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FUNDAMENTAL STATISTICS FOR THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES
focuses on providing the context of statistics in behavioral research, while
emphasizing the importance of looking at data before jumping into a test.
This practical approach provides you with an understanding of the logic
behind the statistics, so you understand why and how certain methods are
used -- rather than simply carry out techniques by rote. You'll move beyond
number crunching to discover the meaning of statistical results and
appreciate how the statistical test to be employed relates to the research
questions posed by an experiment. An abundance of real data and
research studies provide a real-life perspective and help you understand
concepts as you learn about the analysis of data.

1. ES2
2. Title
3. Statement
4. Copyright
5. Dedication
6. Brief Contents
7. Contents
8. Preface
9. Ch 1: Introduction
10. Ch 1: Introduction
11. 1.1: A Changing Field
12. 1.2: The Importance of Context
13. 1.3: Basic Terminology
14. 1.4: Selection among Statistical Procedures
15. 1.5: Using Computers
16. 1.6: Summary
17. 1.7: A Quick Review
18. 1.8: Exercises
19. Ch 2: Basic Concepts
20. Ch 2: Introduction
21. 2.1: Scales of Measurement
22. 2.2: Variables
23. 2.3: Random Sampling
24. 2.4: Notation
25. 2.5: Summary
26. 2.6: A Quick Review
27. 2.7: Exercises
28. Ch 3: Displaying Data
29. Ch 3: Introduction
30. 3.1: Plotting Data
31. 3.2: Stem-and-Leaf Displays
32. 3.3: Reading Graphs
33. 3.4: Alternative Methods of Plotting Data
34. 3.5: Describing Distributions
35. 3.6: Using SPSS to Display Data
36. 3.7: Summary
37. 3.8: AQuick Review
38. 3.9: Exercises
39. Ch 4: Measures of Central Tendency
40. Ch 4: Introduction
41. 4.1: The Mode
42. 4.2: The Median
43. 4.3: The Mean
44. 4.4: Relative Advantages and Disadvantages of the Mode, the M edian, and the Mean
45. 4.5: Obtaining Measures of Central Tendency Using SPSS and
46. 4.6: ASimple Demonstration—Seeing Statistics
47. 4.7: Summary
48. 4.8: AQuick Review
49. 4.9: Exercises
50. Ch 5: Measures of Variability
51. Ch 5: Introduction
52. 5.1: Range
53. 5.2: Interquartile Range and Other Range Statistics
54. 5.3: The Average Deviation
55. 5.4: The Variance
56. 5.5: The Standard Deviation
57. 5.6: Computational Formulae for the Variance and the Standard Deviation
58. 5.7: The Mean and the Variance as Estimators
59. 5.8: Boxplots: Graphical Representations of Dispersion and E xtreme Scores
60. 5.9: AReturn to Trimming
61. 5.10: Obtaining Measures of Dispersion Using SPSS & R
62. 5.11: The Moon Illusion
63. 5.12: Seeing Statistics
64. 5.13: Summary
65. 5.14: A Quick Review
66. 5.15: Exercises
67. Ch 6: The Normal Distribution
68. Ch 6: Introduction
69. 6.1: The Normal Distribution
70. 6.2: The Standard Normal Distribution
71. 6.3: Setting Probable Limits on an Observation
72. 6.4: Measures Related to z
73. 6.5: Seeing Statistics
74. 6.6: Summary
75. 6.7: A Quick Review
76. 6.8: Exercises
77. Ch 7: Basic Concepts of Probability
78. Ch 7: Introduction
79. 7.1: Probability
80. 7.2: Basic Terminology and Rules
81. 7.3: The Application of Probability to Controversial Issues
82. 7.4: Writing Up the Results
83. 7.5: Discrete Versus Continuous Variables
84. 7.6: Probability Distributions for Discrete Variables
85. 7.7: Probability Distributions for Continuous Variables
86. 7.8: Summary
87. 7.9: A Quick Review
88. 7.10: Exercises
89. Ch 8: Sampling Distributions and Hypothesis Testing
90. Ch 8: Introduction
91. 8.1: Sampling Distributions and the Standard Error
92. 8.2: Two More Examples Involving Course Evaluations and Human Decision Making
93. 8.3: Hypothesis Testing
94. 8.4: The Null Hypothesis
95. 8.5: Test Statistics and Their Sampling Distributions
96. 8.6: Using the Normal Distribution to Test Hypotheses
97. 8.7: Type I and Type II Errors
98. 8.8: Oneand Two-Tailed Tests
99. 8.9: Seeing Statistics
100. 8.10: A Final Example
101. 8.11: Back to Course Evaluations and Sunk Costs
102. 8.12: Summary
103. 8.13: A Quick Review
104. 8.14: Exercises
105. Ch 9: Correlation
106. Ch 9: Introduction
107. 9.1: Scatter Diagrams
108. 9.2: An Example: The Relationship Between the Pace of Life and Heart
Disease
109. 9.3: The Covariance
110. 9.4: The Pearson Product-Moment Correlation Coefficient (r)
111. 9.5: Correlations with Ranked Data
112. 9.6: Factors That Affect the Correlation
113. 9.7: Beware Extreme Observations
114. 9.8: Correlation and Causation
115. 9.9: If Something Looks Too Good to Be True, Perhaps It Is
116. 9.10: Testing the Significance of a Correlation Coefficient
117. 9.11: Confidence Intervals on Correlation Coefficients
118. 9.12: Intercorrelation Matrices
119. 9.13: Other Correlation Coefficients
120. 9.14: Using SPSS to Obtain Correlation Coefficients
121. 9.15: r2 and the Magnitude of an Effect
122. 9.16: Seeing Statistics
123. 9.17: A Review: Does Rated Course Quality Relate to Expected Grade?
124. 9.18: Summary
125. 9.19: A Quick Review
126. 9.20: Exercises
127. Ch 10: Regression
128. Ch 10: Introduction
129. 10.1: The Relationship Between Stress and Health
130. 10.2: The Basic Data
131. 10.3: The Regression Line
132. 10.4: The Accuracy of Prediction
133. 10.5: The Influence of Extreme Values
134. 10.6: Hypothesis Testing in Regression
135. 10.7: Computer Solution Using SPSS
136. 10.8: Seeing Statistics
137. 10.9: A Final Example for Review
138. 10.10: Regression Versus Correlation
139. 10.11: Summary
140. 10.12: A Quick Review
141. 10.13: Exercises
142. Ch 11: Multiple Regression
143. Ch 11: Introduction
144. 11.1: Overview
145. 11.2: Funding Our Schools
146. 11.3: The Multiple Regression Equation
147. 11.4: Residuals
148. 11.5: Hypothesis Testing
149. 11.6: Refining the Regression Equation
150. 11.7: Special Section: Using R to Solve a Multiple Regression Problem
151. 11.8: A Second Example: What Makes a Confident Mother?
152. 11.9: Third Example: Psychological Symptoms in Cancer Patients
153. 11.10: Summary
154. 11.11: A Quick Review
155. 11.12: Exercises
156. Ch 12: Hypothesis Tests Applied to Means: One Sample
157. Ch 12: Introduction
158. 12.1: Sampling Distribution of the Mean
159. 12.2: Testing Hypotheses about Means when Is Known
160. 12.3: Testing a Sample Mean when Is Unknown (The One-Sample Test)
161. 12.4: Factors That Affect the Magnitude of and the Decision about
162. 12.5: A Second Example: The Moon Illusion
163. 12.6: How Large Is Our Effect?
