastus concluded to
+go into de egg bizness, an' he prayed to de Lo'd to send him some hens,
+but somehow or nudder de hens never come; an' den he prayed to de Lo'd
+to send him after de hens, an' lo! an' behold! nex' mornin' his lot wus
+full ov chickens. Rastus fixed de nestiz, an' waited, an' waited fur de
+hens to lay, but somehow or nudder de hens wouldn't lay dat summer at
+all; an' Rastus kep git'n madder an' madder, till one day de ole rooster
+hopped up on de porch an begun to flop his wings an' crow. Rastus looked
+at him sideways, an' muttered, 'Yes! floppin' yo' wings an' crowin'
+aroun' heah like an ole fool, an' you caint lay a egg to save yo' life!'"
+
+The darkies fell over in the floor, and every body laughed except
+Rastus. But to appease his wrath, Uncle Yaddie rolled out a big
+"watermillion" from under the bed, which lighted up the face of the
+frowning old Rastus with smiles, and as the luscious red pulp melted
+away in his mouth, he cut the "pigeon wing" in the middle of the floor,
+and sang like a mocking bird:
+
+  "Oh, de honeymoon am sweet,
+   De chicken am good,
+   De 'possum, it am very very fine,
+   But give me, O, give me,
+   Oh, how I wish you would!
+   Dat watermillion hanging' on de vine!"
+
+
+Then old Uncle Newt rosined his bow, and the welkin rang with the music
+of the fiddle.
+
+There I sat in the old familiar woods and dreamed of the happy long ago,
+until a gang of blackbirds, spluttering in a neighboring treetop woke
+me. And when I rose from the log and threw myself into the shape of an
+interrogation point, and touched the trigger, at the crack of my rifle
+old bullfrogg shot into the pond; the hoot-owl "scooted" into his castle
+in the trunk of an old hollow tree; the blackbirds cut the "asymptote of
+a hyperbolical curve" in the air; the squirrel fell to the ground at my
+feet, with a bullet through his brain, and there was silence--silence in
+the frog pond; silence in the trees; silence in "Sleepy Hollow;" silence
+all around me.
+
+I shouldered my rifle and wended my way back to the old homestead on the
+bank of the river and silence was there. The voices of the happy long
+ago were hushed. The old time darkies were sleeping on the hill, close
+by the spot where my father sleeps. The moss-covered bucket was gone
+from the well. The old barn sheds had "creeled." The old house where
+I was born was silent and deserted.
+
+As I looked upon these scenes of my earliest recollection, I was
+softened and subdued into a sweet pensive sorrow, which only the
+happiest and holiest associations of by-gone years can call into being.
+There are times in our lives when grief lies heaviest on the soul; when
+memory weeps; when gathering clouds of mournful melancholy pour out
+their floods and drown the heart in tears.
+
+Oh, beautiful isle of memory, lighted by the morning star of life! where
+the roses bloom by the door, where the robins sing among the apple
+blossoms, where bright waters ripple in eternal melody! There are echoes
+of songs that are sung no more; tender words spoken by lips that are
+dust; blessings from hearts that are still. There's a useless cradle,
+and a broken doll; a sunny tress, and an empty garment folded away;
+there's a lock of silvered hair, and an unforgotten prayer, and _mother_
+is sleeping there!
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS OF THE YEARS TO COME.
+
+
+[Illustration: AMBITION'S DREAM.]
+
+There, under the shade of the sycamores, on my father's old farm, I used
+to dream of the years to come. I looked through a vista blooming with
+pleasures, fruiting with achievements, and beautiful as the cloud-isles
+of the sunset. The siren, ambition, sat beside me and fired my young
+heart with her prophetic song. She dazzled me, and charmed me, and
+soothed me, into sweet fantastic reveries. She touched me and bade me
+look into the wondrous future. The bow of promise spanned it. Hope was
+enthroned there and smiled like an angel of light. Under that shining
+arch lay the goal of my fondest aspirations. Visions of wealth, and of
+laurels, and of applauding thousands, crowded the horizon of my dream.
+I saw the capitol of the Republic, that white-columned pantheon of
+liberty, lifting its magnificent pile from the midst of the palaces,
+and parks, the statues, and monuments, of the most beautiful city in
+the world. Infatuated with this vision of earthly glory, I bade adieu
+to home and its dreams, seized the standard of a great political party,
+and rushed into the turmoil and tumult of the heated campaign. Unable to
+bear the armor of a Saul, I went forth to do battle armed with a fiddle,
+a pair of saddlebags, a plug horse, and the eternal truth. There was the
+din of conflict by day on the hustings; there was the sound of revelry
+by night in the cabins. The mid-night stars twinkled to the music of the
+merry fiddle, and the hills resounded with the clatter of dwindling shoe
+soles, as the mountain lads and lassies danced the hours away in the
+good old time Virginia reel. I rode among the mountain fastnesses like
+the "Knight of the woeful figure," mounted on my prancing "Rozenante,"
+everywhere charging the windmill of the opposing party, and wherever
+I drew rein the mountaineers swarmed from far and near to witness the
+bloodless battle of the contending candidates in the arena of joint
+discussion. My learned competitor, bearing the shield of "protection to
+American labor," and armed to the teeth with mighty argument, hurled
+himself upon me with the fury of a lion. His blows descended like
+thunderbolts, and the welkin rang with cheers when his lance went
+shivering to the center. His logic was appalling, his imagery was
+sublime. His tropes and similes flashed like the drawn blades of
+charging cavalry, and with a flourish of trumpets, his grand effort
+culminated in a splendid tribute to the Republic, crowned with
+Goldsmith's beautiful metaphor:
+
+  "As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
+   Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm;
+   Though 'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
+   Eternal sunshine settles on its head."
+
+
+I received the charge of the enemy "with poised lance, and visor down."
