Some said it was the moon, And some said nay; Some said it was a cheese With the half cut away. Look a-there, now! Look a-there! So they hunted and they hollered, And the next thing they did find Was a barn in the meadow, And that they left behind. Look a-there, now! Look a-there! Some said it was a barn, And some said nay; Some said it was a church With the steeple blown away. Look a-there, now! Look a-there! So they hunted and they hollered, And the next thing they did find Was an owl in the bushes, And that they left behind. Look a-there, now! Look a-there! Some said it was an owl, And some said nay. Some said it was _the Devil_ And they all ran away! Look a-there, now! Look a-there! This irreverent mention of His Satanic Majesty was, to our childish ears, almost an unpardonable sin, and we went to our little beds shuddering and confessing ourselves “miserable sinners,” even to have listened to such a word. A third ballad seems to belong to old colonial times. It went thus: In good old Colony times, When we were under the king, Three sons of Moore’s were turned out doors Because they could not sing, sing, Because they could not sing. The first one, he was a miller, And the second, he was a weaver, And the third one, he was a little tai_lor_, With the broadcloth under his arm, arm, With the broadcloth under his arm. Now the miller, he stole corn, And the weaver, he stole yarn, And the little tai_lor_, he stole broadcloth, For to keep these three rogues warm, For to keep these three rogues warm. But the miller got drowned in his pond, And the weaver got tangled in his yarn; And the devil clapped his claw on the little tai_lor_, With the broadcloth under his arm, arm, With the broadcloth under his arm. There were many others, but I do not remember them well enough to write them out. Barbara Allen was a great favorite, but with that all are familiar. Occasionally, as a great treat, Mammy would unbend sufficiently to let us have some of the little negroes from the quarters come down to the house and sing for us, and while we loved Mammy’s old-fashioned ditties best, we were always vastly entertained by such coon songs as Snake baked a hoe-cake, An’ set the frawg to mind it. Lizard come an’ stole it, An’ frawg, he couldn’t find it! And this, with accompaniment of patting and shuffling: Wake up, Jacob, let’s go hunt’n’, An’ ketch us a skel’ton to cook with a punk’n. Wake up, Amos, day is a-breakin’, Peas in the pot an’ hoe-cake a-bakin’. [Illustration] [Illustration: BOOKS AND AUTHORS] LILLIAN KENDRICK BYRN DON Q IN THE SIERRA. By K. and H. Prichard. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co. Price, $1.50.