164. 12.7: Confidence Limits on the Mean
165. 12.8: Using SPSS and to Run One-Sample Tests
166. 12.9: A Good Guess Is Better than Leaving It Blank
167. 12.10: Seeing Statistics
168. 12.11: Confidence Intervals Can Be Far More Important than a Null
Hypothesis Test
169. 12.12: Summary
170. 12.13: A Quick Review
171. 12.14: Exercises
172. Ch 13: Hypothesis Tests Applied to Means: Two Related Samples
173. Ch 13: Introduction
174. 13.1: Related Samples
175. 13.2: Student’s Applied to Difference Scores
176. 13.3: The Crowd Within Is Like the Crowd Without
177. 13.4: Advantages and Disadvantages of Using Related Samples
178. 13.5: How Large an Effect Have We Found?—Effect Size
179. 13.6: Confidence Limits on Change
180. 13.7: Using SPSS and for Tests on Related Samples
181. 13.8: Writing Up the Results
182. 13.9: Summary
183. 13.10: A Quick Review
184. 13.11: Exercises
185. Ch 14: Hypothesis Tests Applied to Means: Two Independent Samples
186. Ch 14: Introduction
187. 14.1: Distribution of Differences between Means
188. 14.2: Heterogeneity of Variance
189. 14.3: Nonnormality of Distributions
190. 14.4: A Second Example with Two Independent Samples
191. 14.5: Effect Size Again
192. 14.6: Confidence Limits on
193. 14.7: Confidence Limits on Effect Size
194. 14.8: Plotting the Results
195. 14.9: Writing Up the Results
196. 14.10: Do Lucky Charms Work?
197. 14.11: Seeing Statistics
198. 14.12: Summary
199. 14.13: A Quick Review
200. 14.14: Exercises
201. Ch 15: Power
202. Ch 15: Introduction
203. 15.1: The Basic Concept of Power
204. 15.2: Factors Affecting the Power of a Test
205. 15.3: Calculating Power the Traditional Way
206. 15.4: Power Calculations for the One-Sample t Test
207. 15.5: Power Calculations for Differences between Two Independent Means
208. 15.6: Power Calculations for the t Test for Related Samples
209. 15.7: Power Considerations in Terms of Sample Size
210. 15.8: You Don’t Have to Do It by Hand
211. 15.9: Post-hoc (Retrospective) Power
212. 15.10: Summary
213. 15.11: A Quick Review
214. 15.12: Exercises
215. Ch 16: One-Way Analysis of Variance
216. Ch 16: Introduction
217. 16.1: The General Approach
218. 16.2: The Logic of the Analysis of Variance
219. 16.3: Calculations for the Analysis of Variance
220. 16.4: Unequal Sample Sizes
221. 16.5: Multiple Comparison Procedures
222. 16.6: Violations of Assumptions
223. 16.7: The Size of the Effects
224. 16.8: Writing Up the Results
225. 16.9: A Final Worked Example
226. 16.10: Seeing Statistics
227. 16.11: Summary
228. 16.12: A Quick Review
229. 16.13: Exercises
230. Ch 17: Factorial Analysis of Variance
231. Ch 17: Introduction
232. 17.1: Factorial Designs
233. 17.2: The Eysenck Study
234. 17.3: Interactions
235. 17.4: Simple Effects
236. 17.5: Measures of Association and Effect Size
237. 17.6: Reporting the Results
238. 17.7: Unequal Sample Sizes
239. 17.8: Masculine Overcompensation Thesis: It’s a Male Thing
240. 17.9: Using SPSS for Factorial Analysis of Variance
241. 17.10: Seeing Statistics
242. 17.11: Summary
243. 17.12: A Quick Review
244. 17.13: Exercises
245. Ch 18: RepeatedMeasures Analysis of Variance
246. Ch 18: Introduction
247. 18.1: An Example: Depression as a Response to an Earthquake
248. 18.2: Multiple Comparisons
249. 18.3: Effect Size
250. 18.4: Assumptions Involved in Repeated-Measures Designs
251. 18.5: Advantages and Disadvantages of Repeated-Measures Designs
252. 18.6: Writing Up the Results
253. 18.7: A Final Worked Example
254. 18.8: Summary
255. 18.9: A Quick Review
256. 18.10: Exercises
257. Ch 19: Chi-Square
258. Ch 19: Introduction
259. 19.1: One Classification Variable: The Chi-Square Goodness-of-Fit Test
260. 19.2: Two Classification Variables: Analysis of Contingency Tables
261. 19.3: Possible Improvements on Standard Chi-Square
262. 19.4: Chi-Square for Larger Contingency Tables
263. 19.5: The Problem of Small Expected Frequencies
264. 19.6: The Use of Chi-Square as a Test on Proportions
265. 19.7: Measures of Effect Size
266. 19.8: A Final Worked Example
267. 19.9: A Second Example of Writing up Results
268. 19.10: Seeing Statistics
269. 19.11: Summary
270. 19.12: A Quick Review
271. 19.13: Exercises
272. Ch 20: Nonparametric and DistributionFree Statistical Tests
273. Ch 20: Introduction
274. 20.1: Traditional Nonparametric Tests
275. 20.2: Randomization Tests
276. 20.3: Measures of Effect Size
277. 20.4: Bootstrapping
278. 20.5: Writing Up the Results of the Study of Maternal Adaptation
279. 20.6: Summary
280. 20.7: A Quick Review
281. 20.8: Exercises
282. Ch 21: Meta-Analysis
283. Ch 21: Introduction
284. 21.1: Meta-Analysis1
285. 21.2: A Brief Review of Effect Size Measures
286. 21.3: An Example—Child and Adolescent Depression
287. 21.4: A Second Example—Nicotine Gum and Smoking Cessation
288. 21.5: A Quick Review
289. 21.6: Exercises
290. Appendix A: Arithmetic Review
291. Appendix B: Symbols and Notation
292. Appendix C: Basic Statistical Formulae
293. Appendix D: Data Set
294. Appendix E: Statistical Tables
295. Glossary
296. References
297. Answers to Exercises
298. Index
299. ES5
300. ES6
301. ES7
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
grinding to produce crime was actually unknown; so that our little
world was just the world that he sighs for.
Victor Hugo plumes himself, I believe, upon never having learned
the gibberish that the English call their language. Therefore, as I do
not design having this work translated into the various modern
languages (why should I, forsooth, since by the time your day rolls
round the aforesaid gibberish will be the only tongue spoken by
mankind?) he will never have the pain of seeing himself ranked
among the upholders of slavery. Whatever he might say, however, it
is very clear that no state of things heretofore existing has so well
fulfilled the conditions of his ideal of society. It is no fault of mine if
his ideal be absurd.[3]
For I fear me much this is no ideal world we live in.