+I deluged the tall cliff under a flood of "mountain eloquence" which
+poured from my patriotic lips like molasses pouring from the bung-hole
+of the universe. I mounted the American eagle and soared among the
+stars. I scraped the skies and cut the black illimitable far out beyond
+the orbit of Uranus, and I reached the climax of my triumphant flight
+with a hyperbole that eclipsed Goldsmith's metaphor, unthroned the foe,
+and left him stunned upon the field. Thus I soared:
+
+"I stood upon the sea shore, and with a frail reed in my hand, I wrote
+in the sand, 'My Country, I love thee;' a mad wave came rushing by and
+wiped out the fair impression. Cruel wave, treacherous sand, frail reed;
+I said, 'I hate ye I'll trust ye no more, but with a giant's arm, I'll
+reach to the coast of Norway, and pluck its tallest pine, and dip it
+in the crater of Vesuvius, and write upon the burnished heavens; 'My
+Country, _I love thee_! And I'd like to see _any_ durned wave rub that
+out!!'"
+
+Between the long intervals of argument my speech grinned with anecdotes
+like a basketfull of 'possum heads. The fiddle played its part, the
+people did the rest, and I carved upon the tombstone of the demolished
+Knight these tender words:
+
+  "Tread softly 'round this sacred heap,
+   It guards ambition's restless sleep;
+   Whose greed for place ne'er did forsake him,
+   Don't mention office, or you'll wake him!"
+
+
+I reached the goal of my visions and dreams under that collossal dome
+whose splendors are shadowed in the broad river that flows by the shrine
+of Mt. Vernon. I sat amid the confusion and uproar of the parliamentary
+struggles of the lower branch of the Congress of the United States.
+"Sunset" Cox, with his beams of wit and humor, convulsed the house and
+shook the gallaries. Alexander Stephens, one of the last tottering
+monuments of the glory of the Old South, still lingering on the floor,
+where, in by-gone years the battles of his vigorous manhood were fought.
+I saw in the Senate an assemblage of the grandest men since the days
+of Webster and Clay. Conkling, the intellectual Titan, the Apollo of
+manly form and grace, thundered there. The "Plumed Knight," that grand
+incarnation of mind and magnetism, was at the zenith of his glory.
+Edmunds, and Zack Chandler, and the brilliant and learned Jurist, Mat.
+Carpenter, were there. Thurman the "noblest Roman of them all" was there
+with his famous bandana handkerchief. The immortal Ben Hill, the idol
+of the South, and Lamar, the gifted orator and highest type of Southern
+chivalry were there. Garland, and Morgan, and Harris, and Coke, were
+there; and Beck with his sledge-hammer intellect. It was an arena of
+opposing gladiators more magnificent and majestic than was ever
+witnessed in the palmiest days of the Roman Empire. There were giants
+in the Senate in those days, and when they clashed shields and measured
+swords in debate, the capitol trembled and the nation thrilled in every
+nerve.
+
+But how like the ocean's ebb and flow are the restless tides of politics!
+These scenes of grandeur and glory soon dissolved from my view like a
+dream. I "saved the country" for only two short years. My competitor
+proved a lively corpse. He burst forth from the tomb like a locust from
+its shell, and came buzzing to the national capital with "war on his
+wings." I went buzzing back to the mountains to dream again under the
+sycamores; and there a new ambition was kindled in my soul. A new
+vision opened before me. I saw another capitol rise on the bank of the
+Cumberland, overshadowing the tomb of Polk and close by the Hermitage
+where reposes the sacred dust of Andrew Jackson. And I thought if I
+could only reach the exalted position of Governor of the old "Volunteer
+State" I would then have gained the sum of life's honors and happiness.
+But lo! another son of my father and mother was dreaming there under the
+same old sycamore. We had dreamed together in the same trundle-bed and
+often kicked each other out. Together we had seen visions of pumpkin pie
+and pulled hair for the biggest slice. Together we had smoked the first
+cigar and together learned to play the fiddle. But now the dreams of our
+manhood clashed. Relentless fate had decreed that "York" must contend
+with "Lancaster" in the "War of the Roses." And with flushed cheeks and
+throbbing hearts we eagerly entered the field; his shield bearing the
+red rose, mine the white. It was a contest of principles, free from the
+wormwood and gall of personalities, and when the multitude of partisans
+gathered at the hustings, a white rose on every Democratic bosom, a red
+rose on every Republican breast, in the midst of a wilderness of flowers
+there was many a tilt and many a loud huzzah. But when the clouds of war
+had cleared away, I looked upon the drooping red rose on the bosom of
+the vanquished Knight, and thought of the first speech my mother ever
+taught me:
+
+  "Man's a vapor full of woes,
+   Cuts a caper--down he goes!"
+
+
+The white rose triumphed. But the shadow is fairer than the substance.
+The pathway of ambition is marked at every mile with the grave of some
+sweet pleasure slain by the hand of sacrifice. It bristles with thorns
+planted by the fingers of envy and hate, and as we climb the rugged
+heights, behind us lie our bloody footprints, before us tower still
+greater heights, scarred by tempests and wrapped in eternal snow. Like
+the edelweiss of the Alps, ambition's pleasures bloom in the chill air
+of perpetual frost, and he who reaches the summit will look down with
+longing eyes, on the humbler plain of life below and wish his feet had
+never wandered from its warmer sunshine and sweeter flowers.
+
+
+
+
+FROM THE CAVE-MAN TO THE "KISS-O-PHONE."
+
+
+But let us not forget that it is better for us, and better for the
+world, that we dream, and that we tread the thorny paths, and climb
+the weary steeps, and leave our bloody tracks behind in the pursuit
+of our dreams. For in their extravagant conceptions lie the germs
+of human government, and invention, and discovery; and from their
+mysterious vagaries spring the motive power of the world's progress.
+Our civilization is the evolution of dreams. The rude tribes of primeval
+men dwelt in caves until some unwashed savage dreamed that damp caverns
+and unholy smells were not in accord with the principles of hygiene.
