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RURAL RHYMES, 
 
 AXD 
 
 TiAs and Tales of Oiii 
 
 fT' 
 
 BEING A 
 
 Collection of Poems and OlfHiine Stories, 
 
 GRAVE, HUMOROUS, DIDACTIC, SEXTIMEXTAL 
 AXD DESCRIPTIVE, 
 
 WRITTEN AT DIFFERENT TIMES AND UNDER DIFFERENT 
 CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 BY 
 
 ^ 
 
 MARTIN RICE, 
 
 LONE JACK, MO. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, ENLARGED AND IMPROV&D. 
 
 {prtm/o jBo 
 
 KANSAS CITY 
 
 RAMSEY, MHLETT & HU^gON/ZASH'WC- 
 
 1882. 
 
iv INDEX. 
 
 The Snow-Flake 208 
 
 'Vanity of Vanities! all is Vanity! " 209 
 
 Passing Am'ay . , 210 
 
 Why Should Vain Mortals BE Proud 211 
 
 Twenty years Past 218 
 
 I'M Sitting by Your Side, Mary 215 
 
 Life and Death •. ■ •• 217 
 
 Immortality ; or, Answer TO LiFK AND Deai'h L18 
 
 I am Standing BY Your Grave, Mary 219 
 
 Hope Deferred 220 
 
 Faith, Hope, AND Charity 221 
 
 To AN Absent Son 222 
 
 Willie's Grave 224 
 
 The Song of the Sea-Shell . 225 
 
 Whisky-, Whisky— 'Tis a Curse 226 
 
 Intemperance 229 
 
 The Problem 238 
 
 The Fisherman's Lawsuit 240 
 
 Dorr Morrison's Ride ; or, John Gilpin the II . 213 
 
 Double Acrostic . 252 
 
 Acrostic 253 
 
 Acrostic - 253 
 
 Acrostic 254 
 
 Acrostic 254 
 
 Acrostic— Double 25.5 
 
 Parody o^ a Well-Known Hymn 255 
 
 The Moon .... 250 
 
 The Orphan's Lot 2fi0 
 
 The Child's Dream 262 
 
 The Exile's Lament 2Gt 
 
 You've Sung of Greenland's Mountains 265 
 
 Abraham's Lament ... 268 
 
 Joseph and His Brethren 270 
 
 David and Goliath 285 
 
 David's Three Mighty Men 3U2 
 
 David's Lamentation for Saul and Jonathan c06 
 
 Preaching to the Ninevites 308 
 
 The Horrors of Civil War 311 
 
 The Battle of Lone Jack 316 
 
IXDEX. V 
 
 Spottsylvania's Wilderness 318 
 
 The Home-Sick Soldier . . 320 
 
 The Bandit's Dream ; OR, Hills OF Sxi-a-Ba It 321 
 
 The Dying Soldier AT Lone Jack 326 
 
 The Soldier FROM the Kans.vs Line 330 
 
 The Faded Banner ; or, Hope-Forj-okn 3U 
 
 The Watchman ; or, Buj^den OF Dumah 336 
 
 The Crl^el War is Over 338 
 
 The Lonely Tree 340 
 
 The Prisoner . . . , 344 
 
 Scenes of My Childhood 347 
 
 Forty Years Ago— Now and Then ; ok, t.i k Old Man's Return 
 
 TO THE Home of His Youth ... . . . •. 350 
 
 The Old-Fashioned PREACHSit 357 
 
 The Early Settlers 359 
 
 The Contrast : . . . . 361 
 
 Address TO THE Grangers 364 
 
 Letter TO an Editor 366 
 
 The Exodus of Eighteen Sixty-Three; or, Order Number 
 
 Eleven 370 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The author of Rural Rhymes and Poems frOxM the 
 Farm, in bringing this second edition before the pubHc, 
 returns his thanks for the favorable reception of the first 
 edition. That edition of 1,500 has, with but little effort 
 and no puffing or blowing, been sold, and there is still a de- 
 mand for those simple home ballads of the plain Missouri 
 farmer. 
 
 The present volume, styled "Rural Rhymes and Talks 
 and Tales of Olden Times," contains, in addition to the 
 poems in the first edition, several others, written in the 
 same easy and simple style ; and also old-time stories in 
 prose. In reference to these stories, the author desires to 
 say, that, though some of them are mixed with a little of 
 fiction, the main incidents and ideas are substantially true, as 
 many of the older citizens of the localities can testify ; the 
 object being, in part, to give an account of the manners and 
 customs of the Western men and women fifty years ago, and 
 to contrast the old times wnth the present ones. 
 
 Hoping that the new volume will meet with even more 
 favor than the first, and a greater sale, it is presented to an 
 appreciative and generous public by the author, 
 
 MARTIN RICE. 
 Lone Jack, May, 1882. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 Far from the city's noisy din, 
 
 Far from its bustle and alarm, 
 We had our being first within 
 
 The limits of an humble farm ; 
 From out its cool, sequestered shade, 
 
 In different ways, at different times. 
 We came; and when together laid. 
 
 Are simply styled the "Rural Rhymes." 
 
 * 
 
 From out a toiling farmer's brain 
 
 We had our birth — no matter when, 
 If we can your attention chain. 
 
 And edify the minds of men ; 
 And though we may not soar as high 
 
 As Milton's thoughts in former times. 
 Oh, let it be no reason why 
 
 You should not read the '' Rural Rhymes." 
 
 And though we may not live as did 
 
 Old Homer's verse and Ossian's lavs, 
 Let not our simple truths be hid 
 
 By greater names of other days ; 
 Though thousand years we may not live, 
 
 As poems have from Eastern climes. 
 May we a transient pleasure give 
 
 To those who read the " Rural Rhymes." 
 
 And though not gorgeously arrayed 
 
 In soaring language, full and pure, 
 Remember gorgeous colors fade, 
 
 While simpler colors long endure ; 
 Then may the simple truths we speak 
 
 Fall on the heart with pleasing chimes, 
 And often may each reader seek 
 
 New beauties in the " Rural Rhymes." 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 M. RICE. 
 
-^BIOGRAPHICAL.2^ 
 
 Martin Rice, the author of *' Rural Rhymes," etc., was 
 the oldest of the seven sons and four daughters of Enoch and 
 Mary Rice, and had his birth and early training in what is 
 now Union County, then a part of Campbell, in East Tennes- 
 see, and near the present Lost Creek post-office, thirty miles 
 north of Knoxville. His father, Enoch, being a farmer of 
 small means, poor health, and a large family, had hard work 
 to make both ends meet, and consequently his boys were (as 
 they ought to have been) brought up to labor on the farm. 
 Martin, however, born on the 22d day of November, 1814, 
 was sent to school at a very early age, and, at the age of six 
 years, was pronounced, by his teacher, to be the best reader 
 of his age in all the country. But after this, owing to the 
 want of school facilities, or the pressing want of labor on the 
 farm, or help to his mother in the house, his schooHng was 
 irregular and somewhat neglected, and at the age of four- 
 teen he quit school altogether, having attended school, in all, 
 from the age of five to fourteen, about thirty months ; and at 
 that time he says he had never seen the inside of a grammar. 
 The last five months of his schooling, in 1828, he studied 
 arithmetic, and at the end of the term, had got so far in 
 " Pike" as to geometrical progression. 
 
 But though his schooling ended at the age of fourteen, 
 his studies may be said to have just commenced. At his 
 request his father bought him an English Grammar (Lindlay 
 Murray's), and this he studied without the aid of a teacher; 
 for his father, though a fair back-woods scholar of that day, 
 had never studied grammar himself. 
 2 — 
 
lO RUPAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 About the same time his taste for writing began to man- 
 ifest itself, and many a Sunday and rainy day, while other 
 boys were amusing themselves in play, he spent the time in 
 putting his thoughts to paper, both in prose and in rhyme. 
 
 In the autumn of 1832 he was employed to teach a dis- 
 trict school for five months in Claibourne County, Tenn., the 
 first ever taught in the district under the first free school law 
 of the State; for which he was promised ten dollars per 
 month, one-fourth of which he never received; and while 
 teaching this school he paid his own board by his own labor 
 on mornings, evenings and Saturdays. 
 
 The next summer his father sold his small farm for $800, 
 and in the autumn, with his family, moved to Jackson County, 
 Missouri, and in October, 1833, entered 160 acres of Gov- 
 ernment land near Lone Jack, a part of the farm on which 
 Martin now resides. On this a log cabin was soon built, and 
 the family moved into it in November of the same year. 
 
 Before moving to Missouri his father had traded for a 
 cheap set of surveying instruments and an old treatise on that 
 science, thinking they might be of use in the new country 
 to which he was moving; and the winter evenings of that 
 winter were spent by Martin in studying the lessons of that 
 old book, as the days were spent in making rails and grub- 
 bing hazel. 
 
 After assisting in opening and fencing a farm and plant- 
 ing a crop, he was hired to a neighboring farmer for two 
 months, at ten dollars per month, to be paid the next fall in 
 pork. 
 
 After this, in the autumn, he taught a short term of 
 school, the second ever taught in what is now Van Buren 
 township in Jackson County. 
 
 In the summer of 1835 he made a crop with an uncle 
 near Independence, sold his crop in the fall, and with the 
 money obtained, and some borrowed, entered land near his 
 father's, a part of the present Yankee farm. Sees. 28 and 29, 
 Town. 47, Range 29. On this he worked through the win- 
 ter and sold it in the spring, and then entered land in Van 
 Buren, now Cass County, in Sees. 17 and 18, Town. 46, 
 Range 29. On the 3d day of April, 1836, he was married 
 to Miss Mary Lynch, of Lafayette County, and on the iiih 
 day of- the same month, moved to his lately purchased home. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. II 
 
 and commenced housekeeping; and here he resided as a 
 farmer until the death of his wife in December, 1855. His 
 father having died in 1851, he sold out in Cass and bought 
 the old homestead, in 1856, where he still is. 
 
 When he married and settled in Cass County (or Van 
 Buren), it was a county but recently organized, and thinly 
 settled. The first general election was held soon after, and 
 he was elected county surveyor, an office of no profit then, 
 and which he held for three years. 
 
 Politically, he has generally been in the minority, State 
 and county, and in consequence has not sought or held 
 political offices. He early adopted the motto of Henry Clay, 
 "I would rather be right than to be in office." In 1846 he 
 was chosen a justice of the peace, and served four years; and 
 the title of 'Squire Rice sticks to him yet. 
 
 In 1850 the Whigs of the county ran him as their candi- 
 date for the State Legislature, and though he ran ahead of his 
 party ticket, he was beaten by Charles Sims 174 votes. 
 
 Since moving to Jackson County, in 1856, he has not 
 held, sought or asked for office, though at the last election, 
 1880, his name was placed, without his knowledge, on the 
 Greenback ticket for surveyor, and again he ran ahead of 
 his party ticket. 
 
 In addition to his occupation as an humble farmer, he 
 has been engaged in propagating fruit-trees since 1849, ^^^ 
 is now just going out of that business. 
 
 Large numbers of the orchards of Jackson, Cass, La- 
 fayette and Johnson Counties, were grafted by the same 
 hands that wrote the "Rural Rhymes; " and he has often been 
 heard to say, that, after he is dead and gone, those labors of 
 his hands, those orchards, will remain to benefit the country 
 and the rising generation. 
 
 During his labors for so many years upon the farm, he 
 has found time to cultivate the mind as well as the soil, and 
 to pursue his studies, mathematics being his favorite one, 
 and one in which he to-day excels many collegiate professors. 
 Some things, too, he claims to have discovered in mathe- 
 matics, not known before, or at least not laid down in the 
 books. 
 
 As has been said, he commenced writing poetry, or 
 
12 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 rhyming, at the age of fourteen. None of his youthful effu- 
 sions have been preserved. 
 
 From 1850 to 1876, occasional pieces were pubHshed in 
 the county papers, over the signature of *'Phocion," and 
 othtr noms de plume ', and in 1877 his ''Rural Rhymes and 
 Poems from the Farm," was published at the office of Ram- 
 sey, Millett & Hudson, Kansas City, Mo. 
 
 This edition, numbering 1,500, has, with little effort, 
 been disposed of, mostly in Jackson and adjoining counties ; 
 but many copies have also found their way to distant States, 
 and are highly appreciated there, as well as at home. 
 
 Of Mr. Rice's six brothers and four sisters, two brothers 
 and two sisters yet live : Enoch N. Rice, in Cass County, 
 Mo., and Henry H., in Riley County, Kas.; Elizabeth 
 Pilcher, in Pleasant Hill, Cass County, and Jane Snow, in 
 Johnson County, Mo. His oldest brother, David, one of 
 the early merchants of Cass, and who died on the way to 
 CaHfornia, in 1849, is referred to in his poem of "Twenty 
 Years Past," written in 1852; and his youngest brother, 
 Pryor, who fell at Corinth, in 1863, is supposed to be the 
 ''Soldier from the Kansas Line." His aged mother, who, 
 after 1856, made her home with Martin, died in March, 1881. 
 
 Of his four sons and five daughters, three of each yet 
 live. His eldest son and second daughter, died in infancy. 
 His oldest daughter, Martha J. Tate, died in 1869; and her 
 dying charge to her son is one of the author's poems. His 
 sons, Isaac L. and Alvin B., live on his farm at the present 
 time, and his youngest son, Marion, is in Ohio. One daugh- 
 ter, Mary Butler, lives near Freeman, in Cass County ; one, 
 Nancy Mitchell, in Vernon County; and the youngest, Elvira 
 Mitchell, in Montana Territory. 
 
 Martin Rice is emphatically an old-fashioned farmer of 
 the old-fashioned school, and, as said by his biographer in 
 the history of Jackson County, lately published, he is, par 
 excellence, the Old Fogy of the township — one that cannot 
 be made to believe that the new-fashioned way of run- 
 ning things by steam, is much better than running them in 
 the old-fashioned manner. He united with the Baptist 
 Church at Pleasant Garden, near Lone Jack, in 1841, and 
 afterwards transferred his membership to the Lone Jack 
 Church of Missionary Baptists, to which he still belongs. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. 13 
 
 As was said, his wife died in 1855. His last daughter 
 married in November, 1881, and he now has no family, but 
 resides with his son Isaac and his family, on the old farm 
 that his father settled in 1833. * 
 
 As may be seen from some of his poems, he was, dur- 
 ing the great Civil War of 1861, a steadfast friend of the 
 Union, being then, as ever before in his county, in a minor- 
 ity; but he managed to keep at home, and on good terms 
 with his neighbors who differed in opinion with him, fre- 
 quently assisting and befriending them in their troubles, and 
 being assisted and befriended by them in return. 
 
 
 
Rural Ehymes and Olden Times. 
 
 A HOOSIER'S TRAMP. 
 
 Three Days' Travel Through Western Missouri in 1836, ani> 
 Three Days Over the Same Ground in 1880. 
 
 In the spring of 1880, having been in poor health during 
 the winter, I was advised by my physician to spend a few 
 months in travel, as it was thought that this would be of more 
 benefit to me than any medical treatment that I could receive. 
 
 I immediately set about making preparations to leave my 
 home on the White River, in Indiana, not as yet having 
 fixed upon any particular line of travel or the direction I 
 should take. In looking over some of my old papers, with a 
 view of arranging my affairs before leaving home, I picked 
 up what appeared to be the remnant of an old memorandum- 
 book, written in pencil and so worn that I could scarcely 
 decipher the writing upon it. I soon saw, however, that it 
 was what remained of a diary that I had kept on a trip to the 
 western part of Missouri, in 1836. 
 
 As I said, there was but a remnant left, and it contained 
 the incidents only of three days of that journey. 
 
 Those incidents, or memoranda, were briefly stated, 
 and read thus : — 
 
 * 'October i. — Started after late breakfast, bidding our 
 fat host good-by and paying fifty cents each. We had no 
 road, but were directed in a northwest direction to an Indian 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 15 
 
 trail, which would lead us direct to Westport. Got lost, and 
 traveled several miles out of the way; finally struck the trail, 
 and stopped at noon near the south line of Johnson County, 
 at the house of Mr. Norris, and fed our horses. About sun- 
 down passed a mound, nearly round and quite high; no 
 house in sight. After dark lost the road again ; saw a light 
 and found a small cabin in the prairie ; could not keep us, 
 but put us in the road and sent us a mile further. Stayed with 
 a young couple, lately married, living in Van Buren County. 
 
 "October 2. — Paid our bill, fifty cents each, and pro- 
 ceeded on our journey ; still on the Indian trail, or Shawnee 
 trace. Found houses for a few miles, and came again into a 
 large prairie ; fell in with an old gentleman going to the 
 Platte Purchase, and joined company, as he said he could 
 pilot us a better way. Stopped on the Little Blue and had 
 shoes put on horses. Stayed at Stayton's, near Independence; 
 went with the family to night-meeting, or preaching. 
 
 "October 3. — Paid lodging, seventy-five cents each; 
 went on to Independence; met our pilot again; went on to 
 Westport ; crossed the Missouri River at Westport Landing. 
 Stopped at night on Bee Creek, with a friend of our traveling 
 companion, who gave us all a hearty welcome." 
 
 More than forty-three years had passed since that journey 
 was made and that diary was written, but the incidents of 
 those three days were yet fresh in .my memory. They had 
 impressed themselves, at the time, more forcibly upon my 
 mind than the incidents of any other part of the journey, 
 and it may have been for that reason that this scrap had been 
 preserved. 
 
 Before I had finished reading, my resolve had been 
 taken to go over the same ground again, in this my contem- 
 plated travel. At least, I resolved to proceed on the same 
 route to Westport, thence through Kansas, Arkansas, and 
 perhaps Texas. 
 
 That trip has been made, and I have returned with 
 restored health, and have resolved to write a narrative of 
 that three days' journey in 1836 and its incidents, and, also, 
 of three days over the same ground in 1880. 
 
 I was then in my youth ; now I am old and grey-headed, 
 verging on to my three-score and ten years. Then, the 
 
l6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES, 
 
 country was new and thinly settled ; now, it is comparatively 
 old and populous. But to proceed. 
 
 About the last of August, 1836, my friend and neigh- 
 bor, Frank Elm wood, informed me that he was thinking of 
 trying his fortune farther west. We had come from Vir- 
 ginia to Indiana, boys together ; both had been married 
 about eighteen months, and each had a small farm and a 
 small family, on the White River. Frank said the Platte 
 Purchase, in Missouri, was said to be the garden-spot of the 
 world ; that it was now open for settlement, and settling up 
 fast ; and asked me if I would not cut loose and go with him. 
 After thinking and talking over the matter for some days, it 
 was decided that we should go and look at the country 
 before breaking up where we were. 
 
 Our preparations were soon made, and we set out on 
 horseback about the loth of September, and proceeded 
 leisurely to Vincennes, thence to St. Louis, and from there 
 in a southwest direction to the Kickapoo Prairie, in Greene 
 County, where we had some Virginia acquaintances and 
 some little business to transact. But as this sketch is only to 
 treat of three days' travel, all else is hurriedly passed over. 
 We left the Kickapoo Prairie, as well as I recollect, on the 
 28th of September, passing through the counties of Polk, 
 Benton and Rives (since called Henry), and after passing 
 the little town of Clinton, missed our way, and night found us 
 at the house of Mr. Clark Davis, on a stream called Big 
 Creek. 
 
 This Mr. Davis was almost a mountain of flesh, weigh- 
 ing, as he said, over four hundred pounds, but a genial, 
 kind-hearted and affable man. 
 
 The country we had passed over after leaving Spring- 
 field, was thinly settled ; and a part of the way we had 
 passed over bridle-paths, or settlement roads. The farms 
 and the rude cabins were small, few, and far between. Our 
 giant friend, with whom we tarried, informed us, that, a few 
 miles to the north, we would strike an Indian trail, called 
 the Shawnee trace, which would lead us direct to Westport, 
 on the western line of the State, and near the Missouri 
 River. This trail, he said, was made by the Shawnee Indians, 
 in moving from the lower Mississippi to their homes on the 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. T'J 
 
 Kansas. He pointed out the direction we should go, and 
 we set out. In a short time, in crossing a stream on which 
 some timber and brush were growing, we got turned round 
 while seeking a crossing-place, and as the day was cloudy, 
 took a wrong direction ; and instead of going north, we 
 afterward found ourselves going nearly east. Several miles 
 were passed, and we realized the fact that we were lost, on 
 an almost boundless prairie. It was so cloudy and smoky 
 that we could not see the sun, or the streams of timbered 
 land, if any such there were to be seen. About ten o'clock, 
 a solitary horseman was seen crossing our course, at about 
 right angles. We spurred up, in order to meet him, and 
 found that he was following a small trail, or wagon-track, 
 through the tall grass ; and on inquiring for the Shawnee 
 trace, he said he was a stranger there, but that in passing 
 down the day before, he had passed an old road, or trail, 
 which he supposed was it ; and that he thought it was only a 
 short distance ahead. We turned our course and rode on 
 together, through the rank grass. The stranger was a tall, 
 good-looking young man, apparently thirty years of age; 
 perhaps older ; was quite talkative, and told us that he lived 
 in Lafayette County, near Greenton, and seemed desirous of 
 finding out something of our residence and business in such 
 a waste world. 
 
 My companion, Frank, who had not spoken since first 
 inquiring about the road, gave my horse a cut with his 
 switch, as I was about to answer some question that had 
 been asked ; and the sudden spring of the horse prevented 
 an immediate answer. On my looking back, he gave me a 
 look and a gesture, which said as plainly as they could say, 
 "be on your guard." I was somewhat surprised, as, before 
 that, he had been more open with strangers, and less sus- 
 picious than I had been. I took the hint, however, and 
 answered the stranger's question, by saying that we were 
 from the Wabash country, and were visiting friends and 
 looking at the country. In a short time we came to the old 
 trail, and taking the left hand end, we parted company with 
 the stranger, and rode on. As soon as we were out of 
 hearing, Frank, who had been riding behind, came to my 
 side, and I asked for an explanation. "Didn't you know 
 him? " said he. " It is that villain Lester." "What ! John 
 
l8 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 C. Lester?" '' Yes," said he. "I knew him as soon as 
 he opened his mouth to answer my question about the road." 
 ** Where did he say he Hved?" "Near Greenton, I think." 
 ** Then," said Frank, " he will hear from me again, before we 
 get back to the Wabash " "By the bye, you were quick 
 to take the hint." 
 
 For some time we rode on in silence. Frank seemed, 
 as I thought, to be planning some way to avenge himself of 
 the wrongs he had received ; and my thoughts, by the inci- 
 dent, were carried back to Virginia, and were brooding over 
 the scenes of my youth. That Frank had been deeply 
 wronged by this man, I knew. By his oily speeches and in- 
 sinuating address, he had so played upon the credulity of 
 Frank's father as to swindle him out of some thousands of 
 dollars; and, what was worse, had seduced a fair young 
 cousin of Frank's, a school-mate of mine, and carried her 
 off, no one knew where ; we had not heard of them since. 
 No wonder, then, that this little incident had set us both to 
 thinking. About noon, we came to a cabin on the road, 
 and stopped to feed our horses and get dinner. We were 
 tolil that Mr. Norris lived there, but that none of the family 
 were at home, except a boy, who said he had just eaten all 
 that was cooked. He, however, fed our horses, and told us 
 it was twenty miles to the next house on the road. Our 
 host of the night before had told us of this house of Norris, 
 and of the one twenty miles above; to which he said we 
 could get before night, and where, he said, we would find a 
 jolly, cranky old pioneer, by the name of Langston ; with a 
 family of boys as cranky as himself. Having rested our 
 horses, we pursued our journey through the lonely prairie, 
 and in a few miles passed a small stream, said to be the 
 head of Bear Creek; on which some man had hauled to- 
 gether a set of house logs, by the road side ; but no other 
 sign of humanity was to be seen. Late in the afternoon, 
 we came in sight of a high and round looking-knoU, or 
 mound, on the prairie toward which our trail led in a direct 
 line ; we could see it from every little rise or eminence for 
 miles ; and about sunset it was reached. The main travelled 
 road passed round it on the south; but the original Indian 
 path had passed directly over it. \Ve rode on the direct 
 straight path, up its steep side, to its rocky summit; from 
 
A hooster's tramp. 19 
 
 M^hich an extensive view on all sides could be had. For 
 miles, in every direction, the prairie was spread out before 
 and around it ; but no house was in sight. To the north, at 
 the distance of two miles perhaps, was seen what appeared 
 to be a small corn-field ; and far to the south, were seen 
 two or three smokes, rising as if from chimneys : but no 
 other sign of habitation. 
 
 A short council was here held, whether we should leave 
 the road, and seek a lodging at the farm to the north, or 
 proceed on the trail to Langston's. The latter being resolved 
 ■on, we pushed forward, and just after dark came to a 
 stream, on which, so far as we could see, grew a large body 
 of woods. Passing through this woods, it was quite dark, 
 and after crossing the stream we lost the road again, and got 
 into a small lake or swamp ; and once out of that, into a flat, 
 marshy bottom, where the grass was higher than our horses. 
 Here, Frank proposed that we should stop, and wait till the 
 moon rose; but as that would not be till midnight, and as it 
 had cleared up so that the stars could be seen, I insisted 
 that we push on in a northwest course, and that we might 
 strike the trail again, or come in sight of the light in Langs- 
 ton's house, which I said could not be very far off. And 
 sure enough, in a short time, a light was seen, and on ap- 
 proaching it, the outlines of a very small cabin ; but no other 
 sign of improvement. The man who came at our call, in 
 auswer to the question, where we were, said we were in Van 
 Buren County, on the waters of Big Creek and close by the 
 Shawnee trace. In answer to the question, whether he could 
 keep us and our horses over night, he replied, ** I reckon 
 not; we can hardly keep ourselves. We've only been here a 
 week or two, have no stable, no corn, no meat, no coffee, no 
 nothing; we are new beginners here in the world; but if 
 you'll go down there and get in that trail, you'll find a 
 house jest beyant the branch, where I reckon you can stay." 
 On our saying we were afraid of getting lost again, he said, 
 "I'll go and put you on the road, and you can't miss the 
 way. Once in the trace^ you can't get out, without you kick 
 ■ out." ^ He did so, and as we were parting Frank asked, if the 
 house across the branch, was the Langston place. "Yes," 
 was his reply, and we were away. We soon crossed the 
 branch, and came to a small field of two or three acres ; at 
 
20 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 the farther side of which, we came in view of another small 
 cabin. As we approached it, Frank remarked, "If the old 
 man and his wife and his six-foot boys are all at home, I 
 fear we'll have a crowded house to-night." 
 
 In answer to our halloo, a boyish specimen of humanity 
 came out to the little gate ; and when asked if he could keep 
 us till morning, answered that if we were not particular about 
 our fare, he would try. And in our circumstances, we 
 thought it best not to be too particular. He assisted us in 
 putting up our horses in a small stable made of poles ; and 
 throwing some fodder into the trough, he told us to go inta 
 the house, and he would bring some corn from the field for 
 our horses. On our sayng that we were as hungry as bears, 
 and would like to have supper, he said, ''Go in and talk 
 to the cook." 
 
 Frank preferred to go and assist in feeding the horses, 
 while I went in to order supper. On my entrance, I was 
 surprised to see nobody but a bashful-looking girl, fifteen 
 or sixteen years old, who set me one of the three chairs in the 
 cabin, and bade me be seated. I told her we would like to 
 have supper ; and while she was busy in making a fire in the 
 wide, open fire-place, I took a hasty view of the surround 
 ings. The room appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen feet 
 square; the floor was of rough hewed puncheons, and over-head 
 were half a dozen round pole joists, on which was laid a loft 
 of clapboards. There were two doors, the shutters of which 
 were also made of clapboards. Of furniture, a bed in the 
 northeast corner and another in the southeast, placed on 
 rough bedsteads, the post and rails of which had been hewed 
 and dressed with a drawing-knife. In one corner, next the 
 fire-place, with its rough back and jambs, was the cupboard 
 or dresser, made by laying some smooth clapboards on pegs 
 driven into auger-holes in the wall. A similar piece of fur- 
 niture, in the back end of the house, between the beds, 
 served in place of a bureau, on which the bed-clothing and 
 wearing apparel were packed away. A square table, three 
 split bottomed chairs, and what was neither lounge, sofa, 
 settee or cradle, but a sort of compromise between them all — 
 a thick, heavy board, or puncheon, dressed off and placed on 
 rockers, like those of a cradle, with another board fastened 
 to uprights, against which the back could rest while sitting. 
 
A HOOSIER'S tramp. 21 
 
 on the bench and rocking. There was also the large cotton 
 wheel and cards, and other necessary articles of housekeep- 
 ing. 
 
 In the corner opposite the cupboard, was the book-case, 
 made as the cupboard was, by laying boards upon pegs in 
 the wall. Having a curiosity to see what kind of books the 
 cranky old man was in the habit of reading, after the girl 
 had lighted an old-fashioned, greasy, cast iron lamp and had 
 stepped out for something, I approached the book-stand, and 
 on examination found some histories ; the Life of ' ' Washing- 
 ton" and ^'Marion" by Weems; the "Life of Jackson;" 
 some books of travel ; and amongst the rest, an old treatise 
 on surveying. Having hastily come to the conclusion that 
 the old folks were away from home, and that the younger 
 children were keeping house in their absence, when the 
 young woman returned, I ventured to remark : 
 
 ''Your father and mother are not at home I suppose?" 
 
 With a mischievous smile, she replied: "They were a 
 few days ago, and I reckon they are yet." 
 
 "Then you don't live here?" 
 
 "Yes, I stay here, but my parents live twenty miles off, 
 on the Sni, near Greenton." 
 
 ' ' Near Greenton did you say ; are you acquainted in 
 that neighborhood ? " 
 
 "Yes, I was raised there." 
 
 " Do you know a man there by the name of Lester? " 
 
 " No, I don't know him ; I've heard of him though." 
 
 At this moment we were interrupted by the entrance of 
 Frank and the young man, who had been caring for the 
 horses. 
 
 Frank appeared as much surprised as I had been, on 
 seeing nobody but me and the girl present ; and we both 
 took a hasty survey of the beardless boy who was acting as 
 our host ; spare built, with long legs and arms, and awkward 
 and gawky-looking in the extreme. Frank at once came to 
 the same conclusion that I had done — that the old folks were 
 away ; and asked the youngster about the same questions 
 that I had Asked the girl — whether the old folks, his parents, 
 were at home. 
 
 He smiled, as the girl had done, and replied : "I spose 
 they are ; they very seldom leave home. But I know what 
 
22 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 you mean, and must inform you that we are the old folks 
 ourselves." 
 
 "I beg pardon," said Frank, ''but we were told 
 that an old man lived here, Mr. Langston, is that not your 
 name ?" 
 
 " Not quite that," said he ; " the old man Langston did 
 live here ; he settled the place, but he has moved to the Platte, 
 he and all his boys ; and as to asking pardon, there is no 
 harm done ; we are used to it ; it's not the first time that we've 
 been asked where our daddv and mamma was." 
 
 '' What is your age, " said I, " and how long have you 
 been here ?" 
 
 ''I am twenty- two and she is sixteen; and we came 
 here last April." 
 
 " How long have you been in the State, and from what 
 part did you come?" 
 
 "We are both from Tennessee, near the Cumberland 
 Mountains; I have been in the State three years, and she 
 has been here nearly all her life." 
 
 The young housewife here handed her husband a tin 
 cup, with some parched coffee in it, and asked him to beat it. 
 He stepped to the door and brought in his axe, which had 
 an old-fashioned pudding-stick handle, sawed off square at 
 the end, and seating himself on the rocking-bench, with the 
 cup pressed between his feet on the floor, commenced beat- 
 ing with the end of the axe-helve, and soon had the coffee 
 pulverized. Meanwhile, the oven with its corn-dodgers, and 
 the skillet with its fried pork were before the fire, and supper 
 was soon served, to which we did ample justice. 
 
 I must own we were disappointed ; we had expected to 
 be entertained with the cranky actions, jokes and tales of the 
 old pioneer ; but instead we were being taken care of by a 
 boy and girl, who were quite reserved in their manners. Our 
 questions were all answered with civility and simplicity ; but 
 beyond this, the conversation was mostly on our part. 
 
 We learned that his nearest neighbor ( excepting the one 
 across the branch, who had just moved there ) was a mile 
 and a half off; that our host had bought the little improve- 
 ment of the old pioneer, and entered the land on which it 
 was located ; that he had kept " batch ' awhile, making rails 
 to fence a farm; "and then," said he, "I married and brought 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 2$ 
 
 this girl here to cook for me." I here remarked to Frank^ 
 that the lady had informed me that her parents lived near 
 Greenton. 
 
 " Near Greenton?" said Frank to the young man; " are 
 you acquainted there ? " 
 
 " Not much, " said he; " only with a few families." 
 
 " Do you know a man by the name of Lester ?" 
 
 " I saw him once." 
 
 " Then, tell me all you know about him?" 
 
 " Of my own knowledge, I don't know anything. I've 
 heard a good deal He bought my father-in-law's farm, 
 some time ago, and they are all living there until my father- 
 in-law can build and move on-to his place, in this neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 " What family has he ? " said Frank, somewhat agitated. 
 
 "Can't say certainly; I've heard my wife's mother 
 speak of them. There's Lester himself, three women and a 
 boy; but she was somewhat in the dark as to the relation- 
 ship, and thought there was some mystery about them." 
 
 "Three women, you say. What are their ages ? Have 
 you ever heard them described ?" 
 
 "Well, one of them, I suppose, is an old lady, as she 
 passes for Lester's mother ; another is a young woman and is 
 called his wife; besides, there is another elderly woman, 
 said to be a widow, with a son ten or twelve years old. But 
 my mother-in-law doubts whether any of them are all they 
 pretend to be ; at any rate, she thinks there is some mystery 
 about them." 
 
 " And do you know anything about Lester's occupa- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " Can't say; he bought the farm, as he said, for farming 
 purposes ; but I suppose trade and speculation is his principal 
 business. I have heard my wife' s brother speak of his boast- 
 ing of what sums he had made by his sharp tricks in trade." 
 
 "And you have never seen those women yourself? " 
 
 "Yes; 1 was there a short time ago, and saw the two 
 younger women pass through the yard. They were living 
 in a cabin a few paces from the one occupied by my farther- 
 in-law." 
 
 "Can you describe the youngest one — Lester's wife." 
 
24 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ''Rather taller than common; spare-made, light hair, 
 inclining to red." 
 
 '' That's her," said Frank to me ; "the villain ! the deep 
 dyed villain ! " and he relapsed into silence. 
 
 I then entered into conversation with the young man, 
 relative to the country through which we were passing. He 
 said we were near the northeast corner of the county of Van 
 Buren ; "a. county organized," said he, " only a year ago;" 
 said the first general election was held in August, and that 
 the county polled less than two hundred votes ; that the seat 
 of justice was not yet located ; that the courts had been held 
 at private houses, on the South Grand River, some eighteen 
 or twenty miles to the southwest; that there was but one 
 store of goods in all the county, and that it was about six 
 miles west of him ; that there was but one post-office, 
 and that it had just been established, and was twenty miles 
 away. I asked what the prospect was for entering Govern- 
 ment lands in the county. He replied that there were but 
 eighteen sections, or half a township, yet in market; that the 
 balance was condemned land. Wishing to know what was 
 meant by condemned lands, he said it had been returned by 
 commissioners or surveyors as not worth surveying, on 
 account of the scarcity of timber. The eighteen sections, 
 then in market, he said, were in the northeast corner 
 of the county ; that only a small part of that was entered yet ; 
 that there were but five or six families living in that half 
 township ; but that more would be very soon. On my asking 
 how the condemned land was taken up and held, he said : 
 ** Each settler marks out his claim, which if not unreasonably 
 large, is respected by everybody else, and no one trespasses 
 upon another ; and they run their lines to suit their own con- 
 venience." 
 
 " Then," said I, ''you have no use for county surveyor, 
 and, perhaps, have none." 
 
 "Very little use, indeed," said he; "I was elected as 
 such last August, but it is an office of no profit and very 
 little work to do. " 
 
 "I see," said I, "that you have Gibson's Surveying; at 
 what school did you study it ? " 
 
 " At no school at all; haven't been at school since I was 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 25 
 
 fourteen years old, and not much before ; but I learned sur- 
 veying like I learned other things, by hard study at home." 
 
 The young housekeeper having cleared up things, in- 
 vited us to occupy one of the two beds in the cabin, and I 
 slept soundly till daylight. 
 
 On waking up, Frank said: " I'll tell you what, Jim, I've 
 been dreaming all night about Lester and his rascalities; and 
 mark what I tell you now, he'll get his deservings some day. 
 I dreamed it over and over, the same thinj again and again, 
 and I tell you now, and mind you remember it, he'll end his 
 days upon the gallows." 
 
 •'I'm going back by there," said he, "and I'll find out 
 more about him before I leave the State ; and as I said, he'll 
 hear from me some day." 
 
 I tried to dissuade him from his purpose, saying that he 
 could not punish him by law for what he had done; and that 
 if he resorted to violence, he would make matters worse, and 
 get himself and friends into trouble. 
 
 We paid our bill, more than was asked, and set out 
 again on the old trail. About three or four miles further 
 on, in going round a farm that had been fenced across the 
 the trail, we took the wrong road again — the one that led to 
 the store which our host had spoken of, and which, as I re- 
 member, was kept by a Mr. Wright, who was selling goods, 
 groceries, medicines, and a little of everything needed in 
 new countries. The store was located on a high ridge of 
 prairie, from which was an extensive view in all directions, 
 with a farm and farm-house in sight, here and there, but the 
 greater part of the country in its native wildness. I after- 
 ward saw in Wetmore's Gazetteer of Missouri, written in 
 1836, a mention of this store and the surrounding country, 
 which I can vouch for, as being true at that time. 
 
 Before reaching the store, we were informed, by a man 
 that we met in the path, that we were at least a mile south of 
 the Shawnee trail ; and on learning that we were wishing to 
 go to the Platte Purchase, he exclaimed, " Well, old Uncle 
 Jimmy Savage is at the store, now on his way there, and if 
 you'll hurry up, he can pilot you right thar." 
 
 "But who," I asked, "is old Uncle Jimmy Savage?" 
 
 " Oh ! " said he, " everybody knows him, and he knows 
 everybody. But if you wish to catch him, you had better 
 
26 KURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 hurry up; he jest come to the store to get a new hat, and 
 he's goin' straight to Independence, and then on to the Pur- 
 chase." 
 
 We trotted on to the store, hitched our horses and went 
 in. I asked the keeper of the store if Mr. Savage had been 
 there, as I saw no person present that filled the description 
 of an old uncle. 
 
 ** Yes," said he, "been gone only a few minutes." 
 
 Frank then spoke to the merchant, in an undertone, in- 
 forming him of our destination, and asked whether he thought 
 Mr. Savage a proper traveling companion. 
 
 "Yes," said the merchant, "there's no harm in Old 
 Jimmy, and you'll find him an entertaining companion." 
 
 We waited for no more, and on reaching our horses, 
 met a youth just alighting, and asked if he had seen anything 
 of Old Mr. Savage. 
 
 " Yaas," said the boy, looking up the road. " Do you 
 see that man way off yander, on that big roan marr ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, that's him." 
 
 We whipped up, and in less than an hour had come up 
 with him. A plain farmer-looking man, of perhaps sixty 
 years ; dressed in homespun from head to foot, with a new 
 wool hat, sure enough. After the first words of salutation, I 
 asked if he lived in the vicinity. 
 
 "Yes," said he, "across the creek yander (pointing 
 east), a little piece this side o' the Jack." 
 
 " And may I ask," said I, "what you call the Jack? " 
 
 " Oh ! the Lone Jack, to be sure." 
 
 "Excuse me, sir, but we are strangers here, and 
 don't know any place of that name." 
 
 " Well." said he, "look across over yander; do you see 
 that lone tree, standing on the high prairie ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I see something of that sort." 
 
 "Well, that's Lone Jack." 
 
 " And why do you call it Jack, rather than Jim or 
 Tom?" 
 
 "Just because the tree is a black Jack tree, and not a 
 black Jim." It's been called the Lone Jack ever since I 
 know'd it, and that's been a good long while, I tell you; 
 before there was any roads in the country, or trails through 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 27 
 
 the grass; it was our pilot, or landmark, whea we was out 
 here bee huntin', and deer huntin', and huntin' elk, which 
 we was mity near every fall." 
 
 " Then, you are an old settler in this country ?" 
 
 "Old settler! I reckon I am, if twenty-five years counts 
 anything. I was in the State ten years before it was a 
 State; settled in Cooper County, amongst the Injins, be- 
 fore the war of 181 2; and was one amongst the fifteen 
 families that forted through the war, in Cole's and Kinkaid's 
 forts, to save our scalps." 
 
 "No doubt, then, you know, and could tell something 
 about the dangers and hardships of frontier life ? " 
 
 " Frontier life ! I don't know anything else. I've been 
 on the frontier for twenty-five or thirty years ; and am on 
 my way, now, to the Platte Purchase, to hunt me a home at 
 the jumping-off place again." 
 
 " Ah ! is that so ?" " We are on our way to look at 
 that country, and would be pleased to have a frontiersman 
 to be our companion and pilot." 
 
 "At your service, gentlemen. I know almost every 
 hog-path between here and the Missouri River, and a good 
 many on the other side, too ; and besides, I have several 
 friends and acquaintances, lately moved to the Purchase ; so, 
 you'll find me at home wherever 1 go." 
 
 Frank now spoke up for the first time, saying, "Are 
 you much acquainted in Lafayette County ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; I know most all the old settlers there; 
 especially in the western part." 
 
 " Are you acquainted near Greenton?" 
 
 " Mighty well, with the old settlers there. The 
 Helmses, the Jameses, the Hoppers, the Whites, the 
 Hughes, the Manions, the Barkers, McClure, and Sloane, 
 Jennings, Cammel and a good many others." 
 
 " Do you know any one by the name of Lester ?" 
 
 " No ; I reckon he's a new-comer. I don't know many 
 of them." 
 
 "Do you know the young couple and ,what kind of 
 people they are, where we staid last night; down on the 
 Shawnee trail, where Mr. Langston once lived ?" 
 
 " Mighty well. That youngster kep' our school a year 
 
28 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 or two ago ; and I've known his wife ever since she was a 
 child. He's a perfect swinge cat, worse than he looks ; 
 that is, he knows more than you think he does. His wife's 
 mother is a mighty fine woman, and I reckon she is a first- 
 rate gal. She don't know much about readin' and writin', 
 but she knows how to spin, and weave, and milk the cows, 
 and I reckon that boy and gal will make a livin'. 
 
 *'I remarked, that what my friend wanted to know, 
 principally, was whether they were truthful, as they had 
 given him some information, in which he was deeply inter- 
 ested." 
 
 '*I have never heard anything else of them," said he, 
 "and if they told you anything that ain't so, I don't think 
 they intended it." 
 
 Frank appeared satisfied with the answers, and asked 
 where we would cross the river, and how far it was to it. 
 
 *' We can cross," said he, **at Ducker's Ferry, or at 
 Westport Landing. I am not certain which way I shall go, 
 but I think by Westport. I shall stay in the neighborhood 
 of Independence to-night, which is twenty miles from here ; 
 and Westport is ten miles west of it." 
 
 "It looks," said I, "as if we had a good stretch of 
 prairie ahead of us. " 
 
 "Yes ; and we will pass no house till we reach the Blue 
 timbers, a good ten miles yet." 
 
 I asked if the road we were on was the old Shawnee 
 Trail. 
 
 "No," said he, "we passed that some distance back, 
 and this is the Harmony Mission road, leading to the Mission 
 or Injin School on the Osage or Merrydezeen." 
 
 We found the old gentleman a genial, friendly, com- 
 municative back-woodsman, with a frank, open countenance, 
 — open in more ways than one ; for there was an opening in 
 front of his face that reminded one of a poor man's rent — 
 from year to year ( without the y). He interested us with 
 his tales of the early settlement of the country and of 
 frontier life, when the boys went courting in their deer- skin 
 dressing, and the girls sometimes wore dresses of the same 
 material. 
 
 He told us, too, of the dangers, privations, and hard- 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 29 
 
 ships of the fifteen families Hving in the county of Cooper, 
 during the war of 1812, some of his tales being amusing and 
 some otherwise. 
 
 One particular incident he recounted, of his own narrow 
 escape from the Indians, when he and a fellow-hunter, named 
 Smith, were surprised when outside the fort hunting for 
 something to support life inside. 
 
 "We were some distance from the fort," said he, *'and 
 had killed a fine doe, and was fixing to swing her on a pole to 
 carry to the fort, when our dog gave a fearful growl, and his 
 hair all turned up the wrong way. Smith said : 'Lookout, 
 Jim ! ' and I did lookout, and saw something I didn't want 
 to see. Across the holler, over on the next ridge, we saw 
 about a dozen redskins, who had already seen us, and was 
 stealing along through the weeds and bushes right toward 
 us. We dropped our venison and picked up our guns, and 
 you may bet we made moccasin tracks fast. I was younger 
 then than I am now, and had run many a foot race, but I 
 made better time then than I ever made before. Smith 
 soon dropped his gun, and we run side and side. The fort 
 was nearly north, and the Injins was toward the west. A 
 part of them came like all fury right toward us, and a part 
 attempted to head us off, by striking straight for the fort. 
 They were soon near enough to commence shooting ; I gave 
 a few jumps more, then turned and fired at them ; and drop- 
 ping my old flint-lock, I ran for dear life, giving a yell every 
 few moments to let our folks at the fort know what was up. 
 A hundred yards further, and Smith fell by my side, his 
 blood spurting onto my huntin' shirt. Another moment or 
 two, and my calls for help were answered from the fort. A 
 gun was fired, and I had the pleasure to see the Injins stop. 
 But you may be sure I didn't stop, nor did they stop shoot- 
 ing as long as I was in reach." 
 
 After he had recounted many of his adventures and 
 trials, I asked how long he had been in his present location, 
 
 "I moved to where I live now two years ago last March, 
 but I have been in Jackson County since 1826, before it was 
 organized as a county, when Independence was a corn patch 
 and deer and turkeys was plenty, and the nettles growed as 
 high as my head, in places. I built a cabin on Little Blue, 
 up here; and after opening a little corn field and beatin 
 
30 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 meal and hominy for a year or two, I built a little 
 water mill for the accommodation of the settlers, and 
 remained there until the winter of 1833, when I sold it 
 and moved down by the Lone Jack ; and am living now 
 in the first house that was ever built in that part of 
 the county — built by a man named Dunnaway — one 
 who, like me, has always been trying to be at the 
 outside. I hear he is settling or building now at the head 
 of Bear Creek, down on the Shawnee trace. Did you see 
 anything of him as you come up ? " 
 
 I told him that we had seen no one after leaving Nor- 
 ris's, but that we had passed a set of house-logs at the head 
 of the creek. 
 
 " Well," said he, *' that's Isaac Dunnaway, and I reckon 
 he'll keep a-going." 
 
 '* Have the Indians ever given you any trouble here?" 
 I asked. 
 
 ''No," said he, "we have never had any to speak of. 
 Our old wimmen would sometimes take a skeer, and some 
 of the old womanish men would run and hide. But we 
 never had any war trouble that amounted to much, till the 
 Mormons come here and kicked up a dust, and we had to 
 drive 'em off. But may be you don't know anything about 
 Mormons ? " 
 
 I assured him that we did not. 
 
 *' Then you needn't want to know any thing about 'em," 
 said he, and I thought he was not going to tell me any thing. 
 
 After a few moments I asked, ''what kind of people are 
 they ? " not exactly knowing whether they were people or 
 some other kind of " varmint." 
 
 "Oh," said he, "they claimed to be some kind of a 
 religious sex, and said they had received a revelation from 
 heaven, which the angel Gabriel, or some other angel, brought 
 down on plates of gold to their prophet, Jo. Smith; that it 
 had been revealed to 'em that they were to build the Zion, 
 or new Jerusalem, on the spot where Independence now is ; 
 and that the whole County of Jackson had been given to the 
 Saints (as they called themselves) for an inheritance, and that 
 the Gentiles was to be driven out and dispossessed." 
 
 "And did they have their preachers, and what kind of 
 doctrine did they preach?" 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 3 1 
 
 "Yes, they had their preachers, or elders, as they 
 called 'em; and their preachin', I reckon, was like every- 
 body else's — better than their practice. They put up a print- 
 ing office at Independence,, and printed a newspaper filled 
 with nonsensical prophesies and revelations made by the 
 Almighty to his servants, Joseph, and Synney, and Oliver, 
 and Parley, and Lyman, and Ziba, and I can't tell you how 
 many more; their preacher pretending to speak in unknown 
 tongues, heal the sick and work miracles, and, so far as I 
 could see, it was all an unknown jargon of foolishness." 
 
 "And did they attempt to dispossess the other citizens, 
 or the Gentiles?" 
 
 "Yes, in a certain way ; you see, a few of them located 
 near Mr. A; by their petty thieving, their trespasses and 
 insulting ways, would so annoy him that to escape their dev- 
 iltries, he would sell out to them for a mere song ; and then 
 half a dozen more of them located on his place, would so 
 annoy Mr. B, adjoining, that he too would sell out to escape 
 them; and so on, first one and then another, until it seemed 
 that the whole possy would be bought out, from A to Izzard. 
 So we got together, and said it had to be stopped; and if any 
 more dispossessing had to be done, it would be the other 
 way. 
 
 "They had a strong settlement at Independence, one at 
 Westport, and scattered members all over the county. 
 
 " About the last of September, three years ago, some of 
 the heathen Gentiles about Independence got together, pulled 
 down their printing office, tarred and feathered their Elder 
 Partridge, and whistled Bob White at him, and ordered the 
 whole lot of latter day Saints to get away. They went to 
 Westport, where a few weeks after the Gentiles and the Mor- 
 mons had a little brush of a fight. The Mormons, also, 
 came in force to attack Independence, but were met by a 
 force so large that they didn't do it ; and after some palaver- 
 ing, they agreed to leave the county; and they did leave and 
 went across the river into Clay." 
 
 " And that," said I, "was the last of them, I suppose?" 
 
 "Not the last by any means," was his reply. "The 
 next spring some of their head men from New York and 
 Ohio came on with large reinforcements, and they resolved 
 to come back and wipe us all out. 
 
32 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 " That was the biggest scare and excitement we ever 
 had. The whole county was in arms, with a part of Lafayette 
 to help us. A company of fifty, or more, from our part of 
 the county, and Van Buren, which then was a part of Jack- 
 son, elected me their captain; and we made a forced march 
 to Independence in the night. The night, you remember, 
 that the moon was eclipsed, two years ago last June. 
 Well, we got there, but the Mormons hadn't come yet ; and 
 when they found out we was too strong for 'em, they gave 
 it up, and entered into some sort of a treaty to disband 
 their army and let us alone." 
 
 ''And where are they now ?" asked Frank. 
 
 " Up on north Grand River. They staid a year or 
 more in Clay, till the people there, got tired of them, and 
 drove 'em as we did; and they went to Daviess and Caldwell 
 Counties and are there yet, and still increasing in numbers ; 
 and I guess the trouble is not over yet. 
 
 We had left the Mission road, and were pursuing our 
 way on a small bridle-path, or trail, through the grass, and 
 after awhile, came to the timbered lands of the Little Blue ; 
 and as we proceeded, the country became more rough and 
 uneven, with here and there a cabin and small corn-field ; 
 and as we passed, our companion would now and then 
 point out spots where he had killed elk or deer, or cut bee- 
 trees, and recount the circumstances. On reaching the 
 Blue, we found a small grist-mill and a small and narrow 
 corn-field, which our companion told us he had formerly 
 owned, and sold it to its then owner, a Mr. Hawkins. He 
 pointed out the spot where his first cabin stood, and where 
 his nearest neighbor then resided. Having some business at 
 the mill, he stopped there ; directing us where we could find 
 a blacksmith, to put a shoe on each one of our horses, we 
 parted company, agreeing to meet the next morning at the 
 store of General Owens, in Independence. After some 
 trouble, we found the shop, and the smith, who was also an 
 old pioneer (Johnson, I think, by name); a smith who man- 
 ufactured his own coal, having a large charcoal pit burning 
 at the time." 
 
 On being asked if he knew old Jimmy Savage, he replied, 
 '*0h! certainly; everybody knows him. He's the first 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 3^ 
 
 preacher that ever preached in these diggins; or if not the 
 first, near about it." 
 
 *' Well," said Frank, ''that beats me. I knew he was 
 farmer, miller, hunter and soldier, but didn't dream that he 
 was a preacher." Having to make our horseshoes from a 
 heavy bar .of iron, and also to make the nails to put them on 
 with, the sun was quite low before we left the shop. The 
 smith said, "if we did not wish to go on to town, we could 
 stay at Stayton's, or at Shepherd's." We stopped at Stay- 
 ton's about sunset, and were told that it was two miles to 
 town, and that we could stay. He appeared to be a well-to- 
 do farmer ; had a good farm in a beautiful location, a large 
 family, mostly boys. We had supper soon, and our host in> 
 formed us that there was to be preaching at the meeting- 
 house, and that he hoped we would excuse him, as he wished 
 to be in attendance. 
 
 Frank, who was a church-going man. proposed that if it 
 was not too far, we would attend also. On being told that it 
 was but a short mile, and that the family would walk, we all 
 set out together. We had been told that it was a Baptist 
 meeting, and that Parson White, of Lafayette County, was 
 expected to preach. 
 
 1 suppose that this fact was one reason why Frank 
 wished to be in attendance. 
 
 He was, however, disappointed. Elder White was not 
 present. The pastor of the church, Fitzhugh, I think, opened 
 the services ; and while singing the opening hymn, we were 
 surprised to see our traveling companion enter, and on a 
 signal from the preacher, walk up into the stand. After the 
 hymn and prayer, and a whispered consultation of half a 
 minute, the tall pastor announced his text: "By grace are ye 
 saved." I soon found that he was not only a Baptist, but 
 one of the kind called " hard-shell," or extreme Calvinistic. 
 He appeared to be a man of some intelligence and well 
 read, but somewhat eccentric in his manners and arguments; 
 bringing smiles to the face oftener than tears to the eyes. 
 
 At the close of the sermon, old Uncle Jimmy rose slowly, 
 and after singing " Ami a Soldier of the Cross," opened his 
 discourse about as follows : — 
 
 "My dear brethren, friends and old neighbors, as our 
 good brother down at Salem would say, my tex is found 
 
34 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 at verse 8, IV chapter, of the one I John: ' God is Love.' 
 So well convinced was the Apossel John of this fact that he 
 said it, not only once, but twice or ofPner. You'll find it at 
 verse 8, and again at. verse i6; and, my friends, I believe he 
 meant just what he said — that God, the great God of heav- 
 en and earth, is Love, first, and last, and all the time; that 
 He is Love, from the beginning to the end ; not a part Love, 
 and a part hate, but Love all the time; and being Love, and 
 loving the whole of the lost race of Adam, He gave his only 
 Son, the Lord Jesus, to die for them, for me and for you, and 
 for all : 'That whosoever believeth in him, shall not perish, 
 but have everlasting Life.' Brethren, this is all the doctrine 
 I have to preach on this tex. You know that Old Jimmy 
 is called the exhortin' preacher. Then let me to-night ex- 
 hort you, as though it were the last night of my life, and 
 yours, if you have not already believed in him, and come to 
 him, to make a start now. Let me plead with you, as one 
 who loves you well, to ground the arms of your rebellion, 
 against one who loves you much better, and died that you 
 might live." 
 
 For twenty minutes then, he continued to exhort 
 the unbelieving part of the audience, in language that 
 drew tears from his own, as well as other eyes ; completely, 
 as I thought, upsetting the predestinarian doctrines of his 
 brother and predecessor. 
 
 After we returned from church, I asked our host who 
 Uncle Jimmy meant by the good brother at Salem ? 
 
 '' Well," said he, " I suppose it is Brother Joab Powell, 
 a good and worthy preacher, but one that is quite illiterate — 
 scarcely able to read intelligibly — and who is reported to have 
 taken his text, or quoted something from the ' two chapter of 
 one I John ; ' a made tale," said he, " no doubt." 
 
 Our host told us that his father and a younger brother 
 were also Baptist preachers, and that this denomination was 
 the prevailing one in the county. 
 
 The next morning, at the store agreed upon, we met our 
 traveling companion of the day before. We found Independ- 
 ence to be the most beautiful town and the largest we had 
 seen since leaving St. Louis. 
 
 In addition to the store of Samuel C. Owens, who after 
 wards fell at the battle of Sacramento, in the Mexican war 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 35 
 
 there were several others, which our friend Savage told us 
 were doing a good business. There was also a variety of 
 tradesmen, such as smiths, saddlers, tailors, wagon-makers, 
 hatters, etc. Leaving Independence for Westport, we cross- 
 ed over what our pilot told us was the Temple Lot, on which 
 the Mormons were to build the Mount Zion, of the latter 
 days ; and as we stood upon that elevated and beautiful site, 
 surrounded by the beautiful and fertile country on all sides, 
 we could not do otherwise than commend the good taste of 
 the revelator, whoever it was, that revealed this as the chosen 
 site of the new Jerusalem. A ride of three hours brought 
 us to Westport, on the western boundary of the State, the 
 State line, as we were told, being less than a mile west of the 
 town. It was the outside verge of civilization, or the white 
 man's residence. Beyond the State line, we were told, the 
 Shavvnees, the Delawares and Wyandotte Indians had their 
 homes or reservations. Dozens of them were in the streets 
 and stores that morning, in their grotesque habiliments, some 
 comparatively well dressed, and some almost naked. The 
 Santa Fe and mountain traders were also arriving from the 
 western plains, with their long teams of oxen and mules. 
 Indians, Mexicans and Missourians were mixed and mingled 
 together in the one street of that small western frontier 
 town. But as we were in haste to cross the river into the 
 lately purchased territory — the promised land to many an ex. 
 pectant emigrant — we staid not long to make inquiries about 
 the trade or business of this bustling village, but left it with 
 the impression that in the future it might eclipse, in size and 
 business, many a larger town. Our pilot having transacted 
 his business, we set off in a northern direction for the river, 
 or, as it was called, the landing. A wagon-road had been 
 made with great labor, leading from the steamboat-landing up 
 into the town, a distance of three or four miles. A few 
 cabins and corn-patches were seen and passed, but we were 
 told that the larger part of the land was held by speculators 
 and large land-holders of Westport and vicinity. We found 
 the landing under a steep bluff, which extended for some dis- 
 tance up and down the river; the roughest and hilliest land- 
 scape we had seen since leaving Springfield. 
 
 The hills, steep and rugged, appeared to be thrown 
 together in confusion, separated only by deep and almost 
 
36 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 impassable gorges, extending from the mouth of the Kaw 
 for miles down the river; and no thought entered our minds 
 that this was to be the site of the future great metropolis — 
 Kansas City. 
 
 Having crossed the river, we found quite a different 
 country; instead of rough hills and gorges, as on the south 
 side, we found a level bottom, extending for miles up and 
 down the river, and far out to the north. Taking the road 
 leading north, through the western part of Clay County, we 
 came to the small town of Barry, and then turning west, 
 were soon passing the lately-built cabins and the newly- 
 cleared lands of the Platte Purchase. Every mile two or 
 three cabins were seen and passed, which indicated that if 
 the country was not already settled, it soon would be. 
 
 It was night when we arrived at the house of his friend, 
 for whom Uncle Jimmy had been inquiring. Like all the 
 others, it was a newly-settled place, on a stream called Bee 
 Creek. There was no barn or stable, but we were provided 
 with halters, and our horses, as well as ourselves, were made 
 welcome and comfortable. The conversation was almost 
 wholly carried on by Uncle Jimmy and his old friend and 
 family; which Frank and I enjoyed almost as much as they, 
 as there were a good many interesting stories and reminis- 
 cences of the old times to talk over, and many hearty laughs 
 were indulged in at the recital of those stories of the past. 
 
 Amongst other things, I remember the conversation 
 turned upon ghosts and ghost stories. Uncle Jimmy said the 
 most of these stories were all fiction. "But," said he, "I 
 remember one, in which I acted a part, that had no fiction 
 in it. It was when I was a young man, in my courting 
 days, that me and three other mischievous youngsters hap- 
 pened at the Widow B's, on a winter's evening, all bent upon 
 a courtship. There was four boys of us and only three gals ; 
 and it so turned out that I was the one that was left — that is, 
 left without a partner. I staid, though, till near bed-time, 
 talking to Bob, the big brother, and playing pranks and jokes 
 on the other boys and gals, and at last picked up my hat to 
 go home. One of the gals (my gal, by the bye,) said that if 
 I started, I'd get scared in going by the grave-yard, and come 
 back on the run. 
 
 "Her partner — the chap that had cut me out — said he'd 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 37 
 
 bet a ninepence that I wouldn't dare to go by the meetin' 
 house at all, but that if I did go home, I'd go some round- 
 about way, so as to miss the ghosts. 
 
 "These insinuations got my dander up, and I told the 
 
 gal that she wouldn't see me running back there in a hurry; 
 
 and I told Jack I'd take his bet, and to prove that I went the 
 
 direct road, I'd go into the meetin' house and write the first 
 
 letter of my name on the pulpit. ' Done ! ' said Jack, 
 
 'and I tell you now, Jim, that big "J" won't get on the pulpit 
 
 to-night.' The other gals laughed, and the other boys said 
 
 they'd like to go a ninepence, too. But I told 'em I didn't 
 
 want their money, but I did want to show 'em I wasn't a 
 
 coward, and that the winning of one ninepence would be as 
 
 convincing as if I won a hundred; and picking up a piece of 
 
 charcoal from the hearth, I put on my hat and started. The 
 
 snow was on the ground full six inches deep — soft and light 
 
 — and I hurried on, too mad, as I thought, to be skeered at 
 
 ghosts or anything else. It was but a short distance 
 
 to the meetin' house, an old log building, whose one door 
 
 usually stood open; at least it was never locked, and I 
 
 knowed I would have no trouble in getting in to make my 
 
 mark. I passed the grave-yard pretty brave; my hair did 
 
 rise up a little, but I kept my hat on and pressed it down, 
 
 keeping on till near the door of the meetin' house, when I 
 
 stopped short. A deep, hollow groaning seemed to come 
 
 from the house, as if some one breathing in the last agonies 
 
 of death. Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, went my heart, and I felt as 
 
 if my feet would like to beat the same music in the snow. 
 
 Two or three times I turned round to leave the house and 
 
 hurry home, and as often turned back to hear the same 
 
 fearful groaning, deep and death-like. 
 
 "AH at once it occurred to me that Bob had left the 
 room just before I started, as he said, to go to bed; and I 
 made up my mind that it was a put-up job to get a big joke 
 upon me, and that Bob was in the house making all that fear- 
 ful noise. I was mad enough before; the cutting-out had 
 put me in bad humor. The insinuations of my want of 
 courage had raised my dander still higher, and now I was 
 awful mad. The moon was near setting and gave but little 
 light; but I managed to find a stick, or club to my notion, and 
 screwing up my courage to the upper notch, I marched up to 
 
38 RURAL RHYMES AI«3D OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 the door — up on the steps. The door was open; I listened; 
 the groaning seemed to come from under the pulpit, right 
 where I was to make the big "J-" I thought the death-groans 
 too natural to be imitated by Bob or anybody else ; but I 
 made up my mind to give Bob, or the ghost, or whoever 
 it was, a taste of my club ; and drawing back, I let fly with 
 all my might. Before I could think, a large figure in white 
 was coming right toward me. It looked, as I thought, a hob- 
 goblin in size and in deed, and in an instant, before I could 
 move, or think of moving I felt myself lifted off the steps 
 and being carried through the air some distance, and then 
 thrown to the ground." "Law ! law ! " said one of the girls 
 present; '',what did you do! " '' Well," said he, "I didn't 
 faint ; I didn't scream ; I didn't jump up and run : but I got 
 up and laughed. And what do you think it was ? Nothing 
 but an over-grown white sow that had gone into the house to 
 sleep in the dry, and when her slumbering and snoring was 
 disturbed by the whack of my stick, had run with all speed, 
 and coming between my legs, lifted and carried me into the 
 yard and then dropped me and run off, while the grunting 
 and squealing of the shotes told the tale." 
 
 "Well, as I said, I got up, and after getting over my laugh, 
 I brushed off the snow, felt in my jacket pocket for my fire- 
 coal; went in and up to the hog bed by the pulpit, and made 
 my mark, which the boys were curious enough to come and 
 look for next morning ; and Jack was man enough to pay the 
 ninepence ; but I was not man enough to tell all the story 
 that I've told to night." 
 
 We parted company next morning with the old frontier 
 preacher and his kind friends, and made our explorations 
 through the Platte country alone. It is not my purpose to 
 state what we saw or did further, save only to say that 
 Frank selected a home in what is now Buchanan County, 
 to which he afterward moved ; and that I returned to spend 
 my days amongst the Hoosiers on the White River. On our 
 return we stopped and tarried all night near Greenton. 
 Frank could learn nothing further about Lester than we had 
 heard on our way up. All that had been told us, however, was 
 confirmed. We were told that the man whom he had bought 
 out, and with whom for a time he lived, had moved off, and 
 no one else seemed to know muc^ about his domestic affairs. 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 39 
 
 Frank was persuaded to proceed on, without seeing his 
 cousin, or provoking a quarrel with her seducer. He in- 
 formed me, though, that he had made arrangements with a 
 young man, that he thought he could depend upon, to watch 
 Lester's movements, find out all he could, and keep him 
 (Frank) posted. 
 
 Years passed. Frank was in Buchanan. I had become 
 a man of family, and many of the incidents of my journey to 
 Missouri had faded from my memory. I received letters 
 from Frank, at long intervals apart. In one he told me he 
 had managed to correspond with his cousin, and, also, with 
 her friends in Virginia, and that she had abandoned Lester, 
 and returned to her relations. A few years later, another 
 letter closed with these words: "You remember J. C. Lester; 
 he has met his deserts, as I told you he would ; my dream 
 has been realized. He was hung last week, at Clinton in 
 Henry County, not many miles from where we met him on. 
 the open prairie. A history of all his crimes, and their in- 
 cidents, would fill a volume. " 
 
 A short time after, as I was returning home from our 
 county town ; I fell in with a traveller, who said he was from 
 Lafayette County, in Missouri. I asked immediately if he 
 ever knew John C. Lester. 
 
 '' Yes," said he, " I knew him for years." 
 
 " And is it true that he was hung recently ? " 
 
 "Yes, very true; and if anybody ever deserved hang- 
 ing I suppose, he did." 
 
 " For murder, I suppose ? " said I. 
 
 ' ' Yes ; we never hang for anything else, and not often 
 enough for that." 
 
 On my remarking that I would like to hear the particu- 
 lars, as a friend had said they would fill a volume. 
 
 "Yes, sir, a good large one, and it would be a long 
 story to give even a sketch of his career in crime. " 
 
 - " Well," said I, " I feel an interest in that story; I knew 
 him when I was a boy ; and I know something of his early 
 tricks; saw him once in Missouri, and heard something of 
 his doings there ; and if you'll stop over night with me, and 
 give what you know of his history, I will make you a 
 welcome guest, as long as you please to stay, and will be 
 very much your debtor beside." 
 
40 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 It being near night, he consented, and during the even- 
 ing gave me the desired history, the substance of which I 
 .give, as nearly as I can, in his own words : 
 
 "I was never intimately acquainted with Lester, I 
 lived in the western part of the county ; saw him occasionally, 
 and heard him spoken of as a scheming, speculating trickster. 
 He first bought out an old settler by the name of Lynch ; 
 a good farm of eighty acres, for $600. He soon sold that, 
 at a large profit, and partly bought and partly swindled a 
 Mr. Hughes out of one of the best farms in the Greenton val- 
 ley, and settled himself upon it. About this, time it is said, a 
 young man from Virginia, by the name of Horton, was employ- 
 ed by a friend or relation of Lester's wife, or the woman rather 
 that he lived with, to assist him in unearthing some of Lester's 
 dark deeds, and to secure the return of the woman to her 
 friends. He succeeded in this, it was said, but because his 
 employer could not or would not pay him all he demanded 
 for his services, and the secrets he possessed himself of, he 
 sold himself to Lester, who, finding that Horton knew so 
 much that he was completely in his power, gave him large 
 sums of money, and took him into partnership; and together 
 they practiced their deeds of villiany. Being rid of the 
 woman that he brought there with him, amongst other money- 
 making schemes, he concluded to marry the daughter of a 
 wealthy widow owning a large farm, several slaves and other 
 property, with but two children, a son and daughter. For 
 this purpose, or for some other, he professed religion and 
 joined the Baptist church, and for some time was a prominent 
 member of that denomination." 
 
 I here asked him what became of his mother and the 
 widow that he carried to Missouri with him. 
 
 " I believe," said the gentleman, " that his mother died 
 a few years after coming there, and after he married the 
 Widow Scott's daughter — or perhaps before, the other woman 
 left him. Lester, however, kept her son as a kind of ser- 
 vant, claiming that the boy had been bound to him by his 
 mother as an apprentice. This, the mother and boy both 
 denied, and after a time she brought suit for the boy and his 
 wages. On the trial, Lester produced the articles of appren- 
 ticeship, and the man Horton, whose name was signed as a 
 witness, swore to them as genuine, and the widow lost her 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 4I 
 
 suit. The community, however, were not satisfied, and the 
 friends of the widow and of justice went to work, and at the 
 next term of court, Lester and Horton were both indicted; 
 one for forgery and the other for perjury 
 
 "The trials were put off from time to time, and in the in- 
 terval, other strange occurrences took place. The wealthy 
 widow, whose daughter Lester had married, held her farm and 
 negroes during life, and was not disposed to divide with her 
 children as they desired ; and on a winter's evening, when 
 the negroes were all off at a corn-husking, the widow was 
 burned to death in her house, where she had been left alone. 
 
 "Circumstances pointed to the fact and the neighbors 
 believed that she was put into the fire by Lester, but as there 
 was no proof of it, he was never arrested for it. The widow 
 being out of the way, the property of course descended to 
 the son and daughter. King Scott, the son, a reckless spend- 
 thrift, who was thought to be hand in glove with Lester in 
 his rascalities, was after a time arrested for theft. The offi- 
 cer having him in charge permitted him to go to bed at night 
 in an upper room, and, after hiding his prisoner's clothes, went 
 to bed and to sleep himself, below stairs. In the night Scott 
 got up, came down, and stealing the officer's clothes, de- 
 camped and made good his escape. Rewards were offered, 
 and a diligent search was made, but all in vain. Nobody 
 had seen him, and he never was seen again alive by any of 
 the neighbors. In a short time Horton was tried for perjury 
 and sent to the penitentiary, (I believe for five years). 
 
 " Months passed and Lester was in possession of the 
 Scott farm, and no tidings or clue to the whereabouts of the 
 missing brother. Circuit court came on again, and Lester 
 was tried for forgery and acquitted, owing, it was thought, 
 to the influence that money has in our courts of justice. 
 The friends of Horton then got up a petition to the governor, 
 for his pardon and release, on the ground that if Lester was not 
 guilty, Horton was not. In other words, if the articles of 
 apprenticeship were not forged, bat genuine, then Horton 
 had sworn truly. On this petition, he was pardoned, and 
 returned home. Lester had not manifested much desire to 
 get him released, but he manifested great anxiety to be the 
 first to see him, after he returned. Bat others were before 
 him, and the silence or the secret which he wished to secure. 
 
42 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 was imparted to others, and astonished all who heard it. He 
 said King Scott was no longer living ; that he had been mur- 
 dered ; that he saw him killed; that he saw him buried, and 
 that Lester was the murderer, and that he could now point 
 out the spot where he was buried. A warrant was at once 
 issued for the arrest of Lester, and the sheriff, with a posse of 
 men, set out to make the arrest, and the guilty culprit was 
 taken in charge. On the way to Lexington (the county seat), 
 as their horses were drinking at the Little Sni, Lester sudden- 
 ly wheeled his horse and fled. He was mounted on a strong 
 and swift horse, but the sheriff was equally well mounted, and 
 after a race of six hundred yards, came near enough to fire a 
 pistol-shot, which took effect, disabling one of Lester's arms ; 
 but he still whipped with the other. The sheriff at length 
 rode up by his side, and ordered him to stop or be shot. 
 He replied : 'I can't hold him.' 'Then quit whipping, you 
 rascal.' The horse was at length stopped, and Lester fell off, 
 apparently dying. His captors, however, thought there was 
 more of 'possum than death, and hurried him on to prison. In 
 the mean time, Horton, with an officer, and a squad of men, 
 was dispatched to dig up the bones of the murdered man. 
 Some thought he too was possumming, or trying to make 
 believe. One of the men present afterwards told me that 
 when the spot was pointed out, and he commenced digging 
 in the bottom of a small ravine, in which the water was then 
 flowing, he did so with the firm conviction that nothing would 
 be found. 
 
 "There was nothing," said he, ''to indicate that the 
 spot had ever been visited by the foot of man since the world 
 began. As they dug," he said, "Horton sat on the bank, looking 
 as confident and unconcerned as if he had been overseeing a 
 parcel of boys digging potatoes. 
 
 "That nothing was found as they proceeded, which indi- 
 cated that the earth had ever been disturbed, until the body 
 was reached. The bones were lifted out, but the head was 
 wanting, as Horton had said it would be. The shirt, draw 
 ers and vest were entirely rotten ; but the stolen pants, in 
 which he had escaped from the officer, were in such a state 
 of preservation as to hold together while lifting the body 
 from the pit. The pantaloons and the watch in the pocket 
 were recognized as those belonging to the officer, and no 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 43 
 
 doubt remained that these were the bones of King Scott. 
 The conviction, however, was strong in the minds of all, that 
 if Lester was guilty, Horton was accessory and equally 
 guilty, and he, too, was taken into custody, and both were 
 indicted for the murder. Lester's trial came on first. Hor- 
 ton was the principal witness against him; but there were 
 other circumstantials that strengthened his testimony." 
 
 ''But," said I to the stranger, "how did Horton ac- 
 count for seeing so much of the murder and burial, without 
 implicating himself, as taking part in it ?" 
 
 ''As well as I remember, his story was, that he was 
 passing through the woods hunting, a few days after Scott 
 made his escape, when he saw Scott and Lester walking 
 along together, when something that he saw or heard in- 
 duced him to secrete himself and watch their movements. 
 'Lester,' he said, 'had carried provisions, or something, to 
 Scott to aid his escape, and as Scott stooped to pick up 
 something, Lester struck him a heavy blow on the back of 
 the head, and, following up his blows, soon deprived him of 
 life.' That Lester walked a short distance, and returned 
 with a spade, and buried him near by where he was killed. 
 He also went on to say, that some days after, as he was 
 hunting again in the same woods, he went to the spot and 
 found that the body had been taken up, or rooted up by 
 the hogs, and was lying there with the head gone and no- 
 where to be seen, said that some hours after, as he was re- 
 turning home, near the spot, he saw Lester carrying the 
 body toward the branch, or ravine; that he hid himself 
 again, and watched him until the body was buried in the 
 running stream ; and that after Lester retired, he went to 
 the spot and marked the locality, so that he would be able to 
 point it out. 
 