But ah, what a lotus-dream we were a-dreaming, when from out our
blue sky the bolt of war fell upon us! We lived in a land in which no
one was hungry, none naked, none a-cold; where no man begged,
and no man was a criminal, no woman fell—from necessity; where
no one asked for bread, and all, even the slaves, could give it; where
Charity was unknown, and in her stead stood Hospitality, with open
doors. What tidings we had, meanwhile, of the things of the outer
world, made us cherish all the more fondly the quietude of our
Sleepy Hollow. The nations, had they not filled the air for a century
past with the murmur of their unrest? Revolutions, rebellions,
barricades, bread-riots,—agrarianism, communism, the frowning
hosts of capital and labor—the rumor of these grisly facts and grislier
phantoms reached us, but from afar, and as an echo merely; and
lulled, by our exemption from these ills, into a fatal security, we
failed to perceive the breakers upon which we were slowly but surely
drifting. The lee-shore upon which our ship was so somnolently
rocking was nothing less than bankruptcy. Spendthrifts, we dreamed
that our inheritance was too vast ever to be dissipated; nay, we
fondly imagined that we were adding to our substance. Did not our
statesmen, our Able Editors, unceasingly assure us that we were the
richest people on the globe, and growing daily richer? And what had
been that inheritance? A noble, virgin land, unsurpassed, all things
considered, anywhere,—a land that cost us nothing beyond the
beads of Captain Smith and the bullets of his successors,—a land
which no mortgages smothered, no tax-gatherer devoured. But
smothered and devoured it was, and by our slaves.
It is doubtful whether slavery was ever, at any stage of the world’s
history, wise, from an economical point of view, though it was, of
course, in one aspect, in the interest of humanity, when, at some
prehistoric period, men began to enslave rather than butcher their
prisoners of war. But it seems very clear, that if the conditions of any
society were ever such that its greatest productive force could only
be realized through the restraints and constraints of slavery, then
that slavery must needs have been absolute and pitiless. No half-
and-half system will suffice. Severe and continuous labor is endured
by no man who can avoid it. But labor, continuous and severe, is the
price paid by the great mass of mankind for the mere privilege of
being counted in the census; so terrible is that struggle for
existence, of the Darwinian dispensation, which, whether we be
Darwinians or not, we must needs live under. This, in our dreamland,
we quietly ignored. The political economists are all agreed that from
the sharpest toil little more can be hoped for than the barest support
of the toilers; and we were not ignorant of political economy. But is
there not an exception to every rule? And were we not that
exception? In our favored nook, at least, the cold dicta of science
should not hold sway. And so our toilers did half work,—and got
double rations. In one word, we spent more than we made. And
although we could not be brought to see this, it became very plain
when the war came and settled our accounts for us; for I venture to
assert that in April, 1865, the State of Virginia was worth intrinsically
less than when, in 1607, Captain John Smith and his young
gentlemen landed at Jamestown. In other words, there had been
going on for two hundred and fifty years a process the reverse of
accumulation. For that length of time we had been living on our
principal,—the native wealth of the soil. While, in other parts of the
country, the struggle for existence had caused barrenness to bloom,
the very rocks to grow fat, in ours the struggle for ease had
converted a garden into something very like a wilderness. The
forests we found had fallen; the rich soil of many wide districts was
washed into the sea, leaving nothing to represent them; and when
the smoke of battle cleared away, we saw a naked land. It could not
have been otherwise. Thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the
nineteenth century, as well as the principles of the Jeffersonian
Democracy, we were entangled in a system of things not compatible,
profitably at least, with either. We could not forget that our slaves
were human. There were ties that we felt in a hundred ways. We
loved this old nurse. We humored that old butler. We indulged, here
a real, there a sham invalid, until, in one word, the thing began to
cost more than it came to, and it was time we shook off the incubus.
And there was a time when many Virginians, now living, began to
see this; and had they been let alone, not many years would have
passed before we should have freed ourselves from the weight that
oppressed us. But in an evil hour there arose a handful of men with
a mission,—a mission to keep other people’s consciences,—often—as
certain national moral phenomena subsequently showed—to the
neglect of that charity which begins at home. From that day all
rational discussion of the question became impossible in Virginia;
and a consummation for which many of the wisest heads were
quietly laboring became odious even to hint at, under dictation from
outsiders; and on the day when the first abolition society was
formed, the fates registered a decree that slavery should go down;
not in peace, but by war; not quietly and gradually extinguished,
with the consent of all concerned, but with convulsive violence,—
drowned in the blood of a million men, and the tears of more than a
million women.
Well, they were only white men and women,—so let that pass, too.
[1] Obviously, as often elsewhere, Mr. Whacker here
says Virginians, instead of Southerners, to avoid all
semblance of sectional feeling.
[2] Written, doubtless, before the death of “The
Master.”—Ed.
[3] In my capacity of Bushwhacker, I make it a matter
of business to laugh whenever I feel like it. I felt
like it when, on reading the above, this parallelism
occurred to me: the hero of the “Miserables”—Jean
Valjean—is a thief. Now, holds our author, whenever
a man is so unfortunate as to be a thief, no blame
should be attached to him,—and he puts it about
thus: “A thief is not a thief. Nor a crime. He is a
product. A fact. A titanic fact. A thief is a man who
hears the cry of a child. It is his child. It is a cry for
bread. Society gives him a stone. Effacement of his
rectitude. He appropriates society’s wallet. And
serves society right; for ’tis society has made him a
thief.”
Leaving to some coming man the task and the
credit of removing from society all stain, by
discovering who or what made society a thief-
maker, ’tis this that moved my Bushwhackerish soul
to smile: this Jean Valjean, whom society is so
wicked in producing, turns out to be a better man
than any other man ever was, is, or shall be. So we,
under our very sinful system, would seem to have
prepared for the elective franchise a whole people
lately buried in heathenism, without, as it were, half
trying. Nor does this claim rest merely upon that
braggartism so peculiarly Southern. The very best
people on the other side—nay, the people who, by
their own admission, embrace all the culture and
virtue of the country—have been the first to give us
this meed of praise,—yet it is notorious that very
few white men are yet, with all their Bacons, and
Sydneys, and Hampdens, and Jeffersons to
enlighten them, qualified for that august function.
Nay, even in France herself, though she is, as Victor
Hugo says,—and he should know,—the mother and
the father, and the uncle and the aunt, and the
brother and the sister of civilization, I believe there
are Frenchmen not yet fitted to wield the ballot,—
among whom, I doubt not, some profane persons
would make so bold as to class the illustrious
rhapsodist himself.
 CHAPTER XXIX.

“Git out o’ de way, you niggers! Aint y’ all got no manners? Git out o’
Marse Billy way! I declar’ fo’ Gaud niggers ain’t got no manners dese
days. Tain’t like it used to be. Y’ all gittin’ wuss and wuss.”
So saying, Aunt Polly made an unceremonious opening among the
eager heads of the youngsters that were thrust into the door-way;
and Billy pressed laughing through the throng, nodding here and
there as he passed. His arrival was hailed with beaming smiles by
the ladies, and an almost uproarious welcome by the gentlemen.
The Don had already opened his heart to him before he had gotten
within introducing distance, charmed by his frank and manly
bearing, his hearty manner with the gentlemen, his gentle deference
to each lady in turn. So Billy’s sunny face, his cordial rushing hither
and thither to greet his friends, his cheery laugh as he exchanged a
bright word here and there,—a laugh that revealed a set of powerful
and large, though well-shaped teeth,—all this had lighted up the
thoughtful face of the Don with a sympathetic glow,—a glow that
vanished when, on their being introduced, Billy’s fist closed upon his
hand.