+It dawned upon his _mighty_ intellect that one flat stone would lie on
+top of another, and that a little mud, aided by Sir Isaac Newton's law
+of gravitation, would hold them together, and that walls could be built
+in the form of a quadrangle. Here was the birth of architecture. And
+thus, from the magical dreams of this unmausoleumed barbarian was
+evolved the home, the best and sweetest evolution of man's civilisation.
+
+John Howard Payne touched the tenderest chord that vibrates in the
+great heart of all humankind when he gave to immortality his song of
+"Home, Sweet Home;" and thank God, the grand mansions and palaces of the
+rich do not hold all the happiness and nobility of this world. There
+are millions of humble cottages where virtue resides in the warmth and
+purity of vestal fires, and where contentment dwells like perpetual
+summer.
+
+The antediluvians plowed with a forked stick, with one prong for the
+beam and the other for the scratcher; and the plow boy and his sleepy
+ox had no choice of prongs to hitch to. It was all the same to Adam
+whether "Buck" was yoked to the beam or the scratcher. But some noble
+Cincinnatus dreamed of the burnished plowshare; genius wrought his dream
+into steel and now the polished Oliver Chill slices the earth like a
+hot knife plowing a field of Jersey butter, and the modern gang plow,
+bearing upon its wheels the gloved and umbrella'd leader of the Populist
+Party, plows up the whole face of the earth in a single day.
+
+What a wonderful workshop is the brain of man! Its noiseless machinery
+cuts, and carves, and moulds, in the imponderable material of ideas.
+It works its endless miracles through the brawny arm of labor, and the
+deft fingers of skill, and the world moves forward by its magic. Aladdin
+rubbed his lamp and the shadowy genii of fable performed impossible
+wonders. The dreamer of to-day rubs his fingers through his hair and the
+genii of his intellect work miracles which eclipse the most extravagant
+fantasies of the "Arabian Nights."
+
+A dreamer saw the imprisoned vapor throw open the lid of a teakettle,
+and lo! a steam engine came puffing from his brain. And now many a huge
+monster of Corliss, beautiful as a vision of Archimedes and smooth in
+movement as a wheeling planet, sends its thrill of life and power
+through mammoth plants of humming machinery. The fiery courser of the
+steel-bound track shoots over hill and plain, like a mid-night meteor
+through the fields of heaven, outstripping the wind.
+
+A dreamer carried about in his brain a great Leviathan. It was launched
+upon the billows, and like some collossal swan the palatial steamship
+now sweeps in majesty through the blue wastes of old ocean.
+
+Six hundred years before Christ, some old Greek discovered electricity
+by rubbing a piece of amber, and unable to grasp the mystery, he called
+it soul. His discovery slept for more than two thousand years until it
+awoke in the dreams of Galvani, and Volta, and Benjamin Franklin. In the
+morning of the nineteenth century the sculptor and scientist, Morse, saw
+in his dreams, phantom lightnings leap across continents, and oceans,
+and felt the pulse of thunder beat as it came bounding over threads of
+iron that girdled the earth. In each throb he read a human thought. The
+electric telegraph emerged from his brain, like Minerva from the brow of
+Jove, and the world received a fresh baptism of light and glory.
+
+In a few more years we will step over the threshold of the twentieth
+century. What greater wonders will the dreamers yet unfold? It may be
+that another magician, greater even than Edison, the "Wizzard of Menloe
+Park," will rise up and coax the very laws of nature into easy compliance
+with his unheard-of dreams. I think he will construct an electric
+railway in the form of a huge tube, and call it the "electro-scoot,"
+and passengers will enter it in New York and touch a button and arrive
+in San Francisco two hours before they started! I think a new discovery
+will be made by which the young man of the future may stand at his
+"kiss-o-phone" in New York, and kiss his sweetheart in Chicago with all
+the delightful sensations of the "aforesaid and the same." I think some
+Liebig will reduce foods to their last analyses, and by an ultimate
+concentration of their elements, will enable the man of the future to
+carry a year's provisions in his vest pocket. The sucking dude will
+store his rations in the head of his cane, and the commissary department
+of a whole army will consist of a mule and a pair of saddlebags. A train
+load of cabbage will be transported in a sardine box, and a thousand fat
+Texas cattle in an oyster can. Power will be condensed from a forty
+horse engine to a quart cup. Wagons will roll by the power in their
+axles, and the cushions of our buggies will cover the force that propels
+them. The armies of the future will fight with chain lightning, and the
+battlefield will become so hot and unhealthy that,
+
+  "He who fights and runs away
+   Will never fight another day."
+
+
+Some dreaming Icarus will perfect the flying machine, and upon the
+aluminium wings of the swift Pegassus of the air the light-hearted
+society girl will sail among the stars, and
+
+  "Behind some dark cloud, where no one's allowed,
+   Make love to the man in the moon."
+
+
+The rainbow will be converted into a Ferris wheel; all men will be bald
+headed; the women will run the Government--_and then I think the end of
+time will be near at hand_.
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS.
+
+
+I heard a song of love, and tenderness, and sadness, and beauty, sweeter
+than the song of a nightingale. It was breathed from the soul of Robert
+Burns. I heard a song of deepest passion surging like the tempest-tossed
+waves of the sea. It was the restless spirit of Lord Byron.
+
+I heard a mournful melody of despairing love, full of that wild, mad,
+hopeless longing of a bereaved soul which the mid-night raven mocked at
+with that bitterest of all words--"Nevermore!" It was the weird threnody
+of the brilliant, but ill-starred Poe, who, like a meteor, blazed but
+for a moment, dazzling a hemisphere, and then went out forever in the
+darkness of death.
+
+Then I was exalted, and lifted into the serene sunlight of peace, as
+I listened to the spirit of faith, pouring out in the songs of our own
+immortal Longfellow.
+
+With Milton I walked the scented isles of long lost Paradise, and caught
+the odor of its bloom, and the swell of its music. He led me through
+its rose brakes, and under the vermilion and flame of its orchids and
+honeysuckles, down to the margin of the limpid river, where the water
+lilies slept in fadeless beauty, and the lotus nodded to the rippling
+waves; and there, under a bridal arch of orange blossoms, cordoned by
+palms and many-colored flowers, I saw a vision of bliss and beauty from
+which Satan turned away with an envy that stabbed him with pangs unfelt
+before in hell! It was earth's first vision of wedded love.
