The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V. (of X.) by Marshall P. Wilder (bill gates books recommendations txt) 📖
- Author: Marshall P. Wilder
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And great immensity
Now then we sing;
Beholding in gratitude
Thee in this latitude,
Curious thing."
Which swells out into "Hey Jim along, Jim along Josey," then decrescendo, mas o menos, poco pocita, dies away and dries up.
Suddenly we hear approaching a train from Pike County, consisting of seven families, with forty-six wagons, each drawn by thirteen oxen; each family consists of a man in butternut-colored clothing driving the oxen; a wife in butternut-colored clothing riding in the wagon, holding a butternut baby, and seventeen butternut children running promiscuously about the establishment; all are barefooted, dusty, and smell unpleasantly. (All these circumstances are expressed by pretty rapid fiddling for some minutes, winding up with a puff from the orpheclide played by an intoxicated Teuton with an atrocious breath—it is impossible to misunderstand the description.) Now rises o'er the plains, in mellifluous accents, the grand Pike County Chorus:
In the land of gold,
Through the forest old,
O'er the mounting cold,
With spirits bold—
Oh, we come, we come,
And we'll soon be thar.
Gee up Bolly! whoo, up, whoo haw!"
[Pg 35]
The train now encamp. The unpacking of the kettles and mess-pans, the unyoking of the oxen, the gathering about the various camp-fires, the frizzling of the pork, are so clearly expressed by the music that the most untutored savage could readily comprehend it. Indeed, so vivid and lifelike was the representation, that a lady sitting near us involuntarily exclaimed aloud, at a certain passage, "Thar, that pork's burning!" and it was truly interesting to watch the gratified expression of her face when, by a few notes of the guitar, the pan was removed from the fire, and the blazing pork extinguished.
This is followed by the beautiful aria:
Followed by that touching recitative:
To which succeeds a grand crescendo movement, representing the flight of the child with the pancake, the pursuit of the mother, and the final arrest and summary punishment of the former, represented by the rapid and successive strokes of the castanet.
The turning in for the night follows; and the deep and stertorous breathing of the encampment is well given by the bassoon, while the sufferings and trials of an unhappy father with an unpleasant infant are touchingly set forth by the cornet à piston.
Part Second.—The night attack of the Pi Utahs; the fearful cries of the demoniac Indians; the shrieks of the females and children; the rapid and effective fire of the rifles; the stampede of[Pg 36] the oxen; their recovery and the final repulse, the Pi Utahs being routed after a loss of thirty-six killed and wounded, while the Pikes lose but one scalp (from an old fellow who wore a wig, and lost it in the scuffle), are faithfully given, and excite the most intense interest in the minds of the hearers; the emotions of fear, admiration and delight: succeeding each other, in their minds, with almost painful rapidity. Then follows the grand chorus:
The Ingen Utahs.
With our six-shooters—
We gin 'em pertickuler fits."
After which we have the charming recitative of Herr Tuden Links, to the infant, which is really one of the most charming gems in the performance:
Morning succeeds. The sun rises magnificently (octavo flute)—breakfast is eaten,—in a rapid movement on three sharps; the oxen are caught and yoked up—with a small drum and triangle; the watches, purses and other valuables of the conquered Pi Utahs are stored away in a camp-kettle, to a small movement on the piccolo, and the train moves on, with the grand chorus:
Gee up Bolly! Whoo hup! whoo haw!"
The whole concludes with the grand hymn and chorus:[Pg 37]
Whup! Whoo, haw!
The greatest man that e'er land saw,
Gee!
Who this little airth was sent on
Whup! Whoo, haw!
To tell a 'hawk from a handsaw!'
Gee!"
The immense expense attending the production of this magnificent work, the length of time required to prepare the chorus, and the incredible number of instruments destroyed at each rehearsal, have hitherto prevented M. Tarbox from placing it before the American public, and it has remained for San Diego to show herself superior to her sister cities of the Union, in musical taste and appreciation, and in high-souled liberality, by patronizing this immortal prodigy, and enabling its author to bring it forth in accordance with his wishes and its capabilities. We trust every citizen of San Diego and Vallecetos will listen to it ere it is withdrawn; and if there yet lingers in San Francisco one spark of musical fervor, or a remnant of taste for pure harmony, we can only say that the Southerner sails from that place once a fortnight, and that the passage money is but forty-five dollars.[Pg 38]
THE RUNAWAY BOY By James Whitcomb RileyWon't stand that, an' punished me,—
Nen when he was gone that day,
I slipped out an' runned away.