Mr. Billy was always a great favorite with me. Indeed, I like to think
of him as a kind of ideal young Virginian of those days,—so true,
and frank, and cordial, and unpretending. But there is one thing—I
have mentioned it above—that, as a historian, I am bound to
confess: Billy was addicted to playing on the fiddle.
“So, young ladies,” said my grandfather (for whose annual tunes no
one, somehow, had thought of calling), “you will have a fiddle to
dance by, after all.” A remark that elicited a joyous clapping of
hands; and there was a general stir for partners.
“Dares any man to speak to me of fiddling,” said Billy, “before I have
punished a few dozen of these bivalves?”
“That’s right, Billy! Dick, some oysters for Mr. Jones! They were
never better than this season!”
Billy passed into the next room, where Dick and his spouse began to
serve him with hospitable zeal.
“How was she, Marse Billy?”
Billy had just disposed of a monster that Dick had opened for him,
and was looking thoughtful.
“Uncle Dick, it almost makes me cry to think how much better that
oyster was than any we can get at the University; indeed it does.”
Dick chuckled with delight. “I believe you, Marse Billy; dey tells me
dere ain’t no better oysters in all Fidginny dan de Leicester oyster.”
Four or five students, who, like Billy, had run down home for the
holidays, had collected round the doorway leading into the library,
and with them several girls who were listening in a half-suppressed
titter to Billy’s solemn waggery. Lifting a huge “bivalve” on the
prongs of his fork, he contemplatively surveyed it.
“You are right, Uncle Dick; Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed
like one of these!”
“Jess so! What I tell you, Polly?” said Dick, straightening himself and
holding an unopened oyster in one hand and his knife in the other.
“Didn’t I say the Nuniversity was de most high-larnt school in de
Nunited States?”
Polly, being Mrs. Dick, had too great an admiration for that worthy’s
wisdom to do anything but simper assent.
“Jess so,”—and he held his eye upon her till he felt sure that she had
abandoned all thought of protesting against his dictum,—“eben so.
You right, Marse Billy; Solomon nor no other man never raised ’em
like one o’ dese. Ain’t you takin’ nothin’ to-night, Marse William? Dey
tells me toddy help a oyster powerful.”
“Uncle Dick,” exclaimed Billy, with admiring surprise, “how do you
manage always to know exactly what a fellow wants?”
“Marse William,”—and Dick drew himself up to his full height,—“I
ain’t been ’sociatin’ wid de quality all dese years for nothin’.”
The dancing being over at a reasonable hour,—Billy and the Herr
furnishing the music,—the ladies retired to their rooms in the “Great-
House,” leaving the gentlemen to their toddy and cigars; and a jovial
crew they became. Billy and the Herr bore a large part in the
entertainment of the company,—the former executing reel and jig
and jig and reel in dashing style,—the latter improvising
accompaniments,—his head thrown back, a cigar-stump between his
teeth, and contemplating, through his moist spectacles, with a
serene Teutonic merriment, the capers of the revellers, one or
another of whom could not, from time to time, resist the fascination
of the rhythm, but would spring to his feet and execute something in
the nature of a Highland fling or a double-shuffle, to the great
delight of the others, and of none more than my glorious old
grandfather. It is needless to remark that at each one of these
Terpsichorean exhibitions there was a suppressed roar of chuckles to
be heard issuing from the sable throng that crowded the door-ways,
and that there might have been seen as many rows of ivories as
there were heads massed together there.
“It is refreshing, Mr. Whacker,” observed the Don, whose reserve was
unmistakably thawing under the apple-toddy, “to see a man of your
age sympathizing so heartily with us youngsters in our enjoyments.”
“Yes,” remarked the old gentleman, lolling comfortably back in his
chair; “but I am not so sure that I have left all the fun to the
youngsters;” and he nodded towards his empty glass; “but I believe
I enjoy the capers of the boys more than the toddy.”
“Go it, Billy!” cried a student, as that artist dashed into a jig with a
zeal heightened by the enthusiasm of the now slightly boozy Herr.
“Bravo!” cried Mr. Whacker; “you will have to look to your laurels,
Charley.”
“Oh, I resign!” said Charley, examining the rag on his finger.
“By the way, Charley, you have not yet shown Mr. Smith the old
Guarnerius. Do you take any interest in such things?”
“I have a great curiosity to see it.”
“I am afraid it will not show off to advantage. I have forgotten to
have it mounted with strings this Christmas. Do you know that a
violin gets hoarse, as it were, from lying idle?”
“I have heard something of the kind.”
“I should have had it strung several days ago.”
“I put strings on it day before yesterday,” said Charley.
“Indeed!” said my grandfather; “but you were always thoughtful. Let
us have it, Charley.”
Charley’s return with the violin made a stir among the company. Billy
stopped his fiddling and came up, followed by all present, to see
opened the case that contained the wonderful instrument, which
was a sort of lion among the fiddlers of the county. My grandfather
unlocked the case with a certain nervous eagerness, raised the lid
almost reverently, and removing the padded silken covering which
protected it, “Now just look at that,” said the old gentleman, his eye
kindling.
I have often seen ladies take their female friends to the side of a
cradle, and softly turning down the coverlet, look up, as much as to
say, “Did you ever see anything half so beautiful?” And I must do the
female friends the justice to add that they always signified that they
never had; and I have often seen the subject of such unstinted
praise, when brought before males, pronounced a pretty enough
baby, but a baby seemingly in no wise different from all the babies
that are, have been, or shall be; and on such occasions I can recall,
methinks, some maiden aunt, for example, who has ended by
getting worried at the persistent inability of some obstinate young
fellow to see certain points of superiority about mouth, eyes, or
nose, which to her were very clear. And so it was on this occasion,
as on many previous ones, with my grandfather. He was always
amazed, when he showed his violin, at the polite coldness of the
praise that it received.
“Look at those f-holes,” said he, taking the violin out of its case;
“look at those clean-cut corners!” And everybody craned his neck
and tried to see the clean-cut corners. “What a contour!” exclaimed
the enthusiastic old gentleman, holding the instrument off at arm’s
length and gazing rapturously upon it. There was a murmur of
adhesion, as the French say.
“Splendid!” ejaculated Billy, feeling that something was due from him
as the fiddler of the evening; thereby drawing the gleaming eyes of
Mr. Whacker full upon him. “Splendid!” repeated he, in a somewhat
lower tone, and looking steadfastly at the violin; for he could not
look the old gentleman in the face,—knowing—the honest scamp—
that he was a fraud, and saw nothing wonderful in the instrument.
“Why, hand me that old gourd you have been playing on,” said Mr.
Whacker; and he snatched the fiddle from Billy’s hand. “Look at
those two scrolls, for example,” said the old gentleman, bumping
them together within three inches of Billy’s nose.
Billy took the two necks in his hands, screwed up his face, and tried
his best to look knowing; but his broad, genial countenance could
not bear the tension long; and a sudden flash of humor from his
kindly eyes set the company in a roar, in which my grandfather could
not help joining.
“Well, well,” said he, “I suppose I ought not to expect you to be a
connoisseur in violins. Would you like to examine it?” said Mr.
