Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1899-08-25
En- ROUTE, April "a, 1899.


are the most lasting. Next to the inn
pressions which | received from dog
wood sprout or twig of weeping will
low, when ] was a barefooted boy, are
the impressions which were made upon
my young mind and heart by the fid-
dlers The tunes they used to play got
tangled in my memory and they are just
as vivid there today as are the faces ]
used to know and the incidents and
happenings of the happy days gone
by.
| can see Polk Scott and Sam Rowe
just as plainly now as ! actually saw
them when | was a ten-year-old lad at
the old log schoolhouse that stood by
the bubbling spring. They played at
the exhibition" at the close of our
school; and l have never heard any
sweeter music since. Sans big brown
whiskers rolled and tumbled in ecstacy
on his fiddle, as he rocked to and fro,
with half-closed eyes, and, with whiz-
2ing bow, reveled in the third heaven
OF "Arkansaw Traveller Folks black
mustache swayed and Topped like
ravens wings, as he scared amid the
grandeurs of "Natchez Under the Hill"
| They were TIE "Pegininis" of the
mountains: they were the "O!e Bulls
of our humble society; they were the
royal "Remenyis' of our rural, rollick-
ing festivities; they were big-hearted
and genial: they were noble fellows
and so are all tiddlcrs to this good day.
Their melodies were the echoes of ma
lures sweet voices. In every sweep of
the bow there was the drumming of a
pheasant or tae cacKlc of hen or the
call of Bob White or the trill of a
thrush Sometimes | could hear a
whip.poor-w sing; sometimes, wild
goose quack and, panther yell; now
and then the cats would fight, and the
music was always mellow with moon
shine
When grew little larger | used to
slip out from under the smiling roof of
"home, swe 1t home" and cut the
pigeon wing with the rosy'cheeked
mountain girls, until it seemed that my
very soul was in my heels. still have
fond recollcctions OF every fiddler who
played at the old-timc country dance;
and when hear those sweet old tunes,
even now it is difficult for me to keep
my soul above my so ks.
So far as | am concerned, ! am a
worshiper AT the shrine of music. The
classics of Mozart and Mendelssohn arc
grand and glorious TO me, but cannot
be persuaded to turn my back on the
classics of the plain country tiddlers.
down from the days of the Revolution
and every one OF them breathes the
spirit Of liberty; every old jig is an echo
from the flntloclS rifles and shrill flies
of Bunker Hill; every ''hornpipe" is a
refrain from Kings Mountain; "Old
Granny Rattlctrap' is Declaration OF
Independence; Jennie, Put the KittlC
On" boils over with freedom; jay
bird Settin' on Swingin' Limb was
George Washing,on's 'favoright;" and
Gray Eagle" was Thomas Jefferson's
masterpiece; Leather Brooches" was
the Marseilcs hymn of the old heroes
who lived in the days of Davy Crockett
No wonder the Gddlers are so pa
triotc and brave. | never saw a real
| 4 a.,
but, mind you, have quit fiddlipg.
When ] grew large enough to cast
sleeps eyes at the girls, when love be
gan to tickle my heart and the blood o
the violets got into my veins, | began t.
draw the bow across the vibrant strings
of the fiddle to give vent to my feelings
and poured my spirit out through my
fingers by the buckctful ] swappeC
spirit for smiles at the ratio of sixteer
to one; exchanged clogs for compli
ments, and jigs for signs and senti
mental EXPLANATIONS No ordinar.
mortal ever felt the raptures of fid
dler; the fiddle is his bride, and The
honeymoon lasts forever.
! fddled and fddled and fiddled
until youth blossomed into manhood
and still ! fddled and fiddled. Poll
ticlans sneered at me as u fiddler, bu
the girls said it was no harm, and thu
boys voted while Gddled. and the fid
die won. There is always some ole
sour and tuncless hypocritc abusing
and denouncing 'us fiddlers.' | hav'
heard them say that they never saw ;
fiddler who was ANY account, and
have known good men who sincerely
believed that iiddlcrs were dangerou
to communities. There never was ;
greater error of opinion. There is NJ
more harm in wiggling the fingers thar
there is in wagging the tongue, ant
there is Il great deal more religion in
good, law-abiding fiddle than there i
in some folks who outlaw that divin
instrument. There is infinitely NOR
music in it than there is in some hymn
have heard sung by old dyspeptic
who denouncc it. Music is music
whether it be the laughter and song o
the fiddle or the melodies of the humal
voice; music is the hallcluiah Of tn
soul, whether it comes through fiddle
strings or vocal chords Happy is th
home in which fiddles and fiddler
dwell, and nearest to heaven is III
church where fiddlers and singers blen
their music in hymns of praise to Al
mighty God.
| have heard cultivated musician
laugh at the country fiddler, and cal
his tunes rag music but the law o
compensation governs in this realm, a
well as in every other, for the countr
fddlers laugh just as heartily at tn
sublimest efforts of highclass mu
sicians Neither can understand TIL
other. To the noteless and untutore
fiddler the praudest efforts of tl