 "By change of venue and other dilatory pleas, Lester's 
 trial was kept off for a year or two ; and the State would not 
 bring Horton to trial, as his evidence was wanted against 
 Lester. At last the trial came off, at Clinton, in Henry 
 County, and he was found guilty, and hung only a month or 
 two ago." 
 
 "And where," I asked, "is Horton?" 
 
 " He is there yet, awaiting his trial. People, generally, 
 think he was in the murder ; but as there is nothing but cir- 
 
44 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 cumstantial evidence against him, he will probably be ac- 
 quitted." 
 
 "Yes," said I, ''if he has money enough to fee the 
 lawyers." 
 
 "Well," said the stranger, " he hasn't got it, but his 
 father-in-law has. You see, while he and Lester were en- 
 gaged in their mischief, he married the daughter of a wealthy 
 farmer and slave-holder, near Lexington, much against the 
 old man's will, and he disowned them both, and permitted 
 Horton to go to the penitentiary, without raising a finger to 
 help him. But after he was pardoned out, he took him 
 under his protection and has stood by him ever since." 
 
 So ended the story of the stranger; and a few months 
 later I heard that Horton had been tried and acquitted, and 
 to escape the execrations of the community, or the venge- 
 ance of "Judge Lynch," had left the county. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The years came and went; peace and war succeeded 
 each other and came in turn; friends and acquaintances that 
 I had once known were dropping off; my old friend, Frank 
 Elmwood, was reposing, as I heard, in the cemetery at St. 
 Joseph; the War of the Rebellion had been over for years; 
 the sons of many a northern and western father had found 
 graves in the South ; one of my own was buried, I was told, 
 where he fell, near the lone tree, the black-jack that the old 
 Baptist preacher had pointed out to me on the high prairie, 
 the summit land between the waters of the Missouri and the 
 Osage. My own health had failed, and I was preparing to 
 leave the home where I had so long dwelt, in hope of finding 
 in travel that which medical treatment had failed to give, with 
 the intention, also, of visiting that soldier's grave beneath the 
 lone tree on the high prairie, and to see and revisit the 
 country I had passed over, with my friend, in the days of our 
 youthful manhood. My preparations were soon made — a 
 gentle and strong horse, a light carriage, with a grandson of 
 fourteen years to drive and take care of me, I set out, pro- 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 45 
 
 ceeding, as before, to Vincennes, and thence to St. Louis. 
 My journey through the State of Illinois prepared me in 
 some degree for the changes I was to witness still further on. 
 The then large and unsettled prairies were all now in cultiva- 
 tion ; the little villages had grown to be large and populous 
 towns, and railroads were almost as numerous now as wagon- 
 roads were then ; St. Louis, which we then saw as a good 
 large town, stretching up and down the river some distance 
 above and below Wiggins' ferry, was now grown to be a city 
 of such dimensions as not to be taken in at a single view, 
 nor even by several views : but as I gave only the incidents 
 of a three- days trip then, I will go over only the same ground 
 in my descriptions now. 
 
 No having any business at Springfield, we proceeded 
 leisurely along to Warsaw, on the Osage. It was a new and 
 very small village then; it is not a very large town even 
 now, and has not as many marks of improvement as some 
 other towns that have outstripped it. From thence to Clin- 
 ton, which in 1836 had just been selected as a county seat, 
 with no town at all. We found it now a live business place, 
 with a railroad, on which could be heard the loud snort of 
 the locomotive, where then the snort and whistle of the 
 bounding stag was heard; and where the wild turkey then 
 gobbled almost unnoticed, we found railroads, banking and 
 other monopolies gobbling up a great part of the proceeds of 
 the farmer's labor. 
 
 Leaving Clinton in the afternoon, we stopped some dis- 
 tance from the little village of Chilhowie. From what I 
 could learn from my host, who was comparatively an old set- 
 tler, I was led to think we were near the spot where we fell 
 in with Lester, in 1836. But how changed was the scene! 
 Instead of an almost boundless prairie, covered with rank 
 grass, through which a solitary Indian trail was found, I saw 
 a country where field was joined unto field — the green fields 
 of wheat and oats, and the lately-planted fields of corn, the 
 orchards and groves of shade-trees, where then scarcely a 
 shrub or switch could be seen for miles. And instead of 
 the straight and narrow Indian trail, leading in a direct line 
 to the west-northwest, we found broad wagon-roads, leading 
 through lanes, zigzagging to the four cardinal points, and this 
 as far as the eye could reach. I inquired for our old host of 
 
46 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 forty-three years before, the man of four hundred pounds 
 weight. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said our host, " Clark Davis; I have 
 often heard of him, but he was dead before I came here." 
 
 He said the old Shawnee trail was only remembered by 
 the old pioneers ; that the present road to Westport would 
 cross over it many times, but that the traveller will never 
 travel on the old trail, fifty yards at a stretch. I mentioned 
 the singular mound that I had passed over in 1836. 
 
 "Yes," said he, ''that is called Centre Knob. You 
 will pass three or four hundred yards north of it to-morrow 
 with a farm on your left, and a railroad on the right, and a 
 town just before you." 
 
 I found our host a well-informed, talkative farmer; and 
 on my asking if he ever knew John C. Lester, he said : "I 
 never knew him, but I saw him hung ; I was a boy then, 
 and it was the first and the last hanging I ever witnessed." 
 
 The next morning I resumed my journey. The travel, 
 the change of climate and scenery, or the excitement, had 
 benefitted me very materially, and the weather being fine, I 
 set out in excellent spirits, and passed on through the prairie 
 country, with farms, houses and orchards on either hand, 
 and came to the head of Bear Creek, where I inquired for 
 the man whose cabin-logs I had passed, when there before ; 
 but the man said no such man as Isaac Dunaway had 
 lived in that vicinity for thirty years. 
 
 On and on; we passed first north and then west, all 
 the time in a lane, till near noon we arrived at the town of 
 Holden, a town of some three thousand inhabitants, on the 
 Missouri Pacific Railroad ; from which point another railroad 
 branches off, and runs southwest through Harrisonville into 
 Kansas. I was told that I was now a short distance north 
 of the old Shawnee trail, and that the whole country north 
 and south was under fence. 
 
 Here, then, was a town of three thousand inhabitants, in 
 a country where forty-three years before, a traveller could 
 find no place to stay over night; a lively, bustling city, sur- 
 rounded by farms which nobody then thought of entering, 
 at a dollar and a quarter per acre ; many of which were 
 entered, after the graduation law took effect, at twelve and a 
 half cents per acre. 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 47 
 
 We left Holden, and in two hours or less, came oppo- 
 site the Centre Knob. I had a great curiosity to stand again 
 upon its summit; and seeing a path leading up to it, through 
 the farm, we alighted, hitched the horse, and walked up to 
 the top, and stood again upon that stony summit. But what 
 a contrast was the view that I then had, with the sunset 
 view that I had had so long ago. 
 
 Instead of one single solitary farm in sight, ic was farm 
 after farm, and farm joined to farm as far as I could see, north, 
 south, east and west. Four miles to the east, was the town 
 of Holden, with its thousands ; and three-quarters of a mile 
 to the west, was the village of Kingsville. And instead of 
 two or three smokes rising from distant and unseen farms, 
 were now seen the smoke from the fine flouring-mill in 
 Kingsville, and also from the mills and other machinery in 
 Holden ; while a black column rose from a freight train mov- 
 ing west, and from another moving east, as they met and 
 passed each other at Kingsville; the contrast was almost too 
 great for my weak frame to bear. 
 
 Returning to the carriage, we were soon in the streets of 
 Kingsville, which, I was told, was situated immediately on 
 the old Indian trail. Having promised a friend to attend to 
 a small matter of business in Pleasant Hill, in Cass County 
 (called Van Buren in 1836 ), I made inquiry as to the road 
 and the distance, and was told that it was on the railroad, 
 the second station above, about twelve miles ; and that it 
 was south of the old Shawnee trail. On my asking how far 
 from where Wright's store was in 1836, my informant said it 
 was the same place ; the old store-house being one of the 
 first houses ever built there. 
 
 Leaving Kingsville late in the afternoon, we drove on 
 and stopped in the little village of Strasburg for the night. 
 
 After telling my landlord of my travels through Missouri 
 in 1836, and describing our ride through the wide and desert 
 prairie, and our night's lodging on the old trail, I asked if 
 he knew where the young couple were. 
 
 "Yes," said he, ''I reckon I know who he is, but he. 
 lives in Jackson County now ; and his wife has been dead 
 more than twenty years. He is an old gray-headed man 
 now, and you wouldn't know him." 
 
48 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 *' I guess," said I, " that the Uttle cabin has gone long 
 ago." 
 
 " Not all of it," he replied. " It has been moved and 
 rebuilt two or three times, and a part of the logs may be 
 seen now in a stable that stands on the farm where he was 
 then living. By the way," said he, " lyou ought to see his 
 book of poems, and read his description of that old cabin 
 home." 
 
 '* Ah, indeed; has he turned author and poet ; I would 
 indeed give a shilling to see a description in rhyme of that 
 little cabin, as I saw it then." 
 
 " Well," said he, " I think I can get a copy of the 
 book, for I know there are several in town." 
 
 He stepped out and soon returned with a small volume 
 entitled, " Rural Rhymes and Poems from the Farm," and 
 turning over the leaves, he pointed to one of the poems en- 
 titled, " The Old Cabin Home." 
 
 ''That old cabin," said he, "is the one in which you 
 lodged that night." 
 
 Putting on my spectacles, I read as follows : 
 
 THE OLD CABIN HOME. 
 Written in 1874, and published in the Independence Sentinel. 
 
 I passed an old cabin of logs to-day. 
 
 Weather-beaten and worn and decayed ; 
 And it spoke to my mind of friends far away. 
 
 And of loved ones by death lowly laid. 
 That cabin was built in a wilderness here — 
 
 'Twas the verge of the settlement then — 
 'Twas built long ago by an old pioneer 
 
 Who came in the van of white men ; 
 It stood by the side of the old Shawnee Trace* 
 
 A trail by the Indians made. 
 As they moved to the west from their old home place. 
 
 Where the bones of their fathers were laid. 
 That old pioneer has gone long ago — 
 
 '^'This trace or trail was made before the country was settled by white 
 men, and made by the Shawnee and Delaware Indians, as they removed 
 from the Mississippi to their location above the mouth of the Kansas 
 Kiver. 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 49 
 
 Long since he was laid to his rest, 
 And all his descendants, so far as I know, 
 Have gone to a still farther West. 
 
 I passed the old cabin, and sadly I mused — 
 
 I wept and the tears fell fast — 
 Though now for a stable the cabin is used, 
 
 'Twas my home in the years long passed; 
 It spoke of life's joys, its sorrows and strife, 
 
 And a morning in spring-time fair, 
 When first setting out on the journey of life. 
 
 That Mary and I came there. 
 
 That old cabin home has sheltered us oft 
 
 From the rains and the wintry blast ; 
 'Neath its clapboard roof and its clapboard loft. 
 
 Many halcyon days I've passed. 
 Ah ! dear to my heart is that old cabin yet, 
 
 And the field where I followed the plow — 
 That farm and that cabin I cannot forget, 
 
 Though another possesses them now. 
 
 That old-time roof has been gone long, long, 
 
 And gone is the old puncheon floor ; 
 And the wheel, and the loom, and Mary's sweet song 
 
 Is heard in that cabin no more. 
 'Tis seldom I see the old cabin of late. 
 
 But my thoughts to it often revert; 
 And if in my eyes the tears congregate, 
 
 I feel that they do me no hurt. 
 
 'Twas there that my sons and daughters were born. 
 
 And there it was some of them died ; 
 Those blossoms of hope were cut down in the morn ; 
 
 And Mary now hes by their side. 
 'Twas an humble abode, that cabin, I know, 
 
 But I never again shall enjoy 
 Another on earth, where the sweets of life flow 
 
 With so Httle of bitter alloy. 
 
50 . RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And now in the cold even-tide of my days, 
 
 As the shadows are lengthening fast, 
 I look from out of a dark'ning maze, 
 
 To the sunshine of days that are past. 
 From out of that cabin's old timbers I fain 
 
 Would carve me a staff, firm and strong. 
 On which I can lean, as in weakness and pain, 
 
 On life's journey I totter along. 
 
 I am wayworn and weary; I soon shall go hence, 
 
 And see my old home cabin no more ; 
 But when I have quitted this world of offense, 
 
 A home shall I find evermore. 
 Ah, yes, there's a m.ansion prepared, bright and fair, 
 
 For all who the race have well run ; 
 And Mary, dear Mary, awaits for me there. 
 
 As of old, till my day's work is done. 
 
 I'm coming, dear Mary, I'll be at home soon ; 
 
 The time of reunion draws nigh ; 
 The morning has past, it is long since noon, 
 
 And the sun has sunk low in the sky ; 
 I'm leaving the scene of our labors and love — 
 
 The old home I may never more see ; 
 But by faith I can see the fair mansion above, 
 
 And a light in the window for me. 
 
 While I was engaged in reading the poem, my host 
 picked up a daily newspaper, the Kansas City Times, I think, 
 and for half an hour nothing was said. I finished the poem, 
 and handed the book to my grandson, who was anxiously 
 waiting for it; wiped my eyes and communed with my own 
 thoughts, while the landlord and the boy read on. 
 
 At length the gentleman laid down his paper and said, 
 **I see by this paper that there is to be a meeting of the 
 old settlers of JacksQn, Cass, Clay and Platte Counties, at 
 the Fair Grounds of Kansas City, next Saturday, and that 
 General Doniphan, the great orator and hero of Sacramento, 
 in the Mexican War, is to deliver an oration; and that your 
 friend, of the cabin, is to read a poem descriptive of Old 
 Times; I should like to be there sure." 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 5 1 
 
 " How far," said I, "is Kansas City from Westport." 
 
 " Oh!" said he, " they are almost the same. Westport 
 is one of the suburbs of Kansas City, which now extends 
 from the river almost to Westport, and up to the mouth of 
 the Kaw." 
 
 " I suppose, then, that it includes the steamboat landing 
 of forty years ago?" 
 
 •' Yes, and all the country adjacent to it." 
 
 " I can't see," said I, " how they could build much of a 
 city amongst those hills and hollows ?" 
 
 "Ah, those hills have to some extent been leveled 
 down, and the hollows filled up. If you could be there, you 
 would be astonished to see what has been done." 
 
 "Well then, I am going there. The route I had mark- 
 ed out was to Westport, which I visited in 1836, thence 
 through Kansas and Arkansas, and then home. But I shall 
 be at Kansas City, at, that old settlers meeting; and now, while 
 I think of it, did you ever know anything of an old settler of 
 Jackson County by the name of Savage." 
 
 "Yes, old Jimmy Savage; I can just remember hearing 
 him preach when I was a child, but I have heard him spoken 
 of so often that I almost seem to have known him always. 
 He moved, as I have heard, to Texas, and some of his family 
 are there yet." 
 
 " If I am not mistaken," said I, "he lived near Lone 
 Jack; how far is that from here?" 
 
 " Seven miles north." 
 
 I then informed him of my intention to visit that place, 
 and for what purpose ; and asked if he or any of his neigh- 
 bors was in that battle. 
 
 " I was not there," said he, "but some of my neigh- 
 bors were. A friend of mine, in town here, was living there 
 then, and his house was burned and his wife was killed dur- 
 ing the action." 
 
 And when I asked how that happened, he replied : 
 
 "The Union soldiers were in the house — a large hotel — 
 fighting from it, when the Confederates set fire to the house. 
 That his friend's wife and mother then fled to a field, grown 
 UP in weeds, and lay down amongst them and while there 
 his wife was struck by a rifle-ball, inflicting a mortal 
 wound." 
 
52, RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 I asked then, as I had to go to Pleasant Hill and intend- 
 ed visiting Lone Jack, Independence and Westport, what 
 would be the best route. 
 
 *'I think," said he, "I would go to Pleasant Hill first, 
 and from there to Lone Jack, and then to Independence." 
 
 Having resolved to follow the route suggested, I left 
 early in the morning, and in a few hours was in Pleasant Hill; 
 but it bore no resemblance to the site of the solitary store- 
 house of the county in 1836. I found the business part of 
 the town on a flat or bottom prairie, instead of on a hill, and 
 thought the town had the wrong name. It was, however, a 
 good large town, or would be if the vacant places were filled 
 up; a population of 2,000 or 3,000, and doing a large busi- 
 ness; situated on the Missouri Pacific Railroad, with another 
 road branching off and running to Lawrence (the principal 
 town in Kansas), and other railroad connections contemplated 
 in the near future. 
 
 Having attended to my business in town, I set off to 
 Lone Jack. Leaving the depot, I left the low lands, and 
 ascending a gradual rise, we passed several fine churches, a 
 large school building, and passed through what a gentleman 
 who rode with us told us was Middletown, and finally the old 
 town of Pleasant Hill, on the high ridge that I had seen be- 
 fore. At my request the gentleman pointed out the site of 
 the cabin where Wright was selling goods in 1836. ''The 
 log cabin," he said, ''had been pulled down long ago, and 
 that fine brick residence yonder occupies its site. His daugh- 
 ter and her husband, Mr. Broadhead, live there now." 
 
 We were now on the high land, with its extensive view; 
 but it was a very different view from the one I had from the 
 same spot when there before. Instead of the Mission road, 
 leading off through the wild prairie grass, on which old 
 Jimmy Savage was seen wending his way, we were in a broad 
 thoroughfare ; in a lane bounded on one side by a corn-field 
 and by an orchard on the other, with lanes and corn and 
 wheat-fields and farm-houses as far as could be seen. The 
 road to Lone Jack, with the exception of a mile or so through 
 the woods on the creek, was by and between those farms, 
 and through laues zigzagging north and east. 
 
 About a mile before reaching the town, we fell in with a 
 plain, farmer-looking man trudging along on foot towards the 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 53 
 
 town. On my asking him if he could show me where the 
 Union soldiers were buried there, he said : "I reckon I can ; 
 I helped to bury them." 
 
 *' Ah, indeed; were you there in that fight? " 
 
 "No," said he, "I'm not a fightin' man myself; I 
 wasn't there in the fight, but I was pretty soon after." 
 
 "You were not a soldier, then, on either side?" 
 
 " No, sir; I was living close by, and as soon as the fight 
 was all over, I came into town to see if I could be of any ser- 
 vice to those who were hurt." 
 
 " Well," said I, " I have a son buried there, and I wish 
 to see his resting-place. Will you get up and ride with us 
 and point out the spot ? " 
 
 On arriving at the summit of the ridge, separating the 
 Big Creek from Sni-a-bar, I saw to the right in a corn-field, 
 separated from the town by a hedge, a marble shaft, the in- 
 scription on which informed me that it had been erected in 
 memory of the Confederate dead who fell on the i6th of 
 August 1862. My friendly guide informed me that he could 
 not point out any particular soldier's grave. 
 
 " They were all buried in a promiscuous manner in this 
 long trench, " pointing to a slightly raised mound, sixty or 
 eighty feet in length by six or seven in width, sodded over 
 with blue-grass. 
 
 The Confederate dead were buried a few paces to the 
 east, very much in the same manner, except that they were 
 designated at the time by head-boards, with their names 
 written upon them, which have nearly all disappeared. 
 Near the south end of the Confederate mound, the monu- 
 ment, some fifteen or sixteen feet high, was erected, costing 
 about $1,000. This monument was erected by voluntary 
 contributions from friends of the Lost Cause, and stands 
 only a few feet from where the lone tree that gave the town 
 its name was then standing. It had died the year before, 
 and fell a few years after, and no vestige of it now remains. 
 
 I asked my good-natured friend to tell me some of the 
 particulars of the burial, and how they were put away. He 
 answered that they were buried in a hurried manner, for 
 help was scarce. "I was requested," said he, "by the 
 Federal surgeon who had remained behind when the soldiers 
 retreated, to assist in gathering up and hauling the dead to a 
 
54 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 place of burial. While I and some others were at this, some 
 eighteen or twenty prisoners- were engaged in digging the 
 grave, or trench, to put them in. We did not get them 
 buried that day, and the next morning another Union army, 
 under Generals Blunt and Warren, came in sight, and the 
 Southern soldiers left in a hurry, and the Federals after them; 
 and the citizens were left to finish burying the dead, to take care 
 of the wounded, and get the dead horses out of town, which 
 was a heavy task. The dead were all laid in the trench 
 side by side, heads and feet alternately turned toward the 
 sun-rising, so as to occupy less space." 
 
 I asked how many Union soldiers were laid beneath 
 that mound. 
 
 '* I cannot say," said he, ''certainly; when the battle 
 ended there were forty dead upon the ground ; others 
 died before night; and I have heard it said there were 
 thirteen others dead next morning; and some others died 
 before the ambulances came from Lexington to carry the 
 wounded off; so that I guess there is not less than sixty lying 
 there now." 
 
 "And how many on the other side are in this other 
 trench on the east ? " 
 
 " Near about the same number. Fifty-nine head-boards 
 were counted a week or two after, and some were carried 
 away and buried in other places." 
 
 Here, then, thought I, beneath this grassy mound, lies 
 that loved son of mine ; and here lies the hope of many a 
 fond parent's heart. Here lies the gallant son, the devoted 
 brother, the affectionate father, the loving husband and the 
 patriotic soldier, who laid down their lives in their country's 
 defense ; and that country has placed no stone to mark their 
 last resting place ; and sorrowing and surviving friends can 
 place no head-stone at the loved ones' grave, because no one 
 can know on what part of this long mound the loved one 
 reposes. Bidding a sad adieu to the soldiers' grave, and a 
 kind farewell to my obliging and stranger guide, I passed 
 through the little village, made historic by what is said to 
 have been the hardest fought contest in the State during the 
 whole War, and before night was some miles on my way to 
 Independence. 
 
 There were a good many young folks where I staid, 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 55 
 
 and a good deal of mirth and jollity ; and as the events of 
 the day had unfitted me for enjoying their amusements, I 
 asked leave to retire early, and consequently had but little 
 conversation with the worthy man of the house. Next 
 morning, I found that he had lived nearly all his life in Jack- 
 son County (nearly fifty years). I asked if there was any 
 road leading to Savage's or Hawkins' mill, on Little Blue. 
 
 *' I reckon not," said he ; "that old mill has not run for 
 more than thirty years ; and the country is so fenced up that 
 I would not know how to get there ; and to go to Inde- 
 pendence now, we must go the public road, by Lee's Sum- 
 mit, or else by Blue Springs." 
 
 *' Do you know any person near Independence by the 
 name of Slay ton." 
 
 *• I used to know several of them," was the reply. 
 
 ** And do they live on either of these roads." 
 
 *' Yes, on the Blue Spring road." 
 
 *' Then direct me that way." 
 
 Receiving my directions, I set out and passed on through 
 a fine prairie country, in a fine state of cultivation, but I 
 thought some of the farms were too large, and that some 
 men were monopolizing more of mother earth than was good 
 for the community at large. The soil appeared to be excel- 
 lent, the richest and fairest portion of the State I had yet 
 seen. It was not many hours till we came to a town, lately 
 laid out on a new railroad ( the Chicago & Alton ), and were 
 told it was the town of Blue Springs, which has a beautiful 
 site, as well as a beautiful country surrounding it. After noon 
 we came to the farm where I was told Mr. Stayton lived 
 many years ago. I found the house, as it was then, on the 
 summit of a ridge of woodland, but everything was changed; 
 a fine brick house stood near by where the old one had been ; 
 the farm was enlarged, and other farms and farm-houses 
 were in close proximity. 
 
 We stopped for dinner. The old man, as I expected, was 
 dead — had been for many years. I asked for his sons, the 
 boys I had seen -, they too were dead ; a daughter-in-law was 
 living on the old homestead. I was disappointed again ; I 
 had expected to see at least some of the younger members of 
 the family. I was in hopes, too, that I would pass by and see 
 the old log meeting-house, but was told that the road had 
 
56 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 been changed and no longer ran that way, and that the old 
 house was no longer in being ; that a brick church in town 
 was now used in its place. 
 
 As I was getting ready to start, a light wagon, 
 with two old men and an elderly woman, passed by, 
 going toward the town; and the young man with whom 
 I had been conversing asked me if I was going to the 
 old settlers' meeting at Kansas City. On my saying that 
 I expected to be there, he remarked there goes some old 
 folks now, and I guess they are going there too. We 
 drove on slowly after the wagon, till we reached town. 
 Everything was strange again. We entered the town from 
 the south, instead of from the east, as before ; and before reach- 
 ing the public square, crossed a railroad that runs through the 
 town, and were told there were two others in less than a mile 
 of that one. The public square looked something like the 
 same, but the court-house was larger, taller, and far more 
 imposing, and fenced around with an iron fence. The town 
 was much larger, the buildings larger and taller; but this was 
 no more than I had expected. I drove to the south-west cor- 
 ner of the square, and looked for the store of Samuel C. 
 Owens ; but the one-story frame building was not there, but 
 on the corner where it stood, was a large two-story brick 
 building, the banking house of Chrisman and Sawyer. The 
 carriage ahead of me stopped in front of the post-office, near 
 the bank, and I drew up at the same place. Drawing near 
 I entered into conversation with the oldest of the two men, 
 asking if he had much acquaintance in the place. 
 
 "Very little," said he; "in fact scarcely any now. 
 The time was when I knew everybody here, and everybody 
 knew me. But now I know nobody, and nobody knows me. 
 
 "You are an old settler then," I observed. 
 
 "Yes, one of the oldest I cut the first logs for a cabin 
 that was cut in the town. That was fifty-five years ago, and 
 the most of them were cut on the Temple Lot, out west here — 
 the lot that the Mormons claim the grand Temple of the New 
 Jerusalem is to be built upon." 
 
 " Then, you were fortunate in selecting your home, as, 
 no doubt, the county or somebody paid you well for it." 
 
 " Not so fortunate, either," he replied; "for I lost my 
 labor in cutting the logs. Another pioneer informed me that 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 57 
 
 I was trespassing on his claim ; and when he showed me 
 that he had marked off his claim a few days before I did 
 mine, I gave it up and selected another a few miles east of 
 here." 
 
 ''Then," said I, "you know all the first settlers, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Yes, nearly all." 
 
 " Did you know the Baptist preacher, Savage ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I knew him, and Stayton, and Fitzhugh, 
 and Powell and Jackson and some others. In fact, I believe 
 I knew more men then, as thinly settled as the county was, 
 than I do now, when it has its eighty thousand inhabitants." 
 
 " Are any of your family living ? " 
 
 "Yes; this is my son," pointing to the other old man, 
 "and this is his wife. He was a small boy when I came 
 here, and his wife was the first female white child born in the 
 county." 
 
 " Then, I suppose you are going to the old settlers' meet- 
 ing to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Yes, we will be there if nothing happens." 
 
 I then bade him good-by, and expressed a hope that I 
 should see him next day. 
 
 I found Westport not much larger than when I saw it 
 before, but everything was changed there, too. The Indian 
 and the Mexican were not there ; the store-houses were 
 larger, but doing a smaller business ; of Santa Fe and Chi- 
 huawa traders, their wagons and teams, none were to be 
 seen ; of the mountain and fur traders and trappers, I saw 
 none. Instead of the lazy Indian and Mexican, I saw the 
 Dutch and Irish laborers. Instead of the ox and the mule 
 wagons, I saw the street cars, the pleasure carriages, hacks 
 and omnibuses passing to and from Kansas City every few 
 minutes, while the large wagon and yoke factory was no 
 longer there. 
 
 I put up at a private boarding-house and had a good 
 night's rest, my host telling me how the glory of Westport 
 and its western trade departed when the Territory of Kansas 
 was settled and the city of Leavenworth sprang into ex- 
 istence. 
 
 Next morning we drove north, as before, but how differ- 
 ent the appearance of everything. The road was a broad 
 
58 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 macadamized thoroughfare, which led down towards the 
 river, and on this road was an iron track, on which the street- 
 cars went and came every few minutes ; and instead of the 
 few small cabins and corn-patches, there were stately resi- 
 dences, vineyards, orchards and gardens, until the city 
 proper was reached. Then for hours I drove from point to 
 point, over that once hilly, rough, and unsightly landscape ; 
 viewing the principal places of interest in this great metrop- 
 olis of the West. Hiring a guide, we drove in various 
 directions, visited the water-works, the foundries, the pack- 
 ing-houses, the machine-shops and the principal publishing 
 houses ; thence to the great Union Depot, where nine rail- 
 roads have already come, and others are soon coming ; then 
 to the great iron bridge, across the mad Missouri, up to the 
 mouth of the Kaw, and across that river into the State of 
 Kansas, and. city of Wyandotte, and back to the Fair Grounds 
 about noon, where the old settlers of Jackson and her neigh- 
 boring counties were assembled. 
 
 We found those old pioneers, with many of younger 
 years, congregated in small groups, under the shade-trees, 
 partaking of the picnic or basket dinner, and enjoying the 
 pleasures of social converse. It was a pleasant day, and all 
 nature seemed to smile on those old pioneers, who had so 
 long ago seen the land in the garb in which nature clothed it. 
 Soon after dinner, it was announced from the stand, that 
 General Doniphan, the expected orator of the day, was not 
 in attendance, and that some of the old pioneers would en- 
 tertain the assembled hundreds with some reminiscences of 
 the olden times. By the aid and assistance of my hired 
 guide, who had accompanied me, I obtained a seat where I 
 could hear. 
 
 The Hon. Jacob Gregg, the president of the Old Set- 
 tlers' Association, one of Jackson County's oldest citizens, 
 one of its first sheriffs, and one who had served in the State 
 Legislature, was first introduced. He said he had been re- 
 quested to say something about the early pioneers of the 
 country, as he supposed, because he was one of the oldest 
 now remaining. 
 
 '* For this," said he, "I claim no merit. Pioneers are 
 like other men — no better, and I trust no worse. That I was 
 an early pioneer in this county was perhaps owing to acci- 
 
A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 59 
 
 dent — a train of circumstances over which I had but Httle, 
 if any control ; and that I am here to day, one amongst the 
 very few of those early pioneers who have been spared by 
 the hand of death, is owing to accident or a multiplicity of 
 accidents or circumstances, that my hand nor no other hu- 
 man hand could control. I presume it is safe to say, that, of 
 one hundred who came here as early as I did, ninety-nine 
 are gone, and it is not owing to any superior sagacity, pru- 
 dence, foresight, or energy on my part, that I have been 
 spared, and that my companion in life has also been spared ; 
 and that we are both with you here to-day. It has been a 
 long, long time since I first came to the County of Jackson, 
 in 1825 ; but I have not forgotten the lives that we lived 
 in the back-woods here then. Those woods in which the 
 track of the Indian might be said to still remain, and from 
 which his war-whoop had scarcely died away. 
 
 "I have not forgotten those days of hog and hominy; 
 especially the hominy, which these hands have many a time 
 beaten. I have not forgotten our many hunting excursions 
 in quest of the deer and other wild game, and the wild bees 
 and their honey, dressed as we were in the skins of the deer. 
 I have not forgotten the simplicity of pioneer life, and its 
 sociability. I remember the old-fashioned preachers and the 
 preaching of those days ; and how the girls would walk bare- 
 footed, and carry their shoes and stockings in their hands 
 till near the meeting-place, and would then sit down and put 
 them on. I remember the country as it was before there 
 were good wagon-roads, much less railroads, in the country. 
 I remember when Independence was a corn-patch, and when 
 Kansas City was nowhere, and the whole tract on which it 
 stands could have been bought for almost a song. I remem- 
 ber the old bar-share plow, the bull-tongue, the shovel- 
 plow and the carey, the scythe and the cradle, the reap-hook 
 and the flail, before the age of machinery had come No 
 doubt you, too, remember these things. Many of my old 
 gray-headed friends, I know, have, Hke me, forgotten 
 many things that have since occurred ; but those scenes of 
 simpHcity and happiness are, and will be, remembered until 
 reason fails or memory is dethroned, 
 
 '* I am happy to meet so many of my old pioneer friends 
 
60 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 here to-day, and with you rejoice in this one more reunion. 
 But I am disappointed, as all of you are, in the non-arrival 
 of that old and eloquent pioneer, Gen Doniphan, who we 
 expected would entertain us with his eloquence to-day. And 
 as I am no speaker, and can not fill his place, I will give 
 place to some one that can talk." 
 
 This short speech was well received, as it deserved to 
 be; and the next speaker was a stout, square-built man, who 
 looked as though he might be in the prime of life, but who 
 was, in reality, older than he appeared to be. I was told 
 that it was the great Government contractor, or freighter, of 
 twenty-five years ago, who for years had a monopoly of 
 freighting Government stores to the Indians and the Western 
 forts, and was largely engaged in the Santa Fe transportation 
 and trade. 
 
 He announced himself as Aleck Majors, the ox-driver, 
 and said that he was no longer a citizen of Jackson or any 
 adjoining county, and not even a citizen of the State, but 
 that he had stopped on his way from New York to his home 
 at Salt Lake, to spend the day with his old pioneer friends in 
 Western Missouri. "And," said he, " I am happy to meet 
 with so many of them. I have enjoyed the last few hours 
 immensely, in conversation with first one and then another 
 of the old pioneers that I knew in my youth. I came with 
 my father, Benjamin Majors, to this County in 1825, almost 
 as soon as the Indians had left it. Some of you know where 
 Majors' old mill stood, on the Little Blue, fifty years ago. 
 I was just big enough then to ride the near steer and drive a 
 yoke of oxen, and how many thousand I have driven since I 
 don't know. 
 
 " In conversing with my old friends to-day, my mind 
 and my memory have been refreshed and carried back, 
 and I have been reminded of many things I had almost for- 
 gotten amid the turmoil of trade, and the busy scenes of 
 life; but while some of the incidents of those early years 
 have, in a measure, faded from my memory, there are others 
 that seem to be stamped upon it forever. The boys that I 
 went to school with are remembered yet; the boys that I 
 played marbles with I have not forgotten ; neither have I 
 forgotten the girls, that were then more attractive in my esti- 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 6i 
 
 mation than anything else ; I have not forgotten how social, 
 how friendly and accommodating those early settlers were 
 with each other. 
 
 "The log-rollin2;s, the house-raisings, the corn-shuck- 
 ings, the sewings and the quiltings, that were so common 
 amongst them ; when the youngsters would meet together, 
 and work all day and dance all night; or if the old folks 
 were too pious to allow dancing, they would play Quebec or 
 Old Sister Phebe. Some of you old folks have been there ; 
 you know how it is, or how it was; and may be some of you 
 are like I am — you would like to be back there again. Yes, 
 I've played Sister Phebe. I think I remember the first time 
 that I ever enjoyed that good old play, that so many ten thou- 
 sands have played, before and since. It was at my father's, 
 at a log-rolling, or house-raising or something of the kind, 
 when the boys and girls of the whole neighborhood were 
 there. I remember their names yet. One tall, good-looking 
 young man, or bachelor, was there with the girl that he after- 
 wards married ; his name was Jake Gregg. How plainly I 
 seem to see them now ; how vividly his image and hers rise 
 up before me, and I fancy I see them, as they march round 
 on the puncheon floor ; and I can almost hear him singing — 
 
 ' ' Heigh-ho ! Sister Phebe, how merry was we, 
 That night we sat under the juniper tree ? 
 That juniper tree, heigh-ho !" 
 
 " I do wonder if I ever shall see that old friend again ? 
 Can anybody tell me whether he or his wife is here to-day?" 
 "Yes, they are both here," was answered; and the aged 
 president, Mr. Gregg, rose to his feet and received a hearty 
 hand-shaking from the speaker, and Mr. Majors continued, 
 " God bless you! my old friend. How happy I am to meet 
 you here to-day, after so many years spent apart, amid the 
 toils and turmoils of an unfriendly world. Do you, my old 
 friend, call to mind the incident I have just mentioned?" 
 (I remember it well, said Gregg.) "Thank heaven, the 
 pleasures of memory never fail ; thank heaven, that though 
 old age and infirmity may come upon us, and losses and 
 crosses afilict us, and a weight of sorrow may weigh us down, 
 in memory we can go back to the happy days of youth, and 
 live over again the brighter scenes of early life ; and though 
 
62 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 adversity, with frowning features, may stare us in the face, 
 we can shut our eyes and call up in memory the days of 
 greater prosperity, and live them over again. And now, 
 before I sit down, let me say to the ladies, that though I 
 live at Salt Lake, among the Mormons, I have but one 
 wife — the one I found in the good old County of Jackson — 
 and if I should unfortunately lose that one, and desire 
 another, I think I would certainly come back here to look 
 for it." 
 
 Some other short speeches were made, pertinent and to 
 the point; and it was announced from the stand that the poet 
 of Van Buren township would read a poem of old times and 
 old pioneers. 
 
 I had been curious to see my old friend of the cabin, 
 but had not as yet got a sight of him. He came forward, 
 as I thought, with the same awkward manner he had in his 
 youth, but no longer a boy in appearance. Somewhat bent 
 with age and with hair almost as white as the snow, he un- 
 rolled his manuscript. The secretary appealed to the 
 audience for order and quiet, as the reader's voice was not of 
 the strongest. I give the poem as it appeared next morning 
 in the Kansas City Times, without any comment of my own. 
 
 TALK TO THE SETTLERS OF JACKSON, CLAY, CASS AND PLATTE. 
 
 'Tis almost half a hundred years 
 Since you and I, old pioneers, 
 
 With aspirations free, 
 A home within this region sought ; 
 But who of us then dreamed or thought 
 To see the many changes wrought. 
 
 That we have lived to see. 
 
 From different countries then we came, 
 Our aims, our objects all the same — 
 
 A home in this far West. 
 A cabin here and there was found. 
 Perhaps a little spot of ground 
 Enclosed and cleared, while all around 
 
 In nature's garb was dressed. 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 6^ 
 
 Here, then, we saw the groves of green, 
 Where woodman's axe had never been — 
 
 The spreading prairies too. 
 Within those groves, so dense and dark, 
 Was heard the squirrel's saucy bark. 
 The bounding stag was but the mark 
 
 To prove the rifle true. 
 
 But all is changed. The cabin's gone ; 
 The clapboard roof with weight-poles on. 
 
 The rough-hewn puncheon-floor, 
 The chimnies made of stick and clay, 
 Are seen no more — gone to decay. 
 The men that built them, where are they ? 
 
 I need not ask you more. 
 
 They're gone, but they're remembered yet. 
 Those cabin-homes we can't forget. 
 
 Although we're growing old. 
 Fond memory still the spot reveres — 
 The cabin-homes of youthful years. 
 Where, with compatriot pioneers. 
 
 We pleasures had untold. 
 
 The dense and tangled woodland too, 
 The groves we often wandered through, 
 
 No longer now are there. 
 The prairie, with its sward of green 
 And flowerets wild, no more is seen; 
 But farms, with dusty lanes between, 
 
 Are seen where once they were. 
 
 Large towns and villages arise. 
 And steeples point toward the skies, 
 
 Where all was desert then ; 
 And Nature's scenes have given place 
 To those of Art ; the hunter's chase 
 Has yielded to the scrambling race 
 
 Of speculating men. 
 
64 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The very spot on which we stand — 
 This city, so superb and grand — 
 
 How did we see it then ? 
 How wild was that forbidding scene ? 
 The hills, with gorges thrown between, 
 As though by nature it had been 
 
 Made for a panther's den. 
 
 Those hills have since been leveled down, 
 The gorges filled, the streets of town 
 
 In all directions range. 
 The labors of ten thousand hands, 
 The working-men from thousand lands, 
 The energy that wealth commands, 
 
 Have wrought the wondrous change. 
 
 Ah ! what a change the pioneer, 
 In forty years, has witnessed here? 
 
 And things are changing still. 
 Those streets and alleys then were not ; 
 Its greatest thoroughfare was — what ? 
 A ground-hog's walk, or 'possum-trot, 
 
 Which led from hill to hill. 
 
 Ah! yes, my friends, old pioneers, 
 Full many a change within those years 
 
 The country's undergone. 
 How many changes it's passed through ; 
 And we, old friends, are changing too. 
 There's been a change in me and you ; 
 
 And still that change goes on. 
 
 And when we think upon the past, 
 Those friends whose lot with us was cast 
 
 On this once wild frontier. 
 And pass them all in brief review, 
 As oftentime in thought we do — 
 Alas ! alas ! how very few 
 
 Are there remaining here. 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 65 
 
 A few more years will come and go, 
 As other years have done, you know, 
 
 And then — ah, yes, what then's 
 The world will still be moving on ; 
 But we, whose cheeks are growing wan, 
 Will not be here — we'll all be gone 
 
 From out the ranks of men. 
 
 Our places will be vacant here. 
 And of the last old pioneer 
 
 The land will be bereft. 
 The places which we here have filled. 
 The fields which we have cleared and tilled, 
 Our barns, though empty, or though filled. 
 
 To others will be left. 
 
 But ere we pass to that far bourne 
 From which no traveller can return. 
 We meet, old pioneers ; 
 
 The few of us who yet remain. 
 And we, who here have met, would fain 
 Now clasp those friendly hands again 
 
 We clasped in by-gone years. 
 
 In glad reunion now we meet, 
 Each other once again to greet 
 
 And conversation hold ; 
 And while we socially to-day 
 A few brief hours may while away, 
 Let us, although our heads are gray, 
 
 Forget that we are old. 
 
 Let us go back — in memory go — 
 Back to the scenes of long ago, 
 
 When we were blithe and young; 
 When hope and expectation bright 
 Were buoyant and our hearts were light, 
 And Fancy, that delusive sprite. 
 
 Her siren sonnets sung. 
 
66 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And as we join in friendly chat, 
 We'll speak of this, and talk of that, 
 
 And of the many things 
 That have occurred within the land 
 Since first the little squatter band 
 Came to this country, now so grand ! 
 
 Before 'twas ruled by rings. 
 
 'Tis natural that we should think, 
 While standing on the river's brink. 
 
 How wide the stream has grown ! 
 We saw it when 'twas but a rill. 
 Just bursting from the sunny hill; 
 And now its surging waters fill 
 
 A channel broad, unknown. 
 
 'Tis natural and proper, too, 
 That we compare the old and new, 
 
 The present with the past, 
 And speak of those old fogy ways 
 In which we passed our younger days; 
 Then of the many new displays 
 
 That crowd upon us fast. 
 
 We little knew of railroads then, 
 
 Nor dreamed of that near period when 
 
 We'd drive the iron horse; 
 And 'twould have made the gravest laugh, 
 Had he been told but only half 
 The wonders of the telegraph, 
 
 Then in the brain of Morse. 
 
 We did not have machinery then, 
 To sow and reap and thresh the grain, 
 
 But all was done by hand ; 
 And those old-fashioned implements 
 Have long ago been banished hence. 
 Or rusting lie beside the fence — 
 
 No longer in demand. 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 67 
 
 Yes, there are grown-up men, I trow, 
 Who never saw a bull-tongue plow, 
 
 A flail or reaping-hook ; 
 And who could not describe, you know, 
 A swingling-knife or board, although 
 Their mothers used them long ago, 
 
 And lessons on them took. 
 
 The young man now would be amused 
 To see some things his father used — 
 
 Some things he ne'er has seen; 
 The way in which we cleaned our wheat, 
 When two strong men with blanket-sheet, 
 Would winnow out the chaff and cheat. 
 And twice or thrice the thing repeat. 
 
 Until the grain was clean. 
 
 The single-shovel plow and hoe. 
 
 To clean out weeds, was all the show — 
 
 We knew no better ways ; 
 
 But now our sons would laugh to scorn 
 Such poky ways of making corn. 
 And bless their stars that they were born 
 
 In more enlightened days. 
 
 They say the world is wiser grown ; 
 They've got the speaking talkaphone — 
 
 Talks twenty miles or more — 
 And preachers now may preach and pray 
 To congregations miles away; 
 And many other things, they say, 
 
 We never had before. 
 
 And yet I do not know but what 
 The pioneer enjoyed his lot, 
 
 And lived as much at ease 
 As men in these enlightened days. 
 With all their strange new-fangled ways, 
 That wealth and fashion now display 
 
 The mind of man to please. 
 
68 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 'Tis true, we did not live as fast, 
 But socially our time was passed, 
 
 Although our homes were mean. 
 Our neighbors then were neighbors true. 
 And every man his neighbor knew, 
 Although those neighbors might be few, 
 
 And sometimes far between. 
 
 Ah, yes, old pioneers, I trow. 
 
 The world was brighter then than now 
 
 To us gray-headed ones ; 
 Hope pointed us beyond the vale, 
 And whispered us a fairy tale 
 Of coming pleasures, ne'er to fail 
 
 Through all the shining suns. 
 
 Ambition, too, with smile so soft, 
 Was pointing us to seats aloft. 
 
 Where fame and honors last. 
 We had not learned what now we know — 
 The higher up the mount we go 
 The storms of life still fiercer blow, 
 
 And colder is the blast; 
 
 That though we reach the mountain's top, 
 Fruition find of every hope. 
 
 Or wear the victor's crown ; 
 Though far above the clouds we tread, — 
 There's other clouds still overhead. 
 And on the mind there is the dread — 
 
 The dread of coming down. 
 
 Ah, yes, old settlers, one and all, 
 Whatever may us yet befall. 
 
 We will not — can't forget 
 The simple, plain, old-fashioned plan — 
 The routes in which our fathers ran, 
 Before the age of steam began 
 
 To run the world in debt. 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 69 
 
 And while we talk upon the past, 
 Of those who are dropping off so fast, 
 
 And those already gone, 
 It may not be, my friends, amiss 
 For each of us to think of this, — 
 The curtain of forgetfulness 
 
 Will soon be round us drawn. 
 
 And though in glad reunion we 
 Have met to-day, perhaps 'twill be 
 
 A day of taking leave. 
 And we, who oft have met before, 
 And parted in the days of yore — 
 Will part, perhaps, to meet no more. 
 
 When we shall part this eve. 
 
 The mind goes back through all the years, 
 We call to mind the pioneers — 
 
 Those bold and hardy men. 
 We pass them in the mind's review — 
 The many dead, the living few — 
 Those unpretending farmers, who 
 
 Were our compatriots then. 
 
 Men who of toil were not afraid, 
 Men who the early history made 
 
 Of this now famous land ; 
 The men, who, ere the Mormons came 
 This heritage so fair to claim, 
 Were here, prepared through flood and flame 
 
 Those claimants to withstand. 
 
 Sam Lucas, Boggs and Swearingen, 
 The Nolands and the Fristoes then, 
 
 The Greggs and Owens too; 
 The Davises and the Flournoys, 
 The Kings, the Staytons and McCoys, 
 And Dealy, with his twenty boys — 
 
 All these and more we knew. 
 
7© RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The Wilsons and the Adamses, 
 The Irvings and the Lewises, 
 
 The Webbs and the Fitzhughes, 
 The Powells and the Harrises, 
 The Walkers and the Burrisses, 
 The Bakers and the Savages, 
 
 The Hickmans, Woods and Pughs. 
 
 Yes, some of these were noted men. 
 Well-known and much respected then. 
 
 Although their coats were plain ; 
 And when in office they were placed, 
 They proved themselves not double faced. 
 The people's trust was not misplaced — 
 
 We need such men again. 
 
 We had our courts of justice then — 
 A terror to dishonest men. 
 
 Who feared the halter's drop. 
 Judge Ryland then the courts could hold, 
 In full a dozen counties told, 
 Decide the cases manifold. 
 
 And keep with business up. 
 
 We had our lawyers, too, but they. 
 Or nearly all, have passed away — 
 We looked for one of them to-^iay, 
 
 A brave and fluent man — 
 But we are disappointed sore ; 
 That man of fame and legal lore. 
 Perhaps we'll never see here more — 
 
 Brave Colonel Doniphan. 
 
 Where now are all lys old compeers. 
 The lawyers 'mongst the pioneers — 
 
 Charles French, and Hicks and Young ? 
 Where now are both the Reeces gone? 
 And where is Hovey — noisy one ? 
 And where is David Atchison, 
 
 The man of fiery tongue ? 
 
A hoosier's tramp. 71 
 
 They're gone ! you say 'tis ever thus; 
 The men of note are leaving us — 
 
 The men of greatest heft. 
 But when we pause and look around, 
 A few whose heads are 'bove the ground, 
 A few perhaps may yet be found — 
 
 Sawyer and Woodson's left. 
 
 And then we had our preachers, too. 
 And some of them, I think, you knew. 
 
 And knew their Christian walk. 
 And who of you, that ever heard 
 Joab Powell preach the word. 
 But had his better feelings stirred, 
 
 By plain and simple talk ; 
 
 McKinney, Ferrill, Nelson too, 
 Stayton, Warder and Fitzhugh, 
 
 Tillery, Rice and Hill. 
 And there was Elder Kavanaugh ; 
 And any one that ever saw 
 Old Jimmy Savage, sure can draw 
 A picture of him still. 
 
 Ah, yes, the preachers of those days 
 Were noted for their simple ways. 
 
 And some for style uncouth; 
 But they are gone ; they all are dead ; 
 Another class are in their stead. 
 Much better paid and better read ; 
 
 But have they more of truth ? 
 
 But time would fail to speak of all 
 The changes that our minds recall 
 
 Upon life's shifting waves ; 
 And soon those shifting waves will bear 
 The last old pioneer to where ? 
 His lost and loved companions are 
 
 Low in their silent graves. 
 
72 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 But ere, my friends, we hence embark. 
 We fain would place some lasting mark 
 
 Upon this mundane shore ; 
 A mark the traveller may see 
 In coming years, and know that we 
 Have lived, and passed the road that he 
 
 May then be passing o'er. 
 
 When death's dark curtain shall be drawn, 
 And we old pioneers are gone. 
 
 Let truthful history tell 
 To far posterity the tale, 
 As down the stream of Time they sail, 
 How we with motto, ^* Never Fail," 
 
 Came here, and v*rhat befell. 
 
 Let history, then, impartial state 
 The incidents of early date; 
 
 And that it so may do, 
 Let pioneers of every age 
 In this important work engage. 
 And each of them produce his page — 
 
 A page of history true. 
 
 The incidents of early years, 
 Known only to the pioneers. 
 
 With thern will soon be lost, 
 Unless before they hither go, 
 Those incidents are stated so 
 Posterity the facts may know. 
 
 When we the stream have crossed. 
 
 After the speaking was over, I introduced myself to the 
 gray-haired poet, and found that he remembered my night's 
 lodging with hirn, and several of the incidents ; said he recol- 
 lected my making the memorandum, the next morning, and of 
 our lonely ride through the prairie; passing the Centre Knob, 
 getting lost. I asked about the new beginner across the 
 branch, and he replied. 
 
 " He is yet living, like me, in the decline of life; has 
 had his 'ups and downs' and more 'downs' than 'ups'. Like 
 
IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? 73 
 
 me, he is a widower, having lost two wives and some of his 
 children. His health was impaired in the service during 
 the Rebellion, but he is in the enjoyment of a pension that 
 will keep him comfortably through life's evening." 
 
 I remarked that I supposed the Government land in 
 that half a township was all taken up now. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said he, ''and instead of only five fam- 
 ilies on it, and half a dozen children of school age, there are 
 three school districts, with their school-houses and three 
 churches, besides the village of Strasburg. Not only that 
 township," said he, " has been all bought long ago, but the 
 condemned land, not worth surveying once, has been bought, 
 every acre of it ; and is nearly all under fence, and instead 
 of a voting population of 200, the county has over 5,000." 
 
 Next morning I left for Kansas, and in eight weeks re- 
 turned to my home with restored health, and a better opin- 
 ion of Missouri and Kansas than I had before I set out. 
 
 ''IS THE WORLD ANY WORSEN 
 
 Uncle Ben and Charley. — Dialogue.. 
 
 Charley — Well, Uncle Ben, what is your opinion on the 
 question for debate to-morrow night ? Is the world growing 
 any worse ? 
 
 Uncle Ben — Well, I can't say, but I suppose the world, 
 on an average, is pretty much the same as it was a hundred 
 years ago. In some respects changed, but still the same old 
 world. 
 
 Charity — Yes, but the people are not the same ; and the 
 question, I suppose, is, whether they are better or worse. 
 
 Ben — It is said, that human nature is the same the 
 world over, and in every age ; and I suppose that this is no 
 better, and no worse, now than a thousand years ago. Cir- 
 cumstances change, and they may, perhaps, be more or less 
 favorable for the development of the good or bad in human 
 
 6 
 
74 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 nature than formerly ; while other circumstances may enable 
 us to see and to realize the good and evil tendencies and 
 consequences, more plainly now than we did then. Ever 
 since I can recollect, it has been said that the olden times 
 were better then than the present ; and I suppose the same 
 thing was said in Solomon's day, for he says m the book of 
 Ecclesiastes : ''Say not what is the cause that the former 
 days were better than these, for thou dost not inquire wisely 
 concerning these things." As much as to say, that it was 
 not the case. And again he says : "The thing that hath 
 been, it is that that shall be ; and that which is done, is 
 that which shall be done ; and there is no new thing under 
 the sun." And he says again : " There is no remembrance 
 of former things," intimating that we are liable to forget how 
 bad the former times were ; and from the whole of his writ- 
 ings, I am inchned to think that mankind has not changed 
 much since his day. The same evils we complain of, he 
 complained of, and describes ihem better than we can. 
 
 Charley — But, Uncle Ben, was there ever before such 
 a rage for speculation, swindling, public plunder and crime 
 in general as now ; when swindling and public plundering 
 is general all over the land, and railroad and other monop- 
 olies are grinding the laboring classes to death ; and the 
 smartest man is the one that can get his hand the deepest 
 into the public purse, and gobble up the biggest slice of the 
 public land. Was it always so, or was it so in your younger 
 days? 
 
 Ben — Well, in my boyhood, we had no railroads to 
 plunder and swindle us, and very few corporations of any 
 kind ; and those few were so far off, as to be out of sight. 
 We did not read the newspapers, and hear of every wicked 
 thing that transpired then, as we do now ; and hence, I say, 
 we did not see or perceive the evil consequences of a vicious 
 human nature then as we do now ; though there were no 
 railroads and but few banking corporations, to gobble up the 
 public domain and put their hands into the national purse, 
 there were others who attempted to, and perhaps did, play 
 the same game, that those corporations and sharks have 
 since played ; avarice has been avarice always, and there 
 never has been a time, when some individual or company 
 was not ready to grind the poor laboring classes, and fleece 
 
IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? 75 
 
 the public. As early as 1788, a Mr. John Livingston and 
 others formed themselves into a company to fleece the In- 
 dians, and the people of New York, out of more than half 
 the lands of that great State. They entered into a contract 
 with the Six Nations to lease the lands of nearly all Western 
 New York for 999 years, for an annual rent of $3,500; 
 but the Legislature of New York interfered in the matter, 
 and Governor Clinton, by proclamation, forbade any person 
 to occupy any part of the territory, under that lease, and 
 the scheme was broken up. 
 
 Charley — That shows that Livingston and his company 
 wasn't smart. If they had done as modern speculators do, 
 they would have given the members of the Legislature, and 
 Governor Clinton, a share in the loaf ; and then it might 
 have been different, you know. 
 
 Ben — Perhaps so ; but Livingston's company may have 
 been more grasping than modern ones, and wanted all the 
 profits themselves ; and perhaps the legislature had a scheme 
 of their own to gobble up the land, and was not willing to 
 divide with Livingston and his company ; at any rate the 
 scheme failed. And again in 1795 ^^ '9^5 another land-job- 
 bing scheme was concocted to gobble up the entire State 
 of Michigan. This was by a Messrs. Randall, Whitney and 
 some other Indian traders. They came to Congress with their 
 scheme, and did offer some members an interest in it, if they 
 would vote for it. It so happened, however, that they made 
 the offer to at least one member who was honest enough to 
 expose the whole thing, before it came up for action; and 
 then those who might have favored it, did not dare do so. 
 I am disposed to think, though, that some of them would have 
 gone into it, if there had been a prospect of success, and no 
 danger of exposure. The Indians, however, in both cases 
 lost their lands in the end ; and you must admit that the 
 white man's monopoly has been gobbling up their lands for 
 200 years or more. And as I am so often giving talks and 
 tales of olden times, I will show you a long talk of the Onei- 
 da Indians, sent by their chiefs to the Legislature of New 
 York, in relation to that lease of their lands to Livingston and 
 company, and as boys like to read things in rhyme better 
 than in plain prose, and as Indian talks are always poetical, I 
 
76 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 change the words a Uttle so as to rhyme, preserving the sub- 
 stance and sense the same. 
 
 TALK OF THE ONEIDA INDIANS, SENT BY THEIR CHIEFS TO THE 
 
 LEGISLATURE OF NEW YORK, IN 1 788. 
 
 Brothers, sachems, chiefs and great men, 
 
 Who sit round the great council fire 
 Of our brothers, the people, and State of New York, 
 
 Your attention we ask and desire ; 
 Brothers — white brothers — we thus far had come 
 
 To meet at your great council fire ; 
 But the roads are now bad, and a prospect for worse 
 
 Induces us home to retire. 
 Brothers — we speak now in writing — your allies we are ; 
 
 A free people we ever have been ; 
 Our chiefs have injoined us, to speak thus to you — 
 
 Ears open, and take our words in : 
 
 Brothers — white men — in your late and long war 
 
 With the people across the great deep. 
 At a time when thick darkness had covered the land, 
 
 The Oneidas were not then asleep. 
 Uninvited we took up the hatchet for you ; 
 
 Stepped forth in our brother's defense; 
 We fought side by side ; your friends we then were, 
 
 And friends we have been ever since ; 
 Our blood flowed together, the bones of our men 
 
 Were mingled with yours in the grave, 
 You grateful appeared, for what we had done, 
 
 And repeated assurances gave. 
 That should the Great Spirit ever give you success, 
 
 Your Indian friends should rejoice ; 
 The result of the war was propitious to you. 
 
 And we returned to the home of our chosen. 
 
 Desolation and ruin the land had o'erspread ; 
 
 Our towns and our fields were a waste ; 
 We rejoiced, however, that we could return; 
 
 That the fruits of a peace we could taste. 
 
IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? 77 
 
 We pleased ourselves with the hope that in peace 
 
 We could quietly rest on our shores — 
 A home for which we had fought, and had bled, 
 
 In a cause that was common with yours. 
 
 While flattering ourselves with these prospects and thoughts, 
 
 Looking forward with hope and desire. 
 Invitation we had to meet with your chiefs 
 
 At Herkimer's great council fire. 
 
 We were pleased — we were glad — and quickly set out 
 
 To meet them of nothing afraid — 
 Expecting that they our wants would supply, 
 
 And make good the assurances made. 
 The assurances given; so oftentimes made, 
 
 With a grave and truthful-like voice, 
 That when from the war to our homes we returned, 
 
 Our hearts should be made to rejoice. 
 The chiefs who then met us, no doubt, recollect 
 
 Our disappointment, so sad and so sore, 
 When they told us they came to purchase our land; 
 
 No other commission they bore. 
 
 Brothers — 'tis needless to mention in this 
 
 The speeches we then and there made. 
 You can not forget them — you've written them down 
 
 In books whose words never fade. 
 Your chiefs may remember how loth we then were 
 
 To enter on treaties of trade ; 
 They may also remember the means we then took 
 
 That treaty and sale to evade, 
 By proposing to lease a part for a time ; 
 
 (To sell we were not then inclined). 
 The contempt with which that offer was met. 
 
 Is, doubtless, still fresh in their mind. 
 If memory has failed them, 'tis not so with us; 
 
 Those things we remember full welL 
 In compliance, at last, with their urgent request, 
 
 We consented to sell, and did sell ; 
 In consequence though of a most solemn pledge. 
 
78 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 By your greatest and chief sachem given, 
 That this was the last demand for our lands, 
 
 And that we should no further be driven. 
 We sold you a part of our lands and our homes. 
 
 And the homes of our fathers' before ; 
 But in this, we now are resolved and determined, — 
 
 That we never will sell any more. 
 The experience of all the tribes, south and east, 
 
 Has fully convinced us of late. 
 If we their example shall follow, that we 
 
 Will soon — very soon — share their fate. 
 We wish that our children, and grandchildren, too, 
 
 A living in comfort may draw 
 From the land the Great Spirit our forefathers gave, 
 
 Ere white man the land ever saw. 
 
 We therefore determined to lease them; and friends* 
 
 In different parts of the land. 
 Having learned our desire — being willing that we 
 
 Should continue a national band — 
 Have offered to take our lands upon lease, 
 
 And pay us a generous rent — 
 A rent upon which our children can live ; 
 
 And to this the Oneidas consent. 
 We were loth to affront you again, as we did, 
 
 By an offer to lease them to you, 
 And therefore agreed to proposals from friends, 
 
 And trust they will full justice do. 
 
 Brothers — since we have been thus on the road, 
 
 A lying, bad bird has passed by; 
 It has reached, as we hear, your great council fire. 
 
 And told you — yes told you a lie: 
 That we have not leased our lands, as we say. 
 
 Brothers — that tale is not true ; 
 And we hope you will treat it as false, which it is ; 
 
 We've leased them, but not unto you. 
 
 ♦Livingston & Co. 
 
IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE ? 79 
 
 Brothers and chiefs, we are surprised very much, 
 
 To hear you are angry of late, 
 Because others have taken a thing which your chiefs 
 
 Thought beneath them, the nation or state ; 
 But, BROTHERS, we are more surprised yet to learn 
 
 You are claiming a right never known — 
 The right to control the disposal of lands 
 
 You acknowledge to be all our own. 
 As much as the game that we take in the chase ; 
 
 Why, then, let us ask, do you say 
 That the Indians shall not dispose of them just 
 
 As we please, without your yea or nay. 
 If one of our braves to your market should go 
 
 With furskins, you might then just as well 
 Point out him a buyer, and say to him thus : 
 
 To no other man can you sell. 
 
 Brothers — we wish you'd consider it well ; 
 
 Do us justice, and do not refuse; 
 We have leased our whole country, excepting what we 
 
 Have reserved for the tribe still to use. 
 We doubt not the people will pay us the rent, 
 
 The rent they agreed they would pay. 
 If you can encourage its settlement, do ; 
 
 This is all that we now have to say. 
 
 Witness: Jacob Reed, Secretary. 
 
 Peter B. Ten Broeck. Petet X Salekarenghis. 
 
 mark 
 his 
 
 George Stinson, Jr. Daniel XSegoaneghsriser. 
 
 mark 
 
 his 
 
 Hendrick X Sahonwate. 
 
 mark 
 
 Personally appeared before me the above subscribers, and 
 acknowledged the foregoing instrument to be their volun- 
 tary act and deed. 
 
 Acknowledged before me, this 12th day of March, 1788. 
 
 Henry I. V. Renssellaer, 
 
 One of the Judges of the Inferior Court of the county 
 of Columbia. 
 
8o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Charley — A pretty good talk, the way you have fixed it up; 
 but do you think it's a genuine Indian talk, or was it some 
 of Livingston's company got it up for them ? 
 
 Ben — I should not wonder if Livingston and company 
 were at the bottom of it; but you see it is subscribed to by 
 the Indian Chiefs, and authenticated by a judge's certificate, 
 which goes to show that men at that day could pull the wires 
 as well as they can now, when somebody is to be swin- 
 dled. 
 
 Charley — But do you think it means the same the way 
 you've rhymed it that it did originally? 
 
 Ben — Yes ; I think so. 
 
 Charley — Well, Peter Pinkard is going to speak Patrick 
 Henry's great Liberty or Death speech at the exhibition, and 
 if you'll just change it into rhyme, as you did the Indians talk, 
 I'll speak it too, and leave it to the teacher to say whether 
 it's the same old speech, or another one. 
 
 Ben — Very well; that's a talk of the olden time, and if 
 you'll agree to study it well and speak it properly, I'll fix it 
 up for you, 
 
 Charley — I'll do that, certain. 
 
 ''give me LIBERTY, OR GIVE ME DEATH!" 
 
 I know it is natural for man to indulge 
 
 In illusions that hope often brings 
 To close his eyes against truth, and to heed 
 
 The song that the false siren sings ; 
 But is it the part of the wise, I would ask, 
 
 Who are struggling for freedom and life. 
 To list to the charm that will transform to beasts — 
 
 To surrender the struggle and strife ? 
 Are we now disposed of that number to be, 
 
 Who, though having eyes, refuse to discern 
 The danger before them, and turn a deaf ear 
 
 To their greatest and grandest concern? 
 
 For my part, whatever of anguish may come, 
 
 Whatever of grief it may cost, 
 I am willing — desirous to know the whole truth ; 
 
 To know and prepare for the worst. 
 
IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? Si 
 
 I have but one lamp my footsteps to guide — 
 
 'Tis experience; to that I hold fast; 
 There is no better way of the future to judge 
 
 Than to look at the things of the past; 
 And, judging of coming events by the past, 
 
 I would wish and would ask now to know 
 What things we have seen in the ten years that's passed, 
 
 That warrant our hoping on so ? 
 
 What have gentlemen seen or what see they now, 
 
 In the conduct of those who bear rule 
 In the British dominions, that solaces them, 
 
 While they call on us here to " keep cool?" 
 Say, is it the bland and insidious smile 
 
 That late our petitions received ? 
 Ah, trust not to it ; a snare it will prove — 
 
 Let freemen be never deceived ! 
 Take heed to yourselves, and be not entrapped 
 
 Nor betrayed by a Judas' kiss ; 
 When gracious receptions and speeches you hear, 
 
 Then ask yourselves questions like this : 
 How gracious receptions and speeches compare 
 
 With preparations so warlike and grand ; 
 Preparations that cover our waters with ships, 
 
 And darken with soldiers our land. 
 Are large fleets of ships and armies of men 
 
 Necessary to bring about love ; 
 To reconcile friends that have once been estranged ? 
 
 'Tis the hawk reconciling the dove. 
 Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be 
 
 Reconciled to our mother and friend 
 That force and coercion can alone bring us back 
 
 On the arm of King George to depend ? 
 
 Let us not be deceived, nor deceive ourselves thus — 
 
 All these are the implements dire. 
 Of war and coercion — last cruel resort 
 
 Of kings with ambitious desire. 
 I ask you what means this martial array, 
 
 If its purpose be not to force us 
 And bring to submission ? can any assign 
 
82 RURAL PHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Any other for threatening thus ? 
 Has Britain, Great Britain, an enemy here, 
 
 In this part of the great western world, 
 That is calling for all of the navies we see, 
 
 And those armies with banners unfurled ? 
 No, no, she has none ; they are meant but for us — 
 
 (Some gentlemen think I am wrong) 
 They are sent here to rivet and bind upon us 
 
 The chains they've been forging so long. 
 
 And what have we here to oppose them, I ask ? 
 
 Shall we reason and argument try ? 
 We've tried them — been trying for long, tedious years 5 
 
 Have we anything new to apply ? 
 Nothing; no, nothing; that subject so grave, 
 
 We have held up again and again ? 
 We have turned it and showed it in every light. 
 
 But in vain — it has all been in vain. 
 Shall we resort to entreaty, and humble ourselves 
 
 As suppliants ever so low ? 
 What terms shall we try that have not been employed 
 
 And exhausted in days long ago ? 
 
 Let us no longer trust or deceive ourselves, sir, 
 
 As we've done in the days that are gone ; 
 We've done everything that we could to avert 
 
 The storm that is fast coming on. 
 Supplication, petition, remonstrance, we've tried, 
 
 And tried them so often in vain ; 
 Prostrated ourselves at his majesty's throne, 
 
 And implored him again and again. 
 
 Yes, begged him, most earnestly begged him, to stay 
 
 His ministers' tyrannic hands ; 
 The acts of a tyrannic parhament too, 
 
 In relation to these loyal lands. 
 Our petitions have often been slighted, you know; 
 
 Remonstrance was followed by violence 
 Or added insult, and all of our prayers 
 
 Were met with contempt, or with silence ; 
 
IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? 8 
 
 We also were spurned, with contempt, as it were, 
 
 From the foot of his majesty's throne ; 
 He, too, has been deaf to the voice of prayer, 
 
 And leaves us to struggle alone. 
 
 After all of these things, it were vain now to- hope 
 That light will spring out of the gloom ; 
 
 That reconciliation and peace will succeed — 
 For hope, there is no longer room. 
 
 If we wish to be free ; if we wish to preserve. 
 
 Inviolate still, and safe from the strong, 
 Those dearest of rights, for which we contend, 
 
 And have been contending so long ; 
 If we do not mean to abandon the cause 
 
 And the struggle in which we're engaged ; 
 If we do not intend the desertion of friends. 
 
 And the faith unto them we have pledged; 
 If we wish for those things, and do not intend 
 
 To relinquish an object so dear. 
 We must fight, we must fight, I repeat we must fight ! 
 
 The appeal unto arms is now near; 
 An appeal unto arms and the great God of hosts 
 
 Is all that is left us, I trow. 
 They say we are weak and unable to cope 
 
 With a power like Great Britain now ; 
 But when will we ever be stronger, I ask ? 
 
 Will it be the next week, or next year ? 
 Will it be when we are disarmed, and a guard 
 
 Is stationed in every house here? 
 By irresolution, shall we gather strength. 
 
 Or the means of resistance acquire 
 By lying supinely and hugging false hopes. 
 
 And the phantoms that such hopes inspire ? 
 
 Ah, no! we're not weak, if we make the right use 
 Of the means that kind nature has given ; 
 
 The great God of nature has given us space 
 From which we can never be driven. 
 
84 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Three millions of people, in holy cause armed — 
 
 Of right and of freedom forever — 
 In such a grand country as we here possess, 
 Can never be conquered ; 710 never! 
 
 But we shall not fight all our battles alone ; 
 
 There's a just holy, God who presides. 
 Who governs the actions of nations and men, 
 
 And He'll raise us up friends on all sides ; 
 That God and those friends, our efforts will aid — 
 
 The battle's not ail to the strong ; 
 But 'tis to the vigilant, active and brave, 
 
 Who contend for the right against wrong. 
 
 In addition to this, no choice have we left; 
 
 If base enough now to desire, 
 Too late it is now to halt and turn back ; 
 
 Too late it is now to retire. 
 No way of retreating is left us, I trow, 
 
 Except to submit and be slaves ; 
 Your chains are fast forging — they're forged even now — 
 
 Being borne across the salt waves. 
 
 On the fair plain of Boston, they are clanking to-day — 
 
 Their clanking is heard here by some ; 
 Inevitable now is the war, and I say, 
 
 ''''Let it come ! I repeat, let it come ! " 
 
 'Tis vain — worse than vain — to extenuate now ; 
 
 Gentlemen may cry peace, even peace; 
 But peace, there is none ; the war is begun ! 
 
 And God only knows when 'twill cease. 
 The next gale that sweeps from the north States may 
 bring 
 
 The clashing of resounding arms ; 
 Why stand we here idle ? Our brothers are there, 
 
 On the field, with its hostile alarms ; 
 What is it that gentlemen wish or desire? 
 
 What is it they'd have, if they could ? 
 Is life now so dear that they prize it still higher 
 
 Than everything else that is good ? 
 
THE FALL OF THE OLD MILL. 85 
 
 Is peace so ecstatic and sweet unto them 
 
 They would purchase, at such a great cost — 
 Chains, bondage, and slavery? Forbid it, oh, God! 
 
 Ere freedom and Liberty's lost ! 
 I know not, I care not, what others may do, 
 
 Or what they would ask, or bequeath ; 
 But now, as for me, let me have Liberty, 
 
 Or, failing in that, give me death ! 
 
 TRE FALL OF THE OLD MILL. 
 
 And has it fallen — that old mill — 
 
 Upon the Lost Creek shore? 
 That mossy wheel, is it now still. 
 
 And will it turn no more ? 
 The history of that fallen mill — 
 
 Its history, who will write? 
 Its early deeds — perhaps they will 
 
 Be some day brought to light ; 
 Its incidents, what ere they were, 
 
 Few of the living know. 
 They say my grandsire built it there. 
 
 In years, long, long ago — 
 When Tennessee was first a State — 
 
 Within its wooded wild, 
 In seventeen hundred ninety-eight. 
 
 My father, then a child. 
 The builder then was in his youth — 
 
 He long has passed away. 
 And I, his grandson, now forsooth 
 
 Am old, and worn, and gray 
 
 The Indian war-whoop scarce had died 
 
 Upon the hills around, 
 When settlers came from far and wide 
 
 And had their hoe-cakes ground. 
 
86 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Those ancient settlers, where are they ? 
 
 I cannot tell you where; 
 Long time ago they went away, 
 
 And left the old mill there. 
 Children were born, grew old and died 
 
 In sight of that old mill; 
 Their bones are lying side by side, 
 
 Above it on the hill. 
 And yet, through all those changing years. 
 
 In every changing scene; 
 In peace and war, and blood and tears — 
 
 And many such have been, — 
 That old mill-wheel went round and round- 
 
 The stone went faster still, — 
 And still the staff of life was ground 
 
 By that old water-mill. 
 
 The last old pioneer had gone, 
 
 For either woe or weal ; 
 The never-faihng stream flowed on. 
 
 That turned that old mill-wheel. 
 The sons and daughters of the one 
 
 Who builded it were dead. 
 Save only one surviving son, 
 
 Far in the West, 'twas said. 
 Some children's children still were there ; 
 
 Some few, but ah ! still more. 
 Reposing in the grave-yard where 
 
 The sire had gone before ; 
 And many, many more beside, 
 
 In distant lands away, 
 Are scattered far, and severed wide, 
 
 And have been many a day ; 
 And of that number, I am one, 
 
 In life's cold winter chill. 
 And from life's far-off setting sun. 
 
 Look back to that old mill. 
 
 How often in my dreams, Iv'e seen — 
 
 Since wandering from there — 
 That mill, the cedar grove so green, 
 
THE FALL OF THE OLD MILL. 87 
 
 And fields as once they were ; 
 And oftentimes will memory tell 
 
 The story oe'r and oe'r, 
 Of what a wayward boy befel, 
 
 Upon that rocky shore. 
 
 Though memory now is feeble grown, 
 
 And recollections fail, 
 They bring me back the years long flown, 
 
 And tell the oft-told tale ; 
 They point me out the narrow track 
 
 Across the vale and hill, 
 O'er which, upon old sorrel's back, 
 
 I rode to that old mill. 
 
 My cousins and my playmates gone, 
 
 They often bring to view ; 
 As when we sailed upon the pond. 
 
 In the old dug-out canoe. 
 But I had wandered far away, 
 
 And they in death asleep ; 
 While other boys, as wild as we. 
 