Whacker, thinking he detected a look of interest on the part of the
Don,—and he handed him the instrument.
The Unknown took it in an awkward and confused sort of way. My
grandfather looked chopfallen. “I thought that possibly you might
have seen Cremonas in Europe,” observed the old man timidly.
The Don bowed,—whether in assent or dissent was not clear; nor
was it any clearer, as he gently rocked it to and fro, examining the f-
holes and other points of what is known as the belly of the
instrument, whether he was moved by curiosity or by courtesy. A
motion of his wrist brought the back of the instrument in view. “By
Jove!” vehemently exclaimed the stranger, as a flood of golden light
flashed into his eyes from the unapproachable varnish; but he
colored and looked confused when he saw that his warmth had
drawn the eyes of all upon himself. Even Charley ceased examining
the bandage on his finger and quietly scrutinized the Don out of the
corners of his eyes.
But you should have seen your ancestor and mine, my dear boy. He
rose from his seat without saying a single word. There was an
expression of defiance in his fine brown eyes, not unmingled with
solemnity. He held out his upturned hands as though he were going
to begin a speech, I was going to say,—but it was not that. His look
and attitude were those of an advocate who has just brought a
poser to bear on opposing counsel. And such my grandfather felt
was his case. “For years,” his looks seemed to say, “I have been
chaffed about my Guarnerius by you bumpkins, and now here comes
a man who puts you all down by one word.” He looked from face to
face to see if any of the company had anything to say to the
contrary. At last his eve met Billy’s. That young gentleman, willing to
retrieve his disastrous defeat in the matter of scrolls and contours
and f-holes, again came to the front.
“Doesn’t it shine!” remarked that unfortunate youth, approvingly.
“Shine!” shouted my grandfather, indignantly,—“shine!” repeated he
with rising voice, and rapping the back of the violin with his
knuckles,—“do you call that shiny?” said he, with another rap, and
holding the instrument in front of Billy. “Why, a tin pan shines,—a
well-fed negro boy’s face shines,—and you say that shines,” he
added, with an argumentative rap. “Is that the way you are taught
to discriminate in the use of words at the University?” And the old
gentleman smiled, mollified by Billy’s evident confusion and the
shouts of laughter that greeted his discomfiture.
“Why, Uncle Tom, if that violin doesn’t shine, what does it do?”
“Why, it—well—I should say—ahem!—in fact, it—I—”
“What would you call it, Uncle Tom?” urged Billy, rallying bravely
from his rout, and trying to assume a wicked smile.
“What would I call it? I would call it—well—the violin—confound it! I
should hold my tongue rather than say that violin was shiny.” And
the old gentleman turned upon his heel and stalked across the
room; but Billy was not the man to relinquish his advantage.
“How, Uncle Tom, that is not fair,” said he, following up his
adversary, and holding on to the lappel of his coat in an
affectionately teasing manner. “Give us your word.”
“Shiny! shiny!” spluttered the old gentleman with testy scorn.
“Ah, but that won’t do. Let the company have your word, Uncle
Tom.” And the young rogue tipped a wink to a knot of students. “The
violin is—?”
“Effulgent!” shouted his adversary, wheeling upon him and bringing
down the violin, held in both hands, with a swoop.
I shall take the liberty here of assuming that my readers are, as I
was myself, till Charley enlightened me, ignorant of the fact that the
varnish of the violins of the old masters is considered a great point.
Collectors go into raptures over the peculiar lustre of their old
instruments, which, they say, is the despair of modern makers. I
have myself seen, or at least handled, but one of them,—my
grandfather’s old Guarnerius,—and that, certainly, was singularly
beautiful in this respect.
“Effulgent!” cried he, his noble brown eyes dilated, his head tossed
back and swaying from side to side,—tapping gently, with the finger-
nails of his right hand, the back of the violin, upon which the light of
a neighboring lamp danced and flamed. The students indicated to
Billy, in their hearty fashion, that he had got what he wanted, and
Mr. Whacker, spurred on by their approval, rose to the height of his
great argument.
“Just look at that,” said he, turning with enthusiasm to one of the
students,—“just look at that,” he repeated, flashing the golden light
into the eyes of another; “why, it almost seems to me that we have
here the very rays that, a century ago, this maple wood absorbed in
its pores from the sun of Italy.”
How much more my grandfather was going to say I know not; for he
was interrupted by a storm of applause from his young auditors.
“I say, boys, that’s a regular old-fashioned ‘curl,’” whispered one of
them.
“Uncle Tom,” said Billy, removing the bow from the case, “does this
effulge any?”
“But, Mr. Whacker,” observed a fat and jolly middle-aged gentleman,
“it strikes me that the important thing about a fiddle is its tone, not
its varnish. Now, do you really think your Cremona superior to a
twenty-dollar fiddle in tone? Honestly now, is there any difference
worth mentioning?”
“Any difference? Heavens above! Why, listen!” And the old
gentleman drew the bow slowly over double strings, till the air of the
room seemed to palpitate with the rich harmony. “Did you ever hear
anything like that?” exclaimed he, with flushing face; and he drew
the bow again and again. There were exclamations of admiration—
real or affected—all around the room.
The Don alone was silent.
I remember looking towards him with a natural curiosity to see what
he—the only stranger present—appeared to think of the instrument;
but he gave no sign,—none, at least, that I could interpret. He was
gazing fixedly at my grandfather with a sort of rapt look,—his head
bowed, his lips firmly compressed, but twitching a little. His eyes had
a certain glitter about them, strongly contrasting with their usual
expression of unobtrusive endurance. I looked towards Charley, but
his eyes did not meet mine; for he had turned his chair away from
the fire, and was scrutinizing the stranger’s face with a quiet but
searching look.
“It is a little hoarse from long disuse,” said Mr. Whacker, drawing the
bow slowly as before.
“Give us a tune, Uncle Tom?”
“Yes, yes!” joined in a chorus. “Give us a tune!”
“Pshaw!” said the old gentleman, “it would be a profanation to play a
‘tune’ on this instrument.”
“There is where I don’t agree with you, Mr. Whacker,” put in the fat
and jolly middle-aged gentleman. “The last time I was in Richmond I
went to hear Ole Bull; and such stuff as he played I wish never to
hear again,—nothing but running up and down the strings, with de’il
a bit of tune that I could see.”
“That’s precisely my opinion,” said another. “Confound their science,
say I.”
“Why, yes,” continued the jolly fat middle-aged gentleman,
encouraged. “The fact is, it spoils a fiddler to teach him his notes.
Music should come from the heart. Why, I don’t wish to flatter our
friend Billy here, but, so far as I am concerned, I would rather hear
him than all the Ole Bulls and Paganinis that ever drew a bow.”
“Rather hear Billy? I should think so! Why, any left-handed negro
fiddler can beat those scientific fellows all hollow.”
My grandfather, during the passage at arms that ensued upon the
expression of these sentiments, grew rather warm, and at last
appealed to the Don. He, as though loath to criticise the
performance of our friend Billy, spoke guardedly. “I should think,”
said he, “that music would be like anything else,—those who
devoted most time to it would be most proficient.”
