Round of Girls in Venice.
No. 11.
Miss Jennia Jones.
This childish drama has been familiar in the Middle States since the memory of the oldest inhabitant. The Scotch equivalent shows that the heroine's name was originally Jenny jo. "Jo" is an old English word for sweetheart, probably a corruption of joy, French joie, used as a term of endearment. Jenny my joy has thus been modernized into Miss Jennia (commonly understood to be a contraction for Virginia) Jones!
The story is originally a love-tale. The young lady, like Rosetina in the Venetian song (a part of which we have translated above) dies of blighted affection and the prohibition of cruel parents. The suitor, in America, is represented by feminine friends. Yet the drama has lived; a proof that in singing and playing love-tales the children rather imitated their elders than followed a necessity of their own nature.
From various versions we select the following:
A mother, seated. Miss Jennia Jones stands behind her chair, or reclines on her lap as if lying sick. A dancer advances from the ring.
"I've come to see Miss Jennia Jones,
Miss Jennia Jones, Miss Jennia Jones—
I've come to see Miss Jennia Jones,
And how is she to-day?"
"She's up-stairs washing,
Washing, washing—
She's up-stairs washing,
You cannot see her to-day."
The questions are repeated to the same air for every day of the week, and the reply is that Miss Jennia Jones is ironing, baking, or scrubbing. She is then represented as sick, as worse, and finally as dead, which announcement is received with signs of deep grief. The dancers of the ring then discuss the costume in which she shall be buried:
"What shall we dress her in,
Dress her in, dress her in;
What shall we dress her in—
Shall it be blue?"
"Blue is for sailors,
So that will never do."
"What shall we dress her in,
Shall it be red?"
"Red is for firemen,
So that will never do."
"Pink is for babies,
So that will never do."
"Green is forsaken,
So that will never do."
"Black is for mourners,
So that will never do."
"White is for dead people,
So that will just do."
"Where shall we bury her?
Under the apple-tree."
After the ceremonies of burial have been completed, the ghost of Miss Jennia Jones suddenly arises—
"I dreamt I saw a ghost last night,
Ghost last night, ghost last night—
I dreamt I saw a ghost last night,
Under the apple-tree!"
The ring breaks up, and flies with shrieks, and the one caught is to represent Miss Jennia Jones.
An interesting feature of our game is the symbolism of color. "Each of these colors," says an informant, "which denoted a profession, also typified a feeling. Thus, blue, which is said to be for sailors, suggested constancy."
In one version of the game, which comes to us from an Irish source, green is for grief, red for joy, black for mourning, and white for death. In another such version, white is for angels, and is the chosen color; a reading we would willingly adopt, as probably more ancient, and as expressing the original seriousness of the whole, and the feeling which the color of white symbolized. In more common Irish phrase, green is for Irish, yellow for Orangemen. In Cincinnati, purple is for kings and queens, gray for Quakers. In a Connecticut variation, yellow is for glad folks.
An English saying corresponds closely to the significance of colors in our game:
Blue is true, yellow is jealous,
Green is forsaken, red is brazen,
White is love, and black is death.
A variation from West Virginia makes the question apply to the dress of the mourners, not of the deceased: "What shall we dress in?" "In our red, in our blue," etc., are rejected, and the decision is, "In our white."
Such imitations of burial ceremonies are not merely imaginative. It was once the custom for the girls of a village to take an active part in the interment of one of their number. In a Flemish town, a generation since, when a young girl died, her body was carried to the church, thence to the cemetery, by her former companions. "The religious ceremony over, and the coffin deposited in the earth, all the young girls, holding in one hand the mortuary cloth, returned to the church, chanting the maiden's dance with a spirit and rhythm scarcely conceivable by one who has not heard it. The pall which they carried to the church was of sky-blue silk, having in the middle a great cross of white silk, on which were set three crowns of silver."
The following is a rendering of the "Maiden's Dance:"
In heaven is a dance;
Alleluia!
There dance all the maids;
Benedicamus Domino—
Alleluia!
It is for Amelia;
Alleluia!
We dance like the maids;
Benedicamus Domino—
Alleluia!
Such touching customs show the profound original earnestness underlying the modern child's play, as well as the primitive religious significance of the dance. In England, too, it was the practice for the bearers of a virgin to be maids, as a ballad recites:
A garland fresh and faire
Of lilies there was made,
In signe of her virginity,
And on her coffin laid.
Six maidens, all in white,
Did beare her to the grave.
No. 12.
Down She Comes as White as Milk.
This round is remarkable for being introduced, wherever it occurs, by a stanza with a different melody, whereby the ballad is turned into a game. By this introduction the hero and heroine of the action are selected.
