Cyrus Townsend Brady - "For Love of Country"

John Burroughs - "The Wit of a Duck and Other Papers"

Queen Victoria - "The Letters of Queen Victoria, Volume 1 (of 3), 1837 to 1843)"

H. C. Leeds - "The Laws of Euchre"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Watch Yourself Go By

A >> Al. G. Field >> Watch Yourself Go By




As he stood motionless, still holding the paper aloft, Old man Hare,
Lacy's father, who had stood a most interested listener during the
lecture, looked up into the lecturer's face and, in a querulous tone
asked: "What fer animal did ye say it was?"

"A guinea pig, you dam old fool," flashed back Ellingham, as he stepped
off the stool, while the crowd yelled, "Bully for Hare."

The old fellow felt greatly grieved although the shouts of approval from
the crowd partially appeased him. How he talked back to the show man
made him quite a hero among the country folks for a long time
afterwards.

It is safe to assert that a more disappointed audience never left an
exhibition than filed out of the big tent. Even the ministers, and they
were all admitted free, were not satisfied. Bob Playford did not gather
up the boys on the lot and pay their way in.

As the audience filed out the man with the big red nose stood on top of
the wagon and invited everybody into the tent where Christy's Original
Minstrels were about to offer the good people of Brownsville the same
choice and amusing performance they had won fame with in the principal
theatres in New York City. Songs, glees, choruses, banjo solos, pathetic
ballads, side-splitting farces, the whole concluding with a grand walk
around by the entire company.

Bob Playford and Dan French made all manner of fun of the big man with
the red nose. Playford laughingly shouted: "Pay no attention to him, he
don't belong to the show, he lives out in the country. He's a neighbor
of old man Hare's."

Cousin Charley and Alfred were won by the man's eloquence or the
twanging of the stringed musical instruments that could be heard in the
tent. They were soon inside. A platform on a wagon served as a stage,
and a curtain with a cabin and woods as a background hung at the rear of
the stage. The entire company of seven persons attired in shirts and
trousers made of bed-ticking material, were seated in a semi-circle on
the improvised stage.

This was Alfred's first sight of a minstrel first part. "Gentlemen, be
seated." The opening chorus was not half over before Alfred was laughing
as heartily as ever boy laughed. The antics of the fellow with the
tambourine who hit the singer sitting next to him on the head with it in
time with the pattering of the sheepskin on his knees, hands and head,
the assumed anger of the singer as he again hit him a resounding thwack,
the finish, where the man with the bones and tambo worked all over the
small stage and seemed in danger of upsetting it with their antics, had
the crowd wild with their enthusiasm.

[Illustration]

The songs, the jokes, the final farce, "Handy Andy," pleased Alfred so
greatly that he remained for the next performance as did Lin and her
beau, Cousin Charley and several of Alfred's friends. He bought a song
book containing only the words. He caught several of the airs and sang
them all the way home.

It was difficult to convince Alfred that the performers were white men
blacked up. At supper Van Amberg's Great Moral Menagerie received a
lambasting that boded no good for its future in Brownsville. Lin said:

"It was jes a show for Baptusts and sich and they was all thar. Huh,
they let the preachers in free gratis, an' they ought to let everybody
in fer nuthin' caus it warn't wuth nuthin'. Durned ef I walk to the
grounds to see seven shows like it. The niggers in the side show beat
the big show all holler."

Alfred declared that outside of the animals _his_ show was better than
Van Amberg's. Lin added: "Yes, ef Joe Sanford's wall-paper suit wus out
of it."

The supper was not over ere Lin and Alfred were in the parlor with the
melodeon endeavoring to sing the songs of the minstrels. They had the
book and hot were the arguments as to whether they had the tune right or
not.

Lin, Cousin Charley, Alfred, Billy Woods, and Bill Hyatt decided to go
back to the minstrels at night. Alfred sang the songs under his breath.
He drank in every word of the jokes and the farce he committed to
memory.

When they reached home the melodeon was started up again, and its
strains swelled out on the night air until the father closed the
rehearsal abruptly by ordering all to bed.

The seed had been sown; even the chaff had taken root. The clown
illusion still clung to Alfred but the minstrel idea seemed nearer
realization. Did ever a party of amateurs decide to assault the public
that they did not use a minstrel performance as their weapon?

Despite the protests of the parents, the old melodeon, notwithstanding
its age and other infirmities, was worked overtime. Alfred sang and
resang the songs they had learned or deceived themselves into believing
they had learned at the minstrels.