+
+But the horizon of Shakespeare was broader than them all. There is no
+depth which he has not sounded, no height which he has not measured.
+He walked in the gardens of the intellectual gods and gathered sweets
+for the soul from a thousand unwithering flowers. He caught music from
+the spheres, and beauty from ten thousand fields of light. His brain was
+a mighty loom. His genius gathered and classified, his imagination spun
+and wove; the flying shuttle of his fancy delivered to the warp of
+wisdom and philosophy the shining threads spun from the fibres of human
+hearts and human experience; and with his wondrous woof of pictured
+tapestries, he clothed all thought in the bridal robes of immortality.
+His mind was a resistless flood that deluged the world of literature
+with its glory. The succeeding poets are but survivors as by the ark,
+and, like the ancient dove, they gather and weave into garlands only
+the "flotsam" of beauty which floats on the bosom of the Shakespearean
+flood.
+
+Oh, Shakespeare, archangel of poetry! The light from thy wings drowns
+the stars and flashes thy glory on the civilizations of the whole world!
+
+  "Unwearied, unfettered, unwatched, unconfined,
+   Be my spirit like thee, in the world of the mind;
+   No leaning for earth e'er to weary its flight;
+   But fresh as thy pinions in regions of light."
+
+
+All honor to the poets and philosophers and painters and sculptors and
+musicians of the world! They are its honeybees; its songbirds; its
+carrier doves, its ministering angels.
+
+
+
+
+VISIONS OF DEPARTED GLORY.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I walked with Gibbon and Hume, through the sombre halls of the past, and
+caught visions of the glory of the classic Republics and Empires that
+flourished long ago, and whose very dust is still eloquent with the
+story of departed greatness. The spirit of genius lingers there still
+like the fragrance of roses faded and gone.
+
+I thought I heard the harp of Pindar, and the impassioned song of the
+dark-eyed Sappho. I thought I heard the lofty epic of the blind Homer,
+rushing on in the red tide of battle, and the divine Plato discoursing
+like an oracle in his academic shades.
+
+The canvas spoke and the marble breathed when Apelles painted and
+Phidias carved.
+
+I stood with Michael Angelo and saw him chisel his dreams from the
+marble.
+
+I saw Raphael spread his visions of beauty in immortal colors.
+
+I sat under the spirit of Paganini's power. The flow of his melody
+turned the very air into music. I thought I was in the presence of
+Divinity as I listened to the warbles, and murmurs, and the ebb and flow
+of the silver tides, from his violin. And I said: Music is the dearest
+gift of God to man. The sea, the forest, the field, and the meadow, are
+the very fountain heads of music.
+
+I believe that Mozart, and Mendelssohn, and Schubert, and Verdi, and all
+the great masters, caught their sweetest dreams from nature's musicians.
+I think their richest airs of mirth, and gladness, and joy, were stolen
+from the purling rivulet and the rippling river. I believe their
+grandest inspirations were born of the tempest, and the thunder, and the
+rolling billows of the angry ocean.
+
+
+
+
+NATURE'S MUSICIANS.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I sat on the grassy brink of a mountain stream in the gathering twilight
+of evening. The shadowy woodlands around me became a great theatre. The
+greensward before me was its stage.
+
+The tinkling bell of a passing herd rang up the curtain, and I sat there
+all alone in the hush of the dying day and listened to a concert of
+nature's musicians who sing as God hath taught them to sing. The first
+singer that entered my stage was Signor Grasshopper. He mounted a
+mullein leaf and sang, and sang, and sang, until Professor Turkey
+Gobbler slipped up behind him with open mouth, and Signor Grasshopper
+vanished from the footlights forevermore. And as Professor Turkey
+Gobbler strutted off my stage with a merry gobble, the orchestra opened
+before me with a flourish of trumpets. The katydid led off with a
+trombone solo; the cricket chimed in with his E. flat cornet; the
+bumblebee played on his violoncello, and the jay-bird, laughed with his
+piccolo. The music rose to grandeur with the deep bass horn of the big
+black beetle; the mocking bird's flute brought me to tears of rapture,
+and the screech-owl's fife made me want to fight. The tree-frog blew
+his alto horn; the jar-fly clashed his tinkling cymbals; the woodpecker
+rattled his kettledrum, and the locust jingled his tambourine. The music
+rolled along like a sparkling river in sweet accompaniment with the
+oriole's leading violin. But it suddenly hushed when I heard a ripple
+of laughter among the hollyhocks before the door of a happy country
+home. I saw a youth standing there in the shadows with his arm around
+"something" and holding his sweetheart's hand in his. He bent forward;
+lip met lip, and there was an explosion like the squeak of a new boot.
+The lassie vanished into the cottage; the lad vanished over the hill,
+and as he vanished he swung his hat in the shadows, and sang back to her
+his happy love song.
+
+[Illustration: LOVE AMONG THE HOLLYHOCKS.]
+
+Did you never hear a mountain love song? This is the song he sang:
+
+  "Oh, when she saw me coming she rung her hands and cried,
+   She said I was the prettiest thing that ever lived or died.
+   Oh, run along home Miss Nancy, get along home Miss Nancy,
+   Run along home Miss Nancy, down in Rockinham."
+
+
+The birds inclined their heads to listen to his song as it died away on
+the drowsy summer air.
+
+That night I slept in a mansion; but I "closed my eyes on garnished
+rooms to dream of meadows and clover blooms," and love among the
+hollyhocks. And while I dreamed I was serenaded by a band of mosquitoes.
+This is the song they sang:
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  "Hush my dear, lie still and slumber;
+     Holy angels guard thy bed;
+   Heavenly 'skeeters without number
+     Buzzing 'round your old bald head!!!"