 Sailed on the mill-pond deep. 
 
 Years passed ; the waters in the race 
 
 Flowed on, and onward still, 
 While others came to take the place 
 
 Of those who ran the mill. 
 For eighty years — how long a time 
 
 Since first its work began ! 
 The generations came and went. 
 
 And still the old mill ran ; 
 That never-failing stream supplied 
 
 The needed motive-power 
 That through those many years supplied 
 
 The land with meal and flour. 
 
 But was that mill the same, you ask. 
 
 Through all those changing years — 
 Was it the same in every part — 
 
 It's stones and running-gears 
 
88 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Ah, no ! it underwent repairs, 
 
 As everything must do; 
 And soon or late, it's every part 
 
 Gave place to something new. 
 
 You've heard, perhaps, of that old knife. 
 
 In use for five decades, 
 Which half a dozen handles had 
 
 And twice as many blades ; 
 And yet it was the same old knife, 
 
 The man contended strong ; 
 The same old knife his father had 
 
 And he had used so long. 
 And so it was with that old mill, 
 
 Though oftentimes repaired ; 
 Though millers came and millers went, 
 
 The old mill still was spared. 
 
 For eighteen years or more, it ground 
 
 The bread I lived upon, 
 And then I left my native place, 
 
 And forty years were gone ; 
 And when those forty years were passed. 
 
 Returned to that old mill; 
 It looked, it seemed, almost the same, 
 
 And it was grinding still. 
 
 I asked : '* Is this the same old mill 
 My grandsire built, you know — 
 
 The same old mill I left in youth, 
 Near forty years ago ?" 
 
 An answer came : " The same old mill, 
 
 As much as you're the same 
 Descendant of it's builder ; you, 
 
 Who answer to his name. 
 You say you are the self-same youth 
 
 Of eighteen years of age. 
 Who left this stream so long ago. 
 
 Life's battle-storm to wage; 
 
THE FALL OF THE OLD MILL. 89 
 
 What part of that; then youthful frame, 
 
 Where Life's machinery ran — 
 What part have you brought back with you, 
 
 You old gray-headed man ? 
 Your ancient comrades know you not; 
 
 They cannot recognize 
 The boy of forty years ago, 
 
 In that old time-worn guise." 
 
 I was convinced ; I felt the truth ; 
 
 I could not answer, nay; 
 I was, and yet was not, the same 
 
 Bright boy that went away. 
 Like that old mill, my every part 
 
 Had undergone a change ; 
 And though I thought myself the same, 
 
 To others I was strange. 
 
 They tell us — men of science say 
 
 That every seven years, \ 
 
 The tissues of the body change. 
 
 And a new man appears ; 
 And yet it is the same old man. 
 
 As everybody knows. 
 The oftener that the frame's renewed, 
 
 The older still it grows ; 
 Until at last, like that old mill. 
 
 Repairs are at an end — 
 It falls, it sinks, and with the dust 
 
 Its every part will blend. 
 
 And yet 'twill live ! that old mill lives 
 
 Within my memory yet ; 
 And He who gave our bodies lives — 
 
 No part will He forget. 
 He'll raise them up more glorious 
 
 Than e're they were before; 
 And they no more repairs will need 
 
 Upon that other shore. 
 
90 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 
 
 DiAiiOGUE — Ben and Charley. 
 
 Charley — Uncle Ben, I want you to help me with my 
 composition for the examination next week. 
 
 Uncle Ben — Very well, what is it ? Let me see it. 
 
 Charley — I have not decided that yet. You can write 
 me one on any subject you please. 
 
 Uncle Ben — That's another thing, Charley. I have not 
 promised to write one of my own for you to claim and read 
 as yours ; but only to help you over the hard places, while 
 you are hoeing your own row. The object of your teacher 
 in settmg you to write compositions, is to teach you to ex- 
 press your thoughts on paper. But what good would it do 
 you to read over, as your own, what I had written ; a part of 
 which you might not understand. 
 
 Charley — It would do me this much good. Uncle Ben : 
 I would have the name of reading the best composition in 
 the school, and that is what each one is striving for. 
 
 Uncle Ben — Let me tell you, Charley, it will do you na 
 good to get that name, or anything else, by false pretenses. 
 You should act the truth, as well as speak the truth ; and 
 some day you will receive a better reward than what you are 
 seeking now — a name for the best essay. 
 
 Charley — But, Uncle Ben, did you never get anybody 
 to write out your compositions when you were a boy at 
 school, like I am, and hadn't learned how to write them 
 yourself? 
 
 Uncle Ben — No ; it was not so common in my school- 
 boy days as it is now to put boys to writing compositions. In- 
 deed, it was very uncommon, and I never saw it done in any 
 school that I attended. 
 
 Charley — What 1 didn't you have to write compositions 
 at school ? 
 
 Uncle Ben — No ; I was not required to write composi- 
 tions in my school days. 
 
 Charley — What sort of schools and teachers did they 
 have then ? They must have been very different from the 
 
OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 9 1 
 
 ones that we have now, for boys and girls, too, all have to 
 write them — at least all that can write or handle a pen or 
 pencil. 
 
 Uncle Ben — Yes, they were very different in some things, 
 and the boys of to-day ought to be thankful for the many ad- 
 vantages that they have over the boys of fifty years ago; 
 and it does seem that they ought to learn much faster and a 
 great deal more than we did, but I don't see that they do. 
 
 Charley — Can't you tell me something about those old- 
 fashioned schools and the old-fashioned teachers that I have 
 heard mentioned so often ; and tell me the difference between 
 them and ours, and between your school-boy days and mine ? 
 
 Uncle Ben — Well, there was a great difference, in some 
 things; a difference in the way schools were carried on, but 
 not so much difference at last, in the objects sought for and 
 obtained. In my day, we had no free school to which all 
 were at liberty to go on equal terms; and the boy whose 
 parents were too poor, or too selfish to pay for his schooling, 
 was shut out from the school. We had no school districts 
 or district school-houses estabfished by law, as you have now ; 
 nor did we have any normal school to teach the teachers ; 
 nor any school commissioners to examine them and give 
 them a license to teach ; but every man, woman, or boy, 
 who wanted a school and could make up the number of 
 scholars, was allowed to teach it. Another great difference 
 between then and now, was in the school-houses — generally 
 rough log cabins, large enough to hold twenty-five or thirty 
 children, by crowding them in. The one I went to school in 
 may serve as an average description, at that day in that State. 
 It was built of round logs, notched up and covered with 
 clapboards, ribs' and weight-poles, the cracks chinked and 
 daubed with mud ; a puncheon floor and a chimney made 
 of sticks and clay ; a wide fire-place, with a back wall of 
 stone and a large flat rock set up on each side for the jambs. 
 It was not seated, as your school-house is, with seats and 
 desks ; but the seats were rough and long benches, with noth- 
 ing for the back to rest against ; and on these benches the 
 scholars sat, sometimes crowded together as close as they 
 could wedge in — especially in cold weather, on the benches 
 next the fire-place. A wider and taller bench, placed against 
 the wall, where a large crack or crevice was left open to give 
 
92 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 light, served as a writing desk ; and another bench of the 
 same length served as a seat for the writing class to sit on 
 when writing. This was all the furniture. No black-board 
 then ; no stove, no maps, no globes, and each patron fur- 
 nished his children such books as he pleased, and nearly 
 every scholar was in a class to himself. It is true, that 
 Webster's North American Spelling Book was the principal 
 speller, but some children brought the old Dilworth, that 
 their fathers or mothers had studied in before them. A few 
 copies, also, of Dr. Franklin's spelling book, were in the 
 school. 
 
 As to readers, except the Testament, scarcely any two 
 were alike — one or to copies of Scott's Lessons, which we 
 called John Gilpin, because that was all the lesson in it that 
 interested us, or that we cared to read ; a few copies, also, 
 of the English Reader by Murray. Pike's Arithmetic, 'with a 
 few older authors that had been used time out of mind, were 
 the mathematical books. And as to grammar, I only went 
 to one school, and only a month to that one, where the 
 teacher pretended to teach it ; but when it was taught, it was 
 Lindlay Murray's old and dry grammar; and in all my 
 schooling, I never saw the inside of one. 
 
 Charley — But, Uncle Ben, was there much difference in 
 the manner of teaching what they did teach and in governing 
 schools from the present system ? 
 
 Uncle Ben — I suppose there was, but can't say for certain. 
 I am not very well posted in the present system, and cannot 
 tell how they manage them now, only as I get it from you 
 and others who go to school ; but from what I see and hear, 
 you have some variations from the old style. The custom, 
 when I went to school, was for the first one at school in the 
 morning to recite the first lesson, the second next, and so on 
 to the last. And many a race I have had and witnessed to 
 get into the school house first. Sometimes there was a spell- 
 ing book class and a Testament class ; and when called up, we 
 spelled a word or read a verse alternately, and if 0)ie missed 
 a word or miscalled a letter, any one below him was allowed 
 and required by the teacher to be on the watch and correct 
 him ; and the first one to make the proper correction went up, 
 perhaps to be turned down himself at the next or some future 
 round. Each one studying arithmetic was in a class by him- 
 
OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 93 
 
 self, and got on as fast as he could, without waiting for others, 
 and without dragging his classmates or being dragged along 
 by them, as is too commonly the case now. Each one had 
 his own black-board in the shape of a slate, and had no reg- 
 ular time for saying lessons. When he worked out his sum^ 
 he took his slate to the master to see if he had done it right. 
 If he stalled and came to a dead halt, he would scratch his 
 head awhile, and then march up to the master's seat and ask 
 for help. In most of the schools we had loud study, that is, 
 every scholar read or might read and spell aloud; and some- 
 times, especially when learning the heart lesson, each one 
 would strain his voice to get above every other, and one 
 could scarcely hear himself. Another difference was this : if 
 you met a scholar going to school or returning, he was not 
 loaded down with books ; he was not studying half a dozen 
 or more branches at once. When he had learned to spell 
 and read and write creditably, he went to cyphering ; and in 
 general, it was only when his head or his brain became tan- 
 gled with figures, that he laid down his slate and went to the 
 writing bench, or the spelling book, till his head became 
 straight again ; and until he got through with Pike, no other 
 study was allowed to interfere, except as a rest or recreation. 
 Another good custom not now in use was to write down in 
 his cyphering book the solution of every problem solved, to 
 which he could refer in after days, if his memory failed him 
 as to the process by which the answer had been obtained. 
 As well as I can recollect, my cyphering book contained two 
 quires of paper, and was preserved for years, and would be 
 highly prized now if I had it. Another difference time has 
 wrought in schools, school-teaching and school-teachers : 
 the teachers then put in their whole time, or nearly so. Six 
 hours did not count as a day, and four weeks didn't count a 
 month ; and if a teacher lost Christmas or Thanksgiving Day 
 or any other holiday; he made up the time the same as other 
 hirelings did. When men paid for the schooling of their 
 own children, instead of other people's, as now, they contend- 
 ed for the worth of their money. There are those who 
 contend that school-teachers are poorly paid now, when they 
 get from $35.00 to $60.00 per month; and I believe that they 
 themselves complain more on account of the smallness of 
 their wages than teachers of fifty years ago did, when they 
 
94 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 received from $10.00 to $15.00, worked all day, ruled copy- 
 books, set copies, made and mended pens, from the goose- 
 quill, and helped the boys cut and "tote" wood enough at 
 one p!ay-time to do until the next; and then, at the end of 
 the term, or at Christmas, had to treat or be ducked in the 
 creek. There are some of those old-fogy teachers living yet, 
 who iiave not forgotten those things and if $40.00 is not 
 enough for teachers now, I think they ought to claim a back 
 saljry for the time they taught for $10.00 and $12.00. 
 
 Charley — But, Uncle, I heard Doctor R. say the other day, 
 that it was cheaper to pay $60.00 per month for a good 
 teacher than to pay $15.00 for a poor one. 
 
 Uncle Ben — Yes; I know that's the argument, and the fact 
 that a young man has passed through college or been to the 
 normal school, and has learned to smoke cigars with a fashion- 
 able grace, entitles him to the tiile of a good teacher of the 
 sixty-dollar class; while another who has gotten his education 
 as my teachers did, mostly at home by the light of a pine 
 knot, is considered a dear teacher at any price, although in 
 point of knowledge and solid acquirements, he may discount 
 the other fifty per cent. 
 
 Charley — Tell me. Uncle Ben, how it happened that you 
 learned to write as well as you do, if you never wrote compo- 
 sitions in youth ? 
 
 Uncle Ben — I did not say that I never wrote compositions 
 when a boy. I said I never wrote them at school ; because 
 it was never assigned to me as a task. But I did write them 
 at home for my own amusement and edification, with a hope 
 that I might some day be benefitted by it, as well as other 
 home studies, after leaving school, as my self-taught teachers 
 had been. Perhaps if those teachers had been taught at 
 College, and learned all that they knew there, I might have 
 fancied that there was no other way to acquire an education, 
 and given up in despair, because I was too poor to go to Col- 
 lege, or to any other high-school. When I was at your age, I 
 would have been pleased to write such compositions as your 
 teacher requires you to write; and I admit this is one of the 
 improvements made in teaching, and I am very much in 
 favor of the practice ; but I would have every boy to write 
 his own, and all the help I would be willing to give, would be 
 to criticise, or point out errors, or make some suggestions as 
 
OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 95 
 
 improvements. If you wish to succeed in your compositions, 
 or anything else, you must rely mainly upon your own appli- 
 cation to study, and your perseverence in it ; and if you fail 
 at first, try again. There is nothing like trying. Do not de- 
 pend too much upon what your teacher, or others may do for 
 you. It is well enough to have teachers to help you over 
 the hard places, and to correct you when you are going 
 wrong; but remember, that though they may teich, you have 
 to do the learning ; and remember, again, that the boy who 
 folloivs only as somebody leads^ will sooner or later find him- 
 self at a loss. And here, I think, is one disadvantage the 
 you h of to-day labor under. They have so many so-called 
 advantages over the youth of fifty years ago, in the way of 
 educational facilities, that they trust too much to those facili- 
 ties, and too little to themselves and their own exertions. 
 They have free schools to which all can go at least half the 
 year. They have comfortable school-houses, well furnished 
 with every needed help and appliance; good teachers, 
 versed in all the branches of knowledge required to be taught 
 in com'non schools, and even more. And the boy too often 
 thinks that so many, and such great facilities, will carry him 
 through without any extraordinary effort, or with no effort at 
 all on his part, and what he fails to learn while those facilities 
 are offered him, he never learns after they are withdrawn. 
 He fancies he is going to school to acquire knowledge at the 
 hands of those who have themselves acquired it at other 
 schools, from other teachers; and when his term of school 
 ends, and the facilities which it afforded are withdrawn, he 
 stops for the want of a leader : whereas, if he had obtained 
 the same knowledge that he has, under the privations and dis- 
 advantages under which we labored, he would have more 
 self-reliance, and might go on improving and adding to his 
 knowledge after school was over. 
 
 Charley — Don't you admit, though, that school-teachers 
 as a class are much better qualified than fifty years ago, and 
 that there are not so many ignoramuses amongst them now 
 as there were then, and that they understand the work of 
 teaching much better? 
 
 Uncle Ben— -Yqs] in a certain sense, I admit all that. 
 Schools have been multiplied, and the teachers of to-day have 
 had twice as much training as the man in the back-woods had 
 
g6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 fifty years ago ; and the young man now who does not take 
 in the rudiments of knowledge freely, has it pumped into him, 
 as it were, almost by force ; and although he may not have 
 mastered the required number of studies, he has been drag- 
 ged through by his teachers, and has managed to learn some- 
 things that teachers of the olden time never heard of; while 
 at the same time, some of these old-fogy teachers could put 
 him to the blush in some of the most common and most 
 useful branches of an every-day education. 
 
 Charley — They might, perhaps, stall some of our young 
 men and young lady teachers in their mathematics, but I'll 
 bet you'll not find one that can stump our teacher. Mr. G., 
 for he has arithmetic, algebra and geometry at his fingers, 
 ends, and knows them by heart — or by head, as you please 
 to call it. 
 
 Uncle Ben — Perhaps you think so, and may be he thinks 
 so, too, for I hear he is well posted in mathematics, particu- 
 larly in mental arithmetic, which was not taught much when I 
 was a boy ; but do you think he can, by his head, and with- 
 out using his fingers or figures at all, compute the com- 
 pound interest of one hundred dollars, for one hundred years, 
 at five and two-fifths per cent, or any less amount for a less 
 number of years, at the same or other rate of interest? If 
 he cannot, he is not equal to one of the old-fashioned teach- 
 ers that I know of, who lives not a hundred miles off, and 
 who never studied figures six months at school, all put togeth- 
 er. If your teacher can do that, or if he can, by his head, 
 (mentally), extract the fifth or the seventh root of any num- 
 ber less than a thousand, then, perhaps, he can solve the 
 problem of John's farm, which the old fogy I speak of can 
 solve, but has never found any College professor able to do it. 
 Charley — What problem is that ? 
 Uncle Ben — As it is stated in rhyme, it reads thus, — 
 
 John's farm a semi-circle is. 
 
 Laid out by rule precise ; 
 No man but him, no brain but his 
 
 Could such a plan devise. 
 That semi-circle's base, now mind. 
 
 Is poles two hundred long, 
 From which the area you can find, 
 
OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 97 
 
 And 'twill not take you long ; 
 Upon the base 'tween A and B, 
 
 Ten perches from the centre K, 
 There stands a silver-maple tree ; 
 
 'Tis nearer B than A, 
 And from that tree to A and B, 
 
 He semi-circles drew 
 Witkin the farm, and they, you see. 
 
 Are semi-circles true. 
 And then, adjoining these, he put 
 
 An entire circle, such 
 As neither curving are to cut, 
 But each of them to touch. 
 And having drawn that circle one, 
 
 Another one he drew, 
 Just touching these, but cutting none, 
 
 And that is numbered two; 
 Another, and another still, 
 
 A, B and C and D, 
 Decreasing, growing smaller still, 
 To end, if end there be. 
 And then upon the other side of circle numbered one, ^ 
 
 He circle after circle drew, as he before had done. 
 Still smaller every circle grew, and faster than before ; 
 'Till 'tween those semi-circles two, no room was found for 
 
 more. 
 Now, say how many circles there, if any man can know ? 
 The radius true of each declare, and how you know it's so ? 
 Should other circles still be drawn, no other circle in, 
 But touching those already drawn, and lying in between, 
 Tell me the size of every one, no matter where they lie ; 
 Or, if you say it can't be done, just tell the reason why ? 
 
 Charley — Well, I don't know that I understand it, or 
 that my teacher will; but if it can be done, I think he'll 
 do it. 
 
 Uncle Ben — It may be that he will not understand it 
 fully, or know what is required ; and to enable you or him 
 to do so, draw a half-circle, the straight line or diameter 
 equal 200. Then inside of that, draw two other half -circles, 
 meeting on diameter, A B, ten perches from the centre, 
 
•gS 
 
 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 4 
 
 one being no and the other 90 in diameter. Then draw an 
 exact circle, the largest that can be drawn inside the large 
 semi-circle, without cutting any part of the smaller ones, 
 and tell its size. Then draw a circle on each side of that, 
 just touching, but not cutting it or any other arc, and so 
 on, telling the size of each; and if Mr. G., or any other 
 modern teacher, can solve it, he will do what none of them 
 has done, so far as is known, and perhaps none of the old- 
 
OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 99 
 
 fashioned ones can, except the one referred to ; and he per- 
 haps would be refused a certificate to teach a modern school, 
 because he might not answer questions in the language of 
 the books now in use, or might not rightly divide the alpha- 
 bet into vowels and semi-vowels, consonants, labials, dentals, 
 mutes and semi mutes ; or like another old fogy, might not 
 correctly answer what the difference is between the recipro- 
 cal of a number and the number itself, not comprehending 
 its meaning. But now to sum it all up, Charley : though 
 you had better schools and more of them than we had in 
 my boyhood ; better houses and more of them ; better books 
 and a great many more of them, with better and greater 
 facilities every way for acquiring knowledge, the results, 
 •or the fruits of those schools, are not in proportion to 
 the money expended in supporting them. In other 
 words, the knowledge or the education acquired is not in 
 proportion to the dollars and cents that it costs. 
 
 You may hear old men on all sides saying that children 
 commencing in their letters now, do not learn as fast as 
 they did when they were children. 
 
 This may not be the fault of the schools, or the teachers, 
 or the children, but if such is the case, there must be a 
 cause for it. Perhaps the parents may be to blame. They may 
 think, that as the State or the public pays the teacher, and 
 pays him so much better than old-time teachers were paid, 
 it is their p'ace to do all the teaching, and do not themselves 
 lend the same help that the men and women of by-gone 
 •days did, when they had to pay out of their own pockets, 
 for all the teaching their children received at school. 
 
 And now, let me say this to you : If you have a lesson 
 to learn, study it yourself, and do not depend upon your 
 teacher or classmates to study for you. If you have a 
 composition to write, go at it, and do not ask Uncle Ben, 
 or any other uncle, to write it for you. If your lesson is 
 hard, study the harder ; if it is easy and soon learned, be 
 thankful that you have some time to study something else 
 useful ; and devote more of your time to useful than to 
 ornamental branches ; and before you sneer, as some do, at 
 old-fogy ways, old-fogy schools and school-teachers, be sure, 
 that you, with your greater facilities, are doing as well or 
 i^etter than they did without them. 
 
lOO RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 PERSECUTION FOR OPINIONS SAKE. 
 
 (This parable was written more than 200 years ago, and 
 the author is not known. Dr. FrankHn translated it more 
 than a hundred years since and published it, and it was so 
 much like him, he was thought to be its author ; but he only 
 turned the Latin into English, and I now turn his plain En- 
 glish prose into rhyme; but the thoughts and the moral are as 
 they were 200 years ago.) 
 
 After these things, when the day was far spent, 
 
 And Abraham sat in the door of his tent, 
 
 A man bent with age, with a trembling frame. 
 
 Who leaned on a staff, from the wilderness came ; 
 
 And Abraham rose, the tired stranger to meet. 
 
 And said : *' Turn in, I pray thee, and here wash thy feet ; 
 
 And tarry with me, in my tent, all the night, • 
 
 And thou shalt arise at the morn's early light 
 
 Refreshed, on the morrow, go forth on thy way." 
 
 But the stranger made answer and meekly said: "Nay, 
 
 But under this tree, all alone, I'll abide;" 
 
 But Abraham pressed, and the stranger complied; 
 
 He turned at the bidding, and thankfully went 
 
 And set himself down in the patriarch's tent. 
 
 Then Abraham baked him the unleavened bread, 
 
 And togetgher did eat ; but Abraham said : 
 
 ** I see that thou hast not blessed the Most High, 
 
 Who created all things ; pray now tell me why ?" 
 
 But the stranger made answer, and said : " I ne'er claim 
 
 The God that yoa worship nor call on His name; 
 
 For a God of my own, I have made unto me, 
 
 Which always abides in my house, do you see, 
 
 And provides me with everything needed in life.'' 
 
 But Abraham's zeal was now kindled for strife ; 
 
 Against the poor stranger at once he arose, 
 
 He fell upon him, and he drove him with blows 
 
 Forth into the wilderness, far, far away; 
 
 But God called to Abraham, and thus, did He say : 
 
 *' Abraham — where has the stranger man fled?" 
 
LAWYERS AND A LAWSUIT OF THE OLD TIME. lOI 
 
 And Abraham answered the Lord, then, and said : 
 
 '* Lord God of the earth, he would not worship Thee, 
 
 Nor call on Thy name; which so much angered me 
 
 That I've driven him hence before my stern face, 
 
 With blows, and with stripes, to rough desert place." 
 
 *' Have I borne, " said the Lord, '' with that stranger so long, 
 
 These hundred and ninety-eight years in his wrong, 
 
 And nourished and clothed him as I have done thee, 
 
 Notwithstanding his stubborn rebellion toward me, 
 
 And couldst thou, who also have sinned in my sight, 
 
 Not bear with the stranger for one single night ? " 
 
 LAWYERS AND A LAWSUIT OF THE OLD TIME. 
 
 DiAiiOGUE — Uncle Ben and Charley. 
 
 Charley — Do you think, Uncle Ben, that Patrick Henry 
 was in earnest when he said, "Give me liberty or give me 
 death," or was he just "gassing," as other lawyers do now. 
 
 Uncle Ben — It is hard to tell, Charley; I suppose he 
 really meant the first part of it, "Give me liberty ; " but as to 
 the latter part, " Give me death," I am inclined to think, 
 that, if death had been offered, he would have preferred some - 
 thing else, as the man in the fable did. 
 
 As you say, lawyers are very often " gassing," and it is 
 hard to tell when they speak their real sentiments. You know 
 it is their trade to talk for money; and one, for the sake of a 
 good fee, will talk away a man's life, liberty or character, 
 though he may be satisfied of his innocence. And another, 
 for a like fee, will labor night and day, and shed tears like a 
 crocodile, to save a man from the penalty of the law, when 
 he verily believes him guilty. I have heard them talk some- 
 times when I thought they meant what they said, and some- 
 times quite the reverse. Sometimes the lawyer, upon 
 each side, talks for money, and also to gain a reputation for 
 oratory and sharp practice without caring three straws how 
 
I02 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 the case may go. When I was a boy, about your age, or a 
 little older, I heard the first lawyer's pleading in a court of 
 justice; and if they convinced me of nothing else, I was con- 
 vinced that both were good talkers, and that both were 
 shrewd, sharp fellows; and that is the verdict that the most of 
 them seek from the public, more than a verdict of right from 
 the jury. 
 
 Charley — Was it a case of life or death? 
 , Uncle Ben — No, it was a very small affair ; or at least it 
 grew out of a small affair ; a case of petty larceny, where a 
 young woman was arraigned for stealing two ounces of indigo, 
 worth about thirty cents; and yet it was a case of some 
 moment. Indeed, it was of very great moment to the girl 
 accused, as her reputation was at stake, as much as if it had 
 been for hundreds of dollars. 
 
 Charley — And did they carry that small affair into the 
 court-house, and fee lawyers on each side, for the sake of 
 thirty cents ? 
 
 U?icle Ben — Yes, indeed; for that or for something else 
 — not an uncommon thing either. Many a lawsuit has cost 
 thousands of dollars, the cause, or origin of which, was less 
 than one. That being my first acquaintance with lawyers, 
 and that the first court-house I ever saw, it made an im- 
 pression on the mind that has not been effaced. A young 
 woman or girl, not much older than I was, had been indict- 
 ed for stealing two ounces of indigo, which at that time was an 
 article more in demand than it is now, for the reason that 
 men, and women too, dressed in homespun — home-colored 
 and home-made clothing ; and instead of calico prints, the 
 young women wore their home-made cotton dresses, striped 
 with the red, white and blue. The case was tried in the old 
 limestone court-house, in Tazewell, in Claibourne County, 
 Tennessee. The friends of the young woman — a revolution- 
 ary family from Virginia, who had, perhaps, heard Patrick 
 Henry in his time — employed old General Cocke (Old Jack, 
 as he was called who had led the First Division of Tennessee 
 Volunteers in the War of 1812; ) to defend the case, and his 
 nephew. Sterling Cocke, was prosecuting attorney for the 
 State. The youth and beauty of the prisoner, together with 
 the standing of her family, and also the standing of the pros- 
 ecutor, contributed to make the case one of great interest in 
 
LAWYERS AND A LAWSUIT OF THE OLD TIME. I03 
 
 the community where they lived. The evidence, in short, 
 was that the prisoner had been employed by the prosecutor, 
 and had done one or more week's spinning; the lady testi- 
 fying that on Saturday evening, as Miss Betsy was about to 
 leave for home, she noticed on or about her bosom a small 
 blue spot, and that as soon as she was gone, she went to look 
 for her indigo, and that it was gone. This was all the evidence, 
 except that another witness had noticed the stain of indigo on 
 the bosom of her dress, and also what appeared to be a lump 
 of something inside. 
 
 The theory, then, of the prosecution, wasthpt the defend- 
 ant had taken the indigo from its place in the afiernoon, 
 during Mrs. G's absence, and had secreted it in her bosom 
 before starting home. The defendant had no counter evi- 
 dence to produce — nothing but a simple denial, and plea of 
 not guilty ; and could not account for the stain of indigo — if 
 there was any — on her person, or on her clothing. The State's 
 Attorney made but a short speech — said the case was too 
 plain to need one — dwelt upon the good character and cred- 
 ibility of the witnesses ; the fact that the indigo was there in 
 the morning, and gone in the evening — missed almost as soon 
 as the defendant was gone ; said it was true that the stolen 
 article had not been traced into defendant's possession, or 
 found on her person, but that its mark or stain had been 
 seen and noticed, and the impression of its bulk had been 
 seen and noticed also ; and that this impression and this 
 stain had not been accounted for, and could not be on any 
 other hypothesis than the one claimed by the prosecution. 
 The counsel for the defense (Old Jack) then rose, and 
 made quite a lengthy speech, charging that a conspiracy or 
 scheme had been formed to blast the reputation and ruin the 
 character of an innocent, hard-working young woman, de- 
 pendant upon her own labor for a support, and her own 
 honesty for a passport through life. On cross-examination, 
 the witness had testified that the stolen article was of the 
 Begal, or hard kind of indigo ; and the old general exhibited 
 a small sample or lump of that kind to the jury, to show 
 that in ordinary handling, it would leave no mark or stain, 
 either on the fingers or the clothing, rubbing it on his hands, 
 his vest and shirt bosom, and leaving no stain whatever. 
 He then poured forth a stream of invective against the 
 
I04 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 conspirator or conspirators, and a stream of eloquence as to 
 the irreparable injury that would be inflicted upon an inno- 
 cent girl, if the jury should, upon such evidence, render a 
 verdict of guilty. 
 
 While he was pouring forth these strains of eloquence, 
 for which he was noted, his nephew, young Sterling, asked 
 him for the bit of indigo, when he had ceased to exhibit it 
 to the jury; and wetting and softening it with spittle, he 
 rubbed it upon the bar, against which the old general would 
 occasionally press his white cotton pants. 
 
 The speech went on for an hour and the process of rub- 
 bing the indigo on the bar went on also. When the orator, 
 in his gesticulations, would recede from the bar a short dis- 
 tance back or to one side, the indigo was applied, only to be 
 transferred to the white pants when the general, in his en- 
 ergy, would press against the bar to press more forcibly his 
 arguments home upon the jury. Finally, in summing up 
 the evidence and arguments, he dwelt upon the fact that 
 about all the evidence relied on was that a stain of indigo 
 had been seen on the defendant's person or on her clothing; 
 and hence, said he, you are called upon to say that she stole 
 some of the article. But, gentlemen of the jury, have I 
 not shown you that if she had stolen it and put it in her 
 bosom, as they said she did, it would not have betrayed her, 
 for the kind of indigo stolen, or said to have been stolen, 
 does not, in ordinary handling, leave any mark of blue 
 whatever. This, gentlemen, I have demonstrated to you 
 beyond a doubt. 
 
 The young attorney could contain himself no longer, 
 and seeing that the jury were in the same situation, he inter- 
 rupted his uncle by saying : ''If you will examine a little 
 closer, general, I think you will find that it has left some 
 marks — a certain gentleman's pantaloons appear to have 
 changed color within the last hour." 
 
 After the laugh had subsided, in which the judge could 
 not help joining. Old Jack at once saw through the trick 
 that had been played, and how he had been caught. But 
 he proved equal to the emergency. Taking a new start, he 
 went on something after the following manner: "I told 
 you, gentlemen of the jury, at the start. I've told you time 
 and again, and I tell you now this defendant, this fair 
 
LAWYERS AND A LAWSUIT OF THE OLD TIME. 105 
 
 young girl, just coming into womanhood, has been the 
 victim of some foul scheme by some foul person or persons, 
 who have plotted and planned to rob her of everything she 
 had upon earth, a good name — an unsullied character ; and 
 she has been called upon to explain certain things, which 
 only they themselves can explain. Witnesses have sworn 
 that the indigo was missing; who took it? It may have 
 been stolen or hidden by some one of the plotters. Witnesses 
 have sworn that they saw marks of indigo upon the defend- 
 ant's clothing, and we are asked how those marks came 
 there ; and 1 ask the same question ? Perhaps they were 
 made by some person in the plot, and made without her 
 knowledge, as those blue stains, which I now wear, were 
 made without my knowledge. Somebody can account for 
 these blue stains being here better than I can. 
 
 And some person or persons could explain more about 
 that plot to stain and ruin a poor girl's character than she 
 herself can. Yes, gentlemen of the jury, I might have 
 stolen and carried off pounds of such indigo without receiv- 
 ing a stain. The fact that a person has no blue marks upon 
 him is no proof that he never stole indigo, and the fact that 
 he has such marks is no proof that he did. You see I have 
 the marks, but you know I did not steal the indigo that made 
 them. How do you know it ? Because, like the conspirators 
 in this plot against this defendant, you know how they came 
 there ; and somebody knows where the indigo is that made 
 them. I remember, now, I saw smiles on seme of your faces 
 a while ago, that I could not then account for ; but I can ac- 
 count for it now, and I only wonder that you did not laugh 
 aloud. No doubt, gentlemen, that while the fair cheeks of 
 my fair client have been bathed in tears through the long 
 summer's day, and her pillow wet with them at night, in con- 
 sequence of this indictment, somebody else has been smiling, 
 and gloating over her distress, and her hoped-for ruin. While 
 she was ignorant that the stain of indigo, or the still darker 
 stain of dishonesty, rested upon her, somebody else, who as- 
 sisted in putting that stain there, would have pointed it out, 
 and could have told how it came there. 
 
 Gentlemen, I am thankful, truly thankful, that the 
 illustration has been so plainly made how an innocent, unsus- 
 pecting character may be stained with the marks of guilt, and 
 
 8 
 
Io6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 how easy it is for a plot or conspiracy to be concocted and 
 carried out, and a train of circumstances laid that will go far 
 to prove that white is black, or rather blue, and the inno- 
 cent, for a time, made to appear as under a cloud of guilt, 
 because unable to account for circumstances of which he or 
 she had no knowledge, and which were brought about by the 
 secret actions of others. 
 
 Gentlemen, if I had had any doubt, before this color- 
 ing of my pantaloons, of what your verdict in this case will 
 be, 1 have none now ; my client will go forth acquitted of 
 the charge of theft, under which for months she has been 
 resting. 
 
 Charley — And was she acquitted sure enough? 
 
 Uncle Ben — Yes; the State's attorney made a lengthy 
 reply, but his evidence and his arguments were not strong 
 enough to convict. She was acquitted, lived some time in 
 the county, then moved to Kentucky, married and was living 
 there when last I heard of her ; and to old General Cocke's 
 credit, be it said, he refused to receive any fee. 
 
 Charley — Bully for him ! But I think the girl ought to 
 have washed his pants, if she could pay nothing more. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S DYING CHARGE. 
 
 Draw near, my son ; they tell me now 
 
 That I must shortly die ; 
 The damps of death are on my brow — 
 
 The end is surely nigh. 
 
 You soon will have no mother, John ; 
 
 I'm shortly going where 
 Your dear, departed father's gone, 
 
 And hope you'll meet us there. 
 
 It is a thorny path, my boy. 
 Your mother's feet have trod. 
 
 But soon 'twill end in realms of joy — 
 The Paradise of God. 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. I07 
 
 You know, my son, I've tried to lead 
 
 Your steps in virtue's way. 
 God knows, my boy, I've often prayed 
 
 That you might never stray. 
 
 Still be a good, obedient boy, 
 
 As you have ever been, 
 And as you grow to man's estate, 
 
 Shun all the paths of sin. 
 
 Shun theft, deceit and falsehood, John ; 
 
 Shun every evil thing; 
 Oh, shun them, John, as you would shun 
 
 The poisoned adder's sting ! 
 
 You have your father's Bible, John, 
 
 The word of truth divine ; 
 Keep it, my boy, and prize it as 
 
 The last best gift of mine. 
 
 Read it, my son ; its truths believe, 
 
 Its precepts daily try ; 
 'Twill teach you how, my son, to live, 
 
 'Twill teach you how to die ! 
 
 WHAT I SAW OF ORDER ]S UMBER ELEVEN, 
 
 General Thomas Ewing's famous order Number Eleven 
 is one amongst the memorable events of the War of the Re- 
 bellion in 1861 ; especially is it memorable on the western 
 borders of Missouri. That order, which commanded and 
 required all the citizens of three border counties, and a part 
 of the fourth, to vacate their homes and remove into garri- 
 soned towns, or from the military district, will ever be re- 
 membered by those citizens who were affected by its pro- 
 visions. It is often spoken of and referred to, and has been 
 much condemned by some and strenuously defended by 
 others ; and while I shall not attempt to do one or the other^ 
 
I08 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 I will, as plainly, concisely and impartially as I can, describe 
 what I saw, witnessed and felt of its incidents, consequences 
 and results, without pretending to say or to know whether 
 the consequences would have been better or worse, if that 
 order had never been made and enforced. 
 
 For several weeks during the summer of 1863, rumors 
 were prevalent and common in the country, that such an 
 order was in contemplation. Scouting parties of Union 
 soldiers declared, that, unless the bush-whackers ceased from 
 their system of guerrilla warfare, and the citizens ceased from 
 harboring, aiding and protecting them, an order would be 
 made to depopulate the country infested by them. The 
 threats, however, of the soldiers on either side, were not re- 
 garded by the citizens as evidence that the things threatened 
 would be performed. 
 
 Experience has proved, that, though threats of violence 
 were often carried out, they were more often mere idle 
 words of bravado. 
 
 That which gave more color to the rumor, and more 
 alarmed the citizens than the threats of the common soldier, 
 was the fact that the Union men, who had taken refuge in 
 Kansas City and Independence, notified their friends in the 
 country to hold themselves in readiness to obey the order 
 when it came ; that unless a change for the better was made, 
 in regard to guerrilla warfare, such an order would most surely 
 be issued. 
 
 The Sni Hills, in Jackson County, had the name of being 
 the principal rendezvous of those guerrillas, and threats of 
 vengeance were more frequently made against that part of 
 the country than any other. 
 
 In Van Buren township, embracing a part of those Sni 
 Hills, a meeting was called and held on the 15 th of August, 
 1863, to take into consideration those rumors, and consult as 
 to what was the best to be done. 
 
 A committee was appointed, resolutions were drawn up, 
 adopted and signed by nearly all present, reciting those 
 rumors of depopulation, and representing the great hardship 
 and ruin it would bring upon all classes, the loyal and dis- 
 loyal alike, and that in all probability the end sought would 
 not be accomplished by it ; closing with the assurance that 
 those whose names were signed to the paper had not will- 
 
 I 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. I09 
 
 ingly aided, encouraged or harbored bushwhackers in the 
 past, and that they would not in the future ; but that each 
 one, so far as he could in safety, would discountenance such 
 a system of warfare, and aid in suppressing it. 
 
 It was voted by the meeting that those resolutions should 
 be sent by a special messenger to General Ewing, at Kansas 
 City, and I was requested to bear them. James Powers, a 
 gentleman of the township, a Canadian by birth, who had 
 managed to steer clear between the contending parties, by 
 claiming neutrality as a British subject, agreed to carry me 
 to Kansas City in his ox-wagon, oxen being the only kind of 
 team that was not liable to be appropriated to the soldier's use. 
 
 We camped near Westport on the night of the i8th of 
 August, and drove into Kansas City the next morning, and I 
 was shown into General Ewing's office ; but he was not pres- 
 ent, having gone to Leavenworth. Our resolutions were 
 shown to his secretary, or chief of staff (Major Plumb, I 
 think), and were read and criticised by him and others pres- 
 ent ; amongst whom were two or three refugees from the 
 county, who claimed to know who of the subscribers were 
 loyal and who were not, contending that a majority were of 
 disloyal tendencies and could, not be depended upon. I re- 
 mained in the office an hour or more, urging what I could in 
 support of our resolutions and against the policy of the pro- 
 posed order, the major promising to lay the paper before the 
 general on his return. I then left the office, feeling that the 
 mission had been a failure. From all I could see and learn 
 in Kansas City, from friends and others, I made up my mind 
 to prepare as well as I could for the worst and to leave 
 home, if leave I must. I accordingly bought material to 
 make a wagon-bed, as the only wagon I had was without 
 one. We left for home on the afternoon of the 19th, where 
 we arrived next evening. I was told that about 300 bush- 
 whackers had eaten supper the evening before on the farm of 
 Benjamin Potter, an old gentleman living three-quarters of a 
 mile from my house. My family said some of them cam'e 
 there, and ordered half a bushel of bread, and that other 
 neighbors were served with the same order. It afterwards 
 turned out that these were Quantrell and his men, on their 
 way to Lawrence. Next day I carried material to the shop 
 
no RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 to have a wagon-box made, and commenced to make other 
 arrangements to be better prepared to leave home, if I had 
 it to do. In a few days the news of the tragedy at Law- 
 rence arrived in the neighborhood, and was flashed over all 
 the country; and on Sunday morning about forty of the 
 retreating guerrillas passed my house, and scarcely a day 
 passed that week but guerrillas, or Federal soldiers in pursuit of 
 them, were seen in the neighborhood. 
 
 On Tuesday, the 25th of August, General Ewing issued 
 his celebrated order from Kansas City, and rumor, with her 
 thousand tongues, soon spread it over the ill fated territory. 
 
 It was not, however, until Sunday, the 30th, that I saw in 
 the Missouri Republican the document known as Order No. 
 II, reading as follows : — 
 
 ist. All persons living in Jackson, Cass and Bates Coun- 
 ties, Missouri, and in that part of Vernon included in this 
 district, except those living within one mile of the limits of 
 Independence, Hickman's mill, Pleasant Hill and Harrison- 
 ville, and except those living north of Brush Creek and west 
 of the Big Blue, are hereby ordered to remove from their 
 present places of residence within fifteen days from the date 
 hereof. Those who, within that time, establish their loyalty 
 to the satisfaction of the commanding officer of the military 
 station nearest their present places of residence, will receive 
 from him certificates stating the fact of their loyalty, and the 
 names of the witnesses by whom it can be shown. All who 
 receive such certificates will be permitted to remove to any 
 military station in the district, or to any part of the State of 
 Kansas, except the counties on the eastern border of the 
 State. All others shall move out of this district. Officers 
 commanding companies and detachments serving in the 
 counties named, will see that this paragraph is promptly 
 obeyed. 
 
 2d. All grain and hay in the field or under shelter, in the 
 district from which the inhabitants are required to remove, 
 in reach of military stations, after the 9th day of September 
 next, will be taken to such stations and turned over to the 
 proper officers there, and report of the amount so turned over 
 made to the district headquarters, specifying the names of all 
 loyal owners, and the amount of such produce taken from 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. Ill 
 
 them. All grain and hay found in such district after the 9th 
 of September next, not convenient to such station, will be 
 destroyed. 
 
 3d. The provisions of general order No. 10, from these 
 headquarters, will be vigorously executed by officers com- 
 manding in parts of the district and at the stations not subject 
 to the operations of paragraph ist of this Order, and espe- 
 cially in the towns of Independence, Westport and Kansas 
 City. 
 
 4th. Paragraph No. 3, general order No. 10, is revoked 
 as to all who have borne arms against the Government in this 
 district, since the 20th of August, 1863. 
 
 By order of Brigadier General Ewing. 
 
 H. Hannah, Adjutant. 
 
 I thought I had witnessed and felt the hardships and 
 privations of civil war and martial law before, but it was re- 
 served for this, the last week in August and the first ones in 
 September, 1863, to teach me and others how much the hu- 
 man body and mind can bear up under, and still survive. 
 That 30th of August, instead of being a Sabbath of rest, was 
 to all a busy day of care and labor, preparing to obey the 
 stern mandate, and abandon the homes procured by many 
 years of toil and labor, followed too by other days of care, 
 toil and anxiety. 
 
 Previous to this, if one were brought into a strait, or got 
 into trouble or difficulty, he could appeal to some friend, or 
 neighbor for help, and the appeal was seldom made in vain. 
 But now all were in the same strait; the same weight of 
 sorrow and distress was pressing upon all; there was no ex- 
 ception, and none in our part of the district were exempt 
 from the general hardship. Though none were well prepared 
 to obey the order, some were much better prepared than 
 others. But whether well or ill prepared, there was no help 
 for it ; all must go. On Monday, the last of August, a num- 
 ber of the citizens, myself amongst the number, repaired to 
 Pleasant Hill, in order to prove loyalty and get certificates 
 or permits to remove to the military posts, or other parts of 
 the district outside the doomed or proscribed territory. 
 
 Captain John Ballinger, of the ist Regiment of the Mis- 
 souri State Militia, was commanding the post, and to him was 
 assigned the duty of taking proof of loyalty and granting cer- 
 
112 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 tificates; but he had not yet been furnished with instructions 
 from Gen. Ewing as to the manner or mode of proceeding, 
 and after waiting till late in the afternoon, we returned home ; 
 a day of valuable time lost. I that day made up my mind to 
 move to the post at Pleasant Hill, and run the risk of getting 
 permission afterward. My brother and I, having the promise 
 of a house in the suburbs of the town, agreed to occupy it 
 together, with our families ; and the next morning I started 
 with a load of household articles to that place. About half 
 way, I was overtaken by a messenger sent by my family to ap- 
 prise me that my brother had changed his purpose, and was 
 going to Clay County ; and further, that it would not be safe 
 for me to attempt moving to Pleasant Hill, as the bush- 
 whackers would not permit me to do so I accordingly 
 turned back, and the same evening took my load to Wm. F. 
 Snow's, a brother-in-law, in Johnson County; and the next 
 day hauled another load into Lafayette, as also did my 
 neighbors, John Cave, David Hunter, and Thos. Bradey; 
 which articles we stored away in the house, the barn and the 
 yard of a Mr. Galloway, near the present town of Odessa. 
 During the whole of this week^ my neighbors and the citizens 
 generally were removing necessary articles out of the county 
 to places where they would be in some degree safe, until they 
 could find a temporary home to which they could be re- 
 moved. Having moved out two loads, I loaned my wagon 
 and oxen to a brother-in-law, and a son-in-law to get a load 
 each of their goods away from the ill-fated county. 
 
 On Saturday, Sept. 5th, I repaired again to Pleasant 
 Hill, and had no difficulty in getting a certificate of loyalty, 
 which would authorize me to go to any part of the country, 
 outside the three counties of Jackson, Cass and Bates. I also 
 assisted some others in getting certificates of like character, 
 and returned home in better spirits than I had enjoyed for 
 several days, and had a better night's sleep than I had had 
 for a week before, not even dreaming of what was in store 
 for me, and the sorrow and suffering I was to witness and to 
 bear the next day. 
 
 I had resolved now to cross over the line into Johnson 
 County, and stop in the vicinity of Basin Knob, about five or 
 six miles from home , from which place I could occasionally 
 see to my farm and what was left upon it, and remove things 
 
WrtAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. II3 
 
 at ray leisure. But it was not so to be. Most of my neigh- 
 bors were gone, or were going that day, as I also intended 
 to do. I had but one wagon and one yoke of oxen with 
 which to move my own family, my son-in-law, Wm. C. Tate, 
 and his, and such bedding and clothing as we could carry 
 with that one team. 
 
 On the morning of the 6th of September as we were mak- 
 ing arrangements to leave, a squad of soldiers of the Kansas 9th 
 Regiment came suddenly upon us, making prisoners of me, 
 my son Isaac, and my son-in-law, informing us that we must 
 go with them to where Col. Clark was stopping, on the 
 Roupe farm, a mile or more away. They also had taken 
 David Hunter, my near neighbor, and brought him along. 
 We set out, hoping that under the circumstances we would 
 not be detained long. As we neared the residence of old 
 Mr. Hunter, his grandson, Andrew Ousley, a youth of 17, 
 rode up to see about the arrangement for moving, and he, 
 too, was taken into custody. The old gentleman, about 75 
 years of age, was not molested. A very short distance fur- 
 ther, at the house of John S. Cave, he and his brother-in-law, 
 Wm. Hunter, were added to the number; and a hundred 
 yards further on, Benjamin Potter, 75 years of age, was met 
 and also taken in charge. Eight of us now were marched on 
 three-quirters of a mile to the place of encampment. Here 
 Col. Clark, who had been scouting the country ever since 
 the Lawrence massacre, met us and took down the name of 
 each prisoner, and then retired into the underbrush near by 
 where some of his men were stationed, and we were permit- 
 ted to sit down by the fence. 
 
 When first taken, I had shown the captain the certificate 
 that Captain Ballinger had given me the day before ; none of 
 the others had any. 
 
 In a short time the colonel returned, and asked me which 
 of the other persons was ray son ; and seeing that one of his 
 young men had appropriated my son's hat to his own use, in 
 a menacing manner he bade him restore it. He retired again ; 
 and Barney Dempsy, an acquaintance of all, who was acting 
 as pilot to tl'^e corapany, came and spoke a few friendly words, 
 and left. During all this time, neither the officers or any of 
 the men spoke a harsh or menacing word to any of us. 
 Captain Coleman, who had first taken us prisoners, then came 
 
114 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 to me and said : " Vou will take your son and travel. " These 
 words, but more particular the manner in which they were 
 spoken, gave me the first alarm as to any real danger to any 
 of the party. We immediately left as commanded, leaving 
 our friends and neighbors behind, never to see them in life 
 again ; for in a very short time after reaching home, the re- 
 port of several guns, in quick succession, alarmed us still more. 
 I however persuaded myself, and tried to persuade the alarm- 
 ed and distressed families that it might be the soldiers shoot- 
 ing fowls on the Roupe farm, for their breakfast. They would 
 not, however, be so persuaded, and Miss Jane Cave heroic- 
 ally reparied to the spot and found the company gone, and 
 the six prisoners all dead, some of them pierced with many 
 balls. 
 
 About the time that this sad word was brought to us, 
 another regiment, I believe the nth Missouri, passed on 
 its way to Kansas City, bringing to me more of disappoint- 
 ment and distress. I had made arrangement with my sister in 
 Johnson County, and her husband, VVm. F. Snow, if I left 
 the country, for them to receive my aged mother into their 
 family, and they were expected to send after her that day. 
 But the regiment had him along as a prisoner. 
 
 Though a strong Union man, some of their scouts, by 
 representing themselves as bush-whackers, had so alarmed 
 him, that, like many others, to escape them, he had said some- 
 thing that condemned him in the eyes of Union soldiers, and 
 they came very near taking his hfe, and carried him to Kan- 
 sas City, where he remained for several months. Of neigh- 
 bors left in the county, there were none that I knew of, except 
 the families of the men who had just been killed. Nobody 
 left to bury them but me and my son, and my old neighbor 
 Mr. Hunter. 
 
 As soon as the last body of soldiers were gone, we re- 
 paired to the scene of death, to perform, as well as we could, 
 the last sad rites of sepulture. We found them on or near 
 the spot where I had left them. Two of them appeared to 
 have been shot, as I left them, sitting by the fence, and the 
 others but a few feet away. It was a sad and hurried burial, 
 such as I hope never to see again. 
 
 It was the desire to get away before another night 
 should close on us. A grave was dug, and the 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER E, EVEN. II5 
 
 fallen friends were laid side by side, in their bloody clothes ; 
 blankets spread over them and covered with earth. 
 
 I had witnessed many burials, but this, I thought, was the 
 saddest of them all. My aged friend and neighbor, at the 
 age of three score and fifteen, helping me with his own hands 
 to lay his two sons, his only sons, his grandson and son-in-law, 
 with two other relatives (one of whom was my son-in-law), in 
 the rude and shallow grave that our own hands had dug for 
 them. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be asked why or for what cause this 
 bloody tragedy was enacted ; why it was that these men 
 were killed, and that I was spared. They were all quiet, 
 peaceable citizens ; none of them had borne arms against 
 the Government, except David Hunter a few days at the 
 very first, at Camp Holloway, and he had afterward done 
 duty in the enrolled militia. True, they were all Southern 
 men, and Southern sympathizers; and some of them had 
 sons in the Southern army. I thought then, and still think, 
 the principal cause was that Quantrell and his raiders, on 
 their way to Lawrence, stopped and eat supper on the Potter 
 farm, and that some of these men visited them while they 
 were getting that supper. 
 
 The burial over, with heavy hearts we left the spot — a 
 spot that I can never visit without the saddest reflections ; 
 and on which the friends have erected a plain marble shaft, 
 that tells a part of the tale that I have been telling. We left 
 the hastily buried friends, to make a hasty preparation for 
 leaving them in their lonely sleep. Even while we were 
 burying the dead, the women and children were loading up, 
 and making ready to leave. The events of the morning had 
 disarranged all our plans, rendering it impossible to drive off 
 any of our live stock with us. Cattle, sheep and hogs were 
 left behind, besides many other things abandaned to go to 
 waste and destruction. The growing crop of corn, corn in 
 the crib, wheat in the granary and in the stack — all left be- 
 hind. The soldiers, in passing, had thrown down the fence, 
 and rode through the orchard, helping themselves to apples 
 and peaches, and we had no time or inclination to put the 
 fencing up, knowing that it would not remain up. 
 
 Late in the afternoon such preparations as could be made 
 in the time were made, and we all set off together. Our 
 
Il6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES 
 
 company consisted of John Hunter and his aged companion, 
 and single daughter; his son David's wife and child; his son 
 William's wife, and several children; his daughter, Nancy Cave, 
 and her lately orphaned children; his daughter, Mrs. Ousley, 
 (whose husband fell in the Confederate army, and whose 
 oldest son had fallen that morning;) and her five remaining 
 children; Benjamin Potter's daughter, and three of his grand- 
 children; also a married daughter of Mrs. Cave, (whose 
 husband, Jacob Bennett, was in Ohio;) and her two children ; 
 myself and six children, besides my widowed daughter and her 
 three children, and my aged mother. As we were preparing 
 to leave, a neighboring lady from Johnson County, Mrs. 
 Fulkerson (who is a sister to our present Senator Cockerell), 
 came along with a wagon (for ladies drove wagons then), and 
 she took my mother home with her that night, and sent her 
 to my sister Snow's the next day ; for which act of kindness, 
 at such a time, my gratitude will live as long as I shall live. 
 We crossed the county line, and left the county of our choice 
 a little before sunset, and passed the night on the open 
 prairie, southwest of Chapel Hill. My own reason, as well as 
 the suggestions of friends, convinced me that my life was 
 now in more danger than it had yet been. The country was 
 full of bush-whackers, some of them the personal friends of 
 the men who had been killed in the morning; I had been 
 taken with them ; my life had been spared because I was a 
 Union man ; theirs had been taken because they were not, 
 and retahation was common on each side. It was plain that 
 I must go as my friends and neighbors did, or not go at all. 
 I felt assured that if I abandoned them and sought a place of 
 shelter and security, by taking some other road, my life would 
 pay the forfeit; nor did I wish to abandon them, so long as I 
 could be of service to those who were now so much in need 
 of help. I had two sons, one eighteen and one fourteen, 
 years old, able to drive and handle teams, while some of the 
 others had none. Next day we resumed our journey ; passed 
 Chapel Hill and Mount Hope, and camped at night near 
 William Hall's, near Little Sni, and where we overtook or fell in. 
 with several of our neighbor acquaintances, who were also 
 encamped there. Here, Mr. Hunter and some of the others 
 concluded to remain in camp a few days, and look round for 
 shelter. I left them ; and with my family and my daughters- 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. II7 
 
 went on, and crossed the river at Lexington, intending to 
 seek a home in Ray or Clay County. 
 
 During those two or three days, I saw much of the inci- 
 dents and the fruits of Order No. ii. Before and behind 
 was seen the long, moving train of sorrowing exiles ; wagons 
 and vehicles of every shape and size and of all kinds, drawn 
 by teams of every sort, except good ones ; a cloud of dust 
 rising from the road almost the whole day, while ever and 
 anon, we would meet a neighbor going back to get away a 
 few more of the necessaries of hfe, before that 9th of Sep- 
 tember should come ; and the further we proceeded, the 
 greater became the moving column of wretched fugitives. 
 On every road that led eastward from the County of Jackson, 
 came the moving mass of humanity, seeking an asylum they 
 knew not where; some driving their flocks and herds along 
 with them ; others again, as I was, with nothing but a make- 
 shift of a wagon and team — some not even that. Women 
 were seen walking the crowded and dusty road, carrying in 
 a little bundle their all, or at least all that they could carry. 
 Others again, driving or leading a cow or a skeleton horse, 
 with a bundle or pack fastened upon it, or a pack horse, on 
 which the feebler members of the family rode by turns. 
 
 The ferry-boat at Lexington, a substantial steamer, was 
 kept busy from morninii till night, conveying the banished 
 ones to the north of that turbid stream; and perhaps that 
 ferryman saw more of the exodus than any other one man ; 
 and the owners of that ferry-boat, perhaps, realized a greater 
 profit from that Order No. 11 than anybody else, except those 
 persons who appropriated to their own use what the citizens, 
 for want of transportation, left behind them. The number 
 which crossed at Lexington — great as that number was — was 
 but a small part of those, who, under the operations of that 
 Order No. 11, were made homeless, and scattered, as it 
 w^ere, to the four winds. Some crossed above and some be- 
 low ; some went west into Kansas and Nebraska ; some 
 stopped in Johnson, Lafayette, Henry and other counties 
 further east ; some went to Kentucky, Lidiana, Illinois, Ohio 
 and other States. 
 
 Another trouble and difficulty with those fugitives was 
 to get permission to stop and locate in places of their own 
 choosing. The Federal authorities and the Union citizens 
 
it8 rural rhymes and olden times. 
 
 of other counties argued, that, if the loyal element of Jackson, 
 Cass and Bates repaired, as they were permitted to do, to 
 Kansas and to the mihtary posts ; and the disloyal ones, who 
 it was said, had harbored and aided bush-whackers, and on 
 whose account the order had been made, repaired in such 
 numbers to other counties, the same state of things would 
 soon take place there ; and the provost-marshal and the Fed- 
 eral authorities were importuned, day after day, for permis- 
 sion to stop in Lafayette, Johnson and other counties. 
 Those who had certificates of loyalty, as prescribed by the 
 order, had no difficulty in getting permits, and many others, 
 who could establish a reputation for honesty, quietness and 
 good citizenship, were also granted permits to stop ; while 
 others took their chances and stopped without permission, and 
 were suffered to remain during good behavior. 
 
 Of the several families in whose company I left home, old 
 Mr. Hunter and family, Mrs. Cave and hers, Mrs. Ousley and 
 hers, and Wm. Hunter's family, stopped in the eastern part 
 of Lafayette. David Hunter's wife and her fathers' ( Mr. 
 Potter's) family went on to Indiana, and Mrs. Bennett and her 
 children went to her husband in Ohio, and from there to 
 Wisconsin. 
 
 After crossing the river at Lexington, we were met 
 by another discouragement. Notices or proclamations were 
 posted up by the roadside, forbidding all persons banished 
 from the counties south of the river, to stop in the county of 
 Ray, without a permission from the military authorities of 
 that county ; and I was told that it was the same in other 
 counties further north. 
 
 The hundreds or thousands who crossed the river at Lex- 
 ington worked their weary way in different directions, on 
 different roads. Some turned westward into Clay County, 
 some east into Carroll, Chariton, Howard, Boone and others ; 
 while some took the northern road to Caldwell and Clinton, 
 or still further north. 
 
 It has been said that misery loves company. If so, the 
 miserable ones had enough of it then; scarcely any one 'var- 
 so poorly provided with the means of transportaion but some 
 other would be met or passed, who was as poorly provided, or 
 even worse off than himself. 
 
 We crossed the Missouri on Tuesday, the 8th of Septem- 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. II9. 
 
 ber ; and the next day, having joined company with Wm. C, 
 Estes, Moses Bailey, and my brother, E. N. Rice, all of Cass 
 County, we arrived in Richmond, and repaired to the office 
 of post commander, Major King, a son, I think, of Austin 
 A. King, our then member in Congress. Estes and I had 
 certificates given by Ballinger, and upon these certificates' 
 and our statements as to the character of the other members 
 of our company, we were all given permission to stop any- 
 where in Ray or Clay Counties ; but the next thing was to 
 find a place of shelter to stop in. The country was full of 
 refugees seeking shelter and homes, and empty houses were 
 hard to find. Estes and Bailey had friends and relatives in 
 Clay, and they proceeded on there. I and my brother part- 
 ed company with them on the loth, near Elkhorn, and pro- 
 ceeded toward Knoxville. 
 
 While thus moving slowly along in quest of a stopping- 
 place, I was both vexed and amused at the way in which I 
 saw we were looked upon by some good people of Ray. It 
 was sometimes hard to buy feed for our poor teams, so fear- 
 ful were they of giving aid and comfort to the enemies of the 
 Government. One good man said he had no corn or cabbage 
 to sell, and if he had, he would not sell to us. Another said 
 he had corn plenty, and for me to help myself to it; but re- 
 fused to set a price, as he said he was not allowed to sell to 
 rebels. 
 
 On Friday afternoon we stopped at a Baptist church, 
 south of Knoxville, and I set out to seek a place of shelter. 
 I found near by an old school-mate, that I had not seen since 
 about 1827, in the person of Alfred Kinkaid, who gave me 
 some friendly directions; and next evening we were fortunate 
 enough to get into a small house, with two small rooms ;. 
 three families of us together, but we were thankful for the 
 accommodation ; and my gratitude to Mr. Reuben Holman, 
 the owner, has not died out yet. Here we remained togeth- 
 er until my brother found another cabin for himself and 
 family, and there I remained during the winter. 
 
 It may be asked whether the order prohibited us from- 
 going back to our homes and bringing away the goods left be- 
 hind us. I do not know that the order, in express terms, 
 either permitted or prohibited it ; but to some extent it was- 
 done by those who dared to venture back into what very 
 
I20 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 properly might have been called "the dark and bloody 
 ground ;" and I must say that the authorities were more 
 lenient in carrying out the order than the general was in mak- 
 ing it. That clause which declared that all grain and hay at 
 a distance from Garrisons should be destroyed, I think, was 
 never carried out. 
 
 About a week after locating on Crooked River, in Ray 
 County, I, and my brother, and daughter (Mrs. Tate) re- 
 turned to the vicinity of Mount Hope (Odessa) and carried 
 to our temporary home what goods we had stored there ; and 
 about a week later, I and my daughter returned to Chapel Hill 
 and obtained her's. 
 
 About the first of November, 1 returned with my son and 
 daughter to my farm, and collected together as many of our 
 cattle and hogs as were not too wild and unruly to drive, 
 and drove them out of the doomed and wasting territory; sold 
 the hogs near Lexington, and drove the cattle to Ray. On 
 all of these trips I saw men in arms, on each side ; the 
 guerillas by twos and threes, and the Union soldiers in larger 
 bodies; but fortunately, I was not molested by either party. 
 Many other refugees, also, ventured back as I did, to seek 
 and to save some of the necessaries c f life. Most of those 
 who did so were women and small boys, they being less lia- 
 ble to suffer violence than men. 
 
 When I arrived in sight of my home, after leaving it 
 under such disagreeable circumstances, I was agreeably sur- 
 prised to meet with some of the women and boys that I had 
 left in company with on that memorable 6th of September. 
 Some of Mr. Hunter's, Cave's and Ousley's families were 
 there for the purpose of driving off the live stock that had been 
 abandoned or left behind. And again I was, perhaps, of 
 some help to them, and I know they were a great help to me, 
 as we drove our stock off together. 
 
 Those who have never witnessed a similar scene cannot 
 reahze how lonely and how desolate everything appeared. 
 While the presence of domestic animals, the crowing of 
 domestic fowls, would indicate that the country was inhabited 
 everything else spoke of desolation and ruin. Dogs appeared 
 to have transformed themselves into wolves; a calf had been 
 killed in my door-yard, and they were feasting upon its body. 
 
 The winter passed, and the scattered exiles banished by 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. 121 
 
 Order No. 1 1, though exempted from many of the alarms, and 
 anoyances to which they had been subjected at home, by the 
 depredations of men in arms, and the bloody deeds of vio- 
 lence so often occurring, were nevertheless exiles and sojourn- 
 ers in a land of strangers, and away from the scenes of 
 former happiness and cherished homes, which they could not 
 and did not wish to forget. 
 
 In March, 1864, General Brown, then in command of 
 the district, issued another general order, which was also num- 
 bered II, proclaiming that loyal men and families, by making 
 proof of loyalty and getting permits from commanding offi- 
 cers at certain posts, might return to their homes. A limited 
 number did so, and returned with much fear and trembling ; 
 but by far the greater number felt that it would be unsafe to 
 trust themselves back again where they had experienced so 
 much of bitter partisan strife, and so many scenes of blood; 
 and where some had personal and bitter political enemies. 
 Only a few families returned to any neigborhood and in 
 some localities, none. On the 5th of April, with my family, 
 including my daughter and her children, I arrived at my 
 home, having been absent seven months. Enough corn and 
 wheat remained unconsumed to subsist on until a' crop could 
 be made; some few hogs were also left. My farm, too, 
 remained, the buildings and fencing much less damaged than 
 I had expected. Such, however, was not the case with all ; 
 for hundreds of farms, or at least the buildings and fencing 
 upon them, in the western part of the county and on the 
 large prairies, were entirely consumed by the prairie fires of 
 the preceding autumn. Some, on their return, found noth- 
 ing but the naked land — buildings, orchards, fences all gone. 
 Of those neighbors who left in company with me, none 
 returned until the War was nearly over and tranquillity was 
 partially restored. They all, however, ultimately returned ; 
 some of them are living now on their former homes. Old Mr. 
 Hunter, now in his 94th year, the oldest man in the town- 
 ship, and with one or two exceptions the oldest in the county, 
 is still alive (1882), on his old farm on which he located in 1836. 
 His daughter, Mrs. Cave, owns a part of it and lives there 
 also, and Mrs. Ousley is on her former home. My then 
 nearest neighbor, Jacob Bennett, who was in Ohio when the 
 Order was promulgated, and whose family left with us, is still 
 9 — 
 
12 2 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 my nearest neighbor, each of us on the same farm occupied 
 before the War, When he read, while in Ohio, the famous 
 Order No. ii ( issued by one of Ohio's favored sons), re- 
 quiring that all persons in Jackson County should leave it, 
 and knowing, as he did, how hard it would be to get transpor- 
 tation, and unwilling to trust himself back into a country from 
 which he had fled to avoid compulsory service, on one or the 
 other side of the struggle, he employed a brother-in-law to 
 start at once and convey his family to him in Ohio. I met 
 with that gentleman quite recently, and had from his own 
 lips an account of what he saw and witnessed of Order No. 
 II, while on that errand; which account, or a synopsis of it, 
 I give, in connection with this of my own, as near as I can in 
 his own language. 
 
 Speaking of the occurrences of the 6th of September, he 
 said; '^ I came very near being with you in that tragedy, and 
 if I had been left to myself and had had my own way, no 
 doubt would have been. 
 
 "When my brother-in-law employed me to repair to Mis- 
 souri, and escort his wife and children to him in Ohio, I ob- 
 tained from the military authorities at Cleveland papers of 
 protection that would pass me safely through the Federal 
 lines to Missouri. Arriving at Hamilton, on the Hannibal 
 & St. Joe Railroad, I obtained passage to Lexington; and on 
 arriving there, and even before, the effects and the conse- 
 quences of Order No. 1 1 were apparent in the moving masess of 
 wretched fugitives. The roads were full of them, and the 
 ferry-boat was crowded with them, passing to the north of 
 the river; and the streets of the town were scarcely ever clear 
 of them. I arrived in Lexington on Friday, the 4th, intend- 
 ing to go to Lone Jack the next day, make my preparation 
 on Sunday, and start back on Monday ; but Providence or- 
 dered otherwise. On going to the office of the provost of 
 the place, whose name I think was Johnson, and telling him 
 my business and asking for a passport to your part of the coun- 
 try, he told me he could give me what I asked for, but that 
 it would do me no good ; and he dissuaded me from what 
 he called the fool-hardy attempt to reach Lone Jack at that 
 time. 'The country,' said he, *up there is full of guerrillas, 
 and a Federal passport in your pocket would insure your 
 death from them. Beside, there are numerous scouting parties 
 
WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. 1 23 
 
 of Union soldiers, and you will not know one from the other, 
 and will not be able to tell whose company you are in, as 
 they are so much in the habit of playing off on the citizens 
 and on strangers. 
 
 ''I told him that mine was an urgent case of necessity; 
 that I had come for my sister-in-law and her family; the 
 time was short; that she could not remain long where 
 she was, and that in a few days I would not know where to 
 find her; and that though my path might be full of danger, I 
 must pursue that path. After a few more dissuasions, he gave 
 me the required pass, and I left the office to seek some mode of 
 conveyance. In a short time I met the provost on the street, 
 and he again cautioned me as to the danger I was running 
 into. I asked him if he thought, in the event of my going on, 
 I stood an even chance for life. 'No,' said he, 'not one 
 chance in fifty. The country is full of our enemies ; this 
 town is full of spies, who give them information. Your busi- 
 ness here is already known. You are a Northern man, and 
 hence obnoxious to the guerrilas. You are attempting to re- 
 trieve those, who, by our men, are regarded as rebels, and 
 hence an object of suspicion bv them. And again, a man of 
 your appearance and on your business is reasonably supposed 
 to have money with him; and there are men in our army 
 and in our service, as well as on the other side, who, when 
 from under the eye of their officer, would murder you for 
 five dollars or less. Take my advice,' said he, 'and remain 
 here. There are citizen refugees passing to and from that 
 neighborhood almost every day. You can send word to your 
 sister that you are here prepared to take her to her husband, 
 and she will find some way to get here; and then you will be 
 in no danger. She can come to you, when you cannot go to 
 her.' 
 
 "In a few minutes I met your neighbor, Mr. Ambers 
 Graham, and he told me he was well acquainted with Mr. 
 Bennett and wife, and could send her word immediately, and, 
 that he knew she would hail the news with joy and come at 
 once. I accordingly took the advice given, and remained in 
 Lexington and vicinity some days; and while there I experi- 
 enced more of the horrors of war than I had done in all the 
 years of the War in Ohio. A constant stream of emigrants or 
 fugitives — men, women and children were constantly passing 
 
124 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 through the town and down to the ferry-boat; and I spent 
 hours in assisting women, and children who had no man with 
 them, down the steep river bank and onto the ferry-boat, with 
 their crazy vehicles and their few cattle and sheep; and 
 heard them hurriedly recount their sufferings and hardships 
 during the War, and of this the greatest hardship of all. A 
 Mr. Shaw, a short distance south of town, who was ac- 
 quainted in your vicinity, having heard of me and my mis- 
 sion, sent me an invitation to make his house my home until 
 Mrs. Bennett arrived, which I did; and on the first night, 
 had an experience which I suppose was common at that 
 time in your part of the country. About nine or ten o'clock, 
 the house was surrounded by about twenty men, supposed, 
 but not certainly known, to be guerrillas, and Mr. Shaw was 
 called for. After some remonstrance from me and another 
 gentleman present, he went out ; but the men, whoever they 
 were, had encountered a negro man, who informed them 
 that there were several men in the house well armed, and 
 when Mr. Shaw went out they were in the act of leaving. 
 
 '*In the forenoon of Monday, I, as well as the whole 
 town, was startled with the news of the tragedy at Lone 
 Jack, and learned that my sister-in-law's father, her two 
 uncles, a cousin and two other near neighbors and relatives 
 had been killed ; and later in the day that Mrs. Bennett, in 
 company with you and the other survivors, was on the way 
 to Lexington — and the rest you know." 
 
 Taking up the thread of my narrative now where I left 
 off: It was about twelve o'clock, on Monday, when near 
 Mount Hope, we met my neighbor, Jacob Yankee, whose farm 
 joined mine on the north, who informed Mrs. Bennett that 
 her brother-in-law was at Lexington waiting for her, and 
 that he was prepared to escort her to her husband. My neigh- 
 bor had heard, before meeting us, of the bloody scenes of the 
 day before, and was very much distressed. I thought he had 
 left with his family on Saturday, but such was not the case ; 
 he had left with a load of goods himself, to convey them to 
 a home that he had secured near Lexington, but his wife, 
 with a niece, was yet at home, the only persons then remain- 
 ing in that part of the county; and he was returning alone to 
 carry them to a place of more security. Weighed down with 
 anxiety on their account, as well as fear for his own safety, 
 
WHAT I SAW OF OEDER NUMBER ELEVEN. 1 25 
 
 he then and there appealed to Mrs. Bennett to return with 
 him as a kind of life-guard, ( as women were called in those 
 days), men thinking that their lives would be more secure if 
 accompanied by women and children ; promising that if she 
 would do so, he would then carry her and hers to where her 
 brother-in-law was in waiting, and assist her in taking care of 
 or shipping her property to Ohio. She accordingly returned 
 with him to his home, where they arrived late in the after- 
 noon, and found Mrs. Yankee and her niece, in their loneli- 
 ness, entirely ignorant of all that occurred in the vicinity 
 during the last forty-eight hours, not having seen a single 
 person since Saturday. That lady afterwards told me that 
 she and her niece spent that Sunday and part of Monday, in 
 removing farming and other implements, a large lot of pine 
 and other lumber and other articles stored in the barn, as well 
 as some things from the dwelhng. to a safe distance away, 
 so that in the event of those buildings being burned, as she 
 expected would be done, that all would not be burned 
 together. And so it was with almost all of us ; we left our 
 homes with the expectation that when we should return, ( if 
 ever we did) they would be in ashes ; and with many, such was 
 the case. I have given this imperfect sketch, not as a history of 
 that celebrated Order and its varied incidents in those three 
 counties, but only as a remembrance of what I saw of that 
 Order and its consequences ; and as much as I saw and 
 suffered, others may have seen and suffered much more ; 
 and all, perhaps, will concur in saying that this was one of 
 the dark pages in their life's history. 
 
126 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 A TALK OF THE OLDEN TIME IN J^WEPENDENCE. 
 
 BY CRAZY BEN. 
 
 'Twas an autumn's eve, and he sat there alone, 
 On the court-house steps, of the grey limestone ; 
 And slowly and sadly his eyes would turn 
 From side to side as if to discern 
 Some wished for site — some well-known ground — 
 A spot long sought, but not yet found. 
 
 So piteous he looked, as he sat there alone, 
 
 You'd have said every joy of his life had flown ; 
 
 His hair was grey, and his cheeks were thin, 
 
 And the furrows were deep where the rose had been ; 
 
 His trembling limbs, too, plainly spoke 
 
 The sufferings caused by the palsy-stroke. 
 
 And there, as he sat on the steps of stone. 
 
 Unknowing, as it seemed, and all unknown. 
 
