(Sung by Gov. Taylor to air of "Down on the Farm.")

In the happy long ago,
When I used to draw the bow,
At the old log cabin hearthstone all aglow,
Oh! the fiddle laughed and sung,
And the puncheons fairly rung,
With the clatter of the shoe soles long ago.

Oh! the merry swings and whirls
Of the happy boys and girls,
In the good old time cotillion long ago!
Oh! they danced the highland fling,
And they cut the pigeon wing,
To the music of the fiddle and the bow.

But the mischief and the mirth,
And the frolics 'round the hearth,
And the flitting of the shadows to and fro,
Like a dream have passed away--
Now I'm growing old and gray,
And I'll soon hang up the fiddle and the bow.

When a few more notes I've made,
When a few more tunes I've played,
I'll be sleeping where the snowy daises grow.
But my griefs will all be o'er
When I reach the happy shore,
Where I'll greet the friends who loved me long ago.

Oh! how sweet, how precious to us all are the memories of the happy long
ago!

[Illustration: THE OLD VIRGINIA REEL.]

THE BANQUET.

Let us leave the "egg flip" of the country dance, and take a bowl of
egg-nog at the banquet. It was a modern banquet for men only. Music
flowed; wine sparkled; the night was far spent--it was in the wee sma'
hours. The banquet was given by Col. Punk who was the promoter of a town
boom, and who had persuaded the banqueters that "there were millions
in it." He had purchased some old sedge fields on the outskirts of
creation, from an old squatter on the domain of Dixie, at three dollars
an acre; and had stocked them at three hundred dollars an acre. The old
squatter was a partner with the Colonel, and with his part of the boodle
nicely done up in his wallet, was present with bouyant hopes and
feelings high. Countless yarns were spun; numberless jokes passed 'round
the table until, in the ecstacy of their joy, the banqueters rose from
the table and clinked their glasses together, and sang to chorus:

"Landlord, fill the flowing bowl
Until it doth run over;
Landlord fill the flowing bowl
Until it doth run over;
For to-night we'll merry merry be,
For to-night we'll merry merry be,
For to-night we'll merry merry be;
And to-morrow we'll get sober."

The whole banquet was drunk (as banquets usually are), and the principal
stockholders finally succumbed to the music of "Old Kentucky Bourbon,"