+
+
+
+
+PREACHER'S PARADISE.
+
+
+There is no land on earth which has produced such quaint and curious
+characters as the great mountainous regions of the South, and yet no
+country has produced nobler or brainier men.
+
+When I was a barefooted boy my grandfather's old grist mill was the
+Mecca of the mountaineers. They gathered there on the rainy days to
+talk politics and religion, and to drink "mountain" dew and fight.
+Adam Wheezer was a tall, spindle-shanked old settler as dark as an
+Indian, and he wore a broad, hungry grin that always grew broader at the
+sight of a fat sheep. The most prominent trait of Adam's character, next
+to his love of mutton, was his bravery. He stood in the mill one day
+with his empty sack under his arm, as usual, when Bert Lynch, the bully
+of the mountains, with an eye like a game rooster's, walked up to him
+and said: "Adam, you've bin a-slanderin' of me, an' I'm a-gwine to give
+you a thrashin'." He seized Adam by the throat and backed him under
+the meal spout. Adam opened his mouth to squall and it spouted meal
+like a whale. He made a surge for breath and liberty and tossed Bert
+away like a feather. Then he shot out of the mill door like a rocket,
+leaving his old battered plug hat and one prong of his coat tail in the
+hands of the enemy. He ran through the creek and knocked it dry as he
+went. He made a bee line for my grandfather's house, a quarter of a mile
+away, on the hill. He burst into the sitting-room, covered with meal and
+panting like a bellowsed horse, frightening my grandmother almost into
+hysterics. The old lady screamed and shouted: "What in the world is the
+matter, Adam?" Adam replied: "That there durned Bert Lynch is down
+yander a-tryin' to raise a fuss with me."
+
+But every dog has his day. Brother Billy Patterson preached from the
+door of the mill on the following Sunday. It was his first sermon in
+that "neck of the woods," and he began his ministrations with a powerful
+discourse, hurling his anathemas against Satan and sin and every kind of
+wickedness. He denounced whiskey. He branded the bully as a brute and a
+moral coward, and personated Bert, having witnessed his battle with Adam.
+This was too much for the champion. He resolved to "thrash" Brother
+Patterson, and in a few days they met at the mill. Bert squared himself
+and said: "Parson, you had your turn last Sunday; it's mine to-day.
+Pull off that broadcloth an' take your medicine. I'm a-gwine to suck
+the marrow out'n them ole bones o' yourn." The pious preacher plead for
+peace, but without avail. At last he said: "Then, if nothing but a fight
+will satisfy you, will you allow me to kneel down and say my prayer
+before we fight?" "O yes, that's all right parson," said Bert. "But cut
+yer prayer short, for I'm a-gwine to give you a good sound thrashin'."
+
+The preacher knelt and thus began to pray: "Oh Lord, Thou knowest that
+when I killed Bill Cummings, and John Brown, and Jerry Smith, and Levi
+Bottles, that I did it in self defense. Thou knowest, Oh Lord, that when
+I cut the heart out of young Sliger, and strewed the ground with the
+brains of Paddy Miles, that it was forced upon me, and that I did it in
+great agony of soul. And now, Oh Lord, I am about to be forced to put in
+his coffin, this poor miserable wretch, who has attacked me here to-day.
+Oh Lord, have mercy upon his soul and take care of his helpless widow
+and orphans when he is gone!"
+
+And he arose whetting his knife on his shoe-sole, singing:
+
+  "Hark, from the tomb a doleful sound,
+   Mine ears attend the cry."
+
+
+But when he looked around, Bert was gone. There was nothing in sight but
+a little cloud of dust far up the road, following in the wake of the
+vanishing champion.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BROTHER ESTEP AND THE TRUMPET.
+
+
+During the great revival which followed Brother Patterson's first
+sermon and effective prayer, the hour for the old-fashioned Methodist
+love feast arrived. Old Brother Estep, in his enthusiasm on such
+occasions sometimes "stretched his blanket." It was his glory to get
+up a sensation among the brethren. He rose and said: "Bretheren, while
+I was a-walkin' in my gyardin late yisterday evenin', a-meditatin' on
+the final eend of the world, I looked up, an' I seed Gabrael raise his
+silver trumpet, which was about fifty foot long, to his blazin' lips,
+an' I hearn him give it a toot that knocked me into the fence corner
+an' shuck the very taters out'n the ground."
+
+"Tut, tut," said the old parson, "don't talk that way in this meeting;
+we all know you didn't hear Gabrael blow his trumpet." The old man's
+wife jumped to her feet to help her husband out, and said: "Now parson,
+you set down there. Don't you dispute John's word that-away--He mout
+a-hearn a toot or two."
+
+
+
+
+"WAMPER-JAW" AT THE JOLLIFICATION.
+
+
+The sideboard of those good old times would have thrown the prohibition
+candidate of to-day into spasms. It sparkled with cut glass decanters
+full of the juices of corn, and rye, and apple. The old Squire of the
+mill "Deestrict" had as many sweet, buzzing friends as any flower garden
+or cider press in Christendom. The most industrious bee that sucked at
+the Squire's sideboard was old "Wamper-jaw." His mouth reached from ear
+to ear, and was inlaid with huge gums as red as vermilion; and when he
+laughed it had the appearance of lightning. On the triumphant day of the
+Squire's re-election to his great office, when everything was lovely and
+"the goose hung high," he was surrounded by a large crowd of his fellow
+citizens, and Thomas Jefferson, in his palmiest days, never looked
+grander than did the Squire on this occasion. He was attired in his
+best suit of homespun, the choicest product of his wife's dye pot.
+His immense vest with its broad luminous stripes, checked the rotundity
+of his ample stomach like the lines of latitude and longitude, and
+resembled a half finished map of the United States. His blue jeans coat
+covered his body as the waters cover the face of the great deep, and
+its huge collar encircled the back of his head like the belts of light
+around a planet.