Billy Woods had a good ear for tunes. As Lin put it, Billy caught more
of the tunes than any of the others. Billy became a nightly visitor.
Billy's flute and the melodeon did not harmonize as the melodeon had
only three notes left in it. Lin just waited when a note was missing
until the next measure and then "ketched up" as she expressed it.

Amity Getty was another addition to the little band. He was really a
good performer on the guitar. Alfred's especial favorite in the
minstrels was the fellow who handled the tambourine. The mother said
there was not a pie pan in the house they could bake in, Alfred had them
so battered and dented thumping them on his knees, head and elbows.

"I declare, I believe the boy is going crazy; I don't know what we will
do with him," often said the mother.

Cousin Charley was of an inventive turn of mind. He had become greatly
interested in the nightly singing and fashioned a tambourine out of an
old cheese box by cutting it down. Dennis Isler put tin jingles in it
and put on a sheepskin head.

The instrument in Alfred's hands became a terror to the household. He
was banished to the commons where, surrounded by the children of the
neighborhood, he did his practicing to the delight and danger of his
audience as he persisted in finishing his antics by thumping one of the
audience on the head with his instrument of torture, which generally
sent the recipient of his thwack home, holding his head and crying. This
usually brought a complaint from the victim's parents and Alfred's
visits to the cellar accompanied by his father became so frequent that a
boy with less ardor would surely have lost interest in his instrument.

Alfred repeatedly advised Lin that they never could be minstrels if they
did not have bones. He selected Billy Storey to perform on these
necessary adjuncts to the minstrels. When Lin brought home from John
Allison's meat shop a rib roast, the mother, astonished at the size of
it, said: "My goodness, Lin, that roast is big enough for any tavern in
town."

The fact was Lin had not closely studied the bone player's instruments.
She was of the opinion it required eight bones instead of four, hence
the magnitude of the roast.

The little band made the big front room the mecca for pilgrims nightly.
The mother was nearly frantic; after every concert of the embryotic
minstrels she solemnly admonished Lin and Alfred that that would be the
last.

Lin in turn would accuse Alfred of being the cause of all the din and
racket. "Ef it hadn't been fer Cousin Charley makin' Alfurd thet
infernal head drum (Lin could never say tambourine), Mary would never
sed a word as she jus loves music es well es eny body else."

Lin asserted that "the durn jingling contraption, jes spiled the hull
thing and ye don't make good music with it nohow." Lin's deductions
could not be controverted. Alfred did not make good music with his
tambourine but it is a fact that he succeeded in drowning a great deal
of bad.

It was a night never to be forgotten; one of those nights that will
linger long in fondest remembrance by any who have enjoyed them. It was
the night of one of those old time parties, one of those healthful,
pleasure giving affairs, an old fashioned family party. Relatives, near
and distant, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces, cousins and friends,
came by invitation to the old home.

Games and recitations, blind-man's buff, button, button, who's got the
button, Uncle Joe, blindfolded, pursuing the prettiest girl at the
frolic, brought roars of laughter from everyone but Aunt Betsy. Lin,
sitting on a crock endeavoring to pass a linen thread through the eye of
a cambric needle; Uncle Jack, blindfolded trying to pin the tail on the
proper place on the paper donkey stuck against the wall. When he stuck
the pin in the keyhole of the parlor door the laughter shook the sash in
the windows.

The young folks formed in a circle holding hands, slowly revolving
around a bashful young man standing in the center of the circle. As they
circled they sang that old ditty so dear to the youth of those days:

"King William was King George's son,
And from a royal race he sprung;
And on his breast he wore a star,
That marked his bravery in the war.
Go choose your East, go choose your West,
Go choose the one that you love best."

Here the young man tagged the girl of his choice. Of course, the girl
broke from the circle and ran but was easily captured. She was led to
the center of the circle which again revolved and the song continued:

"Down on this carpet you must kneel,
Just as the grass grows in the field;
Salute your bride and kiss her sweet,
And you may rise unto your feet."

When the bashful young man received a thumping thwack from the girl of
his choice in return for the kiss he planted on her rosy cheek, the
laughter was renewed tenfold.

All this may look cold in print to the young folks of today but it made
the hot blood of the boys and girls of those good old days flow faster
than the patter of their feet to the tune of the songs they sang.

Sis Minks sang "Barbara Allen" with such telling effect that the
assembled multitude became "as subdued as a Quaker meetin'" as Lin
described it.