 He heeded them not — the jest and the laugh; 
 
 But resting his hands on a well-worn staff, 
 
 He earnestly gazed on the by-passing face, 
 
 As though he were seeking some feature to trace ; 
 
 And his head he would shake, as the face he would scan, 
 
 As though he had said, " It can't be the man." 
 
 He gazed upon all, and he spake unto none. 
 
 But muttered to himself, or an unseen one. 
 
 He would sometimes weep, he would smile or frown ; 
 
 I Hstened to his words, and I penned them down : — 
 
 Let us sit here now, on this stone, Old Ben ; 
 
 We will talk awhile of the long past /-^<?«, 
 
 For to talk of the past is an old man's bliss; 
 
 But tell me first, what town is this? 
 
 Independence, you say ? You are surely wrong ; 
 
 Have 1 been away from my home so long 
 
 As not to remember a single street, 
 
 A single house, or a face that I meet ? 
 
 Then tell me where did the court-house stand ? 
 
OLDEN TIME IN INDEPENDENCE. 1 27 
 
 Right here, do you say ? and this edifice grand 
 Has taken its place — how queer, how queer. 
 Aladdin, with his lamp, must have been here, 
 And changed the village I one time knew 
 To a town so large, with a railroad through ! 
 'Tis a landscape new, and 'tis strangely drawn, 
 And the men and the things that I knew are gone. 
 
 Ah, don't you remember it now, Old Ben, 
 
 How we and some others came here, and when — 
 
 At the time we moved to wild frontier. 
 
 And worked the road from the Blue Mills here ? 
 
 Oh, yes, I know you remember it yet; 
 
 I think of it oft, and I can't forget; 
 
 '^^vas a frontier town, and the stump then stood 
 
 Where the trees had grown in the grand old wood ; 
 
 And if this is the same old public square, 
 
 I remember it well ; just across over there. 
 
 At the northeast corner, in its grandeur stood, 
 
 The tavern, then kept by old uncle Wood ; * 
 
 And a small yellow house, north side of the square. 
 
 And Lucas and Kavanaugh sold goods there; 
 
 While Sam C. Owens (you remember him Ben) 
 
 Was selling at the southwest corner then ; 
 
 Mose Wilson on the west, on the south Flournoy — 
 
 These were the merchants here then, old boy. 
 
 In front of us there, on the south of the street, 
 A dram-shop stood, with the sign, •' retreat ; " 
 And if every place where vice lies hid 
 Would give us a warning, as that one did. 
 And we should retreat from the danger there, 
 Perhaps we'd escape from many a snare. 
 But different meanings we ofttimes find 
 To the self-same word ; and many were inclined 
 To repair to that house, on the south of the street. 
 From sorrow and toil as a pleasant retreat. 
 Ah, yes, we must own to the truth, Old Ben ; 
 We entered that grocery dram-shop then; 
 
 =>Sniallwood Noland. 
 
128 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 'Twas the first house here, in the town, you know. 
 That received our feet in the long ago. 
 
 But where, O where is that dram-shop Ben, 
 
 And where are the faces we saw here then ? 
 
 You remember Jim Reynolds (the bar keeper's name), 
 
 And the trick that was played with the landlord's game ; 
 
 But where is he now ? Dead ! dead ! did you say ? 
 
 And the men that we saw there have all passed away. 
 
 What year was that, did you ask ? Let me see — 
 
 'Twas the fall of the year, in the year thirty-three, 
 
 At the time that the Mormons were driven away. 
 
 And crossed o'er the river and settled in Clay. 
 
 Oh, yes, I know you remember it well — 
 
 A short time before those meteors fell, 
 
 When it seemed to the wondering — scared ones all — 
 
 That every star from the heavens would fail. 
 
 It's been a long time, but it sometimes seems 
 
 As if but a night of troublesome dreams, 
 
 From which I awake, as from off a hard bed. 
 
 To ficd that my youth and my manhood have fled ; 
 
 To find that of all that I knew here then. 
 
 Not one can I see but you. Old Ben. 
 
 Sam Owens was killed, did you say ; what for ? 
 Killed ! oh, yes, in the Mexican War. 
 Sam Lucas is gone, and good Kavanaugh too, 
 Flournoy and Wilson — how sad and how true ; 
 Hicks, Chiles and Brazael, the lawyers, 'tis said 
 Have all passed away — all, all of them dead ! 
 And the Governor, Boggs, lies lowly in death. 
 With Baker, the hatter, and Modie, the smith. 
 All, all of them gone, the rich and the poor. 
 And places that knew them will know them no more. 
 All these, and hundreds of others beside. 
 The old pioneers, have gone with the tide ; 
 Borne away by the stream, resistless in force. 
 The River of Death, in its swift onward course. 
 
OLDEN TIME IN INDEPENDENCE. 1 29 
 
 Oh, what are the changes that Time has not made 
 
 Since first I came here to work at my trade ! 
 
 In fancy, I see my shop, east of the square — 
 
 I sought it to-day, but no shop is now there ; 
 
 I sought for the house where Matilda and I 
 
 So happily lived in the seasons gone by; 
 
 I sought it vain ; oh, Ben, 'twas in vain ! 
 
 That house and Matilda I'll ne'er see again. 
 
 Oh, Ben ! Old Ben ! can you not call to mind. 
 
 When leaving my home and Matilda behind. 
 
 With her three little children — ah, woe to that day ! 
 
 Far, far to the west, I wandered away ; 
 
 Like the prodigal son, all reckless I went, 
 
 And like him I lived until all had been spent. 
 
 And now I am here to find everything changed ; 
 
 The past seems a dream, my mind is deranged; 
 
 In pity, in mercy, oh, tell me. Old Ben ! 
 
 Shall I ever more meet with Matilda again ? 
 
 Dead ! dead ! did you say ? of a broken heart died 
 
 Full thirty years since. In the grave let me hide — 
 
 My griefs and my sorrows be buried with me. 
 
 But my son, little George — oh, say, where is he ? 
 
 Grew up, you say, a most promising youth — 
 
 You falter, Old Ben — ^just tell me the truth; 
 
 Ah! fell in the great Civil War, do you say ? 
 
 Then where, oh, where is my dear daughter, May ? 
 
 By the side of her mother, twenty years has she lain, 
 
 By consumption, relentless destroyer, slain ! 
 
 Oh, Ben, I'm bereft, alone, all alone ! 
 
 My hopes are all blasted, my treasures have flown ; 
 
 My life is a burthen, beneath which I bow ; 
 
 There's nothing on earth to detain me here now. 
 
 What, what do you say ? little Mary alive ! 
 And can she, and does she those others survive ? 
 That wee little darling that hung on the breast 
 Of a mother when I wandered off to the West; 
 That dear little baby you say is alive — 
 Don't smile at me, Ben — she's full thirty-five; 
 But tell me, do tell me, where now does she live? 
 And can she, and will she a father forgive ? 
 
130 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 In the name of her mother, my pardon declare, 
 And bid me to hope for a meeting up there'i 
 Then let me go forward, no danger can daunt — 
 She lives in the country, you say, with an aunt, 
 My good brother's widow — oh, what have you said ! 
 I had but one brother — and he, too, is dead ? 
 Oh, Death ! cruel Death ! how busy you've been 
 Since I went away in my folly and sin ! 
 The friends of my youth are all passing away, 
 And alone in my darkness I'm standing to-day. 
 
 But who is that, Ben, that is passing us now; 
 
 With a good, honest face and a high, manly broflr ? 
 
 I surely have found an acquaintance at last — 
 
 Tell me. Old Ben, was it John R. that passed ? 
 
 Not him, do you say ! who can it be then ? 
 
 Who else can it be, if its not Swearingen ? 
 
 His son ! ah, indeed ! do tell me the truth ; 
 
 If it's Bird, then I knew him when he was a youth. 
 
 Not Bird ! Is he dead and his father also ? 
 
 And this man, you say, is a younger son, Joe ; 
 
 And he, like his father, in penmanship skilled, 
 
 Is filling the office his father once filled. 
 
 But tell me, Old Ben, has he the same skill 
 
 That his father, John, had with the grey goose-quill ? 
 
 But the goose-quill pen, since you said it, I know 
 
 Has gone out of fashion a long time ago ; 
 
 But is Josey as ready and quick with a pen; 
 
 Can he talk while he writes, as his father did then ? 
 
 And is he a Whig, as his father before ? 
 
 But now I remember that party's no more. 
 
 How everything changes ! But who is that there ? 
 It seems as if I had seen him somewhere : 
 'Tis Lucas, you say! oh, Ben, it can't be ! 
 That can't be the general Samuel D , 
 Whose features are yet in my memory plain, 
 Fori served under him in the Mormon Campaign. 
 
 'Tis Charley, you say ; and the general's gone ; 
 Generations pass off, and others come on. 
 
OLDEN TIME IN INDEPENDENCE. I3I 
 
 But is Charles as polite and as affable, Ben, 
 As, you must remember, his father was then ? 
 
 You say 'bout the same, and he has his rewards ; 
 He holds the same office and keeps the records ; 
 Those old ancient records I would like to see, Ben, 
 Which the general wrote with his goose-quill pen. 
 There's an old book of marriages there, I'll be bound ! 
 Where the names of Matilda and Ben may be found. 
 
 And now, while I think of it, tell, if you can, 
 Where is that preacher, that pious, good man, 
 Not gifted with learning nor gifted in gab, 
 Who married us then, plain, honest Joab ? 
 
 Ah, yes ! I remember, we'll see him no more; 
 Long since he moved off to the Oregon shore, 
 There finished the work by the Master assigned. 
 Departed and left us his record behind. 
 
 But who is that standing up there by the door ? 
 I think I have seen those features before — 
 Bob Rickman, you say ; is it possible, Ben, 
 I've met one at last that I knew here then ! 
 But, oh, how he's changed ! his head is now hoar ; 
 I first saw him, Ben, in the year thirty-four. 
 He ran for the State Legislature, you know, 
 'Gainst Noland, and Jeffries, and Richard Fristoe ; 
 But they are all gone, and he is here still. 
 Descending, like me. Life's western side-hill. 
 
 Sad relics. Old Ben, are we of the past, 
 
 Last leaves on the tree, awaiting the blast 
 
 That shall bear us to earth, and hurry us on 
 
 To mingle with those who before us have gone. 
 
 He is passing us by — speak to him, you say ? 
 
 No, no ! not at present, but some other day ; 
 
 Let me sit here alone, unknown, on this spot ; 
 
 So long I've been gone, he remembers me not ; 
 
 And perhaps there are none who knew me here then, 
 
 Would claim an acquaintance with Old Crazy Ben. 
 
132 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 But who is that, walking along in such pain — 
 
 That crippled man hobbling along with a cane ? 
 
 He looks at me now as if he would know 
 
 Whether he ever had seen me or no ; 
 
 His face is familiar to me, and it seems 
 
 As one long departed, who comes back in dreams ; 
 
 Reuben Harris — oh, yes ! [ thought it might be; 
 
 But he, too, is changed ; and yet it is he. 
 
 Dame Fortune has been unkind unto him, — 
 
 Enfeebled in body and crippled in limb, 
 
 He totters along, as you see that he does. 
 
 And seems but the shadow of what he once was. 
 
 I remember the first time I saw him. Old Ben, 
 
 And he was assessing the revenue then; 
 
 An officer true of the county was he, 
 
 For he ran against Watkins and beat him by three. 
 
 How great are life's changes, — how many since then 
 
 He's a poor cripple now, and I'm Crazy Ben. 
 
 I think of those things in the days long ago, 
 
 I'm thinking of friends in the grave lying low ; 
 
 My memory runs and it scarce ever lags — 
 
 I think of the Staytons, the Irvins, and Greggs, 
 
 Of Davis, and Lewis, and Anderson too, 
 
 Of Majors, and Staples, and Parson, Fitzhugh, — 
 
 The Powells, the Bakers, the Webbs, and the Kings- 
 
 A long list of names and hundreds of things ; 
 
 My mind so beclouded still backward is drawn, 
 
 I think of those things, but alas ! they are gone. 
 
 Where do I live, is that what you ask ? 
 
 To answer that question is no easy task : 
 
 I'm houseless, I'm homeless, ^o board and no bed, 
 
 And like the great Master, no place for my head. 
 
 From place unto place I wandering go, 
 
 And where I shall sleep to-night, I don't know ; 
 
 I think they're discussing that question in there — 
 
 The county court judges — I hear that they are ; 
 
 And when 'tis decided, you'll know it. Old Ben, 
 
 And where I'm to go, and the how and the when. 
 
 The county, they say, has a farm somewhere, 
 
RUTH AND NAOMI. I33 
 
 And I hear they are talking of sending me there ; 
 In plainer words yet — to the poor-house, Ben. 
 Oh ! who would have thought of such a thing, when, 
 In the morning of life, with the garland of truth, 
 I came to this town in the bloom of my youth ; 
 When here with Matilda I lived at my ease, 
 And contracted my habits of ill by degrees ! 
 
 And now let me say but a word to the boys — 
 A word to the youth who are seeking for joys, 
 And seeking life's dangers and sorrows to shun : 
 Do not in the paths of the sinful ones run, 
 Take heed, young man, take heed to your feet, 
 Beware of that house with the sign, "Retreat;" 
 Retreat, retreat from the gay saloon, 
 Or the night may come before it is noon ! 
 
 And now, Old Ben, let me say farewell 
 To the place where Matilda and I did dwell ; 
 Farewell to the town, farewell to the place ! 
 I soon will have run life's changing race, — 
 The doors of the poor-house soon will close 
 And shut me up with my griefs and woes ; 
 And when from its gates I am borne again, 
 'Twill be the last of Old Crazy Ben ! 
 
 RUTH AND NAOMI 
 
 ** My daughters, Ruth and Orpah, list to Naomi now : 
 We stand on Moab's border, on Nebo's eastern brow ; 
 Your country lies behind us, my country lies before ; 
 I'm going there, dear daughters, and I'll return no more. 
 The Lord, I hear, has visited the nation that he led 
 Up from the land of Egypt, and given his people bread. 
 Ten years have passed, and bitterly the Lord hath dealt with 
 
 me — 
 No longer now Naomi, but Marah let me be ; 
 
I 34 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 I came out full of good things, in Moab to sojourn, 
 
 But I have been afflicted and empty I return. 
 
 My daughters, Ruth and Orpah, a sorrowful adieu ! 
 
 Like me, you've borne affliction, and you are widowed too. 
 
 Return unto your country, to where your mothers dwell, 
 
 And in your mother's dwelling, may God reward you well ; 
 
 Requite you for your kindness to me and to the dead, 
 
 And give you other husbands in your Hebrew husbands' stead. 
 
 "Say not, my weeping daughters, that you will go with me 
 Unto my land and people ; it ought not so to be ; 
 Turn, turn again, my daughters, no other sons have I, 
 That you can take for husbands, either now or by and by; 
 And even should I have children, say, would you tarry then, 
 And wait for them as husbands, till they were grown to men ? 
 Nay, nay, my loving daughters, for your sakes I'm grieving 
 
 sore, 
 That the hand of God's against me, and may be evermore." 
 
 Then Orpah kissed Naomi, and sorrowing did go ; 
 But what became of Orpah the world will never know. 
 
 To Ruth then spake Naomi: "Your sister-in-law has gone 
 Back to her Gods and people, and the grave of Chilion. 
 Return thou after Orpah unto your native land ; 
 I would not be a burden upon my daughter's hand." 
 
 But Ruth, the Moabitess, by faith divinely led. 
 Still clave unto Naomi, and thus to her she said : 
 *' Entreat me not to leave thee, for that may never be ; 
 I'll quit, although it grieve me, my native land with thee; 
 By the love that I have borne thee, the love I bore the dead, 
 By the vows that I have sworn thee, I'll do as I have said ! 
 For the love I bore to Mahlon, and the love he bore to me, 
 Shouldst thou go to far Aijalon, there will I go with thee ! 
 I may not, cannot tarry my kindred folks among. 
 Where e'er you go, you'll carry your daughter Ruth along ; 
 Whatever be your country, that country shall be mine ; 
 Whatever Gods are worshiped, I'll worship only thine; 
 Wherever you may tarry I'll lodge or tarry too ; 
 
RUTH AND NAOMI. I35 
 
 Wherever you're sojourning, you'll find me there with you ; 
 Wherever you are living, my home will be there too. 
 Naught, naught but death shall part us or sever me from you ; 
 Wherever death may find you, there too will I be found, 
 And there will I be buried, in the same burial ground. 
 
 ** Speak not to me of husbands that you cannot supply ; 
 I'll live 'mongst Mahlon's kindred ; I have no stronger tie. 
 There's something seems to whisper, as from the spirit land, 
 That my name will yet be famous in Israel's famous land ; 
 That the house of Mahlon's kindred shall yet be builded fair; 
 Like Rachel and like Leah, I shall help to build it there. 
 It tells me from my lineage, shall come a royal king. 
 And from the Moabitess, a race of princes spring ; 
 That in the far off future, from the Moabitish stem, 
 Shall rise a star of glory — the star of Bethlehem ; 
 A prince shall reign in righteousness, his banner be unfurled ; 
 He shall be known and worshiped as the Savior of the world ; 
 That countries undiscovered and nations yet unborn 
 Shall sing Messiah's praises in eternity's bright morn. 
 Entreat me not to leave thee, for that may never be ; 
 Naught, naught but death shhll part us, or sever you and me." 
 
 So Naomi ceased to reason, so steadfast then was Ruth, 
 And she deemed those spirit whispers were an inspiration's 
 
 truth ; 
 And lovingly together those two, from day to day, 
 Across the Dead Sea desert, pursued their lonely way. 
 Although so lone and sorrowful, His eye was over them. 
 And at the barley harvest, they came to Bethlehem ; 
 And all the city wondered the spectacle to see. 
 And said, "Is this Naomi, so pleasant once and free ?" 
 But Naomi answered saying: "No longer pleasant now, 
 For bitterness and anguish are written on my brow ; 
 With husband and with children, I went out to sojourn, 
 But the Lord who gave has taken, and empty I return. 
 With none to share my sorrows but a Moabitish friend ; 
 And though the Lord deals bitterly, I'll trust him to the end." 
 
 But the rest of this strange story of Naomi and of Ruth 
 You'll find in Hebrew scriptures, the eternal Word of truth; 
 
136 kukal rhymes and olden times. 
 
 How Ruth became the wife of a noble, great and grand, 
 And from them sprang the monarchs that reigned o'er 
 
 Judah's land. 
 And from that race of princes a mightier prince arose, 
 The Christ, the great Messiah, whose reign will never close. 
 
 THE CARRIER BOY'S ADDRESS. 
 
 NEW YEAR, 1881. 
 
 Kind patrons and friends, in this season of joys 
 You are looking, perhaps, for the carrier boys 
 
 To appear with a New Year's Address ; 
 You are saving your quarters, your nickels and dimes, 
 To pay the young chap for his doggerel rhymes, 
 
 And the papers he brings from the press. 
 
 Look out for me, then, I am coming with mine ; 
 And I hope and I trust that its every line 
 
 A moral or truth will contain ; 
 That my youthful effusion by all will be read. 
 That by every friend in the land 'twill be said, 
 
 *'His effort has not been in vain." 
 
 A Walker I've been ever since I was born; 
 
 I walk through your town upon Saturday morn, 
 
 To distribute the news of the week ; 
 You've welcomed me often within the past year. 
 When bringing your paper, so full of good cheer, 
 
 And I know you'll permit me to speak. 
 
 The year eighteen hundred and eighty has gone ; 
 To a close has the year and its doings been drawn. 
 
 And 'tis numbered with those of the past; 
 Another is taking its place, my dear friends ; 
 But what it foreshadows, or what it portends, 
 
 Not one of us now can forecast. 
 
THE CARRIER BOY S ADDRESS. I37 
 
 We are certain of one thing : that sunshine and rain, 
 And joy and sorrow, and pleasure and pain, 
 
 Alternate will come and prevail ; 
 The winter, the summer, the heat and the cold, 
 Will come and will leave us ; but yet we are told 
 
 That seed-time and harvest ne'er fail. 
 
 'Tis not my intention to speak of the dead — 
 
 The year that's departed, the months that have fled — 
 
 Their lives or their deeds to condemn ; 
 What ever is wrong or amiss — let it go ; 
 It might have been worse ; and one thing we know: 
 
 For much we are thankful to them. 
 
 Ah, yes, we are thankful for much that's been done, 
 And hopeful, quite hopeful, for some things begun, 
 
 That some future day may complete; 
 Though all is not roses, there's sometimes a flower; 
 Though days may be cloudy, there's sometimes an hour 
 
 Of sunshine and happiness sweet. 
 
 We've had disappointments and failures to mourn, 
 Bereavement of friends, and afflictions we've born, 
 
 But that is the lot of mankind; 
 The past is behind us, the future before ; 
 Let us hope and press forward, and hope evermore 
 
 Success in the end we may find. 
 
 Our county's improving, the town's building up. 
 And thanks to kind Heaven, a bountiful crop 
 
 Is blessing the country at large ; 
 And though I must tell you the truth with regret, 
 Though hundreds and thousands are burthened with debt, 
 
 There's a prospect those debts to discharge. 
 
 Though partial defeat at the polls we have met, 
 The whole is not lost ; there is hope for us yet — 
 
 No note of despondence we lisp ; 
 The world is still moving, the people will rule, 
 Though part of them lately have acted the fool — 
 
 You think now of Alien and Crisp. 
 10 — 
 
138 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 But this is all over ; some lessons we learn. 
 And now from political matters we turn, 
 
 And things of more moment discuss — 
 The topic of morals, and knowledge and such 
 Educational themes as are dwelt upon much, 
 
 And are ever of moment to us. 
 
 But 'tis not becoming for one of my age 
 In lectures on topics Hke these to engage, 
 
 Of knowledge or morals to preach ; 
 By men who are older and know so much more, 
 Who have trevelled the road, and have gone on before, 
 
 I would rather be taught than to teach. 
 
 Presumption indeed it would be in a boy. 
 
 Who scarcely is weaned from his rattles and toy, 
 
 To tender advice to the old ; 
 Much better 'twould be for a boy, I think. 
 To hst to the counsels of age, from the brink 
 
 Of that river that's flowing so cold. 
 
 In place, then, of talking to teach you, I pray 
 Let me talk to you now in my plain, simple way, 
 
 Some lessons of wisdom to learn; 
 You once were a boy like me, I suppose ; 
 Experience has taught you some lessons, and those 
 
 You can teach to a boy in turn. 
 
 Ah, yes, you old settlers can tell me of much. 
 
 And warn me 'gainst things that I never should touch, 
 
 Or tell me of Nature's great laws ; 
 While standing together on hurricane deck. 
 You can point me to many, ah, many a wreck. 
 
 And tell me of what was the cause. 
 
 Perhaps you could tell me of many a boy. 
 The pride of his father, a mother's chief joy, 
 
 Who promised much fairer than I ; 
 And point to the spot where his pathway was crossed, 
 And he took the wrong road, and went on and was lost;. 
 
 And tell me the how^ and the why. 
 
THE CARRIER BOY S ADDRESS. 1 39 
 
 There's nothing that pleases me more than to hear 
 The tales that are told by the old pioneer, 
 
 The last of the pioneer band — 
 The things that he saw, and the things that he did, 
 His toilings, and sufferings, and struggles amid 
 
 The wilds of a wilderness land. 
 
 I love to hear now the old veteran tell 
 
 Of the time that he came to the county to dwell, 
 
 When the track of the Indian was here ; 
 When his cabin was small, and the furniture rude. 
 And he roamed as a hunter the wild solitude, 
 
 And brought home the turkey and deer. 
 
 Ah, yes, it is pleasing, instructive as well, 
 To list to the tales of old time that they tell. 
 
 When the town in a forest was hid; 
 How settlements grew on the western frontier. 
 The town was laid out, and the Mormons came here, 
 
 And the reason they left as they did. 
 
 It is pleasing, old settlers, to listen to you. 
 
 Of the men who came here when the country was new, 
 
 Not of toil or of danger afraid ; 
 You tell of the merchants of long time ago : 
 Sam Owens, McCoy, and others you know, 
 
 Who built up the Santa Fe trade. 
 
 You oftentimes speak of that Santa Fe trade. 
 
 And the fortunes some Mexican merchants then made ; 
 
 But that trade is a thing of the past. 
 Those Santa Fe wagons, those Santa Fe teams. 
 That army of mule and ox drivers, it seems 
 
 By the Iron Horse now is displaced. 
 
 But some of those drivers of oxen still live, 
 And many a story to us they could give 
 
 Of their travels across the great plain ; 
 And none more astonished would be than would they, 
 Could they visit those once desert regions to-day. 
 
 And see them, with fields growing grain. 
 
I40 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The old folks will talk, and I listen the while, 
 Half amused at the homely and primitive style 
 
 When they settled their preemption claim; 
 The ladies were wearinS their homespun, you know, 
 And the ploughboy's pants were of cotton and tow, 
 
 And his shirt — well, his shirt was the same. 
 
 The pants of the hunter were linsey or jeans. 
 
 With the deer-skin foxed — you know what it means ; 
 
 Independent he looked and he felt; 
 And there was his coat — we need not to sneer — 
 'Twas a hunting-shirt made from the skin of the deer, 
 
 With a butcher-knife stuck in the belt. 
 
 Another will tell of the primitive style 
 
 Of cooking and eating, and cause us to smile, 
 
 Who never have witnessed such things; 
 But the johnny-cake board and the venison ham 
 No longer are seen, hanging up in the jamb, 
 
 Nor the pot-rack in chimney-place swings. 
 
 There are ladies in town — I know there is one 
 Can tell us exactly how such things were done; 
 
 She has not forgotten ; although 
 Independence has grown to be quite a place, 
 And she has grown with it in knowledge and grace. 
 
 She remembers the long time ago. 
 
 The old veteran lives in the county to-day. 
 Who cut the first logs for a cabin, they say, 
 
 On the Temple Lot, west of the square ; 
 How many the changes he's witnessed since then! 
 How many the changes in things and in men. 
 
 Since cutting those cabin-logs there. 
 
 Though hid away now in the Sni-a-bar Hills, 
 He remembers it all, and his bosom yet thrills. 
 
 As he tells us the stories of yore ; 
 Fifty odd years since then, has he passed, 
 And down the decline he is hurrying fast, 
 
 And soon he will tell them no more. 
 
THE CARRIER BOY's ADDRESS. I4I 
 
 Another thing, too, I am pleased to hear told : 
 How social they were in the good days of old, 
 
 When all was not selfishness quite; 
 Log-rollings, house-raisings, and corn-huskings too, 
 When youngsters would labor the winter's day through. 
 
 And play '' Sister Phebe " at night. 
 
 In fancy I sometimes am carried back there, 
 
 And I almost could wish, and I sometimes would dare, 
 
 To live as a pioneer too ; 
 In fancy I oftentimes picture the men 
 I have heard of so often, who made their mark then. 
 
 Those worthies, so brave and so true. 
 
 Those old-fashioned preachers — ah, what was the name ? 
 Yes, Savage, and Powell — Pve oft heard of them — 
 
 Quite different from some preachers now; 
 McKinny, and Ferrill, and Nelson, you know — 
 Stayton, and Warder, and Gabriel Fitzhugh — 
 
 Plain preachers who followed the plow. 
 
 Those little school-houses they built in the wood — 
 You tell me of them, and where some of them stood; 
 
 You remember those rough benches yet, 
 And you point me to some of our prominent men, 
 Who sat upon them — they were small shavers then — 
 
 And learned lessons they'll never forget. 
 
 You tell me that teachers — Professors they're classed — 
 Now sneer at the old-fogy schools of the past, 
 
 Where you and your children were taught; 
 And bless their good stars, that they live in those days 
 When the bright sun of knowledge is shedding his rays, 
 
 And those rays are more easily caught. 
 
 Although you say little, I know by your wink 
 
 Some things you would say, or at least what you think, 
 
 'Bout the old and the new fashioned schools ; 
 You are thinking, perhaps, of what JEsop once said. 
 Which you m your spelling books long ago read, 
 
 That young folks think old ones are fools. 
 
142 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 You say there are men, and you whisper the name 
 Of some, who professors in college could shame. 
 
 In science and good solid lore, 
 Who at ended no schools but the old-fogy ones, 
 In the little school-houses away from the towns, 
 
 By teachers that we would style poor. 
 
 You point to the many improvements now made, 
 Of which we are boasting, and ask us who laid 
 
 The foundation, and builded thereon ; 
 You ask us, when fifty more years have been told, 
 And the boy who sneers at old fogies is old. 
 
 If improvements like this will go on. 
 
 Will the next fifty years in the calendar tell 
 
 A tale of improvement, to those who may dwell 
 
 In the country at that future day. 
 As strange and instructive as that which is told 
 By the last fifty years, in which pioneers old 
 
 Have acted their part in life's play ? 
 
 ^ But I've wearied you now with my g ssip, I fear; 
 
 I'll return to my subject, the Happy New Year, 
 ^ That is dawning upon us to-day; 
 f, Hope many returns of the day you'll enjoy — 
 ^ Full many you've witnessed of them, since a boy. 
 You hailed it in lands far away. 
 
 And now to the patrons, still younger in years, 
 Whose life and whose prospect so rosy appears, 
 [' A word from the Sentinel boy : 
 
 A Sentinel place at the door of your heart, 
 That will speak of the danger and warnings impart 
 Of the lessons that tend to destroy. 
 
 Let the Sentinel also, by Walker and Payne, 
 Have a place on your table — pray take it again ; 
 
 'Twill speak out, and will never be mum ; 
 Change not an old friend for another untried, 
 Let well enough be — never cast it aside 
 
 For better, that never may come. 
 
THE JEWISH PILGRIM. 143 
 
 Now thanking you kindly for favors to-day — 
 The morning is passing, and I must away; 
 
 Long life may you each one enjoy — 
 May the voyage on which you are sailing be fair, 
 With a prosperous end, is the sincere prayer 
 
 Of Willie, 
 
 The Carrier Boy. 
 
 THE JEWISH PILGRIM; OR, AMERICAN JEW IN 
 
 PALESTINE. 
 
 Alone, on the hills of Judea I roam, 
 
 And my thoughts wander back to the past, 
 
 When these valleys and hills were the patriarchs' home, 
 And their lots among gentiles were cast. 
 
 From a far distant land, as a pilgrim I've come — 
 
 Many yearnings of heart I have felt. 
 To visit the land that was Israel's home, 
 
 The land where my forefathers dwelt; 
 
 Where Abram, and Isaac, and Jacob of old, 
 
 Among Canaanite strangers sojourned, 
 And to which the tribes, under Joshua bold, 
 
 From their bondage in Egypt returned. 
 
 O land of Judea ! thy vales are as fair. 
 And thy mountains with cedars as green 
 
 As in days when the home of our people was there. 
 Thou loved and thou lost Palestine ! 
 
 In my home in the West, in a land far away. 
 
 Though oceans and seas intervene, 
 My dreamings by night, and my musings by day 
 
 Were of glories Judea has seen. 
 
 Thy brooks and thy rivers are murmuring on, 
 As in days when the prophets were here ; 
 
 But thy children are scattered, thy children are gone, 
 And gone are the prophets and seer. 
 
144 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 I pass by the spots where the angels of old 
 Conversed with the patriarchs good, 
 
 And oft in the midst of a desert behold 
 The ruins where cities once stood. 
 
 The mountain of Lebanon still rears its head 
 And the cedars are green on its side ; 
 
 But the glory of Israel has long ago fled, 
 As the sages of old prophesied. 
 
 O land of Judea ! thine, thine are the race 
 That wander, and wandering go, 
 
 Unblessed and unhonored, in every place — 
 No nation of theirs do they know. 
 
 The blood of thy children, in age after age. 
 Has watered the hot burning sands ; 
 
 Has blotted with crimson the historic page. 
 And crimsoned the snow-covered lands. 
 
 But still as they roam, in the East or the West, 
 They'll turn from earth's every shrine 
 
 To the land of our fathers, by strangers possessed, 
 And yearn for the lost Palestine. 
 
 The ages have passed, and the centuries flown 
 Since the plough of the gentile first marred 
 
 The City of Zion, and forests have grown 
 Where priest and the Levite kept guard. 
 
 The nations have fallen, and kingdoms have gone; 
 
 And the footsteps of Time have destroyed 
 The cities of old, and in lands then unknown 
 
 The wandering Jews are employed. 
 
 The eagles of Rome have long ceased to soar, 
 
 Or be seen upon Moriah's hill ; 
 Assyrian monarchs are heard of no more ; 
 
 But Judah is wandering still. 
 
AN OLD settler's TALK. 1 45 
 
 The races and nations have blended, and name 
 
 And identity's lost, as it were ; 
 But the children of Judah are ever the same, 
 
 And Jews are Jews everywhere. 
 
 And have they thus wandered as pilgrims in vain ? 
 
 Their thoughts ever turned to the past ; 
 Long time have they wandered, in hope to regain 
 
 And come to their home at the last. 
 
 O land of Judea, our ancestors home ! 
 
 Long time have we wandering been ; 
 But when all is fulfilled, we will no longer roam. 
 
 But return unto Zion again. 
 
 Even now, a prophetical warning I hear ; 
 
 I hear it wherever I roam ; 
 It cautions the nations : build none of you here, 
 
 For Judah shall surely come home. 
 
 The time is fulfilling, though long it may be. 
 
 By prophets foreseen and foretold, 
 When Judah shall cease all her wandering from ihee, 
 
 And come home as sheep to the fold. 
 
 AN OLD SETTLER'S TALK 
 
 Poem read by the author at the Old Settlers' meeting at Harrisonville, 
 CasB County, Mo., Sept. 30, 1880. 
 
 In the autumn of life, in the evening's decline. 
 
 As the shadows are lengthening fast, 
 We meet here together, old friends of lang syne. 
 
 To recall, and to speak of the past. 
 
 *Tis forty odd years — near fifty, I trow — 
 
 (No doubt you remember it well) 
 Since some of the men that I see here now. 
 
 First came to the county to dwell. 
 
146 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Pioneers of the West, in an untrodden wild, 
 
 A home and a resting-place sought; 
 In a wilderness land, they labored and toiled, 
 
 And we see what their labors have wrought. 
 
 When we think of the wide-spreading prairies, that lay- 
 In silence and grandeur so lone — 
 
 The unbroken forest — we wonder where they, 
 The prairie and forest, have gone. 
 
 We see them not now, as we saw them of yore; 
 
 The trees in the groves are cut down ; 
 The green sward of grass and the flowerets no more" 
 
 The vales and the sunny hills crown. 
 
 Where are those cabins, those rude dwellings gone ? 
 
 We look for them now all in vain ; 
 The roof made of clapboards, with poles weighted down- 
 
 We never shall see them again. 
 
 We pass by the spot, but the cabin is not. 
 
 And solitude silently reigns ; 
 A mound where the chimney stood, points out the spot. 
 
 And that is all now that remains. 
 
 Perhaps it was there that our children had birth. 
 
 Or sported around us in glee ; 
 Those children have wandered away from the hearth — 
 
 No cabin, no children we see. 
 
 The cabins so rude, that were builded here then, 
 
 Gave place unto dv/ellings more grand; 
 And some of those children are gray-headed men, 
 
 Away in a far-distant land. 
 
 Ah, what are life's changes ! How many since then 
 
 The old pioneer has passed through ? 
 The country has undergone changes; and men, 
 
 And manners, and customs change too. 
 
AN OLD SETTLERS TALK. 1 47 
 
 But Still we remember those things as they were, 
 
 And can vividly call up each scene ; 
 A settlement here, and another one there, 
 
 With a stretch of prairie between. 
 
 In passing those prairies, the traveller found 
 
 His way by a trail through the grass ; 
 But farm after farm now covers the ground, 
 
 And lane after lane he must pass. 
 
 Not only a change in the landscape appears ; 
 
 The settlers are fast giving way; 
 But few, very few, of the old pioneers, 
 
 Can be found in the county to-day. 
 
 Where are those men, the brave sons of toil. 
 
 Who trod down the nettles and grass? 
 Where are the men who first turned the soil 
 
 Of the beautiful County of Cass ? 
 
 A few of those gray-headed ones have to-day 
 
 Met together, once more to exchange 
 The greetings of friendship ; and well may we say, 
 
 " Our surroundings are wondrously strange ! " 
 
 And now that we are together once more. 
 
 Let us talk of the days that are past ; 
 Let us speak of those friends and call their names o'er. 
 
 Whose fortune with ours was cast. 
 
 Let memory go back through the period of years 
 
 That has borne us on life's stormy wave, 
 And call to our mind those old pioneers, 
 
 That long since have gone to the grave. 
 
 A host of those worthies, even now, while I speak, 
 
 Are passing the mind's eye before : 
 There's Butterfield, Dunnaway, Riddle, and Creek, 
 
 And Warden, and Butler, and Moore ; 
 
148 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 There's Wilson, and Williams, and Burriss, and Myers — 
 
 They pass as a will-o'-the-wisp ; 
 There's Miller and Savage in homespun attires, 
 
 With Gibson, McCarty, and Crisp ; 
 
 McClellan, and Blakely, the Dickeys, and Cooks, 
 
 The Bledsoes, with Adkins, and Briens, 
 Adams, and Harris, and Porter, and Brooks, 
 
 McKinny, and Tuggle, and Lyons; 
 
 Arnett, and Parsons, and Bewly, and Finch, 
 
 Holloway, Sharp, and Malone, 
 Campbell, and Story, and Burford, and Lynch, 
 
 And Jackson, and Farmer, and Sloane. 
 
 They're coming, stil] coming, and passing me by ; 
 
 Is it fancy, or really all true ? 
 Do I see them again, with the natural eye, 
 
 Those friends that I long ago knew ? 
 
 Is it Davis, and Massey, and Griffin, and Wade ? 
 
 Is it Baily, and Smith, and McCord? 
 Those friends who have passed through the portals of 
 shade. 
 
 And gone to receive their reward. 
 
 Ah. no, it is fancy, all fancy, no doubt — 
 
 By fancy alone are they clad ; 
 Let us talk of their virtues, and say naught about 
 
 Their failings, if failings they had. 
 
 We are old and gray-headed old fogies, they say; 
 
 Young America's left us behind ; 
 The world has grown wiser in this latter day, 
 
 And swifter the march of the mind. 
 
 'Tis true, very true, that the old pioneers 
 
 Didn't move like a railroad train. 
 But only as fast as a yoke of good steers 
 
 Could carry them over the plain. 
 
AN OLD SETTLER S TALK. I49 
 
 Though slow was their progress, those bold, hardy men 
 
 Accomplished their purpose somehow; 
 They didn't burst boilers, and smash up things then, 
 
 As the fast ones are doing it now. 
 
 The great iron horse they hadn't yet known; 
 
 Knew little of steam or its power; 
 Nor dreamed that the work of a day could be done, 
 
 By machinery, in less than an hour. 
 
 To quick correspondence though some might aspire, 
 
 The methods to them were unknown; 
 We couldn't then write with the telegraph wire. 
 
 Nor talk on the wire telephone. 
 
 The reaper, the thresher, corn-planter, and drill, 
 
 And such labor-saving machines 
 Were unknown ; but their work, by the hand, with a will 
 
 Was pejformed, and by much safer means. 
 
 Ah, yes, my old friends, we will talk of those days, 
 
 And their plain, simple customs as well ; 
 And the young men may smile at our old-fogy ways, 
 
 Or laugh at the stories we tell. 
 
 Perhaps they may pity the old pioneer. 
 
 When he tells of the hardships he bore. 
 The thousand discomforts experienced here, 
 
 The thousand vexations, or more. 
 
 Conveniences many were wanting, and when 
 
 We got them, we brought them from far ; 
 Not even a friction match had we then. 
 
 With which we could light a cigar. 
 
 Cigar! did I say; myself I'll correct; 
 
 We did not such articles use; 
 And the few that would smoke, if I well recollect, 
 
 The cob pipe, or the clay one would use. 
 
150 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 To the flint and the steel, or the sun-glass, you know, 
 
 We resorted when fires were out ; 
 But those old-fogy ways, so tedious and slow, 
 
 Our boys know nothing about. 
 
 Another discomfort, remember we still; 
 
 From week unto week, did we dread 
 That task unavoidable — going to mill ; 
 
 We could not do well without bread. 
 
 Those primitive mills — the boys, I'll be bound, 
 
 Would smile at the simple concern — 
 When the horses or oxen would pull the wheel round, 
 
 And we drove till we ground out the turn. 
 
 Our news and newspapers were then scarce enough. 
 
 Denied unto us, so to speak; 
 The nearest post-office was thirty miles off. 
 
 And the mail came but once in a week. 
 
 The Washington Globe — Democrat by the way — 
 
 The doings of congressmen told; 
 But the speeches of Benton, and Webster, and Clay 
 
 Were twenty or thirty days old. 
 
 But that mattered not; it was news unto us. 
 Though a month on the road it had been ; 
 
 And we formed an opinion of things, and could guess 
 Whether Clay or VanBuren would win. 
 
 And later on yet, I remember— don't you ? 
 
 In the coon-skin and cider campaign, 
 When the songs of log cabin and Tippecanoe 
 
 Were sung from Missouri to Maine. 
 
 Back-woodsmen we were, plain farmers, and such 
 
 As moved without clatter or noise ; 
 Of books and book knowledge, didn't have half as much 
 
 As some of our fast modern boys. 
 
AN OLD SETTLERS TALK. 15I 
 
 As ignorant though as those pioneers were, 
 
 Of all that is taught in the schools, 
 Their minds were as strong, and their heads were as clear 
 
 As those who now reason by rules. 
 
 Yes, some of those clod-hopping farmers, I trow, 
 
 Could calculate problems by head. 
 That students in algebra cannot do now. 
 
 On paper with pencils of lead. 
 
 There were other things also, I think, that they knew, 
 
 The youth of to-day doesn't know ; 
 Necessity taught them to persevere through. 
 
 Where he would stop short in his row 
 
 With the bar-share, or carey, we broke up the land, 
 
 A wooden mould-board to the plough. 
 And cut our wheat down with a sickle, by hand ; 
 
 But nobody uses them now. 
 
 Our lumber we sawed with a whip-saw, you know, 
 
 Out of timber much harder than pine ; 
 When one man above, and another below 
 
 Kept the eye and the saw on the line. 
 
 The old-fashioned tools, that we handled so well. 
 
 Have gone out of use long ago ; 
 And the modern young man, their use couldn't tell, 
 
 And even their name, would not know. 
 
 Young America now may smile at our ways, 
 
 Our slow-going methods condemn ; 
 If they envy not us, in our pioneer days. 
 
 We will certainly not envy them. 
 
 Although so much wiser the world has now grown, 
 
 So much faster 'tis rushing along. 
 We'd rather live over the race that we've run 
 
 Than join in the mad, rushing throng. 
 
152 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 They may boast of their many improvements, and all 
 
 The inventions of these latter years; 
 Our thoughts will go back, and our minds will recall 
 
 The days of the old pioneers. 
 
 We had friendship and sociability then, 
 And neighbors were neighbors indeed; 
 
 And all of those qualities noble in men, 
 Had not given place unto greed. 
 
 With homespun attire and plain simple fare, 
 
 The men of that day were content ; 
 And in hunting the deer and the turkeys that were, 
 
 Many hours of leisure were spent. 
 
 And now to the ladies — God bless 'em, they're here ; 
 
 And they have not forgotten, I know, 
 The hves that they lived on the western frontier, 
 
 In the years of the long time ago. 
 
 I am sure those matrons some truth could reveal, 
 
 To the fine, dashing belles of to-day. 
 Of the old cotton-cards, and the old spinning-wheel, 
 
 And the loom, with its harness and sley. 
 
 They learned how to weave and to sew in their teens, 
 And they spun their own cord, be it said ; 
 
 They hadn't yet heard about sewing machines. 
 And the Coats, or the Clark patent thread. 
 
 In those days, you know, 'twas a housekeeper's pride 
 When her own counterpane she had wove ; 
 
 And her skillet and pot by the fire-place wide, 
 She used without ever a stove. 
 
 If to meetings on Sundays they went, you'd confess 
 
 Their apparel was simple and plain ; 
 They didn't have twenty yards then in a dress, 
 
 And half as much more in the train. 
 
AN OLD SETTLER S TALK, 
 
 153 
 
 Yes, yes, we had meetings and preaching here then, 
 
 But no churches, with steeples above; 
 We met in the dweUings of pious, good men, 
 
 And the preaching was that of pure love. 
 
 No doubt you remember those preachers so plain — 
 
 Their dressing of deer-skin and jeans — 
 Who asked not for money, and preached not for gain, 
 
 Nor knew what "collegiate" means. 
 
 There was good Johny Jackson — you all knew him well — 
 
 As plain as the plainest could be; 
 First preacher was he in the county to dwell. 
 
 And few ever better than he. 
 
 And then there was Savage, and Ferrill, well known ; 
 
 And Powell, and Ousley, you know; 
 With Farmer, and Williams, and Talbot, and Sloane, 
 
 And others as good and as true. 
 
 You remember the old-fashioned hymns that they sung, 
 
 From Wesley, and Watts, and Dupuy; 
 And the music that came from the heart by the tongue, 
 
 For no organ or choir had we. 
 
 Forgive me, old friends, if I cannot forbear. 
 
 In speaking of days past and gone. 
 The past with the present fast age to compare, 
 
 If comparisons truly are drawn. 
 
 My mind to the present, I cannot confine ; 
 
 Ever backward fond memory will turn ; 
 To the scene of our youth, the heart will incline. 
 
 So long as on earth we sojourn. 
 
 Though MoUie or Mamie the organ may thrum, 
 
 And its music may fill the whole room, 
 In fancy I hear the old wheel and its hum, 
 
 And the tune Polly played on the loom. 
 11 — 
 
T54 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And oftentimes now to the church, when I go, 
 My thoughts, so rebelHous, are turned 
 
 Away from the service to times long ago, 
 And those pioneer preachers unlearned. 
 
 Though the sermon may be by the greatest DD., 
 And with eloquence truly sublime, 
 
 I cannot forbear the man to compare 
 With some in the good olden time. 
 
 And as oft as I visit your fast-growing town, 
 
 This city with prospect so bright. 
 The thought will arise, and I can't keep it down, 
 
 Of the first time I stood on its site. * 
 
 Twas then, in embryo, the town lay concealed ; 
 
 Its dimensions did not yet appear ; 
 A squatter's f log cabin, a little corn-field, 
 
 And that was all then that was here. 
 
 Ah, yes, my old friends, gray-haired pioneers, 
 
 How many such changes we've seen ? 
 How many the changes in forty odd years. 
 
 And how wondrous those changes have been! 
 
 Some changes were pleasing, and some have been sad'; 
 
 We've passed through peace and war, too ; 
 Ah, many's the '' ups" and the ** downs " we have had. 
 
 In passing life's wilderness through. 
 
 And now let the few, in reunion to-day, 
 
 Give thanks to the Ruler on-high. 
 That though he has taken our comrades away, 
 
 In his goodness he's spared you and I. 
 
 • Alluding to the time when the author, as surveyor, laid out the first 
 lots, May, 1837. 
 
 t James Lackey's. 
 
AN OLD SETTLER S TALK. 1 55 
 
 And when we reflect on the many that's gone, 
 
 The few pioneers that remain, 
 Let us pray that His goodness may still lead us on, 
 
 Till we meet our old comrades again. 
 
 Not long will it be until that time will come, 
 
 Our reason admonishes us ; 
 Death's messenger soon will summon us home — 
 
 In nature 'tis evermore thus. 
 
 Another reunion we'll have, and we'll greet 
 
 The loved and the lost ones again ; 
 Ah, yes, in a grander reunion we'll meet. 
 
 And no parting or sorrows have then. 
 
 We've had many meetings and partings, old friends, 
 
 But soon will those partings be o'er ; 
 Perhaps when this social reunion shall end 
 
 And we part, we will meet here no more. 
 
 When another twelve months, brother Brown,* shall elapse, 
 
 And you meet in reunion again. 
 The friend who addresses you now will perhaps 
 
 Be numbered no more with you then. 
 
 ♦Robert Brown, president of the Old Settlers' Society. 
 
156 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 DE GOOD OLD TIMES IN NORF CARLINER. 
 
 See heah, Miss Sinda, ef you got thru wid your music 
 lesson, an your dawin' lesson, and your lesson on what-you- 
 call-it — calisthenix an fizzyology. Jes set down here a lit- 
 tle while, an lissen to ole Aunt Rachel tell about de good 
 ole times in Norf Carliner, fifty years ago, when me an 
 your granmammy was gals together ; when your great- 
 grandaddy lived on ole massa's plantation, and de childern 
 went to school to de ole log school house, wid de dirt floor, 
 an I dident; for you no dey dident 'low black folks to go to 
 skule in dem times, for fear we might lam to read an rite, 
 an den rite our own passes, you know, an run away. 
 
 Well its bin a long time, and things is mity different 
 now from what dey was den. I was a thinkin' about it a 
 while ago, when I heerd you a thumpin' away at dat peanner 
 in dar, an I thought what a different sort o' music your 
 granmammy was larnt to play, an how well she played it too, 
 on de loom an de ole spinnin wheel. De gals way back dar 
 maby dident know as much 'bout grammah an rithmetick, 
 an 'jebra an de ollagys as you do, an mity few of 'em ever 
 seed a peanner, or heard it screamin' away as I did a while 
 ago ; an maby dey nevah heerd tell of it in dem piny woods ; 
 I know I dident. An den dar is so many odder things dat 
 you no so much about, dat your granmamy an de odder gals 
 never heerd of; but you needent get ashamed, an go to 
 blushen' on 'count of your granmudder's ignorance, for she 
 an de udder gals way back dar knowed how to do a hunderd 
 things dat you is as ignorant about as I is of fizzyology, or any 
 odder ology. 
 
 De gals in ole Norf Carliner, whar dis nigger was born, 
 an in Tennysee, whar ole massa moved to, all larnt to card 
 an spin de cotton as soon as dey was big enuff to reach to de 
 spindle of de wheel, an some of em sooner. I 'member your 
 granmudder larnt to spin when she was so little dat dey had 
 to cut off de legs of de wheel bench, so she could reach up to 
 turn de wheel. I'm speakin' now of de gals whose daddys 
 dident have too menny niggers to do de work ; for when dat 
 
DE GOOD OLD TIMES IN NORF CARLINER. 157 
 
 was de case, de gals sumtimes got stuck up, jes like Mandy 
 Twigs, de kurnel's daurter, is now, an like sum udder gals 
 whose daddys has lots o' munny. Yes, I was talkin' about 
 de common folks, like your daddy an mammy, an your 
 uncle Ben, an Joshua and de rest of de nabors. De gals den 
 dident larn only to spin de cotton an de wool, on de big 
 wheel ; but dey larnt to spin de flax and de tow, on de little 
 one. An dey dident only larn how to spin it, but dey soon 
 larnt to weave it into cloff and sow it up, an make dar own 
 close and de bed close. I seed dis mornin' de ole blue spot- 
 ted kiverlid dat your granmammy wove ('fore you was 
 bornd), on de ole fashioned loom dat your great-grandaddy 
 made, and I was thinkin' whedder enny of de gals, who may 
 live fifty years from now, will ever sleep under de kiverlids 
 dat dar granmammys wove. Mity few, I recken. How 
 long. Miss Sindy, does you think it would take you to card 
 an spin a dozen o' cotton, on de big wheel? I 'bTeve you 
 has larnt to spin wool a little, jes enuff to make stockins for 
 you an de boys ; but did you ever see a pair o' cotton kards, 
 an larn to use 'em. I recken not ; an I'd bet a fo' pens- 
 hapenny* you couldent kard a dozen rolls in an hour. An 
 den de flax an de flax wheel — did you ever see 'em ? It's 
 bin a long while sence I seed one at work. I think I seed a 
 part of one in de smoke house tudder day, which maby your 
 mudder spun on when she was a gal. An den de flax — oh, 
 yes, you've seed dat a growin' in de field. Dey raise it now 
 for de seed, to make oil of; an dey thro' away all de good 
 part dat dey yuse to make close of, or else feed it to the 
 cows. In de ole times dey planted or sowed only a small 
 patch, jes enuff to make spinnin' truck ; an dey got seed enuff 
 off of dat to sow a patch de next year, an maby a little to 
 sell. An dey dident cut de flax den wid a masheen, as dey do 
 now. Oh, no, hunny, dey pulled it out of de groun' by de 
 roots, wid dar hands Did you ever hear your granmammy 
 tell about a flax puUm'? I've bin to menny a pullin' in my 
 young days ; when de boys an de gals wood meet togedder, 
 an run races a pullin' an spredden de flax, an have a jolly 
 good time. 
 
 De gals an de wimmen folks genrally dun de most of de 
 
 ='=Six and a quartei' cents. 
 
158 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES 
 
 pullin', cause de men folks was mity offen' bizzy in de har- 
 vest field, a cuttin' de wheat 'bout dat time. 
 
 Oh, yes, you ax me how dey managed to git spinnin' 
 truck outen de flax straws, ruff an coarse as it is. Well, 
 you see, we wood pull up the flax straws, an spred 'em out 
 to cure; an' when it was cured enuff, would tie it up in bun- 
 dels, like dey do de wheat or oats, an put it in de dry till cold 
 wedder, an' den spread it out agin to rot ; an when it wus 
 rotted enufl", take it up an put it away in de dry agin. An 
 in de leisure times, de men wood brake it on de flax brake, 
 an beat de straw all into little peeces ; an de bark or de lint 
 as dey call it, wood hang togedder, you see. An den de 
 gals wood swingle it on a swinglin' board, wid a swinglin' 
 knife, an skutch all de shoaves out ; an den dey wood 
 hackel it, an git de tow out, and twiss up de clean flax in 
 twists, reddy to spin. But I reckon you never seed a 
 swinglin board, or a swinglin nife, or a flax hackel ; an dis 
 nigger wood like to see you try to use one, so I could laff at 
 your awkward licks. Dar is mity few gals of your age in dis 
 country dat could spin a spool o' flax a day ; an I guess dar 
 is nun of de young mudders now dat can. 
 
 '^ Rock de cradle wid de foot. 
 An spin a pound o' tow," 
 
 As de ole songs yuse to say, 
 A long time ago. 
 
 An as your great-granmammy could do. 
 
 But dat, you say, was not in dis country, or in dis age of 
 progress, an masheens, an railroads. Oh, yes, I know it 
 was away back in Carliner, an Tennysee, an Kentucky, in 
 de old-fogy times ; but forty years ago, sum of dese ole fash- 
 ions was kep up here in Mizzury an Elinoy. I has seed 
 your mammy an your granmammy a-spinnin' de flax, an de 
 tow, an de cotton, an a-makin' an a-weavin' dar homespun, an 
 home made dresses, here in dis country. And as fine as you 
 dress yourself now, I recken you needent be 'shamed of 
 what dey did. 
 
 Maby you think you is much more 'complished dan dey 
 wus, an maby you is. I know dar is hunderds of gals now 
 wlio can make de organ an de peanner hum it all de day, 
 
DE GOOD OLD TIMES IN NORF CARLINER. 1 59 
 
 who nebber heerd de hum of de Uttle wheel, an who couldent 
 spin a poun' of soin' thread, or a poun' of shoe thread, ef 
 dar lives 'pended on it. And de shoemakers have to bye all 
 dar shoe thred out'n the stores, an dat thred, I recken, wus 
 spun on masheens in de ole country whar dey raise flax fur 
 sumthin' 'sides the seed. I haint seed a flax brake, or a 
 swinglin' board, or a hank o' homespun soin' thred, or a to v- 
 sheet, ia a coon's age — not since the Wah, I bleve ; an what 
 de world is a-goin' to cum to I don't no. When I wus a gal, 
 tow cloff or tow linnen, ef you please, was de black folks' 
 principal dressin', an it was won of de articles of trade. De 
 wimmin wood make it, an sell it to de peddlers, or de store- 
 keepers, an bye dar needles, an pins, an ribbins, an hanker- 
 chers, an sumtimes a calico dress wid it. 
 
 De wimmin den, speshally de married wons, was not 
 'shamed to go to meetin' wid dar homespun dresses, striped 
 wid de red, an de white, an de blue. An dey knode how to 
 dye de blue, and de red, de green, and de yaller. De men 
 wore de 5lue jeaas for Sunday, an de wimmin tried to see 
 who could make her husban' de nicest coat an jacket. 
 
 In place of goin' to meetin' in de buggy, wid de canterin' 
 bosses, de gals den rid on hossback, or went on foot ; mos' 
 ginerally dey walked. Ise knowed your granmammy an de 
 udder gals to walk as much as fore miles of a Sunday to 
 meetin', 'cross de river, and de river hills, too. Yes, an I've 
 known 'em to walk barefooted, an tote dar shoes an stockins' 
 in dar hands, till near de meetin' house, and den dey wood 
 set down on a log an put 'era on. Sometimes in winter, dey 
 wood ware dar ole coarse shoes till dey got near enuif, an 
 den set 'em down behind a log or a stump, an put on dar 
 Sundy ones, an ware 'em till dey got back dar. 
 
 Oh, yes, Sindy, things is mity changed in de last fifty 
 years. Mity few of de youag ladies now wood walk dat fur 
 to hear de best preacher in de whole country; an maby it 
 was not to hear the sarmon dat day yuse to walk so fur, 
 across de rivers an de hills den. It's not ole Rachel's place 
 to say what dey went for; I only no dey went. 
 
 And den de meetin' houses an everything else seems so 
 different now. Den dey had de log meetin' house, wid no 
 stove in it, an no seats but de ruff benches, made by i)iutin' 
 legs in de auger-holes of a slab or punchin, or a log sj^lit open 
 
l6o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 an hewed. An de preachers dident dress up so fine as sum of 
 'em duz now. An dey dident have de big awgan an de note 
 books to help 'em sing. De brudders an de sisters, an de 
 boys an de gals dident have to wait for de awgan an de quire 
 to go a head, an lead 'em, an sing for 'em ; but each <jne as 
 wanted to pitcht in an sung for hisself, as loud an as fast as he 
 pleesed ; an de words of de song wasn't drownded to deth by 
 de loud swellin' tones of de awgan. An den de preacher 
 preached as long as he pleezed, or as long as it pleezed de 
 Lord to give him sumthin' to say; an he dident hav to stop 
 at the eend of forty five minnits, jest 'cause it's de fashion to 
 do so. 
 
 I could tell you, Miss Sindee, a great deal more 'bout de 
 ole fashions in de ole time, an what de young men an de boys 
 done, as well as what de gals did; but I reckin you has heerd 
 your old grandaddy talk about it, an he node a great deel 
 mor'n most folks, an a heap more dan I duz, and if he had 
 pended, as a grate menny youngsters dus now, on de skules 
 an de colleges, an his daddy's pocket book, he never would 
 a node as much as he did. I node your grandaddy, as well 
 as your granmammy, fore da was married. Yes, when he 
 was a little boy ; an he wasn't thought to be a very smart boy 
 nuther ; not as smart as my brudder Bob, for he couldent play 
 de fiddle, nor de banjer nudder; and he was de poorest 
 singer you ever heerd try to sing; but for all dat, he made his 
 mark fore he dide; an you know he was talked of pretty 
 strong for Congress. Dat was your grandaddy, Sidnee, who 
 followed de shuvel plow when a boy, dressed in his tow lin- 
 nen shirt, an his tow linnen britches ; and who went to skule 
 when a little shaver, with nuthin at all on but a long tow 
 linnen shirt dat his mammy spun and wove for him. An I 
 hope you aint ashamed dat you is his grandaurter, cause 
 he dident go dressed as fine as boys duz now. 
 
 But I reckin I'se talked long enuff now about de ole 
 times an de ole fashions, 'specially as I see de young feller 
 wid de slick hat an de fine coat an de sandy mustash a-comin, 
 an I reckin I'll soon heer dat peanner a screamin' agin. I 
 duz wish you'd burn it up an learn to play de fiddle like my 
 brudder Bob yuse to play it ; dar would be sum sense in 
 lissenin' to sich music as dat. 
 
THE OLD minister's REMINISCENCES. l6l 
 
 THE OLD MINISTER'S REMINISCENCES. 
 
 I'm thinking of times, in the long, long ago, 
 
 When the Savior of sinners appeared, 
 Relieved my distresses, and bade me to go 
 
 And tell the good news I had heard. 
 
 I think of the time, in the long time ago, 
 When with Christians, in brotherly love, 
 
 I joined, in the Church of the Lord here below — 
 The earnest of that one above. 
 
 I think of those fathers in Israel true. 
 
 Who admonished and counseled me then ; 
 
 I think of those mothers in Israel, too, 
 Who prayed for me time and again. 
 
 I think of those brothers and sisters that's gone, 
 
 Who worshiped with me in the past; 
 I think of them oft as I'm following on. 
 
 And I trust I shall meet them at last. 
 
 I think of the preachers of long, long ago, 
 Those preachers, old-fashioned and plain. 
 
 Who labored with sinners, the Savior to show. 
 And not for applause or for gain. 
 
 I think of them still as they preached long ago, 
 
 Devoid of all fashion or pride. 
 Resolved nothing else but the Savior to know, 
 
 Christ Jesus, the Lord, crucified. 
 
 I think of a time in the long, long ago. 
 When my mind was so strongly impressed 
 
 With the theme of salvation ; my brethren said, " Go 
 And preach the great Name you've confessed." 
 
l62 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 I'm thinking of times in the long, long ago, 
 
 In my native land, now far away. 
 When I called upon sinners, the high and the low, 
 
 To prepare for the great coming day. 
 
 I think of those hearers of long, long ago. 
 
 Who heard, and so gladly obeyed ; 
 Confessed the good Master where still waters flow, 
 
 And made good the confession then made. 
 
 Ah, yes, I oft think of those hearers of mine, 
 
 Who turned to the Lord then and there ; 
 And sometimes I wonder if they will e'er shine, 
 
 As stars in the crown I shall wear. 
 
 I'm thinking of some, in the long, long ago, 
 
 Who professed, and ran well for awhile ; [show 
 
 But they stopped and turned back, and their works go to 
 That the heart was not cleansed from its guile. 
 
 My thoughts will oft turn from the long, long ago 
 
 To the scenes of my still later years ; 
 And the river of life is more swift in its flow, 
 
 As the ocean it silently nears. 
 
 I think of the hundreds of places I've been, 
 
 The gospel of peace to proclaim ; 
 I think of the hundreds of changes I've seen 
 
 In some who Christianity claim. 
 
 I think how the worship of long, long ago. 
 
 So simple, so plain and sincere. 
 Is fast giving place to one of more show, 
 
 More formal — less earnest I fear. 
 
 I think how I preached in the good days of yore, 
 
 In the little school-house, or the grove ; 
 The simple attire that the worshipers wore, 
 
 Which the women had spun and had wove. 
 
THE OLD minister's REMINISCENCES. 1 63 
 
 I think of the hymns that we sang long ago, 
 
 With no organ or choir to lead : 
 ^'A stranger I am in the world here below," 
 
 Or, ''Alas! did my kind Savior bleed." 
 
 I think of the tunes, with their musical flow. 
 
 And those tunes I can never forget ; 
 I think of the singers who sang them so slow, 
 
 And their faces I seem to see yet. 
 
 I think of a church in the long time ago, 
 
 That meeting-house down in the dell. 
 Overhung by the branches that swayed to and fro. 
 
 In place of a costly church bell. 
 
 I think of the tears of repentance that flowed 
 From the eyes of the weeping ones there ; 
 
 And the ecstatic joy the countenance showed 
 When Jehovah had answered their prayer. 
 
 I think of the times in the long, long ago, 
 
 When infidel scoffers were rare ; 
 And to question the truth of the Bible, you know, 
 
 No man in his senses would dare. 
 
 And when I think now of the long, long ago, 
 
 And hear skeptics deriding God's laws, 
 I ask myself this : is not fashion and show. 
 
 And the walk of professors the cause ? 
 
 The fashions, like seasons, may come and may go, 
 
 And each a new grandeur may claim ; 
 But now, as it was in the long time ago. 
 
 The Word of the Lord is the same. 
 
 The word of the Lord and his statutes, I know. 
 
 Will stand, though the nations may fall ; 
 And the kingdom of Christ that we preached long ago, 
 
 Will come and prevail over all. 
 
164 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 THE OLD CAPTAIN OF 1838 AND THE ROLL-OALL 
 AT PLEASANT HILL, MO., IN 1881. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 Methought in that old town I stood, 
 
 The town of Pleasant Hill, 
 And thinking of the old times good, 
 
 Forgot the present ill. 
 
 I thought the small log house was there. 
 Where Wright his goods was selling. 
 
 And customers and idlers were 
 Their jokes and stories telling ; 
 
 When suddenly to me appeared. 
 Upon the door-sill standing, 
 
 A man with gray and grisly beard, 
 But with a mien commanding. 
 
 His dress was of the olden style. 
 Like men of old were wearing. 
 
 And in his belt, a sword the while 
 I saw the man was bearing. 
 
 He wore a hat with narrow shade, 
 One that we called a " Roram," 
 
 And on that hat was a cockade. 
 As officers once wore 'em. 
 
 • He nothing said to us, although 
 
 He quickly drew attention, 
 And that we asked his name to know 
 I scarcely need to mention ; 
 
 When, making a polite salaam, 
 
 And flourishing his saber. 
 He said : "I'll tell you what I am. 
 
 And what I was, — your neighbor. 
 
THE OLD CAPTAIN AND THE ROLL-CALL. l6$ 
 
 "A captain of the olden time, 
 
 When men were wont to muster ; 
 And they would stake their bottom dime 
 
 On Captain Bill Gallbuster. 
 
 ** Some of the men of long ago 
 
 Can Captain Bill remember ; 
 That was the May of life, you know, 
 
 But now 'tis chill December. 
 
 "I'm now a wreck, a wreck you see, 
 A vessel well nigh stranded ; 
 
 I'm here to-day, but where — ah, me ! 
 The men that I commanded ? 
 
 *' I look in vain for carbineer, 
 
 I look in vain for lancer ; 
 I'll call the roll — I've got it here — 
 
 And see just who will answer." 
 
 And taking from his bosom then 
 
 A paper worn and faded, 
 He said : "This is the roll of men 
 
 AV^ho once with me paraded ; 
 
 " I fain would know how many's here, 
 Or where the fates have thrown 'em." 
 
 He called the names, distinct and clear, 
 And thus commented on 'em, — 
 
 " Anthony Bledsoe, Nathan Creek, 
 
 Speak, if attention giving; 
 William Warden — do I seek 
 
 The dead amongst the living ? 
 
 " WilHam A. Butler, Jesse too, 
 John S., and Joab Brothers — 
 
 Dead ! or gone to Texas ; true 
 Of them and many others. 
 
66 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ** Hiram Savage, Milton Creek, 
 
 And Hezekiah Warden ; 
 They answer not, they do not speak — 
 
 And silent Andrew Gordon. 
 
 ** Allen Yocham, Watson Lynch 
 
 Silent as the grave are ; 
 Andrew Wilson, Charley Myers — 
 
 Gone ! ah, gone the brave are! 
 
 ** John Phillips T, and Mordecai, 
 John Gibson, Bill, and Thomas, 
 
 And William Burgin — gone ! they say, 
 By death all taken from us. 
 
 "Peter Welch, and James Bledsoe, 
 Thomas, James, and Joel Riddle; 
 
 William Moore, and J. Hinshaw — 
 All gone, with John A. Weddle. 
 
 " Alfred G., and Jerry Sloane — " 
 ' Here^ here,^ they feebly answer; 
 
 * Old and frail, and feeble grown. 
 
 We fain would march, but can't sir.' 
 
 *' James Gibson — no response I hear; 
 
 James Lawrence — dead and buried ! 
 James Reynolds — been for many a year 
 
 Beyond the river ferried. 
 
 * * Sam Mc Aninch — here, did he say ? 
 
 How few, how faint the answers ! 
 James, and Isaac Dunnaway ; 
 Gone, gone, couragous lancers. 
 
 ** Samuel Burgin — where is he? 
 
 And where his brother Thomas ? 
 Joined that larger company. 
 
 That death has taken from us. 
 
THE OLD CAPTAIN AND THE ROLL-CALL. 1 67 
 
 ** Moses Bailey answers, here\ 
 
 Wiley Bailey also, present \ 
 But no responsive voice I hear 
 
 From their good brother, Pleasant. 
 
 *' Jacob Miller, John, and James — 
 
 Silence deep and solemn ; 
 No more they'll answer to their names, 
 
 From out the muster-column. 
 
 **John Golding faintly answers, here\ 
 
 His merry laugh has left him ; 
 Though Death has spared his life, I hear, 
 
 He's oftentimes bereft him. <' 
 
 '* Noah Williams — where is he ? 
 
 And where is T. J. Carey ? 
 They'll drill no more ; they're muster free. 
 
 And resting with the weary. 
 
 *' Jerry Farmer* answers, here) 
 
 Glad to see you, very; 
 Beneath another Captain's care. 
 
 You're marching homeward, Jerry. 
 
 ** Green E. Story — answer none j 
 
 Hosea Williams, Henry Farmer — 
 Silent all ; their marching's done. 
 
 They've laid aside their armor. 
 
 *' John Burriss next, then Bailey Cook; 
 
 James Williams, John McCarty — 
 I hear them not ; in vain I look ; 
 
 They'll no more join our party. 
 
 ** John Robinson, and James H. May, 
 
 Josiah Keeran also, 
 Luke Williams — all, all far away ; 
 
 Then why, why need I call so ? 
 
 ♦Since dead. 
 
1 68 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ** Henry, and McClain, Corlew, 
 
 Morgan, Wash., and William Briants, 
 
 Martin Langston, Samson, too — 
 Tall as modern giants. 
 
 *'Zorobabel Langston, tall 
 
 Solomon, and Larkin, 
 Jesse Langston, though I call, 
 
 Not one of them will hearken. 
 
 *' Mastin Burriss answers, here ; 
 
 Indeed, and is it Mastin ? 
 Almost the first old pioneer, 
 
 And may be, too, the last one. 
 
 ''William H. Myers answers, here; 
 
 So answers Caswell Estes ;* 
 *We're tottering on life's journey drear, 
 
 And years with weight have pressed us.' 
 
 * 'Wesley Lynch, and James Malone — 
 
 No answer, none whatever; 
 Far, far away, in Oregon, 
 
 They crossed Death's icy river. 
 
 "Martin Rice, and Allen James — 
 ^ Here, here, they faintly falter; 
 
 Once more they answer to their names, 
 But, oh, how features alter ! 
 
 *' Isaac Smith, and Austin Smith — 
 No answer comes from either; 
 
 Gone to the grave, their kindred with, 
 And soon we, too, will be there. 
 
 "James Smith — I hear, or seem to hear, 
 
 A faint and faltering answer : 
 'Excuse me. Cap, I can't be there — 
 
 Confined at home with cancer.' 
 
 •Since dead. 
 
THE OLD CAPTAIN AND THE ROLL-CALL. 169 
 
 "Silas Williams, Charley Whig;* 
 
 Their rosy cheeks have faded; 
 They'll come no more, with martial rig, 
 
 To where we once paraded. 
 
 *' Wyatt Adkins — where is he? 
 
 Ben C, and James, and Carroll, 
 Thomas Carter — gone, ah me I 
 
 And gone is William Ferrill. 
 
 ** Andrew Farmer, Moses, too, 
 
 Frederic, bold, and Thomas — 
 They've passed the river Jordan through, 
 
 Into the land of promise. 
 
 "William H. Duncan — answer none; 
 
 Walter Taylor — deep the silence ; 
 James B. Porter — he is gone, 
 
 Fell by the hand of violence. 
 
 "Ed ley Hooper — silent too ; 
 
 J., K., and Wesley Underwood — 
 They answer not ; or if they do, 
 
 The answer is not understood. 
 
 "William Wright, the merchant — ho! 
 
 David Rice, his salesman — 
 Gone, they're gone long time ago, 
 
 With Death, the cruel pale-man. 
 
 "Abram Bledsoe, Sampson, too, 
 
 John, and Fields, and WilHs — 
 They answer not amongst the few ; 
 
 All dead ! or gone, they tell us. 
 
 "Isaac Bledsoe — where is he? 
 
 John, and William Stephens ? 
 Where is Burney (William P.), 
 
 And where is Dennis Evans ? 
 
 -Charles Williams. 
 12 
 
lyo RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ''Where is good John Colburn, brave? 
 
 Where is David Ousley ? 
 Filling now a soldier's grave ; 
 
 'Tis there the laureled brows lie. 
 
 * 'James Wilson answers, ^I am here ;^ 
 But where is Will, and Henderson ? 
 
 They answer not, those brothers dear — 
 And silent Gideon Henderson. 
 
 "A. C. Tidwell — where is he? 
 
 Where is Presley Bryant ? 
 Where is Bowling Savage, he 
 
 Of disposition pliant ? 
 
 "Francis Prine, the colonel, hoi 
 The fluent tongue now still is — 
 
 James L. Duncan lying low. 
 Beneath the drooping lilies. 
 
 "Hezekiah Smith — not here; 
 
 Still the bounding pulse is, 
 Gone to the grave within the year ; 
 
 And there, too, Johnson Stults is. 
 
 "William Jones, the wheelwright — gone! 
 
 And almost gone his calling; 
 Elliott Wilbourne, Moreton (John) — 
 
 Both numbered mongst the fallen. 
 
 "Charles English, Patrick Talbot — ho ! 
 
 No answer from them coming; 
 The Doctor's gone long time ago, 
 
 And silent Charley's drumming. 
 
 "Henry Ousley, Anthony too — 
 They answer not my calling ; 
 
 Of all my men, how few, how few ! 
 And they are yearly faUing. 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. lyr 
 
 ''Gone are the men of thirty-eight, 
 
 And eighteen thirty-seven ; 
 To call my roll is now too late ; 
 
 That roll's been called in heaven. 
 
 *'0n earth no more I'll call the roll 
 
 Of men that answer never; 
 I'll fold it up, the ancient scroll, 
 
 And call no more forever. 
 
 *' 'Tis sad to say, 'tis sad to tell: 
 
 The company's disbanded ; 
 And Captain Bill now bids farewell 
 
 To those he once commanded." 
 
 Then clarion-like, I thought he blew 
 
 An ancient bugle, seeming ; 
 But 'twas, perhaps, the cock that crew. 
 
 And waked me from my dreaming. 
 
 SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 
 
 Dialogue. — Uncle Ben, John and Charley. 
 
 Undf Ben — Well, Charley, you heard Dr. Langley's 
 lecture last night ; did you pay attention, and can you re- 
 member any of the points of his discourse ? 
 
 Charley — Yes, 1 heard it ; and I tried to pay attention, 
 and I car) remember some things that he said. One thing I 
 remember he tried to impress upon our minds was that very 
 small and trivial incidents or circumstances, in our youth, are 
 sometimes productive of great results ; and that a very trivial, 
 and apparently unimportant incident, in boyhood, sometimes 
 influences the whole future course of the man ; and he said 
 there were but few old men, who could not look back to 
 their boyhood, and recall some small circumstance, or some 
 apparently unimportant step then, that has influenced their 
 whole after course, for good or bad. 
 