+
+The Squire was regaling his friends with his latest side-splitting
+jokes. Old "Wamper-jaw" threw himself back in his chair and exploded
+with peal after peal of laughter. But suddenly he looked around and
+said: "Gen-tul-men, my jaw's flew out'n jint!"
+
+His comrades seized him and pulled him all over the yard trying to get
+it back. Finally old "Wamper-jaw" mounted his mule, and with pounding
+heels, rode, like Tam O'Shanter, to the nearest doctor who lived two
+miles away. The doctor gave his jaw a mysterious yank and it popped back
+into socket. "Wamper-jaw" rushed back to join in the festivities at the
+Squire's. The glasses were filled again; another side-splitting joke was
+told, another peal of laughter went 'round, when "Wamper-jaw" threw his
+hand to his face and said: "Gen-tul-men, she's out agin!!!" There was
+another hasty ride for the doctor. But in the years that followed;
+"Wamper-jaw" was never known to laugh aloud. On the most hilarious
+occasions he merely showed his gums.
+
+[Illustration: "WAMPER-JAW."]
+
+
+
+
+THE TINTINNABULATION OF THE DINNER BELLS.
+
+
+How many millions dream on the lowest planes of life! How few ever reach
+the highest and like stars of the first magnitude, shed their light upon
+the pathway of the marching centuries! What multitudes there are whose
+horizons are lighted with visions and dreams of the flesh pots and soup
+bowls,--whose Fallstaffian aspirations never rise above the fat things
+of this earth, and whose ear flaps are forever inclined forward,
+listening for the dinner bells!
+
+  "The bells, bells, bells!
+   What a world of pleasure their harmony foretells!
+   The bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells!
+   The tintinnabulation of the dinner bells!"
+
+
+In my native mountains there once lived one of these old gluttonous
+dreamers. I think he was the champion eater of the world. Many a time I
+have seen him at my grandfather's table, and the viands and battercakes
+vanished "like the baseless fabric of a vision,"--he left not "a wreck
+behind." But one day, in the voracity of his shark-like appetite, he
+unfortunately undertook too large a contract for the retirement of an
+immense slice of ham. It scraped its way down his rebellious esophagus
+for about two inches, and lodged as tightly as a bullet in a rusty gun.
+His prodigious Adam's apple suddenly shot up to his chin; his eyes
+protruded, and his purple neck craned and shortened by turns, like a
+trombone in full blast. He scrambled from the table and pranced about
+the room like a horse with blind staggers. My grandfather sprang at him
+and dealt him blow after blow in the back, which sounded like the blows
+of a mallet on a dry hide; but the ham wouldn't budge. The old man ran
+out into the yard and seized a plank about three feet long, and rushed
+into the room with it drawn.
+
+"Now William," said he, "get down on your all-fours." William got down.
+"Now William, when I hit, you swallow." He hit, and it popped like a
+Winchester rifle.
+
+William shot into the corner of the room like a shell from a mortar, but
+in a moment he was seated at his place at the table again, with a broad
+grin on his face. "Is it down William?" shouted the old man. "Yes, Mr.
+Haynes, the durned thing's gone,--please pass the ham."
+
+[Illustration: "WHEN I HIT, YOU SWALLOW."]
+
+I thought how vividly that old glutton illustrated the fools who, in
+their effort to gulp down the sensual pleasures of this world, choke the
+soul, and nothing but the clap-board of hard experience, well laid on,
+can dislodge the ham, and restore the equilibrium.
+
+
+
+
+PHANTOMS OF THE WINE CUP.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A little below the glutton lies the plane of the drunkard whose visions
+and dreams are bounded by the horizon of a still tub. "A little wine for
+the stomach's sake is good," but in the trembling hand of a drunkard,
+every crimson drop that glows in the cup is crushed from the roses that
+once bloomed on the cheeks of some helpless woman. Every phantom of
+beauty that dances in it is a devil; and yet, millions quaff, and with
+a hideous laugh, go staggering to the grave.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+THE MISSING LINK.
+
+
+A little below the plane of the drunkard is the dude, that missing link
+between monkey and man, whose dream of happiness is a single eye-glass,
+a kangaroo strut, and three hours of conversation without a sensible
+sentence; whose only conception of life is to splurge, and flirt, and
+spend his father's fortune.
+
+"Out of the fullness of his heart his mouth singeth:"
+
+  "I'm a dandy; I'm a swell.
+   Just from college, can't you tell?
+   I'm the beau of every belle;
+   I'm the swellest of the swell.
+
+   I'm the King of all the balls,
+   I'm a Prince in banquet halls.
+   My daddy's rich, they know it well,
+   I'm the swellest of the swell."
+
+
+
+
+NIGHTMARE.
+
+
+Unhappily for us all, in the world of visions and dreams, there is a
+dark side to human life. Here have been dreamed out all the crimes which
+have steeped our race in shame since the expulsion from Eden, and all
+the wars that have cursed mankind since the birth of history. Alexander
+the Great was a monster whose sword drank the blood of a conquered
+world. Julius Caesar marched his invincible armies, like juggernauts,
+over the necks of fallen nations. Napoleon Bonaparte rose with the
+morning of the nineteenth century, and stood, like some frightful comet,
+on its troubled horizon. Distraught with the dream of conquest and
+empire, he hovered like a god on the verge of battle. Kings and emperors
+stood aghast. The sun of Austerlitz was the rising sun of his glory and
+power, but it went down, veiled in the dark clouds of Waterloo, and
+Napoleon the Great, uncrowned, unthroned, and stunned by the dreadful
+shock that annihilated the Grand Army and the Old Guard, "wandered
+aimlessly about on the lost field," in the gloom that palled a fallen
+empire, as Hugo describes him, "the somnambulist of a vast, shattered
+dream."
+
+
+
+
+INFIDELITY.