Sis was an old maid and lived in the country; her dog had followed her
to the party. The standing of every family in those parts was rated by
the number of dogs they possessed. Sis's people had stood high for many
years but their canine possessions had decreased. When questioned by a
neighbor as to the number of dogs in his possession, the father of Sis
ruefully replied: "Wall, I hev a house dog, a coon dog, a fox dog an' a
'feist'--it just seems like I can't git a start in dogs again." It was
the house dog that had followed Sis.

Sis always sang "Barbara Allen" with her eyes shut. Lin said: "Becaus'
she'd furgit it ef she looked."

Sis was in the midst of Barbara's woes when someone opened the door
slightly. Her dog slipped in. Seeing his mistress before him and hearing
her voice, the dog instinctively crept towards her. As her voice grew
more tremulous describing Barbara's sad fate, the dog, encouraged by the
kindly tones, crept nearer. Rising on his hind legs he drew his long,
red tongue across her face and mouth. Sis opened her eyes and sat down
in confusion and no entreaties could induce her to continue. Lin said:
"I'll bet a fippennybit she thought she'd bin kissed by some feller."

Alfred did not greatly enjoy the party. He whispered to Lin: "Let's
practice."

[Illustration: Sis Opened Her Eyes and Sat Down]

Lin ran her fingers over the keys of the melodeon. The others wanted to
be coaxed as amateurs always do. There is no backwardness that requires
as much persuasion to appear before an audience as that of an amateur,
but when once persuaded there is no cheerfulness that exceeds that of an
amateur in responding to an encore.

It was not long before the little band began their concert. As they had
been rehearsing for several weeks, the opening chorus, with musical
accompaniment, was rendered with such vim that the assembled guests were
carried off their feet. Alfred's antics with the tambourine, Storey's
manipulation of the bones, the singing, the instrumentation, were a
revelation to the good people.

Alfred's reputation as an actor was known to all the guests. Urgent
requests were made that he should don his costumes and perform his
feats. Alfred and Lin hastened to his room, returning soon, Alfred in
his clown make-up, Mrs. Young's lowers and Lin's body dress. Prolonged
laughter and applause greeted his appearance.

First he essayed to sing a clown song entitled "The Song of All Songs"
which runs thusly:

"The subject of my song you have seen I dare say,
As you've walked along the streets on a fine summer's day;
On fences and railings wherever you go,
You will see the penny ballads pasted up in a row.
I noted them down as I read them along,
And I've put them together to make up my song.
There was Abraham's daughter going out on a spree
With old Uncle Snow in the cottage by the sea.
Do they think of me at and I'll be easy still,
Give us back our old commander with the sword of Bunker Hill."

There was a great deal more of this jingle of words, ringing in the
titles of all the songs of the day. Notwithstanding, Alfred had sung it
without pause or hesitation night after night with only his associates
as an audience, yet at "the sword of Bunker Hill" his voice faltered and
a stage fright that could not be conquered overtook him. The words of
the song had left his mouth, the tongue was paralyzed.

As many an older actor has done before and since, Alfred endeavored to
conceal his confusion by stalling. It was really Alfred's first
appearance before a heterogenous audience.

Alfred learned even at that early age that there is a difference in
audiences. Notwithstanding his failure, with the density of perception
that usually pervades an amateur's mind, Alfred changed his costume to
Lacy Hare's military togs. He mistook the shouts of laughter aroused by
this suit as approval of his acting. Lin relieved the situation by
leading Alfred out of the room ere he had presented half of his famous
impersonations.

Lin said afterwards: "I don't know what got inter thet boy. Why I allus
said he had brass enuf in his face to act afore a protracted meetin' but
be durned ef he warn't es bad es Joe Sanford when he stuck on the pole.
I never been more cut up in my life, fur I would a swore he was too
spunkey to git skeered."

The remainder of the program was more than successful. Everyone
acquitted themselves creditably excepting Alfred. Lin sang the pathetic
ballad:

"Out in the cold world, out in the street,
Asking a penny of each one I meet;
Shoeless I wander about through the day,
Wearing my young life in sorrow away.
No one to help me, no one to love,
No one to pity me, none to caress,
Fatherless, motherless, sadly I roam;
A child of misfortune, I'm driven from home."

Lin had a deep, sweet voice, almost a baritone. She was full of
sentiment and magnetism. Deeply in earnest she sang the song with
telling effect. A tear, a heartfelt tear, came from the eyes of more
than one of the sympathetic group.

