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The Rise of the Banjo
By S.S. Stewart
“The Banjo hung on the Kitchen wall,
(The sea-bass shone in the white-washed hall”)
‘Twas only the crude device of a slave,
Frowned upon by many then counted brave;
Sneered at by those too blind to see-
That through Evolution and Minstrelsy –
The time would arrive when it would be
The instrument to stand per se.
Years passed by, the slave was free
To sing his joyous minstrelsy.
The Banjo then in tone improved,
Pressed onward, too, as all things moved,
And the musician now its strings would touch-
(Just a little, not too much,)
And ladies here and there would condescend,
Their dainty fingers just to bend,
To test its harmony.
As time continued in its flight
(Just as the day succeeds the night)
The proud with humble pride just then,
Began to notice that from the pen
Of some influential literary men,
Came oft brief notices, couched in words of praise,
Stating that out of the distant fog and haze
Had arisen something upon which all might gaze
With native pride.
For ‘twas not a mere fancy-
Nor the whim of some Miss Nancy-
Which caused them to say
That before them lay
One of the rarest gems of Modern Art-
And all that was needed was a little start,
And it would keep going.
A few more years were numbered with the dead
(And all the while the Banjo crept on towards the head).
Now artists had begun to praise it,
So fools thought best no more to haze it;
And ladies, too, perchance, would hail it
And with fancy ribbons nail it
To the boudoir wall.
The dude would pluck its strings at times
And also swing it (like a bell in chimes).
The dudes also monkeyed with its strings,
And would attempt that part that swings
(With an awful strain upon those strings).
And often there would be a tussle,
For it required both brains and muscle,
And sometimes the bursting of a bustle
Would enliven things.
Now there arose a great confliction-
But what was feared a grand eviction
Proved to be a benediction
For some titled Nabob over the sea
Introduced the Banjo at an afternoon Tea.
(And where else would you have a man go?)
So over the seas
It became quite the cheese
To play the Spanish Fandango.
Then time in its cycle-
(Round like a rim)
Continued to speed on its way;
And gradually, but surely, it became quite the thing
For all on the Banjo to play.
Evolved from a cheese box-
(Such may have been the case),
But from less than a cheese box,
Came the human race.
It is therefore not well to rail;
For those who do may fail
To perceive the rarest beauty of the opening flower,
Which, by the aid of sunlight and the gentle shower
Rises from the earth at break of day.
The pen, they say, is mightier than the sword;
That depends on how ‘tis used;
The Banjo may have grown up from “a three-string gourd,”
But should it therefore be abused?
The Human Race, from the time of Noah’s Ark-
But stop – this is a mere speculation,
So now, hark! A certain fact I’ll mention:
All great things have once been small-
Even our earth, so large and round like a ball,
At one time did not exist at all-
(Before the days of Adam)
Great trees from little ones may grow;
The gourd gives place to the Modern Banjo.
A poor beginning may have a good ending,
If one but keeps his steps bending
Onward toward the top.
Another that strikes me is just this,
That although a fool may in his ignorance find bliss,
‘Tis only those who really learn and know,
And not those who merely turn a crank and go,
That have sufficient brains
And will take the pains
To learn the Banjo.
The Banjo now hangs in the Magic Circle,
And we can look back o’er the past,
With Evolution looking up and
Involution looking down-
It finds its place at last.
‘Tis not the hopeless “might have been,”
As the cry of men who dream,
But still the hopeful “yet to be”
That greets our Queen.
Ever onward – scale the heights,
Up the pinnacle of art,
Up above the masthead lights,
(She’ll go, for She has got the start.)
So never fear the dreaded tussle,
Which caused the rupture of a bustle;
Nor the stigma of the negro hand,
Which once was echoed o’er the land.
For all things in their place are good;
First we have milk, then solid food;
Just remain in a joyful mood-
Don’t mind the dudess or the dude,
But treat yourself just like a friend,
And there’ll be little left to mend;
For old Dan Tucker, in his day,
And Picayune Butler, too,
Did their best – it was their best,
But that’s not best for you.
Just take this motto to your heart,
This brief advice before we part;
When on the Banjo you display your art-
Always use the S. S. Stewart
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I find sea-bass delicious but tonally it is a bit fishy.
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