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■/ •*« . OX V A K 1 U L S HL hJ r. IS, 

By EEV. judge A. J. C OTTOX, PiiiLo>[. 









" Mr little hrok 
Gn firfh, with ?eri..iis stvie. .ir fila- f,;' r-icft, 
Winiiin- voung ^.iiiUy h.;.irts: ai..! I' 1 Jheui tr.ioa 
V.-i;i- th-.-e the S!'-.rit of love tl.rf.-.^ii ejrt'i atiJ air 
On a'.! ;) e cl.i'-ircu of our m.irta'. r-j'e. 
So d.i thy iraci'-ui, work ; anJ .lo it tu'l iird f.iii-. 
L«av;:.g, like aagtl gaeitj, a llessiug avary wOiiie :" 

Mary Uowixt. 
"PoETiT is itself a thing of Gou : 

IJ.' ui:idf his rr'i'hpti p'i.»t.5; ;iad the aiore 
We feel of Po..-3y Jo we t.t.-omrt 
Like GoJ ia love anJ yower. ' 

P. H. Sailet. 

C I N C I X N A T I ! 



? • :■ *l 


Entered according to act of Congres?, in ihe jear 1S58. by 


in the Ckvk's Oince of the District Court of the United Staties 
for the Southern I)i.-<trict of Ohio. 


ALTnouGH the subject of most of mj Poems, and 
the incidents recorded in ray little book are mainly 
located in Dearborn county, Indiana, yet those in- 
cidents being common throughout the Great V> est, 
it is thought and intended to be a \vork of such a 
general character, as to merit a liberal paa-uiiage 
and a ^ide-spread circulation. Such a picture of 
human life, as it u, has never before been presented 
to the public, from Adam down to this time- 
Head it and see. 

Accidents and sudden deaths, suicides and mur- 
ders, turkey, deer and moose, bear, -vvolf and 
panther, rattlesnake, copperhead and Indian sto- 
ries, with which the Historical portion of it 'viU 
abound, are always interesting, everywhere, and to 
everybody — which, together with its originality, its 
oddity, its variety, and its truthfulness, will, it is 
conlidentlAr hoped and believed, make it emphati- 
cally " the book for the times," and '• the book for 

the multitude." 

The ArinoR. 

(3) „ 



Mt dear and venerable mother, I am about to publish a 
little volume of mj ovm orii^inal poems, together vrith an 
autobiographioal sketch of my som^.^That lionorod, eventful, 
and (I would fala hope) some^vhat useful life, and such 
other matters and things as I may do>Hti most useful and 
interesting, ^vhich I design a?, '"a keepsake" for my very 
numerous and very kind '-kindred aad friends," as well 
now as after 1 shall have passed from e;uth away. And to 
whom should 1 inscribe: it but unto thee, my precious and 
good mother; for my earliest and most eherished reiuem- 
brances are of thee. 

At thy maternal knee I early learned to fold my little 
hands, and use my infant tougue and lips in prayer; to 
"remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy;" in fiu^ to 
"remember my Creator in the days of my youtK" The 
early moral and religious training which I rcctdved at ^vour 
hands (in unison with my lamented and ever cherished 
father), has exercised a restraining, saving, holy iniluence 
over me in all my wanderings ''to and fro in the earth, and 
up and rJovm in it." at home ard abroad, in sickness and in 
hcaltn. in prosperitv and in adversity, in honor and in dis- 
honor, in lire and (as T once verily thought) in death; and 
now is my stay and staff through grace, while bowed down 
with inurniity i stand upon the crumbling, trembling verg3 
of "that uni'iscoveied country from whose bourne no trav- 
eler returns.'' 

:Mother, thus early instructed I early sought God, and 
found Him precious to my soul: and f(u- more than forty 
years I have lived in the hope, and it has been my daily 
prayer, and now is, that ^ 


"When the olosina scenes of life prevail, 
And health and pleasure all sliuil fail. 
All that a foolish world admire?, 
Or passion craves or pride desires — 
At that important hour of m-ed, 
Let Jesus be my friend indeed: 
Tlis s':*ft hand sl".o^th nv,- dyin- bed, 
His arm sustain my drooping head, 
And when the closins seene is o'er, 

, , '■ - And time with me shall he no more, 

Bear my triumphant soul away - ^ 

■ To fairer elimos of endless fl-^-^. 

For such a hope, so full of bliss, ' . - ' - 

I give to God my all in this; " ' • - 

I would be His in every part, 
Nor give Him less than all my heart 

Had my moral culture been ne;r:]ected, had I been raised 
in infidelity, this hope and these joys, peradventure, would 
never have been mine; nor the world itself made any thiaj 
the bettei-, but rather the worse for my haying been intro- 
duced into it O, then, what a rich legacy you thus be- 
queath both unto me and the world in which "I live, and 
move, and have my being." 

Yes, mother! mother! thou art dear to me; 
Thy name, how sweet ! 
. And oh! hnw much I long again -■ 

"— With you to meet. 

And O, how can I ever adequately express to you my 
heartfelt obligation and gratitude for your tender solicitude 
and care in thus ''training me up in the way I should go?' 
0, 1 can never do it — never ! But as a faint memorial of 
that unuttered and unutterable gratitude and love I owe 
ycu therefor, my little book is now, with my own troLiiljiing 
and feoblo hand, most respectfully, most sincerely, and 
lEosl. gratefully Txscr.iBED to you, by your Jong-a'Jlicted, very 
feeble, and perchance, your dying son, 


Mrs. !>jiet Cotton, aged 85 years. 

A. J. CoTXO*', aged 56 years. 



linii? ;f;irti.. :;., inirnt aati-;itev or .v. ;v ;:> <\ 

AliUlei-o=eso t-n.'ur 


Dill Ijloo".'. and chrer our henits, 

Bi.t r.:i:.,nla>. how vc-r/ s.uii 



Little riattie r'.otherl i:i w hit.-, ^ i^ — 


^Vith her si.-tt- is o'.i<l brother st;ii-.rls. 


A cr.o\vn is on their hca''..- .-o bi-i^rlii, 


A paliu :5 fn liioir liaiub 

Onr little onos hart: lolt us 

^0^;u• ;;!rl luiioiv here; 

'>', t-, iiavc- thill bo;v of iv.Cctiny Ihoiu 


llf-onci tl;;i v:^leor tu.n-5. U.S. 

[t'vr Uic PiCs'J. 
Writidii dfi the Dea'.h c.f Cdfrl 
LiUIe C-ofa— dr.rllii^ Cor.i, 

TIicj sh.i.'I seo on carih no morr-, 
For with luinpy inf'int arif,'o!.-j, 
She ii on the raJia:ii shore 

IJMic Cora I I.ri-!itC5t suLii.rani, 
Oh, they nii.-^s tijcc. d.irlii.:; o-p. 

'•Vlion t'le !i.;!itof 0:iv li i.-i l-uici. 
Aad the shades of ui^^-ht iiavccoinc 

A^u] apii:), wV.on morn nt;::-nf t!i, 
Ero t!:o ca;£^ „; ,1 ,j huvo c.;n,c. 

ilu,y tfhail p-.ujc to ! tlie [TilUo 
or thy Voice with:;: Llicir homo. 

While thov thouiiht nau hoped jou'd iia 
"^ Ptr 
As .^ ii-ht within, their Iiomo. 
Air :<t Ofjoc ;ou drooped an.l ikdcJ, 
^fiiunt-au<:;t!d bade you come. 

■ . A:urx,\nor:r^ tint anf:i'] p-cort, 

vVaa tlitir uarliuc iittlc "K.l.lio," 
Coraa/o rizcct h^a ?:-tcr dear.' 

Tfaoy havc.,o^ly pono hcforo you 

Soon jc \n [oUnW them yway; 

At t!;o pcnriy.-atw thcy'ii mco't vou, 
iU.¥cr, ijev<?K more to stray, 

I.itilc! Cora— (!rv E.M'c— 
^ n cv Kliali -^oc 0!i o«:i,h. no more, 
_ i'or with iiappy iiifaiit-aii-ils , 
They tire ou the raxlhml shore. 

WILL P. srARK'.;;. 

2.roofo'ri II ill, Tn<l. .' 


I ■ ■ . My vrife, my son,* my sisters dear, 

I - Brothers, kindred, friends tur and near, 

I .1 Dedicate this book to you, 

;. ' In token of my friendihip true. , , 

* " There's non.irht in it of the sublime, 

I Those lofty hights I ne'er could climb; 

I ." Plain as it is, perhaps some friend 

K ' A pleasant hour with it may spend. 

I A medley mess I here present, 

i- Not worth, perchance, a single cent; 

I A few odd lines addressed to foes, 

t In humble verse and- simple prose. 

I The little gift I have for rhyme, ■■ 

I - I have improved from time to time; 

\ Since sixteen years and not before — 

: Have written much and mi'^ht have more. 

I ^ -. . ^ ■ ^ 

I '. And to preserve from total waste, 

. . •• ' What I've tlius Avritten in great haste; 

' I here' present what I think best, ' 

I ■ - And to oblivion throw the rest. 

Some cherished friend may look it o'er, 
"When I on earth shall be no more; 
And as they read they can but see 
I loved my friends most tenderly. 

*My chi'idren all, save one son, are slviLiibering in the peauefi', 
' grave. Peace to their memory and their dast. 



■ ' I should be pleased to name them here, 

■ • Pay them the tribute of a tetir ; 

But have not space, they are so many, 
Can not name all, and so won't any, 

- My bcol: ard pen, thc^. prcciuu, aM^, ' 

Afford me joy that never fades ; 
And peace and pleat;ure thus I've found " • 

In great profusion to abound. 

'■' The haunts of viee I thus ^rould shun, .' • 

And peace and honor I have ^on. 
Young men, I trust, will k-aru from me, 'r;,' 

Those sinks of woe in time to flee. ' 

ji May this memento of past days, ' ' ' 

Tune all our hearts to prratcful praise, ' ' - 

Till we shall meet to part no more, - : ; 

On Canaan's bright and blissful shore. • , .- 

■- ' "We have dear frieads already there, 

Where are our babes? our kindred, where? 
Far, far above the azure dome. 
They wait to hail us welcome home. 

Thrice happy, holy, blessed day, 
There we shall ever, ever stay, 
With saints and angels evn- dwell, 
Nor once repeat a sad farewell 


X. R — As my lady and family have suffered many priva- 
tions and hardships, in consequence of my public gratuitous 
services, I have thought it due to them to be fir^t in the 
dedicatory list of friends, and thus I have dedicated it; my. 
heart and my judgment approves it well, as I trust the re- 
fiectini!: reader wiil also. 


Preface, indeed! Pshaw! wlio cares for the 
preface? Let us into the merits of the ^vork at 
once. Now, see here, kind reader, you don't know 
half as much about this little book as I do, nor how 
to read it with the greatest interest, pleasure, or 
proiit; and, therefore, you vrould do well to hear 
what I have to say, before you further proceed. 

In the first place, do n't begin to shufile over the 
leaves to hunt the pictures, for there are no such em- 
bellishments and adorning in it, because suitable 
engravings are utterly too expensive for a work of 
this kind. Beside, one good picture to the mind is 
worth many to the eye, and with pictures of this kind 
the work will abound. Ptead it carefully and see. 
The portraits of myself and lady you will see, are 
necessarily upon a small scale, rather smaller than I 
should like, rather smaller than is strictly necessary, 
but it is the best that I could obtain. The features 
are tolerably perfect, and true to the life. 

On introducing an old and esteemed friend to my 
lady the other day, he pleasantly remarked, •' Upon 
my word. Judge, she looks young and fair enough to 
be your dau^rhter." "Doctor I take that compliment 



to myself, because I have had her in my special care 
and keeping for forty years, and you see how tenderly 
and carefully I have treated and kept her." '-Ah, 
sure enough," said he. Now the truth is, that my 
lady is a, li.tlc the uldesL of ihe iwo^ though looking so 
young and fair. 

As for myself, I am lank and lean, with a protracted 
illness, seventy-odd pounds below my ordinary weight. 
The beholder now can make such allowances for my 
lank appearance as to him may seem proper. I never 
considered myself beautiful, but portly and comely, 
and that was quite enough for me. Those, hovrever, 
■^'ho knc^Y us both, said that for form, size, features 
and complexion, I strongly resembled •' tl;e old man 
eloquent," that th.ey could never sec the one without 
thinking of the other; and children often call the 
portrait of John Q. Adam.s, Judge Cotton. Well, we 
are alike, in more particulars than' one. Both ac- 
knowledge much of our greatness and our goodness 
from our good mothers ; both poetize readily when 
aroused by any particular emotion, and if similar cir- 
cumstances had surrounded both, "^'ho knows . 

Pshaw, I reckon I don't look much like him nor any 
other man, and would not if I could. And, in truth, 
don't look much like myself, although the portrait 
looks much like me. My hand, you perceive, is not 
held in a writing position. ]SIy simple object was to- 
exhibit and take along with me my old familiar friend 
and favorite, ''the quill." And for the same reason 
I concluded as my good lady and I had traveled band 
in hand together for forty years, if I must go down 


to posterity in a picture, I would still keep her at my 
side, and hope to live together in '• that better land," ■ 
>shcn tlie duties and the conflicts of life are o'er. 

And right here I v>-ill frankly acknowledge, once 
for all, what you will readily perceive, ihal; I have 
occasionally enriched and beautified my pages with 
" gems of thought'' from other and abler pens, my 
prefatory remarks not excepted. 

Well, now I have something else to say to you, and 
tliat is, if you are not very careful, and very charitable 
too, you will be very apt to think that I have got 
"the big-head," and got it bad at that, because I say 
so much about myself throughout the entire work. 
Why, bless you, kind reader, one of the main objects , 
in writing my little book is to show that from a little 
ignorant and obscure boy, I have come up to be (pjite 
"a man among men" by close and hard application, 
a correct moral principle and moral conduct. And 
if you have the patience to follow me through all I ; 
have to say about that, I think I shall make that ' 
appear as clear as — nnid — at least in my OAvn estima- ; 
tion. See here, reader, if it were not for the pronoun ^ 
I what would be the use of Me ? I intend to show i 
that I am i^ome for the encouragement of poor obscure ' 
little boys and young men, and if I do n't " make out 
my case," as a lawyer would say, then " there 's no 
gumption in me," that 's all. 

Seriously, in a work cast in the autobiographic 
form, (as mine really is throughout, poems and all.) ; 
the writer always has much to apologize for, much ;. 
indulgence and forbearance to ask at the hands of his 

12 . PREFACE. 

readers. With himself for his suhject, he not unfre- 
~ queutlv telis more than he really ought, and more 
than he really intended to say, as understood and in- 
terpreted by his readers. I, too, may have fallen 
into the f:".Tnc- ciior, aad iinJ myself in the same 
predicament. And if so, it will be gratifying to me 
to know, as I do, that my aims and aspirations are 
honest and praiseworthy — and I therefore cast mv- 
gelf with confidence and hope upon. the charitable 
indulgence of the reader. But be that as it ma}-, 
if any are amused and profitably entertained by the 
perusal of my little book, I shall not deem ihe or- 
dinary penalties of the autobiographer a penalty 
or price too severe or too great for the accomplish- 
ment of ends so honorable, so praiseworthy and so 

I have already intimated that I look just like no 
other living movtal you ever beheld, nor would I if 
I could : my friends could pick me out of any crowd, 
and my book will be as peculiarly itself among all 
the books in the world as I am among all the men 
in it — such a book as no man ever did write — 
could if he would, or would, perchance, if he 
could. And if you do n't find it so by the time you 
get through with it, just tell me — will you? " Va- 
riety is the spice of life, which gives it all its flavor." 
Kor am I insensible to the fact tliat both the preface 
an'l the book will furnish fruitful themes for '" carp- 
ing critics."' But, then, who cares for critics? — not 
I, indoe>L Who writes for critics? not the honest 
manj for he writes for truth, please or ofiend v,ho 

PREFACE. , 13 

it may. Not the good and benevolent man, for lie 
writes to instruct, interest, and benefit others, cose 
him -ft-hat it may. Xot the brave man, for he writes 
with a fearless determination to effesjt and accom- 
plish some definite purpose, though all the worid be 
up in arms against him ; assured that he is right^ 
he nuhly dares to "go ahead," as I now do. And 
beside all these considerations, as " barking dogs 
seldom ever bite," so noisv, self-conceited, whiniu'^- 
critics Seldom do much harm, after all — thev simply 
let you know that they are on hand, and can bark, 
if they can not bite. Well, every dog oughi to 
have that privilege, surel!/. So, gentlemen critics, 
you are at perfect liberty to ba)'k away, and thus 
amuse yourselves to the full of your capacity to 
enjoy. And with this single suggestion^ that ''it 
is much easier to find fault with any performance 
than it is to produce a better one," I leave you to 
enjoy, unmolested, the luxury of your own vain im- 
aginings, and pass. Those wdio have no taste for 
poesy, would do well to remember that all my 
poems are historical narrations, that they arc all 
parts and parcels of real life, jusi as it is, a pecu- 
liarity, an originality, and a ?nerit found in no otlier 
volume of poems the world ever saw, or, perchance, 
ever will again — read them, and see. The general 
reader will best enjoy the work by reading it 
through, in course, just as I have arranged it, from 
beginning to end, and in small portions at a time. 
It is just as absurd to devour any thing like a good- 
sized book at one sitting down, as it is to gu'p 


down, unmasticatcd, all that is set before yon upon 
a well-spread and a well-filled table. Take yor.r 
time — read sparingly, and masticate your thoughts 
as you would your food, for health or pleasure. The 
citizens of Dearborn will find most to interest them- 
selves and their friends in the historical part of the 
work, v,hich will be found by reference to the Index. 
So that if they choose, after completing these prefa- 
tory remarks, they may skip over and read at once, 
and take their time for the balance. Eui one turn 
more before you go. 

In this book-making age, various are the causes 
which induce men to turn authors. Ambition, ava- 
rice, revenge and vanity have furnished the main 
pronipWngs. Now, every body who knows me, will, 
of course, acquit me of all the vanitij incentives, 
because my great modesty is proverbial, even to a 
fault, perchance, for one of my brilliancy of intel- 
lect and classic and poetic fame — a weakness of my 
youth which I am now too old to correct. But by 
a great and herculean effort, I have, on this occa- 
sion, so far mastered myself as to say, what is really 
true, that it would gratify me exceedingly to leave 
behind me, when " the curtain of life falls,'' a me- 
morial that I had once lived — something to be re- 
membered by — something to speak for me in the 
behalf of truth and benevolence — of virtue and re- 
ligion — that, in after times, it may be said of me, 
as of one of old, " he being dead, yet speaketh.'"' 
Yet necesnity^ which is the mother of inventions, 
has rather forced me into its execution at this time. 


Having spent much of my -wliole life in gratuitous 
public services, as lecturer, orator, and minijJter, (?ee 
Itiogvaphy,) and utterly broken dov.n and pros- 
trntp with a protracted illness, -svlthout health, and 
measurably without means, I cast about me -what 
I should do to provide for myself and family, ^vitll- 
out being burdensome to my kind and generou? 
friends v.-ho had so promptly rallied to my relief, 
and really had overcome me T\-ith their liberality 
and kindness. And in the midst of my pensive 
musing?, the thought, for the first time, occurred to 
me, that, as I had been poetizing all the days of my 
life nearly, upon all the most important occurrences 
that had transpired in our midst for nearly a half 
century, that perhaps I mi,'iht collect my poems 
together, add a short sketch of my humble, 'some- 
what honored, eventful, and, I ^Y0uld fain hope, 
somewhat useful life — together with the incideiits, 
history and improvements of the country — and pub- 
lish them in a little book, which might be an ac- 
ceptable offering to my friends — worth more to 
them, perchance, than the price of it — and, at the 
some time, relieve myself a little by the small pro- 
fits I might realize by the sale thereof. This is the 
true history — these, all considered, are the motive:^ 
and the objects I have in view in sending my little 
book abroad into the world. If these objects and 
these reasons meet your approbation, it is fondly 
hoped that you will second my efforts, not only l^y 
your- ap>probation, but by your influence and your 


The reader, who has the time and the pntience 
to peruse these pa<ies calmly and thoroughlv all 
througli, can not fail to see that he, whose life and 
labors are herein briefly sketched, has lived more 
for virtue and correct principles — more for his 
friends and for posterity, than he has for himself. 
His motto has ever been — -- - '.<;-. ■. .^ 

" to live -well ' ^' \ ■ . ": ' 

How long we live, not years, but actions tell." 
The ■work, humble and imperfect as it is, will, he 
fondly hopes, prove an acceptable ofiering to his 
friends — a guide to the youth — a staff to the aged, 
and a fondly-cherished memento of himself, after 
he shall have ceased his personal connection with 
earth, and been " gathered to the land of his 

Header, be patient, and hear me through, if you 

From the bosom of obscurity and poverty in which 
I first drew my breath, and in which I spent my 
early years, I have, as all know, (with becoming 
modesty,) raised myself to some good degree of ce- 
lebrity in the world, and honest fame among man- 
kind. And, reader, are you desirous to know what 
■were the means used, the expedients resorted to by 
me, that have proved so eminently successful ? Read 
my works and my history thoroughly, thoughtfully, 
and carefully, and you will learn it all — and in the 
mean time, will, I trust, find it a pleasant pastime, 
and derive much useful information and lasting pro- 
fit from the perusal. 

' - PREFACE. 17 

•'• If mine I1.13 been a life of gratuitous toil, it has 
also been a life of pleasure, tranquillity, and peace. 
And I sometimes saj to myself and to my frieinlg 
that I ^vou]d not swap myself off for any mortal 
man that I ever knew— large possessions and all. 
And as one has said before me, instead of falling out 
■with life, and cursing the day that I was born, I 
bless God that he ever created me ; and, were the ' 
offer tendered to me, I would engage to run again, 
from beginning to end, the same course of life. All 
I would ask, as said Franklin, should be the privi- 
lege of an author, to correct, in the second edition, 
the errors of the first. But since a repetition of 
life can not take place, there is nothing, in my 
opinion, which so nearly resembles it as to call up 
to mind all its cherished remembrances, its inci- . 
dents, conflicts and triumphs, and write them down 
in a little book, such as I am now furnishing to 
myself, my friends, and my country. By thus em- ■■ 
ploying myself, I have also yielded to the inclina- 
tion, so natural to old men, to talk abou: tliemsolvos, ; 
the sights they have seen, the sounds they have ' 
heard, and the marvelous and wonderful exploits ■ 
they have performed. And, as I do it at my own 
expense, I may thus freely follow the bent of my , 
inclination, without beinsr either tiresome or trouble- I 
some to those, who, from respect to my age or in- ; 
firmity, might feel themselves bound to listen to me, I 
however ii-ksome or inconvenient it might be to 
them, as they are noiv at perfect liberty to read or ' 
not, just as it may suit theu" taste and convenience. I 
2 ' 


Ordinarily, however, I do not consider myself over 
talkative in the private circle. There I choose rather 
to hear than to he heard. My friends often chide 
me, therefor — say that I am too taciturn than 
otherwise. V»'eii, if i say the less, 1 think the 
more, and my friends get the full heneht of my 
thoughts and reflections in my public Addresses. 
" Hear much and speak little," is a time-honored 
adage, and full of Avisdom. A man who always 
lea<ls off the conversation, whose tongue is all the 
time upon " the clutter," leaves his friend or- his 
company none the wiser or the better for the inter- 
view. Boys, think of that, will you? 

Well, now, as "' open confession is good for the 
soul," perhaps I might just as well avow it at once, 
" openly and above board," (since no one, perhaps, 
would believe me were I to disavow it,) that in the 
publication of my little book, I have, more or less, 
sought to gratify my exceedingly modest vanity — 
(let me take breath.) Well, -. • ;- -. .;v 

'"Tis pleasant sure to see one's name in print — 
A book 's a book, although there's nothing in 't," '' 

and if the reader shall deem me personally partial 
and unfair, because I use so many big I's and Utile 
7/Qus, I trust at least he will do me the justice to 
say, that in all the sentiments and reflections that 
have fallen from my pen, I have been fair and true 
to truth, to philanthropy, to patriotism, to virtue 
and religion — all of which I have honestly and dili- 
gently sought to do from beginning to end. How 


far I have succeeded, the reader and time must de- 
termine. But see here, now — " Lest you should bo 
■weary and faint in your minds," it might be well to 
remember, that the preface is a part of my book, 
and the key that is to unlock it — ami, of course, 
you want the preface, and I '11 give you one, Avith 
a good long handle to it", ''so I will." 

I had originally intended to submit my work to 
the revision of an esteemed literary friend, but, up- 
on more mature reflection, as that would make the 
work more his than mine, I have concluded to send 
it abroad Avith all its errors and improprieties, jusc 
as it has fallen from my own pen, that it may be 
essentially and emphatically mine ; that my friends 
may see me in it all, and exclaim, from time to 
time-, " that is just like Judge Cotton ;" and I ven- 
ture that you have said that more than once already, 
have n't you ? 

These things premised, my little book must nmo 
be left to work its own way upon its own original 
and intrinsic merit. It is, in all human probability, 
the last " labor and work of love" of a frail, feeble, 
old man, laudably desirous to serve and please his 
friends and his fellow men, and thus, in some sense, 
to better the human race, and who, for the groat 
blessing of life and all its rich and profuse enjoy- 
ments, feels himself gratefully, morally, and reli- 
giously bound to 

- Make and leave tliis -world the better 
For having once been in it. 

And he here repeats that his highest aims, vrishes, 


and anticipations Tvill be amply and fully met, if his 
little oflering shell aid himself a little — . . :. 

■ (-'He wants but little. ~ - ' ' 

vrf *•..>;> - .•r" / jfjjj. -^ants that little Ion;:") — ' ■ ' 

and its effects and influences be to encourage to 
noble and virtuous actions — to rescue from oblivion 
names and scenes -svorthy of lasting preservation — 
to raise the general standard of morals, and to im- 
part strength and vigor to virtuous and holy reso- 

As I ^vrite with a trembling hand, which may be 
diflicult for the compositor ahvays to read or make 
out, and as it will be inconvenient for me to cor- 
rect all the proofs, some errors, doubtless, will ap- 
pear, which, when detected, the good taste and the 
good sense of the reader must correct ; or, if he be 
not able to correct, he may say, at least, there is 
an error at any rate, and pass as though nothing 
had happened, 

"Like angel visits, -will be few and far between." - •; • 

I will say no more — I could not well have said 
less ; and if my preface, like many of my poems, 
is lengthy, I trust that you will say that 

"It is as good as it is long," — 

and gooder too. Do n't read too much at a time ; 
it will last the longer. Reflect well upon what you 
read, and it will do you the more good. And thus 
yoa will realize a purer pleasure and a greater pro- 

.-': PEEFACE. • 21 

fit from yonr investment, both of time and money — ■ 
"so mote it be." 

x\nd now, in conclusion, dear render, if you have 
had the patience to follow me thus far in my intro- 
ductory and prefatory remarks, I will tax your time 
and patience no farther, but will forthwith intro- 
duce you to the work itself, which is now your own; 
so turn over at once, and read at your leisure, 
whenever you may think best, wherever you may 
find the most pleasing and profitable entertainment. 
M\ bles>>ing and my pia^ers abide }*'a! 


•22 cotton's keepsake/ 

-•;': -''H^-^-i— ■'''-'' '-■'■■ ' -^^ "/ ■'••■•' :--^: ^ ■■•■- -^ 

J,. ' " Emr AXD TOBACCO. , ~"- '-^ 

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend." 

Tr.»3 pprro foMinc,' b'ar.l: in the ":I;;c cr.ler of j/ViV.'ratiori," 
I fill it with an estimate of the expense of "rnru auJ tobacco," 
- at an average of two cents per dav, or $7 30 per year, which 
I loan out at compound interest: and the hid wLo commences 
at the age of twelve, will, on his freedom day, find his bill 
footed np at §83 00 — all worse than thrown away, to keep up 
a very unnatural and a most filthi/ and ruinous practice. Un- 
natural — because if ''dame nature"' had intended that men 
should be tobacco chewers, she would have taucrbt thera to 
"swallow it as they do other nutriments; or else she would, no 
doubt, have huns^ a kind of slop-biicket to their chins, ia 
•which they could roll thejilthi/ qirid, and squirt the nt/hy saliva; 
fill up. and then retire and empty, and thus be d^cfnt about 
it, and not convert kitchens, parlors, and churches into sicken- 
ing "pools of filth.'' If she had intended men and women 
for smokers, I think she would have created them upon the 
"low pressure" principle, or else she would have inserted a . 
kind of projected flue in the back of the head,, which they 
could protrude through a broken pane, or some prepared orifice, 
and ^hen they could suck away and not annoy all within the 
room with a poisonous and sickenintr atmosphere. And, surely, 
if she had intended the ladies to be snuft'-takers, she would have 
turned their prtiiy noses the other end up, and then one good '■ 
filling would do. 

If the weed be filthy^ rum is ruinous; and so ruinous, that 
nothing could induce rae to aid the tratlie. If I had a pile of ■ 
corn as large as the largest Egyptian pyramid, not one grain ' 
"would I sell for ordinary distillation ; and if I had a white oak ; 
as birr around as all Lake Erie, and so tall, that it would over- 
top the moon, without a knot or limb — plumb as a line, strait 
grain, clear rift, and sound to the core, and I could get a corre-«= 
sponding price for it to be made tip into whisky barreis, no man 
should put the first hank into it. I would preserve it as a '•' flag- . 
staflF" upon v,-hich to nnfurl "the banner of temperance," when 
Ler conquests were complete. If that is not "a big heap" of 
corn, and a getting into the " tall timber," I should like to 
know what is. More anon. 

N. B. — From twelve to seventy years the bill, as above, 
amounts to $3,CoO. - 

...... v-:. A 


■ •- EXPERIMENTAL. . . =. ■ 

The folio-wing lines -vfere written shortly after I was happily 
converted aud joined the church, at about the age of sixteen, 
the first poem I ever composed or thought of composing, since 
which time I have never found much JifBcuUy in poetic com- 
position. I give it in its original simplicity and iinpOifoction. 
My soul was exceedingly happy, and I desired everybody else 
to be happy too, and in the transport of my soul, said 

Come all my friends by land or sea, 
And I'll tell you what's done for me; 
I '11 tell you how the Lord did say, 
Come, follow me without delay. 

The Lord did by his spirit call. 
His invitations are to all, 
His servants,* too, did woo and plead. 
That I should to my ways take heed. 

If you do not in this good day, 
The Lord will cast your soul away 
Into that dreadful fiery hell, 
"With all the nations that rebel. 

*The Rev. Daniel Plummer, and othera. 



■■ Awakening thoughts appeared to me, 
" In every object I could see ; 

And oft I heaved the deep-felt sigh, 
And felt that my poor soul must die. 

Ingratitude, my grievous sin, 
• Protecting care had round me been, 

Mercy on mercies I 'd received, 
Yet, the good spirit often grieved. 

Though very moral and -well trained, 
To sinful pleasures I was chained; 
"With God, my heart was ill at ease, 
A thought enough the blood to freeze. 

Then I did read with great delight, 
The word of God both day and night; 
Turning it over, leaf by leaf, 
To find some word for my relief. 

But as I read, more guilt I felt, 
!Mine eyes to tears did often melt; 
Oft I retired for secret prayer. 
Conviction seized me stronger there. 

My life I strove then to reform, 
But could not keep my purpose long; 
Ere I's aware I'd sinned again. 
And faster bound in Satan's chain. 

I groaned and wept, and wept again. 
And often thus did I complain — 
"Wretched, I cried, with every breath, 
Who shall deliver from this death?" 


Thus musing, I to meetinir ■went, * ' 

To seek the Lord was fully bent, 
And, oh ! the fountain I did see, 
^yhile Caleb Fogg* did preach to me. 

From " Revelations, " twenty-two, 
He preached to me a doctrine true ; 
Text, seventeenth verse, I will just say, 
"When Jesus washed my sins away. 

Tlien glory, glory, I did sing. 

My soul was happy, bless my King, 

Yes, this I do remember well, 

So now the time I will you tell: 

'Twas February, thirteenth day, 
Eighteen sixteen, (1S16) here let me' say, 
I drank from free Salvation's well, 
My burden then from off me fell. 

'Twas thus I sought and thus I found, 
And feel that now I'm heaven-bound, 
And hope beyond this vale of tears, 
To spend unnumbered happy years. 

0, my young friends, come go with mc, - • 

Such ample fullness I do see; 
It grieves my heart to leave you here, 
Come go, I prr^y you, now give ear! 

*The Circuit Preacher in charge. 

26 cotton's keepsake. 


CoJiPOSED at the age of IS, on board a vessel at sea, bound to 
the then "Far West,'' ■\vhore I ever sioce have resided peace- 
fully and liappily. 

Since first my sin? -were all forgiven, 
And I enjoyed a hope of heaven, 
I've wept and prayed that Adam's race 
Might taste the sweets of pnrd'niDg grace. 

I feel I have a special call 
To woo and warn both great and small, 
To shun those paths that lead to woe — 
I tremble — still the voice is — go. 

Go in my name and you shall find 

Me always near, and always kind ■' 

. To aid, direct, protect, defend, 

'^ .-. And I will love you to the end. 

Go blow the Gospel Trumpet loud, 
»■ ^-; Go warn the gay unthinking crowd; . •- 

Go comfort those who arc distressed ; 
And t^ympathize with all oppressed. 

Nay, even weep with those who weep, 
And feast on joy with all my sheep; 
This is my duty now I know, 
For still the voice to me is — go 1 

"Well, gracious Master, here I say, 

I freely give myself away : . . 

O make me, Lord, an instrument 

To lead poor sinners to repent. 

'■ ' ^ RELIGIOUS. ^\ 27 

And woe is rae unless I do, 

So all my friends, I- bid adieu: 

And journey to a distant clime, 

Whence we may meet no more in time. '.^ 

Farewell ! my parents here below. 
My Master x?alls, and I must go; 
Farewell ! my brothers, near and dear, 
For you I 've shed many a tear. 

Farewell \ my loving sisters too, 
A duty now I have to do ; 
Farewell ! my friends of every kind, 
I 'm called to leave you all behind. 

Farewell ! my brethren in the Lord, 
Love's tie is not a feeble cord; 
Farewell! poor mourner in distress, 
All heaven is ready you to bless. 

Farewell ! ye thoughtless, pr.ayerless crew, 
O! think what will become of you, 
When God shall set this world on fire. 
And make you feel his dreadful ire. 

Come go with me, there 's grace in store, 

Enough for all, and millions more; 

With glory's port now in full view, 

I Bay to all, adieu ! adieu ! •^., 

'28 ■ cotton's keepsake. 

•- lovefeast htmx, - : 


Erethrex and sisters all around 
"What a dear Savior I have found. 
That ever has been dear to me, , 

And tells me Canaan I shall see. 

Yes, even now it heaves in view ; 
Say, brethren, is it so with you? 
Methinks I hear you say "tis true, 
You view this heavenly Canaan too. ; 

Then let us for each other pray, 

That God would strengthen us to-day, 

And help us on our journey too, 

That Canaan we may ever view. - " 

O blessed be the Lord of love, ' ■ 

Who freely helps us from above; 
In spite of all our foes can do, 
The land of Canaan heaves in view. 

Let us be faithful unto God, 
By virtue, point them out the road 
Which leads to Christ and glory too, 
That they with us may Canaan view. 

And when we find our long-sought rest, 

May they, with us, be fully blest. 

To pain and sin, each bid adieu. 

And range fair Canaan through and through. 



- •• • ". ; CANTO I. ; . V : r^- 

' f 

! HOW I love to meet in class, 
This garden of the Lord : 

"Where brethren all in union d'-vcll, 
And meet with one accord. 

1 love it more th^n feasts of mirth, 
3Iy brethren love it too : 

And, obi how rich my sisters dear, 
Its blessings are to you. 

How oft dear friends should we despond, 

And weary in the way-; 
Had we no Classmates whom we love, 

With whom to sing and pray. 

But as we hear them shouting, tell 
What grace for them has done ; 

We feel like pressing on afresh, 
'Till we the prize have won. 

'tis a precious, happy hour, 
• "From cai-e a sweet retreat ; 
Where we may sip rich drafts of bliss, 
And sit at Jesus' feet. 

Oh ! ye lukewarm, what folly then 

To turn your feet aside ; 
Not from the world such pleasures flow, 

As from Immanuel's side. 

•30' cotton's keepsake. 


Let us recount what all have said, 

As we have passed along; 
One rises, and he .says,, my soul 

Doth in the Lo.d I\^cl bLiuiig. 

I pray that God would keep my soul 

For ever feasting so. 
That when I 've done with this vain world, 

I may to glory go. ... •. - . 

Another says I'm very weak, ■ ' 
But 1 intend to trust .-" '< 

In Him, who 's able to supply 
Each soul that is athirst. 

I'm sorely tried, I hear one say, . ' 
But on I mean to go; ,■ ' 

And others say, I feel a spark 
Of heavenly love below. 

Thus all have passed the story round, 

Of all their cares and fears ; 

And songs of melody produced \ . 

A rich repast of tears ; ' - ' 

' ■ ■'- 

One speaks quite loud, and one quite low, 

Another very strong : 
Upon the whole, each one doth say, 

I mean to keep along. 

Keep on, keep on, ye valiant souls. 

The Lord is on your side : 
Those '-long v.hitvj robes" ye soon shall wear. 

For you 're the Savior's Bride. 

• -^ EELIGIOUS. ■ - . 31 

• '" \ CANTO III. 

Now to the strong just let rae say, 

Leave not the weak behind, 
But in your bosom take the lambs, 

And to the -'sick'' be kind. 

The young shall be like "polished stones," 

The old like-angels bright, 
"When we shall walk no more by faith. 

But all shall walk by sight. 

Oh ! how shall words from mortal tongues, 

Such heavenly bliss declare, 
But soon, if faithful, we shall prove. 

And tell the story there. 

Thrice blessed, blessed, holy hope, 
• Who would forsake his class. 
When here so much of heaven we know 
So sweet the moments pass ? 

But, oh ! the joys that us await. 

On yonder blissful shore; 
In our sweet home high up in heaven, 
.": We Ve Crowns laid up in store. 

Our Classmates dear, who used to join 

With us in humble prayer, 
Shall fly to greet us as we come, 

And hail us welcome there. 

Then let us all with holy hope, 

Press on — we '11 win the prize] 
And plunge, and bathe, and bask, and swim 

In bliss that never dies. 

l>EC£»BilR, IT, 1*U. - ^: 

^^ cotton's keepsaice. 



I LOVE it, 1 love it, Jiad who shall dare, 

To chide me for loving the house of prayer, 

I have prized it long as a holy place; 

"Where my gracious lord shows his smiling face. 

Do you ask me why I linger here; 

\Vhy the place to mo is so sweet and so dear ? . 

Here my soul feels safe from the fowler's snare, 

And a precious place is the house of prayer. 

A place of peace, and a place of rest, • ■ 

And of all tJie world this place is the best; 

Here we feast on love and abound in joy, 

Our hearts beat with hope, while our tonguf^s we employ, 

In the praise of Him who came to save 

From the guilt of sin and the power of the grave; 

His loving truth we here declare, 

Hence we love to dwell in the house of prayer. 

Here the meek and the lowly in heart agree, 
To raise the voice and to bend the knee, 
While gentle showers of grace distill 
Our hopes to cheer and our hearts to fill; 
Let the vain and the proud this place pass by, 
Let them scorn the thought to linger nigh; 
But I love it, I love it, and do declare. 
That there is no place like the house of prayer. 

Xo place like this beneath the sun, 
But tliore'll be a place in the world to come, 
W!i.:re the wiekod shall not trouble the blest, 
"Where tiie weary soul shall for ever rest; 

' " " , RELIGIOUS. '■ - 33 

When tlie prayer of faith meets it^ tn'Oi^t revrard, 
And the faithful ones shall be with the Lord; 
But until mv son! shall enter there, 
You will often find me at ''The house of prayer." 


Upon the happv death of Joseph, brother of the Rev. Danikl 
.- and Captain Lutuer Plchmf.r, so extensively and so favor- 
ably known tliroughout this entire community, and far abroad, 
prononnced at the close of his funeral sermon by the author, 
from 1 Thfss. iv: IG, 17, IS. 

AxD now afllioted friends, permit me here to say, 
Man's days on earth are few, and full of trouble they; 
Just like the morning flower, he cometh forth to life, 
And is cut down and withered, amid the mortal strife. 

Or, like a fleeting shadow, he passeth soon away, "■ . ■ 

And here continues not, in any certain stay. 
These solemn truths to you are amply verified. 
And but for which, you know, your friend would not have 

What evil lies concealed boneatn each earthly good, 
How kind the ways of Heaven, when rightly understood; 
Our stay on earth is short, our good with evil mixed, 
The joys of heaven are pure, lasting, holy, &se<L 

More wisdom then, by far, the pious do display. 
In making sure that treasure, that fatieth not away: 
Such was the early choice of our lamented friend, 
And O, thrice happy he, his toil is at an end. 

What glories he beholds, to Christ made priest and king; 
How lofty are his notes! methinks I hear him sing. 
His pious kindred dear, who have before him gone, 
And those who follow after, shall join the holy song. 

31 cotton's keepsake. 

"With pure anirelic rapture shall walk the streets of gold, 
Thrice happy, happy be, nor cau their joys be told. 
-How oft he used to say, while CToaning under puiu; 
I feel ray Savior precious, O, bless his holy name. 

I call to mind his goodness, in days long sinc^ gone by, 

My sou] is happy, happy, I have no dread to die. 

'T is bettor to depart, I long to soar away 

To wear a crown of glory in realms of endless day. 

Come, then, ye weeping parents, your dearest friend give o'er, 
"With Christ he reigns imniortal, nor shall he sulier more. 
How can you murmur then, or wish to call him back, . 
God's precious word declares, you shall not suBor lack. 

O, may you each obtain, the sanctifying grace, 

Xor nc-td I only add, that then you'll see his face. 

Therej with the blood-washed millions, on that immortal 

shore, \ 

Meet ail jour pious kindred and reign for evermore. 

Ye weeping friends and neighbors, O, lay tliese things to 

And choose the path of virtue, and ne'er from it depart; 
Pore trials yet awuit you, but if these things you heed, 
You shall find grace to help you, in every time of need. 

And when life's sands have run, and measured out your 

01 'twill be joyful then, a pious life to scan; 
To rest your faintin>j' head on your Redeemer's breast, 
And sing your conflicts o'er, and enter into rest. 

There wait for nobler joys, till the last solemn day, 

"V\'hen Gabriel's deep-toned trump shall wake your slumb'rlng 

Then raised immortal all, and from corruption free, 
Fly up into the clouds, your Savior there to see. 


There cast vour "crovrns of glory,"' -R-ith rapture nt his feet, 
Bask in a sea of pleasure, and walk the golden street; 
And on the harps of God, the sacred pcean raise, 
And through all eternity sound forth his loudest praise. 


Israel Noyes. my father-in-law, and a most pious, lioly mn,n, 
and for years, one of the most faidiful and bolored class 
leaders in all the regions hereabout, died som-j-^hat sud- 
denly, Yrith a painful atlHotion. At the same time his son Hugh, 
a young man, was thought to be Ij'ing at the point of death, 
and it was deemed expedient to dispense with the ordinary 
funeral services for the present. The joung man how- 
ever, contrary to all appearances, survived for many years. 
The result was. however, that Father Noyes, bleeps his last 
long sleep without a formal funeral Sermon. To supply 
that seeming ueglrct. or rather necessary omission, I sat me 
down and wrote out the following subsiitute, and presented 
it to my good motlier Ncyes, much to her comfort and satis- 
faction, and which she has carefully preserved unLii this day. 
for she still lives, and lives with me, at the advanced ago of 
85 years. Father Noyes died in 1S"26, aged 51 years "What 
a long wUowhood and separation ! And, oh ! how sweet and 
happy will be their meeting, "In that better land above." 

Text, Heb. iv : 9. — " Tukre semaixetii tuekefohe, a eest to 
the people of god."' 

Theke is a rest, as iny text saitt, 

Keraaininj^ for GoJ's people, 
AYliich doctriric we sLali further Eee, 

liy iQixdin;^ to tliC scqueL 


-God's people are, we should be'ware. 

All those who do obey him, 
Whose hearts are pure, and who endure, 
" Until their race is ended. 

llcst does imply toil and fatigue, 

Or labor, grief, or sorrow ; 
The Christian's fate I here relate, 

Nor have I need to borrow. 

For if I'm right, they have to light, 
And travel through deep water; ^ 

And every day must watch an J pray, 
Nor have they time to loiter. 

They bear the Cross, and every loss, • ^ 
By faith, and hope, and patience ; 

But their minds soar, where these no more, 
Shall ever gain admittance. 

There they shall dwell, and ever tell, 

To each the pleasing story ; 
How they o'ercame through Jesus' name, 

To reign with him in glory. 

From toil they rest, iind all are drest, 

In a white robe prepar-ed ; 
True happiness and endless bliss, 

They equal all have shar-ed.* ... 

Nor is this all, for thus saith Paul, 
(Which helps me on my story.) 

That every pain they hero sustain, 
Adds to their future glory. 

* According to capacity and improvemeut. 

• RELIGIOUS. ■ 37 

Saith JoLn, each tear -wliicli they shed here, 

Is vialed up in heaven ; 
God's word's at stake, he'll ne'er forsake, 
. lu troubles six or seven- 

But for each grief he'll vrork relief, 

And all shall work together : 
For their best good -when understood, 

Cheer up my weeping mother. =*^ 

joyful news these Gospel truths, 

Yes, now they do support me ; • . 

While I do bear my common share, 
Of what I "ve laid before thee. 

Here let me say, for well it may, 

Be said of our departed; 
Husband and friend, while tears we blend, 

With those who 're mournfal hearted. 

Faithful he was to Jesus' cause, ^ 

My dear attentive reader ; 
He lived and died his brethren's pride, 

A kind beloved leader. 

I'm pleased to say, he used to prayf 

At uight and in the morning; 
He bore his Cross, counted all dross, 

And g:ive to sinners warning. 

Though cruel foes did him oppose, 

And gloried in his sorrow, 
He now is blest with peaceful rest, — 

No troubles need we borrow. 

In law. t IJi ^lic faiail^'. 

38 cotton's keepsake. 

i There in sweet lays he sings the praise, 

Of Jesus his lledeemer ; 
- He's called away from th' evil day, " ' 

To weep uo more for ever. 

• > Why should I try more to descry, 

Or lengthen out my story? , - , 

' I need hut say, I hope one day 
To meet him in bright glory. 

A word to you his '•consort true:" 

You 're called to wade through sorrow, 
Your husband's gone to tarry long, 
■ ' But troubles do not borrow. 

God does declare you are his care, 
, And he will ne'er forsake you, 

. ." He'll give you grace to run the race, 

Though griefs you 're called to wade through. 

You've lost a friend, a faithful friend, 
And well you may bemoan him. 

With streaming eyes we sympathize, 
With you on this occasion. : :" 

- You'll only know as on you go, 
The loss you have sustain-ed, 
When cares and tears shall crown your years, 
And earthly joys have faded. 

Full many a thought with interest fraught, 
Will bring him fresh before you ; 

As down you glide ''time's rapid tide," 
And still I must detain you. 



Tour kindred all are far away, * 

And vou are left to wander 
Alone awhile, but how you'll smile, 

To meet again up yonder. 

Your children may, I hope, will pay 

To you that kind attention, 
Which shall relieve you when you grieve, 

And this in faith I mention. 

Children to you a word or two, 

As I fill up these pages : 
The loss to all both great and small. 

Can't be replaced in ages. 

Ko more he '11 pray for, and I '11 say 
" No more he'll give us counsel; 
No more he'll call to see us all, 
Nor urge us to prove faithful. 

Come let us here shed each a tear 

Unto his memory sacred; * 

And all prepare to meet him there, 
Where partings will have ended. 

I well might write from morn till night 

To do liis memory justice; 
But will forbear, hoping up there. 

With him to see King Jesus. 

I'd wisely choose the words I use, 

To tell you all my feelings ; 
My speech 's too faint, to fairly paint 

To you the Lords kind dealings. 

* In Maine. 

40 cotton's keepsake. 

The depth and hight, the blissful sight, 
That opens now before me : 

So tempts my heart with life to part, 
That here I end my story. 

Tuis IS THK TKn: God and eternal li/e. — I John', t: 20. 

Ye Christian friends of every name, 

Give ear to me while I explain 

The wonders of redeeming love, 

Which lifts my thoughts to things above: 

Jesus, my Lord, from heaven he came. 

To v.-ash our sins and purge their stain; 

Sure he is God, 'tis clear to me. 

Hence, I believe divinity. . - - 

For when I felt the weight of sin, 
'Twas Jesus smiled and took mc in; 
'Twas Jesus spake my sins forgiven,. 
And bade me lift my eyes to heaven; 
Then in his name I did rejoice, 
I've made his ways my lasting choice; 
Jesus is all in all to me, 
For I believe divinity. 

Through grief and pain, and sorrows too, 

By him I have been brought safe through. 

In him I've taken sweet delight 

3Iany Ci day and many a night; 

Anil none but God, and his great might, 

Can chan<;e the darkness into light — 

■ ' RELIGIOUS. ' 41 

My raincl once tiark he's made to see, 
Heuce I believe divinity. 

And when Messicih -was oa earth, 
SuinL :MaiLLcv citing to hij birth, 
lie spake the truth I humbly trust, 
Emmanuel is God with us,- 
To see the wonders that he wrought, 
The deaf and blind to him were brought, 
He gave them power to hear and see, 
Enough to prove divinity. 

He said to sinners more than seven, 
Arise, thy sins are all forgiven. 
The Jews did murmur and complain, 
They called him devil with his train; 
They said that God, and God alone. 
Can do such works; and be it known, 
These Jesus did, as you may see, — 
How can you doubt divinity? 

He said to Simon, lovest thou me? 
And Simon Peter answered, yea: 
Thou knowest all things answered he, 
Thou knowest Lord, I do love thee. 
He knew all men, nor need be taught 
What was in man uor what he thought; 
He knew their thoughts, now own with me, 
Jesus and his divinity. 

He spake — ye winds, be calm, be still, 
They were obsequious to his will; 
He knew when virtue from him went, 
He taught oil men they should repent, 

cotton's keepsake. 

Said Jesus, 'svliere but two or three 
Meet in my name and do agree, 
'Tis there I am, and there will be, — 
How cdear it proves divinity. 

When to the grave where Lazarus slept, 
Our Savior came, he groaned and wept, 
He spake — and he that had been dead 
Four days, and buried, raised his head. 
These, and like works, my Savior's done, 
'Twas ne'er so seen said many a onej 
His godlike power in all we tee, — 
Who dare dispute divinity? 

Show us the Father, answered some ; 

I and my Father are but one: . \ 

The mighty God and Father too, 

Are, by Isaiah, termed His due: 

The Word was God, but I can't span 

How 'twas made flesh and dwelt with man: 

Go read the first of John and see 

If it don't prove divinity. 

The twentieth chapter of the xVcts, 
And twenty-eighth you'll find these facts. 
The Church of God bought with his blood, 
(Of the like texts there are a flood,) 
Yv'hen he was bleeding on the tree, 
He told the thief that he should be, 
To-day in paradise with me, 
Which goes to prove divinity. 

The Savior, though, would sure have died, 
If he had not been crucified ; 

-■--■ RELIGIOUS. ■• ■ 43 

No man, said he, my life doth, take, 

My life I give for my sheep's sake; 

I've power, said he, to lay it down. 

To take it up, the whole to crown ; 

A clearer proof there can not be, . ' ' 

In favor of divinity. 

To see him rising from the tomb, 

The doors give way to make him room — 

Ten thousand things I would rehearse, 

Could I insert them in this verse — 

To his di>ci}>les then he went. 

And a few days with them he spent, 

They did believe unwaveringly 

The truth of his divinity. 

But Thomas said I wont bcl'eve. 
Like many people who now live, 
^Thon Jesus said, stretch forth thy hand 
And own that I am what I am; 
He thrust his hand into his side, 
My Lord, my God, then Thomas cried. 
Hence, he's coustraincl to own like me 
The doctrine of divinity. 

He is the first and he the last. 

Now hold you to this doctrine fast, 

And neither add nor take away, 

Lest ye repent in the great day. 

I feel that I am on the wing, 

My heart grows warm while thus I sing) 

This theme sets all my soul on fire, 

In heaveu 'twill tune my golden lyre. 

44 cotton's keepsake. 



Ye nations all, on you I call, 

Come lend a listening ear, 
The judgment day without delay • • • 

Will by-aud-by appear. • 

The lamb once slain -will come again, 

And at his sacved nod, 
A heavenly throng will come along, 

And blow the trump of Grod. 

In flaming fire he will draw nigher. 

Bright angels him attend; ' , 

And Gabriel dressed in awful vest 
"Will down to earth descend. 

With one foot he upon the sea, 

The other on the shore; 
With voice profound, shall shake the ground, 

Shall shout with dismal roar 

That time is done, to judgment come. 

