The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1891-07-28
OLD jim AND HIS FIDDLE.

Lizzie, Ole Gal"-anythin' l don't
care what-jest ask Jim and an he'd
play it fur ye.
Ole jim laid round the ranch that
winter-the last winter he was with us,
stranger-an' though we heard that
fiddle from mornin' till night, we never
| got tired of it. They was somethin'
peculiar about Jim's playing he allus
! thrOwed his whole soul into his tunes,
an I've heard him smoker right out
when he played somethin' gay, an
then ag'in, I've seen the big tears roll
| down his cheeks when he played some
| thin sad. 1t strikes me that's the
proper way for a teller to feel when he
wants to make his music tell, and Jim's
music told you can stand pat on that.
I've had this fiddle yer sense |
was ) years Old, said Jim once, as he
lifted the instrument up an kissed all
the rosin Off'n the strings. when
ever | feel good l play on it just to
remind myself that I'm still on earth
an mustn't git carried way, an when
I'm down in the mouth l play on it to
clipper up, when l don't feel either
goOd'r bad-why, l jest play on it
cause l want to. Lemme tell ye, fell
lers, a fiddle amt just a piece O wood
en- some cat gut strings-it's a real,
live thing, an l wouldn't any more
think O. hurtin the feelin's of my fiddle
than I would of hurtin' your feelin's
not a bit"
Then he grabbed his fiddle by the
neck an sawed out a tune that made
i'm cry-an' the rest of us too, for that
matter.
Ole Jim was never a very healthy
felIer-face was white an his eyes
big n CLASSY, an he jest kinder wilted
away that winter, an when spring
come he was fiat upon his back. 1t
was consumption, Jim said. He had
come to Montany from Arkansaw to
get helped, an in consequence he had
lived jest fifteen years more, he had
expected to. He knew he couldn't
Iive-he said so-an' [ tell ye. stranger
it was affectin' to see him in bed tid
ding some dancin' tune fur the boys,
an him so near his end.
One day Jim called us all around
him.
boys" said he calm an contented
like, I'm pretty near ready to quit.
I know I'll die just about the time the
sun m up ag'in-I feel it in my
bones, an if you'll just prop me up
and gimme my dear old fiddle, and I'll
play you my last tune"
[ got the instrement an handed it
to him. He Rugged it in his arms a
minnit, an then he said in a whisper,
as he laid his hand on my arm:
"Tom, I want we to bury it with me
lay it right here on my neck, jest s
if [ was playin' it an put the bow in
my right hand. Will you promise"'
III do it, JIM" said L.
An then, when Gariel's trumpet
blows III come out O. that grave and
play a tune that the angels will
listen to-"
Then he tuned the fiddle slowly, an
when that was done, he kissed it an
muttered: Eur the last time, my
boy" an then he played.
1t was a tune [ had heard when a
boy, in the east-"Nearer, My God to
Thee"-an' we all stood round poor
ole jim an watched his white fingers
~quiverin' Over the strings, an we saw
his eyes glimmer with a light that
wasn't Of this earth-I know that.
That fiddle talked stranger yes,
sir; talked straighter to the heart of
every Teller there, an it's voice was so
sweet an so sad that they wasn't one
Of us that didn't turn away his face to
hide the tears. Some of the boys went
out doors an I could see EN- wipin'
their eyes with their big red hank
erchers.
At last the music stopped quick.
Here tom" said Jim, an then he
gave a long sigh an kissed the fiddle
ag'in, take it an hang it up there
until-until-tOmOrrer."
My eyes were swimming SO / could
hardly see what l was dom.
"Au right, JIM" 1 said, an l hung
the fiddle behind the stove.
We watched by Jim nat night an
several times thought he was gone
he breathed SO soft-but he would