Still the fiddle grew. Still the chips flew. A good piece of wood was desirable for what I shall designate as the _lid_;--the bottom and sides being finished. Our private looked about. There was an old box in camp, sent from prolific Vermont, with "goodies" for her valiant boys. He seized upon the best part of it, and shaped it to its purpose, polishing it smooth with the broken bit of glass. The pegs he made from the horns of secesh cattle slaughtered by the rebels, when they didn't dream our boys would rout them to take possession. The strings for the fiddle-bow he made of hairs from the tail of the General's horse. Just at this juncture in fiddle-progress, came a pause. Where are the fiddle _strings_ to come from? Away there in camp; even a Yankee might well stop, and scratch his head. Up comes an officer, and gazes with dumb wonder on that improvised fiddle. When he found his tongue, he offered our private to send to Washington by the sutler for the desired strings. These were obtained, and straightway fastened in their places. And now behold a pretty, delicate little affair, in color resembling the satin wood-fans sent us from Fayal. But did it have music in it? Most assuredly. There is the beauty of it. The tone of our Yankee fiddle is irreproachable.
Now I ask, is that fiddle to become the property and pride of Vermont, and be handed down, as it should, to its future sons and daughters, with the name of its enterprising maker? As I sat in that low-roofed wooden house, listening to his simple story, and looking first at the fiddle, and then at his twisted and useless arm, and then at a little fat roly-poly of a dimpled baby on the carpet, I thought--well, I said, Fanny, thank God that you were born a Yankee; and now go home and tell the world the history of that fiddle. And I have done it. Now, millions of relics, most interesting, like this, lie scattered all over the land. _Let each State garner its own._ It is due to the brave fellows who, modest as brave, will never do it themselves. It is due to these "_Privates_" to whom no splendid residences in our cities are presented, ready furnished and victualled. Let _them_ have the reward of remembrance and appreciation, _at least from a grateful posterity_.