Into the ma-tri-mo-ni-al state."
"WHEN?"
"Bye-and-bye!"
"They're all the time getting off something about the President marrying again, you know. Teddy was as good as Rice any day."
"Billy Rice?" repeated Muriel. She had not thought the fragment of comic song very comic (and therein I dare say she was right), and she knew no more who Billy Rice was than—than the average reader of these lines. Time has dismissed that fat, jolly troubadour. Upon what bank of misty Acheron does he now perform his melodies? And where are the snows of yester-year?
"He's a big fat fellow—a white man, you know. They're all white, but blacked up, in the minstrel-shows," J. B. explained patiently.
"Fancy! What do they do?"
"Why, sing and dance; buck-and-wing, and all that. It's rather knock-down-and-drag-out fun, some of it; and some's pretty good."
"I don't believe I'd understand the jokes," said Muriel forlornly. "It's so different at home—it's quite simple. Everyone always knows when to laugh. But you know that song you sing in 'Tell,' 'The Maiden on the Icy Plank,' that first verse—would you mind explaining? You know where it says: