University of Virginia Library

It was a cold and wintry night,
The snow fell thick and fast;
All living creatures far and near,
Had sheltered from the blast.
Bill Wickmann's bar was crowded;
With loafers boistous loud;
Scott Johnson, with his banjo,
Made music for the crowd.
“Kum poys un' have vun thrink on me!”
Bill Wickmann shouted loud;
Scott Johnson dropped his banjo,
And elbowed through the crowd.
The black man sang a health he did,
The white fo'kes stood around;
He knocked a fancy step or two,
Then quaffed the brandy down.

72

Scarce had the crowd retreated,
To card and billiard game,
In came a large old German,
Fritz Mohler was his name.
A queer, old-looking, fellow,
His head was large and round;
His shoulders stooped, his curled hair gray;
His voice a husky sound.
He paused to gaze upon the crowd,
At Johnson, who was singing
An old time, lively banjo-song,
Droll rhymes and music ringing.
He sang about the Polly Wogg,
The snake, and tera pin's, habbit;
The June-bug, possum, and the coon,
The big-eyed, stub-tailed, rabbit.
Sang something, 'bout old uncle Gabe,
Who 'stonished the plantation,
“With pisin vipa's up his sleeves,”
And other conjurations.
Sang something 'bout the crow and crane,
And how he went a kitin,'
“Wid his ole maustah's span of mules,
Way down the road to Bright'n.”

73

Fritz gazed upon that colored man,
No mirth was in his look
Until his song had reached the end;
With laughter Mohler shook.
“Vell poys, let's take a thrink oon dot,
Dot means fo' vun un all,”
The bottles clanked and each man drank,
But Scott refused the call.
“Vell Chonson, call you vunce agin;
Coom up un haf a clas o' jin!
Vot make you in dot corner stand?
You, look yest like a demperence man.
Be not ashame Got made you plack,
Coom valk right quick tis vay
Dot should n't make your spirit lack,
All men be mate of clay.
A vite cow's milk, be vite you know;
A plack cow's milk, be yest like snow.
A plack man's principal 's the same,
If he ches thri to keep his name.”
Then Johnson took a “pony,”
And sang a toast along;
Fritz Mohler o'er his lager-beer,
Sang loud a German Song.

74

The men all boozed and jolly,
The blazing fire agleam,
“Coom poys!” old Mohler shouted;
“I vish to del mine thream!”