The Wit and Humor of America
Chapter 39 : Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost child for its

Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, and I could 'a' got up then and there and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung my head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep me from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be a-gazin' at me a-sniv'lin', and it's n.o.body's business what I do with my nose. It's mine. But some several glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He ripped out and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a circus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man in the face, and not afraid of nothin'. It was a circus and a bra.s.s band and a big ball all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick; he give 'em no rest day or night; he set every livin' joint in me a-goin', and, not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped spang onto my seat, and jest hollered,--

_"Go it, my Rube!"_

Every blame man, woman and child in the house riz on me, and shouted, "Put him out! put him out!"

"Put your great-grandmother's grizzly gray greenish cat into the middle of next month!" I says. "Tech me if you dare! I paid my money, and you jest come anigh me!"

With that some several policemen run up, and I had to simmer down. But I would 'a' fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out or die.

He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end to end of the key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles of heaven was lit, one by one; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from the world's end to the world's end, and all the angels went to prayers.... Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drop--drip, drop--drip, drop, clear and sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of glory. It was sweeter than that. It was as sweet as a sweet-heart sweetened with white sugar mixed with powdered silver and seed-diamonds. It was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like he wanted to say, "Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me."

He stopped a moment or two to catch breath. Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeve, he opened his coat-tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He slapped her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he scratched her cheeks, until she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and he stamped on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, and _then_ he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter stretch down the low grounds of the base, till he got clean in the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thunder through the hollows and caves of perdition; and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he got 'way out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the p'ints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders of 'em. And _then_ he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He for'ard two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he cha.s.sade right and left, back to your places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down, perpetual motion, double twisted and turned and tacked and tangled into forty-eleven thousand double bow-knots.

By jinks! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go.

He fetcht up his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up his center, he fetcht up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by platoons, by company, by regiments, and by brigades. He opened his cannon,--siege-guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve-pounders yonder,--big guns, little guns, middle-sized guns, round shot, sh.e.l.ls, shrapnels, grape, canister, mortar, mines and magazines, every livin'

battery and bomb a-goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rocked--heavens and earth, creation, sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, tenpenny nails, Samson in a 'simmon-tree, Tump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle- ruddle-uddle-uddle-uddle--raddle-addle-eedle--riddle-iddle-iddle- iddle--reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle--p-r-r-r-rlank! Bang!!! lang! perlang!

p-r-r-r-r-r!! Bang!!!!

With that bang! he lifted himself bodily into the a'r, and he come down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, striking every single solitary key on the pianner at the same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi-quivers, and I know'd no mo'.

When I come to, I were under ground about twenty foot, in a place they call Oyster Bay, treatin' a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before and never expect to ag'in. Day was breakin' by the time I got to the St.

Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word I did not know my name. The man asked me the number of my room, and I told him, "Hot music on the half-sh.e.l.l for two!"

PLAGIARISM

BY JOHN B. TABB

If Poe from Pike The Raven stole, As his accusers say, Then to embody Adam's soul, G.o.d _plagiarised_ the clay.

GO LIGHTLY, GAL

(THE CAKE-WALK)

BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON

Sweetes' li'l honey in all dis lan', Come erlong yer an' gimme yo' han', Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Cawn all shucked an' de barn flo' clear, Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear, Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Fiddles dey callin' us high an' fine, "Time fer de darnsin', come an' jine,"

Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

My pooty li'l honey, but you is sweet!

An' hit's clap yo' han's an' shake yo' feet, Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Hit's cut yo' capers all down de line, Den mek yo' manners an' tiptoe fine, Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Oh, hit's whu'll yo' pardners roun' an' roun', Twel you hyst dey feet clean off de groun', Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Oh, hit's tu'n an' twis' all roun' de flo', Fling out yo' feet behime, befo', Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Gre't Lan' o' Goshen! but you is spry!

Kain't none er de urr gals spring so high, Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Oh, roll yo' eyes an' wag yo' haid An' shake yo' bones twel you nigh most daid, Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Doan' talk ter me 'bout gittin' yo' bref, Gwine darnse dis out ef hit cause my def!

Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Um-humph! done darnse all de urr folks down!

Skip erlong, honey, jes' one mo' roun'!

Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Fiddles done played twel de strings all break!

Come erlong, honey, jes' one mo' shake, Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Now teck my arm an' perawd all roun', So dey see whar de _sho'-nuff_ darnsers foun', Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

Den gimme yo' han' an' we quit dish yer, Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear, Go lightly, gal, go lightly!

THE GOLFER'S RUBAIYAT[1]

BY H.W. BOYNTON

Wake! for the sun has driven in equal flight The stars before him from the Tee of Night, And holed them every one without a miss, Swinging at ease his gold-shod Shaft of Light.

Now the fresh Year, reviving old Desires, The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, Pores on this Club and That with anxious eye, And dreams of Rounds beyond the Rounds of Liars.

Come, choose your ball, and in the Fire of Spring Your Red Coat, and your wooden Putter fling; The Club of Time has but a little while To waggle, and the Club is on the swing.

Whether at Musselburgh or s.h.i.+nnec.o.c.k, In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock, The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop, Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock.

A Bag of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two, A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of s.h.a.g--and Thou Beside me caddying in the Wilderness-- Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.

They say the Female and the Duffer strut On sacred Greens where Morris used to put; Himself a natural Hazard now, alas!

That nice hand quiet now, that great Eye shut.

I sometimes think that never springs so green The Turf as where some Good Fellow has been, And every emerald Stretch the Fair Green shows His kindly Tread has known, his sure Play seen.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent Jamie and His, and heard great argument Of Grip and Stance and Swing; but evermore Found at the Exit but a Dollar spent.

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand sought to make it grow; And this was all the Harvest that I reaped: "You hold it This Way, and you swing it So."

The swinging Bra.s.sie strikes; and, having struck, Moves on: nor all your Wit or future Luck Shall lure it back to cancel half a Stroke, Nor from the Card a single Seven pluck.