The Southern herald., 1899-08-18
n RoUrE. ApFa -. Iss.


| nee teaches u tuat hTSt impressions
ars the most lasting Next 10 the i'm
pressions which I received from a dog
wood spr,ut or tvig Of a weeping will
low, when I was a blrefoo;ed boy, are
the impressions which were made upon
my young n!ud and heart by the I'D
dlers- Tse tunes they used 10 play got
tangled in nv memory aud they are just
as vivid there today as are the faces |
used 10 know and the incidents and
happenings Of the happy days gone
BY.
can see Polk Scott and sam Rowe
just as plainly now as I actually saw
them when ! was ten-year-old lad at
the old log sehoolhouse that stood by
the bubbling spring. They played at
the exhibition at the close Of our
school; aud | have never heard any
sweeter music si7ce. Sans big brown
whiSkerS rolled and tumbled in ecstacy
on his fiddle. as he rocked to and fro,
with half-closed eyes, AMI, with whiz.
zing bow. reyeled in the third heaven
OF "Arkansaw Traveller" Folks black
mustache swayed and Topped like a
ravens wings. a. he scared amid the
graudeurs Of "NaicAez Under the Hill"
They were tie "Pegininis" Of the
mountains; they were the "Oe Bulls"
Of our humble society; they were the
royal "Remenyi>" Of our rural, rollicll-
ing festivities: they were big-hearted
aud genial; they were noble fellows,
and 50 are all fiidlers TO this good day,
Their melodies were the echoes OF ma
ture sweet voices. In every sweep OF
the bow there was the drumming Of
pheasant or tie cacklc of hen Or the
call OF Bob White or the trill Of a
| thrush. Sometimes | could hear a
whip-poor.will sing; sometimes, wild
goose quacs: 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. sweet home and cut the
pigeon wing with the roSy-cheeked
mountain girls, until it seemed that my
very sou. was in my heels. still have
foni recollections OF every fiddler who
played at the old-time 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
worshipcr at the shrine OF music. The
classics Of Mozart and Mendessohn are
grand AMI glorious TO me, but cannot
be persuaded TO turn my back on the
classics of the plain country fddlers.
The cli country tunes were handed
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 ilintlock rifles and shrill fifes
Of Bunker Hill; every "hornpipe' is
refrain from Kings Mountain; "0ld
Granny Ratt!etrlp" is Declaration of
Independence; Jennie, Put the Kittle
On boils over with freedom; Jay
bird Settin' on Swingin' Limb" was
George Washing,on's "favoright;' and
Gray Eagle was Thomas Jcfferson's
masterpiece; Leather Brcechcs' was
the AIarscilles hymn Of the old heroes
who lived in the days Of Davy Crockett
No wonder the fiddlers are so pa
triotic and brave. never saw real
genuine fiddler who would not fight;
but mind you, have quit fddling.
When | grew large enough to cast
sleeps eyes at the girls, when love be-
gan to tickle my heart and the blood of
The violets got into my veins, / began to
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 buclSetful. | swapped
spirit for smiles at the ratio of sixteen
to one; | exchanged clogs for compli-
ments, and jigs for sighs and senti-
mental exclamations. No ordinary
mortal ever felt the raptures of a fd-
dler; the fiddle is his bride, and the
honeymoon lasts forever
! fddled and fiddled and iiddled,
until youth blossomed into manhood,
and still iddled and fiddled. Poll
ticians snecrcd at me as fiddler. but
the girls said it was no harm, and the
boys voted while ! tiddled. and the fd-
die won. There is always some old
sour and tuneless hypocritc abusing
and denouncing "us fiddlers. have
heard them say that they never saw a
fiddler who was 'any account, and |
have known good men who sincerely
believed that fiddlers were dangerous
to communities. There never was a
greater error OF opinion. There is no
more harm in wiggling the fingers than
there is in wagging the tongue, and
there is a great deal more religion in a
good. law-abiding fiddle than there is
in some folks who outlaw that divine
instrument There is infinitely more
music in it than there is in some hymns
] have heard sung by old dyspeptics
who denounce il. Music is music,
whether it be the laughter and song Of
the fiddle or the melodies of the human
voice; music is the halleluiah Of the
soul. whether it comes through fiddle
strings or vocal chords. Happy is the
home in which fiddles and fiddlers
dwell, and nearest TO heaven is the
church where fddlers and singers blend
their music in hymns of praise to Al
mighty God.
have heard cultivated musicians
laugh at the country fiddler, and call
his tunes rag music;' but the law Of
compensation governs in this realm, as
well as in every other, for the country
G1ITa~- a..