An' clumbed over our back fence
In the jimpson-weeds 'at growed
Ever'where all down the road.
I runned some—an' runned again
When I met a man 'at led
A big cow 'at shooked her head.
Where was little pigs a-play'n';
An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!"
An' jumped up, an' skeered me too.
Was somebody hollered "Hey!"
An' I ist looked ever'where,
An' they was nobody there.
To go back.... An' by-an'-by
Somepin' hurts my throat inside—
An' I want my Ma—an' cried.[Pg 39]
Where's a gate, an' telled me who
Am I? an' ef I tell where
My home's at she'll show me there.
What's my name; an' she says well,
An' she tooked me up an' says
She know where I live, she guess.
Round her neck!—an' off she goes
Skippin' up the street! An' nen
Purty soon I'm home again.
Kissed the big girl too, an' she
Kissed me—ef I p'omise shore
I won't run away no more!
[Pg 40] THE DRAYMAN By Daniel O'Connell
Is the monarch of the sea;
But every day, when I'm on my dray,
I'm as big a monarch as he.
For the car must slack when I'm on the track,
And the gripman's face gets blue,
As he holds her back till his muscles crack,
And he shouts, "Hey, hey! Say, you!
Get out of the way with that dray!" "I won't!"
"Get out of the way, I say!"
But I stiffen my back, and I stay on the track,
And I won't get out of the way.
With a coachman perched on high,
Solemn and fat, a cockade in his hat,
Just like a big blue fly,
I swing my leaders across the road,
And put a stop to his jaunt,
And the ladies cry, "John, John, drive on!"
And I laugh when he says "I caun't."
From the rise to the set of sun!
The swells that ride in their fancy drags
Don't begin to have my fun.
I'm king of the road, though I wear no crown,
As I leisurely move along,[Pg 41]
For I own the streets, and I hold them down,
And I love to hear this song:
"Get out of the way with your dray!" "I won't!"
"Get out of the way, I say!"
But I stiffen my back, and I stay on the track,
And I don't get out of the way.
[Pg 42] BILL'S COURTSHIP By Frank L. Stanton I
One bright mornin'; an' says he:
"Folks has been a-tellin' me
Mollie's set her cap my way;
An' I'm goin' thar' to-day
With the license; so, ol' boy,
Might's well shake, an' wish me joy!
Never seen a woman yit
This here feller couldn't git!"
II
I'd been lookin' Mollie's way;—
Jest had saddled my ol' hoss
To go canterin' across
Parson Jones's pastur', an'
Ax her fer her heart an' han'!
So, when Bill had had his say
An' done set his weddin' day,
I lit out an' rid that way.
III
"Glad to see yer face once more!"
She—says she: "Come in—come in!"
("It's the best man now will win,"[Pg 43]
Thinks I to myself.) Then she
Brung a rocker out fer me
On the cool piazza wide,
With her own chair right 'longside!
IV
In that race I had the road!
Talked in sich a winnin' way
Got her whar' she named the day,
With her shiny head at rest
On my speckled Sunday vest!
An', whilst in that happy state,
Bill—he rid up to the gate.
V
Cheapest lookin' chap in town!
(Knowed at once I'd set my traps!)
Talked 'bout weather, an' the craps,
An' a thousan' things; an' then—
Jest the lonesomest o' men—
Said he had so fur to ride,
Reckoned it wuz time to slide!
VI
Might's well shake, an' wish me joy!
I hain't seen the woman yit
That this feller couldn't git!"
[Pg 44] THE WOMAN WHO MARRIED AN OWL By Anne Virginia Culbertson
When the children got home from the nutting expedition and had eaten supper, they sat around discontentedly, wishing every few minutes that their mother had returned.
"I wish mamma would come back," said Ned. "I never know what to do in the evening when she isn't home."
"I 'low 'bout de bes' you-all kin do is ter lemme putt you ter baid," said Aunt 'Phrony.
"Don't want to go to bed," "I'm not sleepy," "Want to stay up," came in chorus from
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