“was; .. 4,3... .m. 3 was». in .. My]. - pm”: i "‘A ewe» ngtmwwe—mr c » ‘f. 1.x .- I.- A ‘- 7 w r31, / l s‘ f: \3 mwnmulmu T0 CUPIDiREETIFG. armam. IIY LOVE. In fairnes sherivals the lilies. In gracefulness that of the fawn; The blush on her cheek most The rcseate hue of the dawn. So gentle, kind~hearted and tender, So winsome, so loving and bright, Shn dawns on my glorified vision Like a beautoous angel of light. Enm tured I stand in her nee, Lot? ing to kneel at her feet, And 1; e sweetest of all the sweetstofles Wish 1, yet fear, to repeat. We did she turn from me coldly, I wonder, Scorningléo walk by my side - Through t dust y lanes and the byways, Calm in her hauteur and pride? S‘e only can answer my qu — Can make or can mar my ii 9: And if I can summon the courage I’ll ask her to be my own wife. ----2(X If I were a bird I would fly to thee, And fold my wings. )Ior sigh to be free. If I were the breeze I would kiss ih cheek, Where the dimp es play In a merry freak. If I were a rose I would neei le low In the sunny curls That’s bewitched me ea _._..:o:.__ TELL HE! Am I dearer toyou than ought else beside— Dearor than li e. Answer me trul , oh, answer me mw Ere ‘m your wife! Will the love you proffer me stand the tea ' 6 years will bring, A nd e’en though misfortune should leave its blight, But closer cling! Do I answer every need of yourheart— Its longings still! Oh, tell me if other voice than mine Your heart can thrill! wm the hand you have held with a lover’s right E‘er seem less fair, 0r lose its charm in the coming To smooth each care I would know tkleI truth are I give my Me, to you. I would rather die on my wedding-day Than live and rue. Then answer me true, with no witness but God. Remembering this: My happiness lies in your hands today- Iy woe or i llld Neill Songs. " low here I am a~ ine ter sing An’ tell you how er banjo ring. Yah-ha! Yah-hal " son I know ’11 please you to deafi', And you nearly out of brcaff. Ahoo! Ahoo!” —Emiopian We. 11' was about the year 1828 that a son started up in the Creole quartets of New Orleans t at was the leader and harbinger of negro minstrelsy, and was sung in every cottonficld and rice swamp of the South before it. reached the North, being ada ted to ublic use by an early mins! rel artist, S. D. 'ce. of ew Orleans. It was finally introduced to the North as a character sketch song and dance, and i then it at once became a universal favorite. This i was nearly half a centui'yago. The song had over twenty verses, the first one being this: .ml cnow. “ Come listen, all you boys and gals, I’m just from I‘uckyhoe; I’m going to sing a little song, If name‘s Jim Crow. W’eel 3 out and turn about and do jes' so, , Ebery time I wheel about I jump Jim Crow'. “ Dere’s ‘possnm up do gum tree, And raccoon in de holler, Wake snakes, for June bugs Stole my half-dollar. W’eel about and turn about," etc. This is by no means the original song in its entire- ty, as it was sung in New Orleans on the sugar levees, but it comes nearer to the old version than many others, and the refrain is the original one. It was not merely sung, but acted as a double-shuffle interlude dance, with imacos and contortions, and the ladies of the bal et gave it additional piqu- ancy when they pirouctted to its music. The air is barbaric in its melody, and a writer of twenty- five ‘years ago says: “Whether it was first sung up- on t if] banks of the Alabama or the Mississippi, or whether it is pre-American and a relic of heathen rites in Con o oriu that mysterious heart of Africa which the cot of civilized man has never trod. is a problem whose solution must be loft to the zeal and research of some future Ethiopian Oldbuck." After " Jim Crow " had established the popularity of the neg}: miustrelsg it was succeeded y “Zip Coon," “ rig—Tailed lue " d “ 010 Virginny Neber Tire," and these were fo owed by the pathe- tic parlor songs, or the comic songs that could be sung in parlors, the first of which were “ Oh. Susan- na ” “ lalle,” “Lucy Neal,” and “Massa’s In De Cold, Cold Ground.” These became household words, with others that are still sung, such as " Old Uncle Ned,” “Clare de Kitchen,” “Jordan is a Hard Road to Trabee " and others. At the present time spiritual hymns ave taken the place of songs in the vocab of the