Ye sleeping dead arise: 
The sun retires, the moon expires, 

The stars forsake the skies. „ • 

'The grave, 'tis- said, will yield its dead. 

The sea with surging wave, 
Shall wake the dead from their low bed 

Who sleep in coral grave. . 


And thus tbcy all, both great and small, 

Shall stand before the throne; 
Shall hear at last their sentence passed, 

And Time's expiring groan. 

The earth shall quake, the mountains shake, 

And all on general fire 
Shall then recede -with awful speed, 

And in the smoke espire. 

Yes, this broad world by thunders hurled, 

And lightnings' fiercest glare, 
Shall quake and roll from pole to pole— 
" Hark! hear the sinner's prayer. 

Keeks on us fall, and hide us all 
' From Jesus' awful face; 
The judgment's come and we're undone 
"Without a hiding place. 

But all in vain will they complain, 

"The day of grace" has Sown; 
The rocks they try will pass them by, 

And in despair they groan. 

While thus they gaze in wild amaze. 
The Judge will frowning say — 

Depart all you accursed crew, 
And downward bend your way. 

And down they go to endless woe, 

Must bid the saints farewell; 
"With demons they are doomed to stay, 

"Where endless burnin;rs dwell. 



But to tlie rest, come up, ye blessed, 
The Judge will smiling say, 

And dwell on high, no more to die, 
And ting my praise for aye, 

5?-- Then all who are by "faith and prayer" 

Prepared that hour to meet, 
Sh:ill mount and Ily up to the sky, 
And all the angels greet; 

Shall praise the Lord with one accord, j 
And swell the anthem high; 

And not one tear shall there appear, 
No grief extort a sigh. 

Yes, there shall we for ever be, 
Shall shout our conflicts o'er, 

Through boundless grace see face to face, 
And reign for evermore. 

Where streets are gold we shall behold 
Our pious kindred dear; 
. - And shout and sing to Christ our King, 
*• And to his throne come near. 

Yes. perfect joy without alloy 

Awaits the pious there; 
Lord help us all to hear thy call, 

And stir us up to prayer. 

;■ I 



AUGUST n, 1821. 

This, like many otlier of niv poems, is rather lengtliy. It is 
designed to be a full and perfect narration of the tragic scene 
of which it treats, in poetic numbers. Bear this in mind 
all tjirough, that my poems are mostly narrations, or poedo 
addre.<=se3, and consequently, lengthy, but when viewed in this 
character, they can ujt be deemed unreasonably long, shorter 
they could not well be, and accomplish their aim and mission 

All ye kind people prav draw near, 
-Attend to me -^-ith listening ear, — 
"While solemnly to you I shew 
An awful scene but surely true. 

And thou, my soul, come meditate 
Upon the scene transpired of late; 
Lord help my mind and pen and heart 
To give to each their proper part. 

Now I'll proceed and will relate, ■ 
■ Near how and what took place of late; 
Two of our fellow-mortals fell, 
But whither flown no tongue can tell. 

Amasa Fuller I'll first name, 

TTho from the East to this place came; 

In Lawrenceburg he did reside, 

And there made choice for him a bride. 

Then up to Brookville he did go, 
Ills business there I do not know ; 


48 cotton's keepsake. 

' Nor vrill it do for me to say 

Mucli about this, lest I sliould stray. 

' But while be was absent from ber, 

One Palmer VrARREX was the sir 

■f "Who sought himself to be her groom, 

And whom she chose in Fuller's room. 

Forthwith she wrote a line to him, . 
In which she put the pledge — a ring, 
'W^'hich he had given her most free; 
"Take it," he said, "and think of me." 

The siglit of which, his feelings hurt, 
To think she thus should him desert; , 
It pierced him to the very heart, 
"When back to her he soon did start 

To seek the cause or seek relief, 
But neither found, is my belief; 
^Yhich raised his wrath to such a bight, 
He sought revenge both day and night; 

And went about from place to place 
In open day with open face, 
Seeking for pistols sure at mark — 
The sequel hear, hark ye. hark ! 

Poor "Warren, then, his victim-prey, 
He brooded o'er both night and day; 
At last he traced him to his store, 
Rushed quickly in and shut the door 

A paper, then, he did present. 
And said to "V\''arren, " I am bent 
That you shall sign it or shall die, 
And to escape is vain to try." 

' - " CRIMINAL. ■ 49 

The 'mount of wliicli was thus and so, 
You've lied on me and now may know, 
That you must here your seal set to, 
' Tis all I ask or v.ish to do. ! 

Alas.! poor Warren did refuse, 
Then Fuller said you now may choose 
One of these pistols and we'll see, 
Which one shall die, or you or me. 

Poor Warren, filled with hope and fear 
ITis course toward the door did steer, 
When outraged Fuller aiming: well, . 
Discharged his piece and Warren fell. 

He groaned and sighed upon the floor, 
In his own blood and streaming gore, 
And Fuller saw his latest breath. 
In the cold arms of cruel death. 

'Twas Thursday, and upon this eve, 
He was to marry I believe, 
But view his plan — his happy scheme, 
All proved to be a fading dream. 

But to return to Fuller's case. 
And his sad story farther trace, — 
E 'er he had passed the fatal door, 
In rushed some men — say half a score, 

Ah, Fuller, Fuller, can it be, 
That you have done what we now see? 
"I've slain the reptile you see bleed, 
And much I glory in the deed." 

i I 


I now submit myself to you. 

With me your pleasure you may do, 

Thenco tliey conveyed liim to the jail, _ ' 

To stand bis trial without fail. 

Soon he was tried, and "jruilry" found, 
While anxious friends thick cluster round, ' 

The verdict was, of course must he, , j 

For '■ murder in the first degree." 

To liear tl:e judge his sentence read,^ 
Would cause a heart of stone to bleed, 
"On March the eighth and twentieth day, 
You must be hung without delay." 

Petitions then for his reprieve, 

Were drawn and sent — who can but grieve, 

One hundred just and forty days, 

Was all he gained to his amaze. 

And when the time had fully come, 
When he most surely must be hung. 
Thousands of people crowd the street. 
From every quarter here they meet. 

The soldiers, too. all had to come. 
With musket, uniform and drum, '-"•,. 
Nor dare one single one to fail. 
They mu^t guard Fuller from the jail. 

■ The sherifff summoned them 'tis true, 

This painful duty he must do, j 

Not that he liked the painful job, j 

But to prevent a cruel mob. j 

* Hon. Miles C. Egglestoa. tTLomaa Longley. j 

'5 . •;, ' jt 

CRTMIN-AL. ' 51 

The soldiers formed a "hollow square," 
Then to the jail they did repair, 
O how must Fuller feel, while hound 
To hear the people crowd around. 

Poor man lie did free grace implore, ^ 

'Till he per?;pired from every poro, 
O.wliat shall I, what shall I do? -. • 

Lord help me to repent most true. 

He was brought forth, what a sight ! 
To see a mortal in such plight; 
He was, indeed, most ghastly pale, -. -.^ 

As he came forth out of the jail. 

His arms were pinioned to his back, 
Another rope was round his neck. 
And thus ho went with Immhle pace. 
Along unto the fatal place. 

The soldiers marched on cither side, 
Good order all — all must abide, 
At length they reached the gallows there, 
Which Longley did for him prepare. 

The scaffold now he did ascend. 
As though he knew God was his friend, 
He had o'orcome his guilty fears. 
Yet bathed his cheeks in manly tears. 

The preachers, who felt for his soul,* 
Prayed for him here and in the goal, 
And him they did at once baptize, 
"Before a crowd of weeping eyes. 

J.iiiibdiu, Plummor, Fuller o.nd Sefton. 


The '= bread and wine" to him were given, 
The sviubol and the seal of heaven ; 
In duty all should be beginners, 
Since Jesus died for "chief of sinners." 

lie chose a hymn which then was sung, 
This is the way it was begun : 
"Father, I stretch my hands to thee," 
"Methodist hymn book" you will see. 

An exhortation now was givcn/-^^ 

Like thunder pealing down from heaven, 

To male and female 'twas direct, 

No better one could you expect. 

The preachers and the sheriff too, 
Now bade him their last long adieu. 
*T was 'nough to rend each feeling heart, 
To see how loth they were to part. 

Now Fuller like a penitent, 
Tiild us how vain a life he'd spent, 
All tremblingly to all did tell, 
That he had lived an infidel. 

Bat as I lay in yonder jail, ,_ . 

This poor foundation did me f.iil, ■ . . 
I now conceive there is but one 
Men must believe on, God's dear Son. 

And if I'm saved 'twill be through grace, 
Keflected through my Savior's face, 
Nought but his precious blood alone, 
Can ever for my sins atone. 

* Rev. Daniel Plummer. 


A solemn warning to young- men, 
Will follow now my trembling pen, 
"0, do not do as I have done," 
Jc5 wh^t he •'Tii^ iiT<^t MS lie swung. 

The sheriff now to him did say, 
You have not long on earth to stay, 
Five fleeting moments, less or more, 
"VTill launch you from this mundane shore. 

Swift did he travel to and fro. 
So loth to strike the fatal blow. 
At fifty-nine past twelve o'clock. 
Poor Fuller felt the dreadful shock. 

When Longley struck the fatal stroke. 
Quick was the surge, and the rope broke, 
All feeling hearts it did appal, 
Flat on the ground to see him fall. 

Help men — help! the sheriff cries, 

The broken rope who ties — who ties? 

Gather him up before he struggles. 

Be quick, be quick, and close his troubles. 

Two active men went up — they fly, 
The parted rope they splice or tie, 
Again he swung, all clear from earth, — 
Be vailed in grief ye sons of mirth. 

To see him heave, hardened heart! 
When life and breath asunder part; 
That can not feel for human woe. 
With some 'twas thus, 'tis often so. 

\ \ 

54 cotton's keepsake. 

Yet many prayers in his tehalf. 
Were offered up, while some few laugh, 
The sln-ieks and sighs all through ihe crowd, 
Were heard distinctly, fiiint or loud. ■> 

If you 'd been there, or stood near by, 
'T is thus you would have heard me cry, ' 
Have mercy Lord, on his poor soul 
Let heaven be its final goal. 

lie 's struggling, gasping, dying — gone, 
In vain for him, his friends may mourn, 
Nor do we know that he has need. 
We trust from pain lie now is irecd. 

Young men and maidens look around, 
To you indeed, a solemn sound, 
make your proper vows all true, 
Lest sin and puin are caused by you. 

Could we but know, could we but hear, 
The sorrow of his mother dear; 
When unto her the news shall come, 
That her dear son is surely hung. 

. A lamentation she will make, . _, 

Enough the heart of stone to break, 
How shall I drink this bitter cup? 

- And give my son for ever up. 

His brothers dear, could we but spy, 
And sisters, too, hear how they cry, 
Alas! poor brother, fare you well. 
Our sorrows surely none can tell. 

CEnilNAL. ■ 1)0 

could we know what parents know, 
When their dear children from them go, 
They mourn, they weep, they si^h. they grieve, 
"When children take their friendly leave. 

They view the world, filled up with cares. 
Temptations here, and yonder snares, 

1 need not dwell — you all can tell, 
"Who love their children wish them well. 

Come children ye, from parents borne, 
Lest they for you should weep and mourn, 
Come seek, and serve God day and night, 
That they in you, may take delight. 

Tis now high time, I must forbear, 
And I will close with this short prayer, 
Lord help us to obey thy call. 
Preserve us here — then save us all. 



As bad boys are apt to. be bad men, and come to a bad end, 
I must s.iy that the end of Bennett was just such an one a3 
might rationally be anticipated. I say it not to wound bis 
friends, many of whom are highly honorable. But as an 
admonition to all who desire an honorable end, to live honor- 
able and n^^eful lives. And the tone and character of this 
Poem, has that specific end in view. To be fully appreciated 
atid understood, you must consider the Author as a true old 
friend, giving him a xAam talk upon the scaffold, and his last 

56 cotton's keepsake. 

and best advice on the occasion, in tlic midst of wluch the 
tr&p drop's; and the address abruptly terminated. 

On John "I knevr thee like a book," many lonj years ago, 

And uuca said, and iicara it said, your days Tvonld end in woe: 

Idle, and vain, and dissolute, and vulgar and profane, 

How could you, or your fricnda expect, a better end to gain? 

You see it no'iv, but 'tis too late, yoar race on earth is run, 

The forfeit of your life you'll pay before the setting sun. 

Bad companj-, you say, alas! has brought you into this, 

A virtuous and a pious life as surely end? In bliss. 

But God is good, and merciful, his pard'ning grace implore, 

The lav,- exacts your vrretched life, as I have said before. 

I would not taunt you with the crime, for which you now must 

Nor would I add a single pang of sorrow — no not I, 
But as a friend — a friend indeed, I pray you let each breath 
Go forth in prayer, that you may find, "pardon and peace" in 


Dear me, he swings, convulsed — ^"tis o'er — the spirit's fled. 
And poor John Bennett, so loth to die, is numbered with the 

Young men, a timely warning take, be sober, honest, just, 
Let your companions be the good, and God your early trust. 
So shall your lives, be lives of peace, your mem'ries ever 

Vhen you from earth shall pass away to an eternal rest. 





P-niE time ago, no matter w!icn, two brothers by the name of 
Kelly, citizens of Ripley county, murdered tb.ree men for 
tbeir money, on board a flatboat, descending the Ohio river. 
In the language of an erainent jurist: "It '.vas a cool, 
calculating, money-mn.king murder, the weighing out of so 
many ounces of blood against so many dollars in money.' 
Their trial and confession, was at the time published to the 
world, in pamphlet form, under the caption of, "The Mur- 
der of Gardner and others, etc., to which the reader is re- 
spectfully referred for a full and perfect history of this bloody 
scene. It was, indeed, a most bloody and horrible scene. 
Three excellent and unsuspecting men, reposing in quiet and 
peacfcfal slumbers, to be butchered with axes and clubs, and 
all for their effects, by men in their confidence and employ, 
is most horrible and appalling ! What a picture of human 
depravity! ! ! My Muse thus paraphrases upon the sickening, 
heart-reading, and fearful tragedy. 

TnK sordid "love of money," the root of all evil, 

Has led thousands down to ruin, and down, doivn to the devil. 

Men will lie, and cheat, and steal, or murder their best friend, 

To get money to hoard up, or money just to spend. 

Get money — at every hazard — get it at any price, 

To have money in great plenty, seems so exceeding nice. 

fro thought two sturdy brothers, by the name of Keiley ; 

■Who murdered their employers, and beat them ail to jelly ; 

Tied weights unto their necks — sank them in the river, 

.\nd felt themselves quite safe, now and for ever. 

The secret was their own, no one else could know it, 

Kot a single bloodstain left, to reveal and to show it. 

Kot so fast vain wretched, men, mind what you are about, 

'T is an old and true adage that " murder vrill out." 

58 cotton's keepsake. 

The very riie.ins resorted to, to ward off just siispioion, 

Arc messent^ers divinely sent upon the holy mission 

Of waking up inquiry, of patting on the track 

Tha ofiicLTS of justice, who pouuce upoa your back 

When yoa least expect it, and lock you up in jail, 

'Till von slirili =f-'; 1 y-v.:- t.ia;, ui vviiicli you can uot fiiil. 

'T wa3 so with these two brothers, both cau;:ht in their own 

They found theraselves arrested, and in -'an awful snap." 
Were theuce upon the charge found guilty of the deed,- 
That both should now be hung the jurymen agreed. 
The fa.tal day arrives, they mount the scuffuld high, 
With tieml'ling in their limbs, and in their hearts a sigh. ■ •■ 
Confess the horrid deed — warn others by their fate, 
To shun the paths of sin, for pleasure, ffain, or hate. 
Why should I longer dwell ? enough has now been said, — 
They both were hung together, 'till they were dead! dead ! I 

dead ! ! ! 
A life of sin and shame thus found a fearful end, ._.■,- 

Be virtuous little boys, I pray you as a friend. . • • ' ' 


EVERAL years ago, as I was descending tbe beautiful Ohio, 
on my way South, I called at .Jeffersonville, and went all 
through the State Penitentiary, winch is a large stone 
building, of thick walls and heavy massive doors, with 
bolts and bars and heavy iron grates, to keep ail < and 
safe who are sent there to be punished for crimes and mis- 
demeanors. Tliere were men of all ages, and from every 
part of the State, torn from friends and home, and doomed 
to toil and privations, and to sleep in dark, eloouiy cells 
"under lock and key,'" because they did not '• remombci" 
their Creator," nor seek and serve Him. O how I pitied 
them, and wept," for them and tlie frienda they had left be- 

CRDriNAL. . •- 59 

Jiind to mourn and griove for them. But my henrt -was 
most affected at the sight of a little boy, about fourteen or 
fifteen years old. He Tras silting in the siiade. out iu 
the brick yard, -n-rlnging his hands, and "Tieeping as 
thoafrh his little heart -ivould break, trembling all over 
as though he would fall ail to pieces. Cii :n,-;;;ivr, I 
le.irned of the Warden that he arrived there the evening 
before, on a charge of stealing a pocket-book, coniaining 
some fifty dollars; that he had taken him out in the yard 
to bear off brick, but that his grief and excitement had so 
overcome him that he sunk under it; that lie had ordered 
him into the sliadc until noon, -vvhen he should take him 
buck and leave him in his cell until he had a llute re- 
covered from his prostration, and become, a little more 
familiar with the scenes around him. This, cevtainlv, vras 
exceedingly kind. I approached the lad, and laying my 
hands gently and fondly upon his head, in soothing terms 
I attempted to encourage and comfort him; that !:is year 
•would soon pass away, when he -vrould be free, and I hoped, 
would yet be a good boy and make a fme and useful man. 
I5ut the more I sought to comfort him the more he wept 
in the bitterness of his soul. -'0, I wish that I were dead, 
My mother! Oh, dear mother.'' My own heart was creatly 
moved and affected, and I, too, '■ wept like a willow,'' in 
unison with him. Cut do you ask how it occurred that so 
young a lad happened to be sent to the Penitentiary and 
not to the County .Jail? I answer: from what I could 
learn he was one of those bad boys who are always in 
niischief, and none could control him. He was saucy and 
JT'ipudent to his poor widowed mother; would hglit and 
quarrel with his little brothers and sisters and all his little 
schoolmates; would use most profane language, violate the 
Sabbath, and young as he was, would drink and gamble, 
■which prompted him to steal; led on by wicked men and 
"Wicked associates. And as neither, parent nor teacher 
could manage him, t!ie jury sent him where lie v-'nt obey; 
hoping that he might tliereby be reformed and made a use- 
ful man. I know some just such hnteful boys, and if tiiey 
too, don't get to the Penitentiary, it. will be a great wonder. 

60 cotton's keepsake. 

My little rea.Icr, I hope you are not one of tho-tc saucy, 
impudent, uii governable bad boys; if you are, I pray you 
to reform immediately, so that '-iniquity prove not your 
ruin." 1 made some verses abotit this little boy in the 
Penitentiary, to which I vriW now introduce you, and hope 
JV..U. nlll iLiid and consider them well, and Ci)mrait to mem- 
ory, at least the last two verses, not for the beauty of the 
, poetry, but for the good and wholesome advice they contain. 
Referring to the lad, I say: '•'■'■■. 

Tfie like before I liad not seen, 
Such mental woes and angui.^h keen, 
• ■■ My heart affecting ; -__;. 

'"''■:' Laving my hand upon his head, ' ■'' ' 

Young nsan, I kindly to him said — - ' . • . 

■ ; . Cheer up! expecting ' ',■ 

■ '^_; By-and-hy to be set free, 

Then home and friends again you'll see — 
.» Each sister, brother. 

But more he •wept, and sobbing said — 
'_. "0 dear, I wish that I was dead, 

But for my mother!" - - 

''\. ...... 

It was, indeed, a painful sight, • - •■ ". 

■ ' To see a youth in such a plight. 

And hear him sighing, -' '; 

As though his little bursting heart 
AVas pierced all through with sorrow's dart, 

And he was dying. 

For, far from, home and all he knew. 
In that strange place what should he do 

With thieves and robbers? 
Where chains and bars and felons' cells, 
The tale of woe and sorrow tells 

Of convict-jobbers? 


His streaming eyes and achinp; heart 
Proclaimed aloud — the better part 

Is to be honest. 
Transgressors' vays are very hard, 
Says '•• the l,....J bocl:" -£0 says the bovd. 

Be honest — honest.. 

This hapless youth to error prone, 
Must spend a year here all alone, 

For stealing money. 
Yet, there are those who think it smart 
To lead astray the youthful heart; 

Aye, think it funny. 

How good it is in early youth ' '- . 

To bear the yoke of gospel truth, 

And be religious ; 
As has been often truly said, 
'Twill save the heart and save the head 

From woes prodigious. .. •' ' ' 

Youths of the land, be wise, be good, 
As you have oft been told you should; 

Take timely warning: 
Resist temptation to do wrong, - /. 

I press it on you very strong 

In youth's bright morning. 


/ , ■..■ r 



Ix 1S22— At a camp-meeting heM at OIJ Father Rabb's. (of 
sainted memory,) ucar La^reuoe^iurg, Jacob Blasdcll, (of 
like precious uicmory.) asked permission, and obtained 
liberty to address tbe vast assembly, upon matters whicL he 
thought of vast moment. Uiit what was the surprise and 
consternation of all, when he introduced the subject of Tem- 
perance, "Rum and Ruin," which he portrayed in truthful but 
glowing colors — called upon preachers and all to set their 
faces and their examples against it--it was too much — 
utterly out of time and place — would spoil the meeting, and 
he must desist, ere his message was fully delivered. But 
he had set the ball in motiou, and the more men attempted 
to put it at rest, the more it woul.ln't rest, but roll on with 
increased velocity and might, until all resistance was giveu 
tip as useless, and Temperance became tlie great and all- 
absorbing question of the day. At first, Father Blasdell 
became a subject of general ridicule, as well in the papers, 
as in neighborhood circles. The man is foolish, said one, 
another, he is crazy — what a pity, ejaculated many and 
many a friend! But true to his favorite reform, he bore 
it all with christian fortitude and forbearance, as a willing 
martyr to virtues cause. And God let him live to see the 
■wonderful revolution that temperance had wrought in the 
land— himself the original moving cause, then took him from 
the fiehl of strife, all covered over with glory, " where he rests 
from his labors, and his works do follow him." He died in 
lS4l, aged GO years. A plain stone marks his resting-place, 
.■where, of all others, there should be a monument piercing the 
very clouds. S:anding beside his honored tomb the other 
jf' . day, the following -were my redections in poetic numbers: 



The Tempirrnnce Pioneer of all tlig UV>/, icJto 'lied in 1S41, aijid CO years, lored 

and UimnJeJ iy alL 

Tnou honored champion for God, 
For temperance and for truth, 

■ " TEM^PERAXCE. ' ■ ' 63 

Thy efforts to redeem the land, ' ' - 

And bless and save the youth, 
From all the infamy and shame, ' 

-And all the untold woes, 
Thai. iVoia iue pv.Isuncu fuwtl cup, ' 

In wide profusion flows, 

Have wrouirht a wonder in the land. 

The world "turned upside down," 
Changing the customs for the better, 

lu country — city — town. 
Of all the names that are enrolled, 

Iligli on the scroll of fame, " ' 

I would as soon inherit thine, 

As any other name. . . •. 

Thy laurels are not steeped in blood, 

Nor in the orphans' tears, 
But motliers bless thee for their homes, 

And for their infant dears. 
And unborn millions shall accord 

To thee the meed of praise, 
And o'er thy dust, I can not doubt, 

A monument will raise. 

Although reform is not complete, 

Full well it was begun. 
And spread it well, until the field, 

Is fairly- — fully won. 
True, "rum and ruin," still abound, 

And poverty and crime, 
But all are tending to their end, — - 

Lord, hasten "the good time." 


The ball is on the motion still, 

And on and on will roll, 
'Till temperance shall v.iu the field, " 
-And reign from pole to pole, 

Disasters and defeat, 
Will, in the end, all work for good, — 
Truth never can he heat. 

'Tis sure to triumph in the end. 
Though often crushed to earth. 

And of champions, men and means, 
There be a seeming dearth. 

She '11 rise again in her own strength, 
■ Put all her foes to flight, 

And light, and peace, and joy su(»ceed, 
The darkness of this night. 

The forest oak, the mountain pine, 

By each tempestuous blast 
Gains strength of body, firmer root, 

And longer still will last. 
Unless it should uprooted be, 

Or part perchance asunder. 
Our temperance tree is still unscathed 

Inspiring pride and wonder. 

My faith is strong in God and rights 
Through all this smoue I see 

" Tl^ day is ours," the victory won 
Entire — triumphantly; 

And thou of all men hereabouts, 
Deserve the highest praise, 

!. '« 

- TEMPER-^'CE. ^ G5 

From all who love the human race, 
Or saved from errors ways. 

Great master spirits ever have 

And none more justly so than thou, 

My ever cherished friend. 
God let thee live to see the day — 

The day thou didst foretell. 
Then took thee from the field of strife, 

In triumph: — fare thee well. 


I.v 1839, Trhile I was acting Ju-.lge, there came up for trial a 
riot case, of feavful magnitade and importance. My Muse, 
thinking it a suitable subject for a lay, perpetrated the fol- 
lowing, which I here record as an iiiteresting reminiscence, 
as also to show ray views on prohibition, long before the sub- 
ject had ever boeu publicly mooted. The fii-si seutiment on 
that subjecu ever publicly avowed, so far as I know, was my 
humble self, as far back as '39, even before the great \yash- 
ingtonian movement. Think of that reader, when you talk 
about Pioneers ia the Temperance enterprise. But here are 
the verses which, will speak for themselves. 

In eighteen hundred thirty-nine, 

Powa at Piising Sun, 
They had a great and fearful riot, 

And mischief cireat was done.' 
^ G 

6G cotton's keepsake. 

It took its rise in a liquor shop ' 

"Where they sold out rum, 
"And many used it freely, how freely I 
And all drank some. 

At the close of this mad carousal 

Some were dead, dead drunk, 
Spewing o' er the floor or goods boxes, 

Or perchance, an old trunk. 

In "durance vile," they had a young man, 
All the time in tow, 
'(. They screwed his thumbs in a blacksmith's vise. 
And scourged him, 0, oh! 

They said, they verily believed that he had, 

Found some lost money, 
And to force confession from the lad, 

They thought would be quite funny. . 

It was "a drunken, mad carousal," 
Ending all in smoke, 
^ Arid when the thing got noised abroad, 

The people all awoke. 

They rallied to the young man's rescue, . 

Eeproved the cruel act ; 
And all of them were soon indicted, — 

I know this legal fact. 

Heavy fines were then assessed, - 

And all hold to bail. 
To pay up, else to replevy, 

Or march right off to jail. 


Tlie cost of this one riot, iii time and in money, 
"Was two thousMnd full, or more ; 

The tax on peace and morals, who, O who 
Will foot up that fearful score? 

All euianating from a license of 

A twenty dollar bill. ■ •- 

Talk then auout revenue, revenue, 

Whosoever will. • ,"• 

When will the rulers of the land ■ " 

Be wise, humane, and ju^t, 
Close up these sinks of sin and woe, . --^ 

Or even feel they must? '"'"■ 

Old echo with its wonted insolence, 

And trifling still with men, 
To this all important moral question, 
.. Answers back, when ! when !1 . 

■ ^ ' ' DIVORCE. 

Looking over my court journal of 1839, I find also the follow- 
iijg memorandum: ,■-•■'' •'/"■ ; ' 

H— ^ rs. H- .—BILL FOR DIVOKCE. 

Testimony. — Plaintiff tvas married to defendant thirteen years 
ago, and took Trith her about t^o thousand dollars worth of 
property and money; got along swim)ningly ai:d happily for 
several years, at which time defendant contracted habits of 
intemperance, and latterly, for months at a time, has scarcely 
drawn a sober breath. Many have been his acts of cruelty 
and personal violence to his said wife, knocking her down 

68 cotton's keepsake. 

with chairs, dragginf: her about the room by the hair of bcr 
head: kicking and breaking her ribs, until her lite was t\ .■"l 
nigli despaired of: tlie property all squandered av.ay, sold 
under the hainuior fur liquor bills and bad debts, Cuntr^tctcd 
under its influence: even the little pittance which his sard 
vrite would earn with her needle or at the wash-tu!.i, Wits 
often Tiolentlj seized and expended iu drams. PlaintiiT lived 
in constant fear, and was in imminent danger of life and 
limb if she longer attempted to live with her said husband. 
Decree, of course, entered accordingly. 

The investigation all through, was one of deep and thrilling ia- 
teresi. My heart bled at every pore during the uainful re- 
citiil, and I made the following entry in my "note book"" at 
the time, which all the curious can see at any time by caiiing 
on me: — 

O! intemperance! intemperance!! How many and how sad are 
thy trophies! How many tender ties hast thou severed! 
How many bright hopes hast thou obliterated! How many 
kind confiding hearts hast thou crushed into the very dust! 
How many kind parents, good husbands, fond wives, dutiful 
children, true and kind friends, bast thou disappointed; 
made wretched, and sent sorrowing to the grave! How 
many millions hast thou squandered away! Surely, misery 
and death thou spreadest "broad-cast"' every where, and vir- 
tue and happiness fly at thy approach. How long shall these 
things be? These wore my reflections, as judged and noted 
down in my journal nearly twenty long eventful years ago. 
And my sluggish muse, animated and inspired by the painful 
reminiscence above referred to, is in for a lay; and Pegassus, 
becoming restive and impatient to be off, I drop him a slack 
rein — and here gojs: 

With grief and indignation too, I heard this tale of woe. 
And tears of deep-felt sympathy, ail gushing forth did I'ow; 
It did not well become a jndge, full well, ray friends, I know it, 
But as my heart so freely bled, I must and could but show it. 


I thought of early and bright hopes, now sere, and cold, and 

And bliss so rich and full and sweet, that had for ever fled; 
A home that once was fnll of joy, now full of grief and pain; 
And aij I mused I deeply sighed, and freely wept again. 

■With broken heart and mind and health, this once most happy 

Xow seeks to be released from him who was her former pride. 
Her children and her numerous friends, deposing, intercede — • 
That she no longer wonld be safe — they all as one agreed. 

What were the reasons, do yoa ask? These were, in fine, the 

sum — 
Neglect, abuse, and poverty, all cansed by using rum. 
"Pium and ruin"' are allied, and will for ever be; 
Yet, there are men who peddle grog when these resuUs they 

Their hearts are steeled and steeped in sin, they care not for 

the ruin; 
They spread "broad-cast" throughout the land, nor for the 

soul's undoing, — 
Monsters they are in human shape, who will, just for the dime?, 
Prepare and instigate their friends for tragedy and crimes. 

I'd sooner beg my daily bread, be clad in filthy rags. 
Than roll in wealth thus illy gained, admired by fools or wags. 
rum, what ruin thou hast wrought, how fearful is thy reign; 
And nought can check thy mad career, nought but the law of 

The waste of morals, time and means, and of domestic peace, 
Since prohibition was annulled has been on the increase. 
When v,iU the people all declare such shall not longer be? 
Time will determine that my friends, and you must wait with 

And pul your shoulder to the wheel and speak and write and 

And soon you '11 see the temperance ship well manned and ,".U 


Roll on reform— I'ly mighty car shall triumph in the end; 
The pesice and siifetj of the States on these events depend. 

O parents rally -.vhile you may, and save your daughters dear, 
From woes that are unutterable, and l^rom the scalding tear: 
And save your son? from infamr. voiir=p!ve=! fnim ?id despnirj 
And God in meiey interpose, is now my daily prayer. 

What language shall I use, what metaphors employ, 
To paint rum's waste and havoc, of morals, means and joy ? 
The naked skulls and skeletons, of all by liquor slain, 
"Would form a pyramid that would pierce the clouds that sends 
us rain. 

Could all the tears just caused by rnm, unite from shore to 

They'd form a cataract more grand than Niagara's mighty 

roar ; 
And sighs commingled all in one would silence deep-toned 

thunder — {perliaps) 
And that the;e things so long have been [allowed) is to my 

soul a wonder. 

Crape every planet, every star, blow out the burning sun, 
Ilang all the heavens in sack-cloth too, and you have scarce 

To paint the desolation, the mourning and the woe, 
That from the liquor business has, r.nd will for ever flow. 

This is no fiincy sketch, dear friends, but demonstrative truth, 
Intended tonrrf-st the mind a.ud save the precious youth. 
Te rulers and ye judges too, why stand ye here all idle? 
Up, upi and chain the monster, curb him with bit and bridle. 

Say unto bim: "thus fi\r thou mayest, but firther canst not 
go/' ! 

King alcohol, thou mighty nag, hold up — whoa! whoa ! ! whoaH! i 

Thus shall ye "serve your day and age," and all by rum I 
made wretched; 

A.nd millions yet unborn, with them shall call you blessed. k 

" .■ -TEMPERANCE. • . 71 

■■;,,„-;_ ■ ■ -m - ■ r 


■ _ : AIR, OLD DAN TUCKER. ' . :• 

The Author takes great pleasure iu ackuowledglng his indebt- 
edness to Dr. Wm. Garritsoii, for originating this Poem, 
wliich he has greatly improved and extended, so as to em- 
brace the entire Liquor Traiiic. 

Ho! ye that deal in " tl.e bhie ruin.' 

pause, and think, what you are doing, • 

Call up to miud the vrant and woo, 

You scatter wide where e'er you go. 

Get out of the way, your grog 's all poison, 

Against it all the world 's n6w rising. 

Of all pursuits that has ever been, 
Retailing grog is the meanest thing ; 
'Thas caused more misery pain and woe, 
Than ever from one source did flow. 
Got out of the way with your '-blue ruin," 
"What on earth are you all doing? 

Now those who make just all they can, 

And those who deal it out to man, 

Alike are foes to the loveli/ fair, 

"NVould all would quit it is my prayer. 

Cot out of the way both makers and sellers, 

You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

You' ve spread distress on every hand, 
And scattered woe all o'er the land ; 
You've turned the husband to a knave, 
And nuiue his wife a wretched slave. 

'72 . cotton's keepsake. 

Get out of tliG -way you brandy sellers, 
You've ruiifd '-lots of clever fellows." 

The grog that makes men spew and reel, 

Prompts them to murder, rob and steal. 

To grieve their triends they seldom lail, . ■ 

And their career oft ends in jail. 

Get out of the way you old gin sellers, 

You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." 

You've taken the shoes from poor woriien's feet, 
And the bread their children had need to eat j 
You've robbed them of their scanty clothes, 
And left them crying and half froze. 
Get out of the v/ay you old rum sellers, 
You've ruined '-lots of clever follows.'" 

You 've made sweet children " beg and sigh," . 

Wrung bitter tears from their mother's eye, 

As oft she heard them cry for bread, 

"When hungry they were sent to bed. 

Get out of the way you whisky sellers 

You've ruined "lots of clever fellows." - ... 

You've severed in twain husband and wife. 
Made happy homes all gall and strife ; 
For rowdy, drunken sprees at night. 
Put wifo and children all to flight. 
Get out of the way you old wine sellers, 
Y'ou've ruined '-lots of clever fellows." 

You 're guilty of all kinds of sin, 

The meanest that has ever been ; 

You've robbed the rich, you've robbed the poor, 

And drove the needy from your door. 

■ TEMPERANCE, "• 73 

r,tt out of the way you strong beer sellers, 

You've ruined "lots of clever fellows."' . . -\ . 

Vou 've robbed tlie strong man of his strength, 
Tl'.en laid him down in the mud full length ; 
Ai;d you 've left him there to yrunt and roll, 
I/ike'a filthy hog in an old mud hole. .?•.-, 

Got out of the way you porter sellers, ; 

You've ruined " lots of clever fellows."- , . .-.-. ~ 

You're crowned some mighty kings with viudy 

Some palaces you've filled with blood; ... 

You 've laid some mighty cities low, 

^Vrought happy nations' overthrow. 

<^iet out of the way you sling-punch sellers, 

VouVep^nc/iecZ the life out of "lots of poor felbws." 

^ow he who peddles grog through the land, 

Should on his forehead wear this brand: 

''I'm a dread Maelstrom," in life's rough sea, 

As a deadly asp, let all shun me. • -' 

•jft out of the way yon ale, ail sellers, 

And ruin no more of "the clever fellows." 

And now I tell you plainly, sirs, 'r- ■; j,_ 

'■ fis firm as truth,' or oaks, or firs," :' - •_ ;.• 

'you've led too many men astray, . :'■ ' 

Cut the pledge will knock you out of the way. 
'jfife out of way with your beer and rum, 
'-^r the law will make you "hop and hum." 

there's better work for you to do, 
Than peddle grog which all must rue; 
It covers ones friend all o'er with shame, 
■i''')p(ies his purse, aud b!asfs his fame. 


74 cotton's keepsake. 

Come sign the pledge, all you dram sellers, .. 
And ruin no more of the clever fellows. 

So "clear the track," and let them come, 

From al! their hrniuTy, whisky, rum. 

And thus atone for errors past, • :- ..n 

By heing faithful to the last. ■' 

A cheering word to old dram sellers, 

You yet may save "lots of poor fellows." 

You can do much, fall well you know, - .- 

To dry grog's hitter fount of woe. 

The fair shall cheer you with sweet smiles, 

As you expose grog-sellers wiles. 

Come sigu the pledge, all you dram-sellers, 

And provt, yourselves rijhi clever fellows. 

Now to conclude my comic ditty, 

I must exclaim, Oh! ichat a pity, -';'■ 

That clever fellows, and Chkistians too. 

Should fight our cause — would they were few. 

Get out of the way you clever fellows, 

You 're looked up to by the liquor sellers. . 

From pole to pole, the news shall spread, 
That children no whore cry for bread. 
When clever fellows through the land, 
No longer in our way shall stand. 
Come sign the pledge, like clever fellows, 
And stop the mouths of mean dram sellers. 
Come sign the pledge, like clever felhics, 
And help reclaim all j)oor dram sellers. 

TEMrERA2sCE. - to 


P.'^^ ni t>i.^ first Annivpr^.'irv of the De'^rhovn Tonnt.y "W. T. 
Society. Apothegm — "They'll go back to theii- cups." 

A TWELVEiiONTH ago our flag we unfurled, 
Cold 'Water ''redemption" proclaimed to the world; 
Our battalion contains some twenty-nine score, 
'"Come sign the pledge " friends, we 're recruiting for 

Who will never again " go back to their cups." 

'"The Temperance Reform" great good has achieved, 
A thousand times more than at first was conceived. 
And multiplied scores are reclaimed from their thrall, 
let many there are who predict their sad fall — 
That '-they all will again" "go back to their cups." 

And happy indeed, if this were but all 

They do to impede the great Temperance Ball, 

They use base intrigue to mislead them, and then ? 

They, liend-like, rejoice in the fatal hope when 

They all will again "go back to their cups." 

>\ hat degraded monsters those beings must be, 
'^Vho oppose the good work, in hopes soon to see 
Tlie reclaimed all return, bound fast by their foe, 
"hat they may again live on "mourning and woe," 
>^ hen all shall again "go back to their cups." 

"^•0 back to their cups!" nay, never, no, never, 
»-'ooner let soul and body at ouce part and sever; 

•76 cotton's keepsake. 

-T would less wound tlieir friends — 'twould less 

sorrow impart 
To the friend of mankind, 'twould dagger liis heart 
To see theni again *' go back to their cups." 

Cheer up ye redeemed, you've been faithful one year: 
Stick close to your Pledge, you have nothing to fear, 
You shall bask in sweet smiles all strangers to woe, 
•You shall live much beloved, and shall slay your old 

O never, I pray you, '*' go back to your cups." 

Think of the kind friends who have lent you their 

Shall their kindness and love be so cruelly paid? 
Will you blast all the hopes of your wives and your 

And join the mad revels of '-drunken parades?" 
Will you ever, dear friends, "go back to j'our cups?" 

If one now and then should most wickedly fall, 
Let this lat?l esample your poor hearts appall, 
Cleave close to "Cold Water," there's no danger 

there — 
Be much on your guard — be •• fervent in prayer," 
And you 'ii never again '• go back to your cups." .- ; 

You'll redeem your proud Pledge without blemish 

or stain, I 

Your usefulness here you shall ever retain. | 

You'll give life and power to'- the Temperance Ball," 
Make vain each report that proeluimed you would 

fall ; 
Will you ever? never "go back to your cups," ] 


Ilo! ye that proclaim salvation by grace, 

Vj'ith your strong wliisky breath, and your nua- 

coloied face, 
How dare you ar^sert your great mission Divine, 
>S-tii your NOSK tipt v.ith red by the fuLues of your 

wine ? 
0! fur shame — come away — there is death in the cup. 

And ye precious youth, be admonished, I pray, 
To dash from your lips the cup -while you may, 
K er you are aware, the die will be cast, 
0, escape for thy life — haste! you can't be too fast; 
For mourning and woe lie concealed in the cup. 

Ve pure, blushing fair, let us bask in your smiles, 
And boldly we'll brave King Alcohol's wiles — 
You can do as much good — shall receive for your aid 
A rich garland of flowers that never shall fade, 
When all have forsaken their haunts and their cups. 

To these of our friends who make, drink, or sell, 
Aud to those who stand back, yet wish the cause well, ' 
come sign the Pledge, now cast in your mite, 
To 'pose King Alcohol in a Cold Water fight — 
I Drown him out my brave boys — that FOE, in the cup. , 


I Lome old and eome young, come one and come all, ; 

i Come help us roll on the great Temperance Ball. ', 

I >V hen all are reclaimed, ye shall share in the prize, 

I -i'l^ey will rise up and bless you beyond the blue skies, 

I Pvedeemed from the sin, and the woes of the cup. ' 






Thk third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh verse?, I have added to 
mftke it expressive of my own sentiments, honc-itly, clenrly, 
and fully expressed. Personally, I would not only check the 
farther spread of slavery, bat would blot out at once and for 
ever that most oppressive and iniquitous institution. Were 
it legitimately in ray power, I would unloose every bui den, 
and '-let every captive go free." But leelin;T that I have 
neither the power nor the right thus to iutcrfeie in the 
Sute institutions, I leave that to the providence of God, and 
those whom He must hold responsible. Many already feei 
that responsibility, and in time, 1 doubt not, \»ill raeet it 
promptly. Lord hapten the lime. Amen I 

N. B. — For national hymn — Washiugton and Jefferson — see 
Ode depanment. 

Of all the mighty nations 

In the east or in the west, 
. This glorious Yankee nation 

Is the richest and the host. 
We have room for all creation, 

And onr banners are unfurled, — 
Here's a general invitation 

To the people of the vrorld: 


^ ' POLITICAL. ■ .0 79 

- 'T: --'; CHORUS. 

Tlic-n come alopcr, corae along, make no delay, 
('lyiiie from every nation, come from every way, 
Oar fertile lands are broad enough, no need for an alarm, 
Tor Lncle J?am has land enough to furulsh all u farm. 

The St. Lawrence forms our northern bounds, 

Far as her waters flow, 
And the Ilio Grande our southern line . . 

Way down to Mexico. 
From the old Atlantic ocean. 

Where the day begins to dawn, 
Clear across the Rocky Mountains, 

Far away in Oregon. 

Then come along, etc. 

j;7 Come and lake our lands in welcome, 
t? And get you each a farm. 
Be good and honest citizens, 

But do us no more harm. .)iv..i ■_ :'''■. 

For rura and beer and whisky 

We want no more of that, 

Come help us conquer alcohol 

And lay the monster flat. 

Then come along, etc. 

X-l You may worship God in your own way 
And none shall you molest, 
Using such forms and usages 
/ As seemeth to you best. 

But ne'er presume to undermine 
Or change this government, — 
To keep it pure through coming time 
We all are fall intent. 

Then come along, etc. 

so - cotton's keepsake. 

/ Come and make yourselves aeijuainted 
^ Witli our people and our laws, - - - 

And show youvnelves all wortliy . . 

• ^:^.; ,. Of honor and applause. . . :_ ,.•..„. 

. ^ '.^ TThcn you -G v::'ll i;:{brn^cd, ; " , _ ' ,^-.;^' 

If found worthy of the trust, ■ 

."' The rij^ht to zoA; we'll give yon, 
But tried you should be first. 

Then come along, etc. 

/ Our people claim \\\g right 

■v^ To rule this mighty land, 

, Till you become like one of us, : ■ 

And side by side we stand. '■-".■••■" . ^ - 
' Then we'll divide with you ' . ' . - 

Upon true, honest merit, , ; .; 

Those honors by adoption 
"Which we by birth inherit. 

Then come along, etc. 

"The clanking chains of slavery," 

A foul, disgraceful blot 
Upon our fair escutcheon, ' ' ' 

There longer should be not. 
Come help us cliccTz its farther spread, 

And keep the balance //-ee, 
And then repose in welcome 

Beneath our freedom tree. 

Then come along, etc. 

The South shall raise the cotton. 
The West, the corn and pork ; 

The New England manufactories 
Do up the finer work. 

. -."" POLITICAL. :--:~ ' 81 

For tlieir pure and flowing foiintains, 

Their rivers, brooks and rills, 
Are just the thing for T^asliiag sheep, 

And driving cotton juills. 

Then come alorg^ ef'^. 

Our fathers gave lis liberty, 

But little did they dream — ,• .*' ■"'• 

The grand results that flow along ,*,"'. " ' 

This mighty age of steam. _. y.- ,; 

Our rivers, lakes and oceans, • ^' ' ' ' V-' ■•'-r: 

Are all on a blaze of fire, 
And the news we send by lightning 

■ On the telegraphic wire. 

Then come along, etc. 

We are bound to beat the nations, ..\- . . 

For our mothers "go ahead," . . ;. .^ 

And we'll show to foreign paupers ; ' 

That our people are well fed. " - - 

We'll prove to all the nations 

Uncle Sam is not a fool, 
For his people do the voting, 

And his children go to school. 

Then come along, etc. 


Pkonocnckd at a political meeting, held at Rising Sun, Sep- 
tember 1st, 1^3-2, and piiLlislied by crder of the meeting, 
with the proceediDg-S of t'lie day. I introduce it here be- 
cause it produced quite a sensation at the time, subjecting 
Eie to l:if'h encomiums and to bitter censure and reproof — 

S2- ■ cotton's keepsake. 

a reminiscence of the eventful past. Another reason is, {«. 
show that while I fearlessly and fully avow my own p-> 
litical preference?. I as cheerfully accord to others ihi' 
same privilege wiihrnit censure. And for the same reas;ya 
I introduce a few national toasts. If they are a little (xM 
iw.I cuiiilc, CO luueli the better. Any thing tor a plcasic.^ 

Ol'K patriotic President dared veto tlie bank, 
And America's true sons, each warmly him tliank ; 
He boldly refused to re-charter the same, 
Hence, the sons of Columbia feel proud of his name. 

The friend of the poorman, his country's tried friend,. 
Will ne'er be for.saken while his measures -all tend 
Alike to protect the rich and the poor, 
When he varies from that, "sin lies at his door." 

The hero of Orleans has once been elected 

To lueside o'er the Union — and more than expected — 

Ability and skill he has clearly displayed; 

Yes, even to those who him President made. 

Let Clay and the bank against hira conspire, 
They can't put him down nor raise him much higher: 
Let us be indopeudent, keep our money at home, 
Re-elect Andrew Jackson and let aliens roam. 

Elect Henry Clay and the bank he'll re-charter, 
And we'll scarce find a President to veto it afterj 
"While "foreiirners and Clay"' united do stand, 
Our favorite old Hickory prefers his own land. 

Ye hard laboring, poor "mechanics and farmers," 
Ye '• merchants of commerce" and smiths with your 

Ye heroes who fought and who wish to be free. 
In Xovembor, rally to your oicn Hickori/. 

■ . ■'■-• POLITICAL. '■'■"■' 83 

V-;t stul, here's a, hmUh to the friends who say nay, 
V/hose true love of their country unites them to Chiy; 
Vti'l many of these there certainly are, 
Among our opponents, deny it who dare. 


General Jackson now and ever, 
lie would not let the Union sever; 
In the forum and in the field 
His country's rights would never yield. 
Now that he fills the chair of state, 
His acts proclaim him truly great; 
When he hath run his brilliant race, 
May another good citizen take his place. 

The next presidency — no foul play — 

General Andrew Jackson, or Henry Clay, ""'. 

May the better man be elected • 

(The other, of course, rejected). 

The minority submit and quietly obey, 

So peace be restored and strife die away, • 

And America flourish and for ever be free,— J 

Three cheers to virtue and integrity. 

To the virtuous and brave who have fought for this I 

^V]letiler friends of Calhoun, of Jackson, or Clay; :| 

Long life and great plenty, all honor and ease, i 

^es, every good thing be awarded to these. | 

^ 'ic-ii hiish every murmur, hard sayings begone! 
-^Jt-o think tbemselves right when greatly in the wrong. 

8i cotton's keepsake. 

Then tax uot their virtue, for reason relents, 
And reclaims with i^oft words and luird arguments. 
But, to the vainly ambitious whose hearts are not 

(^i<.1 *-> v^x-^- 0--Z arc cf the lihc tu he l\juud,) 
Not wii^hir.g them harm beyond the cold tomb, 
Let the following be their temporary doom: 
A gauz>^ pair of breeches and o. porcupine saddle, 
A hard trotting horse and let them ride straddle; 
And a very hug journey and no friends by the way • 
To welcome these yi^t^ of America. 


Lihe the pretty snow bird, it stichs by you through- 
out the cold and "bitter blast," when every other 
"feathered songster," — when all your "summer 
friends" have fled. " 

■;;- ■ -V Ci- r V 'iv;, ■^^»: 


l\ I'^Zo, I removed to Ne-srcastle, Henry county, Indiana, and 
M the instance of my friends, became the sole editor of The 
Xcircasile Banner. My connection with it was of short dn- 
raiion. For particidars, see " biography.'' While occupying 
tLc" editorial chair, I perpetrated and published in the Banmr, 
tbe following: 

• ODE, - r -.:■: 

_ v! TO THE :>EWCA.STLE BAXNEK. '. , "... 


The Newcastle Banner shall usher my song, 
Please lend your attention, 'twill not take me long; 
•'"•J ray humble muse, 'tis high time to awake, 
in truth and in rhyme a. synopsis now take, 
Of the Newcastle Banner. 

All the current news of each passing week, 
nlicther odd or familiar, we shall carefully seek; 
And our readers anon shall receive the best part, 
lu informing the head or improving the heart, 
Through the Newcastle Banner. 

Sectarian disputes, the scourge of the world, 
^iiall out of our ofSce with vengeance be hurled ; 
^iood subjects, well written, shall each find a place, 
■«>ut personal abuse shall never disgrace 
The Newcastle Banner. 



.86 " ■ cotton's keepsake. 

No pledge shall -we give, no one party sustain, 
But a little lor each, an insertion may gain ; 
There's good and there's bad, no doubt, on each side, 
By truth and fair dealing we trust v,e shall guide 
The N'-wr.o^tle Bnnne:-. 

Fair science and art may here speak their claims, 
How our bosoms elate at the charm of their names; 
Obedience and virtue to the laws of the land, 
Shall ever possess a primary stand, 

In the Newcastle Banner. 

Internal improvements shall all fostered be, 
And D. manufactures to their utmost degree; 
Turnpikes and railroads, canals and the like, 
Shall all canvassed be, both in black and in white, 
In the Newcastle Banner. 

A neat suporroyal will just be the size, 
With its coteiiiporaries it honorably vies; 
To the rich and the poor vadc mcricm it will be. 
At home and abroad by land or by sea, 

Then who'll take the Banner. 

There'll be pretty tales for your children to read, 
And such information as our patrons most need; 
Domestic and foreign shall each form ;i part,' ■" ■• 

Then subscribe C7t. masse witli a, liberal heart • '; 

For the Newcastle Banner. 

Uut the cash we shall want as it becomes due, subscribers, we trust, will be few; 
Delinquents ^11 know good people aldior, 
So our patrons, we trust, vrill promptly pay for 
The Newcastle Banner. 

■ '•' ■ ;• • EDITORIAL. '- ■ 87 

<^ti liilf* nood endeavor should dame fortune frown, 
J i^i for the GOOD WILL, -weUl keep our anger down; 
VV< Jt Tiait awhile longer, we'll twist and we'll turn, 
1 > ).cep up our credit, and advance the concern 
Of the Xcoca^tlc Banner. 

Cf^A doctors and lawyers, we would here just advise, 
T' liund us a FEE and we'll advertise, 
\u'l grocers and merchants, we want of you cash, 
for iTi-FiNG your goods, your silks, and your trash 
In the Newcastle Banner. 

V/<?'il go one round more for the sake of the fun, 
:.My impertinent muse wilt thou never he done?) 
liuz^a for the farmer, mechanic and all, 
.\riu never, never, do suffer to fall. 
The Newcastle Banner. 

