The young men and maidens have, however, something that stands to them instead of love-songs—almost, one suspects, instead of wooing. These are the "kissing games," half dance, half romping child-play. They are next of kin to the old May-pole dance—real playing at love,—games in which much choosing of partners takes place, and many kisses are taken openly, in wholesome lightness of heart as part of the game. These are such games as the children of more civilized societies play; but the mountain children rarely organize their frolics into games;—their sport is scarcely more elaborate than the romping of colts in a pasture, or the imitative pranks of monkeys. They are half-grown lads and girls who sing these songs, and tall bachelors are not in the least ashamed of joining in with whole-hearted abandon.
Hit's over the river to feed my sheep;
Hit's over the river, Charley;
Hit's over the river to feed my sheep
And see my lonesome darling.
You stole my partner, to my dislike,
You stole my partner, to my dislike,
You stole my partner, to my dislike,
And also my dear darling.
I'll have her back before daylight, etc.
The following is a game of marriage, with a ceremony of joining hands:
All around this world so straight
Go choose the one to be your mate.
The ceremony completed, they dance in a ring around the happy pair:
Kiss the bride and kiss her sweet;
Now you rise upon your feet.
Another gives a picture of a burlesque paradise:
Where coffee grows on white-oak trees,
The river runs with brandy;
The boys are made of lumps of gold,
And the girls are sweet as candy.
"Weevily Wheat" is very old and very popular. It is more like a dance than a game:
O law, mother, my toes are sore,
Tra la la la la la la;
Dancing on your sandy floor,
Tra la la la la la la.
Your weevily wheat isn't fit to eat,
And neither is your barley;
I won't have none of your weevily wheat
To make a cake for Charley.
Charley he is a handsome lad,
Charley is a dandy;
Charley he is the very one
That sold his hat for brandy.
Your weevily wheat isn't fit to eat,
Nor neither is your barley;
We'll have some flour in half an hour
To make a cake for Charley.
It is not improbable that the "Charley" of these songs is the Prince Charlie of Jacobite ballads. "Over the River, Charley," may or may not be an echo of "Over the Waters to Charlie," for a large proportion of the mountain people are descended from Scotch Highlanders who left their homes on account of the persecutions which harassed them during Prince Charlie's time, and began life anew in the wilderness of the Alleghenies.
The mountaineers sing many ballads of old England and Scotland. Their taste in music has no doubt been guided by these, which have come down from their ancestors. Indeed, so prone are they to cling to tradition that it is often difficult to distinguish these from their own modern compositions, especially as many have been recast, words, names of localities, and obsolete or unfamiliar phrases having been changed to fit their comprehension—Chester town being substituted for London town, and the like. Here is one exactly as it was sung to me by two young girls in the mountains:
THE LADIE BRIGHT