+
+
+It is in the desert of evil, where virtue trembles to tread, where hope
+falters, and where faith is crucified, that the infidel dreams. To him,
+all there is of heaven is bounded by this little span of life; all there
+is of pleasure and love is circumscribed by a few fleeting years; all
+there is of beauty is mortal; all there is of intelligence and wisdom is
+in the human brain; all there is of mystery and infinity is fathomable
+by human reason, and all there is of virtue is measured by the relations
+of man to man. To him, all must end in the "tongueless silence of the
+dreamless dust," and all that lies beyond the grave is a voiceless shore
+and a starless sky. To him, there are no prints of deathless feet on its
+echoless sands, no thrill of immortal music in its joyless air.
+
+He has lost his God, and like some fallen seraph flying in rayless
+night, he gropes his way on flagging pinions, searching for light where
+darkness reigns, for life where Death is King.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAM OF GOD.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+I have wondered a thousand times, if an infidel ever looked through a
+telescope. The universe is the dream of God, and the heavens declare
+His glory. There is our mighty sun, robed in the brightness of his
+eternal fires, and with his planets forever wheeling around him. Yonder
+is Mercury, and Venus, and there is Mars, the ruddy globe, whose poles
+are white with snow, and whose other zones seem dotted with seas and
+continents. Who knows but that his roseate color is only the blush of
+his flowers? Who knows but that Mars may now be a paradise inhabited by
+a blessed race, unsullied by sin, untouched by death? There is the giant
+orb of Jupiter, the champion of the skies, belted and sashed with vapor
+and clouds; and Saturn, haloed with bands of light and jeweled with
+eight ruddy moons; and there is Uranus, another stupendous world,
+speeding on in the prodigious circle of his tireless journey around the
+sun. And yet another orbit cuts the outer rim of our system; and on its
+gloomy pathway, the lonely Neptune walks the cold, dim solitudes of
+space. In the immeasurable depths beyond appear millions of suns, so
+distant that their light could not reach us in a thousand years. There,
+spangling the curtains of the black profound, shine the constellations
+that sparkle like the crown jewels of God. There are double, and triple,
+and quadruple suns of different colors, commingling their gorgeous hues
+and flaming like archangels on the frontier of stellar space. If we
+look beyond the most distant star, the black walls are flecked with
+innumerable patches of filmy light like the dewy gossamers of the
+spider's loom that dot our fields at morn. What beautiful forms we trace
+among those phantoms of light! circles, and elipses, and crowns, and
+shields, and spiral wreaths of palest silver. And what are they? Did
+I say phantoms of light? The telescope resolves them into millions of
+suns, standing out from the oceans of white hot matter that contain the
+germs of countless systems yet to be. And so far removed from us are
+these suns, that the light which comes to us from them to-night has been
+speeding on its way for more than two million years.
+
+What is that white belt we call the milky way, which spans the heavens
+and sparkles like a Sahara of diamonds? It is a river of stars: it is
+a gulf stream of suns; and if each of these suns holds in his grasp a
+mighty system of planets, as ours does, how many multiplied millions
+of worlds like our own are now circling in that innumerable concourse?
+
+Oh, where are the bounds of this divine conception! Where ends this
+dream of God? And is there no life and intelligence in all this throng
+of spheres? Are there no sails on those far away summer seas, no wings
+to cleave those crystal airs, no forms divine to walk those radiant
+fields? Are there no eyes to see those floods of light, no hearts to
+share with ours that love which holds all these mighty orbs in place?
+
+It cannot be, it cannot be! Surely there is a God! If there is not,
+life is a dream, human experience is a phantom, and the universe is
+a flaunting lie!
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration: Syrup of Figs]
+
+    ONE ENJOYS
+
+    Both the method and results when Syrup of Figs is taken; it is
+    pleasant and refreshing to the taste, and acts gently yet promptly
+    on the Kidneys, Liver, and Bowels, cleanses the system effectually,
+    dispels colds, headaches, and fevers and cures habitual constipation.
+    Syrup of Figs is the only remedy of its kind ever produced, pleasing
+    to the taste and acceptable to the stomach, prompt in its action and
+    truly beneficial in its effects, prepared only from the most healthy
+    and agreeable substances, its many excellent qualities commend it to
+    all and have made it the most popular remedy known.
+
+    Syrup of Figs is for sale in 50 cent bottles by all leading
+    druggists. Any reliable druggist who may not have it on hand will
+    procure it promptly for any one who wishes to try it. Do not accept
+    any substitute.
+
+    CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP CO.
+
+    San Francisco, Cal. Louisville, Ky. New York, N. Y.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+    VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY,
+    DEPARTMENT OF DENTISTRY
+
+    NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE.
+
+
+    A purely dental school--a training school for dentists--does what
+    it claims to do, as the results show. Regular Session will begin
+    Oct. 5th; ends March 31, 1898. Post-graduate and Practical Courses,
+    also.
+
+    FOR INFORMATION, ADDRESS
+    DR. W. H. MORGAN, Dean,
+    211 N. HIGH ST.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: Balmer's Magnetic Inhaler]
+
+    A MAGIC CURE ... FOR ...
+
+    Catarrh, Asthma, Hay Fever, La Grippe, Sore Throat, etc.
+
+    A positive preventive and cure for all germ diseases. A quick cure
+    for colds. Used and praised by over a million Americans.
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+    One minute's trial will convince you of its wonderful merit.
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+    if not satisfied. Will last two years and can be refilled by us
+    for 20 cents in stamps. Thousands have been sold under guarantee.
+    It speaks for itself. Show it and it sells itself. Price 50 cents
+    postpaid. Stamps taken.
+
+    AGENTS WANTED. Send 50 cents for one Inhaler and ask for wholesale
+    prices to agents. Address
+
+    BAPTIST AND REFLECTOR,
+        NASHVILLE, TENN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    NEW SOUTHERN HOTEL,
+    CHATTANOOGA, TENN.
+
+    Centrally located. Newly furnished. First-class in all respects.
+    Best ventilated and the best fire protection of any house in the
+    city. Prompt and polite service. Rates $2.50 to $3.00. Commercial
+    rates to travelling men. Special rates to excursions of five and
+    upwards.