■■n- *.'■#* 

Kind editors all, will please lend a hand, 
'^u«-t simply exchange, they will understand; 
'^i.iy friendship and peace pervade their whole ranks, 
TL<; like we'll return with our hearty thanks 
Through the Newcastle Banner. 

Tl on here is the health we offer to all, 
^•^Ithout whoso support the Banner must fall: 
M-»y they prosper and flourish and for ever be free. 
And their watchword henceforward this short sentence 
Success to the Banner. 



We hare said that we occupied the editorial chair but for a 
r short season. But we won a faiue in that short period 
■which some do not win in a life-time — that of being "no 
great scratch" of an editor after all — perhaps. If that 
opinion did at all prevail, there were exceptions to the 
rule, as the following, among other favorable notices, will 

lo the E<lUor of the The Xeiccasiie Banner— - . '' ~ 

roil noi 

- ■ ," Hespectkd sir, I beg y( 
■ A perfect stranger to allc 

His friendship for you to avow ^^. 
*^.^ sS' ' I" artless line; 

For vrell I know, I know not how 
^ ■ ■ '- To make it shine. .., . 

And I must own I have some fear, 
, / Before you, boldly, to appear, 

Lest you should think it of me queer 

To make so free. 
But if you should sarcastic sneer. 

That I shant see. 

And well I know my untaught speech 
Soars not beyond the critic's reach, — 
. And can not you amuse or teach 

Vrith strange or uew. 
Bat timiuly have made this breach 

To learn from you — 


Though my rude muse did beg and plead 
From letting you her nonsense read — 
I've mounted on the poesy's steed 

Prepared for flight; 
2}etcrn:i:icJ full, that sho ^li-Il load 

And guide me right, 

Now if to ride you feel inclined, 

Imagination room will find, 

To let you take a seat behind ;,: ,' 

And ride with me. 
Pegassus carries double kind, . ,,..;_ - , ■ 

As you will see. ' ' ' 

■A lengthy journey we'll not take, 
Nor 3'et each other we'll forsake, 
Until we some acquaintance make, 

In sober rhyme. 
Perhaps in livelier strains to wake 

Some other time. 

This weary beast so often rode, ; ,;,;, 

Moves sluggish with its heavy load 
From vacant minded's dull abode 

And thoughtless rest; 
Luless the muse with fancy 's good 

Can stir the breast. 

Prepared with paper, pen and ink, 
I'll slap down now just what I think, 
And try with rhyme to make it clink 

In measures span ; 
And aim its different parts to link 

As well's I can. 

90 ._ cotton's keepsake. 

I've been informed you have a ;?H3"lit, 
In prose or rhyme your thoughts to vrrite, 
And cm them either way Indite; 
With so much ease, 
• TUt ;;11 v,ho ufth.u. got a .\^l, 
■ - G^hey're sure to please. 

Beside 'tis said, in you is found 

A heart that does iu love abound, 

■ .■ With honest kindness compassed round. 

And social turn, 

' And wrong designed, not envy's sound 

Could there discern. 

For friends like these, I've ever sought, 
And in this case, to you I thought, 
An introduction should be sought, 

Trusting in you 
This essay not to set at naught, 
Scorned in your view. 

And if this bold attempt should fail, 
Pray put it not in t' other scale, 
Lest by its weight it should prevail 

Against the end, 
A.nd time when you I hope to hail 

As my best friend. 

And though so many friends you have, 
An humble backward seat I crave, 
W^bich with them, by 3/0U, might be gave. 

And from the rest. 
Unless I proved to be a knave, 

Not take the least. 

•■■ " EDITOKIAL. ' 91 

Throughout our journey hore below, 
As up and down through life we go, 
O'er hills of joy, and vales of woe, 

We ne 'er can see, 
One c:;ithly stroam of ■ ^v.ct^ to flo^r, 

From sorrow free. 

Should fate not snap life's brittle thread, 
Youth's frolic hours will soon have fled, 
Age following with \ii silvery tread. 

Advances on, 
To lay us with the lowly dead, 

Forgot and gone. . 

We scare can taste a single joy. 
That is unmixed with an alloy, 
E'en should we thoughts or hopes employ 

Of future bliss, 
Old Satan's presence will annoy. 

And frustrate this. 

While nature's hand does kind dispense , 
The joys that gratify the sense, 
I find none in her providence, 

I value more, 
Than friendship's sweet that flow immense, 

From that rich store. 

Then may we evil passions quell. 
And lionceforth ever peaceful dwell 
With brother men, and them compel 

The way we go. 
And with kind feeling, now farewell — 

I bid to you. JuNO. 

:vrov;.v, Mr.rcL20. 1S3G. 

92 cotton's keepsake. 

a2;swer to the fokegoixg. . ' 


SIy u>'K:xo"n"x feiexd : — 

I HAVE received your note most kind. 

Which under date of March I find, 

Wherein you say you feel inclined 
,. To be my friend, 

To my own crood I should bo blind 
/ iSot back to send. 

But "teill premise what is most true, 
I'll not attempt to rival yoa, 
•• Full vrell I know that I can't do, 
■;•. Hence I give o'er. ; 

Poetic skill you've brought to view, 

In days of yore. ■ > 

True I can write in prose or rhyme, 
There's no great difference in the time, 
But lay no claim to the sublime, 

In nought I do, 
Parnassus' hight I ne'er can climb — 
Not so with you. 

Oft rivalship of ill is rife. 
Hence I ne'er poetized for strife, 
Save once I think, in all m.y life, 

Then took the prize.* 
To 'tempt it here * * ^ ^ :j; * 
Would be unwi.>e. 

<■ Tbfi Icdia.-ia PaiLodiam : ona j';ar for a Nev/ Yc;ir'3 A.(id.-?92, ui IS'J'i. 

.-..'.. EDITORIAL. . 93 

But pufely out of etiquette, -. 

Mj pen iu ink forthwith I wet. ^ 

To answer yours pop doicn I sef, 

Though 'gainst my muse, 
And you may cither laugh or fretj 

Just as you choose. 

I will premise, you need not fear, 
That I shall once sarcastic sneer — • 
Believe me sir, I hold them dear, ; 

Those lines of thine. 
But dare not hope you will appear , ' 

To value mine. 

Your invitation I embrace, 

Though sure myself much to disgrace, 

BIy poetry with yours to place; 

But wont refuse 
The scat you say with modest grace, 

That's due my Muse. 

I shall be pleased to ride with you, 
Since you 've an honest heart and true 
That daily I may som.ething new ., , „ . 

Add to ray stock. 
I 'II take the seat you say 's my due — 

Nor ever balk. 

For I 'm informed, on learning's score 
You are well ^ersed in Classic lore, 
And well may claim to ride he/ore 

On Poesy's steed. 
On this we need to say no more, 

Since I'm agreed. 

J / ■- li ■. 

94 • cotton's keepsake. 

Indeed kind sir, you flatter me, ■ - ' 

And when eaeli other v.o shall see,' 

I fear you'll disappointed be, -' ' ' 

In your soug;ht friend. 
But nevor from you vill I flee, 
" • You may depend. 

As you're informed, such is ray turn, 
As all who will may soon discern. 
And daily more and more I loara 

To use all well, 
But base men from my presence spurn, 

Nor with them dwell. 

On friendship, sir, we both agree, 

There 's nought on earth more dear to me, 

From bitter strife I always flee, 

And refuge seek 
With those whose hearts from guile are free, 

And spirits meek. 

There 's not a joy that mortals know, 
While on their pilgrimage below. 
That will compare with those that flow 

From friendship's source. 
From this blest fount I will not go, 

Except by force. 

Then let us make it all our care, 
To shun each vain and hurtful snare, 
By daily watching unto prayer. 

While life shalflast. 
We'll sip our fill when we get there, 

Of love's repast. 

■ ' EDITORIAL. '" 95 

You '11 find a warm, v^arrn friend in me, 

Par nohile frafum let us be, '--■ 

Nor ever let us disagree, ■■.-■..■■. 

But dwell in peace: • 

And wlicn eacli other we sliall see, 

May love increase. 

Among my friends you crave a seat, ' 
Quite in the rear you would retreat. 
Such friends as you, I seldom meet, 

Hence you assign 
A place among the first I greet, • .". 

As friends of mine. 

You say you 've heard much good of me, 
From cruel envy you are free, 
And that myself you hope to see, 

Some future time. 
Believe me sir, I am as ye, "•l.>-'-. 

'T is truth in rhyme. 

And may T ever worthy prove, 

Of your unsought, yet priceless love, 

And journeying to our home above. 

With heart and hand, 
?-Iy unknown friend, let's onward move 

To Canaan's land. 

There purest joys for ever flow, 
And all are strangers there to woe. 
From glory they to glory go 

On streets of gold. 
How sad the contrast here below, 

As you have told. 

96 cotton's keepsake. 

I've t.'iken quite a pleasant ride. 
Since I behind you did bestride, 
Oa Poesy's steed and let i/ou guide; 

Should like to more, 
But can not, sir, — you v.-ound my pride 

Quite to tlio core. 

Since I 've got on you Beem distressed, 
Your sluggish beast you say's oppressed, 
And ptandetli much in need of rest: 

Who will may scoff. 
A modest hint, 'i must be coutesscd, 
'.' So I 'II get off. 

, But think me not, in humor ill, 

Though I thus flourish with my quill; 
I do remain your warni friend still, 

'T is all a pun. 
With merry laugh, I would you fill, 
And now I'm done. 

But should your beast e'er be rcfreslied, 
And friendly thought inspire your breast, 
As saith your 3[us-e, so have thorn dressed. 

And send them me, 
I 'II -view them as before expressed. 

As you shall see. 

You now must feel in merry plight, 
So take alone your lofty flight, 
Leaving poor rae quite out of sight, 

Gazing at you. 
So here's your health, no more I '11 write,— 

Adieu, adieu. 


niTinrrhad mnch experience in the scboolroora, I pive place to 
the following articles, in order to show what kind feelings 
should exiii. between the Teacher and his Pupils, to make the 
5 -hoolroora a happy and a useful place. And more than that, 
I think there is real merit in these juvenile productions, well 
worthy of preservation in any book — and especially so in the 
b-ook of their old Teacher. Mine will speak for themselves. 


Fvltjcted by Miss Alice Clark, an interesting little Miss, of some 
10 or 12 summers — corrected for the occasion, and sung at the 
commencement of a new term. 

>.;nooL is begun, so come every one, " ' ' 

With bright and smiling faces, 
^'•T happy are they, who learn while they may, ;,,.. 

So come and take your places. 

ilere you will find your teacher most kind, ,.■ % i;;;t.s!. 

And by his aid succeeding; • .'■ 

■lilt; older you grow, the more you will know, A,r;; 

if you but love your reading. . .- 1 

•I'lftle boys, when you grow to be men, I 

And fill :=ome honored station, 1 

** you saould once be found out a dunce, 
0! think of your vexation. 



And little girls, too, a kind word to you, 

To learn is now your duty — • 
Without — none will deem you worthy of esteem, 

Whate'er your wealth or beauty. 

Let us all then, young ladies and young men, 

Little girls and boys altogether, 
Be each in his place, with a bright smiling face, 

In fair and in foul weather. 

And every one try, with each other to vie, 
. In kind and in good behavior; 
And thus lighten the care, of our kind teacher there, 
And win his loving favor. - , .' 


- - ■ ■ BY THE TEACHER. 

My dear little Miss, for a tribute like this, ' • • 

So kind, yet so unassuming. 
You deserve great praise, all the rest of your days, ' 

I may say, without once presuming. 

Nearly forty long years, with prayers and with tears, 
I have acted the part of " the Master," \ 

And never found one, who more perfectly won j 

'^Ij love — or improvement made faster. \ 

How exceedingly dear, good scholars appear, i; 

la school — and evermore after. 
They seldom annoy, either a girl or a boy, 

By tricks — or mischievous laughter. , 


lint the eye and the ear and tlxo mind appear, 
Fully beat to make some improvement, 

III "tLo branches tauglit," just as they oughtj 
And do — in every movement. 

If your schoolmates dear, will only give ear, 

'i'o your kind and good admonition, 
Very pleasant hours will engage all our powers, 

In study and tuition. 

And 0, may wo meet, and each other greet, 

In the blissful realms of glory, — 
To meet you up there, is my fervent prayer, 

And hero I conclude my story. . . ^ 


,:• -■ BY DAVID P. KOW. i, : 

A "V^'ORD to you, my classmates dear, 

Before we all disperse. 
My thoughts you see, I've written dowoj 

And strung them into verse. 

If we come here to look about. 

Our teacher sure will say 
We can not learn — and better far, 

For us to stay away. 

We all meet here, week after week, 
With bright and sparkling eyes; 

And if we study as we should, 
'T will make us good and wise. 



100 cotton's keepsake. 

As learning is the greatest thing, _ 

That ever :nan possessed, - • 

May all that our kind teacher says. 
Upon our miuds be pressed. 

- ■■ If we'd be wise, or good, or great, 

We all must study hard, •' ' 

. Then living long, or dying soon, 
We '11 gain a rich reward. 

Our teacher here is very kind, 

And all should love him well, ' ". 

And for our fature happiness, . :: 

■ Make every fjuarter tell. ■',■ 

And now, dear classmates, let us try. 

To do as we are told. 
And then how happy we shall be, 

Nor will the teacher scold. . - ' 

And 0, I know, wc love him well, 
And well he loves us too, 
. So with these humble lines young friends, 
I bid you all — adieu. 



Mt dear kind pupil, I must say, 
Your composition is first rate, 

And if you by these precepts live, 

You'll surely be both good and great. 


Your admonitions are most true, 
And can not fail to do much good, 

If all will only practice them, 

As kind good classmates ever should. 

The kindly '-tribute" which you j-ay, 

Unto your poor old teacher here, 
Is very grateful to my heart, 

And ever will remain most dear. 


Go on and cultivate your mind, 

And store it well with "learning's lore," 

And }0u'll be useful, good and happy, — 
I'll not detain you to say more. 

And what I say, to you, kind sir, • 

I say to all both young and old, . . 

I love you dearly, every one, . , ,_, . 

And seldom need to fret or sr-old. 

Your time is precious as gold dust, 
Improve each fleeting moment well. 

In youth's bright morn — and may we here, 
In peace and friendship ever dwell. 

And 01 where'er our lots are cast, .,. ■ 

On the broad stage of human life, 
Let U3 in friendship ever live. 

Avoiding all that tends to strife. 

And when "life's busy scenes" are o'er, 
May we in peace lie doicii and die, 

And iu "the resurrection mora" — wake up 
To biiss immortal iu the sky. 

^. 'i 



The followiri? "Adieu" and '-Rkspon-r '' -were sunrr at the clo?e 
of niv school. The Adieu was selected bv Claka Collier, aa 
interesting^ little Mi>?, and corrected for the occasiou hy a 
friend. The Eespouse, by the Teacher. 


Air—" Fkoji Gk/.evlaxo's Ict MorsTAiK." 

.While the full tide of gladness 
Is flowing through each heart, 
There comes a thought of sadness, 
It is — that -^'e must part. 

The band that's here united, 

May meet no more on earth; 
This thought has hushed and blighted 
■ Our song and smile of mirth. 

We 'ye had the kindest teacher 
That pupils ever had, " 

His presence every morning 
JMade all our hearts right glad. 

And when %ve vexed or grieved him, 

How kindl}' he 'd forgive; 
His name we'll love and cherish, 

ioug as on earth wo live. 

Here will our thoughts oft linger, 
Where'er our "lots are cast," 

Till memory's fcel)le finger 
Shall fail to trace the past. 


Kind schoolmates, let us chorish , 

•'Tho precepts'' tauglit us here, 

And '-crowns that will not perish," 
We by and by shall wear. 

Pear teacher, may God's blessing 

Crown all your future days, 
While ''onward'" we are pressing, 

In " wisdom's pleasant ways." 

And oh! we hope to meet you 
In heaven, where all is bright — 

Where none who there shall greet you, 
Will ever say " Good Niyhty 


My kindest, dearest pupils, 

I gratefully receive 
The chaste and pretty "tribute," 

Which here to me you give. 

But oh ! I have no language, ■ -. 

To tell you how my heart 
Is throbbing — sighing — bleeding, 

To think we now must part. v 

We've spent delightful seasons, j 

In harmony and love — j 

(With very few exceptions,) j 

Like unto that above. 

I've ruled by love and kindness — 
Not with "the hateful rod," 


Appealing to your judgments, . 
And pniying unto God. 

"\Ve now must part asunder, 
To meet the ''ills of life," 

Be tossed, and tried, and tempted, 
Amid tlie "glorious strife." 

But never fail nor falter, 
" Whatever ills betide," 

You vrill come off victorious, 
With virtue on your side. 

"The paths of sin and folly," 
For ever 'void and shun, 

And as a ^'■deadly serpent," 
From '■'■ rv.m holes" ever run. 

Bright honors then await you, 
I know — ^^ I fed it irue ;" 

Let each his part "act nobly," — 
Dear scholars, now '■'■Adieu." 


Elizabeth Jackson', a very promising and intcrestiag little iliss ] 
of some Itj summers at the lime, concluded a verv beautiful 
Bchool-compositioii upca the Beauties of Nature, in poetic and 
harmonious number, thus : ! 

How glorious looks the god of day 
When first he mounts the sky, 



lie drivos all darkness from his way, 
Aud drinks the dew cups dry ; 

ilow modest looks the sweet pule morn, 
Vt'hen Sol has run his race, 

And iefc fjiir Luna io illuuie 
The sky with her mild liice. 

And there is brilliant Venus, too. 
The eve and morning star, 

sure this grand and splendid view- 
Surpasses art by f^ir. 

And then behold the thunderstorm, 
"With awful splendor— grand, 

The lightnings flash, the thunders roll 
Aud billows lave the strand. 

And when the storm has passed away, 

And all is still and calm, 
All nature sniilf-s and seems to join, 

In one thanksgiving psalm. 
The feathered songsters of the air, 

Vrarbling their mellow lays. 
Are beautiful to eye and ear, 

And fill the heart with praise. 

Then look we at the beauteous flowers, 

Which bloom to bless our sight, 
They lend their fragrance to the air. 

And fill us with delight. 
Thus comforts sweet and blessings rare, 

We have from day to day, 
More than I now can here recount, 

Or ever here repay. 


Then \vc should raise, with grateful hearts, 

Our souls to God in prayer, 
Vho i>: so very kind to us, 

And thank him for his care. 


- ;■ • ■-''. ANSWER. ■■ • ' ■ 

by the teacher. • ; 

Dear Lizzie: — ^ ■ 

Your composition, number two, 

Is beautiful indeed. 
The subject was well chosen, too, 
As we are all agreed. • " • '' 

A theme more grand and beautiful, 
More grateful to the heart, 

Could not be found beneath the sun,. 
In Science, Ethics, Art. 

The golden sun — the god of day, 
. . The modest queen of night, 

The stars that twinkle in the sky, 

And shine with luster bright 
Are full of beauty, and inspire 

Anthems of grateful praise. 
To Him who placed them thus on high. 

Our thoughts to upward rai<e. 

A contemplation of these things, 

Must elevate the mind, 
And I rejoice, to see that you, 

Are to such thoughts inclined. 


..r.i. !;i- -,.; .- 

LITERARY. ' l07 

To clieer you on your w.iy, kind Miss, 

Your studies to pursue, 
Ir t:ow my object and my aim, 

In writing thus to you. 

Kins; David, thougli he Avore a crown, 

'Was wrapt in visions bright, 
"When he surveyed the starry heavens, r. 

At morn, at noon, at night. 

These mighty works of God proclaim, ; . : 

That small and frail vre are, - ' " ■^■ 

Instead of being vain and proud, _ ' ■' '■' 
'TkiII humble us in prayer. 

'Tvrill lead us all to trust in God, 

Since birds, their food can't miss, 
And sou)e sip honey all the day, -' 

From flowers — with a kiss. 

Your manners and improvement, too, •,;>, -i. 

Merit my warmest praise, 
Go on as heretofore — and walk 

In wisdom's pleasant ways. 

And you'll be loved and useful here, 

And happy when you die, ' ' ■^'" ' 

And when the scenes of life are o'er, 
You'll triumpb in the sky. 

There friends and kindred whom you love. 

Are looking out for you, 
And tnere I hope to greet you all, 

Dear Lizzie now — Adieu. 

108 cotton's keepsake. 



Pecvit lue here to introduce anotlier youn^ laily of taste a-nvi '.; 
tilents to my readers. Several years ago she was one of n.y *' 
pupils, loved and cherished still — is now married, the motbi;c ;; 
of two sweet children, but one is not. I called to see her t'iit ; 
other day, and she showed me some of her poetic effusions in 
confidence as an old friend. At my request she presented ra* j 
■with one on con'untment. It is a gem for the beauty of its con- 
position, and much more so for its chaste aud pure, and bc-ly, 
and happy sentiment, and is especially worthy of attention ia 
these times of matrimonial disquietude and divorces. It will 
. speak for itself. 

A iiAPrY wife indeed am I, 
Though not of wealth I boast supply j 
My husband owns no mansion great, 
Nor may he sit in ''halls of state;" 
No " carpets soft," beneath our feet, 
Nor "easy cliair," with "cushioned seat," 
Adorn our little "sitting room" — 
And yet we have " a happy home." 

My love works hard from morn till night — 

In idleness takes no delight; 

His hands inured to manly toil, 

Feels not disgraced to till the soil ; 

Nor do I blush that you should hear 

He is by trade a carpenter. 

And though but little we may own, 

We have indeed -a happy home." 

"We care not what the world may say — 

LITERARY. • 109 

And oh! I'm riclier than a queen, 

For in his heart 1 reign supreme — 

A heart of purest honesty, 

Where lurks do guilo or trickery; 

And hence it is, tliough poor in life, 

I am indeed "a happy wife." ; 

lie may be wronged, but ne'er returns .. • 
An injury — for 0! he spurns 
Revengeful fires from his pure heart, 
Though keen should be "the traitor's dart," 
Ah no ! I would not change with those 
Who in their fame or wealth repose — 
For though no title does he bear, 
I'm pleased his humble name to wear. 

Content and happy every day — 
And who will dare my life gainsay, 
When they reflect that th' wise and great 
Of every clime and land and state 
Declare "God's noblest work" is he 
AVhose heart from guile and tin is free : 
All this in him I richly own, 
And can but have " a happy home.' 

Ah yes, we have a happy home, 
"Where bitter strife has never come; 
Nor may we cease to take delight 
In strewing o'er our pathway bright 
The flowers of pure and constant love 
Till in *Hhat better land" above, 
With our Redeemer we sit down, 
"Heirs of a kingdom and a crown." 


110 • cotton's KEEPSAKE. 

.• "LIGHTLY TliEAD. . y. - • 

.••' . , air: — "lightly ROW." ■ ■ 

The slamming of doors and the stamping of feet is a great annoy- 
ance at home, abroad, at church, and especially so in ibe 
schoolroom. I have, therefore, selected for my little readeis 
the following pretty little Poem, 'svhich I hope they will com- 
mit to memory, and not forget to practice either at homf. 
abroad, at church, and by all means, at school. 

Lightly tread, lightly tread — 
So our teacher oft has said. - - , 
Softly go, softly go— 
'Tis the law we kuow. 
Lightly tread the echoing floor, ' 
Lightly shut the slamming door. 
Lightly all, lightly all, : 

Let our footsteps fall. " ' 

Childhood here, childhood here — 
Comes to learn, obey and fear — 
Fear the wrong, fear the wrong — , 
Tis our strife and song. 
Thus shall love and filial fear, 
Mingle with our studies here. 
Pressing on, pressing on — 
Youth T.'ill soon be gone. 

Far away, far away, 
We may run, and jump, and play; 
Laugh and shout, laugh and shout, 
Childhood ringing out; 


Bat assembled liore iu school, 
Let us all obey tlie rule ; 
Lightly go, lightly go — 
Thus our lo\e we show. 

Study novr, study now — 
Happy hearts and healthy brow, 
This the time, this the time, 
I^ow in youthful prime; 
Wisdom, goodness, honor, all, 
Childhood to obeisance c^ll. 
Let us all, let us all, 
Listen to the call. - 


My scholars dear, to me give ear, , . -• 

While I to you relate, ^ - 

That you appear to rue most dear. 

The small as well as great. 
Though to me dear, great is my fear 

You 'II find cause to complain ; 
Though from the start, ray anxious heart 

lias feared to give you paiu, 

'^o do just right, I Ve strove with might, 

To govern with a smile; 
To lead^you up those steeps abrupt, 

The sciences beguile. 
lou've been to me uiost kind and free, 

^ly every wish to do ; 
Hence 1 can ne'er find those more dear 

To my fuiu.l heart thaii you. 

112 cotton's keepsake. 

Thougli part we must, I fain would trust, 

Tlie mem'ry of my name 
You '11 cherisli lonii'. in heart and song, 

As when at firsc I came. 
Nor night, nor day, I 've ceased to pray 

For your advauccmeut here; 
I say again, I can't restrain 

The parting sigh and tear. 

I think, alas! how soon will pass 

The pleasing scenes of youth: 
01 then, I pray, heed what I say, - 

And treasure up the truth. 
This world of woe, through which you go 

Is full of piVs and snares; 
Then be discreet, and as is meet, 

On God cast ail your cares. 

vAnd in his Book be sure to look, 

And '^ search" it every day; 
And with delight, each morn and nighty 

Renew your voavs, and pray. 
Let God be first in whom you trust, 

And he shall guide you well ; 
All you should do, and all eschew, 

Ilis word and Spirit tell. 

The fatal BOWL, which blights the soul, 

dusu at once away; 
'Twill ruin all, both great and small, 

And drain the purse to pay. 
"My country's hope," could I give scope 

To all that 's in my heart, 
I'd paint to you, in colors true, 

The drunkard's horrid chart. • 


LITER All Y. 113 

I The grief and woe, that gushing flow, 

f (At the poor tippler's fall,)._ 

s Fniiu those we love, on earth, above, 

I Sliould each fond heart appall. 

I Tlie brightest flower, when in the power 

^ Of those who malce or sell, 

f' Arc almost sure, if they endure, 

I To grace a Felon's cell. 

You will succeed, in rapid speed, " • - 

To rule in Church and State; 
And if I could, I'm sure I would -" . • 

Hear you for trusts so great. 
In fine, you must be hind and just, 

Thus merit a good name; 
This is the road ail men have trod 

To usefulness and fame. 

New teachers here, you will next year. 

Have occupy my place; 
■To them give ear — obey with fear — 

AVith your accustomed grace. 
Kev'rence the old, as you've been told — 

Your parents, too, obey; 
lour classmates here, to you so dear, 

Help onward in the way. '-' - 

j>ot not recess make you the less 

Fond of your book and pea; 
I>ut occupy, as the moments fly, 

Young ladies and young men. 
A learned mind no chains can bind — 

Its joys are pure and sweet; 
Add but this one — Virtue's bright sun — 

Your bliss will be complete. 

114 cotton's keepsake. 

Now brothers near, and aistefs dear, 

Unite with one accord; 
Make it appear, both far and near, - ■ ■ > 

You love and serve the Lord. 
Let love and peace with you increase — • ^. 

Let strife be done away; 
Then with one voice you shall rejoice -^ ?.. 

When here you cease to stay. 

And 'tis my prayer to meet you there, 

Where partings are no more; 
There through rich grace, God's love to trace. 

For ever, evermore. 
What high-wrought joy shall there employ 

Our every ransomed power; 
O scholars dear, to meet me there, . ■.. -■ 

, Resolve from this sad hour. ■. •.■ 

Observe my looks, and take your books, 

I bid you now adieu; 
It grieves my heart, that I must part, - •' 

To meet no more with you. 
Still I am glad I ever had . k . .'; 

These happy scenes with you; . ; 

'Tis ever sweet when you I greet — 

A joy that 's ever new. 

How sweet the note that oft did float 

Upon the evening air, 
When old and young rose up and suag, 

Then joined in solemn prayer. 
These scenes, alas! no more will pass 

With us together here; 
And here we pay, as well we may, 

The tribute of a tear. 



I voulJ prolong my humble song, 

And tell you hoNV wy heart, 
At every pore, bleeds more and more, 

To think we now must part. 
Farewell, YOUNG 5rEN', you've been my friends, 

In every time of need ; 
And, LADIES, too, I bid adieu, -. .-, 

}\o more to hear you read. 

TKe liffle class I will not pass, 

But take you all along; ' ' - 

May heaven bless my poor address, — 

Thus I conclude my song. :■ , -•-.'.: 

When this you see, remember me, 

And this last interview; 
May grace and truth bless age and youth — 

Dear scholars, now — adieu!!! 


■ '. . LINES, . ■ , i, 

Subjoined to a letter to my parents, containing a memento. 

When this you see, romembcr ine, - 

And bear me in your mind, 
And do not think, though far away, 

To you I feel unkind. 

Ah, no! I miss your watchful care — 

I mourn your kind embrace, i 

And fain would give all I possess , ] 

Could I but see your face. 

Kind parents dear, let not a tear | 

Disturb or mar your peace; ' - j 

For if the Lord shall make it cloar,^ ' j 

You '11 see me in the east. ] 

- I 
From thence I hope to meet you all 

On Canaan's happy shore, 
Where we shall see each other's face, 

And separate no more. 




^rlt'cii UTider adverse and di'scournging cirer.m3t;incos, 

I VK often longed viith anxious heart, and wished to see j'ou sore, 
I'lt liave abandoned near all hope of seeing you a' more; 
Kiiough I )>ave already losi, as you by this will see, 
To fit me out, and take me back to where I fain would be. 

Fhould not the scale in mercy turn, I ne'er shall see thy face; 
Yti I'm quite happy on my way — my song is all free grace. 
Keiigion — the charming theme! grace — how it cheers laj 

*.Vith it I 'm quite enabled with all my friends to part. 

Vet the thought of getting home to Canaan's peaceful shore; 
^VLere I do hope to see you all, to part again no more. 
T^i're to recount our sorrows o'er, all tears be wiped away; 
Ttiere all together we shall sit and chant the golden lay. 

Our absence and our longing here, to see each others face, 
^"iU only serve our joys to nerve when there we each embrace; 
*'! if I had but room enough, a lengthy tale I'd tell ; 
ior want I close, though 'gainst my will, so, brother, fare you 
well. A. J. CoTi'ON. 

TJNT:3 to a brother— No. 2. 

Responsive to a request for some of my Poetry, 1820. 

>'M-£ letter, dated March the 4th, in good time came to hand; 
'"'Ui which I learn thai you are journeying to that land 

tjere all is peace and joy, where friends no more shall part; 
'!ien go ye on and prosper — you have my hand and heart. 

11 8-' cotton's keepsake. 

■ " ' i 


Some of my poetry you wish me uovr to vrrite ; ij 

Your call I do obey with pleasure and delight; ! 

There 's nothiiij ia it beautiful — iiiy ^tyle i? a!\T;-.y; plain, [ 

And may be laughed at by oiy Irieuds. with you, Tray dowa ic j 

But let U3 eacls press onward, nnd daily bear the cro33j 
All earthly good beside is vanity and dross ; 
I'm more than e'er resolved to walk the narrow 'vvay; 
01 let us faithful prove, and for each other pray. 

.■ LINES TO MRS. COTTOX.—Xo. 1. , ^ 

Written at New Orleans, in 1828. 

1 IF I could, I 'ra sure I would for ever by thee stay, ; 

And do my part, with willing heart, and soothe thy cares away ; ■ 
It grieves me mueb, but ah 1 't is such my case wii! not admit, 
That I should dwell in my own cell,* and ever by you sit. 

But there's a thought, which I just caught, which does amount j 

to this: j 

Thy lonely fare, with so much care, will land thy soul in biirS. , 

'Tis there I do, along with you — our children in the ring — i 
Expect relief from every grief, and hallelujahs sing. 

These lines I've sent with full intent, and that you can but see, ! 
To ktow how you and I'ue children do, and you, how 'tis wi''^ 

Now, my dear wife, do guard thy life, as here I do thee tell; 
And vrrita to me first chance you see, and now, dear wife, fare- 

■vreli. A. J. Cotton. 

* Log Caljia. 

^....EPISTOLARY. . .. ' 119 

LINES TO Mr.S. COTTOX.— Xo. 2. . '^ 

W . '/- - Written at ^'atcbez, 1828. 

AsD no^r, ray dear wife, and my children most dear, ' 

For me grieve not, vent not one sigh or one tear; 
Kre six tieeting months shall have rolled their short round, 
At my own fireside I hope to be found. 

0! then let us 'wait, and for each other pray, ■ ' " • 

Ar.d this anxious time will soon pass away, 
\v'hen we shall recount our pleasures and pain, - ;■ 

And indulge the fond hope of not parting again. 

'T painful to leave you (even now my tears flow) — 
I love my sweet home — you know it is so; 
'T was duly that called me to wander away, 
And duty suggests that here I should stay. 

Here I have good friends, and am making out well, 

Vet my longings to see you no language can tell; ■.-'■■ -:■ 

1 rorn wh-it I have written, you can but discern, • : 

That so soon as I can, I intend to return. .• . -. ■■ -/. 

Cf-'old I fold myself up in this letter to you, 
' d return j>03t haste, depend, it is true; 
"ihe first chance I have, I will write you again — 
la the bends of affection, I, as ever, remain, 

Yours till death, , 

A. J. Corros. 




Written after a return from a, most delightful visit to my friends 
in iSlaiue. — 1829. . . 

I OFTEX call to mind the many happy hours, 
Enjoyed -R-ith you of hite beneath your friendly bowers, 
Saturnian were those days, our joys were quite complete, 
And 01 how much I long, again with you to meet. 

And if fugacity were subject to my sway, - '.-■, -. • ■ 

I'd visit you again, nor would I long delay, " _j, .._..?. 

For ! the anxious hours that are allotted me, 
And doubtless will remain, 'till you again I see. 

Ay I when I go to church, where all are joined in prayer, 
01 then I think of you, and wish you were but there, . . 

But then I think again, 't will not be very long, -'■' , 

'Till we shall meet above, and sing redemption's song. 

Oft in the midnight gloom, while in the arms of sleep, ' ' '' 

I fancy you I see, and only wake to weep, 

For soon, alas ! I find, those Utopean sweets 

All quickly pass away, when me the morning greets. 

The only real bliss, wliich here to me is given, 
Is centered in the hope of meeting you in heaven, 
There with our dearest friends who have before us gone, 
We '11 shake the hand of friendship, and join the holy song. 

And in the boundless sea of God's consummate grace. 
Forget our every pain, and see each other's face. 
In ecstacies unknown, survey the glories there, — 
Then let us faithful prove, and live a life of prayer. 

A. J. COTTO.N'. 



.... EPISTOLAllT. 121 


Written under similar circumstances. 

My mind how oft it soars aloft, on contemplation's wing, 
Nor lights ix^n'm 'till in the Maine, with each of you I sinjr, 
I call to mind, your love most kind, your convci-jatiou sweet, 
13c this my song, 0! how I long, again with you to meet. 

And if I could, I'm sure I would, fly back to you in haste, 
For 1 do long, to hear your song, and bygone x^leasures taste. 
Our meeting there, I do declare, was a rich and sweet repasi, 
My brother dear, I are you here, ! have you come at last. 

It does appear, sometimes as clear, as any thing can be, 

That still I hear, thy voice so dear, how sweet the thought 

to me, 
Tint soon alas! those phantoms pass, then fancied sweets adieu. 
Again I long to hear your song, and worship 'long -v.nth you. 

Ofl in the night I take delight, in visions, 0! how sweet, 
It is to me, for you I see, and you again I greet, ,, 

But when the light pours on my sight, the happy spell is broke. 
And then I sigh, to think that I, so suddenly had woke. 

. . ! 

0! if you knew my love to you, how oft my heart is riven, | 

Vou could not doubt one word about the statement I have I 

t".ill I have joys, which nought annoys, and hail the happy 

day, I 

^Vhen Mc shall fly, up to the sky, and join the golden lay. 

And there shall we, for ever be, shall shout our confiii^ts o'er, 
liirongli boundless grace, see face to face, and reign for ever- i 

^^ here streets are gold, we shall behold the friends wc loved so ' 

And shout and sing, to Christ our King, — now faro you well, 

my dear. 


122 cotton's xeepsake. 


"^*"" WRITTEX AS ABOVE. /' • . . 

! no^T precious it is to contcniplatc. 

The liappy hours enjoyed with you of late, / . 

An absence long m:^de it indeed more dear; 
Nor can I once, suppress a sigh, a tear. 

1 call to mind our hnppy meeting there, . 
Pure earthly bliss. I gratefully declare. 

Thy sweet embrace — brother! can this be you? . . 
What tears of joy did then our cheeks bedew. 

I fancy oft, that I can see you still, ■ .;.. v - '- 

With what delight it does my bosom fill, ' - : 
But 0! how soon those fancied joys depart, 

And leave to me a very pensive heart. '. . :-• 

And oft do I, in the dead hours of night, . . ■ ' 
While in soft sleep enjoy most sweet delight; 

In happy dreams I hear, I see you all ; ' 

But when I wake, 'tis vain on you to call. | 

0, if I had the power to fly away. 
How soon I'd hail another meeting day; 
I can not tell the longings of my heart, 
From friends we love how hard it is to part. 

IIow sweet the thouirht, we soon shall meet in heaven 
0, precious hope to us through mercy given ; 
For there shall we, through matchless saving grace, 
Shake hands again, and see each other's face. 

KriSTOLARY. ^ 123 

In Lliss immortal, vre evermore sliall dwell, 
Nor once repeat that fearful word farewell; - - , 
.■> irvoy all heaven with wonder and delight, — 
Nuiv iistcr dear, I bid you all " good night." 


Written At sea, homeward bound, after enjoying a second, and, 
u? it was then thought, in in all probability, the very last 
of the kind, in time. - 

sister! sister! your absence I mourn, ■ • • - 
As o'er the blue waters from you I am borne ; 
My bark rides nobly, with her canvas all spread, 
Yet many are the tear.^ which for you I have shed. 

1 pace the lone deck, I lean o'er the bow — 
0, what would I give to be with you now! 

The whale and the shark are sporting the while, 
And a tliousand odd sights my moments beguile. 

But there is no sight, no sound half so dear, ' 
As the sweets of thy voice, which oft did me cheer ; 
'Tis my daily repast to think about you, 
And 01 how it pains me to bid you adieu. 

Yet 'tis a exreet boon, far more precious than gold, 
To have such dear friends; but it ne'er can be told 
How dear parents and friends yet cling to my heart, 
And yet I am forced from them all to depart. 

Tliough I lorig to regai!! my distant sv.oot home, 
To rost from my toils, not soon more to roam, 
Y'et 0! how it grieves me to think we must part — 
It goes like a dagger to my bleeding heart. 


I call up to mind your great kindness to me, 
And ci'uld wish where you are there I ever might he; 
Ah, loni: shall I cherish, with heaj-tfe't deliL^ht, 
The sv,-eets of that visit of which I nuw write. 

Can language e'er tell with how joyful a tear 
We met and embraced each other, my dear? 
Sweet be the mcm'ry of that happy night — 
I weep o'er the scene while thus I do write. 

^. . How sacred the spot where first we did meet! 

How frantic we ran each other to greet! _ . 

And anon we forgot all our toil and our pain, 
Till we called up to mind we must soon part again. 

That time has arrived — our parting pcene o'er— 
And I never, perhaps, shall sec your face more; 
But I know that I leave you with a heart -warm with love. 
And hail the glad time when we '11 all meet above. 

I bid you adieu with checks bathed in tears — 

If ever to meet, not for many long years; ] 

With mourning and anguish my lieart is quite riven. 

But my cheering hope is to meet you in heaven. , ; 


IIow precious the thought, we all shall meet there, j 

If we earnestly seek it by faith and by prayer ; I 

There all of our wand'rings shall be at an end, ! 

Nor shall we more weep for " an absent sweet friend." I 

Then here is my heart, and here is my hand, 
As "a pledge" that I'll meet you in that happy land, 
Where we shall for ever with each other dwell; 1 

And now, sister dear, fare you well, fare you wolL j 

A. J. CoiTO-V. 

N. B. — In these letter?, there is a great sameness both in sen- 
timent aad in expression. I give them because they wero 


.«,ritttn to several sistfrs, and to show the pushing alTeo'.loii 
ciistiii;- between us; as also to show how easily the same sci>;l- 
Ui>:u'.s Ciui be exiuessed iu Jijleient poetic uumbors. A siiulLr 
mueness will appear in some of the other potms; becau-e. rot. 
dr»-.'iiiung of ever publishing them in a book, I have, wIilii cmii- 
Tciii!.nt, quoted from myself, and tan not ?iOv strike out if I 


I give a few only, which T have changed, from time to time, to 
suit; and now my friends may use them iu the same manner 
if they choose. Their composition amused me somewhat, 
and if they shall amuse any of my young readers, to their 
profit, my aim in their publication will be accomplished. 

To the cold State of Maine, where mountaius soar Iiigh, 
And where, at Thanksgiving, there's no end to good pie; 
To Portland, fair town, where I ought to be, 
And where "a fair damsel" is waiting for me; 
So, generous post-rider, take me with full speed 
To Louisa P. Cottok, who may open and read. 

Ln the mail that is owned hy old Uncle Sam, 
I wish for a seat — quite peaceable I am ; 
'T is but a short journey that I wish to go, 
And my stopping-place iu advance you shall know. 

For paper and ink, and wafer and all, 

Is to the postmaster, Isaac Beusaul, 

Of the town of New Castle, the fair couDty-=eat 

Of the county of IIenry, where litigants meet. 

12G cotton's keepsake. 

In tho State of I.v., t1ie fnmed hoosier jrronr.d, 
"Where peace and f^feat plenty profusely abound: ' 
So, generous: po~;t-riiler, take me v,itli full speed 
Qu the said Isaac Bedsaui. %vho may open and read. 

In him ^v'ho bears the U. S, mail, 
Through heat and cold, and mud and hail, 
And seldom e'er was known to fail, 

Do I confide. 
Please take me, sir, to Castle Xew, 
On the east bank of river Blue, '• - :. ■ ■ 

The county-seat, most surely true, . i 

Of Henry. 
Should any one your speed oppose, .' ' '. 

Just "touch him azy" on the nose, -. ; "' 

Or let your horse tramp on his toes — • >• 

Poor fellow! 
Or if you choose, most gentle rider, 
Just trump him down as though a spider — • ' 

Then swing your whip a little wider — 

Go Dobbin. | 

Thus go ahead with all your speed — 
To this advice will you give heed? I 

Yes! who shall break the seal and read? 

Jolm Bennett. 
Pshaw! go away with your " one-horso team," 
You're behind the times — v,e now use steam — 
That is as nice as '-ice and cream'' 

In hot weather. 

To THK Honorable A. Lane, at "Wa.-^hingtou City — 
He 's a con;rressman there — few men are more witty 

■ ■ ■'■ - EPISTOLARY. 12V 

T(.': anti-barvk horse Lane gracefully strode — . -.-. ; 

<-i»T every oppusition triumphantly rude. .. . • . - • 

]l'.i (ippi.nfnt -was, though doomed to a fall, 

A i;ian of fine talent;, and virtue withal; 

l-i:ie's friends ar<3 ^yell plea.-ed with the eourse he pursues; 

To liini, without doubt, this '11 be pleasant news. 

V.'ill the carrier please, for the sake of the fun, 
To ride as did Gilpiu till my journey is done. 

Halloo ! Uncle Sam, if there ain't a jara 

In the bag that jou use for tlie n^ail; 
Just stow me right in as nice as a pin, 

And take me along right away, without fail. 
Just put on the t-team to your •' iron-liorse " team, 

And hasten him on o'er mountain and plain; 
All day and all night, just " put him tlirougli " right, 

Nor slacken your speed this side of old 3Iaine; 
But when you get there, for aught that I care, 

Just hand me right over to some faithful friend, 
TTho '11 make no delay in sending me away 

To PowNAL, fair town, where my journey will end. 
There Sarah C. Kexxey, without dime or penny. 

Will fiirther dispose of me as she shall think best; 
If she open and read, to that I 'm agreed, 

After which I hope to " lay by " and rest. 

To iiiM who has charge of Uncle Sam's mail, 

I have some thing to say — please hear without fiiil: 

I am out on an errand of friendship and love, 

And fain would I hasten along; 
Just give me a ride in your swift whirling car, 

And I '11 give you the rest of my song. 



I 'm for Manchester vi 
In the State of Indian 
Then rush me aloii;^, a1 
To 31i!.s. 1). P. Cotton 


llacje, in old Dearborn county, 
. — prepaid is my boiintyj 
the top of your speed, 
wlio will open and read. • - 


" The heart, the heart was never made, 
To beat for self alone, 
Kor die within its dunj;eon shade. 
Forgotten, and alone." 

Is tbis department I had intended to record the naraos of all the 
parties, it has been my pleiisiue and "good tbrtune" to join 
together in the pleasing indissoluble "Bands of Matrimony," 
together with the original or selected lines, accompanying 
the announcement in the journals of the day. But I find 
that it wouM occupy much more space than I can, with any 
■ degree of propriety, appropriate to it. Therefore my readers 
must be content with those susceptible of a pun, and surely 
not one in a do/.cu is, try it who may. I have introduced a 
fevY '-out of my line," just for the sake of the /'!;n, which is 
mine, also out of great personal friendship. The unnamed 
parties whom I have married, will appropriate an 1 apply to 
themselves the following, among others of the same kind 
which I have often used. 

These happy grooms, these beauteous brides, so lovely and so 

^Yon from each guest a kind salute, a blessing and a prayer. 
may their course through life be smooth, and peace her 

radiance shed, 
And all the paths through which they roam, with pleasing 

flowers be spread, 



This beauteous bride, fair as tbc rose, 

And amiable as fair, 
"Was a jviccl briirht— to woe and win 

As all who know declare. 

This very sweet and lovely bride, 
llicbly deserves a lay, 

I3ut my 31 use 

Has got '• tbe blues," 
And will not sing to-day. 

Excuse me fair one, if you please, 
My Muse has gone away, 

I fain would ircai you to a jyiai, 
But can't, you see, to-day. 

Thkse specimens and these apologies, it is hoped, will be 
abundantly satisfactory to all my unnamed friends in the pre- 
mises. I give this department a place, because I never saw a per- 
son, young or old, that did not relish and enjoy a good pun. And 
some of mine at least, will come within that rule most assuredly. 
But to be healthful and pleasing, small portions only of this 
chapter should be read at one time. A dinner a/?of spice would 
be both sickening and disgusting. So gentle reader, use a little 
at a time, and then something more substantial — and it will give 
a better zest, and last the longer. These punnings have excited 
a great deal of innocent merrimeJit and amusement, r.s they were 
originally, and are now intended here. Wherever I could, I 
have altered a little, and blended two or more together, so as to' 
'• kill two or more birds with one stone." Editors have not un- 
frequently spoken of them iu terms of the highest commenda- 
tion, and praise, which is certainly a good index to the public 
taste and pleasure in them. I here give one little edit-orial out 
of many similar ones, as a sample, which I follow with an 
Hymeneal Acrostic, and then 1 shall proceed and introduce you 


to my punnings generally, simply naming- the parties with great 
brevity, and hope their perusal will prove -'a pleasant pastime." 
•'JiTGE CoTTOX, of Dearborn county, Indiana, has for many 
years enjoyed a very liberal hymeneal patronage. The yount^ 
podple flock to him to be joined in one, and he does the business 
with a grace" and ease that does honor to him. After it is over, 
he vrrites out the marriage notice and sends to the paper for 
publication, often appending very happy remarks. IJere are 
the lines he appended to the marriage notice of 'N^'ilson Wright 
to Miss Harriet True." 

Discreet and modest from lier youth, 

2sone surely need complain, 
Though this fair Miss T\-ith all her charms 

Will ne 'er he — True again. 

Aye why should one complain of this, 
As all the thoughtless might; 

Do what she will— a privilege rare — 
She surely will be — Wright. 


Mt much esteemed and cherished friend, 

I write you this Acrostic with 

Sentiments of the profoundest respect, kindness and esteem, 

Simply becaxise of its novelty and your well deserved merit. 

Perhaps my fair friend, that no period in the 
History of a young lady's life is more thrilling or 
Essentially nnteresting, than the moment when standing 
Before the "hymeneal altar" she solemnly, yet hopefully, 
Enters the " matrimonial state " and assumes its responsibilities. 

Entertaining these views as I most assuredly do, permit 

Me to congratulate you and all yours upon your happy espousal, 

132 cotton's keepsake. 

In common with your very nuincron? friends. > 

Loth as we are to lose your very agreeable society wc 
Yield our plea-ures to your personal Interest aiiJ happiness. 

Could the "fond hopes" aaJ "good wishes" of friemls avail, 
Luxurious sweets of the purest kind wouid crowd and crown 
All your happy days upon the earth — may you never 
Repent the clioice you have made, or the step taken — but 
Kept from all its bitter woes, may you enjoy all the sweets of 
life in rich and profuse abundance, as you so richly deserve, 
is the earnest prayer of your true Friend. 

Well, vrell Mr. Hymen now- you have done it, 
Elso there 's no truth in rhyme nor this little Bonnet 
Prett}'- well that — whether funny or cross — 
To change a fair Miss all into Ross. 

Philander Ross and Xancy Kelso, 
Alvah W. Eos? and Adaline "W'hiteliead, 
John 3Ios3 (Ross) and Elizabeth Jordan, 
Daniel Pioss and Emeline Pettigrue, 
Jonathan Pvoss and Sara'.i Roberts. 

Friend Jonathan at your request I've changed this Miss 

to Ross, 
And forthwith place her in your care, lest she should suffer 

01 treat her kindly for my sake, she's worthy of your care. 
May you together happy live, is ])0th my wish and prayer. 

Elisha P. Rogers and Lucy Ross, 

Zadok S. Bennett and Minerva Ross, M. Phillis and Emeline Ross, 

Erasmus Smith and Eliza Ross, 

James Talinan and Mary Ross, 

Eussel C. Frceland and Elizabeth Moss, (Ross,) 

John Bruce aikl Jane Ross, 

Adam Bruce and Alc}'' Ross. 


V»l)ilo Cupid paused to fix his bow, lest they should suffer 

Tlioso liappy grooms bound to their hearts a little prelhj 

Jloss, (Muss,) 
I have no doubt it answered well, and put their hearts at 

And happy surely they will live, if they each other please. 

N. B. This is quite enough for once, dear reader. '■-. 

Shubal L. Meader and Mary Rice, 
George "W. llice and Laura J. Fieldinor, 
John Dasliiell and Nancy llice, 
•^ Eufus Rice and Sarah Ferris, 
.. Elijah Ellengwood and Abigail Rice. 

James Rice and 3Iis9 , ' _ ■ 

Mr. and Lucy Rice, 

John Rico and Emily Roberts. 
Those "brides and grooms" alternately, with tastes refined 

and nice. 
Of all the pleasant fruits of earth, preferred a litth Rice. 
I have no doubt 't was wisely done, and made them all 
right merry, 

-Charles Axgevixe and Catiiurine Skaats. 
A mean, penurious, lUUe mind, 

Its prosperous neighbor often hates, 
But my friend Charlod is quite content, 

Just with his own new prctly Skaats. 

James Cooper and ^Iiss T>ai:livg. 
"Go it" Hymen, while you're young 

" Go it like a trooper !" 
Since you can change a pretty Miss 

Into a 'pretty Cooper. 

134 cotton's keepsake. 

JosEPu Kelso and ]Margaket Stone. 
"A prottv hard case," we a.11 have to omti, 
To suppose that affection could flow from a Stoxe. 
But Joseph knew more than most of men do, 
He won a fair Bride, kind loving and true. 

Joseph "\7niTE and Jane Lvnes; George Lyxes and 
LuciNDA White. 

Of all the dazzling hues, 
-■ ■' ^_- That sparkle in the light, 

■ - These brides and grooms alternately, 
Are all the time for ^YHITE. 

Samuel Lewis to Lucinda Wright; Edward Evans to 
LuciNDA "Wright. 

Uow many errors men commit, 

When marriage vows they plight! 

But my young friends, it will be seen,' ' ' \ 

Have wisely chosen Wright ; . , 

And yet, hy Hymen's magic power, ? j 

(Was ever the like before?) i 

Though he has wisely chosen Wright, ! 

That Wright is Wright no more. 

Jonathan C. Rittenhocse to Jane S. Angevine. 
A house and a vine are both pleasant to see. 
But the RIGHT kind of house and vine it should be. 
The fittest and Ijest that love could entwine. 
Is a fine Ritten-hocse and a sweet Axge-vine. 

The Bev. ^Ir. Goodwin to Miss Content Craft. 
Cupid! how thy bewitching molting darts 
Unites in one two pure and loving hearts; 
This joyous groom, with his fair sweet hlvsliing bride, 
Has thus launched forth on -life's uneven tide. 


His gallant Craft " Content," all beauteous to behold, 
.Mnre -{irecious far to hiiu than tlirice Iier wciglit iu gold, 
Will make his voyage o'er life's tempestuous sea, 
Tranquil and sweet, as '• summer evenings be." 