race; there are no longer the quarters to sing in-the Sunday night barbecue, the wild corn-huskings with their peculiar freedom: the Northern housewife would denounce it as screeching and dismiss the servant who inflicted the songs of a race qun her. It is only among the old people, when t ey‘ meet for ‘entertainment, that the weird so w ich they sung in ca tivity are heard, the we -known melodies of the nth. These exotics are not easily transplanted. It is al- most impossible to introduce their sad minor key into a language as prosaic as ours, and unpoetic skies rob them of half their beauty. The North- ern parlor offers a poor exchange for the moon- lighted rice fields, the magnolia blossoms. the flies, when the sweet, sad voices would chant: " Round de meadows am a—rlnging De dark-y‘s mourn-fol song, While dc mocking-bird am smg-ing Happy as de day am long. " Where do ivy am a-creeJring Over de grassy moun , Dare old mas-3a am avslec lug, Sleeping in de cold, col ground. “ Down in de corn-field. Hear dat mournfnl sound; All do darkies been a-wneping— Mama's in de cold, cold ..rouud.” The “Gum-Tree Canoe“ was a favorite in Ten nessee. “ All de day in de field de soft cotton I hoe, I t'ink of m Jula an’ sing as I go; Oh, I catch or a bird wid a wing ob true blue, An at night sail her round in my gum-tree canoe. Sin 12’ low away, 0 er de waters so blu Like a feather we’ll floa . In my gum-tree canoe. ’ A rant! song that had a rollicking chorus of " doo—dah, oo ," is still fresh in the memory of the sporting public: “ De Cam wn ladies sing dis song: o—dah, doo—dah: De 0am town racetrack five miles long. oo-dah, doc-dab, da ; Gwine to run all nigh , Gwine to run all day— I“ bet my money on de bob-tailed nag, Somebody bet on do buy.” This songlssung in three distinct gradations of voice‘eand the spirit of it is contagious and irre- sistib . At the old Georgetown raccs they used to post the colored singers along the track to break out at intervals with what appeared to be an im romptu song, but which gave spirit to horses an riders. ‘ The Christy Minstrels made all those songs fa- mous; many of the best of them Were written for their use by Stephen 0. Foster, but the airs were caught from the nee swam of Louisiana or the camp-fires of Tennessee. a negro melody lived, the white trash died, a ropos of which the writer I in blossom in their lives, sit cooll down to ' write an African ditty. as a pleasant agar-dinner , or a daily task: and as a natural conse- quence of this reprehensible assumption, we find the banana growing wild in Ten nessce, South Carolina slaves gorglng themselves with pumfllidu pie, 8. de- ceased negress buried upon the St. wrence river, lathe midst of a furious snow-storm, and a Ken- tucky sugar-mill in full blast in the middle of J unel" A curious song githhis stirring patriotic melody of a past day: ' “ Gon‘cl Jackson mighty man-— Whaw, my kingdom. fire away! He fight on sea, and be tight on land-— Whaw, my kingdom. fire away! Gen’el Jackson gain dc day— Whaw, my king om, fire away! He gain dc day in Floriday— Whaw, my kingdom, fire away 1' When the Southern colored people improvise the ' white man is at a disadvantage, for he has no 1:6 to the language of Guinea, and the rich, ripe melode is wordless and meaningless to him. “ 013 llassa William, be gone to Legislatur‘, Ah, chogaloga, cbogaloga, cbogulog! Young Mais’ Joim, be dun come home from college, Ah, chogafoga, chogaloga, chogalog!” Is it hazardous to guess that this was improvised on the edge of a frog pond? Ah! chug-a-log! “ The Blue-mil Fly is still (lime often heard in " South Car’iina’s sultry clinic. “ When I was young I used to wait On Massa’s table and band (16 plate; I‘d ass dc bottle when he‘s dry, An brush away de blue-tall fly. ‘ De pony run—he jum and twitch, An' tumble massa in e ditch; He died and de ‘ury wonder why— De verdict was 6 blue-tail fly.” “Old Dan Tucker ” took the whole world bystonn. It (tame out somewhere in ’41, and was hung every- where at all times. The refrain: “ Get out do way, old Dan Tucker, You’re too late to come to supper," Is about all that survives of the original, for surely these lines are more modern: " Here’s my razor in good order, Magnum bonum 'is‘ hab bo’t ’er, Sheep shell oats, ucker shell do