THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 
negroes and made them stand near him. Then he raised his right 
hand to his ear and stood perfectly still. The little boy thought 
he was listening for something, but presently Uncle Remus began 
to slap himself gently with his left hand, first upon the leg and 
then upon the breast. The other negroes kept time to this by 
a gentle motion of their feet, and finally, when the thump — 
thump — thump of this movement had regulated itself to suit the 
old man’s fancy, he broke out with what may be called a Christ¬ 
mas dance song. 
His voice was strong, and powerful, and sweet, and its range 
was as astonishing as its volume. More than this, the melody to 
which he tuned it, and which was caught up by a hundred voices 
almost as sweet and as powerful as his own, was charged with a 
mysterious and pathetic tenderness. 
The fine company of men and women at the big house — men 
and women who had made the tour of all the capitals of Europe 
— listened with swelling hearts and with tears in their eyes as the 
song rose and fell upon the air — at one moment a tempest of 
melody, at another a heart-breaking strain breathed softly and 
sweetly to the gentle winds. The song that the little boy and the 
fine company heard was something like this — ridiculous enough 
when put in cold type, but powerful and thrilling when joined to 
the melody with which the negroes had invested it: 
MY HONEY, MY LOVE 
Hit *8 a mighty fur ways up de Far 1 well Lane, 
My honey, my love ! 
You may ax Mister Crow, you may ax Mr. Crane, 
My honey, my love 1 
Dey 'll make you a how, en dey 'll tell you de same. 
My honey, my love l 
Hit's a mighty fur waysfer to go in de night. 
My honey, my love / 
My honey, my love, my heart's delight — 
My honey, my love l 
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