+
+    W. O. PEEPLES, MANAGER.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    THE SOUTH'S LEADING JEWELERS.
+
+    STIEF JEWELRY CO.
+    208 & 210 Union St., Nashville, Tenn.
+
+    Direct Importers of Fine DIAMONDS.
+    Dealers in Watches, Jewelry, and Fancy Goods.
+
+    We are strictly "Up-to-Date" in designs, with quality and prices
+    guaranteed. Write for our illustrated Catalogue, if unable to call
+    and see us. Special attention given to all mail orders.
+
+    _JAMES B. CARR, Manager._
+
+    LARGEST JEWELRY HOUSE IN THE SOUTH.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    HIGHEST AWARD.
+
+    STARR PIANOS
+
+    WORLD'S FAIR, 1893.
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+    BUY DIRECT AND SAVE MONEY.
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+    FACTORIES: RICHMOND, IND.
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+    JESSE FRENCH PIANO & ORGAN CO., NASHVILLE, TENN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Artistic Home Decorations.
+
+    We can show you effects never before thought of, and at moderate
+    prices, too.
+
+    Why have your house decorated and painted by inferior workmen,
+    when you can have it done by skilled workmen--by artists--for the
+    same price?
+
+    If you intend decorating, if only one room, call to see what we
+    are doing, and for whom.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TAPESTRY PAINTING.
+
+    2,000 tapestry painting to choose from. 38 artists employed,
+    including gold medalists of the Paris Salon. Send 25 cents for
+    compendium of 140 studies.
+
+WALL PAPER.
+
+    New styles, designed by gold medal artists. From 10 cents per
+    roll up. Will give you large samples if you will pay expressage.
+    A large quantity of last year's paper, $1 and $2 per roll;
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+
+DECORATIONS.
+
+    Color schemes--designs and estimates submitted free. Artists sent
+    to all parts of the world to do every sort of decorating and
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+    Pupils taught.
+
+DECORATIVE ADVICE.
+
+    Upon receipt of $1, Mr. Douthitt will answer any question on
+    interior decorations--color-harmony and harmony of form, harmony
+    of wall coverings, carpets, curtains, tiles, furniture, gas
+    fixtures, etc.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    JOHN F. DOUTHITT,
+    AMERICAN TAPESTRY DECORATIVE CO.
+    286 FIFTH AVENUE, near 30th St., NEW YORK.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Artistic Home Decorations.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MANUAL OF ART DECORATIONS.
+
+    The art book of the century. 200 royal quarto pages. 50 superb
+    full-page illustrations (11 colored) of modern home interiors and
+    tapestry studies. Price, $2. If you want to be up in decoration,
+    send $2 for this book. Worth $50.
+
+SCHOOL.
+
+    Six 3-hours tapestry painting lessons, in studio, $5. Complete
+    written instruction by mail, $1. Tapestry paintings rented;
+    full-size drawings, paints, brushes, etc., supplied. Nowhere,
+    Paris not excepted, are such advantages offered pupils. New
+    catalogue of 125 studies, 25 cents. Send $1 for complete
+    instruction in tapestry painting and compendium of 140 studies.
+
+TAPESTRY MATERIALS.
+
+    We manufacture tapestry materials superior to foreign goods,
+    and half the price. Book of samples, 10 cents. Send $1.50 for
+    2 yards No. 6, 50-inch goods, just for a trial order; worth $3.
+    All kinds of Drapery to match all sorts of Wall Papers, from
+    10 c. per yard up. THIS IS OUR GREAT SPECIALTY.
+
+GOBLIN PRINTED BURLAPS.
+
+    Over 100 new styles for wall coverings, at 25 cents per yard,
+    36 inches wide, thus costing the same as wall paper at $1 per
+    roll. 240 kinds of Japanese lida leather paper, at $2 per roll.
+
+GOBLIN ART DRAPERY.
+
+    Grecian, Russian, Venetian, Brazilian, Roman, Rococo, Dresden,
+    Festoon, College Stripe, Marie Antoinette, Indian, Calcutta,
+    Bombay, Delft, Soudan.
+
+    In order that we may introduce this line of new art goods, we
+    will send one yard of each of 50 different kinds of our most
+    choice patterns for $7.50.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    JOHN F. DOUTHITT,
+    AMERICAN TAPESTRY DECORATIVE CO.
+    286 FIFTH AVENUE, near 30th St., NEW YORK.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+    Free tuition. We will give one or more free scholarships in
+    every county in the U. S. Write us.
+
+    Positions Guaranteed _Under reasonable conditions_....
+
+    Will accept notes for tuition or can deposit money in bank until
+    position is secured. Car fare paid. No vacation. Enter at any
+    time. Open for both sexes. Cheap board. Send for free illustrated
+    catalogue.
+
+    Address J. F. DRAUGHON, Pres't, at either place.
+
+    Draughon's
+    Practical
+    Business Colleges,
+
+    NASHVILLE, TENN., GALVESTON AND TEXARKANA, TEX.
+
+    Bookkeeping, Shorthand, Typewriting, etc. The most thorough,
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+    best patronized ones in the South. Indorsed by bankers, merchants,
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+    Easy."
+
+    Home study. We have prepared, for home study, books on bookkeeping,
+    penmanship and shorthand. Write for price list "Home Study."
+
+    Extract. "PROF. DRAUGHON--I learned bookkeeping at home
+    from your books, while holding a position as night telegraph
+    operator." C. E. LEFFINGWELL, Bookkeeper for Gerber and Ficks,
+    Wholesale Grocers, South Chicago, Ill.
+
+    (_Mention this paper when writing._)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+Young People.
+
+    FREE: $20.00 IN GOLD, Bicycle, Gold Watch, Diamond Ring, or a
+    Scholarship in Draughon's Practical Business College, Nashville,
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+    Advocate, an illustrated semi-monthly journal. It is elevating in
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+
+    [Mention this paper.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Gov. Bob. Taylor's Tales, by Robert L. Taylor
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+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #20171 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20171)