Uncle Joe and Uncle Jack and one or two of the elder men had been led to
the cellar several times during the evening, for a more pleasant purpose
than Alfred generally went there for. The hard cider was kept in the
cellar, the sweet cider upstairs. Uncle Joe was as mellow as a pippin.
At the end of Lin's first chorus he threw her a handful of change. The
other men threw coppers or small silver pieces. Lin, like a true artist,
stood unmoved and continued her song. Alfred picked up the money and
handed it to her. She disdained to receive it. How the fires of jealousy
burned within Alfred's breast as he noted the triumph of Lin. How the
men could become so affected as to throw her money he could not
comprehend.

Before the next song, Lin lectured Alfred before the entire company,
saying: "The fellur with the head drum (tambourine) in the circus
minstrels never beat it in the sad tunes, only in the comic ones. Es
long as ye've bin showin', a body'd think ye knowed thet much."

This calling down further humiliated Alfred.

Bill Storey followed in a tuneful baritone, singing:

"Oh, the old home ain't what it used to be, de banjo and de fiddel
am gone,
An' no more you'll hear the darkies singing among de sugar cane
an' corn.
Great changes hab come to de poor colored man, but dis change
makes him sad an' forlorn,
For no more we hear de darkies singing among de sugar cane an'
corn."

Then all sang the chorus:

"No, the old home ain't what it used to be, (etc.)"

This number met with great approval. Professional jealousy surged
through Alfred's breast. He hated everyone who had been successful.
Thoughts of all kinds of revenge ran through his mind. He would tell
mother that the ten pound rib roast was bought only to get eight bones
for Bill Storey and four bones was all he could rattle on at one time.
Alfred felt that the whole company had conspired against him, that they
were the cause of his not being appreciated.

Supper was announced. Yes, supper, and they all sat down to a table;
none of your society lunches, juggled on your knees, as served at the
fashionable functions of today. When Uncle Wilse called down blessings
upon all, even those sitting around the fire in the other room, who
could not find places at the first table, bowed their heads reverently.

Cold roast chicken, pickles, sweet preserves, doughnuts, jellies, fine
and red, cold claw, beets, hot mince pie, pound cake, layer cake,
apples, tea, coffee and cider.

It took mother and Lin all day to prepare the repast. Fun and jokes were
passed at and upon one another and everybody was happy, everybody but
Alfred. With jealousy gnawing his vitals he sat between two big,
grown-up men, unnoticed save when he requested some edible passed to
him. He almost made up his mind to forsake the amusement profession and
take his mother's advice to study to become a doctor.

Supper over, good nights were said. Guest after guest departed. One
garrulous gentleman remained; he was noted for his staying qualities. He
would visit a family in the country near his home and keep them up until
after midnight, which was a terrible breach of etiquette in those days
when country folks went to bed with the chickens and town people who
stayed up after eleven were looked upon with suspicion.

The mother had caught herself nodding several times, the father was
yawning, Lin could scarcely keep her eyes open, and Alfred had taken two
or three naps. The prolonged visit had become almost unbearable to all
except the lone guest who kept up a commonplace conversation, just
sufficiently animated to keep him awake. In the middle of one of his
dryest sentences Lin jumped up and said:

"Come on folks, let's go to bed, I expect Uncle Wilse wants to go
home."




CHAPTER NINE

Never mind the pain
For gladness will outlive it.
When your neighbor needs a smile
Don't hesitate to give it.


Then came sorrow into the life of Alfred. The father was ill for many
months; war came with its blighting influences, bringing ruin to many,
prosperity to a few.

The father's family were Virginians, the mother's Marylanders. True to
their traditions they believed in the people of the South, not favoring
secession, however. In the white heat of continued controversy relatives
became enemies.

To add to their troubles Brownsville was visited by the most disastrous
fire in its history. Alfred's folks lost everything, even to their
wearing apparel. Alfred was the most fortunate member of the family. He
entered and re-entered the burning home after he had been warned not to
do so. At every return from the blazing house he carried some of his
boyish belongings.

Lin, in recounting the thrilling scenes of the night of the fire, said:
"Ef the men hed hed any sense all the things could hev been got out. Jim
Lucas and Tom Brawley jes piled the bedsteads, bureaus, looking glasses
and arm-cheers out of the third story winders an' durn ef I didn't see
Tom Brawley kum out of the house with a arm load of pillurs wrapped up
in a blanket. Hit takes a fire or a dog fight to show whuther peepul hev
got eny judgment or not."