"Little Sally Waters," or "Uncle John," having been first played, the round proceeds about the couple standing in the ring:
He knocks at the door, and picks up a pin,
And asks if Miss —— is in.
She neither is in, she neither is out,
She's in the garret a-walking about.
Down she comes as white as milk,
A rose in her bosom, as soft as silk.
She takes off her gloves, and shows me a ring;
To-morrow, to-morrow, the wedding begins.[53]
Concord, Mass. (before 1800).
The version now played in New York streets is corrupt, but has a spirited melody:
Wa-ter, wa-ter, wild-flowers, grow-ing up so high;
We are all young la-dies, And we are sure to die,
Ex-cept-ing Su-sie Al-len, She is the fin-est flow-er.
Fie, fie, fie for shame; Turn about and tell your beau's name.
The girl complying, the ballad proceeds—
Mr. Nobody is a nice young man,
He comes to the door with his hat in his hand.
Down she comes, all dressed in silk,
A rose in her bosom, as white as milk.
She takes off her gloves, she shows me her ring,
To-morrow, to-morrow, the wedding begins.
The song before us furnishes a good example of the persistency of childish tradition. Not only is it still current in New England and the Middle States, with words closely corresponding to those given in our version of almost a century since, but these words are also nearly identical with the language of the round as we are told it is sung at the present day in Ireland.
Of a type similar to the foregoing is an ancient and curious, but unpublished, nursery song,[54] the first lines of which, at least, will be familiar to some of our readers:
Sing, sparrow, sing!
What shall I sing?
All the boys in our town have gone courting;
All but little Charley,
And he stays at home,
And he says he'll have Mary,
Or else he'll have none.
Row, boat, row!
Where shall I row?
Up to little Mary's door.
Out jumps little Charley in his boots and spurs,
And goes to the door, and pulls at the string—
"Where's little Mary? Is she within?"
"Miss Mary's up-stairs, a-making a cap."
Then down comes Miss Mary, as white as the milk,
All dressed in pink posies and sweet pretty silk,
And goes to the cupboard, and takes up the can,
And drinks to little Charley, a pretty little man.
He takes her in his lap, and pares her nails,[55]
And gives her a posy of peacock's tails,
And rings and jewels fit for her hand,
And tells little Mary he'll come again.
The mention in this rhyme of the cupboard and the can carries us to a time not so remote indeed in years, but far removed in customs. At the beginning of the century, in the old colonial towns, tumblers were unknown; the silver can stood on the table, and was passed from hand to hand at the meal, the elders drinking first. This usage was accompanied with much ceremony. An informant (born in Salem, Mass.), whose memory goes back almost to the beginning of the century, recollects how, when it came to be his turn to drink, he was obliged to rise and wipe his lips (the use of the same vessel by a whole family made this habit proper), and repeat the words, while parents and friends laid down knives and forks and looked on, "Duty to Sir and Ma'am, respects to aunt, love to brother and sister, and health to myself." Sometimes, he said, sensitive children would rather "go dry" than endure this ordeal.
No. 13.
Little Sally Waters.
A girl in the centre of the ring, seated, and covering her face with her hands. At the word "rise," she chooses and salutes any one whom she pleases.
Little Sally Waters,
Sitting in the sun,
Crying and weeping,
For a young man.
Rise, Sally, rise,
Dry your weeping eyes,
Fly to the East,
Fly to the West,
Fly to the one you love best.
In the north of England the heroine's name is Sally Walker:
Sally Walker, Sally Walker,
Come spring-time and love—
She's lamenting, she's lamenting,
All for her young man.
A ballad situation has been united with a dance-rhyme.
No. 14.
Here Sits the Queen of England.
Here sits the Queen of England in her chair,
She has lost the true love that she had last year;
So rise upon your feet, and kiss the first you meet,
For there's many around your chair.
Georgia.
No. 15.
Green Gravel.
A girl sits in the ring, and turns her head gravely as a messenger advances, while the rest sing to a pleasing air—
Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green,
And all the free masons (maidens) are ashamed (arrayed?) to "be seen;"[56]
O Mary, O Mary, your true love is dead,
The king sends you a letter to turn back your head.[57]
There are only two lines left of the ballad, or rather reminiscence of one.
A French round begins similarly: "Ah, the bringer of letters! What news is this? Ah, it is news that you must change your love.[58] Must I change my love, I prefer to die; he is not here, nor in France; he is in England, where he serves the gracious king." To this fragment belong the ancient verses which we have set as the motto of Chapter II. of our Introduction. All the other ladies of Paris are at the dance; the king's daughter alone "regarde À cotÉ," "turns her head," looking at a messenger who is approaching; he brings news of her love's unfaithfulness; a rival skilled in magic arts has enchanted him, in the far country where he is warring. There is no more left of the ancient ballad, which, we presume, went on to describe her departure in man's costume, and rescue of her lover. We cannot prove the identity of our fragment, but we see how the child's game may have arisen.
