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Show Passing Chimes. By James Barton Adams. DAD'S OL' FIDDLE! 'Tisn't purty, that oF flddlo hangln' thore agin the wall, f But among my household treasures It's the dearest dear-est of 'em all; It is scarred an' scratched an' battered, but I've an idee it, If ol' dad was here to work it, could perduce some music yit. He was just a country fiddler of the Back-Back Davy sort, Had no virtuoso trainin' all come to him as a forte, An' among his rippertory there waft one insplrin' tune That would start us all to dancin'; which was OF Zip Coo. In the evenin' after supper when the stock had all bin fed An' the modest skJos was blushin' at the sun a-goin' to bed, Dad 'd set an' tune "OF Betsy," scrapln' at the strings, I swear, 'Till he'd start oF Towser howlin' like a death was in the air! Then he'd shet hi eyes a minute a reflectin' what to play, An' would start with "Camptown Races," take a whirl "OF Dog Tray," Us a-waitin' with impatience, fur we knowed that purty soon He would start the strings a-quiverin' with Ol Zip Goon! At the big corn huskin' dances In the country 'dad wa there In his Sunday-go-to-meetin's, an' with bear's ile on his hair, An' he'd git to jerkin' music that 'd charm a eppycure, With his cowhide boot a beatin' to the measure on the floor. They would waltz an' they would shottish, dance the OF Virginny reel, But they never got quick action with the crazy toe an heel Till they'd see him puttin' "Bettsy" into extra careful tune, Then they'd pound the lumber lively to his OF Zip Goon! He's a-layin' in the shadder of a wilier tree back there Where the music of his fiddle ust to 'lectrify the air, An' the instrument a-hangin' on the wall he loft to me An' I often git a-thinking' if he had "OF Bettsy" now Up among his feller spirits thore 'd bo a jolly row! ' - He'd forgot he was in heaven an' would git lior into tune An' would have the angels raggin' to his OF Zip Coon! The live-inch nose worn by a Dallas, Texas, man is no doubt the scentor of attraction in his town. |