172 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Uncle Ben — Yes, boys, that is all very true, and I hope 
 you will remember to be careful in small matters, as well as 
 those of more apparent magnitude. A very short step in a 
 certain direction now, may send you a long way in that di- 
 rection, before you arrive at my age. 
 
 I remember many years ago a temperance lecturer dwell- 
 ing upon the same subject, in an address to the young men 
 of a certain town in Missouri ; and he illustrated the thought 
 in this way : *'You notice," said he, ** this school building 
 stands on the summit of the ridge that divides the waters of 
 the Missouri River from those of the Osage. A school-boy 
 may throw a snow-ball upon the top of that building, and he 
 may think it matters not whether it falls upon the north or 
 the south side of the roof; but sooner or later the warm sun 
 or the south wind will cause it to melt, and in the form of a 
 liquid, it will fall to the ground, either on the north or the 
 south side of the building, and will be carried by the force of 
 gravity, with other waters, down the declining slope, north or 
 south, till it mingles, either with the clear waters of the Osage 
 or the turbid ones of the mad Missouri. So it is, young man, 
 with you. You may think it matters but little, if anything at 
 all, how you spend your leisure hours, or whether you are 
 seen upon the north side or the south side, the inside or the 
 outside, of certain buildings. But beware of the conse- 
 quences attendant upon small and trifling circumstances. In 
 the far off future, it makes all the difference in the world, 
 whether in your youth, you were seen on the inside or the 
 outside of the church on the Sabbath, or on the inside or the 
 outside of the grog shop on week days. Place yourselves, 
 then, young men, upon the safe and the proper incline, if 
 you would have the natural flow of circumstances to carry 
 you forward on the road of honor and respectability." 
 
 Charley — I think I shall remember the Doctor's lecture, 
 and I hope I may profit by it. But can you. Uncle Ben, 
 now in your old age, look back to your boyhood, and call to 
 mind any of those very trivial incidents or circumstances that 
 have had an influence, either for good or for bad, m your after 
 life ; any of those short steps that placed you on the incline 
 that has brought you to where you are now ? 
 
 Uncle Ben — Yes, I very frequently look back, and in my 
 memory can call up several little things, that, had they been 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 73 
 
 different, my whole after course might have been different 
 from what it has been ; possibly better and may be worse. 
 
 John — I would be pleased, Uncle Ben, if you would, 
 this winter's evening, tell me and Charley a story of one or 
 more of those little things, and its consequences ; and perhaps 
 that little story may be one of the little incidents, in our lives, 
 from which great results may flow in coming years. 
 
 Uncle Ben — If by telling such a story, I could implant 
 in your minds a resolution, firm and steadfast, to walk in the 
 right path, and to take heed to your every step, with a fixed 
 determination to obtain an honorable position in society by 
 deserving that position, I would willingly do so ; though you 
 know I am not much ia the habit of talking about myself, or 
 my own doings ; and to the end that each one of you may be 
 induced to place your mark high, and with diligence press 
 toward it, I will select one of the incidents that in my youth 
 led me to indulge in the hope that at some day I might make 
 a mark in the world, and arrive at some degree of eminence; 
 and though I have not succeeded in all I hoped for, it may 
 have had, and I think did have, an influence in enabling me 
 to succeed as well as I have done. You know already that 
 I never went to school as much as you boys have, and at 
 your age didn't know as much as you do now ; but I had 
 learned to read and write, and knew something of arithmetic. 
 
 When I was between sixteen and seventeen years old, I 
 attended a general election of the county, at a time when it 
 was customary for the boys and the girls to attend, and enjoy 
 themselves in the picnic style, eating apples and ginger-cakes, 
 drinking cider, etc. ' You may perhaps say this was not a 
 proper place for girls, or boys either, to go to, as neither had a 
 vote to give. That may be so, but I didn't think so then \ I 
 expected to be a man some day, and wished to be learning 
 something about politics, as that was in Clay and Jackson's 
 time. As I have told you before, I was an awkward boy, 
 and not at all sprightly in conversation, but bashful and 
 reserved, and not calculated to attract the favorable notice of 
 strangers. 
 
 Upon this occasion the young folks assembled, and 
 organized early in the day a ball or dance, in a vacant house 
 near by. Either because I was too young or too awkward 
 to dance, or because I had gone to the election to see how 
 
^174 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 that was managed, or from some other cause, I staid near 
 th€ barn where the polls were to be opened on the threshing 
 floor. 
 
 When the judges of election, preparatory to opening the 
 polls, came to select the clerks, it was found that there were 
 but few men competent to the task on the ground. 
 
 My old school-master was one of the judges, and had 
 fixed upon a sprightly young man of twenty-one years, who 
 had also been one of his scholars, and the best scribe amongst 
 them; but he had learned to play the fiddle, and was oif at 
 the dance. Others were suggested, but they too were there. 
 At length the school-master judge said that may be Ben, with a 
 little watching and instruction, might answer the purpose, 
 and said that he would give the needed oversight ; so I was 
 sworn in, the first oath that I ever took. My fellow clerk 
 was deputy-sheriff of the county, and a brother to ihe high 
 sheriff, with self-importance enough for a congressman. 
 
 My friend, the school-master, made me a good goose- 
 quill pen (we had no steel ones then), and I v/as set to work. 
 It was soon discovered, and remarked, that Ben was the best 
 clerk of the two. I wrote a plainer and better hand, and 
 with more speed ; and it was noticed by the voters that I was 
 not at the same loss to spell their names that the other clerk 
 was; and at the close of the election, which held two days, I 
 was pleased to see that my book was selected by the judges 
 as the one to send to the County Clerk's office. 
 
 The little circumstance, then, that I was at the barn 
 while other young men, better qualified, were at the dance, 
 brought the awkward, bashful boy, that I was, to the notice 
 of the voters of the whole precinct, and gave me more con- 
 fidence in myself, and kindled an ambition and a resolve to 
 push forward in self-culture. Nor did the consequences of 
 this little incident stop there. A few months later, there 
 was an administrator's sale, continuing from day to day, in 
 that part of the county, and one of the judges of election was 
 the administrator. He having seen how I behaved at the 
 election, employed me to clerk his sales for him ; and the 
 bashful boy was again brought into notice. Nor did it stop 
 there; Colonel D., from the adjoining county, whose wife 
 was one of the heirs of the estate, was present, and took 
 nt'tice of the young clerk; and a short time after, sent for me 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 75 
 
 to come and teach their district school, which I did; and gave 
 satisfaction, though I was not yet eighteen years old. 
 
 Another little incident in this chain of circumstances, I 
 will mention here : When the Colonel sent word for me to 
 come and teach their school, the messenger, a relative of his, 
 stopped, as he was passing, to deliver the message ; and he 
 afterwards told me that when he entered the little shop where 
 my father was making horseshoes, and I was blowing the 
 bellows and assisting in the work, that he was much surprised 
 to learn that I was the person to whom the message was sent ; 
 and his mental exclamation was: "If that tow-headed boy 
 is to be the teacher, may God help the scholars! " 
 
 That man left for the far West before the school was out ; 
 and when I arrived here the next year, I found that my name 
 and fame, as the boy school-master, had preceded me ; and 
 owing to his representations and his influence, I was soon 
 teaching in this State. 
 
 So you see, boys, that a trifling incident will often pave 
 the way, and lead to something more important; and that 
 again to something else, and so on, a never-ending chain. 
 
 And now if this little story shall be an incident, or a link 
 in the chain of incidents, that will raise you from your pres- 
 ent state of youthful insignificance to something grand and 
 noble, and make you honored and useful citizens after I am 
 dead and gone, it will not have been told in vain. 
 
 Chirley — I am much pleased with the story, and I think 
 I will not soon forget it. But another remark of the Doctor's 
 last night, induces me to ask another question, relative to 
 your experience. Do you remember any little disappoint- 
 ment, some little circumstance, that went contrary to your 
 wishes, that turned out for your good, and changed the whole 
 after course of your life into a different channel from what it 
 would have been, if you had had your wish? 
 
 Uncle Ben — I remember many disappointments like you 
 speak of, that carried me in a different direction from that in 
 which my own wishes would have carried me; but whether 
 for better or worse, I can only conjecture. We know what 
 the consequences of taking the right-hand road has been, and 
 where that road has led us; but if we had taken the letf, we 
 do not know where we would have been; it is all conjecture. 
 
176 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 One little disappointment in my youth, I will mention ; 
 I was very anxious to learn the printing business, and came 
 very near being put to that trade, a very trifle preventing it. 
 Had I went into that printing office, on the Holston, I might 
 have been there yet ; but no human eye can see, and none 
 can know now whether it would have been better or worse 
 for me ; I am, however, not sorry now that I was disappointed 
 then. 
 
 But tell me, Johnny, as you were at the lecture last 
 night, what part of the Doctor's remarks made the greatest 
 impression on your mind ? 
 
 John — Well, I believe that part of the Doctor's talk 
 about the literature that boys read, and what they ought to 
 read, was about the best part of the lecture. He told us to 
 beware of the yellow-backed, ten-cent novels and sensational 
 stories with which the country is flooded from one end 10 the 
 other, creating a vicious taste, and unfitting the mind for 
 anything of a solid character. I remember he said, amongst 
 other things, that he had no doubt but that there werci men 
 now in the penitentiary, or awaiting death on the gallows, 
 who can now look back, and trace the chain of circumstances 
 that brought them there to the early reading of such litera- 
 ture, especially such as makes heroes of highway robbers. 
 And again he said there might be, and he had no doubt there 
 were, men eminent in their country's history, who received 
 their first noble impulses from literature of a more substantial, 
 and moral character; and I would like for you to tell us your 
 experience in that respect — what book or reading-matter 
 exerted or had the greatest influence, for good or bad, in 
 formmg the character which you now have ? 
 
 Uncle Ben — The Doctor was no doubt right in M'arning 
 you against such light and trashy literature ; and as to my 
 own experience, I must own to having read more of tliis light 
 literature than was good for me, though in my boyhood it 
 was not so common and wide-spread as it is now ; and I never 
 had much taste for those novels of the Dick Turpin and 
 Claude Duval type, and do not know that they influenced me 
 much any way; but I consider the time lost or thrown away, 
 that was spent in reading them — time that might have been 
 profitably spent in reading and studying better books. 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 77 
 
 As to the literature that I read when a boy, I had but 
 little to read, except the Bible and what I borrowed from the 
 neighbors ; and next to the Bible, I think the book that in- 
 fluenced me most for good was the life of Franklin, written 
 by himself. That is a book that every boy and every young 
 man should read and study, and try to imitate the Doctor's 
 industry and perseverance, and shun those errors that he ac- 
 knowledges to havmg committed ; and if you boys have never 
 read it, I hope you will do so by all means. There are a 
 great many books from which you can obtain more of useful 
 knowledge than you can from that, but I supposed you were 
 referring again to those small things from which great results 
 are obtained ; and amongst those small publications, the life 
 of Franklin is one. Another very small publication that I 
 read when I was a boy, had something to do, I think, in 
 shaping my after course ; the title of the pamphlet I have 
 forgotten, but the contents of it I have not forgotten, though 
 it has been more than fifty years since I saw it, and then only 
 for a few days. It was a poem upon the evils of whisky- 
 drinking ; my younger brothers brought it home with them 
 from school, and in less than a week returned it to the owner, 
 and I have not seen it since. During the few days it re- 
 mained, I read it over several times, and was surprised, a few 
 days after it was gone, to find I could repeat it stanza after 
 stanza, from first to last, though I had never read it with the 
 view of committing it to memory. It was a good long poem 
 of several pages, and often since, while following the plow, 
 I have repeated it from beginning to end ; and I think I 
 could do so yet. That little pamphlet may have been one 
 cause, if not the principal one, of my being what I am to-day, 
 and what I have been for more than forty years — a total 
 abstainer. 
 
 Charley — It must have been a very interesting poem ; 
 and if I could get hold of it, I think I would try to memorize 
 it also, and see if I could retain it in memory as you have 
 done ; and possibly profit by it, too, in this age of whisky- 
 drinking. 
 
 John — See here, Charley, Uncle Ben says he thinks he 
 could repeat the poem yet; let us persuade him to do so for 
 our benefit \ I almost know he will ; will you not, Uncle ? 
 
178 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Uncle Ben — Yes, if you desire it; and if you think you 
 can memorize it, and will earnestly endeavor to do so, I will 
 write it out for you, and then you can read it yourselves ; and 
 also lend it to some other boy, as it was lent to me ; some of 
 your associates, who are in the habit of dram-drinking, as I 
 once was; and it may save them, as it probably saved me, 
 from being a drunkard; and if so, the unknown author of the 
 poem may have all the credit of it. As I said, I have for- 
 gotten the title of the poem, but I think it might with propri- 
 ety be called, 
 
 '■'• LIQUID STUFF AND ITS DOINGS." 
 
 There is a kind of liquid stuff, 
 
 Of which when you have drunk enough, 
 
 I caution you to quit; 
 For if you drink, and drink again, 
 'Twill soon intoxicate the brain, 
 And endless evils bring in train. 
 
 By thus abusing it. 
 
 'Twill cause the passions high to rage, 
 And force you headlong on the stage, 
 
 Devoid of reason's rule ; 
 And as you run the random route, 
 'Twill whirl you round and round about, 
 And turn the sober senses out, 
 
 And make you — what a fool ! 
 
 Still if the sottish path you tread, 
 'Twill down on your distracted head 
 
 The floods of sorrow pour ; 
 Each home-felt pleasure 'twill annoy. 
 Embitter every social joy. 
 And health, and wealth, and life destroy 
 
 And ruin evermore. 
 
 Oh ! if I did not courage lack 
 The hardy drunkard to attack, 
 Or had I wit and fire, 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 79 
 
 I'd Straight with indignation rise, 
 As if commissioned from the skies 
 To shame and turn the foohsh wise, 
 Reformed by keen satire. 
 
 Oh ! could I pierce him to the quick, 
 And make the pointed arrow stick 
 
 Fast in his conscience sore, 
 I'd at a venture draw the bow, 
 And let the shaft in mercy go, 
 That he might see and mourn his woe. 
 
 And give his follies o'er. 
 
 Nor would I spare the smiting hand. 
 Till all his cousins in the land 
 
 Had each received his due ; 
 For, lo ! he has a host of kin, 
 Swift votaries to his deadly sin. 
 Who, if not checked, may soon begin 
 
 To swell the sottish crew. 
 
 Though mean I am, and all obscure. 
 And weak, and ignorant, and poor, 
 
 Yet if the Muse would yield 
 The service of her bow and string, 
 Her quiver, and her soaring wing, 
 I'd straight into the action spring, 
 
 Upon the battle field. 
 
 When Sol assumes his morning race, 
 And sheds the glories of his face 
 
 O'er all the smiling world. 
 And each industrious man anew 
 Begins his labors to pursue, 
 Rejoicing in the pleasing view 
 
 Of business wide unfurled. 
 
 With hasty steps the drunkard will 
 Repair to tavern store, or still. 
 And spends his half a crown. 
 
l8o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Until his head so giddy feels, 
 So much unbalanced with his heels, 
 That to and fro he reels and reels, 
 And reeling tumbles down. 
 
 Mark now, ye wise, the shameful wretch, 
 Hear him groan, and see him stretch 
 
 And struggle for his breath; 
 He vomits like the brute, alas ! 
 And belches forth offensive gas, 
 And seems as if about to pass 
 
 The solemn scene of death. 
 
 Is this the man which yesterday 
 I met upon the public way. 
 
 In garments neat and clean? 
 Ah, yes, 'tis he, and who'd have thought 
 To see him thus so lowly brought, 
 So quickly and so loosely caught 
 
 In actions all so mean. 
 
 In vain the partner of his life, 
 His prudent and industrious wife, 
 
 Would make his linen shine ; 
 In spite of all her time and pains, 
 While brandy still his pocket drains. 
 And garments marked with dirty stains. 
 
 He mocks the filthy swine. 
 
 At home, perhaps, his family 
 Are waiting his return to see ; > 
 
 But, ah, they wait in vain ! 
 Stretched out he lies where first he lay ; 
 And still the hours pass away. 
 And evening closes up the day. 
 
 Ere he returns again. 
 
 At length, when all should be asleep. 
 Homeward the wretch begins to creep, 
 Half conscious of his deeds ; 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. iSl 
 
 When rakes and robbers skulk about, 
 'Tis then he takes his blundering route, 
 As staggering in and staggering out 
 The path that homeward leads. 
 
 And when, at last, his journey ends, 
 The peaceful slumbers of his friends 
 
 Are broken by his noise, 
 And those who ought to love him best 
 Bewail him as a woeful guest ; 
 In sad and dire distraction dressed, 
 
 Their comfort he destroys. 
 
 Now could you hear his curses loud — 
 As though he were of Satan's crowd — 
 
 In all directions ffung, 
 Your very flesh would seem to creep, 
 Your eyes perhaps in tears would weep, 
 Till, rudely staggering off to sleep, 
 
 He deigns to hold his tongue. 
 
 When morning shines around his pate, 
 He rises from his bed, though late, 
 
 And sits down, sad and sour; 
 If frugal wife her finger crooks. 
 Full soon he gathers, from her looks, 
 His conduct she but little brooks; 
 
 But, ah, she's in his power ! 
 
 He who, but for this hateful sin, 
 
 The best of husbands might have been, 
 
 Of fathers, brothers, friends. 
 Become the tyrant of his wife, 
 A source of misery and strife; 
 Nor with the period of his life, 
 
 This baleful mischief ends. 
 
 But now his conscience keenly smarts, 
 And, lo ! again for grog he starts, 
 
 As if to find relief; 
 Mistaken soul ! can drinking drown 
 
l82 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The troubles that assail the crown ? 
 'Twill only pull ten thousand down, 
 To swell thy stores of grief. 
 
 And now he moves with lithesome hope, 
 Again he greets the brandy-shop, 
 
 And gives himself abuse ; 
 His master passion, bearing sway, 
 Impels him on the beaten way, 
 Till he at length begins to play 
 
 The tiger, or the goose. 
 
 For drink he calls, and drinks again, 
 Although to every one 'tis plain 
 
 'Twill be his ruin soon ; 
 And graciously he condescends 
 To treat his boon-companion friends, 
 And drinks with them until he spends 
 
 His last, last picayune*. 
 
 And as, amid his flowing cups. 
 The strange bewildering tea he sups. 
 
 He sings and chatters long ; 
 He all the living world defies, 
 Than Solomon himself more wise. 
 And Samson, ere he lost his eyes, 
 
 Was never half so strong. 
 
 But as he seems to sail so fair — 
 Three sheets are fluttering in the air ; 
 
 And now the rising blast 
 Increases loudly, on his rear, 
 While he, in fact, can hardly steer. 
 Yet rocks and shoals he does not fear,. 
 
 Till topsy-turvy cast. 
 
 Still craving what he most adores ! 
 See how the liquid stuff he pours 
 Adown his gapping throat ! 
 
 ♦Six and a fourth cents. 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 83 
 
 And Still the raging fumes aspire 
 To set his tuneful top on fire ; 
 Again he tumbles in the mire, 
 Again he soils his coat. 
 
 Poor fellow, now he stranded lies ; 
 In doleful pHght he lifts his eyes, 
 
 As round his luckless bark 
 A raging ocean seems to roar — 
 Without a bottom or a shore ! 
 While all the world is turning o'er, 
 
 Amid the billows dark. 
 
 Ye laugh; but make him not a joke — 
 His canvass lowered, his cable broke ; 
 
 With all your deep disgust, 
 Some pity on his worthless name 
 The graceless one appears to claim ; 
 
 spare his misery and shame, 
 Ye children of the dust ! 
 
 Time was when he was sober, true; 
 Time was when he walked firm as you 
 
 Before the dram-shop doors ; 
 We cannot read our future state ; 
 It may be at some future date 
 This drunkard's lot may be the fate — 
 
 The fate of you or yours. 
 
 But leaving now the fallen sot 
 To puke and snore upon the spot 
 Where all so drunk he lies, 
 
 1 fain would turn some other way, 
 For many things have I to say. 
 And short and evil is the day 
 
 That mortal man supplies. 
 
 Hark ! all the ranks of human race. 
 In every state, in every place. 
 
 Throughout this earthly Ball : 
 Long as the vital air you snuff, 
 
184 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Be cautious of this liquid stuff", 
 And quit when you have drunk enough, 
 Or taste it not at all! 
 
 Let all the drunkard's cousins dread 
 The thing that so distracts his head, 
 
 And covers him with woe ; 
 Oh, let them fly, before too late. 
 Intoxication's every bait, 
 And press to yonder smiling gate, 
 
 Where gospel blessings flow. 
 
 But yonder is a sight, indeed, 
 That makes my very heart to bleed; 
 
 O, tell it not in Gath ! 
 But through the streets of Askelon 
 Already has the rumor gone. 
 And proud Philistines, every son, 
 
 Laughs loud, or mutters wrath. 
 
 'Tis Israel's wretchedness I view ; 
 Oh, that it never had been true 
 
 The spacious earth around ! 
 For while the heathen takes a sup. 
 The Israelite must have his cup. 
 And, lo! the liquid turns him up, 
 
 All prostrate on the ground. 
 
 Is this the man which late I saw 
 Nigh to the sacred altar draw. 
 
 And pour his pious breath ? 
 Alas, 'tis he! returned again 
 To wallow like the sow, 'tis plain. 
 We thought was washed from every stain; 
 
 O madness, scandal, death! 
 
 The love of God forsakes him now ; 
 Shorn of his locks, is he, I trow, 
 
 As weak as other men ; 
 And out of those who thus away 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 85 
 
 From virtue's paths depart and stray, 
 How many are reclaimed, I say? 
 Look round — not one in ten ! 
 
 Then, Israelite, be on your guard ; 
 Dare not suppose the task too hard, 
 
 But open keep your eyes ; 
 Lest, like the silly candle fly. 
 That plays around the danger nigh, 
 You fall by acting heedlessly, 
 
 And fall, no more to rise. 
 
 Strange that the sons of Adam's race 
 Can swallow thus their own disgrace. 
 
 And publish loud their shame ! 
 Strange that a man of common sense, 
 When once beset with this offense, 
 Can be incited to commence 
 
 Another of the same ! 
 
 Strange that a man, when bitten once, 
 Will act the idiotic dunce, 
 
 And seek the snake again ! 
 Strange that experience will not teach 
 The maxim common sense would preach : 
 When bitten once, keep out of reach 
 
 Of that which gave you pain. 
 
 But if you be advanced in years, 
 
 And long have tried to drown your cares 
 
 In the full flowing bowl, 
 To you, perhaps, I speak in vain; 
 I fear you will get drunk again, 
 And end your mortal days in pain, 
 
 And lose, perhaps, your soul. 
 
 But if you be a lovely youth. 
 
 Whose mind would fain embrace the truth^ 
 
 Mark well J my soriy this page; 
 To YOU I dedicate my song; 
 
 13 — 
 
l86 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Your habits yet cannot be strong, 
 Because you have not erred so long 
 As those of riper age: 
 
 Feed not this appetite at first, 
 For fear the sly, deceitful thirst 
 
 Should strengthen with your strength; 
 Should force you from your peaceful home 
 With idle company to roam ; 
 And what is worse by far — become 
 
 Unquenchable at length. 
 
 A shameful sot, then, if you please, 
 Made and accomplished by degrees, 
 
 Alas, my son, you'd be! 
 And from that sin you once abhorred, 
 Forbid by heaven's Almighty Lord, 
 No threat, no counsel, no reward. 
 
 Perhaps, could set you free. 
 
 The tears of your relations then, 
 The sympathies of other men. 
 
 Would be of no avail ; 
 In love with sottish pleasures, you 
 Would hug your chains, and still pursue 
 Old Bacchus and his motley crew, 
 
 'Till life itself would fail. 
 
 Escape for life, my son, escape ! 
 The evil one has taken shape, 
 
 And stands behind the bar; 
 Heed not the tempter's winning smiles, 
 Beware, beware the serpent's wiles. 
 And flee before you're in his coils — 
 
 Put him behind you far. 
 
 But still, my son, attention lend, 
 
 For still the Muse her bow would bend,- 
 
 And often twang the string. 
 Or let the pointed arrow go 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 187 
 
 To lay the looks of sinners low, 
 As o'er this vast expanse of woe 
 She sails on venturous wing. 
 
 There's some the liquid stuff abuse. 
 And strangely, still themselves excuse, 
 
 Because they drink at home ; 
 Although the public's gazing eye 
 Sees not their tippling, all so sly, 
 The God of all, who rules on-high. 
 
 Knows, and will seal their doom. 
 
 What ill examples do they place 
 Before the young and rising race, 
 
 In many a drunken song ; 
 What real misery attends 
 The fortunes of their nearest friends, 
 While God so kindly condescends 
 
 To bear their crimes so long ! 
 
 Great God ! have pity on the sire 
 Who tutors for eternal fire 
 
 His own dear children still ; 
 Oh ! save them from the cruel snare, 
 According to the mother's prayer, 
 And bring them all in mercy where 
 
 Examples cannot kill! 
 
 Some others yet themselves acquit. 
 Because they don't the crime commit 
 
 In its most filthy show ; 
 These are the drunkard's cousins, kin, 
 Who love to drink the whisky in. 
 And oft approach his deadly sin. 
 
 As near as they dare go. 
 
 But while they still can keep the road, 
 And still support the fumy load — 
 
 Though one more dram would do 
 To stop them on the public way — 
 
l88 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 It would be slanderous to say- 
 That they were drunk on such a day — 
 The charge would be untrue. 
 
 How far these gentry are to blame, 
 How great their wickedness and shame, 
 
 God only can declare ; 
 And since His boundless grace is such, 
 Still hoping they may never touch 
 That other little sip, too much, 
 
 I leave them in His care. 
 
 O, whisky ! whisky ! dreadful bane ! 
 What millions hast thou rudely slain, 
 
 And clothed with rags indeed ! 
 And pinched with hunger, thirst, and cold ; 
 But now the world is growing old, 
 Say, wilt thou be, as ever, bold 
 
 To make the nations bleed? 
 
 In every age, in every state. 
 Thy mischiefs who can calculate, 
 
 Since Noah's flood was high ! 
 But, ah ! the paths are not thy own ; 
 If men would but thee let alone, 
 Thou wouldst not make such numbers groan, 
 
 And suffer, bleed, and die. 
 
 Their noses red thou wouldst not turn. 
 Nor bloat their cheeks, nor livers burn. 
 
 Nor swell their watery eyes ; 
 Nor wouldst thou make the widow's wail 
 To move distressful on the gale, 
 And round the world in sorrow sail. 
 
 Mixed with orphans' cries. 
 
 Nor wouldst thou make the suicide 
 Pour from his heart the purple tide, 
 
 Life's miseries to drown ; 
 Nor wouldst thou aim the Duel's lead, 
 To strike an angry brother dead, 
 And send him where he well may dread 
 
 To meet his Maker's frown. 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. X89 
 
 Let those who sell the poison, too, 
 Be careful what they say and do, 
 
 Though money much they crave ; 
 Lest, with the whisky bands, at last 
 They be condemned, when life is past, 
 And bound in chains of darkness fast, 
 
 Beyond the solemn grave. 
 
 Let those of guileless worth beware 
 To shun the bottlers cruel snare. 
 
 Whatever they may love; 
 And sweetly cleave, with all their might, 
 To paths of permanent delight, 
 Until they make their mystic flight 
 
 To better worlds above. 
 
 But, ah ! the drunkards' dreadful throats I 
 One swallows horses, cows, and goats, 
 
 Another tables, knives, and saws; 
 Another beds, and rocking chairs; 
 Another carts, and yokes of steers, 
 While yet another never fears, 
 
 As down a farm he draws. 
 
 Some gulp down madly cards and reels, 
 Some boots, and shoes, and spinning-wheels, 
 
 Some anvils, tongs, and pots ; 
 While others yet, of greater power, 
 Fine houses, lands, and slaves devour ; 
 And, lo ! from that disgraceful hour, 
 
 They sneak detested sots. 
 
 That men are blamed for all 'tis true; 
 But, oh, when ivomen tipple, too, 
 
 What language can declare. 
 What poet would not blush to trace 
 The infamy and dark disgrace 
 That straight becloud the female face, 
 
 And blast their beauties fair ! 
 
 Oh ! could the tippling ladies know 
 What shocking sights they are below, 
 
190 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Unfit to live or die ! 
 Surely, their credit to restore 
 They never would be tipsy more, 
 But to the men this vice give o'er 
 
 Without a single sigh. 
 
 Now all around, with spacious view, 
 Behold the stronger sex anew ; 
 
 What capers they do take ; 
 Soon as a drop is in the eye, 
 How glib the tongue begins to fly ; 
 What foolish jokes and banters high 
 
 In constant volleys break. 
 
 But whether they have taken in 
 Rum, brandy, whisky, wine, or gin, 
 
 It still is liquid stuff \ 
 And still amid the raging flame. 
 Their manners are the very same — 
 O'erspread with vice, and fraught with shame, 
 
 Disgusting, wild, and rough. 
 
 What various causes made them learn 
 Their little fingers up to turn — 
 
 All evil in some way ; 
 What numerous evils thus begin 
 From this prolific mother sin. 
 That thousand souls may never win 
 
 The bliss of endless day. 
 
 Now if you wish the snare to shun, 
 Do not with gangs of sinners run. 
 
 Where tippling is in vogue ; 
 Your backs upon the practice turn — 
 O can you not the snare discern ? 
 Why should you, to your damage, learn 
 
 To love the smell of grog I 
 
 If needful business calls away, 
 To such a place, on such a day. 
 You hither may repair. 
 
SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. I9I 
 
 With prudent and with cautious face ; 
 But, oh ! if this be not the case, 
 You should not run the needless race, 
 For you've no business there. 
 
 Full many a man you've seen, I trow. 
 Who stood as firm as you stand now, 
 
 Who since has fallen low ; 
 And if you ask me for the cause : 
 'Twas violating Nature's laws 
 With liquid stuff ! But here I pause — 
 
 His end I cannot show. 
 
 Why does that skillful doctor seem 
 To lose his practicr;,^ like a dream? 
 
 Why fails yon preacher so ? 
 What makes the world, yon lawyer quit, 
 Who once in Congress hall did sit? 
 A drone — for business now unfit; 
 
 Oh, whisky^ thou dost know ! 
 
 With thee, behold! the silly crowd 
 Can raise the roar of laughter loud; 
 
 And strange it is to think 
 The beverage boiling in their throats 
 Can make them shout with noisy notes, 
 And basely give their very votes 
 
 To him who pays the drink. 
 
 Oh, what a danger's lurking there ! 
 " God save us from it! " is the prayer 
 
 Of every patriot heart ; 
 O never, never be it told. 
 That our election s are controlled 
 By drunken voters, bought and sold 
 
 Like cattle in the mart ! 
 
 Oh, fair Columbia, while the sword 
 Of Britain's high, imperious lord 
 
 In vain would slay thy pride. 
 Shall LIQUID STUFF, more powerful 
 
192 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Than all the horns of Johnny Bull, 
 The fruits of all our freedom pull, 
 And scatter far and wide ! 
 
 Forbid it, thou Almighty Lord ! 
 
 Who swayest the nation with thy word ; 
 
 This evil far disperse, 
 And let the tree of Freedom rise, 
 To all mankind a glorious prize, 
 Until its branches reach the skies, 
 
 And shade the universe ! 
 
 DAVID'S FLIGHT FROM JERUSALEM AND THE 
 DEATH OF ABSALOM. 
 
 A monarch of the olden time. 
 One famed in ancient story, 
 
 Reigned in a far-off eastern clime. 
 Till he was aged and hoary. 
 
 Long time, in regal state, he reigned, 
 And builded many a tower; 
 
 And mighty men the king sustained 
 In all his regal power. 
 
 At length there came an evil day; 
 
 The king was troubled sorely ; . 
 A son, ambitious, stole away 
 
 His people's heart, most surely. 
 
 Great numbers of the mighty men, 
 Ambitious as their leader, 
 
 Flocked to the rebel standard then, 
 And joined the vain seceder. 
 
DAVID S FLIGHT AND DEATH OF ABSALOM. 1 93 
 
 Still daily, hourly, gathering strength, 
 
 Sedition's ranks were swelling, 
 Until the king resolved at length 
 
 To flee his royal dwelling. 
 
 The mountain city, where he reigned, 
 
 He left with heavy burden, 
 And with the faithful that remained, 
 
 He fled toward the Jordan. 
 
 With Cherethite, and Pelethite, 
 
 The true and tried six hundred. 
 He saved himself and them by flight; 
 
 But many a tie was sundered. 
 
 The city of the Jebusite, 
 
 Which he in war had taken, 
 Jerusalem ! on mountain height, 
 
 Was in his grief forsaken. 
 
 Across the mount of Olivet, 
 
 Beyond the flowing Kedron, 
 They fled, while Absalom was yet 
 
 Mustering his force at Hebron. 
 
 His royal robes aside were cast. 
 
 Barefooted, onward keeping, 
 While rocks and mountains, as he passed, 
 
 Echoed the voice of weeping. 
 
 Not only by ungrateful son, 
 
 And loss of kingdom haunted, 
 Some of his subjects, following on, 
 
 The fleeing monarch taunted. 
 
 " Go up, thou bloody man," they said, 
 
 " Thou man of false Belial ; 
 Thy deeds of blood upon thy head 
 
 Return in times of trial." 
 
194 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Thus Slumei cursed him as he went — 
 Cursed David, in his trouble ; 
 
 Even Shimei, the sycophant, 
 With face and actions double. 
 
 The weeping king replied to them 
 Who would have slain the railer: 
 
 ** Nay, nay, no notice take of him ! " 
 ( And here his face grew paler. ) 
 
 *' Heed not the man ; one of my own 
 Proud sons my life is seeking ; 
 
 Then let this Benjamite alone. 
 Nor heed his cruel speaking. 
 
 ** Perhaps the Lord hath bidden him 
 Curse me, in this my anguish ; 
 
 And though he slay me, I will hymn 
 God's praises while I languish. 
 
 **The Lord^ perhaps, will me requite, 
 
 If well I bear my sorrow ; 
 Though dark and cheerless be the night, 
 
 The ^un may shine to-morrow. 
 
 '* While moving on the desert tract. 
 O'er rocks and mountains barren, 
 
 He sent the Ark of covenant back, 
 By trusty sons of Aaron. 
 
 ** Go, take it to the city then. 
 And in its place restore it; 
 
 Perhaps I may return again. 
 And worship God before it. 
 
 *' There I again may sacrifice — 
 
 I hope again to see it — 
 But if the Lord will otherwise, 
 
 His will be done ; so be it. 
 
David's flight and death of absalom. 195 
 
 *' You, too, go back, my Archite friend, 
 
 Go back into the city ; 
 You better there may serve my end, 
 
 If you on me have pity. 
 
 *' Go back, and stand before my son, 
 
 From whom I'm now retreating; 
 Find out the thing that's said and done, 
 
 His counselor defeating. 
 
 **You have the son of Zadok there, 
 
 The son of Abiather; 
 You'll send by them the words you hear, 
 
 And, mind you, that you stay there. 
 
 ^* Beyond the mountains, on the plain 
 
 Of Jordan, will I tarry ; 
 Ahimaaz and Jonathan 
 
 To me will tidings carry." 
 
 The stricken king, oppressed with care, 
 
 Came to the plain of Jordan ; 
 'Twas there he made the famous prayer. 
 
 The Psalm of David — third one. 
 
 Night came, and darkness reigned around ; 
 
 While some a watch were keeping. 
 The wearied king relief had found 
 
 From grief, in quiet sleeping. 
 
 The midnight came, and still he slept ; 
 
 But soon there came a waking — 
 Two messengers, that lightly stepped, 
 
 Toward him their course were taking. 
 
 ** Ho ! who be ye ?" the sentry cries, 
 
 '* And what is now your mission ? 
 Come you as friends, or come as spies 
 
 To note our sad condition ?" 
 
ig6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 **We come as friends, and not as spies; 
 
 No enemy or stranger; 
 We come from Hushai to apprise 
 
 Our monarch of his danger." 
 
 The messengers unto the king 
 In haste were then conducted, 
 
 And there reported everything, 
 As they had been instructed. 
 
 ** We left at setting of the sun, 
 Nor have thy servants tarried; 
 
 'Tis far and fast that we have run. 
 And safely tidings carried. 
 
 ** The word that Hushai sent us, then : 
 
 King Absalom's in the city. 
 And with him are twelve thousand men, 
 
 All, all, devoid of pity. 
 
 ** He seeks your crown — your life, I mean; 
 
 No truth than this is truer ; 
 Make haste, and put the Jordan 'tween 
 
 Yourself and your pursuer. 
 
 ''Arise, across the Jordan flee 
 
 Before the next sun-rising ; 
 Cross o'er the waters, lest you see 
 
 The mischief he's devising. 
 
 '* Ahithophel, the Gilonite, 
 
 Has cruel counsel given — 
 To hurry the pursuit to-night, 
 
 And slay the shepherd even. 
 
 "Cross o'er the Jordan, though the air 
 And though the night be stormy ; 
 
 Adherents sure will join you there — 
 And Joab, with the army." 
 
DAVID S FLIGHT AND DEATH OF ABSALOM. 197 
 
 Uprising to his worn, bare fe et, 
 
 The king with grief distressing, 
 Sounded the bugle note, retreat — 
 
 Still toward the Jordan pressing. 
 
 Now slowly moves the cavalcade ; 
 
 With fear and cold they shiver, 
 And deeply, deeply on they wade 
 
 Across the rapid river. 
 
 And when the early dawning came, 
 
 Even at the early morning, 
 All, all had passed the Jordan stream, 
 
 Thanks to the timely warning. 
 
 And when upon the other side, 
 
 His subjects, true and loyal. 
 Came from the regions far and wide, 
 
 To meet their monarch royal. 
 
 And valiant warriors, day by day, 
 
 Came in and joined his standard. 
 As farther north they made their way, 
 
 And 'mongst the hills meandered. 
 
 To Old Mahanaim they post; 
 
 There Jacob met his brother ; 
 'Twas there that Joab, with his host, 
 
 Was joined unto the other. 
 
 And it was told to David then : 
 
 *' Your son has massed his forces, 
 Perhaps a hundred thousand men. 
 
 With chariots and with horses. 
 
 "And he has left Jerusalem, too, 
 
 And onward here is posting ; 
 Go forth, and let your servants true 
 
 Check his ambitious boasting." 
 
19^ RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 He called to him Abishai, 
 The captain, Joab hoary ; 
 
 He called the younger Ittai, 
 In the morning of his glory. 
 
 Dividing then his force in three, 
 A third to each assigning, 
 
 He said : " I, too, will go with thee, 
 Our counsels all combining." 
 
 But thus repHed those worthy braves : 
 "Thou shalt not run in danger ; 
 
 Thy death is all that Absalom craves ; 
 He cares not for the stranger. 
 
 "Thy life is all that stands between 
 Him and the throne he's seeking ; 
 
 He cares not for such soldiers mean 
 As those to whom thou'rt speaking. 
 
 "Here, at Mahanaim abide, 
 Thy cause to God commended; 
 
 The God of battle's on our side, 
 The strife will soon be ended." 
 
 Then spake the old gray-headed king : 
 
 "Be it as ye are saying; 
 Whilst you are there all battling. 
 
 To God will I be praying. 
 
 "Lead on, lead on, my captains bold, 
 
 My chieftains, bold and lusty ! 
 Ye have been tried in days of old, 
 And proved yourselves all trusty. 
 
 "Biit there's a charge I fain would give 
 
 To each before departing ; 
 Not else in peace can I e'er live — 
 
 You see my tears are starting, — 
 
David's flight and death of absalom. 199 
 
 **Deal gently with my erring son, 
 
 Deal gently with the erring ; 
 I know a grievous wrong he's done, 
 
 And bloody deeds I'm fearing. 
 
 **But still he is my son ; my son 
 
 To whom I have been partial ; 
 Deal gently, for my sake, with one 
 
 So noble, fair, and martial. 
 
 **He may reform in days to come. 
 
 And smooth my years declining ; 
 Deal gently, then, with Absalom, 
 
 Who round my heart is twining." 
 
 And thus he spake to all that day, 
 
 As filing by and cheering : 
 **Deal gently, for my sake, I pray, 
 
 With Absalom, the erring." 
 
 And now the troops had marched away ; 
 
 The distance intervening 
 Shut them from sight, and all the day. 
 
 Upon Jehovah leaning. 
 
 He prayed that psalm, the forty- third ; 
 
 He prayed for restoration 
 Unto the temple of the Lord, 
 
 The God of all salvation. 
 
 And as he sat between the gates. 
 
 The day away was wearing ; 
 He thought upon life's varied fates. 
 
 The good and ill comparing. 
 
 His youthful days — he thought of them, 
 
 When but a gentle shepherd, 
 He ranged the fields of Bethlehem, 
 
 As active as the leopard \ 
 
200 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 When Samuel, the prophet, came, 
 
 To sacrifice appointed. 
 And from the sons selected him. 
 
 And him as king annointed. 
 
 He thought, when on another day 
 
 Of fame the first beginning, 
 He took Goliath's head away, 
 
 A famous victory winning. 
 
 And then again he thought of all 
 His weary, weary wandering. 
 
 While fleeing from the face of Saul — 
 And later scenes still pondering. 
 
 But still away to Ephraim's wood 
 The monarch's mind would wander ; 
 
 Ah, well he knew a scene of blood 
 Was then enacting yonder. 
 
 His friends, his soldiers, 'gainst his son 
 
 In battle fierce contending. 
 Ah, who has lost and who has won ! 
 
 There's much on that depending. 
 
 Oh, God, give victory to my arms ! 
 
 My kingdom still maintaming ; 
 But, oh ! preserve my son from harm, 
 
 His wayward will restraining. 
 
 Go, watchman, go above the gate ; 
 
 Stand on the loftiest tower. 
 And see who comes ; I'll know my fate, 
 
 Perhaps, within the hour. 
 
 The hours pass ; 'tis growing late; 
 A psalm the king is humming ; 
 Ho ! " cries the watchman 'bove the gate, 
 *'A runner lone is coming." 
 
 << 
 
DAVID S FLIGHT AND DEATH OF ABSALOM. 20I 
 
 ** Comes he alone, alone from thence? 
 
 Then tidings he is bringing ; 
 Oh, can I bear the wild suspense 
 
 That now my heart is wringing ! 
 
 ** Look, watchman, from that lofty place, 
 
 That place you well can see from ; 
 Say, is there naught of rout or chase 
 
 Toward the wood of Ephraim ? " 
 
 *'Nay, naught toward the setting sun; 
 
 Naught but the runner only — 
 Yes ! now I see another one ; 
 
 He, too, is running lonely." 
 
 *' Then, if alone, he tidings brings; 
 
 A messenger he's coming; 
 Oh, how suspense my bosom wrings, *' 
 
 My weary sense benumbing ! " 
 
 **The foremost comes !" the watchman cries, 
 
 "The moats and ditches shunning; 
 'Tis Zadok's son, Ahimaaz, 
 
 I take it, from his running." 
 
 "Then, if 'tis he," replies the king, 
 
 " A good and true man, surely. 
 And tidings good no doubt will bring — 
 
 I'm feeling more securely." 
 
 Ahimaaz drew near, and fell 
 
 Upon his face, and shouted: 
 * ' Peace be to thee ! for all is well ; 
 
 Thine enemies are routed. 
 
 " Blessed be the Lord, of all the land ! 
 
 He's done as he appointed, 
 To them who lifted up the hand 
 
 Against the Lord's annointed." 
 
 14 
 
202 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ** Thank Heaven! " exclaimed the hoary chief; 
 
 " Thank God for victory giving! 
 But is the young man Absalom safe ? 
 
 Is Absalom safe, and living ! " 
 
 The messenger then, answering, said 
 
 With something like evasion : 
 '* I cannot say that Absalom's dead. 
 
 Or safe, on this occasion. 
 
 ** When Joab sent your servants here, 
 
 The chiefs were then convening; 
 I saw a mighty tumult there, 
 
 But could not tell its meaning. 
 
 " Cushi, the swift, will soon be here, 
 
 And he may have the summing." 
 **Then turn aside," the king replied, 
 
 ' ' We'll wait for Cushi's coming. " 
 
 Then Cushi comes, and bowing, says : 
 
 * 'Tidings! for God has surely 
 Avenged you of your enemies. 
 
 And punished them full sorely." 
 
 But David checked his message brief — 
 " There's one thing I would say thee 
 
 Is Absalom, the young man, safe ? 
 Is Absalom safe, I pray thee ! " 
 
 Then Cushi, like Ahimaaz, 
 
 Faltered, with some misgiving, 
 But intimating plain he is 
 
 No longer 'mongst the living. 
 
 ** May all thy foes, thine enemies, 
 
 Who fain would mischief do the, 
 Be where the young man Absalom is. 
 
 No longer to pursue thee." 
 
David's flight and death of absalom. 203 
 
 Then weeping sorely, David went 
 
 And to his chamber hasted, 
 And gave the tears of sorrow vent, 
 
 Like one whom grief has wasted. 
 
 ''Oh, Absalom ! my son ! my son ! 
 
 The son of my desiring; ^^^T^, 
 Thou wast my son, my cherished one, 
 
 Though 'gainst thy sire conspiring. 
 
 ** Oh, Absalom! my son ! my son ! 
 
 Would God thy father's dying 
 Had saved thy life ! my son ! my son ! 
 
 Before this hour so trying. 
 
 '* They say there's none disputes my power, 
 
 My kingdom's still remaining; 
 But Absalom, my son's no more. 
 
 To bless me in my reigning ! 
 
 ** My royalty's preserved to me. 
 
 With none my power defying ; 
 But, oh, my son ! I'll think of thee, 
 
 Deep in thy cold grave lying ! 
 
 *' And though the harp, like music's dream, 
 
 With men and women singing. 
 May strive to cheer, they'll only seem 
 
 Like funeral dirges ringing." 
 
204 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. 
 
 When, at a distant future day, 
 You cast your eye upon this page, 
 
 The writer may be far away, 
 
 Or may have left Ufe's busy stage. 
 
 Though ocean's waves should roll between 
 These lines of mine my friends and me, 
 
 Yet think of me and what I've been. 
 When these few lines you chance to see. 
 
 And should I lie low in the ground, 
 And dark oblivion's waves roll o'er. 
 
 This simple page will then be found 
 A monument on memory's shore. 
 
 'Twill point your thoughts from present things 
 To things that long have passed away, 
 
 And long forgotten scenes 'twill bring 
 To your awakened memory. 
 
 Then view this page as you would view 
 A friend's cold monumental stone; 
 
 And, oh ! may we again renew 
 
 Our friendship near the jasper throne. 
 
 And when we meet beyond the stars. 
 Within that radiant world of bliss, 
 
 Our friendship will be purer far 
 
 Than that which we have known in this. 
 
A WORLD OF CHANGE IS THIS. 20$ 
 
 A WORLD OF CHANGE IS THIS. 
 
 This is a changing world of ours, 
 
 A world of change is this ; 
 All fading are its fairest flowers, 
 
 And transient every bliss. 
 
 Yes, change is written on the face 
 
 Of all beneath the sun ; 
 And short and devious is the race 
 
 That we poor mortals run. 
 
 The friends who prize us most to day, 
 
 May be the first to leave; 
 And those we prize the dearest may 
 
 Our fondest hopes deceive. 
 
 Or Death, perhaps, uncalled may come. 
 And snatch those friends from us ; 
 
 Ah ! do we not remember some 
 Who have been taken thus ? 
 
 Where, where are those we held so dear, 
 
 The friends of early youth ? 
 The Grave replies, " I have them here;" 
 
 And 'tis a mournful truth. 
 
 Then let the years revolving roll 
 
 With Time's incessant flow; 
 We soon shall reach a brighter goal, 
 
 No further change to know. 
 
206 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 DEATH OF A FRIEND IN 1856. 
 
 I stood beside a dying friend, 
 And watched his parting breath, 
 
 And when I saw his struggles end, 
 I asked, ''Can this be death?" 
 
 Full well I know 'tis temporal death — 
 
 The rending of the screen 
 That hides from mortals here beneath 
 
 The world we have not seen. 
 
 But there's another death than this, 
 
 A death that never dies ; 
 And there's a Hfe of joy and bliss, 
 
 A life beyond the skies. 
 
 For '"Tis not all of life to live. 
 
 Nor all of death to die ; " 
 The fleeting joys this earth can give 
 
 Are naught to those on-high. 
 
 Then let us try, while here on earth. 
 
 In this lone vale of sighs, 
 To shun that ever-dying death, 
 
 Which never, never dies ; 
 
 And seek that life, that living life. 
 That's only known above — 
 
 Where joys, perpetual joys are rife, 
 And God is served in love. 
 
 There may I meet that friend again, 
 Whose sufferings here are o'er, 
 
 And range with him the heavenly plain, 
 Where sufferings are no more. 
 
 Then let me bid thee welcome, Death, 
 When thou shalt rend the screen 
 
 That hides from mortals here beneath 
 The world we have not seen. 
 
TO A FRIEND, 207 
 
 TO A FRIEND, 
 
 "Written in an Album. 
 
 The time may shortly come when we 
 
 By distance maybe parted; 
 Our joys may fade and hopes may flee, 
 
 And plans of life be thwarted. 
 Long years may pass, ere we again 
 
 Shall see each other's faces ; 
 And anxious care, with grief and pain, 
 
 May leave on us their traces. 
 
 But let me hope, what e'er may come, 
 
 What e'er may be life's changes, 
 Where e'er I be, where e'er I roam, 
 
 As Providence arranges. 
 That you will not forget the friend 
 
 Who pens these lines so simple ; 
 But may your prayers for him ascend, 
 
 And reach the inner temple. 
 
 Perhaps in coming years you'll see 
 
 ( In looking o'er these pages ) 
 These lines of mine ; then think of me. 
 
 And think of by-gone stages ; 
 For life is like a travelling scene. 
 
 Where passengers are meeting ; 
 They meet, they part — how oft, how soon ; 
 
 Farewell succeeds to greeting ! 
 
208 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 THE SNOW-FLAKE. 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 A flake of snow, both large and light, 
 
 Was formed in upper air, 
 And passing o'er a mountain's height, 
 
 Slowly descended there. 
 
 But ere it fell upon the crest, 
 
 'Twas parted into two, 
 And, driven on the wintry blast. 
 
 In different currents flew. 
 
 One fell upon the western slope. 
 
 And one upon the east ; 
 And there they both lay frozen up 
 
 For twenty weeks at least. 
 
 But when the sun again shone warm. 
 
 And shed his genial rays, 
 They melted to a Uquid form. 
 
 And glided different ways. 
 
 Uniting now with other drops. 
 They form two tiny streams, 
 
 And trickle down the mountain slopes, 
 Where many a glacier gleams. 
 
 Adown the mountain's different sides, 
 Toward different points, they run. 
 
 And further from each other glides 
 Those flakes which once were one. 
 
 Now wider, and still wider grows 
 The space which lies between ; 
 
 And faster, and still faster flows 
 The streams which they are in. 
 
VANITY OF vanities! ALL IS VANITY. 209 
 
 Still onward borne away, away, 
 
 To east and western main ; 
 Alas ! alas ! will ever they 
 
 Be joined in one again ? 
 
 Two kindred minds to them compare. 
 
 By friendship joined as one ; 
 Parted by trifles light as air, 
 
 Two different paths to run. 
 
 The separation, small at first. 
 
 Grows wider by degrees ; 
 Till thoughts and actions all reversed. 
 
 They're merged in different seas. 
 
 Oh, may it never be our lot 
 
 To be divided thus ! 
 But ever may the self-same spot 
 
 Be occupied by us.* 
 
 '' VANITY OF VANITIES/ ALL IS VANITY/'' 
 
 Hurrying on, and onward still. 
 
 Trifles light we all pursue ; 
 Grasping after shadows till 
 
 Death's dark shade appears in view. 
 Vain are all things here on earth, 
 Well we know; 
 Bliss in vain on earth is sought, 
 For, with disappointments fraught. 
 All our schemes have come to naught. 
 Here below. 
 
 What is wealth, and what is fame. 
 
 After which we're toiling so ? 
 Soon we go from whence we came ; 
 
 *Two thousand miles now separate the writer from the friend to 
 •whom these lines were addressed. 
 
210 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Dust we are, to dust we go; 
 
 What are earthly pleasures then, 
 When compared? 
 Worse than vanity and dust! 
 And in them if we shall trust, 
 Death will call, and go we must, 
 Unprepared. 
 
 Early friendships — what are they ? 
 
 Sunny spots within life's vale; 
 But, alas! they pass away 
 
 When the storms of grief prevail, 
 Leaving us in darkness then. 
 All alone. 
 But the friendship that will last 
 When our lives are overcast. 
 Leads us home, and binds us fast 
 To the throne. 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 Lines to a friend ; written in an Album. 
 
 When days have passed, and first you see 
 
 These hasty lines of mine. 
 Then, as a friend, pray think of me, 
 
 And count me one of thine. 
 
 When weeks have passed away, and you 
 
 Shall look this page upon, 
 In counting o'er your friends so true, 
 
 May I be numbered one. 
 
 When months have passed — and soon they must- 
 
 And you shall read again 
 Upon your list of friends, I trust 
 
 My name will still remain. 
 
WHY SHOULD VAIN MORTALS BE PROUD? 211 
 
 When years hsive passed, and you again 
 
 Shall read these pages o'er, 
 In your esteem may I remain, 
 
 A friend if nothing more. 
 
 When / have passed from earth away — 
 
 And soon that time may be — 
 When you shall see these lines, you may 
 
 Perhaps remember me. 
 
 When you and /shall dofk have passed, 
 
 And bade the world adieu, 
 Then may our friendship ever last 
 
 Eternal ages through. 
 
 When Earth and earthly things have passed, 
 
 And Time shall be no more, 
 O that our lots may then be cast 
 
 Upon a friendly shore ! 
 
 WHY SHOULD VAIN MORTALS BE PROUD f 
 
 Oh, why should vain mortals, while toiling on earth, 
 
 Be proud of their wealth or their fame ! 
 Or why should man boast of his rank or his birth, 
 
 Or strive to emblazon his name ? 
 How fleeting the moments to mortals allowed ; 
 
 How quickly they come, and pass on ; 
 Like shadows that fall from a fast-flying cloud, 
 
 They come, and they pass,, and are gone! 
 
 Man claims to be lord of creation below, 
 
 And boasts of his power of mind; 
 Can measure the wide-rolling planets, and know 
 
 The orbits in which they're confined ; 
 
312 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 In fancy can range o'er unlimited space, 
 
 Or travel from star unto star; 
 Can follow the flight of a comet, and trace 
 
 Its course as it wanders afar. 
 
 But let him not be of his knowledge so vain, 
 
 For others have had it before, 
 And long in the dust those others have lain. 
 
 And their names are remembered no more ; 
 Forgotten the names of those men of renown 
 
 Who the pyramids builded of yore ; 
 The sun of their glory has long since gone down, 
 
 And never will shine any more. 
 
 Ah ! let him not boast of his power, although 
 
 He may sit as a king on a throne, 
 For others have sat there, and died long ago. 
 
 And kings and their subjects are one; 
 The conqueror's wreath may encircle his brow, 
 
 He may stand on the summit of fame. 
 To the sway of his sceptre a nation may bow. 
 
 And nations may quake at his name ; 
 
 But what avails all ? The river of Time 
 
 Is silently bearing him on ; 
 And monarchs and conquerors, now in their prime, 
 
 In a few fleeting months will be gone ; 
 Together they mingle, the high and the low — 
 
 The lord with the vassal is laid ; 
 To the grave the conquered and conquerors go. 
 
 And there no distinctions are made. 
 
 The prince and the peasant together meet there. 
 
 And together are turning to dust ; 
 They were toiling for fame, as we mortals are, 
 
 And left it as we shortly must; 
 Then let not the spirit of mortals be proud ! 
 
 'Tis confined in a body of clay ; 
 And soon will that body in Death's sable shroud, 
 
 Like everything mortal, decay. 
 
TWENTY YEARS PAST. 213 
 
 Oh, let US be humble while here we sojourn 
 
 In this land of probation and strife, 
 That our spirits, made perfect, to God may return, 
 
 And dwell there forever in life ! 
 Those spirits were born in a heavenly clime, 
 
 They were given to us from above; 
 And when they have triumphed o'er sin. Death, and Time, 
 
 They'll return unto God, who is Love. 
 
 TWENTY YEARS PAST 
 
 A Reminiscence written in 1854. 
 
 On Sabbath last past I to church did repair, 
 
 To the house of the Lord at Lone Jack ; 
 But throughout the service of preaching and prayer, 
 
 My memory hurried me back. 
 Back twenty years, back to the time I first heard 
 
 The gospel proclaimed in the West ; 
 'Tis the same gospel yet, 'tis the same written word, 
 
 Whilst other things widely contrast. 
 
 The face of the country has undergone change. 
 
 And manners and customs change, too; 
 And numbers of faces I see that are strange. 
 
 And gone are the friends I then knew ; 
 I remember the time, I remember the place, 
 
 I remember the friends who were there — 
 Those years have sped round, and it seems a brief space, 
 
 But not one of those friends are now here. 
 
 I remember the preacher*, whose time-furrowed face 
 
 Was so often bedewed with a tear ; 
 His doctrines were plain, and plain was his dress, 
 
 For 'twas made from the skin of the deer ; 
 But he, too, has gone, and no more will 1 hear 
 
 • James Savage, 
 
214 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 A message of truth from his lips : 
 On earth he has finished his mortal career, 
 And far in the South he now sleeps. 
 
 We assembled that day in a rude cabin small — 
 
 'Twas the home of a brave pioneer;* 
 The attendance was larger than usual, yet all 
 
 Who wished it obtained a seat there. 
 That cabin still stands, though years have rolled round, 
 
 And its builder has moved far away ; 
 A spacious brick house on the farm now is found. 
 
 And the cabin goes fast to decay. 
 
 Then, radiant with hope, in life's morning so bright, 
 
 My brother and I did repair. 
 With hearts and with steps both elastic and light. 
 
 To the house of devotion and prayer ; 
 But now all in vain I may look for the face 
 
 Of that brother, so sunny, so mild ; 
 I will see him no more upon earth, for, alas ! 
 
 He sleeps in the far western wild. 
 
 My father and mother were there on that day, 
 
 And their names in the church were enrolled ; 
 But, ah! that dear father, by Death called away. 
 
 Now sleeps in the grave-yard so cold; 
 Oh, grief upon grief! for he sleeps not alone; 
 
 My kindred have followed apace — 
 Three brothers, a sister, a daughter, a son. 
 
 Lie low in the same resting-place. 
 
 And perhaps ere the earth shall again revolve round 
 
 The great source of light and of heat, v """^ 
 
 I, too, may rest with them beneath the cold ground, 
 
 And this laboring heart cease to beat; 
 When years have rolled round, and survivors meet here 
 
 To worship the God of all grace. 
 Perhaps I may meet, in a happier sphere. 
 
 Those friends who have ended their race. 
 
 * Thos. Hamlin, 
 
I'M SITTING BY YOUR SIDE, MARY. 215 
 
 rm SITTING BY YOUR SIDE, MARY. 
 
 "Written in 1856, in imitation of "The Irish Emigrant." 
 
 I'm sitting by your side, Mary, 
 
 Upon your dying bed ; 
 And busy thoughts are coursing through 
 
 My pained and aching head. 
 
 I'm thinking of the time, Mary, 
 
 When you and I first met; 
 And though our parting is at hand, 
 
 That meeting's present yet. 
 
 Long years have passed since then, Mary, 
 
 And changes have occurred, 
 But, oh! a sadder change than all 
 
 Cannot be long deferred. 
 
 Your bloodless lips, your pallid cheek, 
 
 Too plainly tell the tale 
 That you are passing now, Mary, 
 
 Through Death's dark gloomy vale. 
 
 I'm sitting by your side, Mary, 
 
 Although you see me not. 
 And when you're taken from my sight, 
 
 You will not be forgot. 
 
 I'll think of you, my Mary dear. 
 
 In days and years to come, 
 Who shared my joys and sorrows here, 
 
 In this, our humble home. 
 
 And, oh ! I'm thinking now, Mary, 
 
 My true my constant wife, 
 How lonely and how drearily 
 
 Will pass my future life. 
 
2l6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Each scene will but remind me still 
 Of days and years gone by ; 
 
 And cherished objects often will 
 Call forth the tearful sigh. 
 
 I'm gazing on this quilt, Mary, 
 This quilt of patchwork made ; 
 
 'Twas wrought by your own hands before 
 Your beauty had decayed. 
 
 And though 'tis worn and faded now, 
 
 I prize it none the less ; 
 For 'mongst its squares I recognize 
 
 Part of your wedding dress. 
 
 I'm thinking of our sons, Mary, 
 Oar sons and daughters, too ; 
 
 When you have gone and left us here, 
 What will those children do ? 
 
 They'll have no mother's kind advice, 
 
 No mother's watchful care, 
 To keep them from the paths of vice, 
 
 And from the tempter's snare. 
 
 You're bidding me a last farewell, 
 
 My Mary, kind and true ; 
 But soon I hope to reach the clime 
 
 That you are going to. 
 
 In that fair clime there's room for all ; 
 
 And there's no parting there; 
 No death, no sorrow can be found 
 
 In all that region fair ! 
 
LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 217 
 
 Like leaflets in the autumn sere, 
 
 Our friends are round us falling. 
 And we, who still are lingering here, 
 
 But wait the Master's calling; 
 The chilling winds of death ere long, 
 
 Will one yb one pass o'er us, 
 And bear us to that buried throng 
 
 Of friends who've gone before us. 
 
 Like stars declining in the West, 
 
 One after one they're sinking 
 Within the silent tomb to rest, 
 
 From which we're vainly shrinking; 
 And we, like them, will sink ere long; 
 
 ( We too are fast declining ) 
 And soon will cease to shine among 
 
 The stars that may be shining. 
 
 Like roses which in beauty bloom. 
 
 One after one they wither, 
 Their beauty buried in the tomb. 
 
 For Death still bears them thither ; 
 And we, who on the parent stem 
 
 A little while yet linger, 
 Will soon be snatched away, like them. 
 
 By Death's cold, icy finger. 
 
 Like streamlets from the mountain side, 
 
 Which haste to join the river, 
 One after one they onward glide. 
 
 With none returning ever; 
 And we are moving downward, too, 
 
 Down to Dc^ath's river gliding ; 
 Our days on earth at most are few — 
 
 There's nothing here abiding 
 15 — 
 
2l8 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 IMMORTALITY; OR, ANSWER TO LIFE AND DEATH, 
 
 The leaflets in autumn may wither and fade, 
 
 The forest be naked and bare, 
 The friends of our youth in the grave may be laid, 
 
 And we may be laid with them there; 
 But the winter will pass, and the spring will return, 
 
 And the forest again will be green, 
 And the faithful who sleep in Death's moldering urn 
 
 Will arise and in glory be seen. 
 
 The stars in the sky to the West may decline. 
 
 May be shrouded in darkness and gloom. 
 Our friends and our loved ones may languish and pine, 
 
 Or may die and be laid in the tomb ; 
 But again the stars in the East will arise, 
 
 And bright and effulgent will shine, 
 And the faithful in Christ will again realize 
 
 A life that is truly divine. 
 
 The roses in beauty, which bloom for awhile, 
 
 May wither, may fade, and may die — 
 Our friends and companions in labor and toil 
 
 In graves all forgotten may lie ; 
 But the season of roses again will return. 
 
 And brighter than ever they'll bloom, 
 And we, in the land of the blessed, shall discern 
 
 Our friends when they come from the tomb. 
 
 The stream from the mountain still downward may flow. 
 
 And our friends, like its waters, be borne 
 To the valley of death, and we in our woe 
 
 The lost and the loved ones may mourn; 
 But God in his power that stream can renew 
 
 From fountains by nature supplied — 
 Can raise from their graves the faithful and true, 
 
 To dwell with that Savior who died. 
 
I AM STANDING BY YOUR GRAVE, MARY. 2I9 
 
 The rose and the leaflet may wither and fade, 
 
 The star and the streamlet may sink. 
 Our friends and companions may sleep in Death's shade, 
 
 And we of Grief's chalice may drink ; 
 But let us not yield to despondence and dread — 
 
 The day star will cheer us again, 
 And the lost and the loved ones who sleep with the dead 
 
 Will arise and eternally reign. 
 
 I AM STANDING BY YOUR GRAVE, MARY. 
 
 Written in the Churcli-yard. 
 
 I'm standing by your grave, Mary, 
 
 And 'tis a lonely place ; 
 I look upon your lowly bed, 
 
 But ne'er shall see your face — 
 That dear familiar face. 
 
 Three years and more have passed, Mary, 
 Since here they laid you down; 
 
 And life is now a wintry day. 
 And dark is Fortune's frown ; 
 
 How dark to me that frown ! 
 
 Adown the stream of Time, Mary, 
 
 Alone I'm drifting now. 
 And Grief still writes its marks upon 
 
 Your husband's saddened brow — 
 My grief and care worn brow. 
 
 I think upon my comforts dead — 
 
 Those by-gone days of yore; 
 But with my Mary they have fled, 
 
 And they'll return no more; 
 
 No more, no more, no more I 
 
220 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Our son and daughter sleep, Mary, 
 Hard by this marble stone ; 
 
 Our tears together flowed for them, 
 But now I weep alone; 
 Alone, alone, alone ! 
 
 Alone, alone I seem to be, 
 
 In this dark vale of woe ; 
 But though you may not come to me, 
 
 Soon, soon to you I'll go ; 
 I'll go, I'll go, I'll go ! 
 
 In faith and hope I'll rest, Mary, 
 
 Whatever may betide, 
 *Till death shall lay my body low, 
 
 And place it by your side — 
 
 To sleep here by your side. 
 
 With faith and hope in God, I'll trust 
 That when Death's reign is o'er, 
 
 Then numbered with the good and just, 
 We'll meet to part no more ; 
 
 No more, no more, no more ! 
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Hope deferred maketh the heart sick : but when the desire cometh, 
 it 1« a tree of life.— Prow. XII. 12. 
 
 The clause before the colon read 
 
 I feel and know is true; 
 My heart is sick, my joys are dead, 
 
 And hope is dying too. 
 
 I hoped against e'en hope itself. 
 
 But hope has been in vain ; 
 Against despair I nerved myself. 
 
 And scorned even to complain. 
 
FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY. 221 
 
 Bowed down beneath the sick'ning weight 
 
 Of hope so long deferred, 
 I strove against my hapless fate 
 
 Without a murmuring word. 
 
 '*Hopeon, hope ever, still hope on," 
 
 My motto once I made ; 
 But now my last fond hope is gone, 
 
 On which my heart was stayed. 
 
 That latter clause — oh, say ! shall I 
 
 Its truth e'er realize ? 
 And if I may not, then say why 
 
 Live longer here in sighs ? 
 
 What now is life when hope has fled ? 
 
 A dreary, cheerless waste. 
 With clouds of sorrow overspread, 
 
 And by their storms defaced. 
 
 Oh, that those storms might but subside, 
 
 Those clouds of grief disperse ! 
 And may I feel the truth implied 
 
 In closing of that verse. 
 
 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 Once I thought that Hope was dead — 
 'Twas w hen you saw me last — 
 
 Then Faith gave way to doubt and dread; 
 But Charity stood fast. 
 
 And still the hues of Hope will fade, 
 
 And Faith is faltering oft ; 
 But Charity comes to my aid, 
 
 And bids me look aloft. 
 
222 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Hope faintly cheers us through life's vale, 
 Faith points us to the end ; 
 
 But Charity will never fail 
 To comfort and befriend. 
 
 Both Faith and Hope must perish when 
 We to the end have come; 
 
 But Charity will flourish then 
 In an ever-blissful home. 
 
 The charity which here we have 
 May somewhat selfish be ; 
 
 But charity beyond the grave 
 From selfishness is free. 
 
 Blessed Charity upbraideth not — 
 Is kind, and suffereth long — 
 
 Ne'er envieth another's lot, 
 Nor doeth another wrong. 
 
 Then give me charity, I pray, 
 
 Whatever else withheld ; 
 So shall my tears be wiped away, 
 
 And all my fears be quelled. 
 
 TO AN ABSENT SON. 
 
 Written in 1858 for an aged mother to a youthful son who had wander- 
 ed away to the Land of Gold. That mother yet lives (1877), but the son, 
 who returned in compliance with her prayer, fell amongst the thousaudA 
 who fell in the great War of 1861.* 
 
 My son, my son, my youngest one, 
 
 The source of many a joy ! 
 Though far away from me you've gone, 
 
 I'll not forget my boy. 
 
 ♦S«e "The Soldier from the Kansas Line." 
 
TO AN ABSENT SON. 223 
 
 Though you may roam away from home, 
 
 Beneath another sky, 
 Or ride upon the ocean's foam. 
 
 Still, still for you I'll sigh. 
 
 Though valleys green may intervene, 
 
 And sandy deserts, too — 
 Though lofty mountains rise between, 
 
 My thoughts revert to you. 
 
 I have not yet, nor can forget 
 
 When, with your presence blessed, • 
 I passed the time, ere you had set 
 
 Your face to the far West. 
 
 Nor yet can I forbear to sigh, 
 
 When I your shadow see, 
 To think that it is here so nigh, 
 
 And you so far from me. 
 
 That dismal day you went away 
 
 Still haunts my memory, too ; 
 And in your letter last you say 
 
 My warning words were true. 
 
 Return, return, my son, return ! 
 
 If not too great the task, 
 Do not my poor petition spurn — 
 
 The last I e'er may ask. 
 
 My daily prayer and wishes are, 
 
 Before I sink in death. 
 That God my youngest son may spare 
 
 To watch my parting breath. 
 
 But years may pass, and I, alas ! 
 
 May sink into the grave, 
 Ere you can hurry home across 
 
 The briny ocean wave. 
 
3 24 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Once more I say, once more I pray, 
 
 , That you will home return ; J 
 
 But if you must or will say, nay, * 
 
 Still o'er my son I'll yearn. 
 
 And if it be that I shall see 
 
 Your face on earth no more, 
 I trust that in eternity 
 
 We'll meet and part no more. 
 
 WILLIE'S GRAVE, 
 
 Within that consecrated ground, 
 
 The village church-yard, may be found 
 
 A little tear-besprinkled mound, 
 
 Where Willie sleeps in quietness. 
 
 In Death's cold vesture now arrayed, 
 Beneath that mound so lately made, 
 A father's pride is lowly laid, 
 And he is left in loneliness. 
 
 A mother's earthly joys have fled — 
 Her only son, her Willie's dead, 
 And lies within that lonely bed, 
 A floweret pale and withermg. 
 
 They see no more his cheering smile, 
 His presence will no more beguile 
 Their labors through a world of toil. 
 Of sorrow and of suffering. 
 
 But, oh ! there is a vacant place 
 Within that household, and a trace 
 Of tears is on the mother's face, 
 
 Who weeps almost despairingly. 
 
THE SONG OF THE SEA-SHELL. 2 2$ 
 
 Grief sits a guest, with visage pale ; 
 But tears and sighs will ne'er avail 
 To bring the lost one from the vale 
 Where he is resting silently. 
 
 Oh, Death! how poignant is thy sting! 
 Oh, Grave ! relentless, thou canst bring 
 The stoutest hearts to sorrowing, 
 And teach them all is vanity ! 
 
 From out thy dark and silent urn 
 Dear Willie will no more return ; 
 And we, who here awhile sojourn, 
 But haste to join him rapidly. 
 
 Father and mother, mourn him not. 
 Though lonely now may be your lot, 
 And dark and gloomy is the spot 
 
 Where he is sleeping dreamlessly. 
 
 Your Willie lives beyond the grave, 
 For He who died the lost to save 
 Has borne him o'er the troubled wave, 
 To dwell in bright eternity ! 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEA-SHELL, 
 
 I came from the ocean, the deep briny ocean ; 
 
 From out of its caverns of mystery grand ; 
 And when it was lashed into wildest commotion 
 
 I rode on its billows and fell on the sand. 
 
 And there, 'mongst my fellows, who fell there before me, 
 Not long did I lie in the sunlight to rest ; 
 
 A lady passed by, and she carefully bore me 
 To grace a fair home in the far distant West. 
 
826 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And now in that home, far, far from the ocean, 
 
 From harp and piano flow music divine ; 
 But the voice within me betrays my emotion — 
 
 The roar of the sea is the music that's mine.* 
 
 I pine for my home in the East, whence she brought mej 
 
 I sigh for the depths of the ocean again ; 
 And the song that I sing is the one which it taught me — 
 
 The roar of the deep and the wide-spreading main. 
 
 Mysterious links to the ocean have bound me ; 
 
 Those links to the rolling salt waters will cling ; 
 Whilst I, in the hearing of those who surround me, 
 
 The song of the billows incessantly sing. 
 
 The foam and the sea-weed no longer enfold me ; 
 
 To the deep coral groves I am longing to flee, 
 As I sing, in the hands of the fair ones who hold me, 
 
 The song that I learned in the depths of the sea. 
 
 And when the wild winds and the dark waves are stormy, 
 More sad is my song in the evening's gloom ; 
 
 O when will the winds and the waves come for me. 
 And carry me back to my old ocean home ! 
 
 WHISKY, WHISKY— 'TIS A CURSE/ 
 
 O whisky, whisky — 'tis a curse ! 
 Both to the health and to the purse ; 
 For nothing is or can be worse 
 Than whisky. 
 
 What makes yon man run giddy round? 
 What throws him prostrate on the ground ? 
 'Tis tippHng, tippling — I'll be bound — 
 With whisky. 
 
 ♦Alluding to the roaring sound of the air in the conch shell. 
 
WHISKY, WHISKY — 'tIS A CURSE. 227 
 
 And if he follows up the plan, 
 He soon will be a ruined man ; 
 O quit it, quit it while you can ; 
 Quit whisky ! 
 
 What makes that man which once I knew — 
 Then sober, honest, just and true — 
 What scourges him life's journey through ? 
 'Tis whisky ! 
 
 He now has left his sober ways, 
 And drinks, and drinks, for nights and days, 
 And at the gaming table plays. 
 For whisky. 
 
 What makes him leave his family 
 To visit shop and grocery. 
 And fool his precious time away 
 For whisky ? 
 
 Oh, what makes poverty prevail, 
 The orphan weep, the widow wail? 
 What fills the poor-house and the jail ? 
 'Tis whisky ! 
 