On his last trip out of the house Alfred carried his dog "Bobbie," two
pet frizzly chickens, the uniform Lacy Hare and Aunt Betsy fashioned,
Mrs. Young's part of his clown suit and the head-drum or tambourine.

Lin fairly snorted when she saw the boy approaching; "Now look at the
dratted, fickle boy, leavin' his Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes to perish
fur them ole show duds. Hit beats the bugs jes to think thet boy 'ud run
into thet house blazin' like a lime kiln from top to bottom. A body'd
thot he'd tried to save somethin' thet would a done us good. But no; all
he thinks about is them ole show things. It's a wonder he didn't try to
get the melodeon out eny way."

The condition of the family was changed in one night from prosperity to
near-poverty. The mother resolutely refused all proffered aid from
relatives with whom relations had been strained. To Uncle Joe's and
Betsy's offer she returned the message: "If we were Southern
sympathizers before the fire, we are not beggars now."

Lin was as defiant as the mother: "Huh, yes. Ef we'd let 'em help
us now, the fust election kum up they'd throw it up to us. Uncle
Billy is a candidate fer county jedge, I reckon he wants a few
votes. The Lord will purvide a way." She added: "Jus tell Joe an'
Betsy an' all the rest of 'em thet we'll hoe our own row yit a
while. No siree-horse-fly-over-the-river-to-Green-County, we don't
want no abolishunist to help us."

Alfred could not fully comprehend the feelings that influenced the
members of the family in the stand they took, but anything his mother
said or did always met with his loyal support.

The proud, strong-minded mother guided the destinies of the family
through the troublesome times that followed. The strictest economy was
practiced in all things. Brownsville has ever been noted for the
hospitality of its people and the plenteous supplies found on the tables
of all. Therefore, when the usual good things were missing from the
table and the mother explained that it would not be for long but for the
time being it was imperative to live sparingly, Alfred put all in a good
humor by calling on Muz, (the children's favorite name for the mother),
"Muz, cook it all up at once and let's have one good, big meal like we
used to have, then starve right."

Uncle Jake and Aunt Betty and all their family were steadfast friends
during all the days of distress, as were Uncle William and grandfather
and his family. Even Cousin Charley exerted himself to be of assistance.

Lin afterwards declared that the Biblical prophecy, "Meny shall be
called an' only a few kum," had found verification in Charley's changed
conduct. Since Lin "jined" church, she often attempted to quote
scripture.

Among other offerings that Cousin Charley bestowed upon Alfred were two
hounds with a colony of lively fleas. This gift was greatly appreciated
by Alfred as the dogs were good coon hunters. It was not long ere the
news came to Alfred's folks that Cousin Charley had stolen the hounds
from Turner Simpson, a colored man who lived near the town, and noted
for his superior hounds and numerous children. When the mother firmly
commanded that the dogs be returned to their owner Alfred was greatly
disappointed. Lin informed the boys that the dogs had to eat and that
the mother had enough mouths to feed "without runnin' a dog's boardin'
house. Why ye durned little fool ye, don't ye know Charley's jus put
them dogs yar to git 'em kept. They'll jus keep 'em yar till they want
to hunt coon an' then they'll take 'em. Ef it wur a hoss or hippotumas
es was in thet sorry animile show, an' Charley 'ud gin it to ye, I'd
feel ye could call it yer own. But a houn' dog, never. He'd never part
with a houn'. Some fine mornin' the houn's'll turn up missin' an' ye'll
find Dr. Playford hes bought 'em fur about five dollars."

Lin's reference to Dr. Playford gave Alfred an inspiration. He was on
his way to Dr. Bob Playford's with the hounds chained together and
nearly pulling him off his feet, so eager were they for exercise. The
sporting doctor's eyes glistened as he looked the dogs over and noted
their good points. Alfred explained that they were a present from
Cousin Charley, that he prized them greatly but his mother would not
permit him to retain them.

The doctor purchased and paid for the dogs, handing the boy a crisp five
dollar greenback bill. Although greenbacks were greatly depreciated in
value at that time, no bill of like denomination has ever before or
since had the purchasing power that that five dollars had for Alfred. He
could scarcely contain himself until he arrived at home, that he might
hand the money to his mother. The doctor informed Alfred that he would
give him an additional dollar if he would deliver the dogs to Turner
Simpson, adding: "Simpson keeps all my hounds; he has a pack of them
there now and these two will be all I'll need for a while. Be careful of
the dogs, almost anybody will steal a hound dog and brag about it
afterwards."

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