“Of gourse!” broke in the Herr, who had not allowed the discussion
to draw him very far from the bowl of toddy. “Now, joost look at
unser frient Pilly. Dot yung mon has a real dalent for de feedle,—but
vot he blay? Noding als reels unt cheeks unt zuch dinks. Joost sent
dot yung mon one time nach Europen, unt by a goot master.
Donnerwetter, I show you somedink! Tausendteufels!” added he,
draining his glass, “vot for a feedler dot yung Pilly make!”
I may remark that just in proportion as the Herr mollified his water
did he dilute his English. Just in proportion as he approached the
bottom of a punch-bowl did the language of Shakespeare and Milton
become to him an obscure idiom.
“Won’t you try its tone?” said Mr. Whacker, offering the violin and
bow to the Don.
“Oh,” replied he, deprecatingly.
“It’s of no consequence that you can’t play,” insisted the old
gentleman. “Just try the tone. Here, this way,” added he, putting the
violin under the Don’s chin.
It may seem strange that I, a bachelor, should be so fond of
illustrating my scenes by means of babies; but as the whole frame-
work and cast of this story compels me to marry at some future day,
I may be allowed to say that the Don held the violin just as I have
seen young fellows hold an infant that had been thrust into their
arms by some mischievous young girl. Afraid to refuse to take it lest
the mother be hurt, they are in momentary terror lest it fall.
“There! So!” exclaimed the old gentleman, adjusting the instrument.
While every one else smiled at the scene, Charley was, strangely
enough, almost convulsed with a noiseless chuckle that brought the
tears into his eyes.
“The old boy feels his toddy,” thought I.
The Don began to scrape dismally.
“Ah, don’t hold the bow so much in the middle!—So!—That’s better!
—Now pull away! Keep the bow straight!—There, that’s right! So!—”
Charley rocked in his seat.
“Now, up! Down! Up! Down! Up! Very good! Down! Up! Bow
straight!—”
Charley leaped from his chair and held his sides. Well, even Cato
occasionally moistened his clay.
“So! Better still! Excellent! Upon my word, you are an apt scholar!”
Charley dropped into his seat, threw back his head, and shut his
eyes.
The Don paused, smiling.
“What a tone!” exclaimed my grandfather. “Oh!” cried he with
intense earnestness, “if—if I could but hear, once again, an artist
play upon that violin!”
The smile passed from the Unknown’s face. A strange look came into
his eyes, as though his thoughts were far away. His chin relaxed its
hold upon the violin and pressed upon his breast. His right arm
slowly descended till the tip of the bow almost touched the floor;
and there he stood, his eyes fixed upon the ground. A stillness
overspread the company. No one moved a muscle save Charley. He,
with an odd smile in his eyes, softly drew from his pocket a small
pen-knife and held it in his left hand, with the nail of his right thumb
in the notch of the blade.
Slowly, and as if unconsciously to himself, the Don’s right arm began
to move. The violin rose, somehow, till it found its way under his
chin.
Charley opened his knife.
There were signs in the Unknown’s countenance of a sharp but
momentary struggle, when his right arm suddenly sprang from its
pendent position, and the wrist, arched like the neck of an Arab
courser, stood, for a second, poised above the bridge.
Charley passed the blade of his knife through the threads that bound
the bandage about his finger, and the linen rag fell to the floor; and
he rose and folded his arms across his breast.
The bow descended upon the G string. The stranger gave one of
those quick up-strokes with the lowest inch of the horse-hair,
followed by a down-stroke of the whole length of the bow.
 CHAPTER XXX.

The note sounded was the lower A, produced, if I may be allowed to

enrich my style with a borrowed erudition, by stopping the G string
with the first finger. Whimsical as the idea may seem to a musician, I
have always considered this the noblest tone within the register of
the violin; and such an A I had never before heard. I have already
mentioned the extraordinary acoustical properties of this room, the
very air of which seemed to palpitate, the very walls to tremble
beneath the powerful vibrations. The deep, long-drawn tone ceased,
and again the wrist stood for a moment arched above the bridge. A
breathless stillness reigned throughout the room, while the Don
stood there, with pale face, his dark eyes “in a fine frenzy rolling,”—
stood there, one might say, in a trance, forgetful of his audience,
forgetful of self, unconscious of all else save the violin clasped
between chin and breast. Down came the fingers of the left hand;
with them the bow descended, this time upon all four strings; and
four notes leaped forth, crisp, clear, and sparkling, brilliant as
shooting-stars! Then chord after chord; and, in mad succession,
arpeggios, staccatos, pizzicatos, chromatic scales, octaves, fierce,
dizzy leaps from nut to bridge, cries of joy, mutterings of rage,
moans of despair, all were there,—a very pandemonium of sound!
It was not a composition,—hardly an improvisation, even; for neither
was key sustained nor time observed. It resembled, more than
anything else I can compare it to, the mad carolling of a mocking-
bird as he flaps and sails from the topmost branch of a young tulip
poplar to another hard by, pouring forth in scornful profusion his
exhaustless and unapproachable tide of song, little recking what
comes first and what next,—whether the clear whistle of the
partridge, the shrill piping of the woodpecker, or the gentle plaint of
the turtle-dove.
And the mad dancing of the bow went on, amid a silence that was
absolute. But it was a silence like that of a keg of gunpowder, where
a spark suffices to release the imprisoned forces.
The spark came in the shape of an interjection from the deep chest
of Uncle Dick.
But how am I to represent that interjection to posterity?
There came a pause.
“Umgh-u-m-g-h!” grunted our venerable butler. And straightway
there ensued a scene which—
But future ages must first be told precisely what Uncle Dick said; for,
as all Virginians, at least, know, when you limit yourself to reporting
of a man that he said umgh-umgh, you have given a meagre and
inadequate, certainly an ambiguous, interpretation of his sentiments.
Not to go into any refinements, it suffices to say that besides a score
of other umgh-umghs of radically distinct significance, there are
umgh-umghs which mean yes, and umgh-umghs which mean no.
For example, “Dearest, do you love me?” Now the umgh-umgh that
may be supposed in this case is a kind of flexible, india-rubber yes,
ranging all the way from “Perhaps” to “Oh, most dearly!” (but
Charley says that it is umgh-humgh, not umgh-umgh, that means
yes;) now follow up your question with a demonstration as though
you would test matters,—umgh-umgh! What a no is there! “Are you
crazy? Right out here in the summer-house! with people strolling all
around, and the vines so thin that—”
Now, Uncle Dick’s umgh-umgh was not at all an umgh-umgh
affirmative, still less an umgh-umgh negative. ’Twas rather an umgh-
umgh eulogistic, as though he said, Words are inadequate to
express my feelings. Now, a less painstaking author than myself
would say no more just here; aware that every Virginian, at least,
knows what is meant by the umgh-umgh eulogistic; but the
contemporary reader must pardon me for reminding him that this
book has not been written entirely, or even mainly, for him, but
rather for generations yet unborn,—notably the generations of the
Whackers. I esteem it, therefore, singularly fortunate that my friend
Charley happens to have made an exhaustive study of this same
umgh-umgh language, and especially so that he has been at the
pains of elucidating his subject by means of a musical notation.
Know, then, oh, propinqui longinqui!—oh, manus innumerabiles
Whackerorum!—that the exact sound uttered by that
unapproachable Automedon was:

“An andante scherzando?” exclaimed my grandfather, on seeing the

notation; “how is that?”