General Ciiarlks Mills to Mrs. Eliza Pkice. 
The General fought the battle well, 
"Which Cupid first begun ; 
. . - The fairest conquest he obtained, 
As fair as e'er was won. 
Each grand nianauver, all admit. 

He managed ver^- nice, 
And Hymen paid him for his skill 

The richest, sircticst Price. . - .' 

Natuan a. Hlrd to Dasiuell. 
'0! may tlie path of life bo smooth 

"Which their glad feet shall tread, 
And all the walks through which they rove, 

"With pleasing flowers be spread. 
! rna 7 the smile of Fortune cheer. 

And drive dull cares away, 
And every hour of life be clear - 

As a sweet morn in yiny." 
Thus may their days glide on in peace. 
And may their flocks and "Hlrds" increase. 

Fkaxcis Eiddle to Sakar M. "Ward. 
"Well, well, Mr. Hymen, 

You never need "hang up your fiddle," 
While you can change a pretty Miss 

Into a pretty Riodlk. 

William Holmt^s to Harkiet Amaxpa Hollixg. 
How many poor, in utter want, 
This broad earth sadly roam; 

136 cotton's keepsake. 

• .-- But tbis fair bride, it will be scon, 
,; .V ■-- , lias home, aye, liappy Holmes. 

JoHX r. Snetj. to E>rKLiNE Flixt. 
What a Hmc}', friend Snell, 

Though boiiutiful the tint, 
To choose for a bride . ■. . ' 

A pretty liltlc Flint. . " 

"Who but thou couldst perceive, 
Without measure or stint, 

Pure love -vrould gush forth 
From the heart of a Flint. 

Young gentlemen all, here 
I T\-ill give you "a hint:" 

A most lovely, s-\vcet bride 
Was the modest "Miss Flint." 

J.OFEs McOixxis to Eliza Axx MiRACLa 
What merry pranks has Hymen played. 

E'en since the days of yore ; 
He sports -svith names and Miracles 

Till they are so no more! 

Peter Platt to Susax X. aIillikex. 

Please tell me, you who know, 

(Those are excused Avhu can't,) 
How this man's brother is his uncle — 

His brother's wife his aunt. 
Still wilder pranks has Hymen played 

By the union of these twaiu; 
The mother of this hapjiy groom 

Is mother to him airain. 


Josiali Piatt, "long time ago," " .' 

iM;irried a _/c(/' daaisel, even so, eveu so; 

Thou old Ml-, riatt— \yhat a twister!— 

Soon afterward married Lis son's wife's sister ; 

And now gallant Peter not lonj^ did loiter. 

Till he took for his spouse Ids step-mother's daugliter; 

So now, luv joung friends, I 've 'sr>!ained the whole riddle, 

If you can't understand it, you ain't worth a fiddle. 

CoLriiBus C. Pease to Eachix Coxgep.. 
In this gay world of fruits and flowers. 

There's naught that some will please; 
But 'twill be seen this damsel fair 

At least is fond of p£AS£. 

WjiLiA.'.r Duxx to ^Mahcarkt TvIrLLik-EN-. 
.The raiiibow's rich and golden hue — 
The orange, .violet, and the blue; - ' -• ' 

Take these rich colors every one, ' \ 

And naught delights this fair y'.'ung miss, - | 

At least not half so much, as tuis — j 

A brilliant, neat, and livin ' '■ Ll'nx." 

Erasjics D. Hathaway to YA.n.\ A. Raxsov. 
This happy, joyous groom was abotit twenty-nine — 
'Mazin' near as you see the "old baelielor" line; 
Eut the blushing sweet bride gave herself a fair R.\xsoii, 
And thus rescned her friend most handsomely handsome. 
'"T was a pleasant affair, and the parties well matehed — 
The priest, ever rearjj/, soon the businc-s dispatchrd ; 
All their friends were well pleased, and each greeted the 

With many a ^J:arni blessing, and a sihrd warm prayer, 

138 cotton's keepsake. 

Ira Tixkkr and Ella McMullix; Samuel Tjxker and 
Miss JjIkely. 

Kovr, Hymen, you have done it, sure, 
Else I am no good thinker; 
.Change so fair a damsel, eh 1 

Into a prelii/ Tixker! . ' ' ' . ■ 

RoBEKT D. BRoirx and Elizabeth Coxttay. * - 
Of all the bright and gorgeous tints, 

In nature, country, city, town, 
This happy, neat, and "beantous bride," 

Is most delighted with a Browx. 

Teter C. Taylor and Catu.uune Parous. 
"An adage of old," is something like this, 
"AVe make our own fortunes," not so with this Miss. 
She trusts all to her Taylnr, and "whether foul or fair," 
As he shall "cut and make," she now v.-ill have to -wear. 

JoHX AVelmer and Catharixe Bird, (both elderly.) 
This bride must have a husband kind, 

No matter Avho may gvin or laugh, 
Or else that adage is not true. 

You can not catch "old birds with chaff." 

Jcseph IIuxter and Kiioda Coxger, Philip II. Huxter 
and Ma_rtha Crouch. 

Pray Mr. Hymen just by what rule. 
Was it your own or "Guuter's?" 
You learned these brides so soon to bo 
Such nice and ^;-e^/y IIuMEKS. 

Davit) B.arkdoll and Eliz-Iseth Lake. 
This groom has won a fortune fair, 

lie has without the least mistake/ 
Ilis wedding portion as you see, 

Was a vhole, nice pretty Lake. 


Blackley Siioemake and Mekcv Peest. 

Thrice liappy man by fortune blest — 
Instead of cures, by Mercy Phkst : 
His days will all glide smoothly by ; 
Mercy her utmost e'er will try 
To wipe the tear from sorrov.'s eye, 
Till he or she is called to die. 

As both of the following parties have become eminently 
honorable and useful, and "far-famed" withal, it might per- 
chance not be agreeable to thern to be noticed in this manner, 
end so I leave you all to gui^ss if you can — a fruitful and an 
amusing theme for conjecture. Don't all guess right the first 
time now — though I should not wonder if you did. 

Mr. M and Miss S . -. 

Two elevated minds, 

Of pure and noble hearts;, 
Have fallen each an easy prey, 

To " Hymen's picrcbig darts.' 

But friends do not repine, the}' rather do rejoice, 
And all most heartily approve the wisdom, of their choice. 
May picre "domestic bliss" crown all tlieir earthly day 
And they hereafter re-unite redeeming love to praise. 


Dr. Leroy and Miss Bowers. 

"Well!' well! upon my word if that don't "beat the Jews,'' 
In these 'ere times when all are broke, or tijlitly "feel tho 

Thus to be freed from cares and woos by nvmen's " magic 

And then so sweetly to enjoy one's oivn ddighffid BowzKS. 

140 cotton's keepsake. 

JoJTS A. Harpham and Marv F. Lyxx. 

All men 'tis said do lack a rib, which tin.-}' should each 

Of such materials as shall seem mi:'3fc ploa^Inir t" the eye. 
One prefers ihis — another i/t>i{ — and happy tho^o who win. 
Of all on earth friend Harpham, chose a neat and pretty 

Lynx. - 

Zepiiaxiau IIecstis and Elizabeth Steel. 

Zeplianiah ! Zephadiah ! . - 

How your poor Ma mu?t feelj 

To think her dearest son 

vShould be inclined to Steel. 

William "Whitxet, of 2>Iaine, to Jane Fox, of Ind. 
Of Mr. "Whitney it may well be said — that 

He journeyed far from his native place, 
From those low yales and towering rocks. 

And gave to fortune "a successful chase," 
And lo ! he caught a pretty Fox. 

Thomas Slack and Mary V^est. 
Dear Mary I would fondly liope, 

That you will never suffer lack, 
Though your husband I am sure, 

"Will " remain for ever " Slack. 

Lewis Hunter and Maria Martix. 

This sportsman, 01 with what delight. 
O'er lyll and dale pursued the flight, 
How long " the chase," I am not sartin. 
But this I know — he caught the Martin. 


William Briggs and Isabella Rowe. 
Of all the pretty crafts that float, 

Or sailor ever rigs, 
This pretty bride as here you see, . 
Invests her all in Briggs. 

Addison CiiAXDLKii and ^Maiiv E, Hedge. 
Afleotion 'tis a tender plant which we should well enclose, 
For though most lovely in itself, it still has many foes. 
True wisdom then my friend has shown as well I may 

For he has planted round his heart a ?iea/ and j)rcft;/ Hedge. 

Joux C. Moore and Butu Dom'den, Levix S. 3Ioore and 
Mary An.v Dowdex. 

These fair young ladies, full well I know, 

Had goods and cash in store, 
In great abundance one would think, 
But still they wanted Mooke. 

"Well, more they got, I know that, too, but still as 'twas 

before — 
They were unhappy all the time unless they could have 

My saucy Muse now 1 don 't choose to hear " one single word 

more" — 
If you don 't mind, right soon you 'II find yourself kicked out 

of door 

Peter Plattee and Sakah McCnACKEy. 
Said Cupid unto Miss one day, ask of me what vnu will, 
And if it be within my power, promptly I'll "till t!ie bill." 
That is n\ijst generous to be sure, indeed "1 would not 

"Well, all I ask you to bestow is just one single Platter, 

142 cotton's keepsake. 

John Ma?tjn and Louisa Dean'. 
• ■;. s ~ ' ^'^ sweet a bride 
I ■ . • ■ . • As fair Miss Dean • 

■ ■ Could scarce be beat 

By " Yic. the Queen." " . j 

Jonx Seely and Clemextixe B. Cook. 
In the parlor, in the kitchen, • ■•, • •- •.■ ._.,■• 

Yes, or wherever you may look, .■ ' ' . ' 
There's nought makes home more blest and happy 

Than a nice, neat, jjrellij little cook. 

Moses Cook and PiiiLr.VA Hawk. 

"When Cupid bent his l;ow and sped his df.rt, 
To bring this keen-pyed bird with gushing heart. 
Close by his side friend Moses stood, 
And clapped his hands, and shouted good! good! 
The priest wdio joined this happy pair, 

Has made a world of happy talk, 
For he would neither dine nor sup ; ■ 

Till he had CooK-ed this pretty Hawk. 

Jonx P. Llmox and Kate C. Pixk. 
My stars ! dear only think, a Lemon and a Pink, 

Unite and blend in one, 
To meet the "ills of life," as husband and as wife, 

'Way down to Rising Sun, 
The Pink's a pretty flower, a Lemon rather sour, 

"Will make a pretty tart, 
And give a pleasing zest, to sweeten all the rest, 

If truly "one in heart" 
O! may they each pursue the paths of virLuc true, 

, And ever happy be, 
And at the close of life, wind up "the mortal strife, 

In love's unbounded sea, 


And sail the orean o'er, on that immortal shore, 

"Where all is peace and love, 
And -with a golden lyre, join the triumphant choir, 

In realms of bliss above. 

Nicholas Echmax and Eva B. IIerking. 

What freaks of fancy and of taste reveal thejnselves in life, 
And often do such things occur in "hunting up a wife." 
I hope 'twill turn out in the end tliat Nicholas was un- 
When he chose him for a bride a pretti/ little Herring. 

Fraxcis M. Jonxsox and Mary Davis, Williaji Jex- 
KESox and Emily Davis. Both at once. 

The fair goddess of May, in her floral robes clad, 

Could not have looked more lovely — why, "all nature 

seemed glad;" 
The warm greetings of friends, from hearts most sincere, 
Illumed the gay scenes, and gave it "good cheer." 
'Twas a season of joy to all who were there — 
The viands were ample, and most sumptuous the fare: 
May the sunshine of plenty attend them through life, 
ALnd they ever be strangers to "contention and strife," 
Is the prayer of MAXcuEsitR Bard. 

David Porter and Miss Lucinda Balbridge.. 
'Twas Hymen's hmi to "treat this time," 

As an Hymeneal sporter, 
W^hat will you have fair Miss ? said he, — 

just a little Porter. 

Gilbert Platt and Elizarkth X. Wilcox. 
Said Miss unto Hymen, will you jileaso change my name? 
You've a fair one now, my nice pretty dame: 

144 cotton's keepsake. " 

That is all true, full -well I know that. 

But I would much rather be called Mrs. Platt. 

The case was made out, and Hymen complied, 

So far as to change into a Bride. 

When your kind frieud hands Judge Cotton that — (tli/" 

He'll soon~ change your name, and ycni all to Platt. 
'Twas done at a word, and a fairer sweet bride,. 
You scarce ever would find in many a year's ride. 

Ste\'ex Y. Potv-ELL and Mart M. Cross, Myrox Hay.ves 
and Celestixe Cr.oss. 

Young gentlemen do n't once complain, . ' 

Should joy and peace all go to loss, • : 

What else indeed could you expect, 

In chosing wi%-es you knew were Cross. ' • 

But then the promise comes in here, 

He shall by no means suffer loss, 
Who does his duty faithfully, "' - - • 

Nor shuns, but cheerful takes his Cross. 

George H. Duxn" and Aliiafjxda Slater. 
When Cupid hurled his melting darts, 
At these two pure and loving hearts, 

He thought to have such "lots of fun," 
But this fair Miss as all may know, 
Paid him his due for intruding so, 

Then blushing sweetly said I 'm Dlxx. 

Reitbex FREE^u.x and Mart Jane Pkkst ; Edward Fki 
MAX and Paulixa H.uilixe. 

These happy brides both scorn to bo 

Piuled by a tyrant demon, 
There's nought to them worth living for, 
Except to be a Freeman. 


"Willia:s[ C. Kxapp and Eliza Hults; Thomas Craiq 
and ^L\UY Kxapp. 

While Cupid strung liis unstrung bow, 

To make his arrow snap, 
This bride aud groom alternately, ' - ' 

Just took a prei/tj Kxapp. ' ■ 

JoKL Bledso and Sakau Jaxe Swan. 

Of all the pretty little birds 
That flit o'er hill or lawn. 

My friend, vou see, prefers by far, 
A pretty little Swax. 

Daxiel Plu.m^ikp. and Eliza Huxt; !Mvrtix C. E-s\-banb: 
and Mary IIuxt. 

To say these grooms were "fond of game," 

I can't in truth, and won't. 
But this I know, each of them once. 

Did take a pretty IIuxt. 

Charles Axgevixe and Cokxelia Davexport. 

Now all along " the sea of life," 
You will find many a pleasing port. 

But none more fine and beautiful 

Than this same fair Miss Daven-foet. 

Sylvanus ITall and Eliza Mathews, 
Samuel Beggs and Fraucesetta Ilall, 
Benjamin Hall and Emily 31. Ilicklin, 
Joseph Ilall and Ann 11." Collier, 
Thomas C. Hall and Mary Ann Beggs, 
Absalom Hall and Riioda Heustis, 
Hezekiah Hall and Ann Ellis. 

146 cotton's keepsake. 

Mathevv Hall and Mary Scott. 

Fine mansions, poor houses, 

Or no houses at all, 
These parties are all sure 

Of a very line Hall. 

Rev A. J. Cotton and Dolly [Dorothij) P. Noyes, 

Capt. Benjamin Sylvester and Sarah Xoyes, 

lion. James P. .Milliken and Priscilla Xoyes, 

Peter C. "Wilcox and Eliza Noyes, 

Ephraim Crouch and Martha Xoyes, 

Amasa Siw\er and Mary X'nyos, ' •., 

Andrew L. Morris and Lueiuda C. Xoyes, - 

George W. ^lurris and Sarah Jane X^'oyes, 

Alden II. Jumper and Amanda X'oyes, 

Abner Tibbetts and Pully Xoyes, 

James Selders and Augusta Xoyes, - / 

John Freehind and Jlollen R. X^oyes, 

Elmer Garrigus and Dorothy C. X'oyes, 

It seems that Hymen has his freaks 

The same as other men, 
Just call upon him ^hen well pleased, 

And he ^11 oblige you then. 
These happy grooms were all, " in time," tired of a sin-:^Io 

life — 
They called to see if Mr. Hymen would just treat them to a 

Their hearts within them leaped for joy when Hymen 

ansv.ered yea, 
But still I think, my dear young friends, there is a better way. 
Of all the ladle? on the globe, I'll give yovi cai-h his choice. 
Bless you, thank you, my good sir, of course I '11 take 3Iis3 


And fairer brides you 'U seldom see than tliis or that Misi? 


And all most heartily approve the \\i;dum of their choice. 


The last named couple were the last I ever ruarried, and in ;vll 
human probability the last I ever shall. During my protracted 
illness, the business has gone into other hands, and feeble and 
old as I am, I can not, and do not expect it ever to come back 
to me. Well be it so, I am both happy and content — my cup 
is full, and I cordially give place to others. Two parlies in one 
day will do pretty well to quit on, wont it? On the same day, 
and only a few hours earlier, I had the pleasure to join William 
}:obinson and Rebecca Oldham in " IVic silken He thai binds 
iivo ivUling hearts." , • 

This very fair and lovely bride richly deserves a pun, 
But Muse has tried his best, nnd Just can't make one; 
Miss Lotte now is all that's left, auothcr jewel rare, 
And he who wins her fur a bride, wins something nice and 

And this is "what the shoemaker threw at his wife." The 
last and all (awl.) 

Well, I have had a most liberal Hymeneal patronage in my 
time, and have enjoyed it finely, you may be sure. 

To see these happy and delighted grooms .as they lead to the 
Hymeneal Altar, trembling, joyous, beauteous brides- gorgeously 
or neatly decorated and adorned, with their modest temples 
tastefully ornamented, or gracefully shaded with their "rich 
and flowing tresses," with heaving bosoms and with sparkling 

Eyes lite t^ in stars behind some cloud, 
That comes their biiliiaut light to bhrouil, 
IJich treises of the auburn -low, 
Free ■waving o'er a brow of snow ; 
■With happy besoms heaving, swtlling:, 
Where Cupid claims and holds bis dwelling— 

is ever to me a luxury and a treat, solemnly, yet pleasingly 
interesting and delightful. Three couples in a day. five in a 
■week, and thirteen in a raunth, is what maybe termed "putting 
in my best licks." And now as 1 started out with an editorial, 
I will also conclude with one. And here it is; 


"The appearance of early -n-inter has driven the youngsters 
about Manchester to despf;ration. No less than five couple were 
united in the holy bands of matrimony, by Judge Cotton, last 

But alas! alas! . 

How m;»ny a joyoiig, beantecitis brMe, 

How many a bapj'y groom, . " . 

^ . '^ ' Have passed from earth arid fiitnd~ away, - - • -. 

ir . . To slumber iu the tomb. - -.-'.• 

■ ^ ■ '. - . ' 

Finally, I ■will here give one very "tall Ilynieneal punning 
snap" that I once got into, and then I'll quit — I will. While 
at Indianapolis, several years ago, I was " an iuvitei guest" to 
a tea party, at the Rev. John C. Smith's, who is extensively 
known as an eminent Minister of the Gospel of Christ. After 
the " introductory ceremonies " were over, one of the ladies 
said: Judge, I have often been amused and entertained with 
your Hymeneal punnings, which I often find going the rounds 
in the papers. Now Judge, sister Smith here has been married 
only a few weeks, suppose you treat her to a pun. Icebergs, 
cataracts, and whirlpools — what a fix! ! I 01 that I had not been 
invited, or had not been able to attend! But there I was, and 
"in for it," and must get out the best way I could. A failure, 
or even a seeming delay, would be fatal to my punning rcputa- 
tation. What I did, I must do quickly. And I "pitched in" 
forthwith, by saying, well, ladies, how will something like this 

In this giy world of rich delights, 

There's much each taste to please, 
The rc:iaring of the cataract, 

The waving: of the trees, 
Tlie wide exteuded verdant plains, 
■'1, The miisic of a rill ; 

' •■' : ■■ But most of all my friend admires, ' V ' 

A neal and ^nUtj HlLL. 

And, I do assure you that that took me out "clear as a quill." 
Sister Smith blushed sweetly and modestly, and al! the ladles 
waved their handkerchiefs and clapped their hands for joy. 
And, of course, I was " the lion " of the' day. But the end was 


not yet, as the Hon. 0. H. Smith says in his pleasing '•' remi- 
ni-eeuces." In the niorniufr, as the fates would have it, Brother 
Smith called upon nie at the court ruoui, (tor I was attending 
the United States Court,) and said his hidy would foci much 
obliged if I would write down those lines for her. certainly, 
sir, with the greatest pleasure. Well. Judge, said he, here is 
the Rev. Mr. Berry, one of our cit^- nsiuisters, who was al-:-o 
married a short time ago. Can you do any thing for Brother 
Berry? And there stood Brother Berry, and Judge McLean and 
others, waiting court hour. 01 that I had gone home in the 
morning early— or that, like Alexander Selkirk, I were an iu- 
Labitant of some lone island that slumbers upon the bosom of 
the mighty deep. 0! that I had been in the moon, or almost 
an}- where else; but there I was, and forthwith rolled up my 
sleeves and " pitched in," as though nothing was the matter. 
Since you desire it, I '11 try. IIow will this do ? 

Thoso who are greedy to r^ossess 
More than their share of ^od 
Endanger all and fool thiDiscdves, 
..-'■'' . - _^ ^ Just as such people shmild. 

But tliis fair Jliis,, it will be seen, 

Is very modest — very — 
For slio is hnppy and cou-l-.nt 
With just cue single i5F.KBT. 

"Well if that did n't raise quite a shout and a clatter, I would n't 
say it, and none seemed better to enjoy it than Judge McLean 
himself. My trusty Muse played her part well. But before I 
had time to congratulate myself upon my punning conquest, 
what should Brother Smith say, but. — well. Judge, I have one 
more case for you, and if you can make any thing out of that 
I should like to know it, and then Lll "let you up.'' In this 
city a short time since, a ]Mr. Green married a Miss Pica. 
"Hail Columbia!'' Caverns and volcanoes! what a fix and what 
a case. Well Brother Smith that is some surely; but as I never 
yet was stalled, I'll try it, " hit or miss." And it came out a 
double pun, and the richest of the lot, and scared up '■' a perfect 
hurra's nest," and no mistake. 

150 cotton's KEEI'SAKE. 

Vhat various tastos Jo men disphty 

lu the amtirs .>f life, 
AikI otUl iin'i iiKUiy are their froaks 

In clioi);:in^ out a wife ; 
Auil tbus ray fricud a little Green, 

Ai if to run some ri;^, 
Chose fjr Lis own sweet bosom frieud, 

A prtlftj littU — PiGd. 

And then "I sloped" — I did— and so I will now. 




CAXTO I. - ; . •• \ ■" ■ 

give place to a full jury of Odes, and my friends must let me 
up at that for lack of room. They are quite leugchy, but 
could not well be otherwise. 

Awake my muse, the Sabbatli Schools 

jS'ow chiim a lay from thee ; 
And teachers, as "your work of love," 

3Iy ofl'eriug is free. 

Soon will these boys become "young men, 
These girls "young ladies too," 

Their moral culture for the time, 
Entrusted is to you. 

The first impressions that are made, 

Are lasting as the mind, 
See to it then that every one 

To virtue be inclined. 

'tis indeed a tender charge, 

. To have the care of youth, 
To lead them from the "hauuts of vice," 
In all " the path of truth." 



And yet it is a " pleasing task," 

Those lessons to impart, 
That strengthen and improve the mind 

And purify the heart. 

Eternity alone can tell -'■ 

The good you will have done, - "' 

Then onward roll the enterprise 
Rejoicing every one. 

CAN-TO II. . - 

Now scholars dear I pray you all 

Hallow God's holy day, 
And love your school, your teachers, too, 
, Who often for you pray. 

Let God be first in whom you trust, 
And he shall guide you well, 

What you should do, and what eschew, 
Ilis word and spirit tell. 

The precepts that are clearly taught 
In God's most precious book, 

Would comfort and sustain you all 

Though heaven and earth were shook. 

I think alas! how soon will pass 
The pleasing scenes of youth, 

And what I now do say to you 
You '11 find to be a truth. 

This world of woe through which you go 

Is full of'-' pits and snares," 
Unless you daily " watch and pray " 

You '11 fall in unawares 

ODES. • 15^ 

The liital bowl whicli blights the soul, 

O ! dasb at once away, 
'T will ruin all, both great and small, 

And drain the purse to pay. 

The brightest hopes the fairest flowers 

Before it droop and die. 
Then say dear youth I'll "touch it not," 

Nor I — nor I — nor I — . 

You will succeed in rapid speed 

To rule in Church or State, 
! try and qualify yourselves 

For trusts that are so great. 

Our stripes and stars will very soon 

Be trusted to your care. 
May you be ready to receive 

And keep them bright and fair. 

And may the God of peace and love 

Direct your roving feet, 
And in the "house not made with bands," 

May we at last all meet. 

CA>'TO iir. 
Now friends and neighbors one and all 

Keep up " the Sabbath Schools ;"' 
They will do more for tender ^-outlx 

Than arbitrary rules. 

They'll save your sons and daughters fair, 

From ruin and from sin, 
To rear them up just as you should 

You early should begin. 

154 cotton's keepsake. 

No belter means, no fitter times 

Instruction to impart, 
As "Sabbath Schools" directly tend 

To train the infant heart. 

They everywhere are gotten up 
- . By men both good and wise, 
! cherish and sustain them -well 
^ And rich will be the prize. 



The Temperance Call, the Temperance Ball ! 

Let 's keep it on the roll, 
Till doggeries, those sinks of woe, 

Are crushed from pole to pole. 

And every " Still Tub " in the land 
Be knocked the " t' other side " up, 

And spill the swill that makes the " Ja?ie " 
"That sparkles in the cup." 

The streams of death that issue forth 

From every smoking Still, 
Are blighting all our brightest hopes, 

And all our prisons fill. 

O! think it o'er — mature it well; 

That "fip" upon thy corn 
May crush the hopes of many friends. 

And leave thorn quite forlorn. 

" ODES. - " 155 

Our fathers fought, and bled, and died, 

Despising ease and gain ; • • 

And -.0 be worthy of tho^e sires ' ' . •, 

"We all should do the same. 

Shall we claim kindred to those men, 

"Who live alone for self? ' ' ■ 

And scatter woe, disease and death "■■■ >'-" 

To treasure up our pelf? 

Nay; starve " the Worm " of every Still — 

Convert your grain to bread, 
And send it round from door to door • " 

Till all the poor are fed. 

Ye topers and ye tipplers, too, ' ' •. ' 

Though late, you are "in time" — 
The second Declaration's here — ' ," 

0! come you up and "sign!" 

Throw off at once the galling yoke . 

King Alcohol im}>osc3; 
He drains your purse — pollutes your breath, 

And limis to red your Noses ! 

"Hope of my country," dear young men, 

come ! and " sign the pledge :" 
'Twill save your country, save you, too, 

As thousands can allege. 

Disease and death lurk in the bowl, 

The mind 'twill shatter, too; 
How can you then preserve the trust 

That soon will fall to you? 

156 cotton's keepsake. 

- The destiny of " Chureli and State " - ' 

"Will in your hands be placed, 
And if unholy, drunken men, 
Both sure ■will be disgraced. 

Our Stripes and Stars will very soon 
Be 'trusted to your care : . . - , 

- May you be ready to receive, .... .. 

And keep them bright and fair. 

Let old and young — let boys and girls, 

Like " Hannibal," come up 
And swear eternal hate to him — 

The FOE that 's in the cup. 

Ye blushing Fair lend us your aid — 

Your's is a, jjoieni charm — 
You rule the men who rule the State — 

You can avert the harm. 

I never let it be forgot, 
The price that freedom cost; 

But pledge with us your lives, your all. 
It never shall be lost. 

O wield the power which Xature gives, 
To dry these founts of woe — • 

The sorrows of " a drunkard's wife," 
may you never know. 

Then roll it on ! — " that Temperance Ball, 

And keep it on the roll 
Till doggeries, those sinks of woe, 

Are crushed from- pole to pole. 

ODES. ^ • - " 157 



Hail, hail! all liail "the glorioua Fourth," 

That gave " a natiou birth ;" 
The brightest civil diadem, ' - - -- - - ; ■'/ 

The richest boon of earth. .■ ' :. 

And never let this natal day ' - 

Be lost, or turned aside, 
To keep it up " the good old way " — (druuheness ex- 

Be every freeman's pride. 

And never let them be forgot, 

The sires from v^hom we came, 
Whose " blood-stained footsteps " marked their way 

To glory and to fame. . ■ . 

And never let them be unsung, 

"Who firm in " glorious strife," 
To plant " the tree of liberty," 

Poured out the crimson life. 

No, never let it be forgot. 

The price that freedom cost; 
But "pledge" to each our lives, our all, 

It never shall be lost. 

Let us preserve inviolate 

" The legacy in trust," 
And hand it down all bright and fair, 

To those who follow us. 

15S cottoin's keepsake. 

The east, the -n-cst, the north, the south! 

We hail as brethren dear; 
Bnt cLiim the ripht, as freemen should, : '■ . 

To speak out phiiu and clear. 

Should e'er our country beat " to arms/' 

AVe'll seize our muskets bright. 
And like brave Waukkx, we -will seek - •■ ' 

"The hottest of the fight." " 

And though we sometimes disagree, 

No one has cause to fear; "" ;" 

The institutions of our land, " ' ' " " 

Alike we all hold dear. ' I 

This is the land tliat gave us birth ! ' 

Here -vvc shall live and die; - "i 

And if one-half are dea'lly foes, I 

Will some friend tell me why? I 

0, then away with hitter words, 

We all in heart are one, .^ 

United by the dearest ties, .. . ^^ 

The stranger, sire and son. •- .r • i 

Then hail! all hail '-the glorious Fourth," 

That gave a nation birth, 
The brightest civil diadem, 

The richest boon of earth. 

ODES. ■ ' 159 

WASiiiXGTONS EurriT-DAY te:\ipekaxce 


AlK, AULl; LAXG >-V>:E. 

Come, tune your hearts, my countrymen, 

To celebrate tlic day, 
The birth-day of our Washington, ' 

With an exulting lay. 

In seventeen hundred tliirty-t\vo ^ ■ 

Great Washington was born — 
A eentur}' and fourteen years, ^ - 

This joyous, happy morn. 

George Washington, a name most dear 

To all the tribes of men, 
The muse's theme of ever}' clime — 

The theme of every pen. 

Theme of the old, and of the young, 

The lovely and the fair, 
At home, abroad, on seas and isles, 

Aye, truly everywhere. 

Our orator, in melting strains,* 

lias told us how and why 
"We took up arms to vindicate 

Those rijlits we prized so high. 

And how, in mercy, God raised up 

Our glorious Wasliingtoa — 
The wisest, purest patriot 

Beneath the .shining sun. 

< Lawyer Uiyuea. 

160 cotton's keepsake. 

He led our feeble armies on, 

And taught them how to fight — 

And under God, secured our peace 
And put our foes to flight. 

Go back with itic to Lexington ! ' - 

Go back to Bunker's hill ! 
Where gurgling gushed your country's blood, 

In many a crimson rill! 

0! go with me to Brandy wine! 

Go back to Trenton, too ! ' "^ 

Go! read the tokens of God's care. 
. ' In all your country through. 

The gushing blood, all warm and free, 
Goes rushing through my veins, 

As I remember Washington . . * 

And Yorktowu's smiling plains. . • . 

There perched our Eagle — bird of heaven, 

On liberty's fair tree — 
And there the " British Lion" roared, 

"America is free!" - ' . 

And in that "roar" was treasured all 

That's truly good and great — 
The right to worship God in peace 

And rule the new-born state. 

O may we ever worthy prove 

And keep unsoiled our trust— 
And may our children cherish them 

When we repose in dust. 

ODES. 161 

M'ly bitter strifes auJ bitter words 

>,'u more ofl'eiui our ears, — • 
\\'c: all are honest brethren -- •«'.""■• ■• 

■ Ol' the same hopes and fears. 

This is the land that gave us birth, •?■., 

Here we shall live and die, 
And if one-half are deadly foes — .; 

Kind sirs, please tell me why? '- . 

A dcadhj foe, 'tis true, we have, "' " "' ' ^' V 

That lures to crime and woe, 
'Tis from the sparkling, poisoned cup 

3Iost of our evils flow. . ^ . ■ 

It ruins ■mind! (0 what a thought!) 

The nation's sure defense — :: 

The doggeries — those sinks of sin — ■ 

drive you out from hence, ■ - ■ ■ 

And teach the young to love good books, 

To love "Grod's house," and day, 
And let their feet be early taught 

To tread the narrow way. 

Then God, and Peace, and "Washington, .r- 

Shall unborn millions know, — 
And the rich blessings we enjoy, 

To all the nations flow. 

■Ihen tune your hearts, my countrymen, 

I^et us cxuiting sing, 
-"•he hallowed name of Wa?;ii[NGT0N', 

Who conquered George the king. 

1G2 cotton's keepsake. 



The first birtL-day after his death was on the Sahbath. I 
■was requesiod to preach a sermon on tliat day suited to the 
occasion. }>lj Text was, "Wiioii, having xot seex, ye love." 
I also composed an Ode for the occasion. I loved Gen. Jackson 
as I loved few men on earth. Peace to his quiet dust, and 
immortality lo his memorj. Here it is: 

HusnED be "the music of the splieros," 

Let freemeu's grateful lay, 
In one loud chorus fill the earth, . 

On this auspicious day. 

Throughout the land, let old and young, 

The lovely and the "fair," 
To pay a tribute to true worth, 

Their grateful hearts prepare. ^ 

My countrymen, v/ith hearts all vrarm, 

Ve meet to celebrate 
The birth-day of our Jackson, dear — 

Jackson the good and great. 

In seventeen hundred sixty-seven, 
"Andrew the Great" was born, 

Just seventy-nine "eventful years," 
This precious Sabbath morn. 

Long did he live to bless our land, 

And vindicate her rights, 
Now gone — to his reward in heaven, 

To reap untold delights. 

- . ODES. "163 

"When "savage war," and dread alarm ' :-r -r^!^^ 

Were heard all o'er the land, ' • " ' 

To quell those foes far in the South, 
"Who led our "martial baud?" 

Who met " ihe red man " face to face, 

His country to defend? 
Go ask " the Tribes " v ith whom he fought 

Along "the Horfe-shoe bend." 

Tallapoosa will tell of gore, 

And Tailahassn, too — - . 

'Twas at Sawauna peace returned 

Through Jackson unto you. 

" Tlie red men " and " the red coats," too 

Found -Jackson "full of fight," 
He always left them in their gore, 

Or "on the wings of flight." I 

Brave Jackson met proud Packenham, | 

And all his vaunting host, | 

The "BF.ArxT and the booty" saved, 

And drove them from our coast. 

Valor and wisdom ever marked 

Each move in his "war scenes." 
The proudest victory ever won 

Was that of New Orleans. 

Behold him in "the forum" fair, 

Guiding the "Ship of State," 
Where "ALL the nations" own his skill, 

And all pronounce him great. 


All liis desires he lived to see 

Acconiplished to his mind, 
His dear loved country and himself • - 

He then to God resigned. 

In peaceful slumbers, soft and sweet, 

Beside his faithful wife, 
He rests in hope till both again 

Awake to endless life. 

The conqueror of the conquerors, 

A greater victory won. 
When he subdued frail humaii self -. 

Through God's beloved Son. 

The glory of his '-'martial tread," 
The "civic wreath'' of fiime, 

Is vanity and dross compared 
To his BRIGTIT Christian name. 

The scroll of fame shall long record 
The greatness of that name — 
/ Firmness and truth, and "honor brigKi, 
And Jacksox are the same. 

A name to freemen ever dear, 
To tyrants death and gall — 

Give us such men to guide the State — 
Be this the prayer of all. 

Farewell, great Jackson, words can't tell 
How DEARLY LOVED thou art; 
. may the firmness of thy mind 
Inspire each freeman's heart. 

'/-: 0DF.3. ■> '; 165 

Tiion luisli "ihc reiisio of the spheres," 

Jie.t's onATKFUL lay 
til cue loud chorus fill the earth, 

On this auspicious day. ■ ■ - ■ 



"Thf, Indiana A'olunteers," . *^ 

The bravest of the bravo, 

Thrice welcome from the gory fields 
Ye I'ushed into to save. 

You left your homes, your wives, your babes- 
Kindred and friends most dear; 

The parting scene called forth a sigh, 
And many a gushing tear. 

One lingering, longing look ye cast, 

To the receding shore, ^ 

As onward ye weie borne away, 

P'rhaps to return no more. 
For lo! "the cloud and storm of war," 

Hung o'er " the far Southwest," 
To meet those fearful shafts of death, 

Each bared his patriot breast. 

. The thrilling words of brave command, 
''Make ready, aim, and fire!" 
As promptly was obeyed as given, 
By comrade, son, and sire. 

166 cotton's keepsake. 

And all along tl\e line of war, ' ■• 

Ye proved yourself to be — • ■ . 

Both officer? and privates, ALL,^ 
True friends of liberty. . • 

There 's General Laxe, our Marion, 

Who won immortal fame, 
And Colonel Gorman, brave and true, 

As well deserves the same. ; 

And Colonel Lane, so cool and FIRM, 

At Bi'.ena A'ista's scene, 
"Won laurels for himself and State, 

That flourish evergreen. - • 

Colonel Duraont, second to none. 

At Hua.mantla's hiaht. 
Performed his part most crallantly, 

And kept his honor l>right. 
Our Colonels and our Captains too, 

A brilliant fame have won ; . . 

McCarty I can only name, 

And Mason, Gibbs, and Dunn. 

To ALL T say, the harmony 

That did pervade your ranks. 
Has won for you " the mede of praise," 

And won our warmest thanks. 
A scene or two I will here note, 

As samples of the rest; 
Of your fidelity and skill. 

They prove an ample test. 

* Col Bo>vk3 eicepted, and he more in error than in fault. 

,.'■; r^ • oi)iJs. •' -•■;'■ 107 

*' Picserve your fire, my gallant boys, 

Until the foe is nigh,"^ 
Then teach the hosts of 3Iexico '-' ' 

A lesson from your eye. 
True to your country's bleeding cause, 
Ye marshaled all your powers, 
I Unerring, deadly aim ye took, 

I ' And then "the day was ours." 

I ' And when ye were in close pursuit 

i Of General Santa Ann', 

So eager were ye for the prize, 
'•'A host proved every man." . ' 

""We go to meet our country's foes, 
f I glory in this day; 

i Act well your part, my trusty band, 

I When I retreat, you may."| 


I The LADIES, (bless 'em,) true as steel, 

I Wrought with their own fair hands 

\ The Flags that proudly o'er you waved, 

In those dark bloody lands. 
Most gallantly did you defend 
I '" "OcK Eagle, Stkifes and Stars j" 

f _ Ye 're all -with glory covered o'er, 

And t^OilE with "glorious scars." 

But oh ! some of your patriot baud 

Fell on the bloody field; 
True as the needle to the pole, 

They 'd neither fly nor yield; 

* Col. Lane's order at Bueua Vista. 
t Col. Dumont's address at Iluaiaautla. 


And some tlicro were who lingering fell 
By torturing, slow disease; 

Their manly forms far off" repose, ', 
Beneath the murmuring trees. 

Our tears bespeak our heartfelt grief, 

Yet we rejoice to hear 
They fell contending for those rights 

Which freemen hold so dear. 
The peace, for which ye staked your all, 

Ye valiantly have won, 
And all, with you, rejoice to know 

The bloody strife is done. 

Adieu, adieu, a long farewell. 

To the din of cla.-hing arms. 
And may you long enjoy the bliss 

Of home's pure, holy charms. 
Then welcome to the " hoosier b'hoys," 

The bravest of the brave, 
Thrice welcome from the gory fields 

Ye rushed into to save. 


The Tribune's a weekly, bcwitchingly fair, 
Gotten up with great taste to sweeten dull care ; 
To aid the fair ]Mi.s.s in the choice of her friends, 
'Tis indeed well invested, all the money slie spends 
For tlie Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

. V- ODES. V\., - 1G9 

Ari'l young gonllcmen. too, vr'iW here find a jruide, 
T.> liirect iu the clKiice of "a s^veet blushing bride;'' 
H'-te virtue shall llourish and be fostered iho while, 
-\i.d curruption rebuked in the choicest of style, 

In the Ladieij' "Weekly Tribune. 

TiiC "Temperance rkeforni " -will here find a friend, 
Wliere Truth, Virtue and Wisdom in harmony blend.. . 
l{i>tli dictioa and subject exliibit great taste, 
So seud on your cash, -with all possible haste. 

For the Ladies' Yv'eekly Tribune. 

Mrs. Underhill's fair fame is a fiure guarantee, 
That each coming number still fairer shall be; 
And Amanda M. Way is unrivaled, you knov,' — ' 
And the -wisdom of both they united bestow 

On the Ladies' "Weekly Tribune. 

Their chaste, thrilling tales, sound morals impart, 
They enlighten the head, and make better the heart; 
They beguile the lone hours, they teach us to feel 
For the woes of mankind — -and to prny for the weal 
Of the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

Here temperance and virtue shall flourish and shine, 
Their all-conquering pov^-er be felt in each line. 
And just such a journal has long been required, 
And ne'er was a work more justly admired. 

Than the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

The great Temperance Ball with our rollers we'll roll, 
And push on the cimqaest from pole unto pole ; 
May the tears of affliction all dry iu its track. 
And tiio voice of rejoicing come echoing back. 

Through the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

PisTii.T.pniE.s and gkogsiiots we'll handle right rough, 
And never will quit until .■m.l cry "enough," 

cotton's keepsake. 

"Wc hato the einploynittnt, yet love all the men, — (pfrhup'..) 
And to save and reclaim them we'll do all that we can 
Through the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

We'll argue, cnfrent, and t'>il to persuade, 
The high and the low, of whatever grade, • _ 

To abandon tli? trafSo, to break every bowl, 
Contaiuing the poison that ruins the soul, 

Through the Ladies' "Weekly Tribune. 

Ye loathsome inebriates, ye poor tipplers, too, ■ 

" A message of love " shall ours be to you ; 
We '11 help you to turn to the paths that are right, 
Thus cheering your homes with untold delight, 

Through the Ladles' Weekly Tribune. 

Each number preserve with neatness and care, 
.'Twill make a rich volume at the close of the year; .-•■. 
And in all after time thy library 'twill grace. 
Though numerous thy works — bo sure to give place 

To the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

The "Editori.vl Department" is transcendently fair. 
May it well be sustained, is my heart's tcarmest prayer; 
And each son ar.d daughter of lloosierdom saj', 
I enjoy the rich boon — in fine — a bright day 

To the Ladies' Weekly Tribune. 

;NL\>n-chester Bard. 
ILixcnKSTEK, Sept. 15, 1S57. 

ODES. :'• '■■ 171 


Mr luiiiiljle muse, awake, attune thy nnstrunc: lyre, 
One of tliy choicest strain:^, iu glowing wurds of liro ; 
And be thy tiieme without oifeiise, 
'liio daughters fair of Teuiperauce. 

\e are a lovely band, joined to redeem our land 
IVom drunkeness and ■woe, that so profusely fluw 
From all "rum holes" — let's move them heace, 
Ye daugluers fair of Temperance. 

You wield a mighty power, exert it every hour, 
'Till every drunken son is saved, redeemed and won 
From error's patlis, — your work's immense, 
\e daughters fair of Temperance. 

You must and will succeed, if all are well agreed, 
Firmly and fully bent, to spend and to be spent. 
Klessings untold ^'on will dispense, 
^e daughters fair of Temperance. 

'J'ake courage then, ye fair, by "works of love" and 

Press onward to the end, the good will yon befriend, 
^Vhile health, peace, joy, you thus dispense, 
ie daughters lair of Temperance. 

Oh! may vour "Union bands," devise the means and 

Preserved an'i handed down, to bless each state and 

town ; 
And fir and wide may you dispense 
The pledge and joys of Temperance. 

172 cotton's keepsake. 

Miiy you abound in peace, prosper, and much increase 
In number and in strength, until the breadth and lenijth 
Of our proud land, (a sure defense,) 
Shall bo far-famed fn* 1'eiuperance, '' . . 

In after coming years, Avith gratitude, and tears 

Of joy, shall you be blest, while in your j^raves you rest 

From all your toils. Thrice blessed hence, 

Be the daughters fair of Temperance. " > -" 

This tribute of my muse, I trust you'll not refuse; i 
'Tis no "vain corajiliment,"' I thus to you present: 

Please to accept without oflense, •' . | 

Ye daughters fair of Temperance. ■ -■ . . ■ 

: TO INDUSTRY, "'.'''-' 

tStmg at the First Annual Fair of the Dearborn Connhj 
AijricuUural S*>cietij, 1S51. 

apothp:gm. ' 

•' Cursed is the ground for tliy Euio."— Gen iil: 16. 

Cursed be the ground, in mercy cursed, 

For fiUIen, sinful man; 
And who that rightly understands, 

Does not approve God's plan? 

This is a life of active toil— 

Hereafter we shall rest. 
And he who is most faithful here, 

Shall there enjoy it best. 

ODES. ' 173 

Tlie cultivation of the earth, " " . 

Through toil, and sweat, and sighs, 
Is heaven's choicest, richest boou: — 

All blessings in disguise. *- ' ..- 

iThe thorns and thistles that vre dread, 
Which choke the growing grain, 
, , Give exercise to willing hands, 

i And health and peace maintain. . ■ 

\ . The idle and the dissolute . ■ .- 

" . . Most sure to ruin ruu ; 

Who proves a burden to himself 
Oft as the rich man's son? 

- - ' The toiling millious of our globe 
Enjoy night's sweet repose; 
I All strangers unto wakefulness, 

And idle people's woes. 

Then push along the mighty plow — 

Cheer up — go, Charlie, go; 
And men and boys, in merry mood, 

Keep moving v.ith the hoe. 

And shove, and shove the plane along, 

Ye artists of the land; 
'Tis by your skill and industry 

AVe evermore must stand. 

The smith beside his glowing forge, 
His anvil, and his vise, 
~ With Ifrawny hands, and manly brows, 
Will Serve you in a trice. 


The j)olitic!an, wide awake, 
. Will smile, and scrape^ and bow, 
And plcil;^o you imieb some other time 
To get your vote just now. 

The student, at liis musty books, 

With seiontific fires, 
Propels the car along the track, 

And tlioughts along the wires. .' , 

The soldier, at the cannon's mouth, 

Death staring in his face, 
'Mid clashing steel, dofensls his land 

From ruin and disgrace. 

The sailor plows proud ocean's foam — 

No timid heart lias he; 
To gather wcjlth, ho boldly braves 

The perils of the sea. 

The doctor mounts his trusty nag, 
And on, through sleet and snow, 

He hastens to the sick one's couch, 
To soothe the wail of woe. 

The lawyer and the "ermined judge," 

Well versed in '-legal lore," 
IBy mental toil, are known abroad. 

And famud from shore to shore. 

The minister, divinely sent 

With messages of love. 
Points to the house "not made with hands," 

T^ternal and above. 

ODES. . -.- 175 

The music of the spinning-'svhecl, 

The shuttle, and the loom, - ■ . . 

"Will sweeten all the ills of life, 

And cdjase away their gloom. ■ . . ' 

The kitchen, and the parlor, too, * [> 

Ye lovely and ye fair, ■ _ . .' ,"• 

Becomes you all, and will reward 
Your presence and your care. 

All, all on earth sliould active be — '• '■ 

The sun, and moon, and stars 
Keep whirling through the void immense — 

Earth, Jupiter, and Mars. 

Then push along the mighty plow — 

Cheer up — go, Charlie, go; : 

And men and boys, in merry mood, 
Keep moving with the hoe. 


The Dearborn County l-\iir shall usher in my song; 
Please lend me your attention, it will not take you long: 
5o, my humble muse, "tune up,'' and awake! 
In trutli aud iu rliyme a synopsis now take 

Of th'j Dearborn County Fair. 

Thf.-ro wero horses and marcs, and jennets and jacks — 
Ivoans, dappie-grays and sorrels, creams, chestnuts and 
blacks : 


All sorts and all sizes, sleeked off fnr n sho^r, 
Some were most beautiful, and others so-so, 

At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There -were cattle and eo\vs, calves, sheep and fat hogs, 
Polar ohiclcens, and pi^,-, and lots of line do;:!;s ; 
There were farming utensils, a grain-sower and pluw, 
And threshing maciiines that did it up — how? 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There was grass seed and wheat, and potatoes and corn. 
Fine apples and onions as ever were born : 
There was cabbage and beets, and radishes, too. 
Sweet potatoes and turnips, all pleasant to view, . 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There was — let me see — but I will not tell all, ^ • ' 

Lest I weary your patience, and my poem forestall, 
But butter I O, bless me ! as yellow as gold, 
And as sweet as pure honey, admired, but not sold. 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

And the finest of bread, too,* to match the fine butter, • 
You would chew it with pleasure, and for more you would 

There were stockings and shoes,f and carpets and quilts, 
Counterpanes and blankets, the work of no jilts. 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

The patterns were all fine, and the needlework, too, 
Such as ouv fair ladies know just hoAv to do: 
Chrysanthemums, dalilias, atid roses in bloom, 
And geraniums, too, all rich in perfume, 

At the Dearborn County Fair. 

There were saddles, an^l bridles, and harness, and whips, 
And I venture to say that not one of tliem rips ; 

- * Mrs. Dr. >1<-C!ill..ii'.:h. 
•f- As noticed iu the l^mUnel, auJ accredited to Mr.-. Wiedlistaui — iKantiful. 

DDKS. ■ 177 

T'.''V ^^t-re ta?tj and neat, and in;i'lc a fine slio^v ; 
T;"-v must have been extra tn lie talkeil about so, 
At the I)eai-liorn County Fair. 

Am! bu;r::^ies — there! there I there! if v^ou ever wish to ride 
J.isily, gracefully, and with cuuseious pride, 
.lust purchase a carriage of Ilelfer it Co. — 
hucourage true merit, and thus add to the show 
Of our next County Fair. 

But the ladies — oh, bless 'em ! — so lovely and /ofiV, 
All neat as a pink, were the fairest things there, 
Tiielr presence and smiles send joy to the heart ; 
-May they live and be there, and each take a part 
In our next County Fair. 

^iich a show once a year must end in much good, 
Henceforth we shall farm it much more as Ave should; 
Kinulatioa and pride will the masses inspire ; 
Next year we will "come it," infusing new fire, 

At the Dearborn County Fair. ^ .. 

Two full acres in one, and far better than that. 
If we keep the forms neat, and keep the land fat, 
And horticulture, too, neglected too long. 
Shall inspire my lay, and continue my song 

Of the Dearborn County Fair. 

May neatness and flowers, instead of rank weeds. 
The garden adorn. — then — then rich its proceeds : 
Men, women and children, "fly about," and prepare. 
And next year without fail be sure to be there — 
At the Dearborn County Fair. 

Everything that w^^ make, or eat, drink or wear, 
Will be greatly improved by our next County Fair, 
Then hand in your names, and " f jrk over your cash," 
And there will be neither poor stock nor poor ircmh 
At our next County Fair. 

178 cluton's keepsakk 


A PiKlk Address, i-ronounced at the Jh'uhorn Comity Ajriad- 
tural Fair, 18-37. 

"A Farxer's Ffirest Life,"' I own has many cliarms for mo, 
Give ear my friends awliile, and the wlicrefores you shall see. 
He first selects "a tract of land'' 'mid birds and blossoms fnir, 
Then settles in his anxious mind, his home shall now be there. 

Erects a neat ''log cabin," out in the open.woo'ls, 

Has neither stock nor cash, perhaps, nor much of '-household 

But hope of "better days" gives strength unto his arm, 
And at it now he goes, to "clear him up a farm;' [a) 

His viands coarse and common, and scanty too at that, . ; ■ 
Lut instead of getting poor, he is ratlier growing fat;- 
Toil gives it a "a good relish,' and sweetens his repose, - 

"For change and recreation ' to the forest now ho goes. 

With his liSe on his shoulder, and -with .Jowler at his side, 
The place between him and his home is soon made very wide; 
He scours boUt "hill and dale"' for turkeys, bear, and deer — 
Keturns ar night quite weary, with "lots of merry cheer" — 

(somcii'.'iC-t'). . ■ . 

"His wife and little ones," all smiling and all fair. 
Now hasten out to meet him, and " soothe his brow of care ;" 
His tea, perhaps of sassafras, of spiccbosh, or of sage. 
Has long been waiting, but gues first rate, I "11 venture to en- 

And then he hiiS fine "nuts to crack'" at eve or in foul weather. 

His overalls were sometimes made of yellow taniu-'d buck- 
skin leather. 

His neighbors are most kind and true, each feels himself a 

For lack of schools his children arc all taught at home by 

ODES. 170 

He h;is "a litilc patch for truck." though rather rough at first, 

r.iit he can nut do ivitliout it, ami have it he ic'l! and mu^t; 

In tipjc it makes " a preitj- garden,' full of aweet shrubs and 

M'here he,"" his ^-ifc and children,'' spend many hajipy hours — ■ 
[or fehouhl do]. 