com, I'll shabe youassoon asde watergitswarm." “ISeen Bar at the Window” had agreat run a song and dance music. The chorus was the bestof it— " I seen her at de window, It was my dear Lucinda, She dressed so neat, And looked so sweet I’d give my life to bin in dar.” “Dom Lee " was a monotonous chant. but it took immensely, and was the one negro so that was permitted in the young ladies’ schools of y years ago. One verse will give its quality: “ Isaid on In girl. dat‘s lain- mglf_w‘l§£—°ugmzmp ' as swee as s realm lug—0! d ' mely so 6, an co . too, Might make a cradle of each shoes Rosa, take me for your beat She said: ‘ Now don’t be foo Joel’ Uii —ali—ola—-e." Among the most refinedxnilgro melodies, and one which was extremely adnn and sung as a fash- ionable piano song was “My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night,” or “ Hard Times Come Again no Mo’.‘ We hear the air sometimes in a medley, but the words are only sung as a mcmory of days that are gone; it was a favorite quartet song, the four rts coming in on the chorus with an abandon of melfily. That and “ Carry me ’Long.” a plaintive air cou'uin into use in ’48 and ’49 were sung in the streets 0 Boston b hired serenaders Boston‘s ideal young man pre erring not to catch his death of cold by serenading his lady love in propria In-rsona. It is one of the few songs whose words and air are alike melodious and in harmony. \thn Christine Nilsson first came to the United States in 1870, she sung before her fashionable and critical audiences the little sim- ple pathetic melody of “ Old Folks at Home." and set people to rummaging amo their old music for the almost forgotten gem. “i eel it here,” was her pretty excuse for singing it, and she laid her hand on her heart and wax-bled: “ Oh darkies how my heart we won Far from the old folks at Edge.” ry’ There are many more old songs, but space is too limited to reproduce them here. There is a singular . when Colonel feature observablein the music of the colored people as it changes wuh generations. Their songs and l airs in slavery were rollicking and joyous, such as: “ De boatman dance, de boatman sing, De boatman up to eberyt’ing.” Or I “Ch Mister Coo you kum too soon, The girls won’t ready till tomorrow afternoon.” And other favorites, while in the generation of , freedman they sing hymns only as race songs, and ; these it pins are unutterably sad and earning in ' expresswn and music. Ri ht here in t e heart of Detroit, in hundreds of amillesbghe dishes are washed, the floors scrubbed, the bles rocked, to such chants as these: “ Didn‘t my Lord deliver Daniel? Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel? Didn‘t my Lord deliver Daniel? And why not every man!” There is some mystic rule of three which the colored people observe in their metrical chants, and there are few of the really good hymns they sing which are not given in this way, and they are Seldom accurate in their method of arranglrlilg the words‘ indeed they will sing to some beaut' ul, mournful air, words that are a mere repetition. “ Nobody knows the trouble I see," is often sung in this way: “ Nobody knows the trouble I’ve had, Nobody knows the trouble I‘ve had, Nobod knows the trouble I‘ve had, No ody knows but Jesus!" Their textbooks give this strange harmony as v follows: ' " Nobody knows the trouble I see, lord, Nobod knows the trouble I see, Lord, No knows like Jesus! Brother will you pray for me .’ Sister will you pra for me? And help to drive old Satan away?” It is almost impossible not to be carried away by . such a revival by run as this, sung in the sweet sib - lant tones of these music-loflng people: " Ste-a1 aw-ay steal aw-ay, steal aw-ay to Jesus; Green trees are bending Poor sinners stand trem ling, Steal-aw—ay, ste—al—aw-ay, steal aw-ay to J esusl” These songs have been made familiar to the public through the jubilee singers. One that is indescrib- ably sad and sweet, sung as it is in such a low, final key that it dies on the ear, is: “ Been a-listcning all the night long, Been a-listening all the night long, Been a-listening all the night long To hear some sinner pray." One that is almost startling in its adjustment of words is this: “ What kind of shoes are those you wear, Oh, my Lord! That you can ride pawn the air, Oh, my