 Look at yon lawyer, if you choose ; 
 What makes him still his practice lose ? 
 Because he does himself abuse 
 With whisky ! 
 
 Yon preacher, too, please now behold, 
 Who preaches righteousness so bold; 
 Alas ! he drinks — as I've been told — 
 Of whisky. 
 
 The love of God forsakes him now ; 
 Shorn of his locks he is, I trow, 
 As weak as other men who bow 
 To whisky. 
 
aaS RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 He's like the meddling candle fly, 
 Which plays around the danger nigh, 
 He burns his wings and drops to die — 
 Oh, whisky ! 
 
 And yonder is a merchant, too. 
 Who once was richer than a Jew ; 
 But he has gone to drinking, too. 
 Of whisky. 
 
 His riches now are wasting fast. 
 And will until his days are past ; 
 For he will drink unto the last 
 Of whisky. 
 
 Young man, upon you now I call, 
 And if you do not wish to fall 
 Into a sin the worst of all. 
 
 Shun whisky! 
 
 And now I'm going to end my song — 
 And if your fortitude is strong, 
 Do not, I pray, your morals wrong 
 With whisky! 
 
 And when I've wound my subject up, 
 Do not so much as take a sup 
 From out the vile, pernicious cup 
 Of whisky ! 
 
 A thousand, thousand youths like you, 
 As sober, and as honest, too, 
 Have waded to their graves, all through 
 Bad whisky 1 
 
INTEMPERANCE. t2^ 
 
 INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 Throughout the whole country an evil we find, 
 
 A blighting and withering curse ; 
 It weakens the body, it injures the mind, 
 
 And empties the heaviest purse. 
 
 In the form of a //^ui'd this evil is found, 
 
 And it flows from the " worm " of the still ; 
 
 We see its effects where e'er we look round, 
 And its victims, turn which way we will. 
 
 For years has this streamlet continued to flow, 
 From a fountain of sorrow and death ; 
 
 And the longer we drink of this streamlet of woe 
 The more sorrows abound in life's path. 
 
 In every age, and in every state. 
 Through Christendom's spreading domain. 
 
 This stream leads us on, through a wide, open gate, 
 To regions of sorrow and pam. 
 
 'Tis used as a beverage by thousands of men. 
 
 In each and in every state, 
 "Who drink of it now, and repent of it when. 
 
 Alack, and alas ! 'tis too late ! 
 
 Then let me advise the young and the old 
 
 To touch not, nor handle the s^uf; 
 Yes, touch not at all, for I will noi be told 
 
 You'll quit when you swallow enough. 
 
 The longer you drink of the poisonous stream 
 The sweeter the draught will appear; 
 
 Till at length you awake, as if from a dream. 
 To find that your ruin is near. 
 
230 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And if you should then endeavor to break 
 The fetters with which you are bound, 
 
 You'll find, that, like Samson, you only can shake 
 Yourself as you lie on the ground. 
 
 Oh, had I the courage and strength, I'd assail 
 
 The drunkard of every age ; 
 And could I with language of truth but prevail, 
 
 I would war against drunkenness wage. 
 
 Or if the kind Muses would lend me their aid, 
 The gauntlet at once should be hurled; 
 
 Nor would I give over until I had made 
 An end of this scourge of the world. 
 
 Just look at the multiplied thousands of men 
 Who have fallen the monster before ! 
 
 Ah, look at the tears of the orphan, and then 
 At the monster still calling for more ! 
 
 You hear the sad accent of that mournful wail 
 
 Which causes the tear-drop to start ; 
 It comes on the breeze and is borne on the gale 
 
 From many a lone widow's heart. 
 
 Let me point to the felon ; immersed in the gloom 
 
 Of a prison, shut out from the sun. 
 All rayless and dark, not a hope can illume 
 
 The mind of that now guilty one. 
 
 Then go back with him to the days of his youth, 
 
 Ere drunkenness shed its sad blight. 
 When he walked in the pathway of justice and truth, 
 
 Nor dreamed of the fast-coming night. 
 
 I have marked the course of the drunkard full well ; 
 
 Have witnessed his rapid descent ; 
 And when at the shrine of dread Bacchus he fell, 
 
 Have wept at the mournful event. 
 
INTEMPERANCE. 23 1 
 
 I have looked on the evils of drink with concern ; 
 
 Have viewed its effects with dismay ; 
 And often have wondered that men do not spurn 
 
 This greatest of evils away. 
 
 When Sol in his glory has risen, and chased 
 
 The darkness and vapors away, 
 To the temple of Bacchus the drunkard will haste, 
 
 His daily devotion to pay. 
 
 The tavern, the grocery, the dram-shop, or still — 
 
 To one or the other he goes. 
 And drinks of the beverage of ruin until 
 
 The spirit exuberant flows. 
 
 As glass after glass of the liquid goes down, 
 
 His spirits rise higher and higher; 
 He boasts of his prowess, and swaggers thro' town, 
 
 And his tongue appears never to tire. 
 
 But shortly a giddiness over him steals, - 
 
 And his balance he scarcely can keep. 
 But backward and forward he staggers and reels, 
 
 Or tumbles down, all in a heap. 
 
 Ye temperate dram-drinkers, now look at the wretch ! 
 
 Learn wisdom at once and be wise ; 
 See him struggle, and hiccup, and vomit, and stretch, 
 
 And look at his watery eyes ! 
 
 But low as he lies, 'twas not always the casej 
 
 He once was as temperate as you ; 
 But his love of the ' ' creature " is on the increase. 
 
 And you see what it's bringing him to. 
 
 You have known him, perhaps, in days that are past, 
 
 When quite a respectable man ; 
 But now, with the reckless inebriate classed, 
 
 He is sinking as fast as he can. 
 
232 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Yes, low he has sunk into shame and disgrace, 
 And he feels the sharp pang of remorse, 
 
 As he sees in the bottle the shadowy face 
 Of Death on the pale-colored horse. 
 
 Not long since the time when he was possessed 
 
 Of a character noted for good ; 
 And those who then knew him considered him blest, 
 
 But they saw not the ground where he stood. 
 
 They saw not the gulf that was yawning so wide. 
 Nor the stream that was bearing him on ; 
 
 They saw not the ebb, nor the flow of the tide. 
 Nor the whirlpool to which he was drawn. 
 
 They little imagined the danger that lurked 
 
 Within the enhvening bowl ; 
 Nor saw with what cunning the tempter had worked 
 
 To ruin a high-minded soul. 
 
 They saw not that habit was doubling her chain. 
 
 So slyly as not to be seen ; 
 Nor knew that his custom had latterly been 
 
 Wiih dram-drinking crowds to convene. 
 
 But time passed along, and a change was perceived 
 
 In his habits and business pursuits ; 
 His friends were offended, his kindred were grieved, 
 
 And he was involved in disputes. 
 
 His wife and his children soon felt the sad change. 
 And begged him with tears to refrain ; 
 
 But though he will promise, it seems passing strange 
 He cannot or will not abstain. 
 
 His property, too, but a short time ago. 
 
 Was ample enough to secure 
 A home and its comforts, with some to bestow 
 
 Upon the unfortunate poor. 
 
INTEMPERANCE. 233 
 
 But now it is wasting — indeed it is gone — 
 
 For scarcely a pittance remains ; 
 His wife and his children are struggling on, 
 
 And he is still hugging his chains. 
 
 That beautiful homestead is not their home now — 
 
 A stranger possesses those lands ; 
 'Tis gone, and forever, and if you ask how : 
 
 ^ Twas to pay the dram- seller's demands. 
 
 Misfortunes have crowded upon him apace ; 
 
 Gone now reputation and friends — 
 Respect for himself, contentment and peace, 
 
 And all that on virtue attends. 
 
 He once passed along, independent and bold, 
 
 In garments both decent and clean; 
 But since by his appetite he is controlled, 
 
 He's often ashamed to be seen. 
 
 In vain may his wife use endeavors to keep 
 
 His linen in decent repair ; 
 He's oft in the mud and the mire so deep, 
 
 No wonder she yields to despair. 
 
 The best and the kindest of husbands he's been ; 
 
 The kindest of fathers and friends ; 
 But low he has fallen by one baleful sin. 
 
 And lower and lower he tends. 
 
 A still lower deep, as great Milton has said, 
 
 Is waitmg to swallow him up ; 
 Soon will he be numbered amongst the pale dead, 
 
 A victim, alas! to the cup. 
 
 His family often awaits his return. 
 
 And look for his coming with dread; 
 Experience has taught them too well to discern 
 
 The storm ere it bursts overhead. 
 
 16 — 
 
234 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And when he returns, if you could be there 
 
 And see the abusive insults 
 Which he heaps upon them, you would surely forswear 
 
 Ihe bottle, and shun its results. 
 
 His ravings and cursings, enough to induce 
 
 A person to think him insane, 
 Are but part of the fruits which drink will produce, 
 
 And others still follow in train. 
 
 His heart and his conduct appear to be changed, 
 And changed the whole course of his life ; 
 
 His better affections have all been estranged, 
 And evil affections are rife. 
 
 But when he at length to drowsiness gives way. 
 
 And falls on a mattress to sleep. 
 Oh, pity the wife and the children, for they 
 
 O'er a husband and father now weep. 
 
 They weep o'er the ruin that whisky has wrought, 
 
 Look back on the past in despair ; 
 They look to the future, but there they see naught 
 
 To brighten the prospect so drear 
 
 When morning shines round him, he rises, tho' late,. 
 
 Half wakened to reason again; 
 Accused by his conscience, he curses his fate, 
 
 And his head is now aching with pain. 
 
 A thirst on his vitals is preying, no doubt, 
 
 A strange and unnatural thirst. 
 Engendered by drinking, and all brought about 
 
 By not taking heed at the first. 
 
 His reason condemns him for what he has done ; 
 
 Alas ! he feels humbled enough ; 
 And half way resolves hereafter to shun 
 
 The poisonous, detestable siuf. 
 
INTEMPERANCE. 235 
 
 But, ah, he has made the same promise before, 
 
 A hundred of thousand times told ; 
 And once, I believe, although I'm not sure, 
 
 His name on the pledge was enrolled. 
 
 He pledges his word but to break it again — 
 
 A slave to the appetites now — 
 His purpose so weak he cannot abstain, 
 
 Though bound by the Nazarite's vow. 
 
 But the cause of his failure lies mostly in this : 
 
 He trusts in a strength of his own ; 
 Like Samson, his locks have been shorn from his face, 
 
 And his strength has departed and gone. 
 
 Though shorn of his locks and deprived of his sight, 
 
 Would he suffer himself to be led, 
 And lean for support on omnipotent might, 
 
 He could conquer through heavenly aid. 
 
 'Tis heavenly aid alone that can save 
 
 The wretch from the drunkard's hard fate; 
 
 'Tis that which can free the inebriate slave. 
 And give hope to the now desolate. 
 
 Like one that lies down in the midst of the sea. 
 
 Or one on the top of a mast. 
 Destruction yawns round him, no port can he see, 
 
 And the storm-cloud is gathering fast. 
 
 On the wide stormy sea of intemperance he 
 
 Is driven still further from shore; 
 And the storm seems to howl in his ear the decree 
 
 That he ne'er shall return any more. 
 
 The comparison view, by King Solomon made ; 
 
 How forcible 'tis and how true; 
 And in this, our day, it is worse, I'm afraid, 
 
 Than it was in the days of the Jew. 
 
236 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The many strong drinks invented since then 
 Have deepened and widened the stream ; 
 
 And spirits distilled are more poisonous to men 
 Than fermented drinks, it would seem. 
 
 Like one on the top of a mast, sound asleep. 
 
 While billows are rolling below. 
 Unconscious, he nears the abyss, dark and deep, 
 
 Where drunkards are destined to go. 
 
 Though smitten and stricken, he feels not the pain 
 
 That in kindness is given to heal ; 
 He wakes not, or waking, he seeks yet again 
 
 In sleep his sad fate to conceal. 
 
 Then leaving him thus in his perilous sleep, 
 
 As he drifts on the ocean so wide. 
 By his fate let us profit, and evermore keep 
 
 Far away from the treacherous tide. 
 
 Oh, let us not look on the wine when 'tis red. 
 
 When its color appears in the cup. 
 When it moveth itself like a serpent of dread, 
 
 For a fang will be found in each sup. 
 
 Its beginnings are smooth and deceitful, I know, 
 
 And promise us pleasures ahead ; 
 But, oh, let me tell you, the further you go 
 
 The rougher the path you must tread. 
 
 There's a way, and that way to man seemeth right, 
 
 Bat Solomon says, and with truth, 
 That its end is the way of death and dark night ; 
 
 Then shun it, oh, shun it in youth! 
 
 Wine, wine is a mocker ! and what is strong drink ? 
 
 'Tis raging and rages indeed ; 
 And deceived ones are lead to destruction's dark brink- 
 
 But he who is wise will take heed. 
 
INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 If sinners entice thee, consent not, my son. 
 For their feet haste to evil and death ; 
 
 Walk not in the pathway in which they may run, 
 But thy footsteps refrain from their path. 
 
 And now, in the end, let me say, once for all, 
 There's an evil abroad in the land ; 
 
 And hundreds and thousands do stumble and fall 
 Who otherwise proudly might stand. 
 
 Forbid it, oh. Heavenly Father ! forbid 
 That the streamlet shall ever increase; 
 
 But, oh, dry it up, and let us instead 
 See a river of plenty and peace ! 
 
 237 
 
POEMS, DESCRIPTIVE AND HUMOROUS. 
 
 THE PROBLEM. 
 
 A youth, when verging on nineteen — 
 One that by all was counted green, 
 
 An awkward, gawky lad — 
 A lady's age once chanced to ask. 
 For which she gave him such a task 
 
 As youngster never had. 
 
 '' My age," said she, " I will not tell; 
 But if you're skilled in numbers well. 
 
 As I suppose you are, 
 I'll give you data whence you may 
 Obtain my age unto a day ; 
 
 And that, you'll own, is fair. 
 
 ' ' First let its cube be added to 
 
 Six times my age, and then add you 
 
 Four times its square to that ; 
 Then let the whole be multiplied 
 By once my age, and then you add 
 
 Four times my age to that. 
 
 ''Then, since you're nineteen years of age, 
 Add eight times that, and I'll engage 
 
 The whole amount will be 
 Half a milhon, neither more nor less ; 
 Now, if you tell my age, I guess 
 
 You'll be the boy for me." 
 
THE PROBLEM. * 239 
 
 That green one studied night and day 
 In Fowler, Smiley, Smith, and Ray, 
 
 But no such question found ; 
 He strung out figures by the yard, 
 But still the problem was so hard 
 
 He couldn't square it round. 
 
 But still resolved to persevere, 
 He worked for nearly half a year, 
 
 And made the answer plain ; 
 And when he'd solved the problem true 
 (A problem which I give to you), 
 
 She heard from him again. 
 
 Said he : ''My dear Miss W., 
 You didn't know what I could do ; 
 
 And now you're fairly caught; 
 I am the boy for you, although 
 From these here figures now I know 
 
 You're older than I thought. 
 
 ' ' We both have been deceived for once ; 
 You thought that you had met a dunce, — 
 
 One of the many Greens ; 
 While I myself was wrong in this : 
 I took you for a bashful miss, 
 
 Not yet beyond the teens. 
 
 '' But I'm the boy for you, I guess; 
 So hurry up your wedding dress. 
 
 We'll make. an even trade; 
 You've got the " boot " in age, but I 
 In height and weight ; so let us tie 
 
 The bargain that you made." 
 
240 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 THE FISHERMAN'S LA WSUIT. 
 
 'Mongst all the subjects of doubt and dispute, 
 Did you ever hear tell of the fisher's lawsuit — 
 Where John was the plaintiff, and Peter defended — 
 And how it began and how it was ended ? 
 
 To tell the tale, then, as 'twas told unto me : 
 One Peter Boncure lived hard by the sea ; 
 This Peter, 'tis said, was a fisher by trade, 
 And by plying that calling, his living he made. 
 
 The catching of fish was all his employ; 
 
 Nothing else did he ever molest or destroy ; 
 
 He was honest and friendly, and kind to the poor — 
 
 A Very good name had this Peter Boncure. 
 
 One day, as he walked along the sea-side, 
 
 With hook and with line, and with bait well supplied. 
 
 He heard, as he thought, a cry of distress, 
 
 And quickening his steps, he ran to the place. 
 
 And when he had searched the place all around. 
 He saw a poor man, who, apparently drowned, 
 Deep down in the water, lay still as a stone, 
 Nor stirred hand or foot, nor uttered a groan. 
 
 That the man to the surface again might arise, 
 His hook and his line with a will Peter plies. 
 And soon to the margin the body he drew ; 
 When who should it be, but his neighbor John Blue. 
 
 And while he was thinking how best to proceed, 
 With this, his poor friend, in a time of great need, 
 He saw, to his sorrow, and to his surprise, 
 That his hook had hooked out one of his eyes. 
 
THE fisherman's LAWSUIT. 24 1 
 
 However, persuaded that still he might live, 
 
 He proceeded still farther assistance to give; 
 
 He bled him, and rubbed him, and rolled him about 
 
 Till he saw him recov'ring beyond any doubt. 
 
 To his cottage he took him, and put him to bed ; 
 And in less than a week, if the truth must be said — 
 Except in the loss of his eye and the wound — 
 Friend John was as well as before he was drowned. 
 
 But when he was able to walk out again, 
 He felt the loss of his eye very plain, 
 And, forgetting past favors, as many still do, 
 Talked loud of his loss, and of damages, too. 
 
 *Twas Peter's fish-hook that had made him half blind, 
 And to sue him for damage he made up his mind ; 
 Went straight to a lawyer, and sued a writ out, 
 Which Peter was summoned to answer about. 
 
 Poor Peter felt vexed, as any one would. 
 But defended the matter as well as he could : 
 Said the damage was done, but without his intent — 
 In fact and in truth, 'twas a pure accident. 
 
 His conscience felt easy, he said, on that score ; 
 
 111 fortune alone was to blame, he felt sure ; 
 
 And that John should be willing, when death was so 
 
 nigh. 
 To purchase his life with the loss of an eye. 
 
 He admitted John's loss was great and severe. 
 But said he would always assert without fear 
 That a man who can show but one eye in his head 
 Is better, much better, than one that is dead. 
 
 In answer to this, the defendant's fine speech, 
 John said no authority within all his reach, 
 Mo law nor no custom on earth could be found 
 To put a man's eye out because he was drowned. 
 
242 RURAL^RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 No emperor, king, or a senator sage, 
 
 No people or nation, in any dark age, 
 
 Had ever permitted, by force or surprise. 
 
 One neighbor to put out the next neighbor's eyes. 
 
 The damage to him was so very severe 
 
 As to equal at least a hundred a year ; 
 
 'Twas that he demanded, and Pete should comply, 
 
 Or else give him back his identical eye. 
 
 The arguments brought the Judge into a strait — 
 'Twas hard to decide which had the most weight ; 
 The lawyers all, too, appeared at a stand 
 Which way to decide on the matter in hand. 
 Till a half-witted boy, who was present by chance, 
 Asked leave of the court his thoughts to advance, 
 And said: '"Tis as plain as the nose on your face. 
 And I never would want a less difficult case. 
 
 ** The case may be novel, although it is plain ; 
 Be guided by me, and you'll ne'er doubt again : 
 The plea of the plaintiff rests on this one fact, 
 That Peter proceeded with so little tact, 
 And handled his hook in so awkward a way 
 As to ruin John's looks, for which he claims pay. 
 
 *' And now, please your honor, just listen to me: 
 
 Let the plaintiff once more be sunk in the sea, 
 
 And when he has lain there as long as before, 
 
 Then give him permission to come to the shore ; 
 
 And if he succeeds, and gets out alone. 
 
 Safe, sound, and undamaged why, then be it known 
 
 That Peter must pay all the damages claimed, 
 
 However so little by others he's blamed ; 
 
 But if, after struggling and flouncing about, 
 
 John drowns in the water and never gets out, 
 
 Why, then it is justice, as all will admit, 
 
 That the court should at once the defendant acquit." 
 
DORR MORRISON S RIDE. 243 
 
 The Judge thanked the boy for his logical view, 
 And was charging the jury in accordance to do, 
 When the plaintiff in action cut short the dispute 
 By saying, " Please your honor, I withdraw the suit I ^* 
 
 DORR MORRISON'S RIDE; OR, JOHN GILPIN 
 
 THE IL 
 
 Tom Thompson was a soldier bold, 
 
 As bold as bold can be. 
 And in the famous Kansas wars, 
 
 A captain then was he. 
 
 He marched across Missouri's line, 
 
 To Kansas with his men, 
 But when he found old Sumner there, 
 
 He marched them back again. 
 
 Through fair Paola they returned. 
 
 With armor shining bright, 
 And when a little space beyond. 
 
 They halted for the night. 
 
 And there they fought their battles o'er, 
 
 Their merit to enhance. 
 And boasted what they would have done, 
 
 If they had had a chance. 
 
 Now Thompson's men were heroes all, 
 
 The bravest in the land, 
 To hear them talk, you would have thought 
 
 No foe could them withstand. 
 
 But there was one surpassing brave — 
 
 The world scarce ever saw 
 A braver than Dorr Morrison, 
 
 The captain's son-in-law. 
 
344 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 He louder talked, and boasted more 
 
 Than any one beside — 
 Could he but meet the Yankees, sure, 
 
 The Yankee woe betide. 
 
 'Twas thus the hours passed away ; 
 
 Each felt heroic flame — 
 And sank to sleep, perhaps to dream 
 
 Of military fame. 
 
 Next morn the captain called the roll 
 
 As soon as it was day, 
 And said, '' I'll tell you what, my boys, 
 
 We'd better get away. 
 
 ** For Reid has burned that Yankee town, 
 That Osso-what's-its-name,* 
 
 A few miles down the country here — 
 You saw the smoke and flame. 
 
 ** And now the Yankee tribe will come, 
 
 And be avenged on us 
 Unless we get away from them. 
 
 And so escape the muss." 
 
 Then spoke Dorr Morrison, the brave : 
 ** Just let the Yankees come! 
 
 We'll give 'em hail Columbia, sure, 
 And send 'em back to hum ! 
 
 ** Just let 'em come, the coward slaves. 
 
 From Abolition's den; 
 We'll whip 'em, though they're ten to one 
 
 'Gainst our pro-slavery men ! " 
 
 But Thompson couldn't see it so; 
 
 Said he, " The better plan 
 Is not to stay and risk a fight. 
 
 But march while march we can." 
 
 *UBawatomie. 
 
DORR Morrison's ride. 245 
 
 The baggage train, consistiog of 
 
 A wagon drawn by mules, 
 Was hurried off in their advance, 
 
 For that was marching rules. 
 
 And hastily their horses now 
 
 Are caught and saddled all, 
 And they await the word to mount, 
 
 And into column fall. 
 
 Their faces all are homeward turned, 
 
 And, willingly or not, 
 They mount their horses at the word. 
 
 And set off on a trot. 
 
 But there was Harry Whack McCrack, 
 
 And Hink I Donowho, 
 Who lagged behind, and in the fog 
 
 Were hidden from the view. 
 
 And then these two mischievous boys, 
 
 To have a little fun. 
 Resolved to give their friends a scare, 
 
 And see if they could run. 
 
 So Harry primed his arms afresh. 
 
 And Hmkley followed suit, 
 Then fired their guns and pistols off, 
 
 As fast as they could shoot. 
 
 They couldn't see from out the fog 
 
 The effect on those before. 
 But the clattering of their horses' feet 
 
 Was like the thunder's roar. 
 
 Upon the morning's balmy air 
 
 The thundering echoes broke ; 
 While Hinkley screamed and called aloud, 
 
 *' Stop ! stop ! 'tis all a joke.'' 
 
246 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 They heard him not, they heeded not, 
 
 But hurried on apace, 
 While, Hink and Harry hurried too, 
 
 Like men who rode a race. 
 
 'Twas " helter-skelter," man and horse, 
 
 O'er hill and over plain. 
 As fast and faster moving still 
 
 They whipped and spurred amain. 
 
 They soon o'ertook the baggage-train — 
 
 The driver whipping too. 
 For he had heard the din behind, 
 
 And knew not what to do. 
 
 ** Save, save yourself !" Dorr Morris cried- 
 
 For he was now before — 
 ** A thousand Yankees just behind ! 
 
 A thousand, if no more." 
 
 The driver took him at his word — 
 He cut the hame-string square, 
 
 And mounting on the nearest mule, 
 He left the other there. 
 
 Thus on they rode to Dashman's farm, 
 Where dwelt a widowed squaw — 
 
 For they were on the Indian lands. 
 The lands of the Wea.* 
 
 But some were falling now behind — 
 
 Their horses were in fault ; 
 So Thompson raised his voice aloud, 
 
 And called his men to halt. 
 
 Said he, " We'll stop and fortify; 
 
 And if they come — why, then 
 We'll fight, and do the best we can; 
 
 We *11 fight, my boys, like men. 
 
 *We-aw. 
 
DORR MORRISON S RIDE. 247 
 
 " See here, this smoke-house, good and strong ; 
 
 Of that we'll make a fort. 
 And if the Yankees should attack. 
 
 We'll give a good report." 
 
 Into the meat-house then they crowd — 
 
 'Twas full from roof to floor 
 Of living flesh — not salted down ; 
 
 But in a pickle, sure. 
 
 For when the doors were closed and barred, 
 
 And fastened round about, 
 They found themselves within the fort, 
 
 And all their guns without.* 
 
 But where are Hink and Harry now ? 
 
 They're bringing up the rear; 
 Slow following upon the track, 
 
 And soon they will be there. 
 
 At first they rode with all their speed, 
 
 Their horses on the strain. 
 To overtake the flying host — 
 
 But, ah, 'twas all in vain ! 
 
 Yet still they kept pursuing on, 
 
 And followed the retreat. 
 But every moment fainter grew 
 
 The sound of horses' feet. 
 
 " Where will they stop ? " said Hink, at last; 
 
 ** D'ye think they ever will?" 
 '* I think, perhaps," said Whack McCrack, 
 
 "They'll stop at Pleasant Hill. 
 
 ** For they are now like Gilpin's horse — 
 
 They'll run till they reach town." 
 Said Hink, " Perhaps, like Yankee clocks. 
 
 They'll stop when they've run down.*' 
 
 •That part some of them deny. 
 
248 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Thus riding on, they came at length 
 
 To where the baggage-train 
 Had been abandoned on the road, 
 
 And then they drew the rein. 
 
 Said Harry, '* Here is trouble, now; 
 
 I fear we've played the fool — 
 We've got Van Higgin's wagon here, 
 
 And Duncomb's favorite mule. 
 
 ** And though they're on the road toward home, 
 
 They're on it like to stay — 
 And though they hold their tongues, they speak, 
 
 And plainly seem to say, 
 
 *' That we must cover the retreat, 
 
 And take the bagg age through ; 
 Or else, perhaps, we'll have to pay 
 
 For mule and wagon too." 
 
 Dismounting then, they harnessed up 
 
 Hink's horse behind the mule, 
 And travelled leisurely along, 
 
 To let their horses cool. 
 
 And now the fog had cleared away — 
 
 And when they came m view, 
 The men within the smoke-house saw 
 
 And recognized the two. 
 
 '* 'Tis Hink and Harry, safe and sound — 
 
 The baggage-wagon, too ! 
 Why, boys, we thought you both were killed; 
 
 Come, tell us how you do." 
 
 But when the boys began to laugh, 
 
 And said 'twas all d^joke, 
 Oh, what a mighty storm of wrath 
 
 Forth from the captain broke. 
 
DORR MORRISON S RIDE. 
 
 He made for Harry with his gun, 
 
 And vowed in angry strain, 
 That he who laughed at such a joke 
 
 Should never laugh again. 
 
 But soon, this hurly-burly o'er, 
 
 They took a calm survey. 
 And counted up the loss and gain 
 
 Of that eventful day. 
 
 Of killed and wounded on the field 
 They found that there were none, 
 
 And of the missing it appeared 
 That there was only one. 
 
 The brave Dorr Morris answered not — 
 
 The reason why was clear : 
 When Thompson gave the word to halt, 
 
 Dorr Morris failed to hear. 
 
 But on, and onward still he rode, 
 
 With unbated speed ; 
 And still he plied the whip and spurs 
 
 Upon his panting steed. 
 
 He rode as for a mighty stake — 
 
 The issue life or death — 
 Until he crossed Missouri's line. 
 
 And then he stopped for breath. 
 
 He paused, and looked behind to see 
 
 Who followed in his rear; 
 Well pleased he was to find that all 
 
 The coast around was clear. 
 
 Not long he tarried there to breathe; 
 
 He bounded forward still — 
 For though 'twas thirty miles away, 
 
 His goal was Pleasant Hill. 
 
 17 — 
 
 249 
 
250 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 At every farmer's house he passed, 
 He raised his voice and said : 
 
 ** The Yankee's come! the Yankee's come I 
 And half our men are dead ! 
 
 *' And all the rest surrounded are, 
 Back at the Dashman farm ; 
 
 And I alone escaped to give 
 And spread the dread alarm ! 
 
 ** Call every brave pro-slavery man, 
 
 And go to their rescue ; 
 I'm riding now with an express, 
 
 Or I'd go back with you. 
 
 *' Arise, ye brave Missourians ! 
 
 The War has just begun ; 
 And when the call for soldiers comes, 
 
 Then count me in for one ! " 
 
 Through Morristown and Harrisville 
 
 The flying hero rode — 
 The trump of war had sounded sure. 
 
 And loud that trump he blowed. 
 
 And every time he told the tale 
 More wild and strange it grew ; 
 
 So wild and strange that some, at least. 
 Could scarce believe it true. 
 
 But Morris had an evidence — 
 A fight there sure had been — 
 
 He showed the hat upon his head, 
 A bullet-hole therein. 
 
 But still they wondered how it came 
 
 That leaden ball had sped 
 Right through the middle of his hat. 
 
 And yet had missed his head ! 
 
DORR Morrison's ride. 251 
 
 Perhaps his hair had raised the hat 
 
 So high from off his pate 
 That there was left a passage for 
 
 That messenger of fate. 
 
 Dorr Morris had no time to waste ; 
 
 He hurried onward still, 
 And long before the noon of day, 
 
 He got to Pleasant Hill. 
 
 Meanwhile the fearful tidings flew, 
 
 And spread from side to side, 
 And men and boys were hurrying 
 
 To check the coming tide. 
 
 They hurried toward the Indian Land, 
 
 In squads of two or more. 
 And such a reinforcing time 
 
 We never saw before. ' 
 
 Tom Thompson and his heroes brave. 
 
 Upon their journey home, 
 Met reinforcements every mile. 
 
 And still, and still they come! 
 
 But Morrison had rode so far. 
 
 And rode so fast to town 
 His horse at least, if not himself. 
 
 Was run completely down. 
 
 So, like a Yankee clock, he stopped 
 
 And would no longer run ; 
 And I, like him, will stop, for now 
 
 My yarn I've fully spun. 
 
ACROSTICS AND OTHER SHORT POEMS. 
 
 DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 
 
 Written for a Young Friend. In which the name Is found by read- 
 ing the first letters, either from top or bottom to the centre. 
 
 Just what I am, or what I'll be, 
 Appears a mystery to me — 
 
 My mind so often changes; 
 Even while I plan for future weal, 
 Some turn of fickle Fortune's wheel 
 
 My plan of life deranges ; 
 Sometimes I feel myself a blank. 
 The semblance of some broken plank, 
 
 Upon an ocean driven ; 
 Like vessel tossed, and floating on 
 Till driven finally upon 
 
 Sahara's desert even. 
 
 Sahara's burning sands the while 
 To fairy lands will change, and smile 
 
 Like fields of fair Elysian, 
 Until, like Selkirk, I can say. 
 The monarch of a grand survey, 
 
 So fair to Fancy's vision ; 
 Monarch like, I think my name 
 Shall stand upon the scroll of fame. 
 
 Enrolled in letters gleaming — 
 May stand perhaps almost as high 
 As Washington's — oh, Jemmy, fie ! 
 
 Just wake, for you are dreaming. 
 
ACROSTIC. 253 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 "Written for Mary Burton. 
 
 My thoughts are soaring as a dove 
 
 Away to worlds on-high; 
 Rising, they mount and soar above 
 
 Yon azure vaulted sky. 
 
 But though my thoughts, on Fancy's wings, 
 
 Up to the highest star ascends 
 Reality as often brings 
 Those thoughts to earth and earthly things; 
 Or warm affection fondly clings 
 
 Near to my earthly home and friends. 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 To Mary E. J. Burton. 
 
 May I govern my passions and keep them subdued, 
 And never be vicious, intemperate, or rude; 
 Resolving, whatever on earth may betide. 
 Youth or age shall not tempt me from justice aside. 
 
 Encompassed by snares in the journey of life. 
 Just grant me, kind Providence, freedom from strife; 
 By the rivers of peace may I journey along. 
 United to friends and beguiled by their song ; 
 Renouncing the world, with its fashions and pride. 
 To the home of the blessed may I cross o'er the tide- 
 O'er the Jordan of Death may I peacefully go— 
 No fears to disturb, though the banks overflow. 
 
254 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 Written as an Autograpli in the Album of Mollie Johnson. 
 
 Misfortunes dark may gather round 
 
 Our fragile bark, now homeward bound — 
 
 Let not their winds detain us; 
 Life's stormy sea will soon be past — 
 In heavenly ports, when anchored fast, 
 
 Earth's conflicts will not pain us. 
 
 Jerusalem, thy mansions bright — 
 Our home above in realms of light — 
 
 Home of the blessed forever; 
 Not all the storms that darken day 
 Should cause our footsteps to delay, 
 Or turn our feet from out the way ; 
 
 No, never, never, never ! 
 
 ACROSTIC 
 
 Written iu the Album, of Miss J. Franklin. 
 
 Just think, when e*er these lines you see, 
 Upon what great uncertainty 
 
 Depends our comfort here ; 
 In all of life's vicissitudes, 
 Through crowded streets and solitudes, 
 How great are our disquietudes — 
 
 Forever filled with fear. 
 Renounce the world and worldly bliss, 
 And seek a higher sphere than this, 
 
 Nor seek beneath the sky ; 
 Know that beyond this vale of tears. 
 Lit up by joy, a home appears, 
 In which the good, through endless years. 
 
 No longer fear to die. 
 
A PARODY ON A WELL-KNOWN HYMN. 255 
 
 ACROSTIC- DOUBLE. 
 
 Many a tide may ebb and flow, 
 
 All my friends may me forsake; 
 Rolling waves may come and go, 
 
 Tempest-tossed my vessel break ; 
 If the captain by me stand, 
 
 Naught I'll fear, naught I'll fear ; 
 Resting on his promise sure, 
 I, amid the tempest's roar, 
 Calmly view the distant shore — 
 
 Ever clear, ever clear. 
 Evening shades around may close. 
 
 Cold and dark the night come on — 
 I shall calmly then repose, 
 
 Resting till the day shall dawn ; 
 Numbered with my buried friends, 
 
 I shall rest, sweetly rest, 
 Till the night of death is o'er; 
 Rising then aloft I'll soar, 
 And find a home on yonder shore, 
 
 'Mongst the blest, 'raongst the blest. 
 
 PARODY ON A WELL-KNOWN HYMN, 
 
 Could I but see my pathway clear 
 
 From out this land of sighs, 
 I fain would quit this sorrowing sphere, 
 
 And seek a heavenly prize. 
 
 Though sinful men their wars may wage. 
 With banners wide unfurled, 
 
 I'll smile at their impotent rage. 
 And seek a better. world. 
 
256 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Should Death in all his terrors come, 
 
 It would not me appall ; 
 'Twould take me to a better home^ 
 
 Where God is all in all. 
 
 There shall my weary, way-worn soul 
 
 Bask in eternal rest. 
 And waves of sorrow no more roll 
 
 Across an aching breast. 
 
 THE MOON. 
 
 "Written for a Prize at a Scliool Examination. 
 
 To write, when I consented to, 
 I had no subject in my view, 
 
 On which to try my hand ; 
 And for a subject, when I sought, 
 I found myself in trouble caught, 
 For not an idea or a thought 
 
 Would come at my command. 
 
 Imagination's pleasures wild, ' 
 
 Then Nature's works, my thoughts beguiled, 
 
 And Education, too ; 
 Knowledge and Truth, with aspect bold, 
 And Eloquence, their claims unrolled; 
 But all of these were worn and old ; 
 
 I wanted something new. 
 
 While pondering these things at night. 
 And sitting in the pale moonlight, 
 
 I felt my bosom thrill ; 
 I saw the Moon in splendor ride 
 Through fleecy clouds in stately pride, 
 And thought that nothing else beside 
 
 Would suit me half so well. 
 
THE MOON. 257 
 
 The Moon my subject, then, will be — 
 The Moon, which over earth and sea, 
 
 Has ever ruled the night ; 
 The Moon, which regulates the tides, 
 And into months the year divides; 
 Which, ever changing, still abides, 
 
 Fixed in its orbit bright. 
 
 Since first creation's work was done. 
 It has the self-same journey run, 
 
 And shown the self-same face; 
 It shines on us as first it shone 
 On Adam, when he stood alone, 
 Ere he had sinned, or death was known, 
 
 To mar his happiness. 
 
 Its pale, its mild, its pitying face 
 Has looked on all of Adam's race 
 
 For near six thousand years ; 
 Far in the East, beyond the wave. 
 It shone on Abel's new-made grave. 
 And looked from out the blue concave. 
 
 Just as it now appears. 
 
 And when the waters overflowed 
 The ancient world, and Noah rode 
 
 Upon a deluge wild. 
 The Moon, still in its monthly race. 
 Looked down upon that watery waste, 
 And saw reflected there the face 
 
 Which so serenely smiled. 
 
 On Sodom and Gomorrah, too. 
 It shone, as it is wont to do. 
 
 With mild and placid face ; 
 But when its monthly round was run. 
 And on the plain again it shone. 
 Those crowded cities both were gone, 
 
 And a sea was in their place. 
 
258 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES, 
 
 Three thousand years have passed away, 
 But still, until the present day, 
 
 The Moon yet shines as bright 
 Upon the dark and sluggish sea 
 As when the land was proud and free, 
 And will till earth has ceased to be, 
 And Time shall take its flight. 
 
 It shines upon the pyramid, 
 As thousand years ago it did. 
 
 With pale and silv'ry light ; 
 It looked upon those structures then. 
 And saw them builded by the men 
 Whose names, for centuries, have been 
 
 Lost and forgotten quite. 
 
 It shone on Thebes and Memphis, too, 
 Before to wealth those cities grew ; 
 
 It saw them rise and fall; 
 And now it shines on arid plains, 
 Where naught of wealth or pride remains, 
 But desolation ever reigns, 
 
 Amid those ruins all. 
 
 It shone on Babylon, the fair, 
 Upon the hanging garden, there, 
 
 Beside the willow-trees; 
 It shone on Nineveh, the great, 
 When Jonah preached the awful fate, 
 The coming doom, which did await 
 
 On its iniquities. 
 
 But Ruin's hand has passed them o'er; 
 Long since they sank, to rise no more — 
 
 Their sites we scarce can know ; 
 But yet the Moon has ne'er forgot 
 To shine upon each lonely spot. 
 To desolation rudely brought. 
 
 As prophets did foreshow. 
 
THE MOON. 259 
 
 Long did the Grecian temples gleam, 
 Touched by the pale, unwarming beam 
 
 Which did their spires illume ; 
 It shone upon the Roman world, 
 Their conquering banners when unfurled, 
 And paled when Nero's torch was hurled, 
 
 The city to consume. 
 
 While rolling ages passed away, 
 The Moon shone on America, 
 
 Unknown to all the East ; 
 It shone upon those goodly lands 
 From eastern shore to western strands, 
 Upon the roving Indian bands. 
 
 And on the savage beast. 
 
 And when the hardy Genoese 
 Adventured over unknown seas, 
 
 In quest of India's shore, 
 The Moon then shone, in silver pale, 
 Upon the vessel's wide-spread sail, 
 And saw it wafted by the gale 
 
 The wide Atlantic o'er. 
 
 It'shone upon that little flock 
 Of pilgrims, who, on Plymouth Rock, 
 ^ . Debarked from off the waves; 
 Three hundred years and more have fled; 
 Those pilgrims now are with the dead. 
 But still the Moon her light will shed 
 Upon their unknown graves. 
 
 Like to the cloud Elijah saw. 
 That little flock did larger grow. 
 
 And larger still increased. 
 Till now it spreads from shore to shore. 
 And numbers millions o'er and o'er; 
 And still the Moon shines, as of yore, 
 
 On all, from West to East. 
 
260 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 When Washington did nobly dare 
 To cross the raging Delaware, 
 
 The Moon was shining then; 
 It shone upon the hero's brow, 
 It shone on Trenton then as now, 
 And saw the British Lion bow 
 
 To freedom-loving men. 
 
 Once, only once, since time began, 
 That orb has barkened unto man. 
 
 To stay its daily race; 
 When Joshua, the son of Nun, 
 Commanded, both the Moon and Sun 
 Stood still, until his work was done. 
 
 Nor hastened to their place. 
 
 One consolation here I know : 
 When I am called by Death to go. 
 
 And leave a world of care. 
 Though friends may shun the spot where I 
 Am doomed in the cold ground to lie. 
 The Moon majestic from on high. 
 Will shine in pity there. 
 
 THE ORPHAN'S LOT. 
 
 Becited at a School Exhibition, Feb., 1872. 
 
 Permit me, friends and teacher kind, 
 To-night to speak my woes : 
 
 The sorrows of an orphan's mind 
 No favored mortal knows. 
 
 I had a father once, who died — 
 
 1 well remember how;* 
 An orphan, drifting on life's tide, 
 
 I have no father now. 
 
 •See " The Exodus of '63, or Order Number 11. " 
 
THE orphan's lot. 261 
 
 He fell amongst the thousands, who, 
 
 In the great War, were slain; 
 And we who loved a father true 
 
 Will see him ne'er again. 
 
 He sleeps within an humble grave, 
 
 Where roses sometimes bloom ; 
 Those flowerets cheer me as they wave, 
 
 But leave my heart in gloom. 
 
 He left me to a mother's care, 
 
 A mother kind and true ; 
 We were the objects of her prayers, 
 
 Her toils and watchings, too. 
 
 She led me on the thorny road. 
 
 The thorny road of life ; 
 She told me of a bright abode 
 
 Beyond this vale of strife. 
 
 And she has reached that bright abode, 
 
 Beyond the shores of time ; 
 And we, upon life's rugged road, 
 
 Press on toward that clime. 
 
 Her hand no longer points the way, 
 
 No longer smooths my brow ; 
 Sad orphan 'mongst my school-mates gay, 
 
 I have no mother now. 
 
 I'm fatherless, I'm motherless. 
 
 No parent's guiding hand 
 To lead me through life s wilderness, 
 
 Where dangers thickly stand. 
 
 But brother John and I, alas ! 
 
 With sister Rosalie, 
 Sad orphans through the world must pass, 
 
 For orphans sad are we. 
 
26a RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Ye who by fortune have been blessed, 
 Upbraid and blame me not ; 
 
 You little know what woes are pressed 
 On the poor orphan's lot. 
 
 You have not been compelled, as I, 
 To give your dearest treasures up ; 
 
 You ne'er have seen your mother die, 
 Nor drank the orphan's bitter cup. 
 
 But I must not with envy look 
 On those more favored far than I ; 
 
 'Twas God who gave, 'twas He who took, 
 And to His will I'll bow, or try. 
 
 May 5^ou, my school-mates, never know 
 The griefs and sorrows I have known ; 
 
 Ne'er be bereft of friends below. 
 And left as orphans, sad and lone. 
 
 THE CHILD'S DREAM. 
 
 Oh, why did you wake me up, mamma ? 
 
 I would have slept all day ; 
 For I had a pleasant dream, mamma, 
 
 Of our home so far away. 
 
 I thought that we were there again. 
 
 My brother John and me ; 
 And we wandered up and down the lane, 
 
 And played by the cherry-tree. 
 
 And there was little George, mamma, 
 With the hat he used to wear ; 
 
 And I saw his little brother, too. 
 And Jake and Lizzie there. 
 
THE child's dream. 263 
 
 We climbed the orchard fence, mamma, 
 
 And ranged the orchard through ; 
 And picked the large, red apples up, 
 
 Just like we used to do. 
 
 And then we went to grandma's house — 
 
 The big, white house, you know; 
 And my grandma took me in her arms. 
 
 And would not let me go. 
 
 And then I thought my grandma cried, 
 
 And called me orphan child ; 
 But then I kissed my grandma till 
 
 She wiped her eyes and smiled. 
 
 And then we went back home, mamma. 
 
 To that small house of ours ; 
 And went into the garden there, 
 
 Amongst the pretty flowers. 
 
 And who do you think I saw, mamma? 
 
 It was my own dear pa ; 
 And I felt so happy then, although 
 
 'Twas but a dream I saw. 
 
 For I know that he is dead, mamma — 
 
 For him you weep and grieve ; 
 For he was killed, you know, mamma, 
 
 The day we had to leave.* 
 
 But I thought that he was there, mamma, 
 
 And he took me on his knee. 
 And kissed us as he used to do. 
 
 My little sis and me. 
 
 And I thought he sang to us, mamma, 
 
 The song he used to sing; 
 And then I went with you and him 
 
 Down to the willow spring. 
 
 «6ee poeia "Order No. 11." 
 
264 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 But you have waked me up, mamma, 
 And we are far away ; 
 , Oh, shall we not go back again 
 To that dear home some day? 
 
 THE EXILE'S LAMENT. 
 
 "Written in the latter part of 1863, and published in the Lexington Uzdom. 
 
 Alone I've returned to the home whence expelled 
 
 By *' Order Eleven," from Kansas; 
 And here, in this home, by my feelings impelled, 
 
 I sigh as I'm penning these stanzas. 
 
 In the home which I builded I sit alone quite, 
 Or walk through its rooms in sad silence ; 
 
 And I think of the time when my skies were all bright, 
 Ere the land had been covered with violence. 
 
 I look on my hearth-stone, so cheerless and cold, 
 And my eyes as I look become tearful. 
 
 As I think of the past, and the happy household 
 Who once met around it, so cheerful. 
 
 In vain I may look for that household to-day. 
 In vain search the orchard or wildwood ; 
 
 My motherless children are now far away 
 From the scenes of their earliest childhood. 
 
 I look on the landscape, so changed and defaced, 
 And the farms, all to ruin fast hasting; 
 
 The fruits of my labors, abandoned in haste, 
 I find are now wasted or wasting. 
 
 I look through my windows on farms lying waste. 
 The homes of my once happy neighbors, 
 
 Whose houses and orchards are torn and defaced, 
 And spoiled are the fruits of their labors. 
 
you've sung of Greenland's mountains. 265 
 
 But some of those neighbors I'll see here no more — 
 
 I laid them in beds dark and gory* — 
 But when I have quitted this blood-crimsoned shore, 
 
 I hope I shall meet them in glory. 
 
 Hard, hard is the fate of an exile from home, 
 
 And hard is our lot among strangers ; 
 Wherever we wander, wherever we roam, 
 
 We're looked on as Quantrell's bush-rangers. 
 
 What though we have suffered at bush-whackers' hands, 
 
 Or bled in the cause of the Union, 
 Because from the haunt of those bush-whacking bands, 
 
 We're counted as if in communion. 
 
 But I must away now, and leave here with pain — 
 
 This wreck of my earthly Elysian ; 
 And when I have left it, perhaps ne'er again 
 
 Will this home greet my organs of vision. 
 
 YOU'VE SUNG OF GREENLAND'S MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Written in June, 1861. 
 
 You've sung of Greenland's Mountains, 
 
 You've sung it many a time ; 
 Of Afric's sunny fountains, 
 
 And India's sultry clime; 
 And of the night of error 
 
 That reigns o'er heathen lands, 
 And called on many a hearer 
 
 To lend them helping hands. 
 
 You've sung the lavish kindness 
 Of Heaven, bestowed in vain 
 
 Where superstitious blindness 
 Supreme appeared to reign; 
 
 *See poem " Order No. 11." 
 18 
 
266 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And thought that men enlightened, 
 In favored lands like this, 
 
 Should send to men benighted 
 The lamp of gospel peace. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! what better 
 
 Is our condition now ? 
 We're bound as with a fetter, 
 
 And to an idol bow; 
 That lamp of Christian kindness, 
 
 Which we would send afar, 
 Has, by our foolish blindness, 
 
 Been quenched in Civil War. 
 
 Now we, instead of bowing 
 
 To wood and stone as they, 
 To bloody Mars are vowing. 
 
 And vows to him we pay ; 
 Oh, that some Christian herald 
 
 Would come to us from far. 
 And save a land imperilled 
 
 By this intestine War ! 
 
 No Juggernaut more bloody. 
 
 No worship more absurd. 
 Than that whose votaries study 
 
 To conquer by the sword — 
 A brother's hand imbruing 
 
 Deep in a brother's blood; 
 Not worse are heathens doing 
 
 Beyond the ocean's flood. 
 
 Waft not, ye winds, the story. 
 
 Nor bear the news abroad 
 To nations aged and hoary. 
 
 That we've forsaken God — 
 That this, our favored nation, 
 
 A land of Christians called. 
 Can rush on desolation. 
 
 And meet it unappalled. 
 
you've sung of Greenland's mountains. 267 
 
 Oh ! that the Lord in kindness 
 
 Would visit us again, 
 Would heal a nation's blindness, 
 
 And o'er the nations reign ; 
 That War and tumult ceasing, 
 
 The North and South might meet, 
 With peace and love increasing. 
 
 And bow at Jesus' feet ! 
 
POMS, DESCRIPTIVE AND SCRIPTORAL. 
 
 ABRAHAM'S LAMENT. 
 
 Andf Abraham came to m.ourn for Sarah and to weep for her. — Qenesit. 
 
 My fair princess is no more ! 
 
 Tranquilly she sleeps in death, 
 And her loss I now deplore, 
 
 While amongst the sons of Heth, 
 Far from all my kindred frends, 
 
 I sojourn. 
 In and through a stranger's land 
 We have wandered hand in hand, 
 But by her liieless form I stand 
 
 Now to mourn. 
 
 Wanderer from the land of Ur, 
 
 Far beyond Euphrates' flood, 
 I am but a pilgrim here, 
 
 With no permanent abode — 
 
 The graves of all my kindred race 
 
 Far away. 
 Where shall Sarah's dust repose ? 
 Where shall mine, when at the close 
 I seek relief from all life's woes 
 
 In the clay? 
 
 God forbid that I should lay 
 Sarah in a stranger's tomb ! 
 At my death that stranger may 
 Refuse to give my body room; 
 •But to buy a resting-place 
 
 I propose. 
 
Abraham's lament. 269 
 
 Oh for a cave or sepulcher ! 
 Where I can lay my princess dear, 
 And know that I shall rest with her 
 
 At life's close. 
 
 It was at Jehovah's call, 
 
 That we left our native land ; 
 He who sees and governs all — 
 He it was who gave command. 
 Promising to give to us, 
 
 And our seed, 
 The land which he would bring us to ; 
 And, as God is ever true, 
 I have faith that he will do 
 
 As he said. 
 
 Though the days may tarry long. 
 
 Though my sons may be oppressed, 
 Though the chain of bondage strong 
 On their aching limbs be pressed, 
 Yet the time will surely come ; 
 
 (For I learn 
 Three generations must decay. 
 Four hundred years must pass away,) 
 When God will visit them, and they 
 
 Will return ; 
 
 Return unto this goodly land. 
 The land o'er which I roam, 
 And all the region I have scanned 
 Shall be their future home ; 
 
 Numerous as the stars of heaven 
 
 They shall be ; 
 Throughout the land, from east to west, 
 The sons of Abraham shall rest. 
 And all the nations shall be blessed 
 
 Then in me. 
 
270 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 'Twas long ago, in Egypt's land — 
 Of travellers there came a band, 
 
 Ten brothers all they were ; 
 Before the ruler of the land 
 Those travellers approach and stand, 
 
 And make obeisance there. 
 
 The ruler knew those brothers then, 
 For he was brother to the ten, 
 
 Although they knew him not ; 
 For they had sold him long ago, 
 When he was but a youth, and, lo ! 
 
 He was to Egypt brought. 
 
 They thought that he was yet a slave, 
 Or else that he was in the grave, 
 Or drowned within the sea ; 
 He made himself to them so strange. 
 Besides so great had been the change, 
 They little thought 'twas he. 
 
 ** From what far country have ye sped. 
 And wherefore have you come ? " he said, 
 
 " I fain would understand; 
 Ye look as if ye might be spies — 
 Perhaps you come to realize 
 
 How naked is the land ? " 
 
 *' We came from Canaan's land," they said, 
 '* And we have come to purchase bread. 
 
 Our families to feed ; 
 True men, we all thy servants are — 
 The sons of one man living there ; 
 
 We are no spies, indeed." 
 
. JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 2)1 
 
 *' Nay, nay." the ruler then repHed, 
 
 " Your answers prove that you have Hed, 
 
 For you are surely spies ; 
 I know ye are a Syrian band, 
 And you have come to spy the land, 
 
 And come in this disguise." 
 
 " Indeed, my lord, we spake the truth ; 
 We've dwelt in Canaan from our youth, 
 
 And hard has been our lot; 
 Twelve sons our aged father had — 
 The youngest now a little lad — 
 
 And one of them is not." 
 
 ** If that be so, you'll make it clear 
 By bringing that young brother here, 
 
 Your company to grace ; 
 For, by the life of Pharaoh, king, 
 You shall not buy of me a thing 
 
 Until I see his face. 
 
 ''In prison you shall here remain 
 Until you send back home again 
 
 And bring your brother hence; 
 For, by the life of Pharaoh, ye 
 Are spies, and buying bread of me 
 
 Is nothing but pretense." 
 
 He placed them in the prison then, 
 And there he kept those brothers ten 
 
 Three days and nights in pain ; 
 And then he said, "Do this and live — 
 Your lives to you I freely give 
 
 Upon conditions plain : 
 
 " Let one in prison here remain. 
 The nine may then return again 
 
 With food for your supplies ; 
 But when my face again you seek. 
 Bring down the lad of whom you speak, 
 
 Or surely ye are spies. 
 
272 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 "And if the lad you bring with you, 
 I then will know that ye are true, 
 
 And that you spake the truth ; 
 But Simeon shall wear the chain 
 Of bondage till you come again. 
 
 And bring with you the youth." 
 
 PART II. 
 
 In the land of the Canaanite Jacob now dwelt, 
 
 And worshiped on altars his fashers had built; 
 
 For thirty long years in that land he'd sojourned, 
 
 Since he from the land of the East had returned ; 
 
 A man of affliction, and sorrowing now. 
 
 Care-worn were his features, and saddened his brow. 
 
 Twelve sons and a daughter in time he had had. 
 
 And all were now gone but the youngest, a lad ; 
 
 A favorite son he had long mourned as dead, 
 
 And ten were now gone into Egypt for bread. 
 
 In his tent, on the plain of fair Mamre, sat he, 
 
 With his face to the south, that perchance he might see 
 
 The return of his sons ; and his gaze was steadfast, 
 
 For the time of their looked-for return was now past. 
 
 Too long have they tarried — perhaps they are slain ; 
 
 But a caravan now is in sight on the plain — 
 
 Toward the tent of old Jacob they come, nor delay ; 
 
 But he sees only nine — one, sure, is away. 
 
 They come to their father — a sad interview — 
 
 They tell of their journey, its incidents, too; 
 
 For Reuben, the eldest, recounted it thus : 
 
 ** The Lord of the country spake roughly to us; 
 
 He said we were spies, that to Egypt we came 
 
 To spy out the land, and report of the same. 
 
 But when we had told him that we were men true, 
 
 The sons of one father — an honored one, too — 
 
 That our brother, a lad, was at home with you still. 
 
 He fain would have kept us in prison until 
 
 A messenger came and returned with the youth. 
 
 To convince the stern ruler that we spake the truth. 
 
 At length he consented that we might return 
 
 With food and supplies, and your welfare to learn — 
 
JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 273 
 
 That Simeon there as a hostage remain 
 Till we shall go down into Egypt again, 
 And take along with us our brother, the youth, 
 And prove to him surely that we spake the truth. 
 But as we came home — the strangest thing yet — 
 As we opened a sack some provisions to get, 
 In the mouth of the sack, there, lo and behold ! 
 Was the money we paid for it — silver and gold ; 
 We know not its meaning, but fear that the man 
 Intends to deal hardly with us, if he can." 
 
 And now, as they emptied the stores which they brought, 
 
 They found all the money with which it was bought ; 
 
 The silver and gold, in full weight, had come back, . 
 
 And there it was then, in the mouth of each sack. 
 
 Sore afraid now was Jacob — the patriarch good — 
 
 Sore afraid were his sons, as around him they stood; 
 
 He said : " There is little of comfort now left, 
 
 For I of my children am sadly bereft ; 
 
 My favorite, Joseph, to wild beasts a prey, • 
 
 And Simeon now is in Egypt away ; 
 
 And ye would take Benjamin far from me now — 
 
 'Tis against my consent, and I cannot allow." 
 
 Said Reuben, the eldest, " Trust me with thy son — 
 
 Keep Hannoch and Phallu, my two, for the one ; 
 
 If Benjamin come not in peace back again. 
 
 Let Hannoch and Phallu, my two sons, be slain." 
 
 '* Alas ! " said the father, '' 'Twould bring no relief; 
 
 The death of my grandsons would augment my^grief; 
 
 Ye know that his brother was lost long ago. 
 
 And I will not consent that the lad shall now go; 
 
 If mischief befall him — this son of my age — 
 
 There's nothing on earth that my grief could assuage, 
 
 But down to the grave my grey hairs would go, 
 
 Brought down by afflictions, by sorrow and woe." 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The famine in the land was sore, 
 
 And long had it prevailed ; 
 Though Israel husbanded his store, 
 
 That store at length had failed. 
 
2 74 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 He spake unto his waiting sons, 
 
 With voice and mien subdued : 
 *' To save your wives and Httle ones, 
 
 Go buy a Httle food." 
 Then Judah spake and answered thus : 
 
 " My father, be it so — 
 Send JBenjamin along with us, 
 
 And willingly we'll go. 
 Let not the lad remain through fear 
 
 That mischief him befall. 
 For, if he goes not with us there, 
 
 We need not go at all ; 
 For he, the ruler of the store, 
 
 Did swear in Pharaoh's name. 
 That we should see his face no more, 
 
 Unless our brother came." 
 
 *' Ah ! what is this that ye have done ? " 
 
 The troubled father said ; 
 " Why told you that another son 
 
 Your aged father had ? " 
 '* Because," his sons did answer then, 
 
 " The man did straight inquire : 
 ' Have ye another brother, men, 
 
 Or have you yet a sire ' ? 
 He questioned us of all our state. 
 
 And of our kindred, too ; 
 But chief his questions did relate 
 
 To Benjamin and you. 
 We answered him as we have said, 
 
 Accordmg to the truth : 
 * One of our brothers now is dead, 
 
 And one at home a youth.' 
 Could we suppose that he would say : 
 
 * Go, bring that brother down ? ' 
 We cannot , dare not, disobey, 
 
 And meet that ruler's frown." 
 Then Judah further spake : " My sire. 
 
 Entrust the lad with me, 
 And at my hand thy son require 
 
 When I return to thee; 
 
JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 275 
 
 If I return him not in peace, r 
 
 Let me then bear the blame, 
 And let a father's curse ne'er cease 
 
 To rest on Judah's name ; 
 For, if we had not tarried thus, 
 
 We might have twice returned, 
 And brought up Simeon with us, 
 
 For whom our hearts have yearned." 
 Then Jacob spake again and said : 
 
 '' My grief is sore indeed; 
 Go, get you down and buy us food; 
 
 Since fate has so decreed — 
 Hard fate has said it must be so — 
 
 Take Benjamin with you; 
 Arise, make haste, to Egypt go, 
 
 And prove that ye are true. 
 Go, take a present in your hand — 
 
 'Tis little we can send 
 Unto the ruler of the land — 
 
 And may our God befriend ; 
 Go, take the money back with you — 
 
 The money which you brought — 
 An oversight, perhaps, in you, 
 
 Or him from whom you bought; 
 Take other money, too, along — 
 
 Take double money there — 
 Let naught be found within you wrong, 
 
 But prove yourselves sincere. 
 And may the God of Abraham — 
 
 He whom I daily serve — 
 Go with you to the Land of Ham, 
 
 And all your lives preserve ; 
 May give you favor in the sight 
 
 Of that great ruler stern, 
 And guide your erring footsteps right, 
 
 And hasten your return. 
 O may that doubting ruler be 
 
 Convinced that ye are true, 
 And send the lad again to me — 
 
 Your other brother, too. 
 Ah ! little hope to me is left, 
 
276 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And 1 am sadly grieved; 
 If of my sons I am bereft, 
 
 How sad am I bereaved. 
 Then go, my sons, to Egypt go ; 
 
 My prayers shall heavenward rise — 
 If Benjamin should fall, ye know 
 
 With grief his father dies." 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 'Twas morning in Egypt; the sun, mounting high, 
 
 Illumined the small and the great ; 
 A caravan small with their asses drew nigh. 
 
 And stood by the governor's gate. 
 The ten sons of Jacob — from Canaan they came, 
 
 Away from a famishing land ; 
 The governor saw them — he knew it was them, 
 
 And their faces he eagerly scanned. 
 He saw there a youth — a small, ruddy youth — 
 
 Complexion and features agreed 
 With those of his own, and he knew of a tiuth. 
 
 That this was his brother indeed; 
 The son of his mother, he knew him, although 
 
 He never had seen him before — 
 For he had been sold from his home long ago, 
 
 Ere his mother that brother had bore. 
 He turned from the men, and he spake to his steward: 
 
 ** Make ready a feast, very soon, 
 A feast for the strangers, for be you assured 
 
 That they shall dine with me at noon." 
 And now are the brethren astonished, for, lo ! 
 
 To the governor's house they are brought; 
 They said : " 'Tis because of the money, we know, 
 
 And occasions against us are sought ; 
 This ruler will keep us for bondmen, we fear — 
 
 The asses also will be his; 
 We felt and we feared that evil was near, 
 
 And, oh, what an evil it is ! " 
 They came to the steward, and communed with him thus 
 
 "Oh, sir, we came down here indeed. 
 Compelled by the famine which preyed upon us, 
 
 To purchase the bread which we need; 
 
JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 277 
 
 And as we returned on the road, at an inn 
 
 We opened our sacks, and behold ! 
 The money of each we there found within, 
 
 The full weight of silver and gold ; 
 Indeed, we know not how the money came there — 
 
 We have brought it again in our hand ; 
 We also have brought other money with care, 
 
 To buy for our famishing land." 
 The steward made reply: '' Fear nothing; for God, 
 
 The God of your fathers, I ween, 
 Has given you treasures ; your money I had, 
 
 And nothing amiss have I seen ; 
 Dismiss your forebodings and be you at peace, 
 
 Since ye have the ruler obeyed — 
 He commands it, and I now your brother release ; 
 
 So be ye no longer afraid." 
 Then into the palace he brought them, and said : 
 
 " Here tarry, nor go hence away, 
 For I am commanded a table to spread — 
 
 Ye dine with the ruler to-day." 
 The governor came when the morning was spent. 
 
 And there the eleven he found; 
 They brought him the present their father had sent. 
 
 And bowed themselves down to the ground. 
 He asked of their welfare, and how they had sped — 
 
 What them on their journey befell; 
 He asked of their father, the old man, and said: 
 
 '* Is your father alive ? Is he well ? " 
 They answered : " Thy servant, our father, is well. 
 
 And may he in health long remain — 
 Long time may he live in the land where we dwell; " 
 
 And they bowed to the ruler again. 
 But why does the governor's countenance change, 
 
 As his eyes upon Benjamin rest ? 
 To the son of his mother he made himself strange. 
 
 And his feelings with pain he repressed. 
 ^' Is this the young brother ye spake of?" he said; 
 
 " His features all prove it is he; 
 They tell me, my son, that your mother is dead — 
 
 May God now be gracious to thee." 
 Why falters his voice, and why does he haste 
 
278 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 To go to his chamber alone ? 
 Impelled by his feelings, he would have embraced 
 
 That brother, till now never known. 
 He wept in his chamber, and then washed his face 
 
 And returned to his brethren again ; 
 Then ordered the bread to be set in its place, 
 
 While his tears he could hardly restrain. 
 And now the men marvel. Three tables are set ; 
 
 One alone by the ruler is graced, 
 One by the Egyptians — another one yet. 
 
 At which the eleven are placed ; 
 But stranger than all, they saw themselves ranged 
 
 In the order of birthright in hne; 
 From oldest to youngest, the ruler arranged 
 
 And placed them as if by design. 
 The men marveled much that a stranger could know 
 
 Their ages, or order of birth — 
 Diviner of secrets, magician also. 
 
 Or prophet of God upon earth. 
 And now unto each of these brothers he sent 
 
 Choice messes — the fruits of the Nile ; 
 But Benjamin's mess was large in extent — 
 
 And they drank and were merry the while. 
 
 PART v. 
 
 The ruler spake unto his steward : 
 ** These men are true, I feel assured. 
 
 Let them no longer tarry ; 
 Go fill their every sack with grain. 
 And as before, so do again ; 
 Give them as much as all the train 
 
 To Canaan's land can carry. 
 
 ** And in the mouth of every sack 
 Put each man's purchase money back ; 
 
 You saw the lad, most surely — 
 Then take my cup, the silver cup. 
 The one from which I rarely sup. 
 And then be sure you bind it up 
 
 Within his sack securely." 
 
JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 279 
 
 As thus commanded, so he did ; 
 
 The sacks were filled, the cup was hid, 
 
 And Jacob's sons departed; 
 At early morn they went away ; 
 Their mission thus accomplished, they 
 Considered this a happy day. 
 
 And each was lithesome-hearted. 
 
 But soon their joys are at an end ; 
 And now may God their lives defend — 
 
 A troop is following after ; 
 They come, they overtake them now ; 
 The steward is there — to him they bow, 
 While fear is written on each brow, 
 
 And grief succeeds to laughter. 
 
 ** AVhy have you made such base amends? 
 My lord has treated you as friends — 
 
 He gave you quite a revel; 
 But not content with him to sup. 
 You steal away his silver cup ; 
 False treasures are ye laying up, 
 
 Requiting good with evil. " 
 
 They answered him : ** Our God forbid 
 That we should steal ! we never did 
 
 According to thy saying ; 
 The cup is not with us, be sure. 
 And naught we've taken from thy store; 
 Why then, my lord, we ask — wherefore 
 
 Against us thus inveighing ? 
 
 " The money found within the sack — 
 You know we brought that money back, 
 
 At this, our second coming ; 
 And thou did'st tell thy servant this, 
 That we had nothing done amiss; 
 Then from thy mind the thought dismiss, 
 
 A thought so unbecoming. 
 
28o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ** Search every sack and all our stuff, 
 And if the cup you find — enough — 
 
 We're bondmen to your master ; 
 And he with whom the cup is found 
 Shall die the death, and let resound 
 Through Egypt, to its utmost bound, 
 
 The tale of our disaster." 
 
 The steward to them did make reply : 
 **Then be it so; yet none shall die 
 
 And be forever nameless ; 
 But he with whom the cup I see 
 A servant to my lord shall be. 
 And serve him ever; but for ye — 
 
 All others shall be blameless." 
 
 Then speedily their sacks were laid 
 Upon the ground, and there displayed 
 
 Until the search was ended; 
 Each thought himself from danger free. 
 Nor thought the stolen cup could be 
 Within his sack; but subtlety 
 
 Had done the work intended. 
 
 And then to search the steward began — 
 Searched Reuben's sack, while every man 
 
 In silence stood around it ; 
 'Twas Simeon's next, and then Levi, 
 Then Judah, Dan, and Nephtali ; 
 The brothers' hopes were rising high, 
 
 For yet he had not found it. 
 
 But still the search more eager grew ; 
 The sack of Gad and Asher, too. 
 
 He searched, nor yet retreated ; 
 Next Issachar and Zebulon, 
 Then Benjamin, the youngest one. 
 And then the eager search was done — 
 
 The cup was there secreted. 
 
JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 28 1 
 
 And now amazement seizes all ; 
 
 They rend their clothes, both great and small, 
 
 And lade in haste their asses ; 
 Then to the city they return, 
 With shame, and grief, and deep concern, 
 The fate of Benjamin to learn, 
 
 Whose grief all grief surpasses. 
 
 To Joseph's house in haste they came — 
 For Joseph was the ruler's name — 
 
 And fell upon their faces ; 
 He said : "■ What deed is this you've done; 
 Did not you know that such a one 
 As I see all beneath the sun, 
 
 Even in the darkest places ? " 
 
 ''You know that I can well divine — 
 Did not I place you all in line, 
 According to your ages ? 
 I saw your theft — a crime quite small 
 Compared with one — I know it ail; 
 I saw your other brother fall 
 
 When you received your wages." 
 
 Then Judah said : " What can we say ! 
 Our sins have found us out to-day. 
 
 For God could only show thee ; 
 And now thy servant, lord, is he 
 With whom the cup was found, and we 
 Will serve with him and honor thee, 
 
 As all must do who know thee." 
 
 The ruler said : * ' My God forbid 
 To punish you for what he did — 
 
 The youth shall suffer only ; 
 My servant he shall here remain, 
 But you shall get back home again, 
 Your aged father to sustain, 
 
 And cheer his life now lonely." 
 19 — 
 
282 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 PART VI. 
 
 Then Judah, approaching the ruler, thus spake : 
 
 " Let thy servant now speak but a word, 
 In behalf of a father whose heart will sure break 
 
 When the news of to-day he has heard, — 
 We are murmuring not at thy sentence ; indeed, 
 
 It is less than our actions deserve ; 
 But, oh, for the Hfe of my father I plead — 
 
 A life I would die to preserve. 
 
 ** We remember the words that we spake unto thee^ 
 Thy questions, and wliat we replied : 
 
 You said to your servants, * A father have ye, 
 Or have you a brother beside ? ' 
 
 **We told you a father in Canaan we had, 
 
 That a brother we also had there. 
 The son of his age, a youth — quite a lad — 
 
 The object of all his fond care ; 
 And you did then swear by the Ufe of your king 
 
 That your servants should see you no more. 
 Unless we from Canaan our brother should bring, 
 
 And set him our lord's face before. 
 
 ** But when to our father thy servants returned. 
 
 And reported thy words to him there — 
 When the words of my lord our father had learned. 
 
 His heart sank in grief and despair ; 
 'Twas then that our father long time did refuse, 
 
 While his tears in a torrent did flow ; 
 For he said, * Peradventure my son I shall lose, 
 
 As his brother was lost long ago. 
 
 '* ' Ye know that the lad had a brother before — 
 
 My joy, and that joy has fled ; 
 He went from my presence, I saw him no more,. 
 
 And long have I mourned him as dead ; 
 
JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 283 
 
 And Benjamin, now, is the only son left 
 
 Of Rachel, my favorite wife, 
 And if of that son I shall now be bereft. 
 
 In grief I would end my sad life.' 
 
 ** 'Twas thus that our words and our arguments failed, 
 
 Our father would listen to none ; 
 But famine, at length, sore famine prevailed, 
 
 And he parted in grief with his son. 
 Then how can I go to my father again, 
 
 If Benjamin be not with me ? 
 And how can I witness his anguish and pain, 
 
 Or his death, for his death it would be ? 
 His life is bound up in the life of the lad ; 
 
 If deprived of his son, he will die ; 
 Then how shall I meet him with tidings so sad? 
 
 O never, no, never can I ! 
 
 Perhaps you, my lord, have a father ; if so, 
 You can feel for my anguish and pain. 
 
 For the sake of a father, then, let the lad go 
 With his brethren to Canaan again; 
 
 let him return to his father in peace. 
 To comfort him now in his age ! 
 
 1 pray thee in pity the lad to release, 
 
 And to serve in his stead I'll engage ; 
 For I became surety my father unto — 
 
 The lad has been placed in my care; 
 For the life of the lad, and my father's, I sue. 
 
 And I trust you will grant me my prayer. 
 I then as a bondman to thee will remain, 
 
 My days whether many or few, 
 For I cannot return to my father again, 
 
 If Benjamin go not up too." 
 
 'Twas thus Judah pleaded ; for him it behooved 
 
 The ruler's compassion to claim ; 
 But why does the ruler appear so much moved^ 
 
 And why so convulsed is his frame ? 
 
284 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 At length he exclaimed, *' Let all men depart; 
 
 I would be with these brethren alone ! " 
 His nerves were unstrung, and it seemed that his heart 
 
 Was bursting with feelings unknown. 
 
 And now all alone with his brethren, he wept ; 
 
 No longer could he now refrain ; 
 That secret which long in his heart he had kept 
 
 That heart would no longer retain. 
 He wept long and loud, and his weeping was heard 
 
 la the household of Pharaoh afar; 
 Surprised were his brethren emotion appeared 
 
 His language, his speech, to debar. 
 
 ** I am Joseph, your brother! " at length he exclaimed; 
 
 " O, say, does my father yet live ?" 
 But they were so troubled, amazed, and ashamed, 
 
 No answer to him could they give. 
 *' Come near unto me, my dear brethren," he said, 
 
 *' I fain would embrace one and all; 
 You sold me to Egypt, and thought I was dead, 
 
 But God has prevented my fall. 
 
 *' Then be ye not angry or troubled that ye 
 
 Did sell me in bondage for know 
 That God sent me here, a kind savior to be 
 
 To you and your children also; 
 Two years has the famine been sore in the land, 
 
 With five years of famine to come ; 
 Though ye were the instruments, God gave command, 
 
 And sent me away from my home." 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 285 
 
 DAVID AND GOLIATH. 
 
 I lately had a vision strange, — 
 
 I stood upon a mountain range ; 
 
 Another range hard by was seen, 
 
 And there a valley lay between. 
 
 I saw upon each mountain height 
 
 A host of men in armor bright, 
 
 Who looked like men of foreign clime, 
 
 Or warriors of the olden time. 
 
 Their armor was not such as we, 
 
 In this, our land and time, can see ; 
 
 For cannon large, and smaller gun, 
 
 I looked, but could discover none ; 
 
 But they were armed with bows and slings, 
 
 And many other simple things — 
 
 For there, upon that warlike field, 
 
 Were spear and helmet, sword and shield ; 
 
 And there, upon each mount arrayed, 
 
 A mighty host its arms displayed ; 
 
 And it was plain to see that they 
 
 Were ranged in battle's dread array. 
 
 As there I stood with paling face 
 
 And beating heart, there came apace 
 
 A ruddy youth with features fair, 
 
 A flashing eye and flowing hair; 
 
 He came and quickly hurried by. 
 
