And looked upon his gilded frames,
He grinned from ear to ear:
"They little think my real name's
V. Stuyvesant De Vere!"

Irwin Russell

The Origin of the Banjo

Go 'way, fiddle! Folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squawkin'; Keep silence fur yo' betters!-don't you heah de banjo talkin'? About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter-ladies, listen— About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de h'ar is missin'.

"Dar's gwine to be a oberflow," said Noah, lookin' solemn—
Fur Noah tuk de Herald, an' he read de ribber column-
An' so he sot his hands to wuk a-cl'arin' timber patches,
An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat the steamah
Natchez.

Ol' Noah kep' a-nailin', an' a-chippin', an' a-sawin';
An' all de wicked neighbors kep' a-laughin' an' a-pshawin',
But Noah didn't min' 'em, knowin' whut wuz gwine to happen,
An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drappin'.

Now, Noah had done catched a lot ob eb'ry sort o' beas'es;
Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces!
He had a Morgan colt, an' seb'ral head o' Jarsey cattle,
An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon's he heered de thunder
rattle.

Den sech anoder fall ob rain! It come so awful hebby
De ribber riz immejitly, an' busted troo de lebbee;
De people all wuz drownded out-'cep' Noah an' de critters,
An' men he'd hired to wuk de boat, an' one to mix de bitters.

De Ark she kep' a-sailin' an' a-sailin' an' a-sailin';
De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin';

De sarpints hissed; de painters yelled; tell whut wid all de fussin'

You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' 'roun' an' cussin'.

Now Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet, Got lonesome in de barber-shop an' c'u'dn't stan' de racket; An' so, fur to amuse hisse'f, he steamed some wood an' bent it, An' soon he had a banjo made-de fust dat was invented.

He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge, an' screws, an' aprin,

An' fitted in a proper neck-'twuz berry long an' tap'rin'.
He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it;
An' den de mighty question riz, how wuz he gwine to string it?

De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin';

De ha'rs so long an' thick an' strong-des fit fur banjostringin';

Dat nigger shabed 'em off as short as washday-dinner graces; An' sorted ob 'em by de size, f'om little E's to bases.

He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig-'twuz "Nebber min' de wedder";

She soun' like forty-leben bands a-playin' all togedder.
Some went to pattin', some to dancin'; Noah called de fig-

gers,

An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob

niggers!

Now, sence dat time it's mighty strange dere's not de slightes' showin'

Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin';

An' curi's, too, dat nigger's ways: his people nebber los' 'emFur whar you finds de nigger, dar's de banjo an' de 'possum. -"Christmas Night in the Quarters."

James L. Ford
The Dying Gag

THERE was an affecting scene on the stage of a New York theater the other night-a scene invisible to the audience and not down on the bills, but one far more touching and pathetic than anything enacted before the footlights that night, although it was a minstrel company that gave the entertainment.

It was a wild, blustering night, and the wind howled mournfully around the street corners, blinding the pedestrians with the clouds of dust that it caught up from the gutters and hurled into their faces.

Old man Sweeny, the stage doorkeeper, dozing in his little glazed box, was awakened by a sudden gust that banged the stage door and then went howling along the corridor, almost extinguishing the gas-jets and making the minstrels shiver in their dressing-rooms.

"What! You here to-night!" exclaimed old man Sweeny, as a frail figure, muffled up in a huge ulster, staggered through the doorway and stood leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Yes; I felt that I couldn't stay away from the footlights to-night. They tell me I'm old and worn out and had better take a rest, but I'll go on till I drop," and with a hollow cough the Old Gag plodded slowly down the dim and drafty corridor and sank wearily on a sofa in the big dressing-room where the other Gags and Conundrums were awaiting their cues.

"Poor old fellow!" said one of them sadly. "He can't hold out much longer."