The Pascagoula democrat-star. (Pascagoula, Miss.) 1878-1920, 1899-09-08
Governor TayIor's Love Letters,
ROBERT l.. TAYLOR, IN THE ILLUS
TRATED AGE.
TO the Fiddlers:

Ny DEAR FELLOW-SAWYER-Expe-
rience teaches us that first impress
sions are the most lasting. Next to
the pressions which | received from
a dOgwood sprout or twig, of weep
lng willow, when | WIS a barefooted
boy. are the impressions which were
made upon my young mind and heart
by the dddlers. The tunes they used
to play got tangled in my memory and
they are just as vivid there to-day as
the faces | used to know and the in
cidents and happenings Of the days
gone by.
l 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 school house that stood by the
bubbling spring. They played at the
exhibition at the close Of our school.
and | have never heard sWeeter music
since. Sans big brown whlSkers roll
ed and tumhed in ecstacy on the tid-
die, as he rocked to and fro. with half
closed eyes, and with whizzing bow,
revclpd in the third heaven of Arkan-
saw Traveller Polk'S black mustache
swayed and Topped like ravens wings.
as he SCARED amid the grandeurs of
N,trho, updnr thn hill
They were the "Pegninis" OF the
mountains; they were the "Ole Bulls"
of our humble society; they were the
royal "Remenvic" of our royal. roll
licking festivities; they were big
hearted and genial: they were noble
fellows and so are all tiddlers to this
good day. Their melodies were the
echoes Of natures sweet voices. In
every sweep of the bow there was the
drumming of pheasant or the cackle
of hen or the call Of Bob White or
the trill of a thush. Sometimes |
could hear whip-poor-w sing;
sometimes a wild goose quack; and, a
panther yell; now and then the cats
would fight, and the music was always
mellow with "mUonshne.
When | grew little larger used
to slip out from under the smiling
roof of "home, sweet lome," and cut
the pigeon wing with the rosy-cheek-
ed mountain girls, until it seemed
that my very soul was in my heels
| still have fond rccollections Of every
fiddler who played at the old-time
country dance, and when hear those
sweet old tunes, even now it is diff
cult for me to keep my soul above my
socks.
So far as am concerned / am a
worshiper at the shrine of music.
The classics of Mozart and Mendel-
sshon are grand and glorious to me,
but cannot be persuaded to turn my
back on the classics of the plain
country nddlers. The old country
tunes we're landed down from the
days of the Revolution, and every one
OF them breathes the spirit Of liberty;
every old Ply is an echo from the flint
lock rifles and shrill afes OF Bunker
Hill; every hornpipe is refrain from
Kings mountain; "Old Granny Rat
tletrap" is Il Declaration of 1ndepen'
dence: "Jennie put the Kittle on
boils over with freedom; "Jaybird Sit
tin on Swingin' Limb" was
George Washington's ''favoright'
and "Gray Eagle" was Thomas Jetfer
sons masterpiece; Leather Rreeches'
was the Marscilles hymn Of the ole
, heroes who lived In the days Of Davy
Crockett.
i No wonder the dddlers are patriotic
and brave. I never saw a real genuine
fiddler who would not fight; but mlno
you. l have quit flddling. !.
when grew large enough 10 cast
sleeps eyes at the girls, when love y.
ran TO tickle my heart and the BLOOD
81 the violets got into my veins, l bc'
pan to draw the how across the VI
brsut strings Of the fiddle togive vent
70 my feelings, and Ipoured my spirit
out through my fingersby the bucket
Iiul. swapped spirit for smiles at