[Illustration]
Mr. _Nobody_ is a nice young man,
He comes to the door with his hat in his hand.
Down she comes, all dressed in silk,
A rose in her bosom, as white as milk.
She takes off her gloves, she shows me her ring,
To-morrow, to-morrow, the wedding begins.
The song before us furnishes a good example of the persistency of
childish tradition. Not only is it still current in New England and
the Middle States, with words closely corresponding to those given in
our version of almost a century since, but these words are also nearly
identical with the language of the round as we are told it is sung at
the present day in Ireland.
Of a type similar to the foregoing is an ancient and curious, but
unpublished, nursery song,[54] the first lines of which, at least, will
be familiar to some of our readers:
Sing, sparrow, sing!
What shall I sing?
All the boys in our town have gone courting;
All but little Charley,
And he stays at home,
And he says he'll have Mary,
Or else he'll have none.
Row, boat, row!
Where shall I row?
Up to little Mary's door.
Out jumps little Charley in his boots and spurs,
And goes to the door, and pulls at the string--
"Where's little Mary? Is she within?"
"Miss Mary's up-stairs, a-making a cap."
Then down comes Miss Mary, as white as the milk,
All dressed in pink posies and sweet pretty silk,
And goes to the cupboard, and takes up the can,
And drinks to little Charley, a pretty little man.
He takes her in his lap, and pares her nails,[55]
And gives her a posy of peacock's tails,
And rings and jewels fit for her hand,
And tells little Mary he'll come again.
The mention in this rhyme of the cupboard and the can carries us to
a time not so remote indeed in years, but far removed in customs. At
the beginning of the century, in the old colonial towns, tumblers were
unknown; the silver can stood on the table, and was passed from hand to
hand at the meal, the elders drinking first. This usage was accompanied
with much ceremony. An informant (born in Salem, Mass.), whose memory
goes back almost to the beginning of the century, recollects how, when
it came to be his turn to drink, he was obliged to rise and wipe his
lips (the use of the same vessel by a whole family made this habit
proper), and repeat the words, while parents and friends laid down
knives and forks and looked on, "Duty to Sir and Ma'am, respects to
aunt, love to brother and sister, and health to myself." Sometimes, he
said, sensitive children would rather "go dry" than endure this ordeal.
No. 13.
_Little Sally Waters._
A girl in the centre of the ring, seated, and covering her face with
her hands. At the word "rise," she chooses and salutes any one whom she
pleases.
Little Sally Waters,
Sitting in the sun,
Crying and weeping,
For a young man.
Rise, Sally, rise,
Dry your weeping eyes,
Fly to the East,
Fly to the West,
Fly to the one you love best.
In the north of England the heroine's name is _Sally Walker_:
Sally Walker, Sally Walker,
Come spring-time and love--
She's lamenting, she's lamenting,
All for her young man.
A ballad situation has been united with a dance-rhyme.
No. 14.
_Here Sits the Queen of England._
Here sits the Queen of England in her chair,
She has lost the true love that she had last year;
So rise upon your feet, and kiss the first you meet,
For there's many around your chair.
_Georgia._
No. 15.
_Green Gravel._
A girl sits in the ring, and turns her head gravely as a messenger
advances, while the rest sing to a pleasing air--
[Illustration]
Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green,
And all the free _masons_ (maidens) are _ashamed_ (arrayed?) to
"be seen;"[56]
O Mary, O Mary, your true love is dead,
The king sends you a letter to turn back your head.[57]
There are only two lines left of the ballad, or rather reminiscence of
one.
A French round begins similarly: "Ah, the bringer of letters! What
news is this? Ah, it is news that you must change your love.[58] Must
I change my love, I prefer to die; he is not here, nor in France; he
is in England, where he serves the gracious king." To this fragment
belong the ancient verses which we have set as the motto of Chapter
II. of our Introduction. All the other ladies of Paris are at the
dance; the king's daughter alone "regarde à coté," "turns her head,"
looking at a messenger who is approaching; he brings news of her love's
unfaithfulness; a rival skilled in magic arts has enchanted him, in the
far country where he is warring. There is no more left of the ancient
ballad, which, we presume, went on to describe her departure in man's
costume, and rescue of her lover. We cannot prove the identity of our
fragment, but we see how the child's game may have arisen.
No. 16.
_Uncle John._