No. 16.
Uncle John.
A ring of dancers who circle and sing—
Uncle John is very sick, what shall we send him?
A piece of pie, a piece of cake, a piece of apple-dumpling.[59]
What shall we send it in? In a piece of paper.
Paper is not fine[60] enough; in a golden saucer.
Who shall we send it by? By the governor's[61] daughter.
Take her by the lily-white hand, and lead her over the water.
After the words "governor's daughter" all the dancers fall down, and the last down stands apart, selects her confidential friend, and imparts with great mystery the initials of some boy in whom she takes an interest. She then returns, and takes her place in the ring with face reversed, while the friend announces the initials, and the dancers sing, using the letters given—
A. B., so they say,
Goes a-courting night and day,
Sword and pistol by his side,
And —— —— to be his bride;
Takes her by the lily-white hand,
And leads her o'er the water—
Here's a kiss, and there's a kiss
For Mr. ——'s daughter.
If the person representing "Uncle John" be a boy, his full name comes first in this rhyme, and the initials of the girl are used.
The choice of the confidante is said to require as much deliberation as the selection of an ambassador of state.
Hartford, Conn.
This is one of the most familiar of all children's rounds in our country. It is, we see, a love-history; and, thrice vulgarized as it is, bears traces of ancient origin, and may perhaps be the last echo of the mediÆval song in which an imprisoned knight is saved from approaching death by the daughter of the king, or soldan, who keeps him in confinement.[62]
No. 17.
King Arthur was King William's Son.
A row of hats of various sizes, and belonging to both sexes, are placed on the floor. The leader picks up the first hat, and puts it on his own head, marching and singing the verse. He then takes up the next hat, and places it on the head of any one he pleases; the person chosen stands behind him, and they once more march, singing. The process is continued, until all the company are arranged in line:
King Arthur was King William's son,
And when the battle he had won,
Upon his breast he wore a star,
And it was called the sign of war.
Orange, New Jersey.
The following rhyme is exceedingly familiar, throughout the Middle and Southern States, as a kissing-round:
King William was King James's son, And all the roy-al race he run; Upon
his breast he wore a star, And it was called the sign of war.
King William was King James's son,[63]
And all the royal race he run;
Upon his head he wore a star.
Star of the East,
Star of the West,
Star of the one you love the best.
If she's not here don't take her part,
But choose another with all your heart.
Down on the carpet you must kneel,
As the grass grows on the field,
Salute your bride, and kiss her sweet,
And rise again upon your feet.
The round is also familiar in Ireland. We learn from an informant that in her town it was formerly played in a peculiar manner. Over the head of a girl, who stood in the centre of a ring, was held a shawl, sustained by four others grasping the corners. The game then proceeded as follows:
King William was King George's son—
From the Bay of Biscay, O!
Upon his breast he wore a star—
Find your way to English schools.
Then followed the game-rhyme, repeated with each stanza, "Go choose you East," etc. King William is then supposed to enter—
The first girl that I loved so dear,
Can it be she's gone from me?
If she's not here when the night comes on,
Will none of you tell me where she is gone?
He recognizes the disguised girl—
There's heart beneath the willow-tree,
There's no one here but my love and me.
"He had gone to the war, and promised to marry her when he came back. She wrapped a shawl about her head, to see if he would recognize her." This was all the reciter could recollect; the lines of the ballad were sung by an old woman, the ring answering with the game-rhyme.
Waterford, Ireland.
The round now in use in the town whence this comes, but where the ballad is not at present known, begins:
King William was King George's son—
From the Bay of Biscay, O!
Upon his breast he wore a star—
Point your way across the sea.
In the year 1287, Folke Algotson, a high-born Swedish youth, carried off to Norway (at that time the refuge of such boldness) Ingrid, a daughter of the "law-man" or judge of East Gothland, who was betrothed to a Danish noble. Popular ballads attached themselves to the occurrence, which are still preserved. The substance of that version of the story with which we are concerned is as follows: A youth loves a maid, who returns his affection, but in his absence her friends have "given" her to another. He rides to the wedding ceremony with a troop of followers. The bride, seeing him approach, and wishing to test his affection, calls on her maidens to "take off her gold crown, and coif her in linen white." But the hero at once recognizes his love, mounts with her on horseback, and flees to Norway.
We cannot believe the resemblance to be accidental, and look upon our rhymes as a branch from the same ancient—but not historical—root.
No. 18.
Little Harry Hughes and the Duke's Daughter.