As time rolls on, liis fertile fields, and "flocks and herds in- 

His -'cribs and stables" well supplied, his yards with poultry, 
pigs and geese, 

And as occasion may require, he "11 slay and cook and cat: 

For pure '-domestic happiness," his life is hard to beat. 

'Tis true we had our troubles th'-n, and you all have them 7iow, 
So happiness at last dciiends upon the minn, I trow, 
We were quire happy in th'.'jc days, in hojie of "better times," 
And made "a shift to get along, ' and live without " the dimes." 

For thirty-seven and a half cent?, we'd toil all day in Summer 
And keep as busy too, at that, a.-? any "little drummer;"' 
We'd sell our corn at sixteen cents, not always sure of that, 
And pork "one dollar twenty-five" that was all "rolling fat," 

With tow and linen pantaloons, and hats of " chip atid straw," 

We lived upon eqiuilit'j, and seldom went to lav,-. 

Our corn we ground on " hand mills/' to make our " brc-id and 

And often went abroad all bareloot, ! hu>h ! hush ! ! hush ! ! I 

Our wives, our sons and daughters, could fare but little better, 
'Tis true what I am saying, friends, " true to the very le'i-ter." 
For fifty cents per week, was all " orR gat.s " could ffil, 
And thought, a chance like tiiat, "a very happy hit." 

Six cents per pound for butter, and eggs three cent? per dozen, 
The highest price to be obtained from merchant, friend or 

In striped linen or lipsey di-ess, they 'd '■ cut a inercy dash," 
"Which they had .^pun, and wove, aud made " " without one di^ie 

in caih." ,..-. 


ISO cotton's keepsake. 

Our elections tlicu had nought to Jo vrith questions about 

We took ri^ht hold '-the bettor man,"' and rushed him ia most 

hcaity ; 
But still 't i5 true, and must be told, alas ! too ^ell v'e knew it, 
A n-'-in ii:;;.s: trcai at t-i-ciy turn, or else he could not " go it." (6) 

Our teachers took their pay in corn, and pork, and beef, 
A little linsey novr and then, ■would give them great relief; 
They'd "V.>oard around" from place to place, nor murmured at 

• tlie fare, 
Would bow at your devotions, and often lead in prayer. 

The j)reacliers, bless 'em one and all, (c) they went both far and 

To warn tlie sinner of his •u'ays, — the saints to feast and cheer. 
They'd '-go through thick and thin," through mud and sleet 

and snow, 
"You'd always find them at their post," if you yourself woidd 

A Lawrence, Durbin, Jones, McRcynolds, Collard, Ilitt, 
Collins, Daniels, Thompson, Randall, we never can forg(7/ 
Kobinsou, Miller, Leeks, Rawson, Murry, Sparks, and Hayes, 
All zealous men for God, and wortliy of all praise. 

Oglesby, Bonner, Lewis, Gillett, Ruter, Brouse, Arrington, and 

Whom you would delight to hoar monthly, weekly, daily; 
A Ilargrave, Hicks, and Goodwin, !\IcLain, Turner, and McCaw, 
All eloquent for the truth, and mighty in the law. 

Of Griffiths, Sniiths, and Havens, there were some two or three. 
Men you would always like to hear, and always like to see; 
A Lanibdin, Baker, Heath, and Wyley, and "good old Father 

More deeply graven on the heart, than "chiseled" in the stones. 

I fain would linger 'mid these sweets and tell the pleasing 

How they o'er eamc, through Jesus' nacaCj and dwell with him 

in glorj- ; 

" ■ ■ - - ODES. : ' ,:. 181 

In fine a Rn«s, Eoliarrall, a Ilolliday, and a "SVood, 

Is all that I can meution here, but vroald more if I conlJ. 

They wrought a mighty work here, in the mighty West, — [d) 
But many have gone to their reward and entered into rest; 
Tlieir names era-olloJ ca high plvill never, never perish, 
A Lawrence, Lambdin, Ilaper, Strang, how fondly we all cherish. 

I've thought it due to all, this much right here to say, 

They labored hmg and faithfully, and got but liUle pay ; 

Lived not for self alone, but for the future good 

Of saint and sinner, one and all, just as .\j.l men ever should. 

I have digressed thus far to paint '^a forest life," 
And now retui-n again to the farmer and his wife; 
To dwell on their j.rivations many long years ngo, — 
Listen, my dear young friends, if you really wish to know. 

Their church was some kind neighbor's cabin, upon the ridge 

or creek, 
With chimneys built with '-cats and mud," for then we had no 

brick ; 
With floors of puncheon under foot, and clapboards overhead, 
And "lights for windows" paper oiled, — I^-e witnessed what 

I've said. 

All clad in coarse, plain homespun, and "neater than a pink," 
He takes his family to chun h. to w^orship God, and think 
About their future home in climes more bright and fair, 
Then consecrates himself anew to God, by faith and humble 

Begins the week refreshed in body, mind, and skill. 
Assured that God is with him now, he sinks into his will; 
His w-ife and babes to him are all surpassing fair, 
Delighted with his humble home, he is most happy there. 

And oft with cue child in his arms, another on !iis back, 
He "cuts across" the forest -wide, along his "blazed out 
track; "(':•) 


To speiii.l a lifippy cvcnirg with soino kind farc?f frier.ils, 
Thcu witb a -'liglitecl torch," his hoiaoward way he vrcnds. 

Upon his safe arrival there lie "strikc:< liim up a flie,"' 
How iiappy we shall be my dear, when we have nciglibor.s iiigher 
Talks o'er his pleasant visit, then bows himself in prayer, 
And soon in peaceful slumbers, forgets both toil aud care. 

Tlie bear, the wolf, the panther, quite oft beset his track, 
And the very first he knows tliey 're v.-ell nigh on liis back; 
But God preserves him strangely, his "wife and ■'■hub and .?/.«, ' 
I 've witiiesse 1 in my time dear friends, such thrilling scenes as 

Still to our favin wc 'd warmly cling, and grub, and hoe, and 

Perhaps we all were happier then than any of us nm:; ; 
We had fine peaches, "rich as cream," to sell, to eat, and dry, — 
To the memory of those days I pay "the tribute of a tigh." 

Still these arc belter times by far. and happier vre should be; 
Such great iuiproveiaents in ray time, I never thought to see; 
We used to deal alone on time, and paid up in pro-luce, 
To ask the cifh no one presuiaed, unless to "play the duce." ' 

Now •' ready cash " is " all the go," for labor, goods or wares. 

And lo ! my friends, we have fine agricultural fairs; 

Wliat mighty changes t'jr the better, those forty years have 

To you young friends " a ricli beriuest," fo zi-2 all dearly bought. 

Young ladies ^nd young genileruca, you "scarce begin to 

The dangers, toils, and hardships w had to undprgo, 
In clearing up this couutry. that's now s> briglit and fair, 
Wliich you from us inherit without a seeming ci'.re. 

Our roads were rough and rnuddy too, onr mills so fir owaj, 
It took liS one full day to go. ari'l sometimes two to stay; 

ODES. 183 

Tour Toads are fine, and iurnpiked, too, your mills are Just ia 

Where you can go and get your grist, and hack before 't is 


You li^ve your " railroads and caoals," yovir telegraphic wire?, 
Fine churches, too, to " ^vor^liip God,'' viih caipcts, bells and 

spires ; 
You have fine houses and fine farms, barouches, chaise, and 

And dress in silks and broadcloth, and feast on dainties and 

"roast pigs."' 

Cleave to these farms young gentlemen, improve and keep tlicni 

They Ui yield you health and plenty, and keep you out of vice; 
The rush for '-learned professions,'' is rushing into strife, 

And oft is purchased at the price of happiness for life. 

"The brawling politician." lives in a constant muss. 

To keep up fair appearances, must keep an endless fuss ; 

His life is restless as can be. nor dare he once deny it, — 

If any of you doubt it friends, just soil your farms and try it. 

The lawyer too, has strife on strife, the doctor has great care, 
Be his success whate'er it may, or practice any where; 
Botli are essential callings though, and oft they " make it pay," 
But would you once exchange with ihciu, say, farmers say V 

You are thrice happy as you plant, and happy as you sow. 
Or as you follow the "good old plow," or cr.idle, reap or mow ; 
llicher by far than mighty kings in palace, hall or dome, 
As you chant your ''merry anthem," your own sweet " harvest 

Huzza! then, huzza, boys! for the "farmer and mechanic," 
._ They both are independent men, and no bank money panic 
Can e'er disturb their sweet repose, or tarnish their good name. 
They're loved and honored in their lives, and. in their death 
the same. 


Ah! w-herc ra'O tLoso "harJy pioneers," -wlio early settled Lcro? 
Most of theia gone, nud very soon tlie last will Jisappe-ir; 
I too am frail, and getting old, and soon must pass away,_ 
Well, "6f i( sOj'' I am coatontj since I Lave sceu this day. 

Forty long years Lave ■well nigh fled, ami years of change and 

Since I first settled in your midst, and purchased of your soil; 
'T was then a " howling wilderness," with scarce one stick amiss, 
Kor did I then begin to dream of seeing a day like this. 

Judging the future by the past, what bliss laid up in store, 

For all the young who shall behold forty long years of improve- 
ment more; 

Keep up your fairs from year to year, let each his "mite cast 

In somethiiig — poultry, stock, produce, needlework, whether ho 
lose or win. 

I leave the country much improved in " science and in art," 
And trust I 've been no - hanger on," but have acted well my 

May smiling "peace and plenty" for ever bless this land, 
For " truth and right," dear friends, for ever firmly stand. 

And now " a kind and parting word " to the little girls and 

" Seek God in early yonth" for pure sul.'stantial joys ; 
Young men and women soon you '11 be, and fill our vacant 

I trust with pure and honest hearts, and smiling happy faces. 

And serve your day and age, as we have done before. 
You have my warmest blessings, dears, and I can saj' no more; 
May heaven's kind protecting arms for ever round you d^el!, 
And now dear friends bo:h eld and young^ receive my klud 


ODES. ■' " ■ 185 


[«] That is precisely the Avay I commenced in the Tv-orld, 
and indeed tlie Mdiole "poem" is my own true history — a part 
ol my Autobiography. 

[i] My venerable friend Judge Isaac Dunn, ha? kindly 
furnished me with a slip from ihe Oracle, published at Law- 
renceburg, in 1823, which I regard as a treat, because it goes 
back so far into tlio eventful past, and because it so fully 
endorses what I have said upon the subject. 


Chi vii'ic'mj the Section Polls, Au^just od. 1823. 

^.- :.". ., What's this! I nou vrith grief behold? 
-' ■ Our ." officc-luinters '' grown quite bold, 

'. To '-law and order" bid defiance, 

t To purchase votes is tlioir reliance. 
• \-^ ■ They are not Icjigkt s.i I've been told, 
From voters with " a purse of gold ;" 
Noi- even for "a mess of pottage" — they 
Do "sell their birthright ' as they say. 
'Nor for good wholesome beef or liaras. 
But for those deadly whisky drams, — etc. 


[r] Special reference is here made to the circuit preachers 
and presiding elders, whose fields of labor included Manchester. 
Tlie local preachers and ministers of other denominations havo 
also done a great and good Avork in the vineyard of the Lord, 
and will be noticed especially, inihe hit^torlcalpavtof the work, 
vhich see. 

[d] Among all the pretty amusing things written by Hon. 
0. H. Smith, in his "early Indiana tiials," a more just and 
beautiful trihute is not to be found than the following, which 
endorses mo fully — and here it is for you. 

"I should be false tc the history of eirly Indiana were I to 
pass by in silence the itinerant Methodist preachers who con- 

ISO cotton's keeps ake. 

tributpcl so much to tlic cstnblishmcnt of good orJor, quiet, in- 
telligence, moi'ality and rclicrion among the first settlers; and 
without intending to give ofi'ense to others, I venture the re- 
mark, that car!y Indiana, nay more, Indiana to-day. owes more 
to tlie itinerant ^lethodist preaclicrs than to all oilier religious 
denominations conibiued. Their system carried their churchi^s 
into every settlement, and where two or three were gathered 
together, there v.-as a Methodist preacher or exhorter in the 
midst. They were at the bedside of the dying man on their 
knees, or at the grave their voices were heard in songs of 
praise. Other denomination.^ waited for the people to come 
up from the wildcrnes.-s to wor?hip, while the itinerant Metho- 
dist preacher mounted his horse, and sought out their cabins 
in the woods, held his meetings there, carrying the Gospel, 
and leaving the Eible and Ilymn-Book as he went." 

[c] "A blazed out track," is a line of trees spotted on each 
Bide, and in sight of each other from one place to another 
through the woods. 

[/] Sec biography. — A night with a panther. 


SiDij at the Tidrd Dearborn Connfy AgricaJiural Fair, 
Srpi.ember 2\st, 1854. 


What gvcat improvements mark tlie age 

In -whicli \ve chance to live; 
0, who would then an idler be, 
- And not this tribute <^ive? 

ODES. • • 187 

Then up and at it, one and all, 

Nor lose a single luiniite ; 
You all may make the world the better 

For liaviog just been ia it. 

How things have changed and been improved 

"Within a few brief years; 
It swells the heart with gratitude, - • - . 

And calls forth hearty cheers. 

TVhen we were little boys and girls, 

Some forty years ago, 
"We used our tinder, flint, and steel — 

'T was click, and puil', and blow. 

J3ut now we take a bit of pine, 

And split it fine and thin; 
Into a "chemical compound," 

The ends we just dip in : 

A little friction then will raise 

A blazing torch of fire; 
Perhaps we hardly need espect 
. To carry that much higher. 

"We used to rake our hay by hand — 

Our plows were made of wood; 
Now they are made of polished steel, 

And horses rake so good. 

Horses and oxen used to draw 

Our merchandise and goods, 
O'er mountains, hills, and valleys, too. 

Through slushes and the woods. 

-188 cotton's keepsake. 

But now our famed old iron-liorse 
Comes snorting on tlie track, 

Swift as the wind — us, goods, and all, 
He '11 take right there and back. 

;. To cross the ocean, years gone by, 

Consumed long weary months; 

^ But now our gallant steamships 

Will take you there at once. 

Expresses, too, we used to send 
On horseback, through the luires; 

But now they go, with lightning speed, 
On telegraphic wires. 

Improvements must and will go on — 
Though telegraphs are some, 

They '11 surely bo behind the times 
In fifty years to come. 

The master sjiirit of the age, 

0, who, who shall it be? 
Let every youngster here respond, • , 

It may, it shall be me. 

Then up and at it, brave young men, 
Nor lose one single minute; 

You all may make the world the better 
For having once been in it. 

When Franklin sent his little kite 

And bottle to the cloud, 
And filled it full of lightning red. 

It was a conquest proud. 

- ODES. ■ ■ 189 

But O, hov;' little did lie dream 

That those electric fives 
Would e'er diifuse grent truths abroad, 

On long-suspended wires. 

Pevelopmeuts in Tuoral truth, - •. V- ' . ' 
In science, and in art, r ' 

For ever lead to others, too — ... ■ _ ; • ' 
Of one great whole a part. ■ ; ' ' 

Then up and at it, little boys, 

Nor lose one single minute; 
You, too, may make this world the better 

For having just been in it. 

And shall our proud, loved Iloosicr State 

No active interest take 
lu those improvements, which, thus tend 
• All things to better make? 

Well has old Dearborn done her part, 

As will at once appear; 
For all the hay-screws in the land 

Were set in motion here.* 

Then there is Ilolden's Patent Dressy 

For grinding corn and wheat, 
Worth thousands upon thousands told, 

And monstrous hard to beat. 

Then here comes Plummer's Patent Drill, | 
For dropping corn so handy. 

'- By Jolin Moii'sou, of JlarJcuLiu-gh, in 1S24. 
tBy Moore Iluldcu, of New Lawrciiceburg', in l>iS. 
4:riummcr and Rollins, of Mnnohestcr. 


And those wlio u.^e it, I beiievo, '. ' 
Pronounco it '-just the dandy." 

And sliall improvements not be made - 
•In managing the farm— ■'■ ■ 

V In raising stock, and making cheese, '■" . . 
And saving all from harm? 

A glorious and a happy day 

Has dawned upon the land; 
For agriculture and fine arts - s- 

Kow trovel hand in hand. , . ■ '' 

Keep up your State and County Fairs — 

Reward to merit give, 
And all will soon both feel and see 

We 've just begun to live. ". ■ 

The ladies— bless 'em — with sweet smiles, 

Will cheer you in your toil, 
Nor shun the dairy, nor the loom, 

Though sure their hands to soil. 

In every land, in every clime, 

They cheer to noble deeds; 
What they approve, or smile upon, 

Just like a charm succeeds. 

Then onward, onward be your march, 

Nor falter in the way: 
Improve your minds, your farms, your stock, 

And all v,-ill bettor pay. 

Then up and at it, one and all, 
VNor lose one single minute; 

ODES. 191 

You all sliould leave this world tlie better 
For having once been in it. 

Ye poets and ye muses fair, . V - •' 

Awake your L-lumberin2; lyres, • 
You can do much, full \sell you know, _ ■ • 

To fan and feed these fires. 

Poets are said to rule the land 

By their inspiring song; . 

Then sing a lay at every fair — ■ . . ' 

'Twill help the thing along. . ".- 

My humble tributes I have given, * - 

And now give place to you; 
Act well your jmrts. and you will find 

"What I have sung is true. 

Then up and at it, poets all, - ■ ..■• 

Nor lose one single minute; 
You, too, should leave this vs'orld the better 

For having; once been in it. . 

At a meeting of (Le board of directors of the Dearborn 
County Agricultural Society, the following resolution wa.-3 
passed : 

Jiesoh'ed, That the Rev. A. J. Cotton be and ho is hereby 
presented with an honorary membership in tliis society, for 
his "Poem io Progress,'' made and sung by him at the Third 
Agricultural Fair for Dearborn county, in 18-34. 

J. W. Egglesto.v, President. 
■FKA^-CIS WoRLET, Secretary, 



On the death of Mart, infant daughtei' of Wm. and Deborah 
Tuttle, Povrnnl, Maine, 1817. 

"A SWEET and pretty little girl, 
Of age about two .years, 
"Was lately taken sick, 

Whicli caused its parents' tears. 
Poor mortals liere, hovr exposed 
To sorrow, sicknesS; pain, and woes! 

The child could take no rest — 

O how it was distressed! 

In vain it shed its tears — . 

In vain each tale it hears. 
Poor mortals here, how exposed 
To sorrow, sicknets, pain, and woes! 

And then the doctor came 
To help the sickly frame; 
But said 'twas ail in vain — 
The dropsy's on the brain. 
Poor raortals here, how exposed 
Tc sorrow, sickness, pain, and woes! 


ELEGIES. . 193 I 

The child, of course, di.l die — 

No doubt it reiuns on high; 

There Jesus is its friend. 

Where pain and sorrov,' end. , , 

In h.eavcn do infants sing a song • . • ! 

"Which doth to tlieni alone belong* 

The child, I do n't believe . ^. .• * 

Its Saviour ever grieved; •' "^ ■ ' : •' 

For then it -was quite young — , t. 

Not knowing -tvhat it done (</i'(.Z.) ■ ! 

In heaven do infants sing a song • j 

.Which doth to them alone belong. •;! 

== • ■ .^ 

But you that fully knovr A 

The good and bad you do, ~ | 

Will surely be condemned — " • . 

- i fly to Christ your friend. 1 

Your crimes confess, your sins forsake, | 

Then you an heir of heaven he'll make. 

Then take up every cross — 

Count all things here but loss; i 

I>e it our constant care _ '.\ 

To live a life of prayer: 
And then on Canaan's blis:=ful shore, 
We '11 meet our friends to part no more. 

Sweet 3Iary dear, farewell — 

Our anguish none can tell; 

With grief our liearts are riven, 

But when we meet in heaven, 
We '1! shout, our griefs and sorrows o'er, 
And dwell in peace for evermore. 

* Rev. xiv: 3. 

194 cotton's keepsake. 

L I X E S , 

On the death of Captain Godfrey Snow, who -was literally 
j;iu(.uiJ to aiuiiis in the macliiuery of a steamboat, of ■which 
he had comuiaucl, 1&21. 

A SOLEMN" sound doth now resound — we hear of sudden death — 
Come ITstcn now, I'll tell you how, and who. as my good muse 

One Godfrey Snow, whose name we know, whose character we 

To be upright, botli day and night — this much, at least, is true. 

His heart, I fear, as doth appear, was never changed by grace, . 
Unless it was within the jaws of that rough iron place ; 
God's power is such, his sacred touch creates the soul anew — 
It may be so, for aiight I know, that he that work did do. 

This fearful sight took place atniglit — to atoms he was ground 
By the rough deal of the balance-wheel — his head, howe'er, 

was found; 
' cat!sed by this, if I don't miss — his coat caught in the 

wheel — 
In sad surprise, for help he cries — how think you he must feel? 

He cried in vain, nor could obtain a stay no longer here, 
Eut he must go from all below, and to his Judge appear; 
The wife he'd left, and child bereft, he soon had hoped to see, 
Bat ah, alas ! was held and fait, forced to eternity. 

And now to yon, his consort true, yon 're left awhile to mouin — 
Yonr husband's to tarry long — no more will he return; 
Your babe with you brings to your view i'.s fitlier's tender care — 
May you and it in glory sit, is nov,- my deep-felt prayer. 

ELEGIES. . - . , 195 

' ■■ • X . A MOUKXFrL SONG, 

On the death of Wiilinni Duncan's four chililren, who vrere con- 
&uiiiwJ, v.ith Lis hoi;?L>, by fire, oa the cvcninp: of the ISth of 
Afiirch, l.Si'2, ago..! eleven, nine, five anil tliree year?. One 
vras an only son, five years old. Never was an entire com- 
muuity more generally excited to sympathy and tears thaa 
upon this occasion. These lines were published at the time 
in ballad form. 

To Mi: give ear, ye parenis dear, and your kind children, too, 
While I express the deep distress which I will now pursue; 
But in what way. I sure must say, I am perplexed to know 
IIow to relate the solemn fate which I 'm tibout to show. 

May he who reigns in Eden's Plain direct my pen and heart, 
And give me light to do just right — from error to depart: 
' Here I must say, the eighteenth day of March, in '22, 
A fearful sight took place at night — four children burnt in view 

Of those who saw, with grief and awe, their bodies in the 

But 'twas too late — four out of eight all suffered tiie same; 
Their parents, ay, had gone away, a pleasant eve to spend. 
And little thought they should be brought to sufler in the end. 

It does appear their infant dear v.'ith them they took along — 
The seven left had gone to rest — 0, what a mournful song!. 
For while they slept, the fire crept, and filled the house with 

smoke — 
Still there they rest, not one oppressed, till one at last awoke. 

Then all the rest she thus addressed, '^Our hous"- is lurning xtp P 
Tier frantic cries unlocked their eyes — with horror they were 

struck ; 
Two eldest they together lay within the other room — 
Delila bold ran and them told their almost certain doom. 

lOG cotton's KEErSAKE. 

The fire had spread all o'er their Lead, -which frightened them 

the more — 
One only way escaped they— a window was the door; 
'T wonlil raake my song full quite too long to mention every 

thin- — 
The oth'.T iour arc now no more — we trust in heaven they sing. 

'Bout 'Icven at ni;;ht, if I am right, these parents started home, 
When two young men approached them, and told them what 

was done ; 
AVhat sad snrprise must strike their eyes, and swell their aching 

They could but see from seven, three that had escaped unhurt. 

The morning mild upon them smiled, but still they were dis- 
tressed — , ' ~ 
They found of all a fragment small — poor comfort at the best; 
Their bnrnt remains and fire stains, one coflin held them all — 
A sermon they had the next day, well 'dressed to great and 

Those parents dear, while they did hear, did often swoon away — • 
Their grief so great, who can relate how solemn was that day; 
Their streaming eyes and mournful cries caused many hearts to 

melt — 
No one can guess, no tongue express how those dear mourners 

Parents, forbear, your children are, no doubt, in heaven above — 
In joyful lays they sing God's praise, for his redeeming love: 
You 've often prayed they might be made partakers of his grace — 
The fervent prayer, God does declare, he hears with smiling face. 

Like children now to .Jesus bow, and kiss the sacred rod, 

In heaven at last the word is passed — you'll praise the Lord 

your God; 
And there you'll meet, with greetings sweet, those children you 

And shout and sing to Christ, your king, to mourn nor part no 


* By I.^Jer Ferris, of Lanre icebnig — now oi" Bainted memory. 

ELEGIES. . 197 

The near cicape that j-ou did make, ve children that survive, 
Sliould make you praise God all your days that you are yet nlivc; 
Your parents dear, while they are here, love, honor, and obey, 
That you at last, ->vheu life is past, may to heaven nil wing your 

r.oth gToat and small, on you I call — may virtue each inspire — 
Ee cautious, too, whate'er you do, and how you use your fire; 
This world of woe, through which we go, is full of care and 

danger — 
And now adieu, dear friends, to you, and him who is a stranger. 

■ ■ LINES, 

Selected and composed on the death of a dear brother, who was 
lost at sea — poor fellow! — and the only one of nine children 
that my mother ever lost. He vras mate of the vessel; was 
Overtaken in a long and fearful tempest; had lightened ship 
fifteen tuns by throwing overboard; niglit set in, dark and 
portentous. It being dcsiiable, yet a very hazardous uuder- 
takiag, the captain did not command, but said: "Boys, dare 
any of j'ou undertake to furl the flying-jib if let down V 
My brother and a Mr. Knights, two as gallant-tars as ever 
.paced a deck, responded: -Let it down, and we'll take it 
in." And in attempting to do so, my poor brother was swept 
overboard ; but being a firstr-ite waterman, he came up along- 
side, and called for help, r.ope.s, and ever}' thing- in reach, 
■were thrown to hirn. Mean time, another mighty swell 
broke over him, and he appeared again in the trough of the 
sea, some ten rods, at least, from the ship. Conscious of his 
perilous condition, he cried out: "If you can't help me, I 
must perish ! help !" Then buried again beneath a moun- 
tain billow, in the next trough, his voice -was again distinctly 
heard amid the roar of the warring elements, but could not 
be understood. Uj.x long he butl'etod the mad waves is all 


conjecture — perhaps an hour, or until siczcd by a shark or 
other monster of the sea, the very thou^'ht of v,-hicb is agony. 

My dear brotlicr, I would to thee I 

Inscribe a fond, a monrnful lay, ' . ' 

Pescriptive of my heartfelt grief • ■ 

A7hen thou didst pass froiu earth away. 

Ilark! my soul! what do I hear? 

The mournful, sad intelligence, 
That brother dear I so much loved 

Has gone, yes, gone for ever hence. 

O brother dear, can it be so? 
-. '• ■ Yes, thou alas ! indeed hast fled 

To the regions of the cold, pale. 

And sheeted millions of the dead. • \ . 

-x- * * * * * *■* ■!;■' 
Thy weary spirit bVeathed itself to sleep • . "' ^ *:^ 

Ueneath the surges of the foaming deep; ' ' "i 

Though thy shipmates could render thee no good, , 

They savr thee, heard thee, aud did the best they could. -j 

In that dread hour, we trust, to thee 'twas given I 

To knov,', in part, what faith proclaims of heaven; 
Yet 0! I mourn, and bleeds my wounded heart — 
Long shall I grieve, and feel the inward smart. 

And thy la=.t words, "0 help! or I"hiust drown!" 
Thrills through my soul, a heart-affecting sound; 
It does seom hard that naught for thy relief 
Could have been used — "tis cause for deepest grief. 

That 'twas thy lot to die where those most dear, 
Nor weeping friends that gloomy liour could cheer; 
But so it was, aTid so it must remain — 
'"Tis over wi'.h thee now — ah! why should I coiu'dain? 

eu:gies. ' 199, 

When thou did-st die. could I have watched thy bod — 
On its last rcstiugphice have laid thy fainting head ; 
To have seen thee die — to know that all was o'er — 
Thou decently interred — I could have a=;ked no more. r 

iiut 'tis the sarae, no matter where %ve sleep, 

On burning tauds, or in the ocean deep, ' ■, . 

Or beasts of prey, or monsters of the sea, " - 

Our frames devour — 'tis all the same to me. ' ', '.■ ., 

But here comes memory vrith her busy throng .-- : r 

Of tender ima;j;e.s, forgotten long; ■ * 

Years have hurried back, and as they swiftly rolled, 
I saw thee, heard thee, as in the days of old. . ■ ■ ' • 

Sad and mure sad each sacred feeling grew — 
Manhood ■was moved, and sorrow claimed its due, 
While thick and fast the burning teardrops started — 
1 turned away in grief, and felt that we had parted. 

But not for ever — in the cold and silent tomb, 
Where all are equal, thy kindred shall find room ; 
A little while, a few short years of pain, - 
And, one by one, we '11 come to thee again. . 

Thy dear loved Jaxe, worn out vrith care and grief, 
Shall lay her head by thine in sweet relief ;" 
Thy children, too, who mourn thy stay so long, 
Shall all iu time, around thee surely throng. 

Thy parents, too, shall soon seek out the place. 
And rest with thee, the fifth-born of their race ; 
Sisters, and brothers, and thy every friend, 
True from thejfirst, and faithful to the end. 

All, all in his good time who placed us here, 
To live, to love, to die and disappear ; 
Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee, 
Or in the ivave, or iu the suririr.g sea. - 

200 cotton's keepsake. 

Y/ith thco to sleep, through deatli's long dreamless night, 
"With tlioe rise up, and bless the morning light; 
There face to face we '11 meet our friends again, 
And bid a long adieu to sorrow, death or pain. ^ ■ 

Tiieu bail ! all hail that blessed, blessed day, 
When from each cheek all tears are -wiped away ; 
The tolls of death shall ne 'cr be heard again, 
In heaven's undying jo}' thej' shall for ever reign, 

glorious hope! -what joy it does impart. 

To mourning friends who thus have had to part; • 

Yes, Avhile I write, I know this truth right well, 

So brother dear, 'till then, ! fare thee velL - - 

LINES, ; - - 

0.\ the death of my own sweet child, Lewis A. B. Cotton, 
aged three years — our j-oungest and last child. The 
same I have often vrritten for others with corrections to 
suit. O! he was a sweet dear little boy, and his memory 
precious, exceedingly precious unto my heart, even unto 
this day, and ever will so remain until we rccet in thai 
better land above. Reader, if they apply to you and 
yours, so appropriate them. 

CRUEL death! to seize our boy, 
Our Lewis dear, our hope and joy; 
To tear him from afiection's breast, 
And wrap him in thy icy vest. 

But 0, sweet babe! the struggle's o "er, 
Atjd rest is thiue for evermore; 
"With thy loved kindred in tlie dust, 
Thy precious form we now intrust. 

ELEGIES. ' ■ 201 

Our licarts are full, our eyes o'orQow, 
So hard for us to lot, thee go ; 
No more to sec that precious smile, 
Which often did our cares beguile. 

Yet the SAVcet hope allays the pain, 
That we shall live and love again; 
Love ".vith a pure seraphic fire, 
Which never, never shall expire. 

Go then svi'cet babe, ■we give thee o'er, ; 
Soon vre shall meet to part no more ; 
Our rapture then shall be complete, 
For there t^hall we each' other greet. 

There with our pious kindred sing, 

There join with them to praise our king; 

There bid adieu to death and pain, ^ 

And there in peace for ever reign. . ' 

L I X E S ' 

Upon the death of infact twin brothers, children of James 
and Susan Mathews, 1S24. 

Te parents dear, to me give ear, 

Come hear my meditation, 
Yoar cliildrcn, too, brin'i long with you. 

Come hear this rweet relation. 

Two "lovely babes, I do encrage. 
Were born last Sabbath evening. 



Ou Wediies'ltiy night one took iti 
The other soon pursued him. 


yet fair, 

Two sons they were, though s: 
They were a pleasant portion, 

But soon they fled, to the quiet dead 
How sliort was their probation. 

The siglit was fair, I do declare, 
They both lay in one cofiin, 

Innocent they, like dolls they lay, 
What could be fairer? Xothing. 

Now just suppose the prettiest rose 
That ever bloorued in May; 

Not half so fair as that sweet pair, 
Upon their burial day. 

"When thoy came in this world of sin, 
They found a world of sorrow ; 

Then closed their eyes, flew to the skies, 
No trouble need we borrow. 

Let say who dare, that children are 

Not subjects of salvation, — 
'Less we become like them, not one 

Can f-ain a heavenly station. 

If children then, as saith my pen, 
Are unto men the standard; 

How can we, pray, cast them away? 
What! cast away the standard! 

To me 'tis eiear, our infants dear, 
For whom our hearts are riven/ 

.^•' ■ ELEGIES. • 203 

Hejoico and sing to Christ tlieir king, 
In their sweet home in huaven. 

0! then adieu, sweet babes to you, 

"Jill Gabriel's trump sluill thunder, 
And then we Ml meet in rapture sweet, 
- And sinij^, and thout, and wonder. 

■- LINES, : 

On the death of infant twin brothers, children of Robert and 
Mary Smith, solecied and composed, 1S52. 

'T "WAS on a time, and sweet the eve, 

And balmy was the air; 
I saw a sight that made me grieve. 

And yet the sight was fair; 
"Within a little coffin lay, 

Two pretty babes as fiiir as May. 

Like waxen dolls in infants' dress, 

Their little bodies were; 
A look of placid happiness. 

Did in each face appear. 
And in a coiTin short and wide, 

They lay together side by side, 

A rosebud nearly closed I found 

Each little hand within, 
And many a pink was strewn around, 

With sprigs of jessamine. 
And yet the flowers that round tliem lay. 

Were not to me more fair than they. 



Their mother as a lily pale, .. - ' 

Stood by the coffin lid, 
And bending o'er them, told her tale [of 

And burning tears she shed;' 
Yet oft she cried Jimid her pain, 

My babes and I shall meet again. 

■ ^ - ELEGY, ■-■• '• V ■ • --'^ 

Writtfn on the doatli of Thomas Miller, President of the 
Miller Township Washini:;ton Tempera-nce Society, and sung 
at a meeting of the Society, to piiy a ruoarnful tribute of 
respect to his memory. 

Ye Temperance friend?, please lend an ear to what I now do say; 
Your dear beloved President by death is called away: 
And we are met to mourn his less, and talk his virtues o'er— 
A custom that has long prevailed, e'en since the days of yore. 

^len, great or good, in every age, with all the tribes of raon . 
Have beo.n revered and eulogized, and thus it is, that when 
They cease connection with the earth, their memory slii! lives; 
Rich is the inheritance to us, which thus the good man gives. 

And Thomas Miller well de-ervcs the tribute which we pay, 
The celebration of his worth, an.l this my humble lay; 
True as the needle to tiie pole, he to his pledge did cleave; 
The loss of such a temperance man may well cause all to grieve. 

As husband, father, neighb'or. friend, he well performed his part; 
" V»'as honest as the day is long,'' and pure in life and heart; 
He died as ho long since had lived, with coiiRdence in God; 
And now he rests from all his cares, beneath yon peaceful sod. 


Our lois, dear friends, is his great gain, his work of love is doue ; 
The g-lorious crown of endless life irluiripliantly he won ; 
Our friend, though dead, yet speaketli slill, iu silent eloquence; 
Let us hi:, virtues imitate ere he was called from hence. 

And lol, us keci> the temperance ball forever on the roll, 
Till dodgeries, those sinks of woe, are crushed from pole to pole. 
God is uur captain, he will lead our conquering army on. 
From conquest unto conquest fair, till the great work is done. 

To arms I to arras! ye valiant band, and pass the pledge around — • 
'T will prove a safeguard and a tower, and all our foes confound. 
Friend Miller, now a long firewell — thy memory sliall not die — 
We'll cherish all thy virtues fair, till we shall meet on high. 

then repose in slumbers sweet, thy sins were all forgiven, 
Angels have beckoned thee away to share the joys of heaven; 
May we thy pleasing footsteps tread, our lives be lives of prayer, 
That when, like thee, we're called to die, thy triumphs T>-e may 
share. - 


Os the death of Mf.KRix Scoggin", President of the Miller Tem- 
perance Society, who was murdered in 1815; being shot 
■ ' through the window of his own dwelling — two balls passing 
• through his head, producing instant death. The base assassin 
■was arrested, tried and acquitted, against the clearest convic- 
tion of his guilt, ou the ground that all the testimony was 
circumstantial, and other et ceteras. 

Apothegm— Geii. iv: 10. — " The Tcioe of thy brother's blooJ crieth unto 
me fiviii the groimd." 


IIark ! LearJ ye not that sniotliered gvoan, 
TLat pieixiaic, mournful sound? 


The voice of our dead brother's blood 

That crieth from the ground — 
"Avenge me — for my bloody gore! 

Aveuge me — for my wife ; 
"Why -will yoa let iiim run at hirge — 

The wretch that took my life V" ' 

Softly! thou dear lamented one, ,.. ."' ' ■ ' ■ 

Thy country 's bathed in tears ; ■ , v . ,- • 
Thy wife — thy friends go sorrowing ' :'- 

Through all their coming years/ -- -• 

Thy Temperance flock is gathered here 

To mourn their President ; . ' . - > ., 

To pay just homage to thy worth, : .. ' v 

All — all are quite intent. 

"The Court and Jury," patient sat, 

One blessed live-long week, — ' f 

With honest hearts— ^convicting truth, 

They diligently seek. 
The jury, lest they should do wrong, 

Let the poor culprit go, 
To wander up and down the earth, 

To drink the dregs of woe. \_Gaill and remorse. 

A thousand times would I prefer 

Thine own. untimely death, j 

Than to be doomed a fugitive 

. Down to my latest breath. 
then repose in slumbers sweet, 

Till God shall judge the world, 
And all his burning thunderbolts 

Be in his bosom hurled. [_)V'Ahout dec}) penitence. 

ELEGIES. - ■ 207 

D(3ar 3Ierrit, now a long farewell! 

Thy mcm'ry shall not die; 
Wc 'II cherisli all thy virtues fair, 
■ Till wo shall meet on high. 
Then chide ua gently, dear loved one, 

Thy country 's bathed in tears ; 
Thy wife, thy friends, go sorrowing, 

Through all their coming years. 

- Till BUTE, 
- . To tLe memory of Mrs. Jullv L. Doiont. 

"the l'nfokgottex dead." 

She is sleeping now, 

She has breathed her last, 
While friends are weeping, 
She to heaven sweetly passed. 

A brilliant star has fallen and gone out for ever, . 
And many hearts bleeii as tender ties sevex". 
Gone down, did I say? rather up — up — u{> — 
To drink purer bliss from heaven's purer cup. 

Her transit was marked by a blaze of bright glory, 
To live on and live ever in song and in story ; 
Mrs. Julia Dumont of far-spreading fame 
Has passed earth's portals, but that deathless name 

Shall live on and on through all coming time, 
In history and song, in prose and in rhyme; 
She was, as all know, nature's highly gifted Poet, 
And well she knew xckca and huic she miglit show it. 

208 cotton's KEKrSAKE. 

Her "chaste, tlirillino; tales" of fad or of fiction, 
Are sound in their morals anJji?/ie in their dicti'jc ; 
A very strong mi ad and a fond feeling heart, 
Enabled her icell to perfunu her oicn 2)art, 

In all the affairs and duties of life, 
As daughter and mother and an ecer fond wife — 
As friend and as neighbor greatly loved and admired, 
Not gaudy and vain but ever neatly attired. 

Her sons and her daughters from her riehlj inherit, 
' Mind, wit, and genius, to ■\vin fame, by iv.erit; 
A star of attraction yet quite unassuming. 
Of her might be said without once presuming. 

Iler fame and her writings we all fondly cherish, 
So spotless and pure tlieij never can perish. 
A husband most kind, with means fully ample, 
Ever sanctioned her efforts by force of example. 

May heaven in mercy bind up the bruised heart, 
'Till they meet in ''that clime" '' ichere friends never 

And now "cherished loved one" no language can tell, 
How fondly all loced iAce— farewell, oh farewell. 

ELEGIES. ^ . 209 

- • -. TRIBUTE, - - • ^- ' 

To tlie clierislied mcinory of Ci.ark J. Durham, "a Sou of 
Tcuipeiiince" v.ho ^v;^.•^ fully niaiiglc'l and killed in the 
Machine Shop of the 0. & M. Uailroad Cor.ipaui,- at Cochran, 
near Aurora, May IJ, 1857. aged 18 years; and repjiectfuHy 
dedicated to his bereaved aud grief smitteu parents aud 
friends : 

Tuis manly youth in life's bright morn, was called from earth 

Be mine the mournful, pleasing task, -'a tribute '" just to Jjay. 
Intelligent and good with all. a promising young man,' 
Loved aud respected by hi.s friends, in virtue's paths he ran. 

Those sinks of woe where thousands fall, where -rum and 

ruin" reign, 
-To lure him down to infamy, found all inducements vain. 
At home among his dear kind friends, or with some useful 

He spent his hours, improved his mind, — of pleasures puke 


All full of hope, and joy, and glee, from morn 'till night he 

To aid his parents as he should, his manly hands he soiled. 
The debt of love and gratitude, he labored to repay, 
"Througfi" all the pleasing scenes of youth," up to " that fatal 


Such generous, noble-hearted yottth, are seldom to te found. — 
Mangled and torn he passed away, to atoms almost ground, 
To parents, brothers, sisters, friends, he was most kind and 

true ; 
All mouru the loss of one so tvtxk, dear Clark, adieu, adieu. 

Sisters, and brothers, how sad the breach made in your circle 

fair — 
Made in the circle of his friends, his comrades — evervwhcre. 


And now dear parents, let mo say, I sympathise ivith jou, 
Your hearts are ■R'ruug with auguisU keen, I hear — I know 
'tis true. 

But how much lighter is the pang to part with one so dear, 
Than though he were a wortldess youth, to loathe, avoid, and 

But still I know vour hearts must bleed, your sighs be often 

It can not well be otherwise — yet in " the Sacred Word," 

You'll find the promise rich and free, to all -who boar the Cross, 
A life of glory in the skies, all else is sui-ely dross. 
Parents and children there shall meet, brothers, and sisters too, 
All pious friends, and 0, I hope, I there shall meet with you. 

And now dear friends restrain your tears, let sighs bo turned 

to praise, 
You'll meet him soon, I fondly hope, in mntual, sweet amaze. 
Ma}' God in mercy grant to you his .sanctifying grace, 
And may y,Q all iu heaven at last obtain '■ a resting place." 


On the tragic death of Charles Xoyes '^ and ErnTum Crocch. 
■who were drowned togethf^r in the Whitewater, near Harri- 
son, Dearborn county, lud.. May 20th, 1845. How, the fol- 
lowing will explain. 

Ho! ALL ye dying sons of men, give ear to me awhile — 
A solemn scene I will rehearse, if heaven on me smile : 
Four of oi'if hale young fellow-men, the twentieth day of ?.Iay, 
Set out upon a fuhing tour, with merry hearts and gay. 

<■ ily laJj-'s brother. 

•. ELEGIES. : 211 

Their names, Charles Nojes and Ephraim Crouch, Anderson and 

Magee — 
They spread their sein near Farrison, quite full of hope and 

Thrice had they made a pretty haul, that pleased their fancy 

well, ' • . 

i>ut 0! the fourth and last attempt— how am I pained to tell! 

That two of them, alas! were drowned — the third did scarce ' 

survive — 
The fourth was "cramped," yet saved alone this ri.zhing friend 

alive : 
This "Tragedy," "in measured strains," so i.iournful to be told, 
Occurred thus (as I'm informed) — Magee, with couiag-c bold. 

Swam out to cross a deep wide place, to draw their sein onco 

more — 
About midway, his foot "got foul" — he cleared ard swam to 

shore : 
Both Noyes and Crouch, in merry mood, laughed at his sad 

Said Crouch, "I '11 better that, you'll see, or else it is my treat." 

"0, do not try it,'' said Magee — "I've done my very best; 
It is too deep, it is too far;'" but naught could him arrest. 
"If he can't do it, we both can,"' Xoyes laughingly then said. 
"Xo, no," said And'son and Magee ; but Noyes said, " Go ahead." 

Away dashed Crouch, but soon 'twos seen he was progressing 

not : 
Noyes cheered him up, "Swim, Ephraim, swim!" but no re-* 

sponse he got ; 
Onward rushed Xoyes to save his friend, and seized him by the 

When Crouch hugged Noyes around the breast, whic'n 'counts for 

all the harm. 
"0 help!" cried Xoyes, as down they sank beneath the rippled 

wave — 
In ijlunged Magee, with might and main, his sinking friends to 

save: - . • . , 

212 cotton's keepsake. . 

Xow Nov;*s, iu turn, caught. hold Magce, and thrice drew him 

But still iilagee was nearing shore, when Xoyes his hold let go. 

Magee swata out to take his. breath, and stripped off evevy 

weight — 
Then plunged again his fiieuds to save from their impending 

Locked arms in arms, they then appeared, dashing the surface 

But ere he reached thena, sanli again into their watery grave. 

He dove, ar.d dove, and dove again, but all to no avail, 
And swam, and swam the surface round till he begun to fail; 
In agony he sought his friend, who stood upon the shore, ^ 
The fearful space (as I "m inftjrmed) of forty yards or more. 

But soon exhaustion seized his frame, he too was sinking fast — 
Kow Anderson, who could not swim, wades in, in to the last, 
And reaching out his nervous arm, just caught him by the hair, 
As he was sinking down amain— 0, what a sad aSalr! 

TTith timely aid he was revived — the others soon were found; 

But naught could them resuscitate — what an alarming sound! 

Then side by side they each were placed, upon their wagon- 

And thus brought back to their loved ones, alone, and sad, and 

A messenger was sent in haste to their surviving friends, 

TVhose peaceful slumbers were aroused, whose shrieks the mid- 
night rends; 

At early dawn, with solemn tread, "They come!'' resounds 
from all, 

TTith bitter tears, and mournful cries, that did all hearts appal. 

Their fondest wives, in frantic grief, their aged parents dear. 
And many friends, all joined to swell the wail of woa so drear; 
But words, alas! are powerless, and poetry is mute,M 
Kor yet can fancy paint the scene with any just compute. 

■ '- ELEGIES. - '• • ' 2i3 

A pt^rfcct •wilderness of men their burial scene did view — 
The sermor. bj- the writer, from Job sixteen, twcnty-twi.): 
This journcv all, all soon must take, but how, or when, or 

.Vo liviug mortal tona;ue can tell — I then prepare, prepare! 

These dear yonng men had never thouglit how near their glass ^ 

had run, . - 

When they left home that pleasant morn, before the rising sun; 
Some fifteen miles from all their friends, almost as quick as ^ 

thought, . - 

The}' were enguU^d in deaih's cold stream, and rescued could 

be not. ■ 

. / I 

They had no wife nor mother dear to smooth their dying bed, 

Or cheer them in the trying scene, or hold their aching head; 

Cut off from all their dearest t'riends, they gasp and die alone — .; 

Their winding-sheet a limpid stream — their softest couch a stone. 

The ways of heaven are just and right, though none sliould 

comprehend *j 

Why dearest ties asunder part, and friend is torn from friend. I 

A few fleet months had only passed since each had married j 

well— j 

Ye widowed brides, full well I know, your anguish none can telL J 

0! cast your every grief and care on yonr ascended Lord; 
Ilifi promises most precious arc — 0, take him at his word! 
"He will provide" for yours and you, if you but seek aright — • 
He'll be your husband, father, friend, and you his dear delight. 

Dear dying friends and neighbors all, especially young men, 

heed, I pray, this solemn call, this counsel of my pen; 

" Prepare at cnce to .meet thy God," for- death is on thy track — ■ ^ 

'T may seize thee in thy sports abroad, and take thee all aback. 

Jiay heaven sanctify and bless this casulty severe; 
Now to their mcm'ry let us pay the tribute of a tear. 

214 cotton's keepsake. 

Farewell, dear Ch;:rles, and Ejiliiaim too, tillthe last trump 

shall sound, 
And gather all cur long lost friends from underneath the ground. 

Children of runny prayers fi.nd tears, ^ve trust to vou 'twere 

In your last dying agony, to breathe your prayer to heaven ; 
Then fare you well, ye dear loved ones — earth's dearest ties 

must sever. 
Bat if so happy there to meet, we '11 part — never — xeyer I 


Who was drowned in attempting to forti Greon Kiver, on his 

way to California, June 20, 18-V2, and respectfully dedicated '■! 

to his painfully afflicted and bereaved parents, bvoiuers, sis- 
ters and friends, and to all interested therein. I 


A WAIL of woe sweeps o'er the land, borne on a '-Western" 

breeze, ^ i 

That sends deep anguish to the heart and makes its blood all | 


A son and brother loved and dear, lured by " the shining oie," 

Bade weeping friends a fond adieu, and hastened to that; shore, 

Where " gold " her banners had unfurled, inviting all to come. 
For she'd inducements large for more, and untold wealth for 

son:e. - . ■ 

All full of life a.ncl full of hope, he urged his way along, 
"Vi'lien suddenly " death called him hence — Oh I what a moucu- 

fal song." ■ . ■ ' 

^ "- _ elt:gies. ■ ■ '215 

While on Lis tedious, vcary wftv, a stream he needs must ford. 
Whose rushing M'atcrs made him pause — but "onward" was 

the word. 
His faithful nag plunged iu amain, when down the rapid 

Loth horse and rider drift apace — he missed the ford, 'twould 


•el'm lost," he cries, "without relief, friends, friends, come 

end save ;'' 
But no, nh no — he sinks — he sinks into '• a watery grave." 
Thoughts of his "childhood's happy home,'' come rusliing to 

his mind. 
Of father, mother, brothei's dear, and sisters, too, most kind. 

But they are all far, far away, and he must die alone — 

His winding sheet the "limpid stream," "his dying couch" a 

Oh, California, all thy gold, can ne'er a ransom pay, 
For all the anguish friends have felt for friends thus "far 


Some "in the mines," some hastening there, to death their all 

resign — 
Among tlie many "lo-sed and lost," is Gilbkkt Angevtne. 
Lozier and Craig, Row, Dunn, and Hall, and scoies on scores 

And all like him leave weeping friends, and Craig, a fair young 


Warm gusliing tears and bleeding hearts proclaim their " depth 

of love " — 
All torn asunder ne'er to meet, 'till all shall meet above. 
why, why, should it be tluis, that loved ones die apart; 
Causing deep grief and bitter woe to crush both hope and heart. 

Such are " the mystic ways of Him," " who is too wise to err;" 
And Providence proclaims to all, 't is wise to trust in her. 
Well, be it so, we all rejoice that our dear friend was found, 
And " neat and decently interred," upon a lovely mound. 


There peacefully in long repose, he sleeps " the sleep of death," 
GoJ, hoiuo, and friends, his heart rcj>e;U3 wiili liis liisi gurgling 

breatii — ■ . 

Heai'd not on earth but heard iu heaven," and swift as thought 

they come, 
• "A heavenly c>invoy " from above to guide his spirit homo. 

Upward he soars ''on v/inirs of love," aud leaves this world of 

^ care — 
"For peace and pardon God will grant to penitence and prayer. 
Farewell, dear Giluhrt, now farewell, our hearts all bleed for 

thee, • 

^Ye mourn as iruc friends only mourn, dear, dear, dear, dear 

Could we but plant around thy grave the rose and je=;saminc; 
I'y that ''lone spot," we every one long since most sure had 

But one by one will come to thee in the cold and silent tomb. 
And rest in long and peaceful hope "the universal dooni." 

Then altogetlier we will rise and meet in heaven above. 
And join '• the anthems of the blest." proclaiming " God is love ;" 
And range ■' the blissful fields of light, and there forever dwell — ■ 
Dear son and brother, we repeat our last, long, sad farewell! 


On the death of Jonx B., son of George B. and Jane Sheldon, 
of Lawrenceburg, aged ten years. Respectfully dv^dicatcd to 
the bereaved and afflicted parents, and to all other friends 
eimilarly situated. 


0, Johnny was a dear sweet boy, some nine or ten years old — 
Active in body and in mind, as I have oft been told ; 

ELEGIES. :- ■ • 217 

P,ri::ht hopes of future happy days bis parents fondly cherisIicJ — 
Alas! how soon he was cut down, and those fond hopes all 

His prattling tongue, uovr hushed in death, vrill cheer their 

hearts no more, 
Till they shall meet him in the skies, and join him to adore 
That Providence which took him from this world's delusive 

To spend a life in praise to God, instead of sighs and prayers. 

In that bright world, where all is peace, his little roving feet, 

From p.iths of sin, securely flit along the golden street; 

He swells the anthems of the blest — one of that youthful 

Who sing a song none else can learn, nor angel tongues inspire.* 

Dear parents, give, 0, give him up, and dry your flowing tears, 
And may surviving children cheer your life's declining years: 
Good-by, dear Johnny, soon we "11 meet in that bright world 
above, ., 

Brothers and sisters, parents, too, to praise redeeming love. 


For Mrs. Maet Jane, daughter of Walter Hayes, Esq., 
who was thrown from her carriage near Hardinsburgh, and 
picked up a mangled and bleeding corpse. In 1S2G, Mrs. West 
■was one of mj pupils, and just such an one as teachers always 
love, and never forget. 