Lo l King J csus in his chariot rides, Oh, my Lord! With four white horses by his side, Oh, my Lord l" Those are sung in all the meetlngs to-day, sung with fervor and power, and do more to make con- verts and kee them than exhortations and sermons. “One More River to Cross" is a. favorite. “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" is considered the finest hymn they have; it is capable of a great deal of music-— the words are fascinating and the melody exquisite. They follow no regular tune or time in singing it, ex- cept that they all agree to make the most of it, and introduce variations and modulations of their own. gm of their funeral hymns has this bit of console- on: “ You may bury me in the Ens You may bur me in the Wes But I’ll hear t e trumpet noun On that morning!“ In their own peculiar phraseology the following: “ De ole ark a-moverin’ along; De Lord told Noah to build Him an ole ark, De ole ark a-moverln’ along, De ole ark a—moverln' along.” It rambles on in a string of verses until: “Datawfulralnsheato pedatlast, De waters dey subs! ed. De ole ark a-moverln' along An‘ dat ole ark wid all on board, On Ararat she rided. De ole ark a-moverln‘ along!” A Iglrltual song that is heard very often In revival and unday night prayer meetings sung over the “mourners,” is: “ Methodist, Methodist is my name, Methodist till I die, I’ll be be. tizcd in do Methodist name, Metho: ist till I die. You may go dis way, You may go dat way, . You may go from do’ to do’. But if you haben‘t got grace of God in yo heart above alluded to sai nearly thirty years a o: “ Poetastcrs who never saw an alligator or smelt ghe De debbd will get you sho’.” l Baptist, Baptist, till I die." etc. The “ Sweet Turtle Dove " has a great many verses, gigging in all the brethren and sisters after this on: “ Old sister Winnv, she took her seat. And she want do memb’s to follar her, And we had a little meetin’ in de moruiu’ A‘ for to hear Gabriel's trumpet sound! “ Sweet Turtle Dove she sing a song so sweet, Muddy (16 water so deep: An' we had a little meetin‘ in de mornin‘ A’ for to hear Gabriel‘s trumpet sound! _“Jerusalem mornin’—Jerusalem mornin’, by de light! Don’t you hear Gabriel’s trumpet in dat mornin’?” The songs and the people are dying out, and an- other hundred years will give us, probably mulattc colored gentlemen, but the old darky, wit his in- imitable humor, his love of ease, of warmth, his implausin to fiddle and dance, his superstitions and 'q isiory. will be found only in books. His coon hunts, his love of ’possum, his moonlight barbecues, his judgment revivals, are done away with; oven the Somblance of him on the miustrr-l boards is changed from the picturesque to the common-la]. and he no longer speaks a. language we do not un- derstand. He has lost his “massa " and is hunsolf “sir,” and in gaining a greater boon of freedom comes to be of interest. Any old colored man with fiathetic eyes and gray hair—old Robert Lee, of ackinac, for instance—will tell you that “dese Nofern boys are of no account—all doy know is what dey bears from we ole ’uns.“ But there is good stuff in them, only it is of the modern t .e and will have neither a music nor a literature of its own. “ ’Way down upon de Suwanee Fibber—- Far, far away— Dere’s where my heart am turnin’ ebber, Dere’s whar de ole folks stay! All up an’ down de whole creation 83 y I roam, Still longing for de old lantation And for de old fo he at home! , All do world am sad and dreary Eberywhar I roam: 0h, darkies, how my heart grows weary, Far from de old folks at home!" The Bahia. HY MAJOR HAMILTON. 11' was after dinner at the mess and the officers sat smoln'ng and enjoying the coo of the evening, gaggven with the fim‘ghbgeezgs, tltifi bungalow at porewas v o w on esunwasu said mes tumed to Major Darien an’ll “ Tom, I’ve heard say that you never kill a snake. Now, in this 0 India, filled with snakes. some thatwalkaswenascrawhtellme w this is? Are {1(1): aworshiper of the reptiles, est 6 Babnees of up—country are said to be, or what has cooled the natural hatred which ought to glow in your manly breast? Come, confess.” Major Tom smiled, and after a moment replied: “ If you care to listen. I’ll tell you a. story.” Aninstant silence fell u n the group of ofiicers and the drew near