“’Tis because mine Uncle Richard hath neglected the study of
thorough bass; hence he warbleth his native wood-notes wild,”
quoth Charley.
But to return to the scene in the Hall. And I beg that the reader will
place himself entirely in my hands, while I endeavor to make him
realize every feature of that scene,—for it really occurred just as he
will find it recorded.
Figure to yourselves, then, my countless readers and admirers, first
the Hall itself, with its lofty ceiling and its spacious, well-waxed floor
of heart-pine so nicely joined that it was a sound-board in itself. At
one end of the room stood a piano; at the other was a vast open
fireplace, in which, supported by tall and glistening andirons, there
glowed a noble fire of hickory logs five feet long. The furniture in the
room was peculiar, consisting of a square table of exceeding
lightness, and chairs that you might toss in the air with your little
finger,—all with a view to the least possible weight upon the floor,—
though I must say that they were often the means of bringing heavy
weights in contact with it. Add to these a lounge of slenderest
proportions, upon which my grandfather loved to recline, pipe in
mouth, whenever any music was going forward; and you have all
the furniture that the room possessed. Of other objects there were
absolutely none upon the floor, except four cases containing the
instruments needful to a string quartet; and these stood each in its
own corner, as though on ill terms. The old gentleman had banished
from the Hall even his collection of music, great piles of which were
stowed away in the adjoining room; for he insisted that its weight
would mar the resonance of the Hall. It remains but to add that
upon the walls no painting or engraving was allowed. Their smooth
finish showed no crack,—so that the Herr used to say that the hall, if
strung, would have been a very goot feedle for Bolyphemoos, or
some oder of dem chiant singers to blay on.
So much for the Hall, around which, on the Christmas Eve in
question, were grouped nearly all my grandfather’s slaves old
enough to be out on so cold a night, reinforced by many of
Charley’s.
And I am not so sure that the outsiders were not having a merrier
time than the insiders. For every now and then, throughout the
evening, my grandfather might have been seen passing glasses of
toddy or eggnog to one or another of the favorite old servants, as he
observed them in the throng; and Charley and I saw that the rest
had no cause to feel slighted. All had their share,—if not of toddy, at
least of that without which all toddy is a delusion and a shadow.
Then the sound of Jones’s fiddle could not be kept within-doors, and
such of them as despaired of forcing their way through the masses
around the windows and doors had formed rings, where, by the light
of the wintry moon, the champion dancers of the two farms
exhibited to admiring throngs what they knew about the double-
shuffle and the break-down; and the solid earth resounded beneath
the rhythm of their brogans. To me, I remember, they seemed
happy, at the time; which goes to show how little I knew about
happiness,—and I believe that they too were under the same
delusion; but their early educations had been neglected.
Happy or wretched, however, let them form a frame, as it were, for
the picture I would conjure up for my reader. The first note drawn
forth by the Don had arrested their attention, and there was a rush
for every spot from which a view could be had of the performer. See
them, therefore, a few of the older ones just inside the door, the less
fortunate craning their necks behind, and upon their faces that rapt
attention which is an inspiration to an artist. See those others who,
huddled upon boxes and barrels piled beneath the windows, are
flattening their noses, one might almost say, against the lower
panes. At the library door stood one or two tidy house-maids. Uncle
Dick, alone, stood near the roaring fire, he assuming that his
services were required.
“Hi! what dat?” exclaimed a youngster, when the strange sound first
broke upon his ear; for he could not see the Don from where he
stood.
“Heish, boy!” broke in a senior, in stern rebuke; “Don’t you see ’tis
de new gent’mun a-playin’ on the fiddle?” And silence reigned again,
—a silence broken, from time to time, by a low, rippling chuckle of
intense delight, and illumined, one might say, by the whites of an
hundred pairs of wondering eyes.
And now let us glance at the dozen gentlemen who sat within,
beginning with my dear old grandfather.
At the first long-drawn, sonorous note he had sprung to his feet;
and there he stood, with both hands raised and extended as though
he commanded silence. And his countenance! never had I seen it
look so beautiful! A happy smile lit up his noble face, and he seemed
to say as he looked from Charley to me, and from me to Charley, “At
last!” And Charley stood leaning against a corner of the mantel-
piece, with his arms folded, replying to his friend with sympathetic
glances. It was plain to see that he was happy in his old friend’s
happiness, but there was a droll twinkle in his eyes that even he
could not suppress, though he bit his lip. What it meant I could not,
of course, divine.
It was a treat to behold the Herr on this occasion. With his forearm
resting on the table, his fingers toying with the stem of his goblet,
he leaned back in his chair and smiled, through his gold-rimmed
spectacles, with a look of profound Germanic content and good
nature. Not once did he remove his benignant eyes from the Don,
not even when he raised his half-full glass to his lips and drained it
to the last drop. Even then he watched, out of the corner of his eye,
the fantastic caperings of the bow and the labyrinthine wanderings
of the performer’s fingers; and slowly replacing his glass upon the
table, stroked his long and straggling beard so softly that he seemed
to fear that the sparse hairs would mar the music by their rattling.
One word will suffice for the jolly, fat, middle-aged gentleman. He
sat with his mouth wide open, tilting back in one of my grandfather’s
skeleton chairs.
Now, that was not safe.
But there is one face that I shall not attempt to describe,—that of
young Jones, the University man, upon whom it flashed, like a
revelation, that he had been, without knowing it, fiddling away for
hours in the presence of an artist. It naturally occurred to Billy that a
huge joke had been perpetrated at his expense; and after the first
few notes, he tried to nerve himself to meet the explosion of
laughter that he momentarily expected. But his furtive glances from
side to side detected no one looking his way,—no symptom of a
joke, in fact,—so that the flush of confusion began to recede,
supplanted by a glow of enthusiasm. I leave it to the reader, then, to
imagine the play of expression on the countenance of this big, manly
fellow,—rejoicing in his strength, and brimful of rollicking humor,
loving a joke even at his own expense, as he stood there before the
Don; at one time carried away by the impetuosity of the performer,
at another flushing up to his eyes when he reflected that, if no one
else had served him that turn, he, at least, had made a fool of
himself.
This is tableau No. 1, but, for clearness’ sake, let me retouch its
outlines.
A large room, with a roaring fire at one end, and doors open,
Virginia fashion. In the doors and windows a background—or
blackground—of colored brethren and sisters, exhibiting a breathless
delight, all their teeth, and the largest surface, functionary
practicable, of the whites of their eyes. Within, stands my
grandfather, on tiptoe, with outstretched arms, which wave gently
up and down, as, from time to time, snatches of rhythm drop out of
the chaos of chords and runs that are pouring from his Guarnerius.
Next the jolly fat middle-aged gentleman, tilting back, open-
mouthed, in one of Mr. Whacker’s phantom chairs, and rather near
the fire. Then Mr. William Jones himself, who just at this moment has
compressed his lips, and resolved that he will smash his fiddle and
break his bow just so soon as he reaches No. 28, East Lawn, U. V.
Then there is the Herr Waldteufel, smiling through clouded glasses,
but not darkly. Then—to omit half a dozen gentlemen—there was
the inscrutable Charley, leaning, with a certain subdued twinkle in
his eyes, against one end of the mantel-piece, while near the other
stood, in respectful attitude, Uncle Dick, his hands clasped in front of
his portly person, his bald head bent low, his left ear towards the
music, his eyes fixed askance upon the fire to his right.