Alas! my dear loved, cherished friend, 

My pupil years gone by, 
I mourn thy sad untimely fiite, 

And heaves my heart a sigh. 

*Bev. xir: 

218 cotton's keepsake. 

I call to mind the scenes "lang syne," wLen you T.-itb others 

came , 

To be instructed at ray hands — your memory and your name 
I cherish fondly in my heart — you were indeed most, kind, 
And one more fond none need desire, none e'er expect to find. 

BeloYed by all thy little mates, alike bcmoared by all, 
Thy sudden death has spread a gloom deep as the midnight pall; 
A husband dear in anguish monnis a wile most kiud and true, 
And children fondly lisp thy name, and sadly sigh .idieu. 

But thou hast fled to other friends who wait for thee above, 
To swell the anthems of the skies, and sing rtdtemin;! love; 
Kor danger, nor misfortune there can mar our perfect bliss — ' , 
How blessed is the life above when once compared to this. 

! then farewell, my cherished friend,, in peaceful slumbers 

Till we shall meet in heaven above, no more to sigh or weep: 
Live on in light, and love, and peace, on that immortal shore, 
And dwell with God, and sing his praise, and triumph evermore. 


Several years ago, Mr. C. C. Stevenson, of Lawrenceburg, a 
gentleman favorably and extensively known all abroad, was 
expected from Cincinnati on the evening packet. His son 
John, a very promising little lad of some lifteen years, ran 
down to the wharf-boat to meet him on his arrival. A boat 
soon hove in sight, but it proved not to be the one looked for, 
and with a heart all full .of anxiety and love, little Johnny, 
leaning against one of the outer posis of the wharf-boat, 
threw his head around, gazing intently up stream, impatient 
for the right boat to heave in view; and so intent was he to 
greet his kind good father, that be lost sight of himself, and 


all around him. Meantime, the boat -which had just passed 
rounded to, and came alongside the wharf-boat, without seeing 
the position of the lad, or the lad the approach of the boat; 
the bow of which struck his head, smashed it all to atoms, 
and entirely severed it from his body in a moraent. He was 
seized and laid upon the floor; the purple life gushed out 
amain, and he was a headless corpse in a single moment. 
His father, arriving a short time after, was shocked almost to 
suffocation by the apj.alling spectacle. The scene that ensued 
is utterly indescribable, and I will not attempt it. It is said 
to have been rr.ore than a match for fancy itself to paint. 
His dear fond mother utterly swooncil away on receiving the 
sad intelligence. A strong and suitable sheet was procured, - 
the headless trunk carefully enveloped, and it was thus borne 
home, and thus placed in its little cofnn. Mrs. Dr. Harding, 
a lady of fine feelings and good judgment, says: "Takea 
altogether, it was the most appaUinc, heart-rending scene I 
ever beheld." It is quite easy to believe that, the blood fairly 
curdled in my own veins at the painful recital, and I almost 
involuntarily exclaimed in poetic numbers: — 

Mercy! mercy on me! 0, my soul ! what, 0, what shall I do? 
How paint this paiiiful heart-sick scene in colors just and true? 
My faithful muse do n't fail me novr — 0, come, my thoughts in- 
^Vhile I attempt to '-put in tune" my worn out, unstrung lyre. 

With S3-mpathetic grief my heart does now profusely bleed — 
To tell yon why, and when, and where, I will forthwith pro- 
John Stevenson, an active youth, of Lawrenceburg, fair city, 
"Was by a steamboat crushed to death — mel v.'hat, what a 
pity I 

This little lad ran to tlie wharf his kind, good /?a to meet, 

But was returnei; a headless corpse, wrapped in a winding-sheet; 

His dear, dear mother swooned away, 'twas more than she could 

And tears coarsel frcoS- down the cheeks of all asien^blcd there. 

220 cotton's kee fsake. 

His father, frnntic ■with dismay; clung to his lifeless boy, 
■yVhose pleasing nianners and good mind inspired both hoi>; and 

But 0, how vain those cheering hopes, all in a moment fled, 
And that dear sou so idolized, lies numbered with the dead. 

Dear mourning friends, restrain your tears, 't is better for the 

If he had lived, how oft his heart would here have been made 

All now is o'er — go meet him, friends, in that bright world up 

l^'here deaths and dangers never come, nor loved ones part 


THE SUICIDE. . . .... . ■-,: 

Several years ago, a young lady of Lawrencebui-g, waded 
deliberately out into the river, just below town, plunged 
beneath the rolling stream, and drowned herself. She was 
discovered, but not in time to save her. Disappointed affec- 
tion, and approaching ruin and shame are supposed to be 
the cause cf the rash act of desperation. God pity the 
■wretch who couM be instrumental of so much ruin and so 
much woe. Let the mark of Cain be upon him, and let him 
be "a vagabond on the earth all the days of his life,' and 
if God can save him from the deepest, hottest, perdition and 
woe, without a penitence, deeper than earth's cavern, and 
mere bitter than the ivormwood and the gill, I do n't know 
how — that's all. 

Down by the rirer a weeping maiden stole, 
Black as that river the flow of her soul; 
Deep as that river the woes that oppressed her, 
Wide as that river the thoughts that possessed her ; 


Fast as that river flowed her heart's blood, 

As by the river a moment she stoc;d. 

White as the river -when rising in foam, 

Her death-striken cheek as she turned from her home ; 

The soft looks that pressed the snow of her breast, - 

Were rich as the river, ■when over its swell 

The light of the moon in golden rays fell. — ■ ' ' -j 

She is gone — and the river moves slowly along, ■• -- 

She is gone — and the river is moaning its song; , j 

She is gone — and the breast of tiie dark water heaves ; j 

She is gone — and the winds lell the tale of the leaves ; ' 

She is gone — and the owls sing a dolorous wail ; | 

She is gone — and the moon turned blokly and pale : • . 
The spring of her tears its last tribute has paid, . ' 

And she sleeps 'neath the willow tree's saddening shade. i 

W^hence eometh the river, and whither its flow? 

The false one that injured her never shall know; 

Nor ever agnin shall his hard heart rejoice, — 

Unceasing, that river's mysterious voice - I 

Shall rush like a spirit along by his bed. 

And murmur the plaint of the innocent dead. 


For Alanson Warren, of ^lanchester, who was drowned in the 
American Ttiver, California — and will apply with equal force 
and beauty to all our friends who '• sleep their last long sleep '' 
in that far-off land of golden dreams, and is alike intended 
for all — among whom I will jnst mention Cornelius Row, 
James Lozier, Clinton P. Craig, Esq., Capt. Georgo Dunn, and 

- Gilbert Angeviue from our immediate community. 

In the far-oS" land of the stranger's home, 
Where the south winds fan the breath, 

']\Iid lovely flowers and golden dreams 
They laid him down in death. 

222 cotton's keepsake. 

A lone tree marks tlie sacred spot, ■' • " 
"Where be sleeps his dreamless sleep, 
' And the moaning winds with a pitying sound, 
. ■ '' Their nightly vigils keep. ■ •■■ 

And beauteous birds with silvery wings 

- "Will nestle in that tree, 

And Spring's sweet violets deck the grave, 

Which loved ones ne'er can see. 
And 01 how oft will strangers' feet, . ." 

That lonely spot pass by, . .-..•- 

Nor think of one who came bo far, .. .. 

- From his early home to die. _.. 

. ■ Oh ? sad was the day, and the fatal hour, 

When his spirit sighed to roam. 
When he turned from the dear and sacred joys _. 

That clustered round his home; 
Away from friends and kindred dear — 

Beneath that current's roar. 
He struggles, gasps, and then he dies, 

And he will roam no more. 

Farewell, Alanson, a long farewell. 

You live in memory still, 
Your stricken friends, all mourn your fate. 

Yet bow to heaven's will. 
Those ways are often marvelous 

And hard to comprehend, 
But happy those who do at last, 

Find God a present friend. 

FXEGIES. ^ 223 


Upon tbc death of a Lrother's infant son — bj request. 

Just as " tho olive plant" put fortl> its tender blade, 
Or rather the siccci ecd, in death it soon did fade; 
IIow frail is human life! ho^^ many foes surround! 
Nor peace, nor safct}' liere, are seldom to be found. 

And yet, how apt are we to place affections where 
Man's fondest hopes soon end in grief or sad despair ; 
More wisdom then, by far the pious do display, 
lu making sure that " treasure which fadeth not away." 

Corne then, "ye weeping parents," yonr fondest babe give 

On Canaan's soil it blooms, nor can it wither more ; 
The sweets it now enjoys, transcends all human thought, 
Tho robe which it doth wear, by Jesus' blood was bought ; 
O! may you each obtain the sanctifying grace, 
Xor need I only add, that " there you '11 see its face." 


TjiE gka^t:. 

Ob, I>oath ! a fiOJ-ful refuge <7iou/ 

No sorrc'-'.v there ! 
The plants are hushed that heralded decay, 
While the dread shrinking; from th' impeuding day, 
And fearful -R-asting of the frame away — 

Cease in the grave. — ' .. 

- " - - No -vYithering grief — •- 

That the poor heart o'er burdens rrith despair, 
Or %'ain endeavor to escape from care ; 
No broken vows, — no tear-dimmed eyes are there, 
In the lone gra^e. 

The storm's dark wing, 
Though spreading deepest gloom in au^ry skies — 
AVhile through the darkness vivid flies 
That blast and scathe, till vegetation dies — 
. "" Harms not the grave. 

Want has no home, 
And envious slander, 7iere, has lost her power: 
No friend's neglect — like fierce descending shower- 
Can crush the heart, like a storm-stricken flower, 

In the dark grave. 


. ..-.'■■ OBITUARIES. ■-'■. ■ 22 

Let us rejoice — . '.-:;■ 

That ros-t like (Ms aT.%"ait3 us -whou life's day, 
Fitfiil and troubled, ends. Its shadowy \vay, 
Throui^h Death's loue valley lit by Failh's pure ray 

Beyond the grave. 

In my time I have written scores of obituaries, by request 
and otherwise, the most of which I have preserved in 
printed "slips," and had intended to publish them in my 
little book, for the gratification of " mourning friends," but 
I viusi omit them, because, in epite uf all my efforts at 
"retrenchment," my book I see will be larger than in- 
tended, and larger than desired. ]5ut cost what it may — 
enlarge as it will, I must record a few, which it would be 
both ungrateful and ur;just to pass unnoticed. 

Robert Suuman, of Pennsylvaniaburgh, Ripley co., lud., 
died on the plains of Mexico, as a soldier and a patriot. 
His brother, Thomas Sunman, Esq., a gentleman and a 
scholar, and witliai a 2'><^^''t'-cul<ir friend of mine, at an ex- 
pense of much " time and money," niade a trip for him to 
Vera Cruz, exhumed and brought him home for burial be- 
side his honored father and friends in the beautiful family 
-burying ground, where he now sleeps bis " last long sleep 
that knows no waking." At the time of his last inter- 
ment, mine Y>-as the distinguished honor — the mournful 
pleasure — to pronounce the eulogy or oration, to an ex- 
ceedingly large and interested concourse of his friends 
and fellow-citizf>n.-<. lie had won the fame of being a hrave 
and good soldier, as he was a kind and good citizen, and 
a.^ such I take great pleasure in "embalming his name" 
and memory in my little book. Ah! 

"Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight of 
Death and destruction in the field of battle, 
Where blood and carnage clothe the ground in crimson, 
Sounding with death groans." . 

220 cotton's keepsake. 

Then agaiu, why should natious fight more than private 
men ? 

Why not resort to reason, to a friendly arbitration, or to 

Legally constituted, a? in the courts of ju?t>cc. 

the agony of " a battlo-iicld," the waste oi^ morals, of 
money, and of litV, who can duly estimate — what 
numbers fully express it? 

Soon be the dawn of that happy day, when " the na- 
tions shall karn war no more." 

Thomas "^Vatt?, son of the Hon. Johnson "SVatts, of Dear- 
born county, Ind., (who was himself a soldier in the war 
of lS12-Ii, a gentleman v.-liom his friends and fellow-citi- 
zens have oft "delighted to honor," my early and my 
worthy friend,) also died on the plains of Mexico, and was 
returned and buried, with suitable honors and ceremonies, 
beside his "loved kindred and friends," in the old church 
burying grouud at home. The official anuouucenient of 
his death is before me, and but for lack of space, I should 
■with great pleasure record it here, as intended. Suffice it 
to say, that it speaks of him in the highest terms of com- 
memoration and praise, duly certified by my esteemed 
friend, Col. Dumont, and his subordinates, which is a good 
indorsement. With him, hovrever, the "war is o'er," and 
we fondly hope that he has also made "the gocKl fight of 
faith," and won the crown of everlasting life. "Peace to 
his quiet dust." 

Dr. CuUon Crook-shank, son of Dr. Nathan Crookshank, 
of Ilanison, long and favoriibly known as an eminent 
practitioner, scholar, and geologist, and my old familiar 
friend, also feli in Mexico, where, buried with " the fconors 
of war," he slumbers in a soldier's grave, and mingles with 
the dust in that fai-off land of " bloody warfare." He was 
a young man of mos!; extraordinary abilities, and one of 

ocrruArjES. '- IL/J 

tlie finest poets in the "West Lot us hope that ho tunes 
Lis lyre to 

" Nobler strains above." 

David Conger, son of IL.n. Judge Conger, foriuerlj of 
Manchester, now of Iou"a, ai.--o triceps upon the plains of 
Mexico, llu was one of my kindest and most ch/.r^-Jitd 
pupils, and as iine a yondi as ever trod the earth ; pious 
and exemplary in all tlie walks and duties of life. A very 
aecomplisiied lad}- and poetess of New Albany, saner to 
his memory the following appropriate and beautiful lay, 
vrhich may, in some respects, with equal aptness be ap- 
plied to ail : . ^ , 

Soldier, thou resteth on the enemy's soil, '"" 

Far, far from thy native land; 
Thy dream is o'er, vrith its peril and toil, 

AvN-ay on the Rio Grande. 

We weep ttiat one <-o young, so brave, 

Of the valorous Dearbiu-u band, 
Should soeli a name, auvl find a grave, 

Away on the Kio Ca'ande. 

But the glory of the warrior passeth away, 
Like lines that are traced in the sand ; 

The laurels thou ha-t gained can never decay. 
Like those of the Rio Grande. 

Died — Perez C. Cotton, and Ammi. B. Cotton, my 
own dear infant sens. 

Sweet babes, fixrewel]. 

Go sevk that quiet shore, 
Where sin shall ves, 
, And sorrow wound no more. 

Died in infancy — Victoria and Alvira, daughter? of A. 
E. and Jan-^ ( utton, uiy o\wn. dear little graud-cLildren.— 

■228 cotton's keepsake. 

Josephus, sou of James P. and Priscilla Milliken. — E-^tella, 
a surpfissiz)gly sweet and interesting little daughter of 
Peter C. and Eliza "Wilcox. — Sarah, another dear, s-vveet 
girl, daughter of Amos and Levina Noyes. — Abigail, 
anotlier most lovely ■ eliild, daughter of Benjamia and 
Sarah Sylvester, my little nephew and ray little nieces. — 
James M., son of Alden II. and Amanda Jumper. — Helen 
Frances, daughter of James and Augusta Sellers.- — Sparks, 
son of Joseph and Ellen fcchooly. — Omer, a sweet, suffering 
child, son of Gilbert and Elizabeth Piatt. — Cassa, infant 
dear of Tyler and Martha r^Iorris. — George, a dear a:id only 
son of Fiichard and Elizjibelh Knox. — A sweet, dear little 
child of Ahira and 3[:itild:i Meader. — A sweet, dear in- 
fant child of Luther ond Alcy Horham. — A dear, sweet 
infant babe of Pvobert and Fanny Keccham. — A llt:!e dear 
"babs of Charles and Uetsy Cook. — An interesting lictle 
boy, son of "William 'W. and Mary Jordan. — Mary, and two 
unnamed children of David and Xancy Crocker; a sudden 
and sore visitation. — A sweet iufanc babe of Purnel and 
E.achel Parsons. — Helen, sweet girl, daughter of Alonzo 
and Catharine Martin. — Isadore, Theodore and Mary, dear, 
Bweet children of Joseph and Hannah Hansel — Jenny, an 
afflicted, sweet little daughter of A^ddi^-on and Mary E. 
Chandler. — All children cf my relatives and friends, vrhose 
Dames I here embalm for preservation in my Hale book. 
Taken ''from the evil to come," they are being early gath- 
ered into the fold above, " for of such is the kingdom of 
heaven." Sweet babes, farewell 

"As when at morn the sturdy mower's seen, 
With sweeping scythe among the meadows green, 
Gras.s, shrubs, and flowers, all undistinguished fail. 
And wide-spread desolation covers all." 

Daniel and Xancy iMcMullon lost a sweet little girl, 
which called forth a nice little poem from a frieu<i I will 
only givo the conclwding verse: 

- OBITUATilES. ■ -^ 229 

Then dry your tears, each weeping friend, .- . 

For unt(5 you a hope is givon, 
If you but serve God to the end, 

You'll meet Alvira tip in heaven. 

"Died— Mrs. Elizabeth M., consurt of rach;ird Piatt. My 
only dau;;hter, and the sweetest dau-^hter that ever ble-H.-^ed 
a parent, died at the age of about i'O, leaving a son t^^o 
years old, and an infant daughter only six days oM. Eut 
she died in the transport of a living faith. " I am dying 
now," said she, " but I have no fears of death, my soul is 
happy; I never had such a sense of my Savior. It is 
hard to leave my kind husband and my little babes, but 
the will of God be done. Let me kiss them once more — 
take good care of them, and raise them up well," and 
again she fondly pressed tbeiu once more to her bosom 
and her lips, and gave them up, being quite e.\hausted and 
nearly gone, — reviving a little, she said, "0, Pa! 0, ]\la! 
weep not for me, I shall soon be with Je.sus in heaven V 
and then sealing upon our burning cheeks love's fjndest, 
purest, holiest seal of afi'ectiou and love, she fell asleep so 
peacefully it seems almost a sin to weep. Kow truly 
Young paints the scene, when he says: 

'•The chamber where the good man meets his fate, 
. Is privileged above the common walks of life. 
Quite on the verge of heaven." 

"Lord, 'she was thiuf-, and not mine own, 
Thou bast not done me vrrong; 
I thank thee for the precious boon 
Afforded me so long." 

0! loved Elizabeth, 

"Remembrance, f>i'hful tu her trust, 
Calls tiiee in benuty from the dust: 
Q'hou ccmest in the morning light, 
Thou 'i-t with int through the gloomy night. 

230 cotton's keepsake. 

In dreams I meet tlieo as of old, - . ?• > 

Then thy soft arms my neck enfold, 
And til}- sweet voice is in my ear. 
In every scene to memory dear, ■ •• .- ' ' 

I see thee still. - - ■ • 

In every hallowed token round — 
This little ring thy finger bound, 
This lock of hair thy forelioad shaded, ' ■.- 

This silken chain by thee Ma.- braided ; 
The^e flowers, all withered now like thee. 
Sweet daughter, thou didst cull for me ; 
This book Avas thine, here thou didst read; 
This picture — ah, yes, here indeed 

I see thee still. . ' 1. 

Here was thy summer's noon retreat, 
Here was thy favorite fireside seat; : 

This was thy room, here night and day, 
I sat and watched thy sad decay; 
' Here on this bed, where thou nijst lie. 
Here on this pillow, where tliou didst die; 
Dark hour! once more its woes unfold, 
As then I saw thee, pale and cijld, 
I see thee still. 

Thou art not in the grave confined — 
Death can not chain a deathless mind; 
Let earth close o'or its sacred trust, 
But virtue dies not in the dust. 
Thee, O my daughter, 'tis n-it thee 
Beneath the cofiin lid I see; 
Thou to a fairer land art gone, 
And there I hope — life's duties done — 
To see thee still." 

And although I greatly miss thee, and deeply mourn fox* 
Diy 6ore bereavemi^nt, yet I would net forget thee, no, 

" OBITUARIES. "^^ " 231 

never, never. The remembrance of thy dutiful ol>cdienee 
and great aminbility of "mind and manners," the glorious 
composure and happy triumph of " the closing scene," tho 
last siceet, fond, and " farewell kiss," are " cherished re- 
membrances," more precious than gold, or even life itself. 
Yes, if the softest whisper could bring thee back to earth, 
that u-hisyer should be suppressed. No! my "loved and 
cheiishcd" daughter, no; live on "in glory and in bliss," 
"fast by the tlirone of God," and -vxlien the "duties and 
conflicts of life" are o'er, I '11 meet thee — by "the graca 
of God,'' I'll meet thee — ;ioin in the hnly anthem, and 
Bwell the holy chorus "to llini who hath loved us and re- 
deemed us by his blood." Ilallulujah ! hallelujah ! amen 
and amen. 

Mrs. rhccbe, consort: of my lamented son, Alfred B. Cot- 
ton, one of the fondest, kindest, neatest and smartest wives 
that ever blessed a husband, died in seven days after my 
lamented and ever eherished Elizabeth, leaving also a 
little daughter tivu days old. Her last and parting words 
to all her were, "meet mo in heaven! meet me 
in heaven!" and fell asleep. My bereaved son survived a 
fe-.r years, and tlien he too passed from earth array. He 
■was mj- first sweet little boy, the one I had in my arms 
when beset with a y anther, (see biography;) a good son, 
a high-minded, honorable man. and "honest as the day is 
long." Children, Hire well. 

"As the snow-fiake, dancing beneath the light 
Of tlie glorious sun v.-ill melt from sight, 

So fond ones pass away. 
With the speed of a thought that upward tends, 
Do we hasten on with all our friends, 

To mourning and decay.'" 

Died — Mrs. Sarah Jane Morri,-, a most amiable and 
fondly chcrislied niece. — Mrs. Clara Smith, a cherished 


friend, a lady of mind and refinement. — Mrs. nii-Ion Free- 
land, an ever dear niece, loved and cherished. — Mrs. Sebra 
True, modesty and virtue personified. — Miss Alvira Xoyes, 
a dear sweet niece, one of tlie finest young ladies, and 
sweetest poets, of her age, to be found.— Miss Harriet 
Pardun, Miss Caroline PowelJ, and ^liss Sarah Barrows, 
fumed for their piety, loved in life, and lamented ia 
death. — Miss Sarah Sinitli, for mind and piety almost an 
exception. — Miss Mary Jane Sncll, Miss Eliza True, Miss 
Hannah Jane Conger, Miss Celia Ann Hansel, and Miss 
Sarah M. Jackson, were all young ladies of great moral 
excellence and piety, and all that I have here named were 
dear loved pupils of mine. 

Then here comes back to memory my dear and ever 
cherished friends. Miss Pylly Ehler aT-.d ^liss Ann l\od;;er3, 
how sweet how precious their memory fclill. — Mrs. Mary 
Ann I^IcMullin, Mrs. Polly Slater, Mrs. Ella Bodine, and 
Mrs. Mary Slack, early pupils of mine, dearly loved and 
fondly clierished. — Mrs. Susan Pioss, and r\Irs. Phikna 
Fisher, dear sisters and fondly cherished friends, are regis- 
tered in my kind remsmbrances, and I can but do myself 
the pleasure to embalm their names in my little book, as 
they are in my heart, ray affections and ray memory. They 
■were all amiable, n-.o.-t of them pious, and died in "peaceful 
and holy triumph." Sweet poetic lays have been sung by 
surviving friends to their departed loveliness, vrhich I 
should indeed bo pleased to accompany these notices, but 
Epaca utterly forbid.^. My good friends must excuse me, 
and "take the will for the deed." 

Miss Jane, daughter of the Rev. Daniel and Lucy Plum- 
mer, is also a name too precious to be lost. Though never 
a pupil of mine, her friends are ?«// friends, and I can not; 
pass so cherished a name unnoticed. It is saying Tni'ch, I 
know, almost too much tor credence, when I say, in conimou 
parlance, she v.-as deemed by many to be "the flower of 
the family." Her kind and talented sister, Mrs. Dr. liar- 
ding, sang one of her swecto.-t poeUc lays on the occasion, 


inscribed "To a Sister in Ileviven,'' and so did ^liss Liz;;ie 
Jackson to hers, to which I would gUidly treat my readers, 
did space permit. In the phxce of which, and others before 
referred to, I will here introduce a very beautiful little 
poem from the pen of Mrs. Bassett, corrected a little to 
suit, Y\-hich I think very appropriate and beautifully appli- 
cable to them all, and then I pass: 

"As comes the flowers in spring-time, to cheer us for a day, 
To charm and then to leave us, so pass our friends away ; 
Yet not like these they wither, tht^y only pa^7s from earth, 
Transplanted in their beauty to a land that has no dearth. 

Or like the stars that lend us their gentle beams at night, 
Not lost in the bright morning, they only pass^Z/'O'/i sight; 
Although the chain be severed wiiich binds our hearts in 

■ love, 
The links shall all be gathered, and joined again ab^ive. 

On earth in the dear '• home-circle," a dear sweet voice is 

And a heart has ceased its beatings, from which loved 

music gushed; 
One lonely seat is vacant, too, at table, church and prayer, 
A daughter, wife or sister, is missing everywhere. 

In heaven a happy serayh, amid the "angel bands," 
With crowns, and harps, and spotless robes, in radiant 

beauty stands, 
And 7>ure, rich "strains of melody," which angels list to 

Is added to '• the choir above," though it be ndasiii^ here." 

- - 20 ■ 


Op the many epitaphs that I hare vrritten, "by request" aud 
otherwise, I can gire place only to a few, as "specimens." I 
pronounced the "funeral sermon'' of Joseph Ilanneg-ari, a 
venerable old "Revolutionary soldier,'' :o a vast assemblage 
of his friends and feilow--citizen3 ; at the conclusion of which 
I read, and then presented to the family and friends, the epi- 
taph below, 's%-hich vras kindly and thankfully received. Sub- 
sequently I pronounced the "funeral oration" of Jas. Skaats, 
another venerable "Revolutionary soldier," ^\"ho 's^as buried 
with "military honors" and parade, under the command of 
Colonel Mark McCracken, Captain Hugh Scott, and others. 
There was, of course, "a perfect wilderness" of men, women, 
and childrtu in attendance, with "music and banners" — a 
day not soon to be forgotten by me, or by " the citizens of ■ 
York Ridge." By striking out the eleventh and twelfth 
lines, and inserting the following in their places, this epitaph 
will as fitly apply, and be quite as appropriate, as thoug-h it 
had been composed expreisly for this purpose, and it ia 
hereby intended so to be applied and used: 

A patriot true all proud oppression hates 
And none more so than our lamented Skaats. 

For Joseph IliNXEGAX, a, venerable Kevolutionary soldier. 
Beneath this stone an aged veteran lies, 
Who earlv fought for "freedom's golden prize-," 

EPITAPHS. ■ 235 

And lived to see her "eagle, stripes and stars," 

On every sea, the pride of "gallant tars." 

In "seventy-six-" he joined the "martial band" — 

For liberty he "fought vrith sword in hand;" 

Ilunger and toil, iu common, was his lot. 

Which he endured, fought on, and nnirinuiod not 

Kings vainly boast the "right divine" to reign — 

All men by birth equality obtain; 

Each patriot — the young, the older man — 

Fought for this tmth with our loved Haunegan. 

"Three score and ten" he more than lived to see— 

Honored by all, as he indeed should be; 

How siceet his rest — "the prize vas nobly won" — 

IIq holdly fought — he shejjs with Yv'asiiixgto.v. 

For General Morti:mer De Lafayette. 

"The nation's guest" of "North America," 

In slumliers mcee!, rests in this "house of clay," 

And o'er his dust all freemen shed their tears, 

As they recount his former Irilliaiit years. 

"While yet a youth, to aid the "West, he flies, 

Then "struggling hard" for "freedom's golden pri2 

None suieiy can, no, titve/- can furget 

The "timely aid" of our loved De Lafayette. 

All France must feel a loss before n.ukm.wn — 

On one more true the sun has never shone; 

And Lafoyette will "live in history" dear 

Until the close of the last "rolling year." 

For Mrs. Amo3 Nor.frs and her infant babe. 

Here lies a mother whose first born 
Eests in her arms till the " great morn ;" 
They sleep uuoons;iou'< of the tear 
That telh " the tale of soxwwr " here. 

236 cotton's keepsake. 

Foi' Mr. and Mrs. "Wim.iam IIorxkr, ^vho died -within a. 
few days of each other. They sleep side hy side, and 
one marhle slab marks the resting-place of both. 
A father, friend, and husband dear, 
In sweet repose, lies slumbering here; 
His faithful wife soon after died. 
And here they slumber " side by side." 

For Mrs. Charles Noves and infant babe. 1 

Ilere lies a mother with her babo : 

Slumbering in her arms; . I 

Tirtue was hers — pure virtue hers, ' ■ ' t 

And man}' vrere her charms. ' i 

A husband dear those virtues prized, and her his idol made, | 

But she has left his kind abode for "joys that never fade." | 

Though short her "passage to the tomb," the struggle -was I 

severe — 
Many the friends who mourn her loss — " witness " the flow- 
ing tear. i 

For infant twin-brothers, children of JoyAS and Susait 
MATincws, also of Egbert and Mary Smith. 

Twin-brother babes, "fair as the rose," 

Lie slumbering here, in "sweet repose;" 

Freed from a world of care and sin. 

They are "'with God and bliss" shut in. . 

For my own sweet infixnt son, and otliers. 
So siceet a bud, so fair a flower, 

Is seldora seen on earth; 
Comely in form, and hriglit, and good, 

E'en from his very birth. 
Transplanted soon to "fairer climos," 

r»T tempests no more riven — 
A buil too 8v,'eet, too fair for earth, 

Now blooms for us in heaven. 


Should my friends see fit to mark my "last, Ion"- Tf^si- 
ing-place" with a " tomlistone," let the follo'.\-ing — iieiiher 
more nor less — be the insoriptioti upon it, except to fill 
the blanks correctly, couipLuiug the years of my ministry 
from 1817, at which time they reall!/ commeaeed, and 1, 
of course, aged only seventeen at that time. • 

. - HE '^ ' - 







"He being dead, yet speaketh." — Scripture. 

Let my foibles and my faults be ^'foryhrji and for- 
gotten," arid the good infucnces I may have ex- 
erted in the world, and "tJie record" of 
"the Book tf Life," alone preserve 
■ ' my name and my memory from, 

"everlasting foryetfidness." 

0! staj, stranger, stay, and pause awLile 

Upon your ••futar'? state;"' 
As I am now so you niuit be — 

It is the "law of fate." 
Virtue alone cp.n yon prepare 

'•Death's trying hour" to meet; 
My "still small voice" consent to hear — 

Mv Elumbevf, 0, bow sweet! 



IxpiA!J graves alioumi all over tbis country, but llie" one to 
•which the reader ia now directed is a peculiar one. When 
the Tribe was about to remove from " the New Purchase," 
now Eipley County, one of the tribe was esceedinjl}' ill, 
nigh unto death. The moving day at last arrived, and the 
sick and dying one was left v.-ith an early settler, Mr. Moss, 
I think with whom the tribe made an arrangement for kind 
nursing and a decent burial. The parting scene was peculiar 
and affecting — that being over, they took up their line of 
march toward the setting sun. The sick man soon died, and 
was buried on North Ilogan Creek, just above Moss' old 
Will, in the vicinity of Elder Meader, who is both excensively 
and favorably known, and hence this reference. Standing by 
this unmarked grave, some years ago I pencilled down the 
following : 


"The Red Men of the forest" are fast melting a^vaj, 

And must be extinct at no distant day; 

"When tho white man first found them, they were happy and 

Possessed the whole country, lake, forest, and sea. 




They lived by the chase, lived happj- and well, 

But the white man came ! and they suddenly fell ; . " ' 

Driven out from their homes again and again, 

They emigrate "West, still the white men complain. ; . • 

They still want more room, and have it they must, ' ' 

If original owners be crushed into dust; 

At first received kindly, they discovered too late, 

In sustaining the white man, they sealed their own fate. 

In their conflicts for empire tlie best of them fell, 
And the " tollings of time " is their own funeral knell ; 
How scattered, and wasted, and feelde they are. 
Committing rash acts from "want and despair.". 

Philanthropy weeps at the tale of their wrongs, 
Preserved in legends, tradition, and songs ; 
Slumbering here lies one of that ill-fated race, 
"Who must die or " clear out,'' to give white men place. 

All feeble and faint, with a mortal disease, 
His tribe all forsake him, but first if you please, 
They secure him good lodging*, and kind nursing care, 
And then for their journey forthwith thoy prepare. 

The scene was affecting, and the parting pow-wow, 
Seems echoing back from the hill-tops just now; 
But the struggle is o'er, his spirit has fled. 
And here he reposes with the low sheeted dead. 

His kindred and tribe will long cherish his name. 
And the Christian philanthropist will cherish the same ; 
And erect as I trust, right here on this spot, 
A suitable monument that perisheth.not, 

That ages hereafter may shed the warm tear, 

O'er the sad fate of him who is now slumbering here; 

fate! cruel fate, can naught interpose, 

To rescue this race from so many sad woes? 



Kot short of that country all blooming and f;i,ir, 
Where nations and tribes find rest from all care; 
The Gospel of peace marks out the true way. 
Which lead- from " all night" to the realms of " all day." 

There races and tribes of empires and lands, 

Shall meet there in friendship, and join their -svarm band? . 

In token that war and contention is o'er, 

And sing of redemption, and the .Savior adore. 

0! then rest in peace "thou forsaken and lone — . "■ 

Man of the forest,"' the winds' hollow moan . ' 

Shall sing thy low dirge, and bird.^ carol here, ' • 
To the end of all time — adieu, with a tear. ^- ; 

N. B. No one "svould have this all an Indian country again. 
God never de-igned tliat it should so remain; we only coniplaia 
of the rash and cruel acts of the white men individually, and 
not nationally. When Indian tribes have served t!ie purposes 
of their creation, God will bloi. them out, as he haS nations and 
tribes before ilj?m. "It is God's doings, and marvellous in our 


Miss Clara J. Collier, Miss Clementine B. Cook, Mis3 Alico 
Clark, Miss Catharine Fisher, Miss Lydia P. Iloberts, and Miss 
Harriet Labourn, all interesting Misses, and loved and cher- 
ished pupils of mine, some r.ime since wrote me a clriste and 
beautiful letter each, as their lovod and cherished teacher. In 
answer to which I send each of them a corrected copy of the 
following poem. 

Faip. MiiS for thee I would inspire, 

And touch v.'ith truth my trembling lyre; 


To sing thy ^n-aise In strains roll tied, 
For the itnprovenient of tliy nilnd. 
So easily thou canst iiidito, 
And then so fair, both spell and ^Yrite. 

Proceed fair >[i^s, of genius soou ■, ■ . ' 

Thou shalt receive the priceless boon ; 

Of praise and fame — yes even now, 

Tiiat garland fair entwines thy brow, 

With laurels that shall blossom gay, 

"When beauty's wreath shall fade away. 

There is a charm In genius, which 
No art can reach — so rare — so rich, 
That all bow down and worship there, 
."While heaiiiy sinks into despair. 
And weeps that youth was spent with toys, 
Keglccting learning's lasting joys. 

Go on dear Miss, remember soon, 
Youth's morning passes, and the noon 
Of life comes on and on apace, 
"When youth and beauty lose their grace; 
But virtue's charm when these depart, 
Ketines and beautifies the heart. 

Then seek the prize with studious care, 
'T will mate thee wise, and keep thee fair ; 
'T will be thy friend in grief and woe, * 
And cleave to thee while here below ; 
! ever walk in wisdom's ways. 
And uiQxit fiaiLC and honest praise. 



My brothev-in-IaTV a few d;iys ago, 
Shotatasi[uirrcl,lheardlum say so; 
•'But nilssiri:; his ni.ark, the swift twirlinfj liall ' "^ ■ _ 
Soon called at tlie i!Ou?e of Sylvanus Brimhall. 

"While high in tlie air it made a strange noise, - 
Fell flat on his roof, and was caught by his boys ; 
The morning was mild, the report ho heard, 
Took about four steps as the ball appeared, .- . ■. 

So the time 'twixt the start and the cud of its flight, 
AYasn't over five seconds, nor even that quite; 
Sixty-five to the pound is what the ball weighed, 
And seven score charges the same powder made. 

From where the ball started, to where the house stood, 
When measured, was found, just tiiree and a fourth rood; 
So where the ball took its sudden discharge, 
To bring a small squirrel from a tree pretty large, 

Its acclivity's grade, I am happy to say, 
i>Iay be ascertained in this simple way; 
The base forty feet as near as may be. 
Perpendicular sixty, and inches twice three. 

Ye learned and great, if any of you know. 
Pleal^e tell me how far this ball had to g'"" ? 
And how far forthright suppose it did steer, 
What then was its course in coming back here? 

And what was its achme or 'longation from earth? 

The wise wish to know, though fools should make mirth; 

An occurrence like this 's certainly rare, 

Hence the pains I have taken to improve it with care. 

M, B. Tills is all true to the letter, and furnishes a fine 
question in projectiles. Boys try it, will you? 



In one of my visits E; ;nanv years n,c:o, iu corjpnny v^lth 
several dcra- relatives .unl trieiuls, I visitcl Mount Abram, 
situatcil about GO or M niile-- north of Augusta, in Elaine, 
whose summit is 3-300 feet a\'Ovc tiue-v\-ater, and 3800 above 
its own ba50. It is a hard and long climb, owing lo its 
rough and bold surface, but paid -well. Tlce prospect was 
grand beyond description, taking in at a single glance the 
•whole romantic scenery around, as far as the eye could 
penetrate tluough the blue ether. It was exceedingly cold, 
(tliough a very warm day below) entirely above vegetation, 
except very little shrubs and mountain cranberries. It 
often thunders and lightens, and rains below while the sum- 
mit is basking in pure sunsliine. I fuund a scientific gen- 
tleman with his ba>-ometer and other implements for cb- 

- servation, who had gained the summit just before me from 
another direction. There were iu all nineteen of us, and noth- 
ing but I must preach before we descended, and sing, pray, 
and preach I did, and I thiuk we all found it a very pleasant, 
precious season. My friends so expressed theaiselves in 
referring unto it. ^iy text was " I will teach you the good 
Ciid the right way." We had wandered strangely iu our 
ascent up tliither. Vi'e need not so wander in our way up 
Zion. A contrast with the fruits and prospects, and the 
company and the other etceteras filled up my sei-mon, to which 
my friends often since refer with seeming delight, llcspond- 
ing to which, in plain prose I conclude thus: 

AxD now my dear fri-^nds and my kindred most clear, 
For me grieve not — vent not one sigh or one tear ; 
Fur when fleeting time shall have rolled its swift round, 
I hope on Muunt Zion with you all to bo found. 

On that holy mountain all those -who obey, 
Shall each \v8Lir a cro'.va -whioli fades not away; 

244. cotton's KEErSAKE. 

The streets pavoil ^vit]l gold, they shall walk tit their ease 
Aud pluck sweet umbrosials from lily's fruitful trees. 

The fruits of ]Mount Abram, and INIount Bradbury, too,* 
Lose their beauty and sweets,\vhen Ziou's fruit is in view; 
More gluriuus tlio pros[)oct, more extended the sigiit. 
Mure lofty their nutes, more full ttic delight. 

There glories and glories incessantly roll, , 

And sweet anthems of praise enrapture the soul; 
How numerous the host on that happy shore, . . 
There millions on millions the Savior udore. 

With wonder and love his loud praises repeat; 

And cast in full rapture their crowns at his feet; ^- '. 

How lofty their notes! thrice holj^ is he, 

Who bear all my sins on Mount Calvary. 

There with the blood-washed we shall join the glad song, 
To Ilim who hath loved us all praises belong ; 
The regions of glory we there shall survey, 
And the tears of ailliction shall be wiped away. 

The crystaline stream of the water of life. 
We shall drink as we please, and live without strife ; 
So now dearest friends all your mournings forbear, 
And dry up 3-our tears, but ! meet me there, 

Where friends never part, and where tears have an end. 
Where all in full rapture eternity spend; — 
In conclusion, dear friends, permit me to say, 
I long shall remember that most pleasant day. 

« In the vicu^ity of I'Mrthmd. 

illSCELLAXEOUS. -.^ 215 


Maine, Maine, dear, denr, cold old Maine, my birth-place 

proud and free, 
A traitor's portion be my lot when I pi-ove false to thee; 
'While rolls the Androscoggin bright in silver to the soa, 
■\Vhile Mount Katardin rears its head I will remember thee. 

By every recollection dear, by friendship's hallowed tie, 
By scenes engraven on my heart, by love that can not die, 
J3y the fond, sweet fai-ewcll kiss, of sisters two and three, 
Maine, Maine, dear, cold old Maine, I will remember thee. ' 

I may not climb thj' misty hills at twillglit or at morn, 

Kor pluck tlie fruit in richness there, nor bind the sheaves of 

corn ; 
I may not climb the crags that hear the thunder of the sea, 
}3ut by those ever hallowed scenes I will remember thee. ' ; 

Though in the far and fertile AVest, a pleasant home be mine, 
Though friendship pure should charm my hcarl, or beauty 

pour the w'ne; 
I will not listen to the harp th-tt plays for revelry, 
But in pure water plunge my cup. and drink a health to thee. 

And if from time to time, I chance to wander back, 

How blithely v.-ill I tread again, the old familiar track; 

And if my friends prove true and kind, (and false they caa 

not be,) 
Maine, Maine, from thy pure mountain streams, I'll drink again 

to thee. 

246 cotton's keepsake. 

• v :• : ".MOUNT BRADBURY, 

ITkret'ofoee rcferrc'l fo, %Tr\s owned in part by inv lamented 
f;it]icr. IMar.y a happy hour hare 1 spt-tit about its base 
and its somewhat lofty summit from, which point the pros- 
pect is picturesque, grand, and imposing. Villages, churches^ 
and schoolhouses in every direction, are spread out like a 
beautiful map before you. Higher mountains in t!ie north 
and east rise up to greet you. The beautifid Ailantic with 
her beautiful islands and floating palaces, with their canvas 
all spread, greet you on the south, and the White Mountains 
In the west greet you with tlieir snow-capped summit. You 
may well imagine the scenery, grand and beautiful beyond 
description. Tlie follovring lines, corrected to suit, are true 
to my fond musing?. 

.■• • MY XATIVK MOrXTAIN. . ^ - -■ 

J[ . '"'' My native n^.ountain ! how dear 
- '. . Thy memory is to me ; ■ ' . ■ 

Thy lofty peaks and dizzy hights, . ■ 

^ ■ I fain would often see. 

Again as when in boyho'xls prime, 
- I'd seek thy cooling shades, . • . - 

. And sport among thy cavern cliffs, 
Thy shrubs ami pretty glades. 

I 'd clamber up thy rugged steeps to citch the licalt.-iful breeze. 
And slack my thirst from trickling rills that gene;-ato no dis- 
ease ; 
I wouhl behold "the green blue sea,'" her islands and her sail, 
ller towering mountains round about, clad in eternal mail. 

Let cities boast their glittering spires, th.e fanes men may- 

Their halls of art, their dusty streets, and smoky .itmospherc; 

But give to me my mountain home where all is pure and free. 

And you may have the world beside, for betvuty, health, and 

3iiscELL.i:s'Eous. 247 


In one of my eastern visits, I found one of my exceeJindy dear 
fair frieuds betrothed to n mariner, tlien at £e\. lie, liow- 
ever, chanced to pay a laying visit, and then must away 
again, over the b'.ne sea. Tiie meeting was rather iuterest- 
iug— the parting full of solicitude. Sympathizing deeply 
■with them, and anticipating their feelings, I threw the fol- 
lowing into form, and handed it to my fair friend, who 
seemed to say, by a tre:nV>ling tear, and a halt-suppressed 
sigh, that I was a pretty f;dr juJgc of such matter. 


The time Las coiae, I must depart — 

I le:ive you ^ith a a anxious heart; 

What tongue can tell how true friends part, 

To meet, perhaps no more; 
The wind blows fair, I must depart 

For yonder distant shore. 

'Though I must bid jou now adieu. 
Oft shall I think, my dear, of you, 
As my bark plunges through and through 

Each surging wave; 
Where'er I am, I vrill prove true, 

Down to the peaceful grave. 

As I bound o'er the swelling sea, 
I oft in prayer will bow the knee, 
For her with whom I wish to be, 

At her own fireside ; 
And 0, what joy 'twould bo to mo 

To call ber my sweet bride! 

248- cotton's keepsake. 

In view of that tao=t happy d.iy, 

Weeks, moiiths, and years %Ycar slow away; 

Nor will I one ficefc moment stay 

From her 1 love. 
More than to earn and get the pay 

To bless my pretty dove. 

'" In distant climes, my dearest dear, 
For you I oft shall drop a tear. ' 
As at the helm I s.tand and steer, 

Or pace the midnight dock. 
Till I my bark shall homeward veer, 

Or meet a total wreck. .. ' ,' 

To know that I aia loved by you, , ' . 
Affords me pleasure pure and true. 
More than the treasures of Peru, 

And yet I sigh 
To turn away and say to you 

That painful word — "Good-by." 

Weli,, if you must, tlion, dear sir, go, 

Though I regret it must be so; 

Go, meet toils which none cari know 

Save seamen bold ; 
My love for you sliall ever flovv 

As in the days of old. 

When storms arise, when thunders roar, 
And wind and rain in torrents pour. 
And drive you from your native shore. 

O'er ihe roush sea, 
My soul in prayer for you 1 11 pouP; 

For YOU ;, re dear to rae. 


My heart, my love on you is placed, 
So deep, it can not be erased; 
Nor do I feel myself disgraced 

To own it here; 
Should my affectiou prove misplaced, 

'T would wound me most severe. 

But' better things I hope of you — 

I have no doubt you will prove truej 

No unkind act will ever do, • ., 

Through base design, - ' _ /, 
But grace with love each interview 

Through life's decline. ■ • • 

My earthly joys on you depend — 

With you my days I hope to spend, , 

And find in you a constant friend, 

Through all the ills of life ; •. . .; 

It would my heart in anguish rend 

To live with you iu strife. 

When all your voyages shall be o'er, 
And you regain your native shore. 
Then hie to me as heretofore. 

No more to part; 
Joyful I '11 meet you at my door, 

And clasp you to my heart. 

250 cotton's keepsake. 

. K E T K T . 

My Poetical and Political Address, in 1S32, subjected me alike 
to prnlse and censure. Passing- along the streets of Lawrence- 
burg:, I suj.posed injself to be the subject of ridicule, as the 
following will explain. 

In Lawrcnceburg, this very dr.y, as every one may know, 

I passed, perhaps, a dozen men, all in a portico: 

'T was at the tavern door of 3Ir. Jesse Hunt, 

Nor had I far gone past, till thus I heard one grunt: 

"There goes an able poet — he lives in Manchester." 
"Quite eloquent," said one, "else may I never stir." 
Now if 1 only knew tliat this was honest talk, 
I should, perhaps, be tempted to take another walk. 

For every noble mind would choose to overhear 
His talents thus respected — no flartery could be there ; ■ 
And if those were my friends, in them there %vas no lack. 
They talked about my virtues 2}recisely to my back, 

I do not make, however, this flattering, provide 
I looked upon it thus, that me thoy did deride; 
They were a worthless set, a thuusand unto one, 
And on their naked jjotes I'll pour tlie tide of fun. 

A shabby gang of loafers, I am inclined to think. 
Half corned on unpaid grog — bahl how they s — kl 
They little thought, perhaps, my hearing was so good, 
But what I 've here related, I clearly understood. 

And then there was among them a most uproarious snicker — 
"Come along, my boys," said one, "let us go and liquor." 
I rather guess hereafter they'll let me pass in quiet, ^. 
And now, my larks, if this do n't do, do you again just 
try it. ■ " 



Mant years, ago I n-cendeJ this world-famed monnnient, from 
the fctiiiiuiit of v.-bich the prospect is nio?t delightful. It can 
Dot be adequr^tely described, and 1 shall not atteui[)t it. I 
.will, however, record some of my refleciious while standing 
upoa its proud summit. 

Can this indeed be Bunker's Hill, so fnraed in song aud story, 
"U'hcre Freedom struggled to be free, and won immortal glory? 
The British here, with nodding plumes, with muskets — not with 

Thought to possess the small redoubt was but the veriest trifle. 

In solid column they parade, then march to gain the summit, 
But soon they found, much to their cost, they could n"t begin to 

come it. 
The Yankees, true a.; flint and steel, soon bad them in hot water; 
Their leaden messengers proclaimed, " My friends, you 'd better 

potter y 

In wild confusion driven back, again they form and rally — 
Again are filled Mith sad dismay along both hill and valley. 
Our ammunition now gives out, the Yankees though — golly ! — 
Give them one more deadly round, a farevrell leaden volley. 

The next we know, they're on the move, all safely now retreat- 
ing — 

The British take an empty fort, and fain would call that beating; 

But Fame declares that Freedom won a must decid-^il battle — 

She made the hearts of Britons quake, and all their " dry bones 

They felt it then, they feel it now, our lioys were quite too many, 
And foot the bill with many lost, and many a shining penny. 
Alas! for ns brave "Warren fell, and )ay him down all bleeding, 
For bravc-ry aud honest fame comrades all ejccedixsg. 

252 cotton's keepsake. 

Said he, "My general, place me -where there is the greatest 

danger — 
Mj heart to fear, in freedom's cause, has ever been a stranger."' 
Immortal youth, " the scroll of fame " has :iot a brighter je^ el — ■ 
To tarnish thy world-spread renown, there's none so base and 


This moument of "polished stones," proclaims, in tones of 

We gained ibe day at Bunker's Hill — the world says yes, with 

Thus musing, here I feast my eyes with prospects grandly fair — ■ 
Here's Charlestown city at my feet, and Boston over there. 

And there I see Faneuiel IJall, and there is Boston Bay, 

And there the White Hills piorcc the clouds, northwestward, fixr 

away; . 
Here I could linger with delight, and feast my ravished eyes 
On scenes that charm, but time forbids, and i obey with sijhs. 

0, throw away the "filthy weed," and whisky, rum, and beer, 
And save your "dimes," young gentlemen, to pay a visit here; 
Here you can drink from >'ature's fount — 0, come and drink 

your fill — 
Full well 1 know you'll ne'er regret your irip to Bunker's Hill. 


"look ox t' otheu side, JI.M." " 

Many years ago, while gazing upon a weathervane, in a tem- 
pestuous storm, the following were my reflections. 

Halloo! Jfr. WGathervanr;, up there so high. 
To call the attentiou of each passer-bj; 

jnSCELLAXEOUS. " ' 253 

For dodging tind turninf::; thou hast a groat fiime, 
And seetuest to glory in nothing but j^hame! 

" StP.bility and firmness" are strangers to thee — 
Thou art veering ami veerinjr. as we al! daily see ; 
Fit emblem of" those who wculd every one please — 
Neither "-backln>ne," nor muscle, and very weak knees. 

They float with the current, and never touch an oar, 
To keep in the cliannel, or out from the shore ; 
Shame, shame upon those who, dreading the strife, 
Affect nothing good all the days of their life. '• . 

A blank and a cypher, they 'cumber tlie ground — • 
Xo "fruit unto righteousness" in them is e'er found; 
And up there thou standest, by night and by da}', 
Dodging and turning, to show them the way. 

But hold, ]Mr. "Weathervane, I have done thee great ■'.n-ong — 
Looking "on t'other side," greatly changes my song; 
]jike a brave-hearted man, thou facest the storm, 
By night and by day, in cold weather and warm. 

There's wisdom in that, and good generalship, too, 
"Which need not be argued, I'm sure, unto j'ou; 
Tail furemost or sidewise, you 'd take the whole shock. 
And know not what was coming till you felt a hard knock. 

Be on the alert, and keep a good guard, 

And you'll find nothing in life that is overly hard; 

You are right, Mr. "Weathervane — your exampLe is good — 

You face every storm just as every one should. 

YViu make your life easy by facing each foe, 

And "which way the wind blows," you let every one know; 

A sentinel so true deserves honest fame; 

And shame Llister his tonsue who'd give you a bad nama. 

There's a moral in this, if nothing that's w^itty — 
May you all profit by it — thus endcth my ditty. 

254 cotton's keepsake. 

»• . ^ ." 

'V ■■- '-•> ^> ■ ■ •- • : ■ -f- 


"look on THI3 SiDK, THEN' OX THAT." 

OxCE on a time, while Tiewirig- a large and hr'autifiil fore,=t oak 
uprooted and prostrated by a furious bla^st, I fell into the fol- 
low'ino; train of reflections. 

Old forest oak, you've long been lauded to the sky, 
Because unyielding, you'd sooner break and die; . 
Well, here you lie — your j^lory gone and shattoied, 
Although your stubbornness profusely has been flattered. 