their companion, signifying thereby heir desire to listen to his tale. Brewing a fresh glass of grog, the major laid down his cigar and began: “Gentlemen, you all remember the outbreak of ’67. Some of you, like to self, took an active part in it, others read 0!: it. here was more my than wool. Not many lives were lost nor much effort needed to suppress the insurgents, but after the ac- tual rebellion was quellcd, the northern, or up~coun- try provinces, still sheltered a number of the more active leaders who had fled into the mountains and jungles and who, we feared. were organizing and uniting the Thugs with themselves in a, scheme to renew the trouble. The roads became dangerous and even the stage-houses along the Nayo tuisafe, so that earlgin the spring of ’68 I was ordered to Rapoora wit two companies, to locate there and free the immediate country of rebels and other ver- min. " The task was not a pleasant one, for tho weather was oppressivch hot, the roads few and bad, the country one 5. id jungle, the wild animals and snakes plent , and the natives hostile. 'l'hc naked rascals woul conceal the Thugs and insurgcnts, lie about it, lead Inc astray, and know nothing. “However, twelve years among the blacks had taught me a few things, and after two months I had capturrd some thirty )I‘lSOlll'I‘S. killed a few, and was nearly satisfied wit my work. “ One man still remained at liberty, nevertlrirss, whom I wanted, and I determined to spend two weeks longer in search of him. “His name Wis Ramon, a halfcastc. or half- wbitc, who was the very dcvil incarnate, cil‘lu-r to fight, plot, or retreat. Already be bad cause (1 tire death of three of my best men, and I determined to avenge them. “I knew he was in the neighborhood, but just where or at just what time I could not determine, and it so happened, that after five days’ scouting, as I secmod to o no ncamr the capture of my prisoner than at the beginning, I determined to doif my uni- form. and play spy myself. " Dressing myself then as a traveler, while I cou- ccalcd two trusty pistols and a knife beneath my * blouse, I stole away.r from camp one night just bcf ore moon-ris and Rumoyed toward a little cluster of huts callc a vi! 0 some three miles away. “ At this point I o cued negotiations with the natives, setting myscl forth as a commercial man from the West, sevldng to bargain for ivory. “Not to buy, but to make contracts. I dared not pretend to have money, lest thcy should kill me; but offered to buy and ‘pay at Singapore, and I asked to see and talk with i :e nintcrs. “ My ruse worked very well, and in two days I had worked quite a distance into the junwle, had met and conversed with several hunters and had heard of Ramon. “ The man was a notcd hunter as well as desperado, and it was my plan to find him, make a rendezvous, and then ambush him, when he came, with my men. “ On the night of the third day I was sleeping at a hunter‘s but when a runner came to awaken me. and say that Rab Ramon, as they called him, was at the house of another hunter, some five miles distant, ' and would like to bargain with me. “I at first roposcd that he come to me, but the runner, who rom certain marks I knew to be a Thug, said that the Rah did not dare for fear of the red soldiers, but that he would wait for me and trade if I came to him. Determining to do to best, I arosel at once and followed my guide in o the no 6. j “ had grown a. little careless by my intercourse with the natives and althou h I knew this runner to be a Thug, I did not think 0 treachery on his part, until just as day broke I heard the ring of a far-away whist e, sharp and clear. “ In an instant it flashed across me that this was a signal, and I turned sharply toward my guide just as he was preparing to answer the same by blowing upon a short rccd pipe he held. “ ‘ Stop!’ I cried, in Siamcso. ’ Why do you blow?’ “ The fellow‘s face grew dark with sudden passion, and quicker than I can lcllit a longr knife glcanicd in his hand and lie throw himself upon me, striking a deadl blow full at my hemt. “ I bad no timo to defend myself, but as good luck would have it liisbladc struck upon the hoary butt of one of m concvalcd pistols, wounding: me but Hli htly, and )cforo he could recover himself I had knocked him down. “ I in