Midst this scene of perfect stillness stood the Don,—his body
swaying to and fro. The old Guarnerius seemed to be waking from
its long slumber, and, as if conscious that once more a master held
it, to be warming to its work. The music grew madder. At last there
came some fierce chords, then a furious fortissimo chromatic scale
of two or three octaves, with a sudden and fantastic finish of fairy-
like harmonics,—the snarling of a tiger, one might say, echoed by the
slender pipings of a phantom cicada:
 CHAPTER XXXI.

It was a match to the mine, that umgh-umgh eulogistic, and the

explosion was tremendous; for my grandfather’s toddy-bowl, though
wide and deep, was now nearly empty. In an instant every man was
on his feet, cheering at the top of his voice. Such hats as were
available, seized without regard to ownership, were frantically
whirling in the air; tumblers went round in dizzy circles; centrifugal
toddy was splashing in every direction; while the rear ranks of the
colored cohorts were scrambling over the backs of those in front, to
catch a glimpse of the scene. In the midst of it all, the honest Herr
was to be seen rushing to and fro, lustily shouting out some
proposition as to the health of the stranger. He was brandishing his
goblet, which he had managed to fill, notwithstanding the confusion,
and offering to chink glasses with any and all comers, when, as ill
luck would have it, he ran into one of the students as enthusiastic as
himself, and the twain suddenly found themselves holding in their
hands nothing but the stems of their goblets.
“Ah, mein freund,” said he, with a glance at his soaked shirt-front,
“vot for a poonch vas dat!”
“Very good, very good!” cried the student, with a rousing slap on his
shoulder; for a vague feeling came over the young man that one of
the Herr’s puns was lurking somewhere in the mist.
But the most striking figure in tableau No. 2 was that of my
grandfather. As soon as Uncle Dick’s applauding grunt had broken
the spell that held the company, and while all were cheering lustily,
he rushed up to the Don, and placed his hands in an impressive way
on his shoulders. The cheering suddenly ceased, and all listened
intently save the Herr and his student, who, having found fresh
tumblers, were busy scooping up the last of the punch.
“My friend,” said my grandfather, “Charley and I are but two in this
big house,”—and there was a simple pathos in his manner and
tones.—“Won’t you live with us—for good?”
Tremendous applause greeted this rather thorough-going invitation;
and tableau No. 2 dissolved in confusion; in the midst of which stood
the Don, bowing and laughing, and wisely holding high above his
head the precious violin.
“Ah, dere spoke de Barrone!” quoth the Herr, balancing himself, and
clinking half-filled glasses with his student.
“Good for Uncle Tom!” echoed the latter.
“So!” chimed in the Herr, blinking at the ceiling through the bottom
of his tumbler.
“I am in downright earnest, I assure you,” urged Mr. Whacker, on
remarking the pleased merriment of the Don. “Eh, Charley?”
“So say we all of us!” said Charley, with jovial earnestness, and
shaking, with great cordiality, the stranger’s right hand, whence I
had removed the bow.
Uncle Dick now came to the fore again. Uncle Richard was a
humorist, and, with all the tact of his race, knew perfectly well, how,
while preserving a severe decorum of form, to make his little hit. So
now, turning to Aunt Polly, with a look on his face of childlike
simplicity, beneath which lurked a studied unconsciousness, he
asked, in the most artless stage-whisper,—
“Polly, whar’s Marse William Jones?” And rising on his toes and
letting his under jaw drop, as one will when peering over the heads
of a crowd in search of a friend’s face, he ran his eyes, with a kind of
unobtrusive curiosity, over group after group, till they met Marse
William’s; then instantly dropped them as if he simply desired to be
assured that his Marse William was there. ’Twas perfect art, and the
effect electric. In an instant all eyes were fixed on Billy. Uproarious
laughter burst forth from the company, in the midst of which the
students made a rush for the unhappy fiddler. He had hardly one
second’s time given him to decide what to do; but before his friends
reached him he had bowed himself, and, with one leap, sprung far
under the table, where he lay flat upon the floor, with his face buried
in his hands, convulsed with almost hysterical laughter.
“Haul him out! haul him out!” rose on all sides, and—
But just here I must permit myself a philosophical reflection, the
truth of which will be readily acknowledged by all publicans and
sinners, and such other disreputable persons as, in company with
those like-minded with themselves, have looked upon the wine when
it was red. It is this: That fun is literally intoxicating, At a wine-party
of young men, for example, all things will go on smoothly for hours.
Conversation is going forward pleasantly, or speeches heard with
decorum. A pleasant exhilaration is to be observed, but nothing
more. Then there will arise, by chance, some one, who, we will say,
shall sing a capital new comic song, calling on the company to join in
the chorus. At the close of that song you shall wonder what has
happened to everybody. Why does your right-hand neighbor throw
his arm across your shoulder and call you old boy? What sudden and
inexplicable thirst is this that has seized upon the man on your left,
that he should be calling for champagne so lustily? What is that little
fellow, at the other end of the table, doing there, standing up in his
chair, and waving his glass? What strange glow is this that has
flashed through your frame, bearing along with it the conviction that
you are all glorious fellows and having a glorious time?
“Haul him out! haul him out!” And instantly the students dived, pell-
mell, under the table. It would be simply impossible to describe the
scene that followed. Under the table there was an inextricably
entangled mass of vigorous young fellows, some on their heads,
others on their backs, with their heels in the air, tugging away with
might and main at each other’s arms and legs; for safety, as to the
Greeks at Salamis, had arisen for Jones from the very numbers of
his foes. Meantime the table danced and bumped over the floor,
rocking and tossing above this human earthquake; while around it
there arose such peals of uproarious laughter as one could not
expect to hear twice in a life-time.
“Mein Gott!” gasped the Herr, falling up against the piano, and
wiping his streaming eyes, “mein Gott, how many funs!”
But the scene did not last half so long as I have been in painting it.
It was the middle-aged fat gentleman that, in the twinkling of an
eye, put an end to all this tumultuous laughter, or, at any rate, drew
its brunt upon himself.
The M. A. F. G., as above stated, was tilting back in one of my
grandfather’s slender chairs, in front of the fire, balancing himself on
tiptoe, and rocking to and fro with uncontrollable laughter. In front
of him a student was backing out from under the table, all doubled
up, his head not yet free from its edge, and tugging away manfully
at the leg of a comrade. Suddenly the foot he held resigned its boot
to his keeping. The M. A. F. G. could hardly tell, afterwards, what it
was that, like a battering-ram of old, smote him at the junction of
vest and trousers; but it would seem to have been that student’s
head. Up flew his heels, crash went the chair, and, quicker than
thought, he was sprawling upon his back in the midst of that roaring
hickory fire. A dozen hands seized and dragged him forth. Jones and
his fiddle were forgotten; and he and his young friends emerged
from under the table to join in the shouts of laughter that greeted
the M. A. F. G., as he capered briskly about, brushing the coals and
ashes from his broad back, and belabored by his friends, who were
assisting him in saving his coat.
“Tausendteufels! vot for a shbree!” And the Herr sank exhausted
upon the piano-stool.[1]
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