I '11 talk unto you plainly since hero you lie all humble — • 
I'll do it for the good of i/our's though ^'ou yourself should 

Censures and praises are too often misapplied — 
Meu censure where tliey should applaud, applaud where 

they should chide. . 

You have the gn't, as all agree, so has the stubborn mule — 
If less stubborn, he'd find it better, anij" you by the same 

rule ; 
Can it be wisdom to contend where we are sure to fall? 
Keep your position while you can, and that is Jirinness ail. 

And then if you don't win to-day, you may some other time — 
I hope this Jani will do you good, though couched in simple 

Let men praise stubbornness if they choose, in that there 13 

no merit, 
Although I know that your's by birthright you inherit 

You see your error now, but then it is too late — 
Learning a lesson from it, I leave you to your fate; 


Why 13 it^that men can't see but one thina; at a time? 
Such can not half life'a sweets eiijuy^iere is more truth 
than rhyme. 

Unyielding men fire all for fight, and alv, ays in dispute 
'Buiii little thiugs of little worch — you can not thus refute; 
Would you succeed in doing good, you must both give and 

Where things seem balanced, or even ^There there is not 

much at stake. 

Aiiother time you may succeed, and vindicate the right, 
And all proceed in harmony, in friendship, and delight; 
Now little oaks, if you are wise, when mighty tempests roar, 
You'll. yield a little to the blast, then straighten up once more, 

And live to be the forest's pride, instead of lying flat. 
Which you, if stubborn, can't avoid, now just remember that. 
Here is a moral true and good, intended for young men — 
Hoping that all may profit by it, I '11 stop and mend ray pen. 

N. B. — "Contentment," and "A Kolling Stone," and "Tho 
Jug Handle," being of a similar characTcr, are omitted. 'Wiiy, 
we owe al! the great improvements in the art? and sciences to 
rfiicontentment ; and no man ever circctod any thing good for 
himself, or the world, by lying supinely on his back in inglori- 
ous inactivity. Do all that can be done, and then be content 
■with whatever Providence may give. So again, "roll on and 
roll ever" — no time to idle away — "push along, keep moving," 
so long as you can do or net good. But a shiftless, restless, un- 
decided minded man never accomplishes any thing good, but 
■wastes and squanders what he has. A double-minded man is 
unstable in all his ways — such 

" A rulling stone gi'hers no moss." 

A very firm and set man, we say, is ''like a jug handle" — all 
the time on one side. V>'ell, when a man is riyhi, that is just 
where he ought always to be, and you always know where to 

2d6 cottox s keepsake. 

find him; and beside, the "juj^-handle,"' knowing thnt it could 
not better itselr, or any body else, by a change of phices, is con- 
teat to remain jnst ^vheI•e it is. There's a good moral for you 
out of a "jug-handle;" and here is another one of the same 
son; for although it often has liquor right under its very nose 
V rercr t:i;'c; a single drop of it. '-Go thou and do likewise." 
The moral cont:\ined, and .silently, yet eloquently proclaimed, by 
these inanimate and much-abused things, is "the key that un- 
locks" the mystery to many — why it is, and how it is, that I 
am ever busy, and yet a qukt^ happy man. I pass. 


I.\ the 47th No. of the Indiana Palladium of 1831, the following 
editorial appears, to "We had a confab -with our devil 
last night, upon the subject of the approaching New Tear. 
And his satanic majesty authorized us to offer this paper for 
one year, which we now do, to the author of the best New 
Year's Address, of from SO to 100 lines in length, either in 
prose or poetry. I responded thus : 

?'o Ai> Satanic Majesty, the Fi-otters Devil. — Your Reverence: 

If five and sis make just eleven. 
Then in number furty-seveu 
Of the Palladium I do see, 
, That your satanic inajestj 
Has authorized the printer to offer 
A few of •' the rustics," out of your coffer ; _ 
Or -what is still better, tIiou;:;h a strange caper, 
For one whole year your excellent paper, 
For a piece well adapted to the coniinj; Xew Year, 
So at it I go, as below v,-ill appear — {which won.) 

.■ mscELLAXKors. 257 ' 

We hail ■with joy, our friends upon this day, '' 
Maj' bitter ^trll'o he banished far away; • ". 

Thus shall we all with songs of joy appear, 
To welcome in the new-born, happy year. ;, 

O! what ehanp;es occur in human life, , 

A strange compound of pleasure, pain, and strife; • i 

Yet friends and foes each tv,-elve month do appear, ] 

To wish to each, a new and happy year. . ■ . _ . | 

And thus do we, with joy all celebrate, 

The happy year — the high, the low, the great ; I 

AH equal feel, and equal all appear, 

To wish to each a new and happy year. • - i 

When we look back upon " the days of yore," 

Much cause we find our Savior to adore ; . . "j 

His name we praise with voices loud and clear. 

That we behold another happy year. I 

0, what dangers we've past in safety by, j 

What matclucss grace we've found forever nigh: 
Then let us all with grateful hearts appear, 
To celebrate the new-born happy year. 

The pestilence its i\\tal darts has hurled. 

Both thick and fast throughout the wide-spread world. 

Thousands have fell both in our front and rear. 

Yet we survive to see another year. ■ . i 

True, one year more of our short time is past, - | 

jS'or do we know, but this will he the last; 
How precious then each moment must appear. 
Let's 'prove ihem well the pre>ent happy year. 

By retrospect what errors we may may find, 
Let us correct with all the heart and mind; 
Thus shall we feel a eonscienoe always clear; 
Nor can we fall to spend a hapjiy \ear. 

'258 cotton's keepsake. 

We should do ^vell to take a broad survey, 
Of men and things upon this happy day ; 
From cheeks of grief, 0! let us wipe the tear, 
By vforks of love the preseut happy year. 

How mauy pine for want of daily Lre-ad, . . " 

"While happy we, on luxuries are fed ; 

! let the poor the joyful tidinirs hear, 

You shall hud aid the present happy year. -^ '• ' 

And some again both on the land and sea. 
In bondage groan, and lung to be set free ; 
They sigh in vain — in vain they shed their tears, 
And thousands will, the remnant of their years. 

Yet we rejoice to see the efforts made, 

Tlie interest felt by men of every grade, ' ' 

To free them all, and wipe away their tears — j 

May they succeed e'er many tieeting years. 

Our liberty, more precious than fine gold, • 

We still enjoy as in the days of old. 
Many such thoughts in colors bright appear, 
At the return of each new happy year. 

And there are those whom reason hath forsook, 
Such men we see, where'ersoe'er we look. 
Y"et we retain our senses bright and clear, 
To greet our friends with a new happy year. 

How many sick are groaning under pain, 
At home, abroad, through Europe, France, and Spain, j 

Y'et happy we, in perfect health appear, ' 

At the return of this new happy year. 

What numbers have from life's ambiguous shore. 
Pushed off in haste, since Xew Year's Day before ; 
And o'er their dust we shed oar tlowing tears, 
And sigh to think of former happy years. 


Such thoughts fis these should nerve us for the raco, 
And stir us up to quicken our slow pace, 
And secret prayer to christians ever dear, • 
We should obsei-ve through each succeeding year. 

All such as do the golden rule obey, 
In reference live to an eternal day, 
Forsake all vice — hold virtue to them dear, 
"Will surely spend a happy, happy year. . " 

The printer, friends, should never be forgot, 
He toils for all, and i-espite he has not ; 
All new and fresh, each -week his sheets appear, 
Sujiport him well the present happy year. 

But oh! how soon New Years will be no more, 
Eternity will crown the ample score. 
Majestic scenes most surely will appear, 
At the grand close of the last solemn year. 

The burning sun, the silver queen of night, 
And all the stars that shine with luster bright; 
Shall quit their orbs, and ever disappear. 
At the awful close of the last dying year. 

The trump shall sound, and all the dead awake, 
Seas shall retire, and all the mountains shake, 
The Judge descend, ten thousand saints appear, 
To crown the scene of the last awful year. 

The -wicked quake in horror and dismay. 
They stand aghast! and. now aloud they pray: 
Eocks on us fall — the day of -wrath draws near. 
We are undone — 0! for another year. 

The Judgment sits, the books are open -wide, 
He calls the good, makes the-m his happy bride. 
From every face he wipes oil" every tear, 
Thrice welcome then the closing final year. 

2G0 cotton's KEI-rSAKE. 

For then shall v:e our pious khulrod meet, 
. And join ■5\-ith them to ivnlk the j^ohlen street ; 
In songs of praise to anc^els ever dear, 
We'll sing and shout a locg, long happy year. 

NEW YE.\Jl'S ADDRESS. . ^ , ■ ' 

The momeuts fly — a minute's gone: - 
"■ . ^'he minutes fiy — an Lour has run; - ' 

The day has ficd — the night is here ; — 
Thus flics a week, a month, a year! " > 

~A year, alas! how soon ti.-; pas!; — ' .' 

Who knows but tuis will be tlie last: 
^ , A few short years, how soon they 're fled, 
And we are numbered with the dead I! 

All hail the day! the liappy day, the first day of the year — 
The day that we with joy and glee, salute our friends most 

As the days of yore return no more, be gone each gloomy fear 
Free from all hate we celebrate the nevr-born, happy year. 

May love and peace with us increase — may strife be done away. 
And thanks and piaiso crown all our days while here on earth 

vre stay. 
Let us correct by retrospect what errors may appear, 
Free from all sin seek to begin the new and happy year, 

"The TEMPER-vycE Bvn," let's one and all just give it one 

more turn, 
And may it roll from polo to pole — a cau=e of vast concern. 
Where'er 'tis hurled througiiout the world it scatters want and 

And gives to all both great and small a sober, happy year. 


Much lias been don? siuee vre liepun ro Jr>j this fnimt of A\-oe, 
The halt aud niaiinod liave been rechiimeii, aad ou lejuiclug 

.The lair with smiles our toil beguiles, -Viiiich brings to tbem 

good cheer: — 
Take courage theu vc Temperance men, and do your lent this 


Another year it doth appear, of our short time is past : — 
Jt may' be so for aught we know, that this will be the last. 
To go along theu with my song, eacli moment, 0, how dear I 
Both great and small, Ave wi;!i to all a new and happy year. 

In Cape de Terd we've often heard, they lack for daily bread, 
While we, indeed, scarce know to need, ou luxuries are f'.-d. 
And we are free as free can be, — diere s naught on earth so 

Yi'hile the poor Slavk seeks in his grave his only happy year. 

Aud some indec'l, wo should take heed, are now on beds of 

While happy we, through mercy free, our health aud strength 

While some again are quite insane, our faculties are clear, — 
We should adore our Savior more the present happy year. 

Many there were who bade as fair twelve months ago as we 
To sec this day; but we must say long have they ceased to be — 
Long have they lain among the slain, — o'er them we shed our 

Nor will they more as heretofore, salute tlic new-born years. 

Yet we bcliold with joy untold, this truly happy day, 
Tjicu let us now to Joius bovi-, and own liis sovereign sway. 
And to His praise devote our >ia.y?.. nor think the task severe, 
Since by His grace His love we trace through each succeeding 


"When we survey tlic narrow way which leads to life anrl peace, 
With here and there a fatal snare, to make our jars increase, 
We should draw nigh to God on high — ask grace to persevere; 
Thus should we all, both great and small, enjoy a happy year. 

Such thoughts as these by swift degrees do crowd themselves 

On New Year's Day; and well we may prolong the grateful 

All such as do this course pursue — hold virtue to them dear — 
Are Bmplj sure if they endure, to spend a happy year. 

But soon, alas, we all must pass into " the Dread Unknown," 
Far in the air we know not where, our spirits will have flown. 
Most sure we must take all on trust beyond this vale of tears; 
Yet we intend somewhere to spend unnumbered happy years. 

Gofls preciou.s Book, when in we look, dilates the soul with 
^- joy ; 

It paints the scene in verdant green, where pleasures never 

On streets of gold we shall behold our pious kindred dear, 
And live in bliss, when freed from this, a long, long happy- 

Fleet years, alas, how swift thej' pass — soon time will be no 

more — ' 

Eternity a boundless sea will crown the ample score. 
And there may we for ever be — loud hallelujahs hear, 
In joyful lays our Savior praise through an eternal year. 



SoJiK five years ago, on one of ray terapcntiice tour?, I en- 
j.jving t'-r VAr.i b(>?pita'.ities of a friend in Mt. StcrlinLr, when 
suddenly all were startled by some fearful explosive element, 
tliat shook to its very foundation the fine dwelling ve occu-, 
pied. What it vras, no one could conjecture, and we gave it 
up, leaving it to time and chance to explain. But we were 
not long held in suspense, for shortly after a courier was seen 
spurring onward his already jaded nag through the village, 
proclaiming, a3 he passed: "The steamer Redstone has just 
blown np, a few miles below Vevay, scattering death and rnia 
Jn every direction!'' and on he urged his way, to inform some 
acquaintances, who were deeply interested, of the sad state 
and condition of their friends. With a sad and trembling and 
fearful heart, I retired to my room, and with Djy pencil threw 
the following reflections upon pai>er. 

O steam! steam! steam! thy fearful power, when "bursting" 

from control, 
Is quite enough to chill the blood, and freeze the very soul ; 
Upon our rivers and our lakes, upon our oceans wide. 
What fearful ruin thou hast wrought — by tliee, what thousands 

died ! 

And lo ! another fearful tale is'added to the list, 

Of friends who have just passed away, to be bemoaned and 

missed; * •• 

Perhaps some dear kind friends of mine,* whom I have fondly 

Arc tortured now with bitter pains, or suddenly have perished. 

The "Redstone," that proud, gallant craft, has just "collapsed 

her boiler,'' 
And sent to his eternal home many a hardy toiler: 

^-It was oT.'u ?o— tlirr-'i yoiins men uf Lawreuceburg, I'rieuds of mine, per- 
isliod ia that fjirful occurreuce. 

204 cotton's keepsake. 

I felt the shock, T hoard the sound — 0, -niiat a fcnrfid slaughter I 
The dead and dying strewn around, tar o'er the laud and water. 

Some were engaged ia life's pursuits, and some on tours of 

pleasure — 
Some hastening home to greet their friends — to n'.ett no more 

for ever; 
The pain and anguish scattered wide, no language can ]iortray, 
Filling the hearts of many friends with anguish aud dismay. 

steam! steam! steam! what hast thou done — ft-hat wide- 
spread ruin wrought? 
Never to be made up in time — never to lie forgot; 
And yet thy matchless power for good is far above all price, 
And when controlled by skillful hands, it is both safe aud nice. 

TTe can not do without thee now, for speed, or pov.-er, or dines, 
Aud he who really thinks we can, is far "behind the times;" 
Let good and sober engineers stand ever at the helm, 
Aud sad disasters seldom will the land with grief overwhelm. 

Then let us hear for evermore thy proud, majestic pujr, 

And shame on him who first cries out, '■'Hold up — enough, 

enough !" 
Nay, let thy mighty moving voice be heard from pole to pole, 
Until the wheels of time vrear out, aud cease their mighty roll. 

Ik my communication about the ill-fated steamer "Redstone," 
reference was made to the three j-oung men of Lawrencebnrg, 
who perished in that fearful catastrophe. They, after much 
search, were found, and brought home, rnd buried side by 
side, among their slumbering friends, in the City Burying 
Ground of Lawrenceburg, lud., and a beautiful monument, 


erected l)v the youn;;; men of the oity, marks their rojting- 
p!acc. A few dtivs ayo, for ihv Mfst lime, I stood bc.?iie it. 
While uiusiiiy there, I jienned down the following refleciions. 
Like the foniKT, the?e poetic nuiitljori are deficient in order 
and harmonv — the ofi'-Laii.lod elfusion of ihz hoar. 

Alas', alas! how fr;iil is human hope and life — 

Trail as a fleeting breath ; 
Quick as thought men often pass away 

To the repose of death. 
The fond pursuit of pleasure, wealt)!, or fame . ; 

Presents no " Plea in Uar ;" 
And 0! how soon an unexpected sad event 
■ The brightest prospeeis mar. 

The three young mer* who rest beneath this stone 

lUustrate this great truth ; 
Though dearly loved, tboy jtassed from earth away 

In the briglit morn of youth. 
They left, their friends upon a pleasure tour. 

All full of life and glee, 
Not dreaming of tiieir near apjiroach 
■ To great eternity. 

The pilot's bell is heard— the ^vllecl? at once are stlll- 

Tlie b'.'at made flist to shore — 
The steam retained — friends meet, and part 

To UK.-et in time no more. 
"TJie hoihr liLists" — sad ruin and dismay, 

Wide-spread, upon them fall. 
And shrieks and groans now rend the air, 

That iron hearts appall. 

I what a change one fle'^ting moment wrought 

On that ill-fated crew I 
ILjw previous the.a our short-lived moments are — 

AVouId al) could feel liuio tiuil 

2GG cotton's keeps are. 

'■'" The " Pirr] stone " fair, the proudest little craft 
• ' . On the Ohio clear, 

*\ 'Collapsed a flue a few short Tcara ngo, 
^" ■ ■'• And trophies sad lie here! 

. ' CuiSMAN and C't.Dr, and Blrcix, too, . 

■ , " Young aien of honest fame, 

• • .'. In one sad hour all passed away, except 

The memories of tlieir name. -" '• 

That never can, long as this marble fair 

Shall stand the test of time : 
So slumber on, kind cherished friends— 
Itest and repose -were early thine. 

The passer-by -will gaze upon this stone 

With interest and delight, 
As he shall learn your early years " " ,_' 

"Were stamped with '■'honor hrigJii." 
Kindred and friends will cluster here 

To pay the tribute due; 
My time is up, and I must go — • " ^ "" 

Young men, adieu, adieu! 

THE SXOW-IilUD. .. - 

Drr.TXG the hitc bitter cold Tvinfer, "the- little birds" -were 
flulfevincj about my d'^-^v^ and -vTindfiws, sliarinj; rny bounty, 
(for TTL' always feed tlie "winter birds") and exciting my 
adininiticin and liiy synipatliy. To begviih; u lone hour in 
very feeble health, with wliich I have long boon alrhcted. and 
from wliich I hardly hope ever to recover, I sat me down 
and " ground out '' 

Pretty little snow-bird, -with tiny feet bare. 

In this bitter " snow-storm" you can find shelter — ^\-here? 


The forp^ts are leafless, and Jeep is tlio snow, ■ -" ■; 
Fruiu perisliijig this night, 0, where canst thou go? 

A\\, tlicre is niv h;iy-lufr, m.\ titable, my shed; 
They'll afl'urd you guod shelter, and a " cuzy " warm bed, 
And bright' ill the morning, and oft throngh the day, 
I'll couie out and greet you, but dou't lly away. 

Just stay there iu welcome, and smile at the storm, 
'Till the season rolls round when 'tis every where warm ; 
When hungry or faint, come to my south door, 
And pick up the crumbs swept out from the floor. 

Then tly to my window — there on its warm sill 
You '11 find a great plenty, and can '* feast to your fill," 
No one will molest you, though all gather near — 
'Tis to make you more welcome, you Utile siccei dear." 

"We'll watch "pussy cat" and keep her away — 
You'll be quiet and safe there "the living long day," 
Then 'way to my hay-luft, my stable, or shed, 
And repose through the night in your nice little bed.' 

You're welcome — thrice welcome to all I can do, 
To feed and protect you this cold winter tlirough; 
Ynu are modest and plain — but no matter for tliat ; 
(You old Tabby — you! scat — there scat!!) ■ ' 

Some birds are more gaudy and make a fine show; 
And they sing sweetly, too, as you very well know, 
Yet no warbler's rich notes arc more grateful to me, 
Than your modestly sweet chick-a-uec-dec-dee. 

The "summer birds" greet us in sunshine and spring, 
But when winter approaches they 're " away on the wing." 
An emblem of friends who cluster around, 
^^'hiIe honor and plenty jirofusely abound. 

2GS coTTOx's ki:epsake. 

]3ut whon YOU most nood them, liko the " fux and the hare" 
They '11 " let the dog-s ai yon" ;ind maiip;lo and tear. 
Nay — -join in *' the chase " and cheer ou your foes, 
'T Is alas, but tuo often, that friendship thus goes. 

But like "a trup friend," \-ou "stick hy" to the last, 
And cleave closer and eluser through the cold "bitter 

Hence no wavlilor's rich notes arc more grateful to me, 
Thau your modestly siccet chick-a-dee-dee-dee. 


It is-well known to tins conitnuniiy that I have always cher- 
ished a predilection for General Jackson, and and not a lit- 
tle enthusiastic in the estiuiatioti of many. I have never 
had the pleasure of seeing him, although I have coveted the 
sight with more solicitude, than I have to see any other man 
in our beloved country. I have, until recently, cherished a 
fond hope that my ardent desires would yet. be gratified. 
But learning that he was in a precarious state of health, I, a 
short time since, aband(.>ncd tlio long-cherished hope, where- 
upon I wrote to him, assuring him of my attachment — that 
I asked not his iniiuence for any office or prouiotion — that 
mine was in truth, and sincerity Ihe tribute of the heart. 

All that I aske-J or desired was a few lines in return, of hig 
own autograph, tliat I might preserve them as a precious 
memento of him — and, if it were convenient, to enclose me a 
lock of his silvered hair; that 1 should value it far above all 
price. Under date of Sept. 1"J, he responded to me, from the 
Hermitage, in his graphic and superior style, concluding v>ith 
this truly melting strain. 

"Agreeably to your request, with pleasure, I enclose you a 
lock of my hair. My extreine ill health prevents me from 
•writing more at this time. I am unable to wield the pen 


thougli I have mride the c-fTort. I tbank you for your kinJncs3, 
and -wishing you a long and useful life, and a blessed immor- 
tality beyond the grave, where through tiie atoning merits of 
a crucilied Savior, I hope to meet you, I subscribe myself 
yours, most sincerely, An-di:e\v Jackson." 

Any person desirous of seeing the letter and the lock of his 
venerable hair, can enjoy the pleasure at any and all times 
by calling on me at my residence. I returned the general my 
grateful response, -with the following verses appended thereto. 

. Most honored sir, I do declare, 
That silvered lock of your pure hair, ■ y^ 
"Which you in answer to ray prayer, 

Enclosed to rae, • ' . 

Of tokens all it is most fair — 

'Tis fair as fair can be. 

Where'er in life my lot is cast, 
I'll call to Blind the anxious past — 
. Your mighty acts — so many — vast, 

As on that lock I gaze ; 
I'll prize it high— I ^11 hold it fast, 

'Till sighs are lost in praise. 

let U3 daily ask for grace, 

To run throughout the Christian race; 

Then if we soo each other's face 

Not once holow — 
On Zion's mount, thrice holy place, 

"We each shall see and know. 

Sweet is the l»ope — the joy complete 
Y\'hen anxious friends shall yonder meet, 


And flit along the heavenly street, - ' ■•~ 

In robes of white; '. ' ■ 
And loud ho.-arinas shall repeat 
"■■ ■' : With pure delight. 

Our friends who have before us gone - ^ :■ 
Shall join with us in the glad song; 
YeSj we shall each sing loud and long ' 

When all meet there. 
Your hope in Christ is full and strong— 
lleaven save you is my prayer 
A. J. Cotton. 
His excellency, Gln. Jackson. 


The summer of 1839 I spent with rny parents in Maine. Having 
torn niyseir from the enibrrice ot ali mj" dear friends, and the 
scenes of my childhood, I took pas=a2:e on board a vessel at 
Portland, bonnd to Philadelphia. It is not in the power of 
language to de::-cribe what were my feelings as we gracefully 
left that beautiful port, and rouading the point some few 
lea2;ues distnnt, when tiie beautiful bluff, contiguoris to that 
fair city, vanished from my vision. The following lines I 
composed on the occasion, but tliey fall short, infinitely short, 
of doing justice to the deep emotions of ray heart. 

O! 'twere wor.«e than vain to attempt to porlvay 
My heart's deep onioiions, as I glided away 
From the hoiu-i of my youth and t!ic land of niy birth, 
Tlio fav.ecteit ds-ar s])^t on tliLs beautiful earih. 


Though I am well pleased with the fertile "Far Wc-jt," 
"Where fortune hath smiled, and much I've beea blest j 
Yet try it Avho may, they will find it a truth — 
There is no spot so dear as the home of one's youth. 

Siceei home of my youth, I bid you " pood-by," 
With a fluttering heart, a tear, and a sigh; 
Perhaps never more to behuld thee again, 
Nor the many dear friends that I now leave in Maine. 

IIow many, alas I that I greeted before 

Are entombed in the dust, and I see them no more; 

I mourn and I grieve o'er the ruin of Time, 

Yet a sweet mournful pleasure is assuredly mine. 

For the mountains, the plain, and the clear running brook, 
Enraptured my heart at the very first look. 
As I called up to mind the sweet scenes of past days, 
Where I oft used to gambol in juvenile plays. 

The merry sleigh-ridc — our pranks on the ice. 
Where we mounted our skates, and were off in a trice; 
Then I hied me to school, nor tarried to play, 
But studied my book the living long day. 

My kind little mates, whithi^r have you all fled? 
Full many, alas! to the land of the dead! 
There I was first taught to love the " Good Book," 
And I bless my kind parents when in it I look. 

And each Sabbath morn I to church did repair, 

And at eve to my parents would repeat the Lord's Frayer; 

In all my far wanderings, by land or by sea, 

The sweet recollection is most precious to rne. 

Sweet scenes of my childhood, how dear to my heart, 
And must I, 0! must I from thee over pare? 
Hold up, gallant ship, lot me take one look n)ore 
At yonder sweet bluli', my owa nutive shore. 

272 cotton's keefsake. 

Ah t sho will not obey — 'tis sninf^ — ay, fled — • 
And entombed all my kindred, Ixjth living and dead; 
Then farewell for ever to the land of my birth, 
The sweetest dear spot on this beautiful earth. 


Having once visited this most s\ihlime and romantic scenery, it^ 
bare mention sends the blood gushinc and warm with accel- 
erated motion throughout my whole frame ; even my very 
fingers seem to tingle, while, with my "old jxray goose-quill," 
I attempt to throve upon pajicr a few thoughts connected with 
my visit to Niagara. Pens, swung by the most masterly 
hands, under the guidance of the most vivid and fancif\d 
imaginations, have utterly failed to give an adeqi;;ue concep- 
tion of its greatness and its grandeur. As I drew near, and 
took my position upon "Table Rock," on the Canada shore, 
where I had, for the first time, a commanding view of the 
"whole tremendous cataract at a glance, such a sensation of 
awe, amazement, and wonder I never before experienced in 
all my life. The following impromptu, which I noted down 
in my journal at the time, will but faintly describe ray emo- 
tions, or paint the glowing scene. 

Ar,L-wisE Jehovah ! 
On all around thy inu>ress I behold, 
So rich, eo grand, "the half can ne'er be told;" 
Here I'm entranced as if by nia':;to ]tower — • 
Tor ever hallov.ed be this (••■nsecrated hour. 

From "Table FuM-k,'' where thousands oft have troJ, 
I view these mighty works of au Almighty (!■>}; 
The trembling earth, the dashing fuani and srray. 
At once attunes ciy beating heart to praise and pray, 


uiighty -u-aters! how vast and hovr profound! 

llovr thrilis my inmost soul, how shakes the solid ground I ; 

Thy snow-Mhite foam, thy deep and whirling flood, 

Fills v.-ith delight, yet chills my warmest blood. 

The towering rock?, the clustering cedars fair, 

AH seera convulsed, and tremble in the air; I 

Karth's dcc{) foundation 't would seem had given way, ! 

And ushered in the iast Great Judgment Day." I 

But no, in a dense cloud of the ascending spray, ' -' • '■ ^ 

" The bow of peace " its beauteous tints display ; | 
At once disrobed of every gloomy thought, 

"With pure ecstatic joy the whole is richly fraught. .j 

. " . -1 

Romantic scenery! here I, with rapturous awe, ] 

View nature's mighty God, and nature's perfect law; I 

And as I gaze above, below, amid thy deafening roar, i 
"With trembling, I thy " First Great Cause " adore. 

Iv. B. — I would advise e^e^v gentleman and every lady, who 
have the means, to make a pilgrimage to tLis cousecrated spot. 
Here one feels the liiflcness of all worldly achievements, and 
the vanity of pride; and he feels too, as he never before felt, 
the personal application of that inspired saying, '•Thou, God, 
seest lae,'" tind exclaims with one of old, "How dreadful is this 
place!'' Thus is the heart rande better by the contemplatiou 
of the v.'onderful work of Gud. l^ut I must forbear, though I 
never can forget my visit to the "Falls of Niagara." 



Onro! stream of beauty, roil thy dark-hhie -n-ntcrs on — 
lUver of a^es! mighty deeds liavc ou thy iborcs been done; 
In former days, in other times, -when forests lined tliy shores, 
Thy bosom bore the "birchen bark," and felt the Indians' oars. 

And those vvere days of fearful times, Avben "Indians' war- 
whoops"' rang, 

As loud above thy murmuring roar was heard the bent bow'3 
tivang ; 

Uow man^- scenes thy flood has washed away with '■ lethean 
tide "— 

How many stories could they give were silence uot thy bride. 

The birds that on thy islands slug, may sing as once th.'y sang, 
But other stranger sounds have once along thy channel; rang ; 
But gone are now those days of yore when "red men" strove 

in fight— 
The "red man's" dead, or o'er the hills all, all have fled from 


But thou, ccascles?, mighty stream, dost roll thy waters ou — • 
As flow'st thy tide ihe present time, so flowed it days agone ; 
And so the mighty "stream of time" is rolling on amain, 
And happy who, when all is o'er, " the port of heaven shall gain." 


In my time, I have written in many albums, both original a,nd 
selected articles, and to which I had assigned a separate de- 
partment, in which I had recorded some twenty or thiity of 
those nriiclcs for the amnscment and entertainment of my 
fair young readers; but, for lack of space, I am rt^ictautly 
compelled to dicpense ^ith this department altogether, but 


vrill here give two <a3 specimens, wbich all m}- fair readers 
may ni>piopriate to themselves. I bud also a^^ig■ued a sep.-i- 
• rate department to acrostics, scores of which I have wriltea 
in my time; but, for the reason above assigned, I am com- 
pelled to dispense with this department, also, which I had 
largely filled up; and as I omit my own and my lady's, I 
hope my young friends will not murmur or complain. I re- 
gret the necessity which compels ine to adopt this measure, 
and thus to throw away much that I had written. I will, 
however, preserve two for their novelty and originality. 
"Many in One" is an original idea with me, and I think it 
comprehensive, and, in skillful hands, beautiful. I also give 
one in prose, that all may see how easily any one can thus 
write. I often write them for little children, to pleise and 
encourage them ; an acrostic upon their own names is a 
great treat. My little niece is now an exceedingly fine and 
intelligent lady, and well settled in the world. But enough. 

ALB U 31.— No. 1. " ., 


On these unsullied leaves fond ones •will vrrite 

The glowinj:; wishes their fond hearts indite, 

And friendship's hand, -with thoughts tc mcm'ry dear, 

"Will twine "a wreath" of fadeless beauty here. 

"When time shall touch thy locks and "turn them gray," 
And " steal the rose " from thy fair cheeks away, 
Then thou wilt' find thy ''treasured album" lends 
Some " loved mementoes " of thy early friends. 

Sweet rcoollootion then will come with form and visacre bright. 
And bid thee linger o'er each past fond svreet delight, 
And softly touching the mystic, the electric cliain, 
Will give thee back thy early days again. 

Choice be the^o paeies then — lot none hero intrude 
Their "heartless compliiuents," or their trlbuf-.s rude; 

270 _ cotton's keepsake. 

But with "■ sirret lA-nis" be it for ever blest, 
From ''cherished friends," the irue.-it, purest, bcsf. 


ALBU 31. — Ko. 2. , . 

You ask mo, fair Miss, to write a few Hues 

On this pure and polished paper ; -. 

But wherefore, dear Miss? "Your auto;;raph, fcir!" 
Dear me I how shall I cut such a caper? 

Fair Miss, " mj- nuise," though so kind and so true 
"When my heart and my fancy were young, 

New throws me her harp, but exclaims it won't go, 
For all its sweet chords are untuned and unstrung. 

O come to my rescue, "sweet aid of mj- muse," * 

"While on this pure sheet of unsullied white 

My name I inscribe, that ray friend, if she choose, 
"When I sleep with the dead, may survey with delight. 

It is done, my dear Miss, the struggle is o'er — 
In your cliaste, pretty album I will scribble no more; 
May the blessing of heaven all your footsteps attend. 
Is the icish and "the prayer" of your ever true friend, 

A. J. Cotton. 

N. B. — I must do myself the pleasure of recording one 

A L B u 31 . — y o . 3 . 

M E M n y C I. I .V G S TO T H K E . 

There's not a place where we have met, 

A fiiYorite flower or tree. 
There's not a scene by thee beloved, 

That is Dot prized by mc. 


There's not a \yoT>\ thy lips have Lreathed, 

A look tlune eyes have ^iven, . • 

That is not shrined within my heart 

Like a sweet dream of heaven. . , 

Whene'er I liear the linnet's ?ong, . . .. _ - i 

Or woodlark's modest lay, . _ •■ . . 

Or mark upjn the gorgeous west . .' • , ' ;' 

The "rosy cluiids" decay; " i 

Whene'er I eatoh the hrcath of flowers, - '. ' '' 

Or music from the tree, • • ' . J 

Thought v.-ings its flight to distant bowers, -' j 

And memory clings to thee — my sister. * 

A. J. Cotton-. . } 


II A X Y I >' X K . 

Mrr.Tr-ES and roses, and Iinmming-T>irds, too, 

I behold with delight, indeed that I do ; 

So my /air young friends, ever ch:risTiid and dear, 

Shall receive at my hands "a kind token" here. 

A bright and lirilliant star, 

Like ^'enus in the sky, 

Liiig'ring above the horizon, 

Enrapturing the eye, 

Till we are filled with visions bright, 

Turning our darkness into light, 

And all things seem a pleasing sight 


Eclioes soft, and woman's tears, - . ■'• 

Like the s-\voet '• mu.sic of tiio spheres," • ". ' •' 
Inspire our hopes and fpaell our fears; ""' - 
Zephyrft that float o'or earth and main, " - 

Are emblems fit of thy cherished name.* " _ 

Jessamine flowers and a sister's pure love, 
Alike are most precious, and all praise above ; 
Not all the rich treasures of sea, earth and air 
Equals a fame thus sjiotlcss and fair. 

Sunbeams and rainbows, and diamonds bright, 
Are precious indeed, and beheld with delight; 
Rejoice, my soul! there's a still greater treasure. 
And all may obtain and enjoy it for ever — ■ 
Hallelujah! hallelujah! it fadeth never. 

Alleluia, alleluia, I repeat. 

Now drawing near the mercy-seat — 

Divine enjoyment, O how sweet! .- ,'. . 

An ocean of dewdrops in the moon's pure light. 
Dancing in sunbeams all shining and bright. 
Are (is) ever and always a most pleasant sight; 
Like " glittering pearls " that shine from afar, 
Is pure modest virtue, which nothing can mar; 
Nor taint it, nor tarnish the pure heartfelt bliss 
Enjoyed by all such, fair beauteous 7iu'ss. 

A fond and happy sisterhood — 
Never at "outs" — all doing good; 
Gathering sweets from every flower — 
Enjoying peace from hour to hour; 
Vexatious strifes ye seldom knew — 
I know full well that this is true ; 
Now for their brows, poetic powers, 
Entwine "a wreath" of fadeless flowers. 


* Ppri=rief1, "liko a prttty Cuv,er which sowo grazing kid in ^^antocnesa 
had uii'pcJ." 


■ Acrostic — No. 2. 
^Iy dear nioce — of all my nuiaorous pupils, 
I uumbei- you among the niO;t fund, kin 1, and 
Studidiis. Yoar improvement, consequently, has 
Seldom Ijoen equaled er sarpasscd. 

Eadov.-ed, as you are, -s^-ith a good mind and heart, 
Let it ever be your aim to cultivate and 
Improve them, as you hitherto have done; 
Zealously aim to excel in moral excellence, 
And you must succeed to great usefulness and 
35c loved, and honored, and happy. 
Every mental acquirement Avill strengthen 
The mind, and prepare it for still 
Higher attainments. Go on, then, 

Nor cease your efforts to '"climb the hill of science/' 

While youth animates, and hope cheers you on. 

I most sincerely and devoutly pray the 

Lord to pour upon you, noAV and ever, his 

Choicest, richest blessings and his grace. 

0, Elizabeth ! I shall ever cherish your memory ■N\-ith 

'Xquisite pleasure, while life shall last. 

. .-, ' ■ A J. COTTOX. 

jr. B. I can hardly consent to omit the following: 
Acrostic. — No. 3. 

Ox the death of Henry Tan Middlesworth, of Aurora, -vrho 
•was fearfully mangled, ami suddenly killed on the raornlng 
of "the glorious 4th,"' 18'22, by the untimely discharge of 
a cannon, which ho was loading. 

II-viL memorable day, that called Henry 'way, 

Ended his career : 
Near the ri.sing of the sun, the .shocking deed was done. 

Run the flowing tear; 


You've a solemn o.ill, that saw him thus fall, 

* Fill- d'jatii iMw prt'pare. 

Van MiJdleswurth i-; '^-lue, ;ione to tariy long, 

And none knows his fare ; 
Nor did bo expect such a sad neglect — 

Much less did he think, 
"Independent day" would call hini awav, 

■ — Sudden as a wink. 

Dreadful ! yes, indec 1, to see him fall and bleed, 

Dyin;; in full life; 
Leaving bis children dear, to mourn and suffer here, 

Endeared to his wife ; 
She is lefc to mourn, he '11 uo more return, 

■ — Comfort to impart. 

"What more shall we say? "Independent Jay" '- 

O'erjoys each inn; heart; ^^ 
Revive sweet liberty, for ever keep us free, 

To heaven our thanks rise, 
Hail! hiest Wx-^iusgtuS, thy happy toil'd done ,- 
■ But ours is the prize. 

Located at " Moore's Hill, Dearborn Co., lad." 

Tuis is a splendid mansion, three lofty stories high. 
And stands upon an eminence most pleasing to the eye ; 
The rooms are fine and spacious, nor would I have them 

The railroad being just in sight, 'tis easy of a'-cess. 

The morals of the place are very pure and fair, 
No gambling shops, or doggeries — not one can you find 
there ; 

<' Tho linos beginning with a <Lish are no part of tlie A. ro=tic. 


The people go to Church, and to the Sahbath School, 
To " keep the Lord's Day holy," is there a staudiug rule. 

The mind and morals of the young are fostered with great 

care, . - 

If yon would send abroad to learn, be sure to send rijht 

there ; , 

• " The fare " is guod and healthy, " the bills " are very low, 
I 'm often with the people, and claim the right; to know. 

■ " The faculty "-' Is hard to beat in this or any State, 
The improvement of the pupils is wonderful and great; 
The luxury I've oft enjoyed, of hearing them recite, — 
It filled my heart with gratitude — my soul with jjure 

I smiled and wept in turn, while hearing them perform, 
They 'd "calm the rolling billows,'' and thus "control the 

Anon ''the warring elements" would dash again in foam, 
And like " the wave-tossed mariner," you 'd almost sigh 

fur home. 

But each performed his part with such exquisite skill, 
lie 'd chain you to your seat, and you sii e,ax>j still ; 
The " music by the choir," and instrumental, too. 
Was, indeed, "a treat" to mc, and would have been to you. 

The " declarations and essay " were ricli in " learned lore," 
The poetry was " rich as cream," but I must say uo more ; 
"The friends of learning" ever}- where should %>o.lronizs 

it well. 
And to the credit of the State, make this '■'fine. College ''* 


^ll)r'■l3or.^, .\Jam.?, Tiirtij, and Olcott, 


282 , cotton's keepsake, 

"Fork over" froelj, one and o/7,"' your dollars and your 

dimes ;" 
"Bread cast upon the ^Yaicrs,■" ■will be gathered in after 

times ; 
T.opf pi-iy <-ii'^ Tx-cTTTi-TT-:>v ^J:?i■ e'-ir_prc;:.?, yci:nj "Uoosikv. 

And here " I rest my pica," and pray, and hope, and A\-ait 

ISf. B. I commenced wlih '-Religion," and conchiJe vith her 
twin sister, " Literature." I here offer this seutiment, and 

" Intelligexce and Virtue," — the shield and ornament of 
of the Fair — the " life-jjjuard " and endorsement of tJie sterner sex, 
the "main pillars in tlie Temple of Freedom.' 





I HATE some clioice Poems from a dear brother, 
niece, cousin, and friends, to which I had intended 
to treat my readers, as well as to honor and grallfif 
mjsclf; but I am absolutely compelled to forego 
the pleasure. In spite of all my efforts at " re- 
trenchment " — throwing two lines into one where- 
ever admissible, and a resort to a finer type than 
Avas originally intended, as seen by a fevr of tlie 
first pages, my own Poems have occupied almost 
as much space as I had intended to occupy with 
my entire book. I promised only a small book — 
I wanted only a small book — because large books 
arc seldom ever worth reading throur/Ji, and be- 
cause the price at vrhich I offer it will not paij for 
one of that character. But " win or lose," I must 
redeem my pledge to "give a sketch of my own 
humble life, and the incidents and history of the 
county and country for the period of time that I 
have resided in it," 


284 cotton's keepsake. 

A mere sketch — ''a bird's cjc view" — under 
the circumstiinees, is all that I can now treat my 
readers and patrons to, in either department, lest 
my book should be utterly too voluminous for pe- 
rusal, to say nothing about the profitableness of it 
to the Author, Many who are perfectly terrified 
at the thought of having to travel over a ponder- 
ous volume in search of any kind of information, 
scientific, hir-:torical, or what not, will, peradven- 
ture, with great cheerfulness, set out upon a short 
journey to accomplish so desirable an end. Keep- 
ing this ever in mind, I have not attempted any 
thing but truth, simplicity, plainness and brevity, 
which, I think, is much better adapted to the end 
I wish to accomplish, than any " rhetorical flour- 
ishes and embellishments," which i", at least, can 
command. The mind will not thus bo fatigued, 
nor the memory overcharged. And any attempt 
to impart useful infounation in a pleasing and easy 
manner, has claims to that praise which is the re- 
ward of good intentions. And with this the Author 
will be abundantly satisfied, since being serviceable 
to others is the most agreeable and sure method 
of becoming content and happy with ourselves. 



■ It has Lccn very beautifully and trutlifuliy said, 

that "love of country is a sentiment natural to 

\ man, and common to the inhabitants of every jiai't 

I of the globe;" and vi:h a ''Yankee'' this feeling 

I has the power of a strong passion. It must, how- 

I ever, be admitted that '•Yankee" is not always a 

I passport to favor or honor; yet ^v]iO ever saw a 

1 son of New England ashamed of his birthplace 

or his country? From every and any place under 

the arched canopy of heaven, where duty, business 

or fortune may have placed him, he turns his 

thoughts and affections to 

'•'The laud of liis birth, arnl the home of his youth/' 
with an affection v/hich distance can not diminish, 
nor time impair. To him, "New England" is a 
land of surpassing loveliness and beauty. If her 
skies are not deemed as bright as the " sunny 
south," in the grandeur of her mountain summits, 
the loftiness of her f^n-est jjint^s, her beautiful Iniys 
and islands, he finds enough to make liis early 
home exfpiisitely beautiful, and lovely, and dear to 
his lieart. If her " cloud-capped mountains " are 
bleak and bare, her placid lakes and ponds, her 
rivers and her brooks are swarming with trout 
and salmon, the finest of all the "finnv tribos," 


286 cotton's keepsake. 

and are located with enchanting loveliness, or How 
through romantic vales and flowery meads. Aild 
to this her proud institutions of litcruturc and re- 
ligion, which claim the warmest atlection of his 
heart, and the tribute of his tongue ; so say writers, 
and so say I, experimentally, and truthfully; and, 
of course, I am proud to claim Yankeedom as my 
birthplace. Tradition says I am, a descendant of 
the ReY. John Cotton, of the Plymouth Colony. 
I was born April 20th, 1800, in what is now 
known as the town of Pownal, county of Cum- 
berland, and State of jiaine. I am the fourth 
of nine children — four sons and five dauglitcrs — 
all of whom are living unto this day, except a 
dear brother, next younger than myself, who was 
cast overboard in the darkness of a tempestuous 
night, and thus drowned at sea, poor fellow, as 
noticed in my poems. ]\Iy e\er-cherished father 
died fifteen years ago, at the age of seventy-five. 
My venerable and dear mother still survives, and 
is very smart and active, at the age of eighty-five 
years. She uses nciilier a staff nor glasses. My 
parents wore not members of any religious society, 
but sat under the ministry of the Presbyterian or 
Congrcgationalist Church. But if they had be- 
longed to fifty churches, they could scarcely have 
raised their children with more tenderness or care. 
Vulgar or profane language, cruelty to animals, 
the robbiug of birds' nests, the violation of the 
holy Sabbath, were all strictly forbidden and re- 
ligiously enforced. Vfe were all early taught the 



catecTiism, to repeat portions of the sacred Scrip- 
tures, to bow around the fraternal and the maternal 
knee, to fokl our little hands and use our infant 
tongues and lips in pra\er and pruiic to God. 
To this early religious training, as I have before 
said, I am indebted for all that I have tbat is 
really worth possessing. I can say what 
few of my nge can say — a corrupt, vulgar, blas- 
phemous, horrid oath never escaped my lips. Xo, 
never. And the thought is exceedingly comfort- 
ing to my heart, now that I am bound down with 
infirmity and old age. My parents were only in 
comfortable circumstances, so that my opportuni- 
ties for acquiring an early education were limited 
• to the public school facilities, which afforded from 
two to three months schooling each winter; but I 
made the very best of that, being very studious 
I and orderly in school, and always secured the 
i approbation of my teachers; and although '-the 
[ birch and the ferule" were in great repute and 
I constant demand, never, no never, save once, in 
[ all ray school-boy days, was either applied to me, 
f and that, too, very lightly, and for a trivial offense. 
All that I now know beyond " the rule of three " 
or proportion, of grammar, geography, natural 
philosophy, chemistry, astronomy, law, etc., I have 
acquired by hard and close application to ray books, 
unaided by a teacher, since I was a m.arried man. 
My spare dimes I have appropriated to books and 
periodicals, and rainy days and leisure moments 
in their perusal, instead of squandering them away 

I.-.'. ,K 

288 cotton's keepsake. 

at tlie haunts of vice and dissipation; and tlic 
harvest I am now rcapinsx is rich and ample, and 
full of pjratoful and pleasurable remembrances. 

T \:?r:2 ^-:^-^v2 -l:'v.-n *:]'"*: ^ v.-^-. "--MT-nnol. con- 
verted, and juincd the church before I Avas sixteen 
years of age. At a little past seventeen, I -was 
" licensed exhortcr," at twenty-one a preacher, or- 
dained in 1825, and elected to elder's orders in 
1829, "which relation I still retain in tlie church — • 
"a local elder." I believe none doubted my piety 
or my zeal from the first hour of my conversion ; 
but ■with many my capacity to exhort or preach 
■with profit to the churcli, or credit to myself, ivas 
doubted by my best religious friemls; and but for 
Joshua Randall, the circuit preacher, Avho, of his 
own voluntary accord, and unknown to me, made 
the application and defended my case, I should 
not tJien^ and hard telling -when, if ever, have en- 
tered the -work of the ministry. In his address 
to my class, said he : " I have examined him 
thoroughly, and though, as you all say, he is 
very unlearned and awkward, ' the root of the 
matter is in him.' Ilis studious habits and love 
of reading, and his great and fervent piety, will 
bring him out, and you will be astonished, if he 
lives, to see Avhat an eloquent and efiicient min- 
ister he will make. Pass him, brethren, on ray 
responsibility;" and they did pass me thus, as I 
learned, for the first time, when I made my first 
visit back to Maine, after an absence of tv.clve 
long, eventful years. In some sense, I may say 


witliout vault}', the prediction of Brother Randall, 
iny early and ever-cherished friend, and one of 
the most eminent divines in the hind, lias been 
realized. But how much more aljundantly so 
^voukl it have been had I early, fully, and exclu- 
sively consecrated myself and my all to tlie min- 
istr}-? From a very humble and obscure begin- 
ning, the little celebrity I have as a minister has 
been obtained by dint of close application, of 
close observation, and close communion -svith God. 
AVhat has been said of an eminent divine (so far 
as the application of means is concerned), may 
Avith equal emphasis and truthfulness be said of 
me. I, too, commenced preaching at the age of 
seventeen (for tny exhorting was all prea/jhing), 
such as it was, and ungainly and poor at that. 
Starting out in my ministerial career at an early 
and tender age, with such qualifications only as 
were common to all; an education which had. been 
little more than coumienced, under ihc pressure 
of many disadvantages, but turned to some little 
account by unremitted devotion to elementary 
books, and private study in leisure hours. 

Witli a heart and a will to go forward in the 
great work I had assumed, I felt, from the very 
first, and at every step fn-ward in my official 
duties, that some thing beyond the ordinary food 
of the mind was necessary to prepare me for my 
pulpit duties and responsibilities; that determined 
and personal energy, application and efforts were 

absolutely and indisputably necessary to my suc- 


290 cotton's keepsake. 

cess cither to fame or usefulness as a minister of 
the n;ospc] of Ghrist; and relying upon divine aid, 
I did and have a]>plied myself accordingly, as 
know all my intimate friends, Witliout guide or 
model, i ha^■e prnjccted and expku'etl my ovm 
puthway; liave aped no man; but, from heginning 
to end, have been my original self, in the pulpit, 
as in all the other duties and relations of life. 
With inexplicable yearnings to learn and to know 
the means and exped.ients that I have been driven 
to, as tlie only possible condition of ability and 
usefulness as a minister and as a man, can, per- 
haps, be readily imagined, but it can not be fully 
expressed by me, or by my friends for me. 
Yielding to tlie yearnings of my heart \o be both 
good and useful, I appropriated all "within my 
reach to my special aid and benefit. Pieading, 
Avriting, reflection, observation and experience, all 
the energies of body and mind, were invoked and 
applied to for liglu and guidance. 