 But as he passed I caught his eye ; 
 
 He cast on me a look askance. 
 
 And there was something in that glance, 
 
 A something in that flashing eye 
 
 Attracted me, I knew not why. 
 
 I felt as if I fain would know 
 
 From whence he came, and where he'd go; 
 
286 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And by that feeling strange impelled, 
 
 By caution nor by fear withheld, 
 
 I followed him, as on he sped, 
 
 Without reflecting where he led ; 
 
 For, with a speed which few could boast, 
 
 Straight went he to the smaller host; 
 
 And as we passed along the line, 
 
 By many a warrior's strange ensign, 
 
 I looked in vain for stripes and stars ; 
 
 I saw no flag with crossing bars, 
 
 No eagle and no lion there, 
 
 No unicorn or northern bear, 
 
 No shamrock and no thistle green. 
 
 No crown or crescent could be seen ; 
 
 But everything was strange to me, 
 
 And naught familiar could I see. 
 
 At length he stopped a flag before, 
 
 And this was the device it bore : 
 
 A golden rod with budding stem, 
 
 On which was written, '' Bethlehem." 
 
 He spake and said to one, " How goes 
 
 The battle 'gainst our country's foes ? " 
 
 But as he spake he turned to see 
 
 The now approaching enemy. 
 
 I saw upon his face surprise, 
 
 A glance of ire shot from his eyes ; 
 
 I turned myself to see, and, lo ! 
 
 Down in the valley there below, 
 
 Advancing, came a giant's form. 
 
 With countenance like an angry storm ; 
 
 And he was clad from head to feet 
 
 In armor of defense complete ; 
 
 So large was he— full ten feet high — 
 
 And clothed in martial panoply. 
 
 An object sure was he of dread; 
 
 A brazen helmet on his head, 
 
 A plate of brass upon his breast. 
 
 And one between his shoulders pressed — 
 
 In coat of mail, which must have weighed 
 
 Three hundred pounds, was he arrayed. 
 
 His legs in bands of brass were bound. 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 287 
 
 And Stood as pillars on the ground ; 
 A spear with iron head he bore — 
 It weighed full thirty pounds, or more — 
 The staff of which to me did seem 
 As large as any weaver's beam ; 
 And this he brandished in the air, 
 And seemed to bid defiance there ; 
 While one a ponderous shield upbore, 
 And marched the mighty man before ; 
 And all the opposing host, I saw, 
 Of this great champion stood in awe. 
 
 Methought he raised his voice aloud, 
 Like thunder from a distant cloud ; 
 With tone and words inspiring dread 
 He spake, and this is what he said : 
 "Ye men of Israel, to-day. 
 Why set yourselves in such array, 
 
 Or why your arms combine ? 
 How dare you madly to oppose 
 A host of warriors such as those 
 
 You see within our line ? 
 
 " Our army far outnumbers yours. 
 And we have arms and warlike stores 
 
 Of which you little know ; 
 Then why engage in battle strife, 
 Or why endanger human life, 
 
 'Gainst such a powerful foe? 
 'Tis plain that Israel must bow 
 To great Philistia's sceptre now, 
 
 Our servants to abide. 
 Or else Philistia proud must yield ; 
 And we have met upon the field 
 
 The question to decide. 
 
 ** But why should you contend with us, 
 Or why engage in battle thus, 
 
 Your freedom to regain ? 
 For when the bloody fray is done, 
 And when the victory we have won. 
 
 Your thousands will be slain. 
 
2 88 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 *' Ye servants now of Saul, give ear, 
 And all ye men of Israel, hear : 
 
 If you would end the strife, 
 It may be settled now, and done 
 Before the setting of the sun, 
 
 With little loss of life. 
 
 ** Choose you a man from out your host- 
 The strongest that the land can boast, 
 
 I care not who he be — 
 And let him, armed with coat of mail, 
 Come down and meet me in the vale. 
 
 And fight the fight with me. 
 
 " And should I then the victor be, 
 And he should yield his life to me. 
 
 Then ye shall tribute pay. 
 And be our servants, as of yore. 
 In Samson's days and years before. 
 
 As I have heard men say. 
 
 " But if this good right arm should fail, 
 And he, our champion, prevail — 
 
 A quite unlikely thing — 
 Then we will be your servants all. 
 And pay our tribute unto Saul, 
 
 Or him who may be king. 
 
 ** Ye men of Israel, once again, 
 Before your warriors all are slain, 
 
 I challenge for the fight ; 
 Choose you a champion — one for all; 
 Though it should be the mighty Saul, 
 
 It will not me affright. 
 
 ' ' Day after day for forty days. 
 My challenges, in various ways. 
 
 Ye have not dared to meet ; 
 And now, this morn, again do I 
 The hosts of Israel defy, 
 
 Those challenges repeat. 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 289 
 
 ** Set not your armies in array, 
 But choose a champion to day, 
 
 Whose valor has been tried ; 
 For by my God, great Dagon, I 
 The hosts of Israel defy. 
 
 Whatever may betide." 
 
 Now when this boasting speech was heard, 
 I saw the smaller host appeared 
 Oppressed with fear, and seized with dread, 
 And many of their warriors fled. 
 
 Their broken ranks were scattered all, 
 And fear did many a heart appall ; 
 But in the dire confusion then, 
 Amid the terror-stricken men, 
 That stripling's voice, distinct and loud. 
 Was heard amid the surging crowd. 
 I turned to look, but I could trace 
 No sign of fear upon his face ; 
 His eye was towards the giant turned, 
 His ruddy cheek with ardor burned, 
 And on his beaming countenance 
 There sat a look of confidence, 
 Which seemed to banish fear and dread 
 From many who had turned and fled. 
 A single look upon them cast, 
 A single word, as on they passed, 
 I saw (and strange it was to see) 
 Attracted them, as it had me ; 
 He halted, and he called them 
 Around the flag of Bethlehem. 
 
 *'Stay, men of Israel, stay ! " he cried, 
 ** For who is this that has defied 
 The army of the living God, 
 Which oftentimes, by faith, has trod 
 The land of proud Philistia o'er. 
 And conquered it in days of yore? 
 Say, who's this boasting Philistine, 
 This mighty man of Anak's line, 
 
290 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And why should he, I ask you why, 
 The army of the Lord defy ? 
 Is there no man in all the host 
 Can stop the mighty champion's boast ? 
 Say, is there none who dares to go 
 And meet him in the vale below, 
 There fight with him, as he has said, 
 And lowly lay him with the dead ? " 
 
 ** Are you," said one, " a stranger here, 
 
 And have you never chanced to hear 
 
 Or see this mighty man before. 
 
 Whose words have troubled Israel sore ? 
 
 This champion from the city Gath, 
 
 The famous giant, Goliath, 
 
 Who comes at even-tide and morn, 
 
 With words of pride and bitter scorn. 
 
 And boasting language, loud and high. 
 
 The host of Israel to defy; 
 
 While there is neither young nor old 
 
 Who dares to meet this warrior bold ; 
 
 For there is none who ever yet 
 Encountered him but those who met 
 A bloody death — for who can stand 
 Before the giant's mighty hand ? 
 The king would highly recompense 
 The hero who would take him hence — 
 Has promised wealth and power for life. 
 His daughter, too, to be his wife ; 
 But there is none who dares to go 
 And meet him in the vale below, 
 Although it humbles all our pride 
 To hear our armies thus defied." 
 
 I saw, while looking on the scene, 
 A warrior of commanding mien, 
 Of stature tall, and robust frame — 
 'Twas Eliab, I heard his name ; 
 He stood the stripling youth hard by, 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 29 1 
 
 And looked on him with envious eye ; 
 He seemed to know the stripHng well, 
 And thus he spake with haughty swell : 
 
 " Vain-hearted boy, why are you here ? 
 Why have you left our father dear, 
 And who, I ask you, now will keep 
 And guard that little flock of sheep ? 
 Full well I know your haughty heart; 
 You came not here to bear a part 
 Within the battle soon to be, 
 And which you only came to see." 
 
 The youth replied: " My brother dear, 
 The reason why you see me here 
 I can explain " — then made a pause : 
 " I came, and is there not a cause? — 
 A cause for everything that's done 
 Beneath the circuit of the sun ? 
 Though now we may not see it clear, 
 In after days 'twill plain appear, 
 So plain that we'll acknowledge then 
 God makes his instruments of men." 
 
 He turned himself and spake again ; 
 " Ye men of Israel, here remain; 
 Flee not before this giant's face, 
 Although he comes of Anak's race ; 
 Let no man's heart before him quail, 
 Let no man's spirits faint or failj 
 Let no man yield to fell despair, 
 For there is one I know will dare 
 To meet this mighty champion. 
 Before the setting of the sun. 
 Yes, there is one who dares to go 
 And fight with this gigantic foe ; 
 For who is this uncircumcised. 
 Who mischief 'gainst us has devised, 
 And who is he — let woe betide — 
 Who has the Lord of hosts defied ? " 
 A murmur of applause arose, 
 
392 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 As rank on rank began to close, 
 And it was said by one and all, 
 **Go bear the tidings unto Saul; 
 Go tell the king a youth is here. 
 Who, with a look and voice sincere, 
 Declares that there's a champion 
 Who dares to meet that mighty one — 
 Will meet the boasting giant now, 
 And strip the helmet from his brow." 
 
 A dozen messengers or more • 
 
 At once the welcome tidings bore. 
 And one was ordered then to bring 
 The stripling in before the king. 
 
 He went ; methought I followed, too, 
 
 Though strange it all may seem to you; 
 
 I followed wheresoe'er he went; 
 
 I followed to the royal tent, 
 
 And in and out I ventured free, 
 
 For no one seemed to notice me. 
 
 I've heard it said that men in sleep 
 
 Can walk the heights, can walk the deep, 
 
 Where waking feet would surely fall; 
 
 Even so walked I before King Saul. 
 
 I saw that proud, majestic mien 
 
 No living, waking eye has seen ; 
 
 I listened to the royal word 
 
 No waking ear alive has heard, 
 
 And stood the royal tent within, 
 
 Where waking I'll ne'er stand again ; 
 
 And when the stripling entered, he 
 
 The king accosted courteously. 
 
 **They tell me," then the king began, 
 **That you have found a valiant man 
 Who dares to meet the giant foe, 
 And lay Philistia's champion low; 
 I've sought from Beersheba to Dan, 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 293 
 
 Eut sought in vain for such a man ; 
 Now tell me where, my son, is he. 
 And who can that brave champion be?" 
 
 The youth replied: " My lord, oh king ! 
 The warrior which to you I bring 
 May not your expectations meet ; 
 But let me now, oh king, repeat: 
 Let no man's heart or courage fail 
 Before this giant, clothed in mail, 
 For I, before the setting sun. 
 Will meet and fight the champion ; 
 And all the world will know full well 
 That there's a God in Israel ; 
 For who is he who makes his boasts 
 Against the mighty God of hosts ? " 
 
 As thus he spake before the king 
 
 The courtiers all stood wondering ; 
 
 A mingled look — surprise and awe — 
 
 Upon each face methought I saw ; 
 
 Surprise that one so very young 
 
 Could move such numbers with his tongue ; 
 
 That he, a youth with face so fair, 
 
 To meet that mighty man should dare. 
 
 The king surveyed the youth, intent 
 With looks in which 1 saw were blent 
 His hopes and fears, and something more : 
 A feeling that in days before 
 He'd seen that youth who boldly stood 
 A champion for the multitude. 
 
 He spake to him in accents mild : 
 *' Say, who are you, bold, daring child? 
 For you are but a child in years, 
 Compared with him whom Israel fears ; 
 Nor should you dare, young man, to go 
 And fight the great Philistine foe , 
 Too young you are, by far too small, 
 To meet the giant, great and tall — 
 
2 94 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 A man whom none has dared to face, 
 The mightiest man of Anak's race, 
 Whose name and fame are known afar, 
 And feared by all our men of war." 
 
 All eyes were on the stripling turned, 
 All hearts with expectation burned, 
 But on his radiant face there came 
 No look of fear, no blush of shame. 
 That look of hope and confidence, 
 Which seemed to scorn discouragements. 
 Still shone upon his features fair, 
 And spoke a firm reliance there; 
 While still that something in his eye 
 Attracted every passer-by. 
 He made a gesture with his hand — 
 The king for silence gave command — 
 And then the stripling bowed his head, 
 And thus unto the king he said : 
 
 i( ' 
 
 Tis true that my days upon earth have been few, 
 
 And I know not how soon they may end. 
 But I am quite willing to dare and to do. 
 
 And with that great giant contend. 
 You ask me, oh king : " What ! bold, daring youth, 
 
 A child in comparison true. 
 Now dares to engage with a giant in truth, 
 
 The largest the world ever knew ? ' 
 
 ** My father, an old man, is now far away. 
 
 And his name I wish not to reveal ; 
 For if I should fail in the contest to-day, 
 
 From that father my death I'd conceal. 
 I'm the son of a shepherd, whose flocks I have kept 
 
 On the hills of Judea, alone. 
 And oft in the wilderness land I have slept. 
 
 Where the bear and the lion are known. 
 
 " But lately there came a lion, a bear, 
 And they carried off one of the flock ; 
 
 I followed them then, and I followed them there 
 To a den in the cleft of a rock; 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 295 
 
 The lion against me arose in his might, 
 
 And his roaring was terrible then ; 
 No sword I had there, but I slew him outright, 
 
 That terror of beasts and of men. 
 
 **The lion I slew then, and also the bear. 
 
 And this boasting Philistine shall be 
 As those, the fierce and savage beasts, were, 
 
 And his head will be given to me ; 
 You'll say it was rash and imprudent for one 
 
 So small and so young as I am 
 To grapple a lion, when help there was none, 
 
 To avenge but the loss of a lamb. 
 
 **I knew it, I felt it, as onward I trod. 
 
 But something still whispering said : 
 * Go on, in the strength of Israel's God, 
 
 And trust in Jehovah for aid.' 
 I went, but went not in strength of my own ; 
 
 I trusted in God, the Most High, 
 And He who delivered me then when alone 
 
 Will succor me still when I cry. 
 
 '*I hear the same whispering voice even now; 
 
 It bids me undaunted go on, 
 And when I remember the lion, and how 
 
 I conquered, my fears are all gone ; 
 
 I fear not to meet with that giant so tall, 
 
 I dread not his sword or his spear ; 
 The God of high heaven is stronger than all, 
 
 And trusting in him, I come here." 
 
 I saw that as he spake his word 
 A strong and deep emotion stirred 
 Within the breast of every one 
 Who chanced to hear, as I had done ; 
 And even the king appeared to be 
 Convinced that triendly destiny 
 Had sent the youthful shepherd there, 
 To do what others did not dare, 
 
296 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And hope, unbidden, seemed to spring 
 Within the bosom of the king, 
 That he, that daring shepherd boy, 
 Might turn their fear iand grief to joy. 
 
 *'Go on," he said, " I give consent; 
 Go on, and be you confident, 
 To meet that champion so dread, 
 And fight the fight in our stead ; 
 And may the God of Jacob go 
 With you against the boasting foe ; 
 And that you may 'gainst him prevail, 
 I'll arm you with a coat of mail ; 
 This breastplate, too, and helmet take, 
 And wear them for your country's sake." 
 
 The king's own armor then, forsooth, 
 
 Was given to the shepherd youth. 
 
 And he essayed with it to go 
 
 Against the great Philistine foe ; 
 
 But soon returned that coat to doff, 
 
 And put the royal armor off. 
 
 " I cannot move," said he, " with ease ; 
 
 I cannot go at all with these ; 
 
 But I will go with weapons such 
 
 As I have used and handled much — 
 
 My trusty sling, my shepherd's crook. 
 
 With stones from out the pebbly brook; 
 
 These are the weapons which I choose 
 
 Against this mighty man to use." 
 
 With these, I saw from royal tent, 
 He toward the giant swiftly went. 
 While mighty warriors stood aghast, 
 As on and onward still he passed, 
 Descending to the vale below. 
 Where still was seen the threat'ning foe; 
 And there in expectation stood 
 An anxious, waiting multitude. 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 297 
 
 A tremor strange appeared to seize 
 
 The king, who trembled in his knees; 
 
 He spake to one and said : '' O, sir! 
 
 Pray tell me, Abner son of Ner, 
 
 Who is this strange, mysterious youth ? 
 
 Speak now, and tell me all the truth; 
 
 Who can this strange young warrior be, 
 
 Pray tell me now, whose son is he ? 
 
 For surely, surely I have seen 
 
 That youth before, and know his mien ; 
 
 And surely, surely I have heard 
 
 That voice, which has so strangely stirred 
 
 Emotions in this breast of mine. 
 
 And bade me trust a power divine." 
 
 The captain of the host replied : 
 '' From thee, O king, I would not hide 
 The name or station of the youth ; 
 But, as thy soul shall live, in truth 
 I know him not, nor whence he came, 
 Nor do I know his father's name ; 
 A stranger he appears, and yet. 
 Like you, I feel that I have met 
 That bright, attractive, beaming eye, 
 Admiring it, not knowing why." 
 
 "Go, Abner," said the king again ; 
 " Inquire of all, till you obtain 
 A knowledge whence the stripling came, 
 Whose son he is, and what his name ; 
 And when the fact you ascertain, 
 Then quickly bring me word again, 
 For fain would I that stripling know. 
 And whether he be friend or foe ; 
 For there is something whispers me 
 That this strange youth, perchance, is he 
 Of whom the prophet Samuel spake. 
 Who, in the coming time, shall take 
 The sceptre from the house of Saul, 
 20 — 
 
298 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And reign a king o'er Israel all ; 
 Else why should I so strangely feel 
 A fear that 1 cannot conceal ? " 
 
 Meanwhile the stripling moved along, 
 
 And I, amid the wondering throng, 
 
 Still followed him, as I had done, 
 
 Till he approached the champion. 
 
 While he, the giant, came apace 
 
 To meet the stripling face to face ; 
 
 And thus he spake in haughty tone 
 
 Unto that shepherd youth unknown : 
 
 '' Come you," said he, " from Saul, the king? 
 
 And what's the message which you bring? 
 
 Has he, your king, selected yet 
 
 A man who dares, without regret, 
 
 To place his life in jeopardy. 
 
 And fight, for life or death, with me?" 
 
 ** He has y^^ the youth replied, '' and I 
 
 Have come to conquer^ or to die ! " 
 
 *' You ? You ? " the giant said ; "indeed 
 
 You surely jest ; I cannot heed 
 
 Such words from such a boy as you ; 
 
 Send me a warrior, tried and true, 
 
 A warrior worthy of the name ; 
 
 A man of power, a man of fame ; 
 
 A champion bold, a champion tried; 
 
 A nation's choice, a nation's pride ; 
 
 For I am not a dog, that I 
 
 From boys with sticks and stones should fly. 
 
 Return, whate'er your name may be. 
 
 And do not dare to encounter me; 
 
 Lest I be tempted to resent 
 
 Such base insult with base intent, 
 
 And give your flesh in very deed, 
 
 The fowls and beasts of prey to feed." 
 
 The youth replied in language meek : 
 *' You may be strong and I am weak, 
 Of giant size though you appear. 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 299 
 
 And tho' you're arm'd with sword and spear, 
 
 I do not heed your threat'ning boasts ; 
 
 But trusting in the God of hosts, 
 
 I come, the stripling that I am, 
 
 And God, the God of Abraham, 
 
 I trust, in this my trying hour, 
 
 Will nerve my feeble arm with power 
 
 To overcome a giant's strength, 
 
 That all the land, throughout its length, 
 
 Shall know that Israel s God is He 
 
 Who gives us strength and victory ; 
 
 And you, proud man, will soon be slain 
 
 By him whom you so much disdain ; 
 
 For ere the sun shall set to-day 
 
 I'll take that head of thine away. 
 
 And give your body, large indeed, 
 
 The vultures of the air to feed ; 
 
 And all Philistia's host shall be 
 
 Appalled with fear, and they shall flee." 
 
 " By Dagon, then," the giant said, 
 
 " Come on, your blood be on your head ! 
 
 Since you have dared a bloody fate, 
 
 No longer will I hesitate 
 
 To send you hence, from life and ease 
 
 To spirit land, the land Hades ; 
 
 Your dainty form, so fair and frail. 
 
 Upon my spear will I impale. 
 
 And hold it up, that all may see 
 
 The end of youthful vanity." 
 
 " I come," the stripling said, '' I come; 
 Now let your idol, deaf and dumb. 
 Assist you in the coming hour 
 Against Jehovah's mighty power." 
 
 As thus the giant he addressed. 
 Still on and forward yet he pressed, 
 And near and nearer yet he drew. 
 The giant moving forward, too ; 
 When suddenly the stripling took 
 
300 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 A Stone which came from out the brook, 
 And placing it the sHng within, 
 He hurled it with a whizzing din ; 
 Unerringly the missile sped, 
 And struck the giant on the head 
 With such a force that it was plain 
 The stone had sunk into his brain. 
 
 He fell at once upon his face ; 
 The stripHng hurried on apace, 
 Until 1 saw him victor stand 
 Beside the giant, sword in hand ; 
 For with the sword the giant wore 
 I saw him stand the giant o'er. 
 And from the giant's body, dead, 
 I saw him cut the gory head. 
 And as a trophy bear it hence 
 In triumph, toward the royal tents. 
 
 But now, Philistia's champion dead, 
 Philistia's hosts in terror fled ; 
 With dread, dismay, and fear imbued, 
 They fled, and fiercely were pursued 
 By all the host of Israel then. 
 And many were the foemen slain. 
 
 The stripling joined in that pursuit, 
 A warrior bold, beyond dispute ; 
 And when the fierce pursuit was o'er 
 He came the conquering host before, 
 And there were plaudits loud and long, 
 The women joining in the song 
 Of triumph which the victors sang. 
 While instruments of music rang 
 A loud acclaim of general joy. 
 To welcome that victorious boy. 
 
 Great Abner, then, the son of Ner, 
 Approached the youth and said: " Brave sir, 
 Receive a nation's welcoming; 
 Let me conduct you to the king. 
 
DAVID AND GOLIATH. 30I 
 
 Who waits to learn whose son you are, 
 And how you came such deeds to dare — 
 To thank you for the victory won, 
 And hail you Israel's champion." 
 
 Again he came before the king. 
 
 Whose welcome then was flattering : 
 
 " Brave youth," he said, " a warrior true, 
 
 Pray tell me now whose son are you ? 
 
 Your name and residence pray tell, 
 
 And what your tribe in Israel ? 
 
 Your father's house I fain would make 
 
 Illustrious for your valor's sake." 
 
 The youth, with modesty, replied : 
 
 '' My name, O king, I've ne'er denied; 
 
 My father lives at Bethlehem ; 
 
 He came of Judah's tribe or stem. 
 
 And I'm your servant Jesse's son, 
 
 Who kept the sheep — his youngest one ; 
 
 And oftentimes, within your hall, 
 
 I played the harp before king Saul." 
 
 Though 'twas in sleep those things occurred, 
 
 And but a dream I saw and heard, 
 
 'Twas David, son of Jesse, sure — 
 
 His name I oft had heard before ; 
 
 'Twas David, Israel's shepherd king. 
 
 Who long ago did sweetly sing 
 
 Those pious Psalms, which have come down 
 
 With radiance brighter than his crown, 
 
 And will a monument endure 
 
 Till things of time shall be no more. 
 
 Till bright eternity shall dawn, 
 
 And monuments of stone be gone. 
 
302 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 DAVID'S THREE MIGHTY MEN. 
 
 II Samuel 22:13. 
 
 Within Judea's rocky hold 
 
 Judea's warrior chieftain lay, 
 And there his chosen soldiers bold 
 
 Watched round him thro' the sultry day; 
 Upon his brow the fever burned, 
 
 And raged like fire his breast within, 
 While backward still his thoughts were turn'd 
 
 To where his earlv home had been; 
 Back to the place where long ago, 
 
 In boyhood's youthful, happy day, 
 He tuned his harp to mu<^ic's flow. 
 
 And sang the shepherd's evening lay. 
 Amid these scenes he seemed to dwell; 
 
 His thoughts reverted back to them ; 
 He longed for waters from the well — 
 
 The famous well of Bethlehem. 
 
 The fever seemed to parch his brain, 
 
 His burning thirst was raging sore, 
 And though he drank, and drank a^ain, 
 
 He thirsted still and longed for more. 
 ** Oh, that some one," the chieftain said, 
 
 " Would bring me living water now, 
 With which to bathe my aching head, 
 
 And cool my ever-burning brow. 
 I drink the waters of the hold. 
 
 But small relief to me they bring; 
 I long for waters, pure and cold, 
 
 That come from out the gushing spring; 
 I ask not power — that magic spell ; 
 
 I ask not gold nor costly gem ; 
 But, oh ! for waters from the well. 
 
 The famous well of Bethlehem ! 
 
DAVID S THREE MIGHTY MEN. 303 
 
 *' My fancy hurries me away, 
 
 Amid my wild and feverish dreams, 
 To where the Hmpid waters play, 
 
 Along the winding pebbled streams ; 
 I see each well-remembered rill 
 
 That e'er my happy boyhood knew, 
 As, hurrying from the vine-clad hill, 
 
 They pass the rolling meadow through. 
 *' I hear the bleating of the sheep, 
 
 Amid the pastures decked with green, 
 And when I wake, I wake to weep 
 
 At such a vain, illusive scene. 
 Oh, how { long no tongue can tell, 
 
 To be at home again with them, 
 To drink the waters of the well 
 
 Hard by the gate of Bethlehem. 
 
 "But I have wandered far away. 
 
 And years have passed me swiftly by; 
 I've mingled in the battle fray, 
 
 And seen the mighty foeman die ; 
 Fve sought the phantom, light, of fame 
 
 A royal camp and court within ; 
 I've sought and gained a warrior's name — 
 
 Long time a warrior I have been. 
 Though royalty has decked my brow, 
 
 A kingly sceptre though I sway, 
 I do not feel the pleasures now 
 
 I did in boyhood's youthful day ; 
 And though I wear a crown of gold, 
 
 I'd give my glittering diadem 
 For water from that fountain cold — 
 
 That well, the well of Bethlehem. 
 
 "Though in this mountain fort confined 
 
 I lie, and pine from day to day, 
 My roving thoughts are unconfined, 
 
 And they are wandering far away. 
 Those truant thoughts still spurn control; 
 
 They come and go without my will ; 
 Like to the restless waves, they roll. 
 
304 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And never, never will be still. 
 But all my longings are in vain, 
 
 And vain, alas ! is my desire ; 
 For enemies upon the plain 
 
 Are round me like a wall of fire ; 
 My foes beleaguer me around — 
 
 They're spread abroad in Rephaim, 
 And all Philistia's host is found 
 
 Between this hold and Bethlehem." 
 
 Three youthful warriors, standing^ by, 
 
 O'erheard their chieftain's sad complaint, 
 And they resolved to do or die ; 
 
 Despite of danger or restraint. 
 They took their course toward Bethlehem ; 
 
 7 hey left the hold at fall of night. 
 And through the vale of Rephaim 
 
 They passed in armor strong but light ; 
 In vain Philistia's hosts oppose, 
 
 In vain those valorous men assail ; 
 Those warriors three withstood their foes, 
 
 Against them fought and did prevail ; 
 They fought; their lives determined to sell 
 
 Within that vale of Rephaim, 
 Or, conquering, gain the famous well 
 
 Hard by the gate of Bethlehem. 
 
 Then through the mighty host they break, 
 
 And on the dangerous way pursue ; 
 Nor could their baffled foes o'ertake 
 
 Those youthful warriors, brave and true. 
 They passed the vale of Rephaim, 
 
 They passed o'er hill, through dale and glen, 
 Till at the gate of Bethlehem 
 
 They stood beside the famous well ; 
 And water from that well they drew — 
 
 'Twas from a clear and living vein — 
 And then returning, breaking through 
 
 Philistia's mighty host again. 
 They to their chieftain come, and tell 
 
<< 
 
 David's three mighty men. 305 
 
 The things that had befallen them — 
 See, here is water from the well 1 
 That well, the well of Bethlehem. " 
 
 ** Oh, how intense I've longed for this ! " 
 
 The suffering chieftain said, " Indeed, 
 It surely cannot come amiss 
 
 In this extremity of need. 
 Bring me a goblet ; I will drink 
 
 And quench my burning thirst once more. '* 
 But hold ! what makes the monarch shrink ? 
 
 *' 'Tis red ! 'tis tinged with blood and gore ! 
 I cannot drink, for, see, ah, see ! 
 
 It sure is blood — the blood of those 
 Who put their lives in jeopardy 
 
 When passing through their countless foes ; 
 The blood of those who vowed to sell 
 
 Their lives in bloody Rephaim, 
 Or bring me water from the well, 
 
 The famous well of Bethlehem. 
 
 ** Go pour it out upon the ground, 
 
 A fit libation to the Lord ; 
 And when prosperity is found, 
 
 Those men shall have a rich reward." 
 'Twas done. The king came to his own, 
 
 And peace and kingly power returned ; 
 He sat upon King David's throne — 
 
 A mighty monarch, wise and learned. 
 And these three valiant men became 
 
 The chief of David's mighty band, 
 And stood upon the mount of fame, 
 
 The chief in all Judea's land. 
 Three thousand years have past, and still 
 
 Historic pages speak of them, 
 Who brought that water from the well, 
 
 The famous well of Bethlehem. 
 
^/'. 
 
 300 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 DAVID'S LAMENTATION FOR SAUL AND JON- 
 
 ATHAN, 
 
 II Samuel, 1 and 17tli. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen now ; 
 
 And, oh! how low the valiant lie ! 
 Pale is the mighty monarch's brow, 
 
 And dim tHe warrior's eagle e^e ; 
 Let mournful notes of sorrow swell. 
 
 And tears bedim the weeping eye: 
 The beautiful in Israel 
 
 Is slain upon her places high. 
 
 Oh, tell it not within the street, 
 
 The street of Askelon, the proud, 
 Nor yet the story sad repeat 
 
 In Gath, nor spread the news abroad — 
 Lest they, our enemies, rejoice, 
 
 And triumph o'er the bloody fall 
 Of him who was the nation's choice, 
 
 The valiant-hearted sovereign Saul. 
 
 Upon thy mount, O Gilboa! 
 
 Let there be neither dew nor rain, 
 For there the shield was cast away. 
 
 And there was the annointed slain; 
 Let sacrifices never more. 
 
 Nor fields of offering, be made 
 Upon that mountain stained with gore, 
 
 Where Israel's mighty chieftain bled. 
 
 Where now the conquering sword of Saul, 
 Which ne'er came bloodless back again ? 
 
 The bow of Jonathan, withal, 
 So often bent, nor bent in vain ? 
 
David's lamentation. 307 
 
 Oh, perished are those weapons now ! 
 
 They perished when the mighty fell 
 Upon the rugged mountain's brow, 
 
 Where sank the pride of Israel. 
 
 More swift than eagles in their flight — 
 
 Far swifter Jonathan and Saul ; 
 As strong as lions in their might, 
 
 And pleasant were they yet withal ; 
 Most lovely were they in their lives — 
 
 Nor severed in their dying day; 
 The memory of the brave survives, 
 
 And will while ages roll away. 
 
 O weep, ye Hebrew daughters, now, 
 
 For Saul, who clothed you with delight, 
 Put ornaments upon the brow. 
 
 Of gold and silver jewels bright; 
 Who clothed you in apparel gay. 
 
 With robes of scarlet fair and fine ; 
 Oh, weep, and chant a dirge to-day. 
 
 And join your notes of grief with mine. 
 How fallen are the mighty men ! 
 
 The first and foremost in the fray, 
 Oh, Jonathan ! thou, too, wast slain 
 
 Upon the mount of Gilboa; 
 How fallen, on the mountain's brow, 
 
 Those men of war, those men of state! 
 How perished are the weapons now 
 
 Of Saul and Jonathan, the great. 
 
 Oh, Jonathan, my brother dear ! 
 
 For thee, alas, I am distressed; 
 How lovely and how pleasant were 
 
 Thy words to me when sore distressed 
 Thy love was passing strange to me, 
 
 Surpassing woman's love to man ; 
 Oh, Jonathan ! adieu to thee. 
 
 Adieu, my brother Jonathan. 
 
3o8 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 PREACHING TO THE NINEVITES. 
 
 'Twas in the flight of ages past. 
 
 And in a region far away, 
 There stood a city unsurpassed 
 
 By any in Assyria ; 
 'Twas ruled and governed by a king. 
 
 As such large cities often were, 
 But there was many an evil thing, 
 
 And wickedness abounded there. 
 
 And as in wealth and power it grew, 
 
 It grew in wickedness and sin ; 
 But there was One above who knew 
 
 And marked iniquity therein. 
 Exceeding great was Nineveh — 
 
 None greater in that eastern clime — 
 And as the years still rolled away, 
 
 It grew in wealth, it grew in crime. 
 
 At length there came at even-tide 
 
 A stranger from a foreign land, 
 Who, passing through the city, cried 
 
 The vengeance of the Lord at hand ; 
 He heeded not the public gaze. 
 
 As through the streets he passed alone, 
 And cried aloud, " Yet forty days 
 
 And Nineveh shall be o'erthrown." 
 
 As thus in strange apparel clad 
 
 (A foreign accent on his tongue ), 
 He passed, with countenance pale and sad, 
 
 And clarion-like his voice rung : 
 ** Ho !. Ninevites, beware the day ! 
 
 Repent, and for your deeds atone; 
 Yet forty days and Nineveh, 
 
 Great Nineveh, shall be o'erthrown ! " 
 
PREACHING TO THE NINEVITES. 309 
 
 At first his words unheeded fell, 
 
 And many mocked and jeered aloud, 
 But still in solemn tone they swell 
 
 Above and through the surging crowd ; 
 Still louder and more earnest grew 
 
 His words, with awe-inspiring tone — 
 ** Yet forty days, alas, how few ! 
 
 And Nineveh shall be o'erthrown. " 
 
 The night had passed, the morning came, 
 
 That preacher strange again appeared, 
 The same strange message to proclaim ; 
 
 And day by day his voice was heard. 
 From street to street he made his way. 
 
 And cried in that same solemn tone : 
 ** Ere forty have passed away 
 
 Great Nineveh shall be o'erthrown." 
 
 That message, like the knell of doom, 
 
 Fell heavily upon each ear ; 
 Then mockery ceased, and in its room 
 
 There came a dread and solemn fear ; 
 'Twas felt by all, both high and low ; 
 
 It seized the king upon his throne ; 
 Alas ! alas ! it must be so — 
 
 Great Nineveh will be o'erthrown ! 
 
 The king proclaimed a solemn fast 
 
 Throughout the length of his domain : 
 " Until those forty days have passed. 
 
 Let man and beast from food absiain ; 
 Cry mightily to God on-high. 
 
 And make our deep contrition known; 
 Perhaps that God will hear our cry 
 
 That Nineveh be not o'erthrown." 
 
 When God, who sent that prophet there, 
 
 And bade him thus to prophesy. 
 Had heard their fervent, humble prayer, 
 
 He listened to the suppliant cry ; 
 
3IO RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Though He had said that Nineveh ■ 
 
 Should fall, and be to ruin brought, 
 When from their sins they turned away, 
 
 Repented Him, and did it not. 
 
 Yet some there be — that know the plan 
 
 Of Deity — pretend to say 
 That things decreed ere time began 
 
 Cannot be changed, howe'er we pray; 
 That those who were by God contemned 
 
 And passed, in his great first decree, 
 May pray in vain ; they're still condemned, 
 
 And lost to all eternity. 
 
 It seems the prophet thought so, too. 
 
 And he was angry at the change ; 
 That God had said that He would do. 
 
 And did it not, to him was strange ; 
 The kind compassion of his Lord 
 
 Poor mortal man condemns outright, 
 And yet compassionates a gourd. 
 
 Which grows and withers in a night ! 
 
POEMS, DESCRIPTIVE AND MLITARY, 
 
 THE HORRORS OF CIVIL WAR, 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 This poem was ■written in April, 1861, and was intended as a kind of 
 prophecy or guess at the events about to follow. How far the prediction 
 was fulfilled, and how far it failed, those who lived through those years 
 of war can answer. 
 
 A dream I have had, so wild and so strange — 
 
 It lasted the whole of the night ; 
 Through days, weeks, and months my fancy did range, 
 
 Till waked by the bright morning light ; 
 I stood, as I thought, on a wire-hung bridge, 
 
 That spanned the Ohio's bold flood, 
 And the banks of the stream, the vale, and the ridge 
 
 Were stained — they were crimson with blood. 
 
 I saw that the waters which glided below 
 
 Were tinged with the blood of the slain. 
 Whose bodies were borne by the stream in its flow 
 
 Away toward a far southern main; 
 Ah, dismal the scenes that arose to my view; 
 
 The demon of War had been there; 
 Sad and mournful the sight, and sick my heart grew, 
 
 For ruin was everywhere. 
 
 Hard by rose a city — 'twas Wheeling, I thought; 
 
 Its streets were deserted and lone ; 
 Civil War desolation and ruin had wrought, 
 
 And commerce and plenty had flown; 
 
312 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The gay, busy throng that once crowded its street J 
 
 I now looked in vain to behold; 1 
 
 Processions moved slow to the drum's muffled beat, 
 And the bells for a funeral tolled. 
 
 Far away to the south, far away to the west, | 
 
 The ensigns of war were in view. 
 And the land by the foot of the spoiler was pressed, 
 
 By the conquered and conquerors too ; 
 Far away to the north, and to the northwest, 
 
 The v/ar-sounding bugle was heard, 
 And brothers once borne on the same mother's breast 
 
 In hostile array now appeared. 
 
 But soon a change came o'er my dream, 
 
 And all its scenes were shifted, 
 And I, adown life's troubled stream, 
 
 For days and weeks, had drifted ; ' . 
 
 And drifting down the stream of time, 
 
 It seemed a mighty river, 
 Which, flowing toward a southern clime. 
 
 Seemed rolling onward ever. 
 
 And drifting down that turbid stream — 
 
 So like the Mississippi — 
 These warning words disturbed my dream : 
 
 *' I'll meet thee at Phillippi." 
 A city of the foremost rank 
 
 My floating bark seemed nearing — 
 'Twas built upon the western bank, 
 
 And Western men were cheering. 
 
 The shouts of victory loud were heard 
 
 Amid the notes of wailing, 
 And far away fair Freedom's bird, 
 
 With drooping wing, was sailing. 
 Well might it flee, since peace had fled — 
 
 The Greek had met the Greek there — 
 And brothers' blood, by brothers shed. 
 
 Had mingled in the street there. 
 
THE HORRORS OF CIVIL WAR. 
 
 *' Oh, whence," I asked, " this dire mischief, 
 
 And what has caused this madness ? 
 And why are some o'er whelmed with grief, 
 
 And others wild with gladness ? 
 Can men of feeling heart rejoice 
 
 O'er such a scene of slaughter. 
 Or answer with insulting voice 
 
 A brother's cry for quarter ? " 
 
 Yet so it was, or seemed to be — 
 
 No mercy sure is due us — 
 Alas, for man's perversity ! 
 
 Alas, for proud St. Louis ! 
 
 But now the scene was changed again, 
 And, marshalled on a spacious plain, 
 
 Two armies were in motion; 
 Full twenty thousand fighting men 
 Were drawn together there and then. 
 And wave on wave they came, as when 
 
 The storm has lashed the ocean. 
 
 One army high a flag unfurled — 
 A flag respected o'er the world. 
 
 And known by every nation; 
 The other raised a banner too, 
 Its colors red and white to view — 
 A flag whose stars and stripes were few, 
 
 And 'twas of modern fashion. 
 
 And ranged beneath those flags were men 
 Who seemed determined to conquer, when 
 
 The battle-storm should lower ; 
 Full soon it came, and oh ! the shock — 
 Such scenes my powers of language mock ; 
 I stood transfixed as any rock. 
 
 To stir without the power. 
 
 Then thrice the deadly onset came, 
 And thrice the issue seemed the same, 
 Each still on each encroaching; 
 21 — 
 
 313 
 
314 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 But hark ! what sound is that afar ? 
 The bugle's note, the cannon's jar ! 
 And see that flag with stripe and star 
 The scene of strife approaching ! 
 
 A reinforcement from the north, 
 In countless numbers, issued forth, 
 
 And soon the conflict ending ; 
 The smoke of battle rolled away, * 
 And there in death the thousands lay, 
 Who met and feU in battle fray. 
 
 With brothers all contending. 
 
 An awful scene it was to view — 
 
 God grant my dream may ne'er prove true ; 
 
 The mangled, dead, and dying 
 Were mixed and mingled here and there, 
 And pools of blood were everywhere ; 
 And dying men, unused to prayer, 
 
 For mercy then were crying. 
 
 The shout of victory died away 
 
 As shades of evening closed the day, 
 
 And nature, hushed in silence. 
 Seemed mourning o'er her broken laws — 
 That man, for such a trivial cause. 
 Should madly rush into the jaws 
 
 Of war, and death, and violence. 
 
 Changes still my dream came o'er ; 
 
 Rapidly those changes passed, 
 First, upon the ocean's shore, 
 Then upon the prairie vast ; 
 
 But the theme was still the same 
 Everywhere — 
 Men were marching to and fro, 
 Causing blood and tears to flow. 
 Covering the land with woe — 
 
 Once so fair ! 
 
THE HORRORS OF CIVIL WAR. 515 
 
 Far upon the briny deep, 
 
 Where I never went before, 
 
 Travelled I last night in sleep — 
 
 Sailing half the ocean o'er — 
 
 But to 'scape the scene was vain ; 
 It was there — 
 There upon the ocean wide. 
 There upon the swelling tide — 
 Ships of war, with blood bedyed. 
 
 Sailing were. 
 
 Though the night was clear and mild. 
 
 And the moon and stars were bright, 
 Yet a tempest, fierce and wild. 
 Came before the morning light ; 
 Not a tempest such as wakes 
 
 Ocean's foam, 
 But of angry, human strife — 
 Scenes of blood with carnage rife, 
 Brother seeking brother's life — 
 
 Far from home. 
 
 There, I saw those banners raised — 
 
 Those I saw in fight before ; 
 There the murdering cannon blazed 
 With a dread and deafening roar — 
 Cries of agony were heard 
 
 To resound ; 
 And upon each bloody deck 
 Men were moving, wild and quick, 
 While the slain were falling thick 
 
 All around. 
 
 Still the contest fiercer grew, 
 
 Fiercer yet the battle raged, 
 Whilst the red, the white and blue 
 'Gainst the modern flag engaged; 
 But to tell the closing scene 
 
 Tongue would fail. 
 
3l6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Both those ships in air were blown, 
 Friend and foe aloft were thrown — 
 And the sea, with fragments strewn, 
 
 Told the tale. 
 
 Thus it was, throughout the night — 
 
 Ranging Fancy's wild domain — 
 Nothing met my sleeping sight 
 But such scenes as gave me pain ; 
 
 " How long ! " I asked, " how long until 
 Strife shall cease ! 
 Must this Civil War still waste 
 Freedom's land, by science graced ? 
 Haste the time, great Ruler, haste 
 Smiling peace !" 
 
 List the answer : "Time will prove; 
 
 From the time the war begun, 
 Mars, the god of War, shall move 
 His fiery chariot round the sun; 
 
 Then shall arms throughout the land 
 Cease to gleam." 
 Such the answering words, which fell 
 In thunder-tones that seemed to swell 
 Until they woke and broke the spell 
 
 Of my dream. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LONE JACK. 
 
 Fought on tlie 16tli of August, 1862. 
 
 'Twas August, and faintly the sunbeams were falling, 
 
 And gently the breezes of summer passed by, 
 But they bore to my ears a sound most appalling. 
 
 For death-dealing cannon were thundering nigh ; 
 The roar of the cannon and small arms were blended, 
 The smoke of the battle to heaven ascended, 
 While friends of the Union 'gainst foeman contended, 
 And fought hand to hand, at the town of Lone Jack. 
 
 1 
 
THE BATTLE OF LONE JACK. 317 
 
 The battle began at the early sun-rising; 
 
 The hours passed on, and the battle still raged ; 
 I listened intent, and my thoughts were devising 
 
 Some means of escape for the friends there engaged ; 
 I knew the Confed'rates by thousands were counted, 
 The soldiers in blue to eight hundred amounted. 
 The chances against them I fearfully counted. 
 
 And tremblingly thought of their fate at Lone Jack. 
 
 No word could I get from the conflict before me. 
 No messenger came from the harvest of Death ; 
 
 Naught but the report which the musketry bore me — 
 That men were contending for victory's wreath, 
 
 And victory's wreath the Fates were withholding ; 
 
 Bat the roar of the cannon a tale was unfolding — 
 
 The friends of the Union were still upholding 
 
 '1 he stars and the stripes at the town of Lone Jack. 
 
 Four hours wore on, and the cannon ceased roaring, 
 
 The sound of the musketry, too, died away ; 
 A prayer from the depth of my soul was outpouring — 
 
 *' May God help the friends of the Union to-day ! " 
 And now that the conflict of battle was ended, 
 My thought and my reason seemed lost and suspended — 
 I felt that the friends who so nobly defended 
 
 Our "flag were all captured or killed at Lone Jack. 
 
 Not long did suspense and uncertainty hold me — 
 A cavalry force was approaching in view : 
 
 They came on apace, and my anxious eye told me 
 'Twas friends of the Union, the soldiers in blue ; 
 
 They passed by me then in a hurried progression. 
 
 File following file in rapid succession — 
 
 Those heroes who fought 'gainst the hosts of secession, 
 And watered with blood the small town of Lone Jack. 
 
 But many were left on the dread field of action ; 
 
 The dead, and the dying, and wounded were there, 
 Away frpm sweet home and its every attraction. 
 
 Away from their friends and their relatives dear ; 
 
3X8 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And there row in silence those heroes are sleeping, 
 Though years have rolled by, and the voice of weeping 
 Is hushed in their homes, and we are now reaping 
 
 The fruits of their labors performed at Lone Jack. 
 
 SPOTTSYLVANIA'S WILDERNESS. 
 
 'Twas when the great Rebellion raged, 
 
 'Twas in its darkest, saddest hours. 
 When Grant and Lee fierce conflict waged. 
 
 And marshalled their opposing powers; 
 When, madly surging, like the swell 
 
 Of ocean, deep and fathomless. 
 The tide of battle rose and fell 
 
 In Spottsylvania's wilderness — 
 
 'Twas then I saw Alonzo first ; 
 
 I saw him in the Union line — 
 And where the storms of battle burst 
 
 He bore aloft the proud ensign — 
 He waved that banner overhead. 
 
 And shouted, " Comrades, onward press ! 
 'Tis victory now, or gory bed 
 
 In Spottsylvania's wilderness." 
 
 I saw him next, as, pale and wan, 
 
 Upon the field of strife he lay; 
 The struggling hosts were moving on, 
 
 And still contending, miles away ; 
 Amongst the mangled and the dead. 
 
 He lay in anguish and distress. 
 All pale upon his gory bed. 
 
 In Spottsylvania's wilderness. 
 
 A night of darkness and of gloom 
 
 Had passed, and at the morning's dawn 
 
 He woke as waking from the tomb. 
 
 With countenance pale and woe begone; 
 
SPOTTSYLVANIA S WILDERNESS. 319 
 
 No tender, nursing hand was there, 
 No surgeon came his wounds to dress, 
 
 But there was One who heard his prayers 
 From out that gory wilderness. 
 
 All helpless, mangled, pale, and weak, 
 
 With racking pain and anguish riven, 
 In whispers only, he could speak — 
 
 Those whispers faint were heard in heaven, 
 And succor, timely succor, came. 
 
 It found him in his helplessness, 
 And bore his bleeding, mangled frame 
 
 From out that gory wilderness. 
 
 His banner, with a soldier's pride, 
 
 He begged might still with him be borne — 
 That banner which his blood had dyed, 
 
 And which the bursting shell had torn ; 
 'Twas bound around his shattered arm — 
 
 That arm which bore it proudly — yes, 
 Amid the raging battle-storm 
 
 In Spottsylvania's wilderness. 
 
 Alonzo lives, and often since 
 
 I've met him in life's busy din ; 
 His crutch and empty sleeve evince 
 
 In what a conflict he has been ; 
 And, ah ! how many wounded thus 
 
 We meet, and pass, and ne'er express 
 Our thanks that they have bled for us, 
 
 In passing War's dread wilderness. 
 
 Oh ! may the nation ne'er forget 
 
 The men, who, in that hour of gloom, 
 Stood by its flag — the foemen met — 
 
 Nor quailed amid the cannon's boom ; 
 May monuments be raised which will 
 
 A people's gratitude express 
 To those who 'neath that banner fell, 
 
 In passing through that wilderness. 
 
320 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And may the gallant soldier, who, 
 
 Alonzo-like, has lost a limb. 
 Be cheered life's weary journey through, 
 
 To know the nation cares for him ; 
 O may the many thousand such 
 
 Ne'er suffer from our thanklessness, 
 But may our sympathetic touch 
 
 Be felt through life's sad wilderness. 
 
 THE HOME-SICK SOLDIER. 
 
 There is a spot, far, far away — 
 
 To that my thoughts will roam ; 
 I think of it by night and day — 
 It is my home, my home. 
 When shall I see my home, 
 O when shall I get home ? 
 Long time, alas! I've been away 
 From that, my peaceful home. 
 
 Amid the thunders of the War, 
 
 Amid its bloody foam, 
 I've borne aloft the stripe and star. 
 Far, far away from home ; 
 
 I've wandered far from home. 
 Far, far away from home — 
 I think by day, and dream at night 
 Of that once happy home. 
 
 I oft have met my country's foes. 
 
 And thought that Greece nor Rome 
 N'er boasted braver men than those 
 That marched with me from home; 
 But they are far from home — 
 They sigh for friends and home — 
 And many sleep in bloody graves. 
 Far, far away from home. 
 
THE bandit's dream. 32 I 
 
 I had a brother dear, and we 
 
 Together ploughed the loam, 
 Together marched and fought ; but he 
 Will never see our home; 
 He ne'er will see his home — 
 Our father's happy home ; 
 He fell upon the battle-field, 
 Far, far away from home. 
 
 And I was then, by fate, compelled 
 
 To meet a prison's gloom — 
 A prisoner of war I'm held, 
 Away from friends and home ; 
 O when shall I get home — 
 When shall I see my home ? 
 Long time it seems I've been away ' 
 
 From that, my peaceful home. 
 
 THE BANDITS DREAM; OR, HILLS OFSNI-A-BAR, 
 
 The night was one of splendor, 
 
 The moon was riding high — • 
 A horseman, tall and slender, 
 
 Rode by the winding Sni — 
 Past many a lonely dweUing, 
 
 And by deserted farms, ^ 
 Which silently were telling 
 
 Of war, and war's alarms ; 
 He rode along all careless. 
 
 He noted not the scene. 
 For he was wild and fearless. 
 
 And wore a bandit's mien : 
 
 * The land was depopulated and desolated by " Order No. 11," in the 
 winter of 1863. 
 
32 2 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 He, from his native villa, 
 Had wandered here afar, 
 
 And roamed a stern guerrilla 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 But now the moon is sinking 
 
 Away into the West — 
 Of what can he be thinking, 
 
 And why so much depressed ? 
 He rides no longer fearless 
 
 Along the winding Sni, 
 But from a cabin cheerless 
 
 He looks with glaring eye ; 
 'Tis something sure appalling 
 
 Has met the bandit's gaze — 
 Else why should he be falling 
 
 Into such dread amaze ? 
 For he, a reckless ranger, 
 
 Has trampled stripe and star, 
 And courted crime and danger 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 The night is past and over. 
 
 The morning comes anew — 
 He seeks a fellow-rover. 
 
 And bids him thus adieu : 
 '*I can no longer stand it 
 
 To Hve the life we lead ; 
 I've been a bloody bandit, 
 
 A bloody one, indeed, 
 But I have seen a vision, 
 
 A vision of the dead — 
 I see you look derision. 
 
 As doubting what I've said; 
 But 'tis not fear of danger 
 
 That takes me from you far, 
 To be no more a ranger 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 ''Now listen while I tell you 
 The fearful things I saw — 
 
THE bandit's dream. 323 
 
 To see them would impel you 
 
 From Quantrell to withdraw. 
 Last night, while I was waking, 
 
 And watching all alone, 
 I saw a spectre taking 
 
 A seat hard by my own ; 
 My father, who has slumbered 
 
 In death for many suns. 
 And who, I trust, is numbered 
 
 Amongst the happy ones — 
 'Twas he ; I saw and knew him 
 
 By the light of moon and star — 
 My crimes it was that drew him 
 
 To the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 *' And as I sat in terror. 
 
 Unable to withdraw, 
 The spectre held a mirror, 
 
 In which I plainly saw 
 Myself as in my childhood, 
 
 In innocence and truth — 
 Our cottage home, the wildwood. 
 
 The happy scenes of youth ; 
 I saw my school-mates playing 
 
 Upon the village green, 
 And I, with loud hurrahing. 
 
 In that gay crowd was seen ; 
 But the pleasant sight was fading. 
 
 Those youths were sundered far. 
 And one through blood was wading, 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 *' But then there came another 
 
 And yet a dearer scene — 
 I saw my doting mother. 
 
 My sister Josephine — 
 The faces of my brothers 
 
 Were in the mirror there ; 
 And yet I saw another — 
 
 The fairest of the fair; 
 They looked, as last I saw them, 
 
324 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 With pitying eyes on me, 
 When something seemed to draw them 
 
 To read my destiny ; 
 That destiny unchanging, 
 
 Beneath an evil star, 
 Has sent me madly ranging 
 
 The hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 ** As oft that mirror shifted 
 
 The scenes were shifted too, 
 As though a curtain lifted 
 
 Exposed them to my view. 
 I saw a man lie gasping — 
 
 His blood was flowing warm. 
 And a weeping wife was clasping 
 
 His mangled, bleeding form ; 
 I saw his paling features, 
 
 And knew them all too well — 
 One of my fellow creatures, 
 
 And by my hands he fell ; 
 And in his grave, unheeding, 
 
 I thought he slept afar. 
 But sure I saw him bleeding 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 '* Another form all gory 
 
 Within that glass appears, 
 A man whose head was hoary 
 
 With the frosts of fifty years ; 
 He, too, I saw was lying 
 
 And weltering in his gore — 
 I saw him bleeding, dying. 
 
 As I saw him once before, 
 When, all devoid of anguish, 
 
 And a heart as hard as stone, 
 I left him there to languish. 
 
 And bleed and die alone ; 
 But now my fears had bound me 
 
 To Death's ensanguined car. 
 And victims crowded round me 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
THE BANDIT S DREAM. 3,25 
 
 ** Then came that victim youthful, 
 
 With eyes so mild and blue, 
 Who died for speaking truthful 
 
 Concerning me and you. 
 He looked as when he pleaded 
 
 For life at our hands. 
 And a mother interceded 
 
 With stern guerrilla bands ; 
 But vain was all his pleading. 
 
 In vain the mother wept, 
 He sank to earth all bleeding. 
 
 And there in death he slept ; 
 But though he sleeps with numbers, 
 
 With naught his peace to mar. 
 He haunts me in my slumbers 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 '' 'Twas thus the scenes kept changing. 
 
 But each was full of dread, 
 And I, it seemed, was ranging 
 
 Amid a host of dead ; 
 A burning town before me — 
 
 The flames were spreading free. 
 And fancy's vision bore me 
 
 To Lawrence massacre ; 
 I saw our victims lying 
 
 Upon the bloody street. 
 While we in haste were flying 
 
 Back to our wild retreat. 
 A thousand scenes of terror 
 
 Arose my peace to mar, 
 Reflected in that mirror 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 **ril quit this life of pillage. 
 
 These scenes of blood and strife, 
 And in some quiet village. 
 
 Reform my wayward life ; 
 No longer will I join you 
 
 In reckless, wild forays, 
 
326 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And may kind Heaven incline you 
 
 To leave these sinful ways ; 
 Nay, nay, do not resist me, 
 
 My course is taken now. 
 And, oh! may God assist me 
 
 To keep my sacred vow. 
 I never more may greet you — 
 
 I'm going hence afar — 
 But spectres oft will meet you 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 
 
 ** And when, within that mirror, 
 
 You see, as I have seen, 
 Those scenes of blood and terror 
 
 Upon these hills so green, 
 You'll feel, as I am feeUng, 
 
 A weight of guilty fears, i 
 
 While conscience stands revealing - ' 
 
 The deeds of by-gone years. 
 Ah ! little did I ever 
 
 Expect so sad a sight, 
 And may I witness never 
 
 The scenes of the last night ; 
 Oh ! not for wealth uncounted, 
 
 Nor throne of king or zar. 
 Would I see my crimes recounted 
 
 On the hills of Sni-a-bar." 
 
 \ 
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER AT LONE JACK. 
 
 A soldier of the Union lay 
 
 Sore wounded at Lone Jack, 
 And as his life-blood ebbed away, 
 
 His thoughts were wandering back — 
 Back to his childhood's early home, 
 
 Back to his native land, 
 And dreaming fancy seemed to roam 
 
 Amid a kindred band. 
 
THE DYING SOLDIER AT LONE JACK. 327 
 
 No wife or child beside him now, 
 
 Though wife and child he had ; 
 No comrade bathed his bloody brow — 
 
 His comrades all had fled ; 
 And there, upon that hard-fought field, 
 
 In that small village street, 
 He lay with those who scorned to yield — 
 
 Disdaining to retreat. 
 
 No kinsman's hand or voice was nigh 
 
 No minister relief ; 
 But yet there was a pitying eye 
 
 Looked on the scene with grief — 
 A stranger, though a friend, stood near 
 
 The dying soldier's side, 
 And wept his dreaming talk to hear, 
 
 And soothed him till he died. 
 
 Through scenes of youth he seemed to pass, 
 
 Though now his hair was gray. 
 And once again he led his class, 
 
 As in his school-boy's day ; 
 He called his playmates' names, although 
 
 None answered to his call, 
 For some had died long years ago, 
 
 And far, far distant all. 
 
 He often called his father's name — 
 
 He called his brother's too — 
 But oftener still his mother came 
 
 Within his dreaming view ; 
 He seemed to think that mother near, 
 
 And for her hand would feel — 
 'Twould melt the hardest heart to hear 
 
 His piteous appeal : 
 
 ** O, mother, help yourHttle son — 
 
 My aching head is sore, 
 And here I lie, with pillows none, 
 
 Upon the cold, hard floor ; 
 
328 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 O lay me on my trundle-bed, 
 Or take me on your knee — 
 
 She does not hear what I have said; 
 O where can mother be ?" 
 
 Anon the scene would change, and he, 
 
 By fancy still beguiled, 
 A husband^ father — seemed to be, 
 
 And spoke of wife and child ; 
 He spake of them so tenderly. 
 
 So often called their names, 
 Though absent, yet 'twas plain that they 
 
 Were present in his dreams. 
 
 His days of early manhood came, 
 
 And passed in plain review, 
 His constant struggles after fame, 
 
 His disappointments, too ; 
 He spoke of hardships undergone. 
 
 He spoke of dangers passed. 
 And still his thoughts kept wandering on, 
 
 And wandered to the last. 
 
 But then more recent scenes appeared 
 
 To claim his wandering thought — 
 The storm which Civil War had stirred. 
 
 The sufferings it had wrought ; 
 Upon his home and family 
 
 His thoughts appeared to dwell ; 
 With them again he seemed to be — 
 
 To them he bade farewell : 
 
 " Farewell, my wife, my children all — 
 
 My country calls away, 
 And can I hear my country call, 
 
 And not the call obey ? 
 I go, and ere I shall come back, 
 
 Grim War shall cease to frown ; 
 I go, though men may call me black, 
 
 To put rebellion down. 
 
THE DYING SOLDIER AT LONE JACK. 329 
 
 *' I go, my wife, I go, my son, 
 
 The Union to sustain, 
 For North and South shall still be one. 
 
 And one shall still remain ; 
 I go, and if I ne'er return. 
 
 Farewell, ye loved ones all — 
 And if I fall, I trust you'll learn 
 
 I fell as man should fall." 
 
 But then his fancy, more and more. 
 
 And wilder, seemed to roam ; 
 He seemed to think the War was o'er, 
 
 And he was safe at home ; 
 And there, as if to friends, he told 
 
 Of war and war's alarms. 
 Of many a comrade soldier bold. 
 
 And many a feat of arms. 
 
 Of conflicts sore he spake of one — 
 
 A sore, a bloody fight — 
 The hard day's march from Lexington, 
 
 The skirmish of the night ; 
 Spoke of the sleepless bivouac, 
 
 As on their arms they lay 
 Within the village town Lone Jack, 
 
 To wait the coming day. 
 
 And then he spake of the attack, 
 
 Which came at early morn — 
 The rebel charge, the falling back. 
 
 The hedge and growing corn ; 
 He spoke of deeds of daring done. 
 
 Of many a soldier slain, 
 The loss of the artillery gun. 
 
 The taking it again. 
 
 But here his memory seemed to fail — 
 
 His voice was failing too — 
 Alas ! he ne'er will tell the tale 
 
 To those he loved so true ; 
 
 22 — 
 
330 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES 
 
 Some other tongue to them will tell 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 UllC ULllCl LUllgUC lU LllClll Will ICli J 
 
 The Story he essayed, " 
 
 Describe the battle where he fell, 
 The spot where he was laid. 
 
 And there, beneath that lonely tree, 
 
 Which gave the town its name,* 
 The traveller will turn to see 
 
 And read a warrior's fame. 
 And when the tree shall cease to stand, 
 
 As it must shortly do, 
 A monument, with marble hand. 
 
 Will point to where it grew. 
 
 THE SOLDIER FROM THE KANSAS LINE, 
 
 A soldier from Missouri, 
 
 In manhood's early prime, 
 Lay with the dead and dying, 
 
 Far in a Southern cHme ; 
 On the bloody field of Corinth 
 
 His life was ebbing fast, 
 And comrades, faint and bleeding, 
 
 In crowds were hurrying past ; 
 He saw his young companions — 
 
 The friends of happier days — 
 Retiring from the conflict, 
 
 Before the cannon's blaze ; . 
 
 * The town of Lone Jack takes its singular name from a lone tree of 
 the black-jack species, which stood upon the high ridge of prairie divid- 
 ing the waters of the Missouri and the Osage, in the immediate vicinity 
 of which was built the little village of Lone Jack. The tree, though 
 dead, was still standing at the time of the battle, and near it were buried 
 the dead of both armies A monument or marble shaft has been erected 
 to the memory of the Confederate dead, but the Union soldiers sleep 
 without any ; but an iron fence encloses both. 
 
THE SOLDIER FROM THE KANSAS LINE. 33 1 
 
 And borne along, all tattered, 
 
 The starred and barred ensign, 
 That flag which he had followed 
 
 From near the Kansas line. 
 
 A comrade stopped beside him, 
 
 And raised his drooping head. 
 And thus, in faltering accents, 
 
 The dying soldier said : 
 " Farewell, my friend and comrade, 
 
 A long, a long adieu — 
 Though you may shortly follow me, 
 
 I'll ne'er return to you ; 
 With me the War is over, 
 
 My marching's at an end. 
 And now a dying message 
 
 By you I fain would send ; 
 O bear it to my kindred. 
 
 Those distant friends of mine. 
 For I have friends and kindred 
 
 Near to the Kansas line : 
 
 **I have an aged mother — 
 You know that mother well ; 
 
 bear to her the tidings 
 How I in battle fell, 
 
 And tell her I remember 
 
 In anguish her advice 
 To stay at home in quiet, 
 
 Nor join the chieftain Price ; 
 And if I had but heeded 
 
 The good advice she gave, 
 
 1 would not now be hurrying 
 
 Into the yawning grave; 
 But I heed ed other counsel, 
 
 And left that home of mine — 
 A home of peace and quiet 
 
 Near to the Kansas line. 
 
 " You know my brothers, also — 
 Tell them the mournful tale. 
 
332 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And when in death I'm sleeping, 
 
 They will my fate bewail; 
 They know I strove, all vainly, 
 
 Secession's tide to stem, 
 Till, blinded by a phantom, 
 
 I bade adieu to them ; 
 They know the things that drew me 
 
 Away from them and home. 
 And the phantom light that lured me 
 
 Through Dixie's land to roam ; 
 And that the heart beat loyal 
 
 'Within this breast of mine^ — 
 But it will never beat again 
 
 Upon the Kansas line. 
 
 ** Tell to my neighbors, also, 
 
 Who preached secession loud, 
 And counseled me and others 
 
 To swell the rebel crowd. 
 That though they now are loyal 
 
 Their lives and goods to save, 
 'Twas they who sent me, surely, 
 
 To fill a soldier's grave ; 
 And though I can forgive them, 
 
 I'd have them not forget , 
 
 That, but for them, I might have been ^ 
 
 At home with mother yet ; 
 And though I lie far distant, 
 
 This mangled form of mine 
 May haunt their dreaming slumbers 
 
 Upon the Kansas line. j 
 
 ^' And there's a dark-eyed beauty — 
 
 I need not call her name — J 
 
 Who swerved me from my duty, * 
 
 And fanned the rebel flame ; 
 Her words to me, ' Remember, 
 
 No hand with mine unites. 
 Unless I find it boldly 
 
 Defending Southern rights. ' 
 
THE SOLDIER FROM THE KANSAS LINE. 333 
 
 Those Southern rights, alas ! friend, 
 
 I knew not what they were. 
 But with you and others, followed 
 
 The fleeing phantom's glare; 
 I sacrificed my judgment 
 
 At beauty's magic shrine. 
 And joined the rebel regiment 
 
 Upon the Kansas line. 
 
 ** And now, dear friend, remember 
 
 And heed my last request — 
 I feel my mind is wandering, 
 
 I soon shall be at rest ; 
 Now dim prophetic visions 
 
 Before me seem to pass. 
 And storms of blood and carnage 
 
 Are gathering, alas ! 
 And ere the War is ended — 
 
 So foolishly begun — 
 A thousand youths, misguided, 
 
 Will do as I have done ; 
 A thousand doting mothers 
 
 Will be bereft like mine, 
 And thousand homes be desolate 
 
 Along the Kansas line." 
 
 And then his reason failing, 
 
 The soldier ceased to speak, 
 And on that field of battle, 
 
 Where Greek had met the Greek, 
 His life was made an offering 
 
 Unto the god of War, 
 Whose victims bled by thousands — 
 
 Alas ! alas ! what for? 
 The land is dark with mourning, 
 
 Draped in the weeds of woe, 
 And the wailing notes of sorrow 
 
 Are heard from high and low, 
 And many a home is desolate, 
 
 As fire and sword combine 
 To make a howling wilderness 
 
 Along the Kansas line. 
 
334 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 THE FADED BANNER; OR, HOPE-FORLORN, 
 
 The circumstance which gave rise to this poem was the surprise and 
 massacre of the citizens of Kingsville, in Johnson County, Missouri, on 
 the 7tli of May, 1865, by a band of about one hundred guerrillas led by A, 
 Clements, a lieutenant of the noted Bill Anderson. The sentiments J 
 
 contained in the poem are taken chiefly from Paldwin's oration, deliv- M 
 
 ered on the 3d annivei'sary of the massacre, and published in the War- 
 rensburg ^cmcZard! about the 12th of May, 1868. The poem was also pub- 
 lished in the same paper a week or two after. 
 
 I saw a faded banner wave j 
 
 Amongst the budding woodland trees, | 
 
 'Twas planted near a soldier's grave, 
 And floated on the passing breeze. 
 
 ''What flag is this," I asked of one — J 
 
 " This faded banner, worn and torn?" 
 He said: " That flag, through rain and sun, 
 
 Has often led the Hope-forlorn." 
 
 " That Hope- forlorn," I asked again — 
 " Now tell me who and what were they? 
 
 And does that Hope-forlorn remain. 
 Or has it died and passed away ? " 
 
 " A band of true and loyal men. 
 
 By rebel hands when nigh o'erborne. 
 United for defense, and then 
 
 Those men were styled the Hope-forlorn. 
 
 '* A Hope-forlorn they seemed to be. 
 
 For other hopes had failed and died ; 
 They vowed beneath the flag you see 
 
 To stand or perish side by side. 
 
 "And well they kept that sacred vow ; 
 
 They stood together night and morn — 
 They're bound together even now, 
 
 The members of that Hope-forlorn." 
 
THE FADED BANNER. 335 
 
 *' Why is it here — that torn ensign — 
 
 Why waves it o'er these lonely graves ? '* 
 
 He said: " Here sleep the murdered nine, 
 And o'er their dust this banner waves. 
 
 ** Here Duncan, Paul and others sleep, 
 
 Who fell that fatal Sabbath morn ; 
 But Freedom's friends will ever keep 
 
 In memory green that Hope-forlorn. 
 
 **The storm of war had passed away, 
 In which they well had borne their part, 
 
 And peace, with its reviving ray, 
 Was cheering every loyal heart, 
 
 *' When rebel bandits, seeking blood, 
 To Kingsville came at early morn, 
 
 And, bursting like a whelming flood, 
 O'erpowered the feeble Hope -forlorn. 
 
 " They waited till the storm had passed. 
 Like Booth, to quench their bloody thirst, 
 
 And with him they'll be ever classed — 
 Of murderers the very worst. 
 
 ** Three years have come and passed away 
 Since that remembered Sabbath morn. 
 
 And at their graves we meet to-day 
 To honor that small Hope- forlorn. 
 
 *' Upon this consecrated ground, 
 
 When comes the seventh day of May, 
 
 Let friends of Freedom gather round, 
 An annual tribute here to pay. 
 
 ** That faded flag above their graves — 
 That flag by them thro' danger borne — 
 
 Shall wave as now you see it waves. 
 And point us to that Hope-forlorn." 
 
336 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 THE WATCHMAN; OR, BURDEN OF DUMAH. 
 
 Isaiah xxi. 11, 12. 
 
 This poem— a kind of prophecy or prediction — was written about the 
 last of 1864, and published in the Independence Messenger. 
 
 THE QUESTION. 
 
 Watchman upon the tower, ho ! 
 
 What of the stormy night? 
 Say, does the storm-cloud darker grow, 
 
 Or is there coming light ? 
 
 How long until the day shall break — 
 
 How long until the dawn — 
 How long till peace and order wake. 
 
 And strivings be withdrawn ? 
 
 How long ere blood and carnage cease 
 
 To stain a guilty land, 
 And till the olive branch of peace 
 
 Shall wave on every hand ? 
 
 This call I hear from Edom's land, 
 
 It comes from out of Seir ; 
 'Tis borne on southern breezes bland 
 
 Into the watchman's ear. 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 The night is coming, dark with gloom, 
 
 O'er that rebellious land, 
 And, lo ! the impending hour of doom 
 
 Is even now at hand. 
 
 A darker night than Egypt knew, > 
 
 Awaits secession's clime; 
 A darker and a longer too, 
 
 And soon will come the time. 
 
THE WATCHMAN. 337 
 
 The power of that ill-fated land 
 
 Is broken and dispersed, 
 And rebel chiefs must kiss the hand 
 
 Of Abraham the first. 
 
 But though the night approaches fast, 
 
 The morn is coming too. 
 And when the stormy night has passed, 
 
 The sun will shine anew. 
 
 A glorious day will yet arise. 
 
 Cheered by the beams of peace. 
 And when secession's doctrine dies, 
 
 The storm of war will cease. 
 
 And now should you inquire again, 
 
 "What of the stormy night ?" 
 Ask, and the answer will be plain : 
 
 * 'There is a gleam of light." 
 
 Return, the watchman calls, return 
 
 Ere it shall be too late ; 
 Return, rebellious ones, return — 
 
 Return, each rebel State ! 
 
 To your allegiance return. 
 
 No longer dare rebel. 
 And from those bloody lessons, learn 
 
 In Union still to dwell. 
 
 Come to the Federal Union — come 
 
 Ere darker grows the day ; 
 Come quickly to your ancient home. 
 
 The glorious U. S. A. 
 
338 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 THE CRUEL WAR IS OVER. 
 
 Written in 1865. 
 
 'Tis done — the bloody strife is o'er, 
 The storm of war has passed — 
 
 We hear the marching tramp no more 
 Of men in armor massed. 
 
 The howling storm of war is hushed, 
 
 Its echoes die away ; 
 The mighty rebel power is crushed, 
 
 With all its grand display. 
 
 The sunny beams of peace illume 
 
 The land from east to west, 
 And where but late was grief and gloom, 
 
 The land in smiles is dressed. 
 
 A mighty nation stands confessed. 
 
 Its power is fully tried ; 
 No North, no South, no East, no West — 
 
 It never can divide ! 
 
 Now washed away a darksome stain, 
 
 Now free the Ethiop race, 
 For those who strove to rivet chains 
 
 Have torn them from their place. 
 
 A land of freedom now indeed. 
 
 For Slavery's reign is o'er ; 
 The fate of war has now decreed 
 
 That slaves are slaves no more! 
 
 Then let our thanks to Heaven ascend. 
 
 And let us grateful be 
 To those who did the land defend — 
 
 Who made the nation free. 
 
THE CRUEL WAR IS OVER. 339 
 
 But there is many a heavy heart, 
 
 And many a saddened home ; 
 And sires who saw their sons depart 
 
 Will never see them come. 
 
 The widow's wail, the orphan's cry. 
 
 And sounds of grief like these — 
 The mother's moan, the sister's sigh, 
 
 Are borne upon the breeze. 
 
 And there are thousand unknown graves. 
 
 Where Union soldiers sleep, 
 And hundreds lie beneath the waves, 
 
 Down in the watery deep. 
 
 But though they sleep in death, away 
 
 From friends and far from home, 
 Fair Freedom will their names display 
 
 Upon her temple's dome. 
 
 And when the circling years have sped — 
 
 And they are speeding fast — 
 The mem'ry of the gallant dead 
 
 Will live, and long 'twill last. 
 
 And those who freely gave their blood 
 
 To quench the rebel fires, 
 Will have a nation's gratitude. 
 
 Till gratitude expires ! 
 
POEMS, DESCRIPTIVE AND SENTIMENm. 
 
 THE LONELY TREE. 
 
 'Twas in days long since departed, 
 When in youth and hthesome-hearted, 
 Ere my plans of life were thwarted, 
 
 First I saw this lonely tree ; 
 'Twas in autumn, sere and sober, 
 'Twas the last of sad October, 
 After frost, that great disrober, 
 
 Had embrowned the prairie lea, 
 And had scattered many a leaflet 
 Round about this lonely tree — 
 Then I passed this lonely tree. 
 
 Passing o'er the rolling prairie. 
 All was wild and sad and dreary. 
 And my feet were worn and weary. 
 Travelling far from Tennessee ; 
 Autumn's sun was setting bright then, 
 Scarce a house or farm in sight then, 
 And the cold and frosty night then 
 Closed around me chillingly ; 
 I upon this desert priiirie 
 Slept, and woke at morn, to see 
 Standing here this lonely tree. 
 