The writer was not a little surprised to hear from a group of colored children, in the streets of New York city (though in a more incoherent form) the following ballad. He traced the song to a little girl living in one of the cabins near Central Park, from whom he obtained this version. The hut, rude as the habitation of a recent squatter on the plains, was perched on a rock still projecting above the excavations which had been made on either side, preparatory to the erection of the conventional "brown-stone fronts" of a New York street. Rocks flung by carelessly managed explosions flew over the roof, and clouds of dust were blown by every wind into the unswept hovel. In this unlikely spot lingered the relics of old English folk-song, amid all the stir of the busiest of cities. The mother of the family had herself been born in New York, of Irish parentage, but had learned from her own mother, and handed down to her children, such legends of the past as the ballad we cite. A pretty melody gave popularity to the verse, and so the thirteenth-century tradition, extinct perhaps in its native soil, had taken a new lease of existence as a song of negro children in New York.
Under the thin disguise of the heading will be recognized the ballad of "Hugh of Lincoln and the Jew's Daughter," the occasion of which is referred by Matthew Paris to the year 1255. Chaucer, in exquisite verse, has made his Prioress recount the same story: how the child,
This gemme of chastitÈ, this emeraude,
And eek of martirdom the ruby bright,
has his throat cut by "false Jewes," and, cast into a pit, still sings his chant in honor of
This welle of mercy, Christes moder sweet;
and, when discovered, cannot be buried in peace till the magic grain is removed which "that blissful maiden fre" has laid under his tongue.
The conclusion is, in our version, only implied. In that given by Jamieson the murdered child, speaking from the well, bids his mother prepare the winding-sheet, for he will meet her in the morn "at the back of merry Lincoln;" and the funeral service is performed by angels.
It was on a May, on a midsummer's day,
When it rained, it did rain small;
And little Harry Hughes and his playfellows all
Went out to play the ball.
He knocked it up, and he knocked it down,
He knocked it o'er and o'er;
The very first kick little Harry gave the ball,
He broke the duke's windows all.
She came down, the youngest duke's daughter,
She was dressed in green;
"Come back, come back, my pretty little boy,
And play the ball again."
"I won't come back, and I daren't come back,
Without my playfellows all;
And if my mother she should come in,
She'd make it the bloody ball."[64]
She took an apple out of her pocket,
And rolled it along the plain;
Little Harry Hughes picked up the apple,
And sorely rued the day.
She takes him by the lily-white hand,
And leads him from hall to hall,
Until she came to a little dark room,
That none could hear him call.
She sat herself on a golden chair,
Him on another close by;
And there's where she pulled out her little penknife
That was both sharp and fine.
Little Harry Hughes had to pray for his soul,
For his days were at an end;
She stuck her penknife in little Harry's heart,
And first the blood came very thick, and then came very thin.[65]
She rolled him in a quire of tin,
That was in so many a fold;
She rolled him from that to a little draw-well
That was fifty fathoms deep.
"Lie there, lie there, little Harry," she cried,
"And God forbid you to swim,
If you be a disgrace to me,
Or to any of my friends."
The day passed by, and the night came on,
And every scholar was home,
And every mother had her own child,
But poor Harry's mother had none.[66]
She walked up and down the street,
With a little sally-rod[67] in her hand;
And God directed her to the little draw-well,
That was fifty fathoms deep.
"If you be there, little Harry," she said,
"And God forbid you to be,
Speak one word to your own dear mother,
That is looking all over for thee."
"This I am, dear mother," he cried,
"And lying in great pain,
With a little penknife lying close to my heart,
And the duke's daughter she has me slain.
"Give my blessing to my schoolfellows all,
And tell them to be at the church,
And make my grave both large and deep,
And my coffin of hazel and green birch.
"Put my Bible at my head,
My busker[68] (?) at my feet,
My little prayer-book at my right side,
And sound will be my sleep."
No. 19.
Barbara Allen.
In the first quarter of the century, this celebrated ballad was still used in New England as a children's game or dance at evening parties. We have here, perhaps, the latest English survival, in cultivated society, of a practice which had once been universal. It is noteworthy that while, in the town of which we speak,[69] the establishment, at the period alluded to, of a children's dancing-school was bitterly opposed, and the children of "church members" were hardly permitted to attend, no such prohibition applied to amusements like this, which were shared in irrespective of sectarian prejudice, by boys as well as by girls.
Our informant describes the performers as standing in couples, consisting each of a boy and a girl, facing each other. An elderly lady, who was in particular request at children's parties on account of her extensive stock of lore of the sort, sang the ballad, to which the dancers kept time with a slow metrical movement, balancing without any considerable change of place. At the final words, "Barbara Allen," which end every stanza, a courtesy took the place of the usual refrain. The whole performance is described as exceedingly pretty, stately, and decorous. It cannot be doubted that the version of the ballad sung was traditional, but we have not been able to secure it.