 Fate or chance, my steps impelling, 
 Led me then to fix my dwelling 
 Whence, across the prairie swelling, 
 I could see this lonely tree. 
 
THE LONELY TREE. 34I 
 
 On this eminence commanding, 
 
 Fire, and flood, and storm withstanding, 
 
 It has stood, and yet is standing. 
 
 Where it stood in " thirty three," 
 
 And for ages prior had served 
 
 As landmark on the prairie lea — 
 
 Standing here a signal tree. 
 
 Here, upon these open ranges. 
 It has seen a thousand changes. 
 And could tell a tale that strange is, 
 
 Could it speak its history. 
 Indian warriors by the hundred 
 Here have met, and here have sundered ; 
 And curious ones have often wondered 
 Where those warriors now may be; 
 
 They have left those grounds of hunting. 
 
 Gone toward the western sea — 
 
 Far from this now lonely tree. 
 
 Changes still have been occurring — 
 Busy mortals have been stirring 
 Since the time to which referring. 
 
 First I passed in '* thirty-three ; " 
 Rolling tides of emigration 
 Came from many a land and nation. 
 Fixing here their home and station. 
 Round about this lonely tree ; 
 
 And a town, or village, rising 
 
 Near the spot, as all may see. 
 
 Bore the name of this lone tree.* 
 
 Toiling men and enterprising, 
 Danger and fatigue despising, 
 Came, and soon were realizing 
 
 Comfort in a great degree ; 
 Care and toil the world behooving. 
 Energetic men were taoving. 
 And the land was fast improving 
 
 All around this lonely tree ; 
 
 * Lone Jack. 
 
142 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Farms were spreading east and west, 
 Farther than the eye could see — 
 Still it stood a lonely tree. 
 
 Other changes came quite sadly, 
 War had scourged the nation badly, 
 And contending armies madly 
 
 Met and fought at this lone tree.* 
 'Neath it now the slain are sleeping, 
 Silent watches round it keeping. 
 And their distant friends are weeping 
 For the slain at this lone tree ; 
 Friends and foes together sleeping — 
 Peaceful may their slumbers be, 
 Resting 'neath this lonely tree. 
 
 Sad the lesson we've been learning — 
 Farms and houses round us burning, 
 Exiles far away sojourning, 
 
 Friends we never more shall see — 
 Bitter fruits of fell secession — 
 Followed fast in quick succession ; 
 Fire, and sword, and war's oppression 
 Left their foot-prints plain to see, 
 Not a single person dweUing 
 In the village near the tree — • 
 Lonely now, this lonely tree. 
 
 Once again in autumn sober, 
 Passed I here, in sad October ; 
 Death, that great and last disrober, 
 
 Had disrobed this lonely tree — 
 It was dead and fast decaying, 
 Branches pendantly were swaying 
 In the breezes, sadly saying, 
 
 *' Man has fallen, so must we ; 
 He has left the country wasting. 
 Not a human face we see — " 
 Lonelier this lonely tree. 
 
 I 
 
 ♦ August 16th, 1862. 
 
THE LONELY TREE. 343 
 
 Lonely tree ! the worms did gnaw it, 
 Passing ravens seemed to caw it — 
 Lonelier than when you saw it 
 
 First, in eighteen thirty-three. 
 True, indeed, 'twas lonely — very — 
 And the village, once so merry, 
 Then was lying solitary — 
 
 Burned, abandoned, sad to me ; 
 
 Where the shops and stores had stood there 
 
 Naught was left but vacancy. 
 
 Banished by the military,* 
 Dwellers none were on the prairie, 
 All was desolate and dreary, 
 
 In October, ' 'sixty-three ; " 
 Farms were lying waste, or wasting. 
 Bitter fruits of war all tasting. 
 And the land, to ruin hasting. 
 
 Mourned for man's perversity ; 
 
 Out of all that population. 
 
 Once so happy, once so free. 
 
 None were near this lonely tree. 
 
 Once again complaining pronely, 
 Busied in my rhyming only, 
 I am by the tree, so lonely, f 
 
 Which I passed in "thirty-three." 
 Oft with many a care encumbered, 
 One and thirty years I've numbered 
 Since the time I slept and slumbered 
 
 On the prairie near the tree — 
 
 the many, many changes 
 That have passed o'er it and me ! 
 
 1 am lonely like the tree. 
 
 Now its trunk is standing only. 
 Where it long has stood so lonely, 
 And its branches, scattered pronely, 
 Lie around the parent tree. 
 
 • By "Order No. Eleven." f January, 1865. 
 
344 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 I have branches, too, that's left me — 
 Death has oftentimes bereft me; 
 Soon the tide of time will drift me 
 Over hfe's tempestuous sea ; 
 Then, with wife and children resting, 
 Let me lie near this lone tree — 
 They are sleeping near this tree. 
 
 THE PRISONER."^ 
 
 Another weary day has passed, 
 
 Gone down another sun — 
 My days, my hopes are sinking fast, 
 
 They vanish one by one. 
 
 'Tis said that hope, long time deferred. 
 Makes sick the human heart; 
 
 And long I've waited for the word 
 That bids me hence depart. 
 
 But still I wait and hope in vain, 
 
 That word comes not to me ; 
 A prisoner I here remain — 
 
 when shall I be free ? 
 
 They tell me I am homesick now ; 
 
 'Tis true I pine for home. 
 And were I there again, I trow, 
 
 1 never more would roam. 
 
 I've pined for many a weary day 
 
 Within this prison camp. 
 But still my thoughts are far away — 
 
 Forever on the tramp. 
 
 ♦ Referring to a youthful friend who died in prison at Fort Douglass, 
 1864. 
 
THE PRISONER. 345 
 
 They come and go without control, 
 
 They will not be confined — 
 The cravings of a deathless soul, 
 
 The pinions of the mind. 
 
 I think of home and friends by day. 
 And dream of them by night; 
 
 how I long to haste away, 
 And with those friends unite ! 
 
 My kindred near, my kindred dear — 
 
 how I long to be 
 
 Released from my confinement here, 
 Those dear, loved ones to see ! 
 
 And that dear father, too — shall I 
 
 E'er see that face again, 
 And tell him how it was and why 
 
 1 caused him grief and pain ? 
 
 1 fain would tell him how I came 
 
 The Southern ranks to join. 
 And how a prisoner I became 
 Within the Union line. 
 
 He knows that I was loyal when 
 
 I left my home and him — 
 A friend unto my country then. 
 
 Whose flag I ne'er would dim. 
 
 But when the rebels raiding came, 
 
 Conscripting right or wrong 
 (Perhaps I was myself to blame). 
 
 They carried me along. 
 
 And now a pris'ner here confined 
 
 For many weeks I've been, 
 And during those long weeks I've pined 
 
 A guarded camp within. 
 
 23- 
 
34^ RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 In dreams, I often pass the gate, 
 
 My freedom oft regain, 
 And hurry back to friends, who wait 
 
 To welcome me again. 
 
 My brothers and my sisters, too, 
 In dreams, are oft with me. 
 
 And that dear home my boyhood knew. 
 In dreams I often see. 
 
 But short the joy those dreams impart ; 
 
 I wake to realize 
 That they are dreams, and sick at heart, 
 
 I vent my waking sighs. 
 
 Long time I may not tarry here ; 
 
 I feel that I, ere long, 
 Shall cease to hope, shall cease to fear, 
 
 To do or suffer wrong. 
 
 That earthly home recedes from me — 
 The land that gave me birth — 
 
 But I by faith can sometimes see 
 A brighter home than earth. 
 
 Last night my sainted mother came, 
 My sorrows all beguiled — 
 
 Her smile on me was just the same 
 As when I was a child. 
 
 She pointed to a region fair — 
 
 To realms far, far away — 
 And said, " No pris'ners languish there. 
 
 And youth shall ne'er decay." 
 
 She pointed to a gate which led 
 From out my prison's gloom, 
 
 She pointed to a path and said, 
 '* That leads you to your home. 
 
SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 347 
 
 "It is the road your mother trod 
 
 When you were but a boy, 
 It lead her to the throne of God, 
 
 To realms of endless joy. 
 
 " Farewell, my son, a short farewell — 
 
 I may not tarry here ; 
 Soon shall you come to me, and dwell 
 
 In yon celestial sphere." 
 
 And now I go — vain world, adieu ! 
 
 No longer here I'll dwell ; 
 My father, brothers, sisters, too — 
 
 Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 
 
 SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 "Written upon visiting tlae tionie of my cMldhood, after an absence of 
 eight and thirty years. 
 
 Long years had elapsed, and I had grown old 
 
 Since leaving the land of my birth, 
 When again I returned once more to behold 
 
 That dearest loved spot upon earth ; 
 The dear cherished home, where my lot had been cast, 
 
 And my eyes opened first on the day ; 
 Where the days of my earliest childliood were passed, 
 
 And my years glided smoothly away. 
 
 In the morning of life, in my boyhood's day, 
 
 I had left it and wandered afar ; 
 And then, when my hair was silvered and gray, 
 
 I returned on the steam-going car ; 
 I came to the home of my childhood alone — 
 
 'Twas changed, but it still was the same — 
 I stood on its threshold a stranger unknown, 
 
 None knew me or called me by name. 
 
34^ RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 In the house which my father had builded I stood, J 
 
 And my thoughts travelled backward again ■ 
 
 To the days of my youth, to my sunny childhood, 
 
 And my pleasure was mingled with pain; 
 No father, no mother, to greet me I found — 
 
 No brother or sister in view ; 
 Long time had that father lain low in the ground. 
 
 And my brothers were lying there too. 
 
 My thoughts, by fond memory, backward were drawn. 
 
 And they whispered this truth to my heart : 
 *' Companions and playmates of youth are all gone. 
 
 And alone, all alone now thou art." 
 'Twas sad, and yet pleasing, at once to review 
 
 Those scenes to my memory dear. 
 To visit each spot which my infancy knew 
 
 Ere my life had been burdened with care. 
 
 The house and surroundings were part of that scene — 
 
 The old-fashioned chimney yet stands. 
 And I thought of the time, when a youth of sixteen, 
 
 I moulded each brick with these hands. 
 Forty years have gone by, and firm and still hard 
 
 The bricks in that chimney I see ; 
 But of those who then toiled in that dusty brick-yard 
 
 Not one are living but me. 
 
 To the place of the orchard of apples I came. 
 
 And I sought for one apple-tree fair — 
 My favorite tree, and called by my name — 
 
 But, alas! not a vestige was there; 
 The trees which my father had planted were gone — 
 
 Perhaps they had died long ago — 
 But others, and larger ones, grew further on. 
 
 Where the spring and the rivulets flow. 
 
 I came to the spring, and still, as of old, 
 
 It flowed with a murmuring rill ; 
 And I bowed me to drink of that fountain so cold, 
 
 As it came from out of the hill ; 
 
SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 349 
 
 And the time and the season came back to my mind 
 When my flutter-wheel danced in the stream, 
 
 And the many times since, when in slumbers confined, 
 I've returned to that spot in my dream. 
 
 To the site of the school house I then did repair, 
 
 Where it stood on the rocky hill's brow; 
 I sought it in vain, I found it not there, 
 
 But a barn is standing there now ; 
 The walnut-tree, too, I remembered so well. 
 
 Which threw on the play-ground its shade. 
 Was gone, but an oak is there standing to tell 
 
 Where the children of long ago played. 
 
 In fancy the days of my youth did return, 
 
 I saw my loved playmates again ; 
 But reality came with a countenance stern. 
 
 And told me such fancies were vain. 
 I never shall see them again, as of yore ; 
 
 In those streamlets they'll never more lave — 
 All parted and scattered the western land o'er, 
 
 And many lie low in the grave. 
 
 Ah ! sad, and yet pleasing, it is to come back. 
 
 When our heads are all silvered with grey ; 
 To tread once again the old beaten track 
 
 We trod in our childhood's bright day ; 
 To meet with kind friends who remember our names, 
 
 Though the face has changed to their view. 
 And to kindle again the expiring flames 
 
 Of friendship, devoted and true. 
 
 Not wholly alone I found myself there ; 
 
 For some few of my kindred remain — 
 Some school-mates and friends, whose welcomings were 
 
 A solace for much of my pain ; 
 Although so much changed that they knew not my face. 
 
 They remembered me well as of yore, 
 Could speak of the time, and could tell me the place 
 
 Where last they had seen me before. 
 
350 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And now back at home — my far western home — -M 
 
 My thoughts will revert to those scenes, 
 And, waking or sleeping, my fancy will roam 
 
 Away back to the years of my teens — 
 And to those of my friends and acquaintances too i 
 
 Who gave me a welcome so kind ; ^ 
 
 And whether my days shall be many or few, 
 
 To the end T will bear them in mind. 
 
 FORTY YEARS AGO— NOW AND THEN; OR, THE 
 OLD MAN'S RETURN TO THE HOME 
 OF HIS YOUTH. 
 
 Written to William Sharp, an old school-mate, after the visit men- 
 tioned in the last poem. 
 
 Fain would I write to you, dear friend, 
 
 A letter frank and free — 
 I've lately been to our old home, 
 
 Away in Tennessee ; 
 I've been to the old place, dear Bill, 
 
 Where we in childhood dwelt, 
 But, oh ! I cannot tell you all 
 
 Of what I saw and felt. 
 
 I walked the valley up and down, 
 
 I crossed the ridges o'er. 
 And stood where we so oft have stood 
 
 Upon the river's shore ; 
 Oh ! great have been the changes there — 
 
 Some spots I scarce could know, 
 While others seemed almost the same 
 
 As forty years ago. 
 
 I came to where your father dwelt 
 
 When we were boys, dear Bill ; 
 To where the old log house then stood. 
 
 Upon the sloping hill ; 
 
FORTY YEARS AGO. 35 1 
 
 That old log house has gone long since — 
 
 I know not when or how — 
 But down below the spring there stands 
 
 A large brick mansion now. 
 
 They say your brother built it there ; 
 
 But he has moved away, 
 And those you never saw, dear friend, 
 
 Are living there to-day. 
 The trees that shaded that old house 
 
 I saw had fallen too, 
 And scarce an apple-tree was left 
 
 Where once the orchard grew. 
 
 A little further down the stream. 
 
 And near the public road, 
 The place you well remember yet. 
 
 Where /in youth abode — 
 'Twas there my father's cabin stood, 
 
 In life's bright early morn ; 
 'Twas there my infant years were passed — 
 
 'Twas there that I was born. 
 
 And after all the changing scenes 
 
 Of all the changing years, 
 I see the same old farm again. 
 
 But different it appears ; 
 The old log house is standing where 
 
 My father built it, still ; 
 Your sister now is living there — 
 
 Your sister Mary Hill. 
 
 I stood in that old house again, 
 
 As oft before I'd done, 
 But there were none to greet me there — 
 
 Of kindred — no, not one ! 
 And those who knew me when, a boy, 
 
 I played barefooted there, 
 All failed to recognize the man, 
 
 So old, with silver hair. 
 
352 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Time, in its flight, had changed the place — 
 
 I, too, had changed, dear Bill — 
 But many a spot, to memory dear, 
 
 I found remaining still; 
 The spring was flowing from the hill 
 
 As in the days of yore, ' 
 
 But trees were growing round it then 
 
 I ne'er had seen before. 
 
 The old brick chimney stands there yet — J 
 
 Two stories high, you know ; ' 
 
 Its every brick I moulded, Bill, 
 
 Full forty years ago; 
 But of the many men and boys. 
 
 Those boys with sunny brow. 
 Who toiled with me in making them — 
 
 Not one is living now. 
 
 They all are dead and in their graves, 
 
 One after one they died ; 
 Far, far apart some of them sleep. 
 
 And some lie side by side; 
 Two thousand miles and more away 
 
 Some sleep in graves unknown. 
 While I, with locks now thin and grey, 
 
 Am left alone — alone ! 
 
 Across the streamlet on the hill 
 Between our homes, you know. 
 
 The little school-house stood, dear Bill, 
 A good long while ago ; 
 
 'Twas there, when littJe boys at school, 
 * We learned our ABC, 
 
 And studied Webster's old blue book — 
 Few other books had we. 
 
 Besides the rough-hewn writing bench^ 
 
 How often, side by side, 
 We sat, and made our pot-hooks there, 
 
 And read "John Gilpin's Ride ; " * 
 
 \ 
 
 ♦Cowper's poem of John Gilpin, as found in tlie old school book, 
 " Scott's Lessons." 
 
FORTY YEARS AGO. 353 
 
 But after " twice ten tedious years," 
 
 And double that had fled, 
 Far faster, far, than Gilpin rode 
 
 Back to that spot I sped. 
 
 And there I stood alone, dear Bill, 
 
 Upon the old play-ground ; 
 Not one of all our playmates dear 
 
 Upon that spot was found ; 
 I saw them not beside the brook. 
 
 Nor on the cedar glade. 
 But some of their grandchildren small 
 
 Were playing where we played. 
 
 And thus it was; — place after place 
 
 I visited, and found 
 That time had changed each cherished spot 
 
 Of memory's hallowed ground ; 
 I came to where my grandsire dwelt 
 
 In days and years long gone. 
 Hard by the old mill-stream, you know, 
 
 Which still was flowing on. 
 
 The mill was standing where it did ; — 
 
 The sound of grinding low 
 Fell on my listening ears again 
 
 As forty years ago ; * 
 The old house, too, my grandsire built, 
 
 In days ere I was born, 
 Was standing as it stood of yore. 
 
 But looking more forlorn. 
 
 How oft I've met my cousins dear 
 
 At grandma's house to play ; 
 How often, in the orchard there, 
 
 We passed our holiday ! 
 But now those orchard trees are gone — 
 
 The old catalpas, too ; f 
 And gone are all the pleasant shades 
 
 Their leafy branches threw. 
 
 • See Fall of the Old Mill. f The shade trees in the yard. 
 
354 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 I trod the gravel yard again, 
 
 I viewed the landscape o'er. 
 And many an object then I saw 
 
 That I had seen before ; 
 Upon the weather-beaten wall, 
 
 Though now somewhat decayed, 
 I saw the many, many marks 
 
 Our arrow-spikes had made. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 Oh ! these were sad mementoes, Bill, 
 
 Of long departed joys — 
 'Twas sad to think how few are left 
 
 Of those light-hearted boys ; 
 To think that they, those few like me, 
 
 Are now gray-headed men — j 
 
 To think of all the ''ups" and "downs" * 
 
 That we have seen since then. 
 
 The old log meeting-house, you know. 
 
 Built in the woodland wild. 
 Where first I heard the gospel preached. 
 
 When I was but a child — 
 I came to that old church again. 
 
 And worshipers were there — 
 Not those we used to see there. Bill, 
 
 But faces strange they were. 
 
 I heard the voice of prayer and praise. 
 
 To God, the great Triune ; 
 I heard them sing the same old song, 
 
 And in the same old tune ; 
 You may have sang that tune, dear Bill — 
 
 The song you've heard, I know ; 
 ''I am a stranger," so it ran, 
 
 "A stranger here below." 
 
 And as they sang, I felt, indeed 
 
 The force of that sad word — 
 A stranger in my native place. 
 
 Where first that hymn I heard; 
 
FORTY YEARS AGO. 355 
 
 And as I listened to the song 
 
 (My eyes were dimned I know), 
 I thought I saw the friends of old, 
 
 Who sang it long ago. 
 
 But that was all illusion. Bill — 
 
 I walked the grave-yard through. 
 And there they were, those friends of old, 
 
 But hidden from my view ; 
 That grave-yard, Bill, is larger now 
 
 Than when you saw it last — 
 Alas! those cities of the dead 
 
 Are populating fast. 
 
 There, side by side, my kindred lie ; 
 
 Your kindred lie there, too — 
 I saw your father's grave, dear Bill, 
 
 And well that grave I knew ; 
 The plain head-stone is standing yet — 
 
 A limestone large, you know ; 
 I saw it placed above that grave. 
 
 O'er forty years ago. 
 
 Another well remembered spot 
 
 I visited, dear Bill — 
 'Twas where my aunt Tabitha dwelt, 
 
 Hard by the rippling rill ; 
 Where I and her dear children oft 
 
 Have sported through the day. 
 And with our games of fox and goose. 
 
 Passed hours of night away. 
 
 Ah, well do I remember. Bill, 
 
 Those boys and girls of yore — , 
 
 Perhaps you, too, remember them, 
 
 Though some are now no more; 
 Oh, yes — for now I think of it — 
 
 Full well, my friend, I know 
 You married one of those dear girls 
 
 Near forty years ago. 
 
356 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Now tell my cousin Betsy, Bill, 
 
 ( Your wife I might have said ) 
 That late I passed those play-grounds o'er 
 
 Where we together played; 
 Her father, and her mother too, 
 
 I learn, had long been dead ; 
 But one dear brother still resides 
 
 Upon the old homestead. 
 
 That mansion house is standing yet, 
 
 The old log kitchen too; 
 The smoke-house stands just as it did. 
 
 The orchard where it grew ; 
 The stables, too, across the road, 
 
 Upon the level plat — 
 No place I saw had undergone 
 
 So little change as that. 
 
 I slept in that old house again. 
 
 Within that little room. 
 Where you ( if I remember well ) 
 
 Slept when a gay bridegroom ; 
 And as I lay reflecting there, 
 
 I heard the light foot fall 
 Of Time, as measured by the clock, 
 
 Which ticked against the wall.^ 
 
 The same old Ely Terry clock 
 
 That wooden clock, you know. 
 The one my Uncle George first bought, 
 
 A long, long while ago ; 
 And as its measured steps I heard. 
 
 They seemed to speak or chime : 
 • " For fifty years or nearly so, 
 
 I've told the flight of time." 
 
 * A letter received by the author from the cousin occupying that 
 house, Hon. Rice Snodderly, on tlie 10th of May, 1882, has the following : 
 " As I write I am sitting in the same room you mention in your poem, 
 and can hear the tick of the same old Eli Terry clock, apparently as 
 good as ever." 
 
THE OLD-FASHIONED PREACHER. 357 
 
 How lightly fall the steps of time ! 
 
 And yet what changes great 
 They've made since you and I, dear Bill, 
 
 First left our native State ; 
 And should you ever go back there, 
 
 To the old place again, 
 You'll find, dear friend, a contrast great 
 
 Between the now and then. 
 
 THE OLD-FASHIONED PREACHER. 
 
 "Written to accompany a reminiscence of Elder Joab Powell, publislied In 
 Christian Repository, April, 1875. 
 
 How often it is, as in church I am sitting. 
 
 My mind wanders back to the days of my youth, 
 And faces and forms before me are flitting, 
 
 Of those who then preached the plain gospel of truth ; 
 In fancy I see the good, pious old teacher 
 
 Who urged me the way of salvation to know. 
 The plain, honest face of the pioneer preacher. 
 
 Who preached on the border a long time ago; 
 The plain, simple preacher, the good, honest preacher, 
 
 The old-fashioned preacher, of long time ago. 
 
 That old-fashioned preacher — I'll never forget him, 
 
 But will ever remember his kindness to me; 
 Full well I remember the first time I met him, 
 
 When I was a boy, in East Tennessee ; 
 But now I am old, many years have passed o'er me, 
 
 And he is asleep on a far, distant shore; 
 But often, in fancy, I see him before me 
 
 As I saw him in youth, in the good days of yore. 
 The same honest preacher, the same fearless preacher. 
 
 The old-fashioned preacher, who preaches no more. 
 
358 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 How often I think of his true self-denial, 
 
 And often contrast him with men of to-day; 
 Through heat and through cold, though great was the trial, 
 
 He toiled in the vineyard — not asking for pay ; 
 The widow, the orphan, the poor, and the needy. 
 
 In sickness and sorrow, had reason to know. 
 In all their afflictions, that none were so speedy 
 
 Relief and assistance on them to bestow 
 As the plain, earnest preacher, the good Baptist preacher, 
 
 The old-fashioned preacher, of long time ago. 
 
 But few of those old-fashioned preachers yet linger. 
 
 But few now remain ; and those few are ignored 
 For men of more learning, and scorn with her finger 
 
 Oft points at the men who so much have endured ; 
 More talented men are the bread of life breaking. 
 
 And their words of instruction more fluently flow ; 
 But are they more useful or more sin-forsaking 
 
 Than the ignorant preacher of long time ago ? 
 The plain, humble preacher, the well-meaning preacher, 
 
 The old-fashioned preacher, of long time ago. 
 
 When now, on the Sabbath, the old church I visit — 
 
 Where his plain admonitions no longer I hear — 
 'Tis strange, very strange — can you tell me why is it 
 
 His words to my mind will so often occur? 
 While eloquent men, in language quite burning, 
 
 Are preaching the gospel of peace and of truth, 
 My mind is so vagrant it still will be turning 
 
 To the old-fashioned preacher I heard in my youth, 
 The plain, gospel preacher, the pioneer preacher, 
 
 The old-fashioned preacher, I heard in my youth. 
 
 'Tis said that the age and the world are progressing. 
 That old-fashioned preachers are needed no more ; 
 
 That men of more learning, more knowledge possessing. 
 Must now take the places of those gone before ; 
 
 Ah ! well, with the world I must not be contending — 
 Perhaps it is so; but there's one thing I know : 
 
THE EARLY SETTLERS. 359 
 
 While the greatest D. D's. are their tenets defending, 
 
 I think of the preacher of long time ago, 
 That ignorant preacher, the plain, simple preacher, 
 
 The old-fashioned preacher, of long, long ago. 
 
 THE EARLY SETTLERS. 
 
 The early settlers — where are they ? 
 
 They are falling one by one ; 
 A few more years may pass away, 
 . And leave but few or none. 
 
 My memory often hurries me 
 
 Back o'er a lapse of years. 
 And in my dreams I sometimes see 
 
 Those hardy pioneers. 
 
 But they are gone, those sturdy men. 
 
 And few are left to tell 
 The hardships they encountered when 
 
 They first came here to dwell. 
 
 A few gray-headed ones still link 
 
 The present to the past ; 
 And sad it is for me to think 
 
 That I'm almost the last. 
 
 Now, in my wanderings to and fro, 
 Through prairie, field, and wood, 
 
 I pass the spots where long ago 
 Their rude log cabins stood. 
 
 I see them not as once they were — 
 Scarce one of them remains — 
 
 Perhaps a stable here and there. 
 Bleached by a thousand rains. 
 
360 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Quite rude those habitations were, 
 
 And '' few and far between;" 
 Some stood upon the prairies fair, 
 
 And some in groves of green. 
 
 But now a mound of stone and earth, 
 
 The site of homes bereft, 
 Tells where was once the blazing hearth — j 
 
 And that is all that's left. 1 
 
 Those early settlers — where are they? 
 
 I miss them more and more ; 
 Each year, when it has passed away, 
 
 Leaves fewer than before. 
 
 Like leaves of autumn from the trees, 
 
 They're falling one by one ; 
 And soon will Death's cold, wintry breeze 
 
 Remove the last, last one ! 
 
 When I to church now sometimes go. 
 
 Their seats are vacant there ; 
 I miss them — they are gone I know, 
 
 But where ? oh, tell me where ! 
 
 Some in the East, some in the West, 
 
 Are buffeting life's waves ; 
 But far the greatest number rest 
 
 Low in their silent graves. 
 
 And when I meet one of the few 
 
 Who still are lingering here, 
 Like brother or like sister true 
 
 Seems that old pioneer. 
 
 The past, the buried past returns, 
 
 We live it o'er again 
 In speaking of the world's concerns. 
 
 So different now from then. 
 
THE CONTRAST. 36 1 
 
 Ye settlers of the western wild, 
 
 Though few may here remain, 
 Ye have not labored here and toiled 
 
 And spent your lives in vain. 
 
 Another race of men may fill 
 
 The places you have filled, 
 And other hands those fields may till, 
 
 Which you have cleared and tilled. 
 
 But when ye all have passed away — 
 
 The last old settler gone — 
 Your deeds will yet survive, for they 
 
 In living lines are drawn. 
 
 Those lines which you have written fair 
 
 Can never be effaced ; 
 You leave the country smiling where 
 
 You found it wild and waste. 
 
 THE CONTRAST. 
 
 ■Written after attending the Farmers' or Grangers' picnic at Lone 
 Jack, on the Eleventh Anniversary of the battle at that place, August 
 16, 1862. 
 
 In eighteen hundred and sixty-two — 
 
 Amid confusion's rattle — 
 I came to where the Gray and Blue 
 
 Had lately met in battle ; 
 And there, beside a lonely tree, 
 
 Upon the rolling prairie, 
 The dead were laid promiscuously — 
 
 The wounded faint and weary. 
 
 I came again, and stood upon 
 
 The ground where they contended — 
 
 Eleven years had come and gone, 
 Those years of strife had ended ; 
 24 — 
 
362 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And then I saw a different scene, 
 A scene by far more pleasant — 
 
 A thousand men upon the green, 
 A thousand ladies present. 
 
 Where, just eleven years before, 
 
 The storm of war tempestive 
 Had swept the little villaj^e o'er. 
 
 All now was gay and festive ; 
 The music floated on the air 
 
 Like water o'er the pebbles; 
 The men who wore the blue were there^ 
 
 And those who fought with rebels. 
 
 The sun, upon that August day. 
 
 Looked down from heaven smiling 
 To see the Blue, to see the Gray 
 
 The happy hours beguiling; 
 For, hand in hand, I saw them go 
 
 To eat the basket-dinner. 
 For which I thanked the Lord, although 
 
 Unworthy and a sinner. 
 
 But though the storm of war had passed- 
 
 Jts thunder roared no longer — 
 Another storm was gathering fast. 
 
 The breeze was blowing stronger; 
 I saw within that festive crowd 
 
 Full many a hardy yeoman. 
 With independent thought endowed 
 
 And stern as any Roman. 
 
 'Twas then I saw the husbandmen 
 
 ( The sons of toil and labor. 
 Whose motto is " Do justice when 
 
 You deal with friend and neighbor ; " ) 
 Contending 'gainst the giant wrong. 
 
 As with a sling and pebbles — 
 The Union soldiers marched along, 
 
 Beside secession rebels. 
 
THE CONTRAST. 363 
 
 Not braver than those farmers bold 
 
 The heroes of Thermopylae — 
 While loud and deep the murmur rolled, 
 
 " Down, down with all monopoly ; 
 We've put our hands unto the plow — 
 
 We do not mean disruption — 
 But pause and stand from under now, 
 
 Ye minions of corruption ! " 
 
 They come, they come, they're filing by — 
 
 The army of the grangers — 
 While scheming politicians cry, 
 
 ** These men our craft endanger ! " 
 I saw them marshaling their ranks. 
 
 More numerous than the pebbles ; 
 Within them stood the loyal yanks. 
 
 And there were royal rebels. 
 
 And as they moved with measured tread, 
 
 Their step was firm and steady — 
 A mighty conflict just ahead, 
 
 But not a conflict bloody ; 
 Unlike the one that dyed the ground 
 
 Around the tree so lonely, 
 Eleven years before — I found 
 
 That this was peaceful only. 
 
 Instead of cries of agony 
 
 From soldiers sorely wounded. 
 The sound of mirth and revelry 
 
 On every side abounded ; 
 And where the feds and rebs erewhile 
 
 Had met and fought as strangers. 
 They met in quite another style — 
 
 As friends and brother grangers. 
 
364 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE GRANGERS. 
 
 Written for the occasion, and read before the Loue Jack Grange at 
 the Annual Festival, Dec. 4th, 1873. 
 
 When Patrons of Husbandry meet and unite 
 
 To consult and to work for the good of the Grange, 
 Fain would I be there and contribute my mite, 
 
 And socially join in the thoughts interchange ; 
 To speak of the comforts of home, and to plan 
 
 Attractions that lend an additional charm ; 
 For nothing will bring more comfort to man 
 
 Than a well-ordered home on a well-ordered farm. 
 
 The minions of wealth, who in luxury roll, 
 
 Disdainfully look on the husbandman's toil. 
 But the wealth which the nabobs amass and control, 
 
 By the hand of the farmer is dug from the soil ; 
 By his hand and his labor Earth's millions are fed ; 
 
 And how would Earth's millions grow pale with alarm, 
 If the husbandman ever should cease to make bread, 
 
 And the other good things that are grown on the farm ! 
 
 If there is a class possessed of more worth 
 
 Than all other classes of men when combined, 
 'Tis the class of producers, who bring from the earth 
 
 The treasures of wealth that are therein confined ; 
 And if there's a man independent and free, 
 
 Depending alone on the Almighty arm — 
 The arm of Jehovah, who made him — 'tis he 
 
 Who enjoys the comforts of life on a farm. 
 
 Where, where, is that man on a farm who was reared — 
 
 In the North or the South, it matters not where — 
 Though t'other pursuits his life is now squared. 
 
 Who, in thought, is not oftentimes carried back there; 
 Though in other pursuits for a time he engage, 
 
 And success, for a time, may lend them a charm, 
 He'll never forget, though he live to old age. 
 
 The pleasures he saw in his youth on a farm. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE GRANGERS. 365 
 
 Although by the farmer the world has been fed, 
 
 Upheld and supported for six thousand years, 
 He's opposed by a class with a stealthy-like tread, 
 
 And cruelly swindled by base financiers ; 
 That great moneyed power which companies wield 
 
 For their profit alone, and the husbandman's harm, 
 Possesses itself of the fruits of his field. 
 
 And afterwards pockets the whole of his farm. 
 
 Monopolies here, and monopolies there — 
 
 They're growing and spreading on every hand ; 
 Ye sons and ye daughters of labor, prepare 
 
 That great moneyed power at once to withstand ; 
 Stand firmly together, your forces unite, 
 
 And shoulder to shoulder, and arm within arm, 
 Press onward and forward — contend for the right 
 
 To live and enjoy the fruit of the farm ! 
 
 Beware of corruption, of traitors beware — 
 
 Be vigilant, watchful, and on the alert ; 
 Our foes are awake and abroad everywhere — 
 
 They strike in the dark, and the farmer is hurt ; 
 Too long have we bowed to the sly, subtle power, 
 
 Too long have been led by the siren-like charm ; 
 Let them look for the day, let them wait for the hour, 
 
 When the yeomanry comes in his strength from the farm I 
 
 Corruption and bribery have entered the hall 
 
 Where State Legislators and Congressmen meet, 
 And sad is the sight when our law-makers lall 
 
 And worship the gold that is laid at their feet ; 
 Their trust is betrayed, and our interests are sold — 
 
 They feeling but little dread or alarm; 
 But the days of their power are numbered and told — 
 
 They'll never be trusted again on the farm. 
 
 The sly politician who sells us for once 
 
 (Though little compunction of conscience he feels) 
 
 Will find that the farmer is not such a dunce 
 As not to remember back salary steals ; 
 
366 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And he who has voted to double our tax, 
 And put shackles of debt upon every arm, 
 
 And make us pay gold in the place of greenbacks, 
 Need never claim kin with the sons of the farm. 
 
 And now, brother farmers, let's firmly unite — 
 
 In wrangling together, too long have we dwelt — 
 If, united as one, we contend for the right. 
 
 We'll soon be a power on earth that is felt ; 
 Already monopolies, far away, see 
 
 This rising of farmers and feel the alarm 
 That when from their meshes the farmer gets free, 
 
 They'll no longer swindle him out of his farm. 
 
 LETTER TO AN EDITOR. 
 
 "Written to the Editor of tlie Knoxville (Tenn.) Chronicle, in 1873. 
 
 When your paper comes to hand, 
 Its columns eagerly are scanned ; 
 I look it o'er and o'er to see 
 Those notes about East Tennessee — 
 Oh, Tennessee ! East Tennessee ! 
 The dearest spot on earth to me 
 (With gushing springs and gliding rills) 
 Is hid amongst those verdant hills ! 
 
 'Twas there in days long passed away. 
 
 My eyes first opened on the day ; 
 
 'Twas there my happiest years were passed — 
 
 Alas ! too happy long to last ; 
 
 And now, since years have come and gone, 
 
 Here in a distant land alone, 
 
 By fancy's eyes I often see 
 
 Those misty hills of Tennessee. 
 
 'Twas in life's morning, bright and fair, 
 
 I left the little streamlet there. 
 
 And, with ambitious views possessed. 
 
LETTER TO AN EDITOR. 367 
 
 My Steps were bent toward the West ; 
 Since then what changes have I seen, 
 In youth and age and all between ! 
 A checkered scene of toil and care, 
 With transient pleasures here and there. 
 
 But still, in every lane of life, 
 
 In joy and sorrow, peace and strife. 
 
 My thoughts would turn, and turning, go 
 
 Back to the scenes of long ago ; 
 
 Back to the little streamlet where 
 
 The minnows played when I was there — 
 
 Those pebbly streams I seem to see. 
 
 Amongst the hills of Tennessee. 
 
 And when your paper I peruse, 
 'Tis not so much for general news 
 As 'tis that I, perchance, may trace 
 The name of some familiar place 
 Connected with the olden time, 
 'Ere I had left that genial clime ; 
 Or else that I may there behold 
 The name of some dear friend of old. 
 
 A few old friends still there remain — 
 Some friends I ne'er may see again ; 
 But they, perhaps, remember not 
 My name, nor e'er bestow a thought 
 On me, or on those days of yore, 
 Those days which can return no more ; 
 But though they may not think of me, 
 I think of them and Tennessee. 
 
 Toward that dear spot my heart has yearned, 
 
 But only once have I returned — 
 
 Once, only once, since thirty-three, 
 
 Have I been there, that spot to see ; 
 
 When eight and thirty years had passed, 
 
 And age was creeping o'er me fast, 
 
 I came to that old place again. 
 
 But found a change in things and men. 
 
368 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 'Tis not my purpose now to trace 
 My wanderings from place to place, 
 Nor will I speak of the contrast 
 Between the present and the past ; 
 Those matters I shall not rehearse — 
 I've written them in other verse,* 
 From which, if you will read, you'll see 
 I'm wedded yet to Tennessee. 
 
 But when I came to Knoxville, where 
 Your paper's published, I declare — 
 When our conductor called the name — 
 I scarce could think it was the same. 
 So many changes there I found, 
 And everything seemed turned around- 
 The streets of Cumberland and Gay 
 Seemed running the contrary way. 
 
 And then the town had grown up so — 
 The railroad, too, and its depot 
 Had all been built since I was there; 
 Which made the city look so queer 
 That if I saw a single spot 
 I e'er had seen, I knew it not; 
 Within a crowd I seemed alone, 
 Unknowing all and a.11 unknown. 
 
 That town, which first in life I'd seen. 
 Had still been kept in memory green; 
 In memory's eye the same it seemed, 
 And oftentimes, in sleep. I dreamed 
 That I was there, a boy again. 
 With heart as light as it was when 
 I first came there, o'er hill and dale. 
 With forty pounds of rags for sale. 
 
 But when I sought to find the place 
 Where then I sold them, not a trace 
 Of that store-house, with painted sign. 
 Where Roberts sold in twenty-nine, 
 
 i 
 
 * " Forty Years Ago." 
 
LETTER TO AN EDITOR. 369 
 
 Could I perceive in seventy-one; 
 
 'Twas gone — the sign " Roberts & Sons;" 
 
 But old men in the neighborhood 
 
 May tell you where that store-house stood. 
 
 Those old men, too, remember yet 
 Some things that I cannot forget: 
 Election day was drawing nigh. 
 And Jackson was the battle cry; 
 Tom Arnold bold and Pryor Lea 
 Were candidates, and wished to be 
 Elected into Congress then, 
 And both were noisy, talking men ; 
 So, such a war of words was heard 
 As ne'er before the pool had stirred. 
 
 They both were willing, anxious too. 
 
 To serve a Congress term or two, 
 
 And serve for eighty dimes a day. 
 
 Without the back or extra pay ; 
 
 But times have changed — they have, indeed — 
 
 The more we get the more we need ; 
 
 But now I'm getting oif the track, 
 
 I'll check myself and hurry back. 
 
 'Twas there, in thirty-one, I guess. 
 The first I saw a printing press. 
 And strong the impulse seized me then 
 To be one of the printer men ; 
 And one, perhaps, I might have been. 
 But Heiskell would not take me in — 
 For Heiskell was a printer, sir. 
 And edited the Register. 
 
 Perhaps, for me, 'twas for the best — 
 We're oft by disappointment blessed ; 
 Had I succeeded in my plan, 
 I might have been a congressman ; 
 Perhaps I might have been returned 
 Unto the Congress just adjourned. 
 And seeing what they have to bear, 
 I'm glad, indeed, I was not there. 
 
37 ^ RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And now, dear editor, so kind, 
 I hope these items I shall find 
 Within your paper, more and more ; 
 And as I read its columns o'er, 
 They'll carry me m fancy back 
 To tread the old famiHar track. 
 Across the hill, across the vale. 
 Across the streams which never fail, 
 And there to tread the forest through, 
 Where chinquapins and chestnuts grew. 
 And where my voice in boyhood rang. 
 From hill to hill, when digging 'sang.* 
 
 But I must bid you now adieu — 
 
 Too long, I fear, I've troubled you; d 
 
 But if too long, pray do not frown — ^ 
 
 Just send it back, or boil it down ; 
 
 And should you meet a friend of mine, 
 
 Just say to him, a friendly line j 
 
 Directed to his friend, M. R., 1 
 
 Will make me happier by far. 
 
 THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE; OR, 
 ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN 
 
 \ 
 
 To those living in Western Missouri, tWs Poem needs no explana- 
 tion ; and to those not conversant with the facts, it is only necessary to 
 say tnat during the great Civil War between the Northern and Southern. 
 States, Gen. Thomas Ewing, on the 25th of August, 1863, issued an order 
 called " No. 11," commanding and requiring all the citizens of certain 
 counties in Missoui-i to vacate their homes within fifteen days; those 
 who could prove their loyalty being permitted to remove into the mili- 
 tary posts or to certain parts of Kansas— all others to remove from his 
 district, which included the State of Kansas and the two western tiers 
 of counties in Missouri. In consequence of which, the country by the 
 10th of September was depopulated, except at or immediately near the 
 garrisoned towns or posts. 
 
 The book of Exodus you've read — 
 
 That march across the parted sea. 
 When Israel, by Moses led. 
 
 Went from Egyptian bondage free ; 
 
 *Ginseng, a small root which was then worth about 25 cents per pound. 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 37 1 
 
 But some there be who never heard 
 
 Of that exode in sixty-three, 
 The incidents that then occurred, 
 
 Or how or why it came to be. 
 
 While some remember, some have read, 
 
 And some have heard of " Order Eleven," 
 When thousands into exile fled. 
 
 And thousands from their homes were driven. 
 Then wake, my muse— my memory, wake. 
 
 Relate that story, sad and true ; 
 Set nothing down for malice' sake, 
 
 Nor with extenuating view — 
 Impartially the tale relate. 
 
 Its incidents of grief detail ; 
 Those incidents we^ll ne'er forget 
 
 Till life with memory shall fail. 
 
 Two years and more the War had raged — 
 
 The War was raging wildly still — 
 And madly was that warfare waged 
 
 Through summer's heat and winter's chill ; 
 The North and South alike contend. 
 
 With equal ardor, equal zeal, 
 While varying fates to each portend 
 
 Alternate woe, alternate weal. 
 
 The cloud which rose in "sixty-one," 
 
 The dark and stormy cloud of war. 
 Had darker grown, till moon and sun 
 
 Were hid, and hidden every star ; 
 The howling storm tempestuous roared, 
 
 And lightnings flashed from crest to crest. 
 While chiefly were its torrents poured 
 
 Upon the suffering South and West. 
 
 Missouri's western border lay 
 
 In that tornado's wasting path, 
 And near the Kansas line for aye 
 
 It fell in all its greatest wrath ; 
 
372 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 'Twas there the cruelties of war 
 
 In broader, deeper currents run — 
 'Twas brother 'gainst the brother there, 
 
 And father ranged against the son. .J 
 
 Though by the Union soldiers bold 
 
 The posts and garrisons were held, 
 The many guerrilla bandits told 
 
 The rebel spirit still unquelled; 
 And night and day those reckless men 
 
 Were found marauding here and there. 
 And watching for the soldiers then, 
 
 Bush-whacked and fought them everywhere, 
 Till Quantrell, Todd and Anderson, 
 
 And others, such as they, became 
 A terror unto many a one 
 
 Who still maintained a loyal fame. 
 
 'Twas said ( I do not know how true, 
 
 But, true or false, the charge was made; ) 
 That citizens — and not a few — 
 
 Were leagued with them, and gave them aid ; 
 And when the soldiers failed entire 
 
 To find or capture such a band, 
 They often wreaked their vengeance dire 
 
 Upon some farmer of the land ; 
 And this, however much we blame. 
 
 Retaliating vengeance drew. 
 And citizens of loyal fame 
 
 In turn were made to suffer too. 
 
 Then as the contest fiercer grew. 
 
 And Time still rolled his car along. 
 Those bold marauders bolder grew, 
 
 And greater grew the mighty wrong, 
 Until those deeds of blood and sin, 
 
 In August, eighteen sixty-three. 
 Most sadly culminated in 
 
 The bloody Lawrence massacre. 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 373 
 
 I need not tell that story dread — 
 
 The world, I deem, has known it long — 
 Bat simply state to what it led, 
 
 Another grievous, cruel wrong : 
 The agents of the Government 
 
 Had many a time and oft proclaimed 
 That all should suffer banishment 
 
 Who aided those fierce bandits named ; 
 And oftentime did they declare 
 
 In bitter language, far from chaste, 
 That, if those guerrillas harbored there, 
 
 They'd lay the rebel region waste. 
 
 Then, when the raid on Lawrence came, 
 
 And it was known and told afar. 
 That those guerrillas known to fame 
 
 Came from the hills of Sni-a-bar ; 
 When it was said by hundreds then 
 
 ( Although it might not all be true). 
 That Jackson County long had been 
 
 Their haunt and general rendezvous ; 
 That other neighboring counties, too. 
 
 Contributed their sons to swell 
 The numbers of that bandit crew. 
 
 And other bandit crews as well, — 
 It is a truth, no sooner had 
 
 That raid by Quantrell's men been made. 
 Than forthwith came that order sad, 
 
 Long threatened and till then delayed. 
 
 Ah, stern and cruel that decree ! 
 
 And, oh ! how cruel were the Fates 
 To those whose dwellings chanced to be 
 
 In Jackson County, Cass, or Bates; 
 Those three ill fated counties view. 
 
 Which once had been so fair and fine — 
 The northern part of Vernon, too, 
 
 All bordering on the Kansas line ; 
 Those counties, which, ere War had spread 
 
 It's cruelties so far and wide. 
 
374 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Were famed abroad, and which were said 
 To be Missouri's western pride. 
 
 But now this Eden of the West, 
 
 Which smiled in plenteous beauty's bloom, 
 Was by this martial order dressed 
 
 In desolation and in gloom ; 
 And citizens, howe'er they grieve, 
 
 Of every sex, of every age, 
 Were given but fifteen days to leave — 
 
 Ah, dark that dark historic page ! 
 To leave their homes — each cherished home — 
 
 Those homes which gave to some their birth. 
 And homeless wanderers to roam 
 
 Upon a sin and blood stained earth ! 
 
 Ah, hard the trial, hard indeed — 
 
 How well it is remembered yet ! 
 For those who wandered then in need 
 
 Those suffering scenes will ne'er forget. 
 'Twas hard upon her loyal sons, 
 
 Who still the Union dearly prized — 
 'Twas harder on disloyal ones. 
 
 Who with the South had sympathized ; 
 But loyal and disloyal, too. 
 
 Were by the order called Eleven 
 Compelled to bid their homes adieu — 
 
 Alike were they in exile driven. 
 
 'Tis true 'twas said in that decree. 
 
 That they who certainly could prove 
 A well established loyalty 
 
 Might to the garrison remove — 
 Then some who loyalty did boast. 
 
 And some who truly loyal were. 
 Repaired unto the nearest post. 
 
 To Hve and be protected there. 
 
 'Twas small protection they received ; 
 
 The most that they of that could boast — 
 Enrolled as guards, they then relieved 
 
 The soldiers stationed at the post. 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 375 
 
 But far the greater number who 
 
 Dwelt in that region doomed to waste, 
 Got them from home and country too — 
 
 Perhaps to be no more possessed ; 
 A sinking heart in every breast, 
 
 In all directions then they moved — 
 Towards the North, South, East, and West, 
 
 As stern necessity behooved. 
 Sad was the spectacle to see, 
 
 And sad and sorrowful the scenes 
 Of thousands forced from home to flee, 
 
 And yet without the needful means. 
 
 The hand of War and Theft, it seems. 
 
 Before had spoiled and shorn the land, 
 And only then the poorest teams 
 
 And carriages were at command — 
 Yea, some there were with none at all ; 
 
 And they though destitute must go — 
 What greater hardships could befall, 
 
 Or be to them a heavier blow — 
 The widow and the orphan small, 
 
 The aged, infirm, the sick, the frail, 
 Without a friend on whom to call, 
 
 Whose sympathy could then avail ! 
 The time was short — those days fifteen 
 
 Were passing rapidly away, 
 Within which time, as has been seen, 
 
 All must that order well obey. 
 
 The needful preparations then 
 
 By night and day were hurried on — 
 No Sabbath rest, no Sabbath when 
 
 All peace, all quietude had gone ; 
 Sleep from the eyelids fled away. 
 
 The mind, in tossing to and fro. 
 Still asked the question night and day, 
 
 "Oh whither, whither, shall I go?" 
 
 Oh ! how did grief and pain abound 
 
 Through those September nights and days, 
 
376 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 When weary wanderers were found ^^ 
 
 On all the roads and public ways, 
 On every hand, on every side ! - 
 
 On every road which outward led -^ 
 
 Was seen the slowly moving tide 
 
 Of those who from that region fled ; 
 Through clouds of dust or burning sand, 
 
 Their weary way they wended slow, 
 Away from their dear native land, 
 
 Or homes adopted long ago. 
 
 The staunch old settlers of the West, 
 
 The hardy, gray-haired pioneers, 
 Who here had lived, and here had passed 
 
 Their many laboring, toiling years ; 
 The men, who, thirty years before. 
 
 Had come into the western wild. 
 And through whose labors, more and more. 
 
 The wilderness had bloomed and smiled. 
 Were sundering now the cherished tie 
 
 That bound them to those homes so dear — 
 More dear, as now fond memory's eye 
 
 Looks back o'er many a by-gone year. 
 
 They, who had seen in wild alarms 
 
 This land, so wild and waste at first. 
 Turned into fair and fruitful farms, 
 
 Ere War the land had stained and cursed ; 
 They, who had seen, by slow degrees. 
 
 Their numbers once so small increase. 
 And who with neighbors kind to please 
 
 Had lived in harmony and peace — 
 They and those neighbors now dispersed, 
 
 All gone, all banished — every one — 
 The work of thirty years reversed. 
 
 And in a fortnight all undone ! 
 That country full of golden grain. 
 
 So lately full of flocks and herds — \ 
 
 A solitary waste again, \ 
 
 Given up to waste, to beasts and birds ! 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY -THREE. 377 
 
 Oh, could the hand a picture draw, 
 
 Or could the eye but view the whole, 
 And see, as the Omniscient saw, 
 
 The anguish of each stricken soul ; 
 Or see each mournful incident — 
 
 The suffering scenes of sorrow, too. 
 When those, thus doomed to banishment. 
 
 Bade home and friends a long adieu, 
 It would have moved the stony heart 
 
 To sympathize with those who wept. 
 Or envy those, who, ere the smart, 
 
 In death's cold, lasting sleep had slept ! 
 
 But human tongue can ne'er repeat. 
 
 No human mind can ever know. 
 Or comprehend the aggregate 
 
 Of such accumulated woe 
 As then descended, like a flood, 
 
 To whelm the stricken soul with grief — 
 The souls that manfully withstood 
 
 The storms of sorrow past belief. 
 
 But though no one has seen it all. 
 
 Full many a one has seen his part, 
 And dark and heavily the pall 
 
 Of sorrows pressed on many a heart. 
 
 The mother — oh ! that mother view. 
 
 Whose heart with anguish keen is riven ! 
 Far distant then her husband true, 
 
 And she and hers in exile driven ; 
 She and her little ones must roam — 
 
 No shelter on the broad, green earth — 
 Their backs are turned upon the home 
 
 That gave those little children birth. 
 How ill prepared, alas, are they 
 
 To move upon the rugged road ! 
 No safe conveyance to convey 
 
 Her children from that dear abode — 
 Naught but an old and worn-out cart, 
 
 Without a bed or box to hold 
 
 25 — 
 
37^ RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 ' Her household goods or any part, 
 
 Or children dearer yet than gold ; 
 The wheels, the shafts, and axle-tree 
 
 Were all that then remained of it ; 
 And as for harness, scarce could she 
 
 A single trace of harness get — 
 No covering sheet to shelter them 
 
 From sun and from inclement skies ; 
 A hope forlorn that cart did seem 
 
 To all but the most trusting eyes. 
 Their clothing bed, and other things 
 
 Were in a bundle firmly bound, . 
 
 Then fastened on the cart with strings t 
 
 And ropes that passed them all around. 
 Her jewels then, the dearest yet. 
 
 The children of her love and pride. 
 Upon the package, there she sat, 
 
 And took her station by their side ; 
 Then guiding still, and urging on 
 
 The horse so old, so service-worn. 
 She wept, as they from home were drawn, 
 
 With no fond hopes of a return ; 
 How dark and deep was that abyss 
 
 Of grief and woe, no tongue can tell — 
 With others deeper yet than this. 
 
 On which it pains the heart to dwell. 
 
 'Tis true to such hard straits of need, 
 
 Not all, thank Heaven ! were then reduced; 
 But others worse than this indeed 
 
 Mi^ht then have been and were produced — 
 Yes, there were widows, poor and lone, 
 
 Of earthly friends and help bereft, 
 Alone, in the cold world alone. 
 
 With no protecting refuge left, 
 Or with dependant daughters there — 
 
 What sadder sight to see than they ! 
 Not even a horse or cart to bear 
 
 Their little all of goods away. 
 And as they sought some poor abode, 
 
 Beyond that region desolate, 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. $19 
 
 They walked the dusty, crowded road, 
 
 With faltering steps and feeble gait ; 
 That road with wearied steps they tread, 
 
 Their feet now bare and worn and sore — 
 A cow perhaps behind them led, 
 
 Or driven slowly on before ; 
 A bundle small — 'tis all they now 
 
 Have strength to bear away from hence — 
 Another bound upon the cow. 
 
 Their choice effects the small contents. 
 
 'Twas thus, in eighteen sixty-three, 
 
 When driven from their cherished home^ 
 The people of those counties three, 
 
 As exiles then, were forced to roam ; 
 Though sharp and poignant was the sting, 
 
 They yielded to the cruel Fates ; 
 Some went to counties neighboring, 
 
 While others went to distant States — 
 The fruits of toil, the work of taste, 
 
 As might in truth be well supposed. 
 By them abandoned in their haste — 
 
 All, all to ruin left exposed ! 
 
 Their houses, farms and orchards, then. 
 
 With many a dear memento graced, 
 The harvested and growing grain 
 
 Were left to spoil or go to waste — 
 The cherished spots, the peaceful bowers, 
 
 Where infancy had passed away. 
 The garden and its blooming flowers 
 
 Were left to wither and decay ! 
 Domestic fowls, domestic brutes, 
 
 Of many a favorite breed and kind, 
 The vineyard and its luscious fruits — • 
 
 All these and more were left behind ; 
 Yes, sadder yet — with objects still 
 
 Than those by far, by far more dear. 
 Some parted then, who never will 
 
 Those objects see again fore'er. 
 
380 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Sad memory yet, though many suns 
 
 Have run their rounds, will call to mind 
 The day when fathers, husbands, sons, 
 
 Were to one common grave consigned ; 
 When those bereft in anguish deep 
 
 Were forced to leave their homes, and them 
 To sleep in Death's cold, lasting sleep — 
 
 The autumn winds their requiem. 
 
 Yes, memory backward still will tend 
 
 To that September Sabbath day — 
 The time was hasting to an end 
 
 When all must leave or disobey ; 
 By far the greatest part had gone — 
 
 A few remained behind, and those j 
 
 Made preparation from the dawn f 
 
 To leave before the day should close. 
 
 Those families — but few they were — 
 
 By kindred ties together bound. 
 Old citizens together there — 
 
 And few more quiet could be found ; 
 As preparation still they made 
 
 The cruel mandate to obey, 
 A band of soldiers came and bade 
 
 Those men to march with them away, 
 A little way, scarce out of sight — 
 
 Their place of execution found; 
 Six of the eight were killed outright, 
 
 And left upon the bloody ground — * 
 
 Ah, sad and sorrowful the scene ! 
 
 Methinks I see it even now : 
 A youth, a lad of seventeen. 
 
 With smiles upon his sunny brow, 
 A widow's doting son was he, 
 
 Her stay, support, and comfort then — 
 Cold, cold in death that son ! and she 
 
 Will see him ne'er on earth again. 
 
 *This incident occurred on the 6th of September, 1863, an account of 
 which was published in the Missouri Republican, of the 11th of the same 
 month. 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 
 
 Another man I seem to see, 
 
 Of more than three score years and ten — 
 The blood upon his hair of gray, 
 
 As it was witnessed even then ; 
 Two other fathers, who had passed 
 
 Their fifty years of Hfe and more ; 
 Two younger fathers lifeless cast, 
 
 And weltering in life's purple gore — 
 All, all cut down, together slain ! 
 
 And, oh ! cut down at such a time — 
 The young, the old, and yet again 
 
 The men of vigor in their prime ; 
 Their families, grief-stricken now. 
 
 Of loved and cherished ones bereft. 
 Compelled to leave their homes — but how ? 
 
 Oh, what of hope or comfort left ! 
 Their cup of grief seemed full before 
 
 Of bitterness, even to the brink ; 
 But now that cup was running o'er. 
 
 And they that bitter draught must drink. 
 The floods passed o'er their heads that day 
 
 As wave still follows after wave — 
 Scarce help enough had they to lay 
 
 Those loved and lost ones in the grave. 
 
 Let Fancy's hand portray the scene, 
 
 And with reality compare : 
 The wretched group, with anguish keen. 
 
 Assembled round the fallen there ; 
 There, hard beside those murdered ones — 
 
 If I may use so harsh a word — 
 From widowed wives and orphaned sons 
 
 The wailing notes of grief were heard. 
 Imagine now that sire so old, 
 
 Whose grief no balm could sooth or 'suage ; 
 Three score and fifteen years had told 
 
 His weary, toiling pilgrimage, 
 And he, in fife's long, devious way. 
 
 Had passed through many a trial sore — 
 But in the evening of his day 
 
 A sorer one than e'er before. 
 
382 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 Two sons — his only sons — he saw- 
 Cold, cold in death and side by side — 
 A grandson and a son-in-law, 
 
 Whose blood the herbage green had dyed ; 
 A neighbor kind, whose paling suns, 
 
 Like his. had passed the noon of life, 
 The father of his younger son's 
 
 Now stricken, widowed, weeping wife ; 
 Another neighboring kinsman, too — 
 
 Hard, hard the trial to endure ! 
 But what his feeble hands could do, 
 
 He did to give them sepulture. 
 No neighbors kind his hand to aid. 
 
 Excepting two, whose lives were spared. 
 And by those hands the slain were laid 
 
 Within the shallow graves prepared ; 
 In that rude grave, in bloody dress. 
 
 Without a dirge or funeral knell, 
 They laid them down all coffinless, 
 
 Hard by the spot on which they fell. 
 Then leaving them in death's long sleep. 
 
 As now the evening sun declined — 
 Oppressed with gloom and sorrows deep. 
 
 They left those fallen ones behind. 
 
 Now would you see, on Fancy's page. 
 
 That aged sire, as forth he led 
 The partner of his youth and age. 
 
 The mother of the buried dead ? 
 She, who, for fifty years and more. 
 
 Had borne with him life's toils and cares, 
 Then with him came from out the door. 
 
 Where they had lived for thirty years. 
 Ah, yes, and see those widows, too — 
 
 Five widows all so lately made. 
 Deprived in one short hour or two 
 
 Of those on whom their hopes were stayed ; 
 With sinking and desponding mind, 
 
 And weeping orphans gathered round. 
 They bid adieu to all behind, 
 
 Not knowing where or whither bound. 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SliiTV^-THREE. 383 
 
 I see the mournful cavalcade, 
 
 The small procession moving slow — 
 As hastened on the evening shade, 
 
 When evening sun was sinking low ; 
 With preparation badly made, 
 
 Conveyances both small and rude, 
 A long adieu again they bade — 
 
 And all behind was solitude. 
 
 No fancy sketch nor idle dream 
 
 The incidents my pen relates. 
 How many citizens, I deem, 
 
 In Jackson County, Cass, and Bates, 
 Can now go back in memory — 
 
 Call up those griefs so manifold. 
 And testify, and say with me 
 
 The half has never yet been told ! 
 
 That gloomy fortnight passed away — 
 
 The wheel of time still moving on — 
 And when expired the fifteenth day, 
 
 The suffering citizens were gone ; 
 The mandate had been well obeyed, 
 
 Depopulation's work was done, 
 And Ruin's hand not long delayed, 
 
 Ere its destructive work begun. 
 
 Deprived of its bold peasantry. 
 
 The land to hastening ills a prey — 
 Gone all that brought prosperity — 
 
 How swift, how rapid its decay ! 
 And where was that bold peasantry — 
 
 The country's wealth, the country's pride — 
 When one short month had passed away ? 
 
 Disoersed and scattered far and wide ! 
 Those who together dwelt for years, 
 
 Some who had been together nursed — 
 Far sundered, and those pioneers 
 
 In different regions all dispersed ! 
 'Mongst strangers, in a land of strife, 
 
 Their suffering lots apart were cast. 
 
384 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 And bitter was that bitter life, 
 Contrasted with the by-gone past. 
 
 As when to Babylon the Jews 
 
 Were borne a conquered, captive band, 
 They sat beneath the willow trees. 
 
 And mourned a desolated land ; 
 So did Missouri's exiles then, 
 
 In eighteen hundred sixty-three. 
 With heavy hearts, go sighing when 
 
 Their harps they hung upon the tree. 
 
 The hymns of praise which long ago 
 
 With true devotion they had sung, 
 When now essayed, would sink so low, 
 
 And faltering, die upon the tongue ; 
 The bosom oft would heave with pain. 
 
 Or from the eye would start the tear 
 Whene'er that well remembered strain 
 
 Of " Home, sweet home," fell on the ear. 
 Full well the joys of happy homes 
 
 Could they in truth appreciate, 
 When they were homeless, and their homes 
 
 Were empty, waste, and desolate. 
 
 How wild and desolate the scene 
 
 Which then appeared unto the view ! 
 A solitary waste was seen 
 
 By travellers, in passing through. 
 From north to south for eighty miles — 
 
 The length of that deserted land ; 
 That land which once was decked in smiles 
 
 Lay lonely as the desert sand. 
 Except near garrison or post, 
 
 No sign of civil life was seen — 
 A passing traveller at most. 
 
 And they now few and far between ; 
 But bands of soldiers raided o'er 
 
 The land in desolation dressed. 
 And guerrilla bandits, as before, 
 
 Did still the wasted land infest ; 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 385 
 
 The goods and chattels which had been 
 
 For want of transportation left, 
 Were taken by marauders then, 
 
 Or by the cowardly hand of theft. 
 
 Another dire affliction sore 
 
 Soon fell on that ill-fated land, 
 Which spread unchecked the country o'er, 
 
 With naught its progress to withstand ; 
 'Twas after frosts of autumn came 
 
 And killed the grass and herbage green, 
 When sun and winds had dried the same — 
 
 The raging prairie fires were seen. 
 They swept across the prairies wide, 
 
 And through the farms deserted there — 
 The billowy flames like ocean's tide — 
 
 And left them fenceless, brown, and bare ; 
 The houses, farms, and orchards too, 
 
 Were, by the conflagration dire. 
 Consumed in places not a few, 
 'And naught remained but marks of fire. 
 
 The labors of the yeomanry, 
 
 The fruits of many years of toil — 
 In one brief hour all swept away 
 
 From ofl" the bare and blackened soil ; 
 'Tis sad to contemplate the scene, 
 
 'Twas sadder then that scene to view — 
 The land in nakedness was seen, 
 
 With naught its verdure to renew. 
 
 'Twas then, when weeks had come and gone, 
 
 Since first the exodus began, 
 There came, at chill November's dawn, 
 
 With wearied steps, an aged man. 
 Returning, as it were, by stealth 
 
 To where misfortune dire had come. 
 To view the wreck of former wealth. 
 
 To see a desolated home. 
 
386 . RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 The fencing round his farm was gone; 
 
 The fire had swept it all away, 
 And hurrying through the orchard on, 
 
 Had left it withering in decay ; 
 The dwelling which with youthful hands, 
 
 Long time ago, he builded there, 
 Now lay in ashes, coals, and brands — 
 
 The wreck of earthly visions fair ; 
 His barns and granaries no more. 
 
 His crops of grain and hay consumed, 
 A visage dark the landscape wore. 
 
 Which in its beauty lately bloomed. 
 
 Another one, who, in his haste, 
 
 Had left his flocks and herds behind, 
 Returned when weeks away had passed, 
 
 To seek and save what he could find ; 
 Than some by far more fortunate, 
 
 He found his lonely dwelling there ; 
 But oh ! how darkly desolate 
 
 That dwelling and surroundings were. 
 
 He passed through each now empty room,* 
 
 Which echoed back his voice again — 
 A solitude so full of gloom. 
 
 Where'er he turned, appeared to reign ; 
 And still that silence so intense 
 
 Was rendered deeper, more profound, 
 By knowing all were banished hence. 
 
 That this was now forbidden ground. 
 The crowing of domestic fowls. 
 
 The bleating of the flocks of sheep, 
 The bark of dogs, their solemn howls, 
 
 Appeared to make the gloom more deep ; 
 The herds of cattle, sheep, and hogs. 
 
 In those few weeks, so wild had grown 
 They fled away ; and even dogs 
 
 Would scarce their master's presence own. 
 
 ♦ See The Exile's Lament. 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 387 
 
 The fencing down, his farm seemed lost — 
 
 All wasting his ungathered grain, 
 While orchard fruits, touched by the frost, 
 
 Lay rotting in the sun and rain. 
 He visited the homes, so lone. 
 
 Of those who once his neighbors were ; 
 But they, those neighbors kind, were gone, 
 
 And none to bid him welcome there ; 
 For though the doors were open then, 
 
 The rooms all tenantless he found. 
 While gloomy silence reigned within, 
 
 And wasting solitude around — 
 'Twas lonely, lonely everywhere, 
 
 Upon the then untravelled roads ; 
 But lonelier, more lonely far 
 
 In those untenanted abodes. 
 
 He passed the little village through. 
 
 He walked its lone and silent street — 
 That street was then deserted too. 
 
 And bore no marks of human feet. 
 Abandoned every dwelling-place ; 
 
 Abandoned every shop and store ; 
 And Desolation's frowning face 
 
 Seemed scowling out from every door. 
 
 He passed the church, that sacred place 
 
 Where often he had bowed in prayer ; 
 But weeks and months had fled apace, 
 
 Since worshipers assembled there ; 
 How many months, or years complete, 
 
 How many, many weary days, 
 Before those worshipers shall meet 
 
 Within that church for prayer and praise ! 
 
 Another one, when chillingly 
 
 Cold Winter spread his mantle o'er 
 That land deserted, came to see 
 
 The home where he had dwelt before ; 
 The snows of winter, cold and deep. 
 
 Around and on each dwelling lay. 
 
383 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 As o'er the rough, unbroken sweep, 
 
 Through driving snows he made his way. 
 The howhng storm blocked up his way — 
 
 He felt the cold's intensity ; 
 Ah, who can e'er forget that day, 
 
 The last of eighteen sixty-three ; 
 No cheerful, blazing fires were there 
 
 Within the dwellings which he passed, 
 But empty, cheerless, bleak, and bare. 
 
 As round them howled the bitter blast. 
 Successively he passed them by. 
 
 The hospitable homes of men 
 Who ne'er perhaps will occupy 
 
 Those hospitable homes again ; 
 And as those cheerless homes he passed, 
 
 His thoughts, so sad, still sadder grew, 
 Till his own home he reached at last, 
 
 To find it lone and cheerless too ; 
 The waifings of the dying year, 
 
 The winds from out the evening's gloom — 
 The only sounds to greet his ear. 
 
 The only welcome to his home. 
 
 " It was not always thus," he sighed ; 
 
 '* There was a time, nor long ago, 
 Ere War, upon secession's tide. 
 
 Brought desolation, death, and woe, 
 That from this now deserted hearth 
 
 The light of cheerfulness was spread ; 
 When wife and children joined their mirth 
 
 With friends, now numbered with the dead. 
 But they, those happy days, have flown. 
 
 And now the days are dark and drear; 
 While in my empty house alone, 
 
 I wait and watch the dying year." 
 
 'Twas there, in days gone by, that he 
 And those he loved and held most dear 
 
 Had watched with hope's expectancy 
 The coming of a bright new year ; 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 389 
 
 But oh, how changed ! no prattling tongue 
 
 Was heard within the tempest's pause ; 
 No childish hand its stockings hung 
 
 To catch the gifts of Santa Claus. 
 And when the New Year morn appeared, 
 
 A colder one sure never blew ; 
 A colder wind had never stirred 
 
 The leafless groves he hurried through, 
 As burthened with his griefs and woes. 
 
 And blinded by his tears and pain. 
 Returning through the drifted snow, 
 
 He sought his loved ones once again. 
 
 'Twas later in Time's calendar, 
 
 While Winter yet held vigorous reign — 
 There walked the hills of Sni-a-bar 
 
 A female known as crazy Jane. 
 Poor crazy Jane ! 'Twas long ago, 
 
 And in the sunny morn of life, 
 She came where Sni's clear waters flow, 
 
 And there became a loving wife ; 
 To husband, and to children too, 
 
 Love's silken cord then bound her heart. 
 Ill fortune cut that cord in two. 
 
 And bore those loving ones apart. 
 
 Time passed ; she lived, but reason fled — 
 
 A harmless maniac was she ; 
 From place to place she went, 'twas said, 
 
 To seek her long-lost children three ; 
 She went, she came without debar. 
 
 And strangers oftentimes would meet 
 Poor crazy Jane, of Sni-a-bar, 
 
 On public road or village street. 
 
 « 
 At intervals of time and space. 
 
 The weather foul, the weather fair, 
 Would find her near the old home place. 
 
 Still wandering back and forward there. 
 
39© RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 An interval of years had passed 
 
 Since they had seen her face so plain, 
 And citizens had almost ceased 
 
 To speak or think of crazy Jane ; 
 But when the land was lying waste, 
 
 And all its citizens were gone, 
 She came, those paths again she traced. 
 
 Still by those strange impulses drawn — 
 The last, last visit to the home 
 
 Where she had passed youth's happy days ; 
 The last, last time her feet will roam 
 
 The old and still remembered ways. 
 
 It never, never can be known 
 
 How far, how long she wandered there, 
 For she was all alone, alone. 
 
 With none to witness her despair. 
 A few there were — some very few — 
 
 Who, in their solitary way. 
 When passing that lone desert through. 
 
 Had met the hopeless Mrs. Gray ; 
 And piteously she made complaint, 
 
 That none to her would ope the door, 
 Though she from hunger then was faint, 
 
 And from the cold was suffering sore. 
 
 Night followed night, day followed day ; 
 
 And still she wandered up and down. 
 Still farther on she made her way, 
 
 Beyond the then deserted town ; 
 On, onward still, her footsteps tend ; 
 
 She walked as through a wilderness — 
 No human eye to see the end 
 
 Of that lone journey of distress. 
 That journey ended when or how 
 
 The great Omniscient only knows; ^ 
 
 All that we know, or can know now — 
 
 It ended ere the winter's close. 
 
 Within a farmer's dwelling lone. 
 
 Beyond the County's southern bound. 
 
THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 39 1 
 
 Up in a garret, there is shown 
 
 The spot where crazy Jane was found; 
 That dwelhng lone, that garret cold, 
 
 Had witnessed her expiring breath ; 
 But they nor aught will e'er unfold 
 
 The secret of that lonely death. 
 Whether by wasting and disease. 
 
 Whether by hunger, thirst, or cold ; 
 Or from a cause more sad than these, 
 
 Has never yet, nor will be told. 
 
 But yet imagination keen 
 
 Can pierce the darkness and the gloom, 
 And vividly portray the scene 
 
 Of death in that small upper room ; 
 Or taking wings, the spirit trace 
 
 From garret cold to shining Heaven, 
 Where joys eternal took the place 
 
 Of suffering caused by order Eleven. 
 
 But time would fail — we need not dwell, 
 
 Or longer yet delineate 
 The pains and hardships which befell 
 
 Those in that region situate ; 
 But many thousands yet there be, 
 
 Who travel o'er those scenes in thought, 
 Troublous scenes of sixty-three, 
 
 Which ' ' Order Number Eleven " wrought. 
 By miUtary force constrained, 
 
 All drank of that same bitter cup ; 
 Some to the dregs the goblet drained, 
 
 And swallowed every bitter drop. 
 And did they suffer thus for naught, 
 
 Enduring ills with fortitude ? 
 Was Order Eleven only fraught 
 
 With ill, without attendant good ? 
 
 We may not say, for human ken 
 
 Can never see within the shade, 
 And tell what evils might have been, 
 
 Had that stern order ne'er been made ; 
 
392 PURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 
 
 But those who witnessed those events, 
 Those thousand hearts with sorrows riven, 
 
 All viewed them as the consequence 
 Of Ewing's ** Order Number Eleven." 
 
 And if it should be said to-day, 
 
 As some perhaps will say it should. 
 That private interest should not weigh 
 
 Against the general public good ; 
 That all those separate griefs and woes 
 
 Were given with the best intent, 
 To rid the land of public foes, 
 
 And benefit the Government — 
 
 We ask, shall Government benign 
 
 Take what our bill of rights defends, 
 And private property assign 
 
 To pubUc use without amends ? 
 Shall they, those loyal pioneers. 
 
 Who long ago this region sought. 
 Who labored and who toiled for years 
 
 On lands so wild, which then they bought ; 
 Bought from that Government which late, 
 
 By agents, drove them homeless hence — 
 Must they now bow — yield to their fate, 
 
 Nor dare to ask a recompense ? 
 And will that Government for which 
 
 The sacrifice was asked and made 
 Deny to all, deny to each 
 
 The claim so just, so long delayed ? 
 Forbid it Heaven ! oh. Justice, wake ! 
 
 No longer let thy hands withhold 
 The means which, well applied, might make 
 
 Amends for ills so manifold ! 
 
i