The miilniglit lai.'ip has often found mc at my 
books. Thought demanded materials, and ends 
exacted means. A\ ithout constant efibrt fur men- 
tal growth and enlargement, all ciiance or hope 
of success was forever foreclosed. Such were the 
circumstances of ignorance and want, aiid trial 
under which I commenced my minis'.erial career, 
and during ■whicii time I must have pronounced 
at least some three or four tlionsand sermons. 
And, although I have nuich to regret that my 
sermons have nut been more eloquent, more 

AUTOBIOGRAniY. 291 <?? 

efficient for rrood, I rejoice that tliev have, in 
some sense, been serviceable ami acceptable lo 
the cliureh, and tbat 1 never have knowingly 
trilled \vilh niy.sclf, ^vith my lu2;h and holy mis- ' 
sioii, liy turning it to worldly advantage, or to 
tickle or please the fancies of others. I have 
rather sacrificed all my worldly hopes and aspira- 
tions, that I might " make full proof of my min- 
istry,'' and " fini-^h my conrsc with joy." I have 
not "lied to the Holy Ghost"' to please any man 
or set of nien, for personal elfect. I am not con- ■ 
seious of any ambi'ion or aspiration unworthy the 
high mission of '-an ambassador of the Cross of 
Christ.'' But feelde and inefhcient as they have 
been, they have been my very best efforts, under 
all the circumstances; and I have often been 
exceedingly happy and joyful in their perform- 
ance. In " breaking the Bread of Life " to 
others, my own soul has feasted upon the heav- 
enly repast, and I often made to " rejoice with 
'joy uns})eakablc and full of glory." So much, 
then, for my ministerial career, which is, in all 
human probability, about being wound up and \ 

closed for ever. And I am cheered with the hope "•. 

that I shall be able to render an account of my 
stewardship with joy and not with grief, through 
mercy rich civA free. i 

My recollection runs back distinctly to an occur- 
rence that took place when I was oidy two and a 
half years old. I had strolled away into the 
"svoods and became lost, and quite a search was 

T. ^i. 

/i|.; i ' J" .^ 

292 cotton's KEErSAKE. 

made for me, and I now sec my clicrislied father 
as he approached me and cla-sped me in his arms, 
and I feel the warm and ahnost suffocating kisses 
of mj moiher, my ])Oor distracted mother, when I 
was returned to her ail sate and sound, after seve- 
ral hours of painful solicitude and suspense. It is 
now as vivid and fresh to my mind as an occur- 
rence of 3'esterday. I have also an indistinct 
recollection of an incident that occurred, perchance, 
a little before that time, and to introduce it, I will 
say, that my good mamma says, that although " fat 
and hearty as a pig," I cried more in infancy 
than all her other eight children put together; 
that I literally hauicd both " day and night," 
when, for the life of her, she could discover 
nothing to cry for. Of course, she thought me 
hardly worth raising, and let me bawl it out, as 
bawl I would. Well, on a time, I went into the 
room all alone, took up a small pair of tongs that 
had fallen into the fire, and contrived to get them 
astride of my neck — the sizzling and frying opera- 
tion soon commenced, and then I, as usual, com- 
menced bawling; but then it was the old tune, 
and my mamma let me sing away. At last she 
thought that there was a little more entpJuisis tlian 
common, and concluded to look after me, when, 
lo ! she beheld my sad predicament, witli two large 
blisters on each side of my neck. She exclaimed, 
*'You little sweet dear, you are crying for some- 
tJdng this time," and nearly smothered me with her 
kisses. Hope sprung up in her h^art. I lad given 

AUTOBIOGRArilY. , 293 

evidence of some little sense, at any rate, and slie 
thought that, perchance, I might he worth raising 
after all. And, sure enough, only see what a 
Tuan I have made of mvsclf so unprnroisina^ 
a beginning. "Wonderful ! ! I I now tell my mam- 
ma that I suppose mj intention was to laugh 
instead of to cry, but that I did n't know lioiu 
The tongs, however, set me right, and from that 
day up to my present illness, I have laughed 
more than any other man of my size in my palmiest 
days, and that is saying much, "Laugh and be 
fat," has been verified in rae to the very letter. 
"Despise not the day of small things," for be- 
hold what a great man a liillc boy will make, 

The embargo times, and the war times of 1812 
are still fresh upon my mind. Preparatory to the 
war v^'as the embargo act to call in our own ves- 
sels, and to keep our money and our means at 
home. Our privations, of course, were many and 
exceedingly severe. Vre used pumpkin and sugar- 
tree molasses, sage and many other domestic teas, 
carrot, pea, and rye coffee, almost exclusively. 
Our mothers submitted to it without a murmur, 
because the rights of the country required the 
sacri6ce. We paid from SI. 75 to $2.00. per 
bushel for corn, and from S14 to SI 8 per barrel 
for flour, and hauled cordwood from eight to 
twenty miles for SI. 50 to S2.00 per cord. I 
drove a team v,ith wood many a day and night 
at those rates. We would start for Portland, a 

■t rvA\) c 

294 cotton's keepsake. 

distance of twenty miles, at sunset, drive all night, 
and get into market at early dawn or sunrise, and 
if we met with a ready sale, home at early bed- 

tii"nr> in flip ■vrintr'T • nt]ir>rwiio. pt a verv latc or 

rather early hour on the next morning. I have 
been so overcome with fatigue, and cold and 
broken rest, that I have dropped my knife and 
fork a do/en times while eating my supper, my 
good mamma standing by me all the time to cheer, 
and comfort and feed me. I have traveled many 
a mile in a profound sleep by the side of my 
oxen, got hold of the bow, lost myself, woke up 
a,nd found myself at least a mile ahead, and all 
this for a mere pittance, hardly enough to "keep 
soul and body together." Then a naked crust of 
bread was sweeter than the richest bridal cake I 
ever tasted, and that is saying a great deal. 
Year after year the early frosts cut off our crops, 
and we had to depend upon southern corn, which 
■we had thus laboriously to obtain. Talk about 
hard times, Avhosocver may, we do n't know licre 
in the west at this time, the first single letter in 
" the hard times alphabet," These reminiscences 
bring tears of. gratitude to my eyes at this moment. 
And but for the benefit of the seaboard and her 
inexhaustible fisheries, I see not how we could 
nave possibly survived total starvation. Our coun- 
try, however, produced potatoes, peas, beans, and 
gaidcn vegetables in a fair abundance, and we 
"wore able, by a great deal of hard labor and 
economy, to keep up a fair dairy, and sheep to 

■' :<'/:iAi(k> 

AUTODlOGKArilY. 295 

furnisli us the materials for Avint(?r apparoK "wliich 
our motlicrs and sisters carded by Jiaud, and spun 
and Avove at home. 

The music of the spinning--\Yheel, ■ "■ '•■ 
The shuttle and tiie loom, 

greeted us from early davm till nine or ten o'clock 
at night. I fj.'ucy I see — I hear it now, and I am 
young again — back to tlio days of youth and child- 
hood — back to the dear parental hearth — parental 
care and protection, and tlie fanciful contemplation 
is mournfully sweet to my heart. 

But the embargo times were succeeded by others 
more severe and trying. Our husbands, sons, and 
brothers, either by "drafts" or "enlistments," 
were torn from home to meet death, perhaps, 

On the field of battle, 
Where blood and cain.ige cloche the ground iti crimson, 
Souudiug with de.uh-groaus. 

I shall never forget the time wlicn an express was 
sent into my noighliorhood, post-liaste, one sabbath 
afternoon, for a draft of so many to be made, forth- 
with, and to be at Portland on the next day, '■ armed 
and equipped for military duty."' The British fleet 
lay off in sight, and an attack upon tlie beautiful 
city of Portland was reasonably anticipated. That 
was a time tliat tried men's souls. Some responded 
to the draft cheerfully, and seemed eager for the 
fight. Others ingloriously paid almost any price 
for a substitute. And my laily's brother, lienja- 
min, at a good round price, took the ]>hice of one 
less courageous and less patriotic, perhaj>.-:, though 

296 cotton's keepsake. 

it must be admitted that clrcurastixnces alter cases. 
If ever I longed to be a man, it Avas then, when I 
"was hardlv thirteen years of a<^o. Blight and 
early on Monday- morning, our brave boys bade a 
iiasty adieu to home ami friends, and amid tears 
and blessings took up the line of march for the 
post of danger and death, to defend their common 
country or die in her common cause. But so it 
Tvas, after lying off in sight for some time, and no 
doubt, by some means or signals, ascertaining that 
Vr"e were ready to give them a 7rann reception, 
they abandoned the intended expedition, and hauled 
oft' to other fields of operation, and many of our 
valorous men returned home after an absence of 
several weeks, vexed that they had missed a fight. 
I more than once visited what is called Portland 
Keck or Promontory, Avhen its forts and barracks 
were swarming with men ''with nodding plumes 
and coats of uniform." I hear their drums and 
fifes, I see their then inarshal tread and evolutions, 
and catch the glowing enthusiasm, while thus I 
write, as in the days " Lang Syne." 

The Enterprise and Boxer were brought into 
Portland harbor, and I went on board and saw 
both in a somewhat shattered condition, splintered 
and battered by the m.olten messengers of "death 
and destruction." Two gallant English tars were 
quartered at a friend's of mine ; one with his leg 
amputated close to the body, another with a grape- 
shot lodged in the cavity of his bowels, which 
could not be reached or safely extracted. Every 

, .'\ 

- :-..n|. 

AUTOIslOGrxAPHi". 297 

possible attention and kindness was paid to tlicm 
that humanity and skill could su^^gest. And I 
asked myself tJicn^ and ask every body non\ Avhy 
should those men be so mutilated and put to so 
much pain, -when, as men, we had nothing against 
them or they against us ? And, as before asked, 
Why could not Nations, as well as States, settle 
matters of dispute by "a legally constituted civil 
tribunal?" Echo, with its wonted impertinence, 
as if to mock the all-important inquiry, answers 
h-dok—why ? 

When the startling intelligence swept over tlio 
land, that the city of Washington, the Capitol of 
the Nation, was taken and pillaged, " the hearts 
of patriots died within them." I could name many 
that I now see in my mind's eye, as they mourn- 
fully walked the street, or, gathering together in 
little groups, to counsel each other upon the sad 
and disheartening intelligence. I recollect, too, 
some of the anti-war men, who seemed to exult 
that tliey Avere not committed. And with great 
complacency, as though they were sages and Solo- 
mons, they would, with seeming delight, " cast into 
their teeth," I told you so. Many a wakeful, rest- 
less night have I spent, dreading the consequences, 
wishing that I had the power to avenge and save 
my country, and praying God to interpose in our 
behalf. And when I learned that the next attack 
would, in all probability, be made upon New Or- 
leans, and General Jackson had charge of her 
defense ; every night at my youthful prayers, (for 


298 cotton's keepsaki]. 

I ^va3 taught never to my eyes m ?leop Avitli- 
out prayer.) yes every iiiglit I prayed for General 
Jackson, of Avhom I knew notliinLr u]) to tliis time. 
Every patriot eye was turned in that direction, 
and x\e\y Orleans "was the engrossing theme of 
thought, of conversation, and of inquiry, between 
five and six -weeks after the battle of Isew Orleans, 
the glad, the overwhelmingly joyful news was 
heralded through Maine by gove^uiment expresses 
on horseback. Put your horse through at the top 
of his speed, as far as he can go, and tlien turn 
hira out and mount another. '• Uncle Sam " will 
foot the bi1L seemed to be the instruction. Intelli- 
gence on a joyful theme like this could not be 
disseminated through the land in less than five or 
six weeks! ISow it can be done in about as many 
seconds of time ; ! ! AVhat an age of improvement 
and progress truly. 

The joyful intelligence from New Orleans reached 
me thus. I was at school, about one mile from 
home, and about the middle of the aficrnoon, 
Josiah Walker, a dear cousin of mine hove in 
sight, on his return from Portland, with his oxcu 
and sled, a handkerchief tied to the top of a long 
stake, old " star and bright" going it at the speed 
01 " double quick time," and he proclaiming at 
the top of his voice every few minutes, ''General 
Jackson has whipped the British! General Jack- 
son has whipped the British 1 1" The whole school 
•was perfectly electrified, my own heart beat quick 
and free, the teacher ran out to make in(|uii'y_. and 



Icarncil tliat an express of that kind haJ just been 
received at Poi-tland. On went Josiali, ami in came 
the teacher, announced the joyful news, and turned 
us all out in a hurry ! and such anotiicr scamper- 
ing I never sa^N". ""Without stop or let" 1 has- 
tened home at the top of my speed, and nearly out 
of breath, I burst open the parental door, and ex- 
claimed most unceremoniously, as best I could, 
General Jackson has whipped the Ih-itisli ! General 
Jackson has whipped the British ! ! 0, I was per- 
fectly frantic with deli;^ht ; almost too happy to 
live; and recounting the scene I weep too much 
to write, and must pause to give vent to my feel- 
ings, pay a tearful tribute to the past, and a grate- 
ful one to the God of nations as well as of men. 

Such a meeting together of patriots, such re- 
joicings I never before, or never since, saw or 
heard. The valleys and the mountains echoed 
back joy and thanksgiving and praise in every 
direction. And from that day to this, no living 
man ever occupied so large and so warm a seat 
in my affections as a military or political man as 
General Jackson. This is the key that unlocks 
(what once seemed a mystery to many) my devo- 
tion to General Jackson. Mine too was a reason- 
able devotion, as all the good and great cvcry- 
wdrere now respect and venerate his memory, and 
approve his general policy. Peace to his quiet 
dust and immortality to his memory, and justice 
and truth, and freedom, and prosperity, and per- 
petuity to the interests and instiiutions of uur 

300 cotton's keepsake. 

coramon, our beloved, our heaven-favored coun- 

The prochimatiou of peace sent a tlirill of joy 
to every patriot heart. Bonfires and the mutter- 
ing roar of cannon ■were seen and heard all over 
the land, and I, perhaps, the happiest boy on the 
globe. I could n't keep still nor refrain from 
expressions of infant or youthful enthusiasm. I 
have seen and felt much in my time of suffering, 
privation, and hardship, that the young of these 
days are strangers to, and probably ever -will be. 
I hope they -will. May the tocsin of war never 
more be heard in the land, and the time speedily 
come '\vhen "swords shall be beaten into plow- 
shares," and " the nations shall learn war no 
more." I would fain linger here. I could write 
a whole volume; but a sketch must suffice, and I 

At the age of sixteen, while attempting to put 
a very large, heavy log of wood into my cart, to 
haid to market, I felt something give Avay in my 
stomach. My log I let go, sat down upon it 
quite faint, recovered a little, loaded up with light 
wood, went to North Yarmouth, a distance of eight 
miles, returned home very sore and sick, and was 
laid up for the season, spit blood profusely from 
time to time, for a long season, and, in fact, never 
fully recovered from it, and never shall. I have 
suffered much but complained little on that score. 

ALTOBIOGrvAniY. - 301 


Ask now, hoys, for that bear story, -whioli I have prom- 
ised to some of you. At the a^c of about fourteen yeais, 
I was sent down east, as we called it, as far as the Sandy 
river, a distance of some sixty odd mile?. I started oif, 
"a-foot and alone." The evening of the second day, at 
sunset, found me within eight or ten miles of my journey's 
end. Somewhat weary, but full of ambition, I was resolved 
to reach my uncle's before I went to rest. I knew, how- 
ever, that I had a long dreary piece of woods to pass 
through, without au inhabitant for some four or five miles. 
A part of the way a pond lay on either side of the road, 
and all the way through a thicket of pines. I entered it 
just at dusk of evening, with a new moon some tvro or 
three hours high, and shining brightly, with liere and 
tliere a fleecy cloud, and gentle zephyrs murmuring in the 
tree-tops. A little boy, all alone, and far from homo, and 
in a land noted for white-faced bears, whicli were often 
seen and often killed, it may well be supposed that I 
plunged into this gloomy recess with a palpitating heart. 
But manning up my courage, I dashed on, seeing strange 
eights and hearing strange sounds from the forest and tlie 
ponds. I had got on full half the way through, when I 
was "brought up all standing," with a great big white- 
f\\ced bear just ahead of me, and close beside the road. I 
first thought to "take the back track" with all possible 
speed, but a second thought admonished me that 1 could 
not possibly escape thus that distance by flight, and to 
halloo would be useless, and, iu truth, I was too much 
frightened to halloo; and there I stood transfixed, with up- 
lifted hands, and with my staring eyeballs nearly popping 
out of their sockets. And now it made a move ; my blood 
froze in my veins. I must do some thing, and that right 
soon. I finally concluded that if I had to run, I would 
run the right way; and as the bear was just on one side 
of the road, I would take the other, and try and pass him, 


and thought, yi^'iM:]\enture, nt ni\ oven race, I mip-ht save 
in_v distiiuce — that Avas my only ii-vi.>. Only tiiiiik, two 
days' travel- fi-oni home, alune in a di'rk aud hmely fure'^t, 
out uf sii^ht and out of hearing; of every liviui^ mortal, 
save lllui who sees and hears all thing-;. It move.s again, 
ai'.'l AMtii my iioart m my mouth, 1 moved, too, and dashed 
ahead, -with my eyes riveted upon the ohject of terror tiiat 
had thus be?et me; and as I got just opposite, or a little 
turned past, I saw it clearly, just iu the altitude of — a big 
pine-stump! burned all over, except a little on the side 
toward the moon, \\ iiich made " a great big bear with a 
■white face." Tlie moving was a pine l;ough waving iu 
tlie breeze, and stamjing I'etween me and the stump. I 
ventured up, and scanned all the premises carefully, after 
the Rubicon was passed. I laughed and I wept, aud with 
gratitude to God, 1 set out afresh to com[ilote my journey, 
which I accomplished, safe and sound, before bedtime. 
lleceiving a warm greeting and a warm vsuppor, I was 
soon in a warm bed, and at rest in soft and ]io:iceful 
slumbers. Xow, boys, ain't that a consideralde of a l.ieiu* 
story after all? I laughed when I got through with it, 
and so may you, for it is truly langhablc. 

Before I f\irtlier proceed, I will record another little oc- 
currence in my life, simple though it V)e. I had foumi the 
drumming log of a partri'lge (as we call them) upon the 
mountain, which I have before noticed as constituting a 
part of my father's fiirm. I prevailed upon my kind good 
father to let me go and try to shoot it, when I was (piito 
young. So loading Ins fowling-piece, he explained all 
things to me in reference to taking aim, etc., for I had 
never once shot at a mark. With a bounding heart, I set 
out to climb the mountain early in the morning. I found 
that my bird was drumming again, and with great eautiou 
I approached within shooting distance, behind the covert 
of a large tree, and there stood tlie bird, which had got 
sight of me, and just as he was about to jump oif the log, 
hanrj went my gun, and down fell my bird with a deadly 


6hot ; and the -way I gathered it up, and hastened home, 
is no one's j^articiilar businej^s except in}" own. General 
Jack?')!! at New Orlean'^, or General Taylor at Bucna 
Vista, or General .Scott at Vera Cruz or the City of 
lilexico, did not feel to he a greater general than I did 
■when 1 sliot and took n:y tiri^t panriage. ihere is not 
one scene in my Avhule life that I renlernher*^vitIl more 
distinctness or livelier emotions. How t'nese early impres- 
sions cling to the mind; and vrith what a proud step I 
entered my home, ^Tith my bird ia my hand, may be im- 
agined, hut can not be expressed. I took the second in 
the same triumphant manner. The thiid I ij:issed, and 
if I hail lost an empire, I could scarcely have felt more 
crest-fallen, chagrined and vexed tlian J did then. I felt 
as though I could crawl through a half-inch augur-hole, 
as the saying is, or that I was attenuated to a point and 
cut ofl"; and, frum that day to this, I have learned that no 
earthly bliss is abiding; but, ;\s the old pump-handle said, 
" there are a great many vps and dvicns in life.'" 

..,: ' , • A ^'IGIIT "WITH A PAXTHER. 

Ty the years of 181 G, '17 and 'IS, -what was then called 
the "Ohio Fever," prevailed, to a very great extent through- 
out the Eastern States, esyiecially in the State of ?*Iaine, 
my own na'al Sta'ie. And man}-, during these years, sold 
out their possessions, bade adieu to their weeping friond.5 
aiid " the scenes of youth and childliood," and emigrated 
to the tlien "far west." In the full of 1S17, fifteen families 
from about one neighborhood, and eleven of them, with 
ten wagons and twenty-fuur horses, and seventy-eight souN, 
started off together from Cumberland county, in one day. 
It was a great move, and excited the curiosity of the 
country through which they parsed ; they were spoken of 
as the great "land tli*'t.-" Their route was through tho 
beautiful city of Portland, Haverhill, to Albany, thence up 


the fertile valley of the Mohawk, thence across to Oler.n 
Point, on the head-waters of the Alle:;hany, tlience down 
tlie river, in lioats and on rafts, to Pitt'-bu;-?;, thence down 
the beautiful O'do to Lawrencel)urir, in Indiana, where 
they cast anchor, cahh^d up, and sonirht each a resting- 
jiiace and a home in the then -wilds of the west: and most 
of them located on what was then called (ireen Brier 
Ridj^e, now known as the pleasant village of Manchester; 
among whom was the Picv. Daniel Pliunmer, so favorably 
and extensively known. 

In the foil of ISIS, the writer emigrated "westward hcl" 
Sailed from Portland to the rnonnmental city (Baltimore), 
thence across the mountains to Pittsburg, thence down tho 
Ohio to the abode of his old friends and acquaintances, 
(more than two months' journey — it may now be traveled 
in three days,) found them all well, received a cordial wel- 
come, and verily a happy meeting it was. 

Shortly after, he was married, according to the Good 
Book; for he most emphatically "left father and mother" 
(dear and revered names), and clove unto her to whom he 
was affianced; reared him a cabin, and settled in the woods. 
All was one vast unl>roken wilderness around him, save 
here and there a little cabin and a small oprning, tho 
labor of the nev.'-eomers the previous year. These were 
scattered about on what was then Greou Brier, as bi'fi;re 
observed; so called by hunters, because of the prevalence 
of a brier of that color that abounded in the forest. My 
cabin was far reniovc! from any other habitation, '-solitary 
and alone," at first. I had bashed out a wagur.-tvack, as 
we call It, and hnd. also, "blazed" a foot-path, a "nearer 
cut" to the settlement. My mind reverts with an indo- 
pcribable titn'ition to that period of my life. Mmy is the 
time and oft that I have eiitered this dismal and solitary 
homeward path, when, for a good part of the way, it was 
so dark that I could not see my hand to save me — was 
compelled to feel out the path with^ny feet; with my heart 
in my mouth, my hair vel'' ni-h erect, and my h'oud nearly 


curdled, for the prowling wolves were about my path, and 
had often raised their hidoijus veils in my very door-yard. 
Indian habitations and traa'edies, fresh upon the ininvl, in 
this dark solitude; and lost in ihc>e <lark meditation-, wlien 
lV. >;r a -uJdcn cff v:c-'' '•-:-' - ->-^ ^bin^ ^.-:tb i- nnfi- 
miliar tread, and then a hiileous yell uf wati-wah-\va!i--.> ah, 
ho-ho-ho-ho. The shock over, you woulil fuel thankml to 
find your sealp safe, and that the causes of your afiVighc 
was the bounding of the affrighted deer, and the nigiit-owl, 
"in hoarser harmony." tuning its vesper notes of praise. 

Onward you would wend your dubious way, undl your 
ear would catch the unearthly melody of a t'\xmiliar " hoo- 
hoo," which your anxious and lonely wife would, ever and 
anon, send over the dark forest, to cheer your heart and 
direct your steps. Rea'ier, this is no fanciful sk*^tch. 
Often have I heard that welcome sound, compared to 
■which the music of Orpheus and the mellow notes of the 
iEolian harp would be grating discords. As you came 
near home, you would see a brisk light, and your wife 
standing in the door, as if to penetrate the gloom to get a 
glimpse of you. At your approach, she would fly to meet 
you at the bars, and grc't you witii, " My dear, are you 
come? I have been so alarmed for you; the wolves have 
been howling back here ever since dark. 0! I am so glad 
that you have arrived snfdy." As you enter your neafc 
cabin-home, you find supper has been long waiting: your 
little boy asloep, whom you kiss again and again ; then 
you give thinks and eat; and after prayers, retire to rest, 
and after telling many a long yarn, and recounting the 
mercies of God. you fall asleep in the kind embrace of 
Morpheus, and your rest is sweet. 

Sometimes, as you were going through the woods with 
a hickory torch, you would frighten all the bea-ts and 
birds alotig your track, and they, in turn, would frighten 
you. I remember, a.s though it were yesterday, that when 
coming home through a by-path, with a torch in my hand, 
that cast a dark circle all around me amid the grcca 

30G cotton's keepsake. 

foliage, when all of a sudden I beheld two flaming balls 
of fire, that looked frightful indeed. What could it be? 
They moved, they disappeared ; -sviih a kind of snort and 
a bound it passed oif, and came upon you in another 

staring you full in the fixce. I tell yuu, reader, it would 
bring one unaccustomed to a forest life " all up standing." 
Conjecture was batiled, and all I had to do was to trust in 
God and go ahead. It soon left me, and 1 passed on to 
receive another cordial welcome home, with abundant 
matter of conjecture, and for an hour's cliat. It was evi- 
dently a deer, as I afterward learned. Hunters sometimes 
kill them in that way; it was called "firing deer;" their 
glaring eyeballs reflect the light in this manner. The 
hunters took many of them, and wild-turkeys in .abun- 
dance. Well, notwithstanding I was unaccustomed to a 
forest life, and was often put up to all I knew to get along 
with the strange sights and sounds that accosted me, yet 
many a time and often have I left my bed at rai-lnight, 
and gone far out into the woods, to relieve my faithful 
Jowler, when he would raise the yell, to let me know that 
he had some thing treed. If it was on a sapling, I was 
sure it was only an opossum ; I would fell it, and Jowler 
was ready fur him. If on a large tree, I was sure it was 
a coon; would strike up a fire, and wait till morning, 
when one, two or three coons were sure to be taken. 
Jowler never missed fire, though I often shot wide of the 
mark. Those, after all, were happ}- days ; and, indeed, 
there is some thing so fascinating and romantic in the life 
of a backwoodsman, that I often sigh for those days again. 
But I in U.St forl.iear, and hasten to my story. 

About the middle of Nov., 1822, more than thirty-five 
years ago, I and my lady, with our only child, a iittlc son 
abjut two years old, had been to Mrs. C.'s father's, and 
had tarried until 8 or 9 o'clock in the evening, when we 
started homo, about a mile in the unbroken forest. The 
moon was shlaiug beautifully, about an hour and a half 

(.'i i',i ', ;/ "i\ . I ■! n-.i(i:. 

AUTOEIOGKArilY. " 307 

high — a few fleecy cloiuls were floating gracefully in the 
heaveus — the cioanings of the nigiit winds as they gently 
murmured tlirougli the tall tree-tops, the rustling of the 
sere and falling leaves, the shadowing of the silver queca 
nP r^^gh^ .Q c^f^ TV>o r.Pr|tly sipl-inr- to rfst, and tiie deep 
Bolitude that surrounded us, cast a kind of pleasing melan- 
choly around our homeward path. Still we were hajipy, 
and were beguiling the moments with some agreeable chat, 
when all of a sudden Mrs. C. cried out, "my dear, there's 
a wolf!" Just at that moment, my eye caught the nbject, 
some four or five "yards to my right, in an old tree-top, 
covered Avith green briers. I had just passed a large tree 
that stood on the edge of the path. I stepped back, in a 
moment, and Mrs. C. coming up, we stood behind it to- 
gether, and by side glances endeavored to ascertain what 
kind of a customer we had. I discovered some aninsal in 
a crouching position, but the deep shade that enveloped 
him, and my own excited feelings were such that I could 
arrive at no satisfactory conclusion. In a moment or two 
he squatted flat upon the ground. I tried to hope that it 
was Jowlcr that had come out to meet us. Mrs. C. said 
no; fearful to have him approach even if it weio him, I 
ordered him home again and again ; but it was " all no go." 
"You are right, my dear." said I, "it is not Jowlor, sure 
enough, and we must do something soon, or the moon will 
he down, and we left entirely in the dark. Xow do you 
take bub and go ahead, and I will stand here and keep 
the animal's attention on me, and when you get a good 
start I will then follow, and if I shall be devoured, better 
one perish than all. Take good care of yourself and hub, 
and meet me in heaven, for if it is God's will to call me 
hence, I feel through mercy that I am not altogether dis- 
qualified or unwilling to go. 

"Do you think tliat I would leave you here alone to bo 
devoured by wolves? No, never,'' said Mrs. C. "I can 
never do that; I will stay by you be the result w;iat it 


All the remonstrances were vnin, and I gave it up. Sho 
wished me to throvr the animal a bit of fresh meat vrhieh 
wc were taking along for breakfast, and then imm-^diatcly 
start. I had many objections to tliis, but told her t.> st;u-t 
with hni> rto.'i T T-f..o.^ stand I .l.^^.i H.^ui aud li;ain. and 
if the animal followed I vrould throw it to him and we 
would escape for life. It was a critical moment, but we 
finally mustered fortitude to start; my eyes nearly pupping 
out of their sockets, being so intensely fi.xed upon my un- 
welcome guest. I fancied I saw him move as we sot forth, 
my hair seemed to stand erect ; my blood to curdle in my 
veins as I almost faucied his fangs upon me. But no! 
there he lay until we had gained the distance of a rod cr 
more, then turning my eye away, we " put out in double 
quick time," fur our lone cottage in the wilderness, some 
half a mile off. We had not gone far when we heard him 
trotting on the leaves, taking a cross cut toward the house. 

" It must be Jowler," said I, " but let us hasten." "When, 
however, we arrived at the bars, Jowler came out of his 
kennel, and bade us w-elcome home, and happy indeed were 
we to bo there all safe and sound. As we entered Jowler 
went in with us. We had hardly seated ourselves and 
Avere with gratitude talking of our wonderful escape, and 
nearly smothering our little babe with kisse?, not having 
yet struck up a light, when Jowler began to sni.T, and 
going to the door raised a portentous groAvl. I suddenly 
opened the door, when lo ! there sat, on the door-step, the 
cause of our aiTright, and made a bound to enter. I caught 
him and Jowler between the door and both went out to- 
gether. After a short scufiie Jowler played oif, aud my 
fi-iend came and sat down again upon the door-step. 

The moon had about gone down, and having wliat we 
called in those days, a "stoop " over the door, I could not 
yet determine what it was, but cinclnded that I hud had 
enough of him for once — that I vrould try and give him 
his walking paper; and having neither axe or rifle at hand, 
I took the firc-poie, opened the tlcor a little — Sirs Cotton 


held it. I thrust out the fire-pole — a small hand-spike — 
jiud bi-ouglit down, full tilt upon his pate, a fair lick that 
vrould well nigh have felled a beef. He tumbled over, 
without the least outcry, not even thanking me for my 
5-/,-;7-/„,T ptf >,.)nnont • ni^'l:'^'' liipivolf iip |i, p Tnf>nu-;it. pni^ 
bounded over the fence like a dart, and Jowler after him, 
but he soon returned without treeing him, or coming in 
contact with him. 

What it was, I could not contrive. I was now satisfied 
that it was no wolf, and a panther had not once entered 
my imagination, and well tliat it had not. After return- 
ing thanksgiving and praise to our unseen but kind de- 
liverer, w-e went to rest, and our slumber.s were sweet a3 
our rude home was lovely and pleasant In the morning, 
I went to an old woodsman residing some distance off, to 
report the case and ask for information. 

"Why," he said, "it was a panther. lie had scented 
your fresh meat, and had waylaid your path. He was 
just in the act of bounding upon you when you discovered 
him. Your timely discovery and the tree bafiled him. lie 
intended to have waylaid you again, and would have done 
it if you had given him time. No light being in the house, 
he was intent to fdlow. There are panthers about — I have 
heard them. It is a wonderful escape that you have made, 

And then I recollected all the panther stories I had ever 
read, and saw them all verified to the letter, in the manceii- 
vering of my " unknown guest." And at the recognition, 
my blood chilled again, and I adored the hallowed name of 
my great deliv^-rer, who, for wise, and great and good pur- 
poses, mercifully preserved me, perhaps to proclaim salva- 
tion to the sons of men, and to take part in the great and 
glorious Temperance enterprise; and I trust, in that par- 
ticular, that I have not been spared in vain. 

Be that as it raay, I and ray good lady still survive. ?ily 
Bon, my dear lamented son, died several years ago, Ipaving 
his second wife and three children behind him. Tvt-o other 


Jittle sons and our only Jnuslitor, and tlic s-treetest ono 
that ever blessed a parent, sleep bc.-ido him in the pouci-- 
ful grave. Our only surviving child is a son, married and 
settled in Illiuois. I incidentally note these things here. 
Jovvler, poor follow, my ffiifh*''il. fnii^y friond, ca:r.c to a 
tragical end many long years ago. 0, vihat changes have 
occurred since that fearful night! The howling -wilder- 
ness has become as the garden of God. Fine farms, and 
orchards, and mansions, and school houses, and seminarie.-i, 
and colleges, and churches, and turnpikes, and canals, and 
railroads, and telegraphs surround me on every side. (Seo 
luy Torest Ode.) And I am now writing this sketch within 
one mile of the spot where I was beset with that pantlier, 
which I might have killed, and, no duubt, should, had I not 
been under the impression that it was old father Mead's 
yellow dog that had become lost. In a forest life, '-Love 
me love my dog," is true to the letter. The real panther 
or his mate was shortly beheld sunning himself in the 
lofty tree tops, by one of my neighbors, when, quick as 
thought his rifle was at his shoulder, his eye darting along 
the iron tube of death. The leaden messenger summoned 
liim to surrender forthwith, which was instantly responded 
to, and he was borne oif in triumph, as others had been 
before him. This one, however, appeared to be "what 
the shoemaker threw at his wife," as we neith'cr saw nor 
heard anything more auuut p^mthers in the neighborhood 
after that. 

Tender and thrilling recollections of the past eomc rush- 
ing back upon me as thus I write, and admonish me that 
life is short and uncertain — that this eart'i is not my 
home, nor would I have it be. And oh ! forbid it heaven, 
that this beautiful world should be any the worse off for 
my having been in it. But I must forbear, with gratitude 
to God, and with a thrilling and abiding interest, do I 
cheriih the remembrance of 

"The night I spent with a panther." 

Keader — my unvarnished and simple story is told— 


truth, every word truth. And here for the present I tako 
ruy leave of you, and hasten to my prayers and repose. 
Good Jii;iht children, and happy dreams to you all. 

Presuniinir: that the reader, like myself, feels niueii re- 
f^n-^o,^ I r,ci- KJm t.> <>A hir^V ^vi^h PIP to old Maine, once 
more, to sec if I was not a little extra in youth, if not in 
old age. 

' When father Xoyes, that sainted, good man, had sold 
cut, in order to accompany his favorite minister, the Rev. 
Daniel Plummer and others to the then "Far "West," I, of 
course, was only seventeen years of age, and utterly too 
young ordinarily to think about getting married. Bur our 
families were on terms of intimacy, and his daughter too 
bright a jewel in my estimation, to be lost without an 
effort, and as she was about to be removed to what then 
appeared to be the uttermost verge of civilization, if not 
the very "jumping o3' place," I thought, and thought 
correctly, too, that what I did I must do quickly; it was 
with me 7ioic or never. So, after mature deliberation, I 
sought a favorable opportanity, and, with suitable ap<jlo- 
gie?, introduced the subject to my lady-love, and then 
postponed the matter fur mutual deliberation. My suit 
having met with a favorabio reception, I thought myself 
fortunate and happy beyond description. But then there 
were difficulties still in my pathway, to be surmounted or 
removed, before my goldr-n dreams could be realized. I 
was quite young — several years before I should bo of age — 
and then, perchance, her family might be opposed to the 
arrangement, even if I should ever be able to find her 
again. I knew that at the proper time, and under proper 
circumstances, mine could not possibly be better pleased. 
But how now I could not say. And that I might not 
make a fool of myself, nor disappoint my fair friend, I 
determined at once to know "just how the land lay,'' ia 
every direction. So I Srst took mj' good mamma and father 
aside, and opened my and affairs to them, oii'ering 
as an apology for my early move, tliat it was now or 

312 cotton's keepsake. ' 

never. And that, if they assented to the tirrangement, I 
wanted them to let me follow her "out west," the nest 
year. To my great joy, I found it All ri<;ht in that direc- 
tion. I then named the thing to father and mother Noyes, 
t.ilil Hipin T wa« too -roiivirr tr> t-ilV jiliniii- epcli thincr=', hut 
that circumstances altered case^ ; that tliey were going far 
awav, and I did not want to huild up I'alse hopes. And 
I had the unspeakable pleasure to find it all rl^hc in tliat 
direction ; so that the entire coast was now clear. iSay, 
more, father Xoyos offered, with the consent of my parents, 
to take me along and use me in all things as one of the 
family until 1 chose to set up for m^^self. But, being in 
poor health from my injured breast, and desirous of a 
little more schooling, I chose to tarry behind for at least 
one year; and if that wasn't a long year to me, "I 
wouldn't say it," 'pon honor. But the year wore away at 
last, the 20th of September arrived, and I bade parent.s 
and friends, and home farewell — a little the age of 
eighteen years — and, all alone, started for the object of my 
afifection and hope. As before stated, sailed from Portland 
to Baltimore, crossed the mountains "afoot and alone," to 
Pittsburg, got on ^oard a fomily boat (for there were no 
steamboats then to be reliid upon) and by several changes 
from one boat to another, I at last found myself safely 
landed at Lawrenceburgn, on the 10th of December, ISIS, 
a journey of almost three months time, Mhich appeared 
to me ahno.^t an age. 3Iy friends out west being advised 
of the time of my departure, had abandoned me for lost, 
ncavhj. It can be traveled over now in two days. My 
Bafe arrival wa■^ greeted with a hearty welcome by the old 
folks, and as to the balance it may bo guessed at. SufiBce 
it to say, that I was shortly after married, and before I 
was nineteen years of age. And in little more than' a year 
after that, we were blessed with the little son we had with 
ns when we were beset by that panther. Now what 3'oung 
man can boast of a greater adventure than my marriage 


arranjromcnt, or to do it up iu a more manly or business- 
like manner? 

My whole history has been odd and peculiar, like my^elC 
It was thus that I found myself "a western man," and in 
^,„.,.. ,.„....... /;„/ ,..„. fi,„ ,„.,i.;.,,, .e ,.,„ Tu-own M-nn 

my own resources at an earh- age, and that, too, without 
money or means, I learned to economize in tin;e, in ex- 
penditures, and in every thing else — eschewed tlie ardent 
and the weed, and made the most and the best of all the 
ineaus in my power, consistent with all my personal and 
official duties. And if I never have enjoyed obundance, I 
have never really sufiered want. Thrmgh many a time I 
have found myself "hard run" to keep along. But dili- 
gence, patience, and perseverance have thus far took me 
safely through. 

The country- being new, I soon found myself in demand 
as a teacher, as well as a minister, orator, and lecturer. 
Have taught school more or less every year since 1S21, 
tbree years only excepted — in solid time abouc twelve years, 
and have had not less than some two thousand pupils 
around me. Some of whom have worked their way to 
lionorable distinction and usefulness — and one, at least, 
into the penitentiary; and a few others I could name, will, 
in all luunan probability, graduate at that State institution, 
or be elongated in a hempen necklace. So look sharp 
boys, "lest you fall into an evil not" — bring reproach 
upon yourselves, and your parents with sorrow to the grave. 
I early learned to use lore and kindness instead of 
ness in the scho.droom, and I have found it to work like a 
charm. My experience and observation as a teacher, I 
should like to cominuni<?ate in full, for the benefit of all 
the parlies concerned; but my book being already too large, 
I must omit it here. Suffice it to say that, almost ail 
childr'^n can be governed by mildness and decision. If 
you can't i-each them one way you can another, if you have 
f^utiioiently studied their dl-positiuns and their liome train- 
ing. If utterly ungovernable, when all kindcspedicnt.s have 

'V; (A 

314 cotton's keepsake. 

been faithfully and fully resorted to — then, perhaps, the 
betler correction is a dismissal, at least, for a season. 
Get the the children, not by letting them rule you, 
but by showing to them clearly, that you uish to rule tkcin 
for their o^" o-nn,!. ^-"ix thn*- in rhf> mind by kind aid 
gentle means, and the point is gained, and the schoolrooDi 
becomes a happy place, both to the teacher and the pupils ; 
and that my soul knows right -svell, as may readily be 
seen by my poetic literary department. ! I love my 
scholars, and they love me— 1 know they do, generally, with 
a warm heart. 

A CANDIDATE. , -.- ' :• 
In ]S2S, I commenced what may be termed my political 
career — was announced by a friend as "candidate for tiie 
Legislature." It was an age most emphatically of " grog 
and decanters." But I was so seutimentally opposed to 
the practice that no entreaties upcm the part of my friends 
could induce me to sanction it by my example. I was 
the first candidate that I ever knew that did not subn^it 
to the custom, and I never have once in all my life. Well 
I commenced my career in "the day of small things," 
received just two hundred votes at my first heat — next time 
two hundred more, and so on fur six heacs without an 
election, coming up to vithin ten votes of it once. I kept 
in right good heart all the time, knowing that at ''these 
licks," it would be my turn by-and-by, if I did not 
weary in well-doing, and surely I possessed " the gift of 
countenance" to a remarkable dej^ree. 

But at this time my cver-clicrishcd friend, John Eennct, 
sold out, and removed to llonry Co., in this State, and was 
extremely anxious that I should accompany him. made me 
several propositions that I deemed valuable, and us I had 
all the lime kept myself embarrassed by my minisierial 
and gratuitous services, I concluded to sell out — right up 


and remove ; and as a Imvyei- would say, commence the 
•world d'j iioco. I \ery reliunantly It'l'r- old Doarljui-ji ; but 
thinking it to be the better way tor my family, I tore 
my.self away from my early iViond, and located myself 
near Ncnv Oastle, nouu a beautiful little farm, whieh at 
an unusual good lay, 1 had nureha^ed of my ever-ebeiished 
friend, I^aac Bedsaul, who gave nie a great bargain, and 
easy terms, to secure iny location in that commr.nity. Sdoa 
after my arrival, the citizens of Henry started a county 
paper, called 


and desired me to edi!; it, which I consented to do for a 
season, and until other and better arrangements could be 
made. Forthwitfi some Of the editors, whom I omit to 
' uame, said I was a broken-down politician, and seemed 
to regret that the New Castle folks had been imposed 
upon by me. Being measurably among strangers, the.-^e 
unkind and untrue sayings "stung me to the core." I 
knew it was all false as sin, and I knew that those editors 
■who sought thus to revenge themselves upon me for y>olitical 
and personal variances, also knew that every word of it 
"\vas untrue,, or at least ought to know it, perhaps that would 
be the most charitable saying. I, however, felt that I owed 
it to myself and friends, forthwith to resign the editorial 
chair, which I did accordingly. There being two judges 
to elect that year in old Dearborn, I shut up my house, 
carae back on a visit, and stood a poll for judge. There 
were four canaidate.s, and two to be elected, and out of 
2.500 votes cast, I received 2210; and the higiiest vote by 
several hundreds that any one man had e^e^ received, and 
all without grog at that. This was such a refutation to 
the pitiful slang of unkind and ungenerous editors, that I 
had no language to express my gratitude; but determined 
at every loss to serve my old friends, and forthwith arranged 
all niy affairs accordingly, sold my Henry farm, re-located 
myself again in old Dearborn, where I ever have, and 
doubtless will remain. 



I had secured a bcautifal location, and one of the prettiest 
farms, and many exceedingly kind friends iu Ileury Co., 
whom I was loth to leave, and whose names and memories 
I fondly cherish still. The following precious names I 
must nnd will pinhnlni in the p;'^-^^' of i-ty li^tlo l>ook. 
John Bennett, Phihmder Iloss, Thaddeus Owen, old Father 
Lyness, Isaac Bea'Naul, Judge Sandford, John Powell, 
lion. Miles C. and Eli Murphy, Judge Elliot, Zadok Ben- 
nett, old Father Shelly, J)r. Reed, Judge Bundy and George 
Ilodgers and families, and would like to more. Friend 
Kodgers is now in the drug business at Xo. 51 Main St., 
Cincinnati, under the firm of " Ilodgers, Son's & Co." I 
take pleasure in recommending my good, and honest, and 
honorable friend Ilodgers to the favorable consideration of 
all my readers, who may visit the city on business in " his 
line." Give him a call friends, as Avell for your oicn as for 
Ms or viy sake. 

After serving a term of seven years upon the bench of 
the Circuit Court, I was appointed sole judge of the Pro- 
bate Court, by Gov. Whitcomb, and was subsequently elected 
to the same office by a heavy and good majority, over one 
of the very best citizens in the county. Pi. D. Brown, Esq. 
My friends did it up "brown" that time, and no mistake. 
The duties of which office I performed for the space of 
more than five years ; when our New State Constitution 
terminated the office or Court of Probate, which let me out. 
At which time the Bar were kind enough to express their 
approbation and good will in the following preamble and, which I estimate so highly under all the cir- 
oumstauces, that I can not deny my.«elf the pleasure of 
introducing them here. If it be vain I can't help it, and 
don't want to. ' . 

■ ~ ., AUTOBlOGRAl'll Y. 317 


Oy motion of Abram Brower, Esq., tlio followin;:; pro- 
ceedings of a meetiug of the Bar of Deurburn County' aro 
ordered to be entered on record. 

At a meeting of tlie Bar of Dearborn County held at tlio 
Court House on the 2-lth day of September, 1852, James T. 
Brown %vas appointed President, and Abram Brower, jr., 
Secretary. The following preamble and resolutions were 
unanimously adopted. 

Whereas the Probate Court of Dearborn County being 
about to go out of existence, the members of the Bar feel 
it their duty to place i pon the record of said court a testi- 
monial of their respect for Judge Alfred J. Cotton, whoso 
eervices, as Judge of said Court, will close with the present 
term — therefore 

Resolved, — That we have been associated with Judge 
Cotton in the administration of Justice for seven years as 
Associate Judge of the Dearborn Circuit Court, and for 
more than five years as Judge of the Probate Court of said 
county, and that it affords us pleasure to bear testimony 
to his close attention to judicial business — and to the 
patient hearing of all cases submitted to him, and his 
earnest efforts to administer law and justice in the dis- 
charge of his varied and complicated duties. 

llesolced — That we entertain the highest respect f)r the 
moral worth of Judge Cotton, and part with him with the 
kindest and best of feelings. 

JAMES T. BROWN, Chairmax. 

Aeram BuoiVF.R, Secretary. 

A true copy from the minutes of Proljate Court of Dear- 
born County, Indiana, of the term of August and Septem- 
ber, 1852. 

Cornelius O'Brien Clerk of the Court of Common Pleas 
and the seal thereof hereunto affixed at Lawrenceburg, this 
30Lh day of October, A. D. l.'^55. 

CoRNEUus O'Brie-V Clerk [l. s.] 

318 cotton's keepsake. 

It is not to be inferie<l from the forcg(>in<!; procecillngs, 
that the "members of the bar'' consider me a lU-ack^tone 
or a Kent — by no means. And j,xt, perhaps, I can say 
what few other judges can. For more five years, 
■wiLU a iicioy uuck'.u ill 1.UL- CuuiL of riubat^, aiid some 
very knotty and important cases, not one single decision 
of mine was reversed, either in part or in full — not one; 
but all appeals (which vrere not numerous) were sent back, 
"In all things afErmed." And on the Circuit Bench, for 
seven years, there were, I believe, only throe reversions of 
my concurring opinion. For this happy and creditable 
sta.te of affairs, both to myself, my friends, and my coun- 
trj', I am much more indebted to a good bar of attorneys 
than to any profound legal attainment of my own ; though 
you ma}- be sure I applied myself closely. The bar being 
faithful to their clients, and very industrious withal, fur- 
nished to my hands all the authorities, with their own opin- 
ions and comments ; so that it only required at my hands 
a sound discrimination and an honest and fearless heart 
to decide aright. It is matter of great convenience for a 
judge to be profound in the law, but with such a bar as 
we have here in old Dearborn, it is not essential, as my 
own history clearly demonstrates. 

It is very easy for some people to speak contemptuously 
of lawyers, but I regard it as the most fortunate event of 
my life, when I was officially associated with thorn. True, 
the practice of the law calls loudly for a reform, and the 
gentlemen of our bar have often so expressed themselves 
to me, both publicly and privately. All it requires is 
some one to load off in tlie proper direction, and all will 
forthwith aid in the good enterprise. I asked and ob- 
tivined admission to " the bar," for no other earthly reason 
than to "put the ball in motion," and to eucouraie young 
men to look up and take courage by my example and 
success. See more fully my " Law Notice," a few pages 
ahead. And as I have undertaken to speak of myself, I 
will Liut make a fool of my-self; through false modesty, 

ArTuDIOGlIArilY. 319 

"by keeping back that which I owe to myself, as aut>> 

The members of the bar will bear mc tc.-timony that once 
on a time the presiding judge had charged the jury, and. 
thcv had retired, when I su^i^ested to him that he had 
overlooked a strong point in the case, wherenpou he 
ordered the sheriff to bring tlio jury forthwith into court, 
when, openly giving mc credit for the suggestion, he 
reversed his charge, and they found accordingly. My 
charge to the grand jury will not soon be forgotten — 
surely not. 

At another time, an important case was before the jury, 
and the president desired me to give them the charge, and, 
under the assurance that he would correct any error or 
omission, I weui forward very deliberately and fully, when 
the president said, in just so many words: "Gentlemen. 
of the jury, I fullj' and heartily concur in the charge of 
Judge Cotton. Every position that he has taken is cor- 
rect, and he has not omitted a single point iu the case. 
I have not another word to add. Take the case, gentle- 
men." Several similar occurrences followed. 

Once on a time, an attorney, having a personal interest 
in an important suit which he was managing, made ap- 
plication for a "change of venue," alleging in his affida- 
vit that he could not get justice in this court, on account 
of the prejudice of the presiding judge. Of course, my 
brother associate and I awarded to him "a change," by 
complying with the provisions of the law in such case.s, 
and there the matter rested. And when we had reached 
Ihe case, the president informed me that he should not sit 
"upon it; that no man who would hold up his hand and 
swear that he believed that his personal prejudice would 
l)e carried into his official duties, could not have the ben- 
efit of his opinion. " "Why, judge, I can not do without you. 
This is an important bank case, and without a pi\'cedeii!." 
"I know that," said he, "but I am willing to risk you, 
and if you commit au erroi", all judges often do the same, 


320 cotton's keepsake. 

and the appellate court ^vil! set you ri-^Jit." Entreaties 
•were vain, and not a single hint coiiJd I get from him in 
the premises. Suffice it to say that it was "a demurrer" 
to the bank's declaration. And no 5(?oner Avas the case 
called, and the attorney hod ri.^en to address the court, 
than, sure enough, the president vacated his scat. After a 
long argument and a patient hearing, I thought myself 
master of the question, and -n-ithout consulting my hon- 
orable associate, I gave my opinion, and overruled the 
demurrer. In this I was promptly sustained by my col- 
league, vrhich settled the question. xVt recess the attorney 
very pleasantly accosted me with, ""Well, you decided that 
case against me, and as you are inexperienced, it is not to 
be wondered at ; but, then, you were clearly wrong, as all 
the bar say. Xow, as I have another ease of the same 
kind for to-morrow morning, I v-ant you to reflect, and 
take counsel, for your own credit, as a judge, not that I 
care particularly, for if you do not reverse that decision, 
I shall take it up, and it will be reversed at sight." 

" Very well, I will hear you patiently, and if I see my 
error, I shall be both happy and ready to correct it." 1 
listened to his second address; it was long and labored, 
■when I told him I saw nothing to change my former 
opinion, and should decide thi'* in the same way ; so said 
my colleague. Well, both cases went up, and both came 
back "in all things affirmed," and upon a question, too, 
that had never before been sprung in any case whatever. 
Now I ask you, gentle reader, if that "aint some" fur a 
poor friendless and penniless boy as I was when I started 
out into the world? And is it not too good to be lost and 
kept back from other poor boys or young men who are 
trying to make something of themselves ? I think so, 
and therefore I rcc-ord these things for their encourage- 
ment, as well as for my own personal gratiUcation. 

One of the last cases I ha<l to decide in the Probate 
Court, was an important Will ca-^o. The attorney took 
his appeal with gwat seeming confidence, and luauy of my 


friends, vrho were familiar with the case, said I had missed 
it for once, sure. "Gentlemen,'' said I, "you have not 
thonglit of thi5 case as I have. I have slept up(m it, or 
rather I have laid awake upon it, and if that decision is 
Dot afSrmed, I '11 not guess again." And sure enough, in 
due time it came back, •■in ail iniuj^s amin;ed." And 
-thus hegan, continued, and ended my judgeship. 

One thing more and I dismiss the sulyect. One of my 
decisions in the court of prol)ate afflicts me mucli — more 
than all others put together — though but little was really 
involved in it, A genileman, going to California, deposited 
with his friend, Abram Browcr, an eminent young lawyer, 
and an excellent young man, (and, by-the-by, an early and 
ever-cherished pupil of mine,) some fifty or sixty dollars. 
telling him, if he never returned, he designed it as a 
present to him. It so happened that he died in California. 
Some one, on hearing the intelligence, said that he died 
some dollars in his debt ; whereupon 3Ir. Brower, in the 
penerosity and honesty of his heart, for .the first time, said 
that he had some money in his hands belonging to the 
estate, and if he had a just claim, he would pay it oS". 
The thing got out; application was made for letters of 
administration; 3Ir. Brower thought administration useless, 
as he was ready to pay, if a just claim was presented. 
Whereupon it was suggested that there might be several 
other claims, and the safer and better way was to admin- 
istrate upon the estate in due form. ISlv. Brower thought 
he should then administer; and I was so fearful that I 
should be suspected of doing wrong, that I actually did it 
First, I ought not to have granted letters, as neither rela- 
tive or creditor applied for them ; secondly, I should by 
all means have appointed Mr. Brower administrator, if 
any body. I did not see all the points in the case until 
it Avas too late. The claims presented I found to be all 
iinfonuded, and so decided them; yet every single dollar, 
I believe, was "legally filched" from the pockets cf Mr. 
Brower by way of costs; and that I should have inno 


cently been a party to the transaction afflicts me much, 
even to this .lay. I onirhc to refund e%-ery dollar to him, 
and Avill if I ain ever al-.le to do it. The best miss it 
' sometimes, and here 1 did it most e;:ie;j;iously, upim a 
small scale; and I record my crmr as a warninL' to oclicvs, 
and as an act of justice both to .Mr. Brewer and myself. 

lie, however, made me sweat fm- it before I left tho 
bench. lie had a suit in court, the investigation of which 
seemed to vex him not a little, and the opposite party 
quite as much, and rather sharp and angry words were 
being passed between the parties. I, of course, interposed, 
in my mild and easy manner, but it -was no go — tho tires. 
■were too deep, the provocation too great, and both parties 
seeming rather to court a wordy contest, and knowing, as 
I did, that friend Brower was a little vexed at me, or at 
least had good reason to be — my term of office being then 
near its final termination — and no other parties or persons 
being then in court, I yielded them a slack rein, and, 
of course, the parries were soon rather boisterous and 
"uproarious," when lo ! to my utter chagrin, who should 
drop in but the Hon. Judge Downy, one of the very best 
and most dignified and commanding judges in the State. 
Usually I was ever happy to see the judge, but this tira 
his simple presence gave ine "the horrors" for keeps. I, 
however, "grinned and I'ore it" with the very best possi- 
ble grace, but you may be well assured that "I sat 
'maxin' uneasy.'' As a dignified presiding ofiicer and a 
judge, I suddenly fell at least thirty degrees below zero 
in my own estimation, and, I presume, entirely below the 
point of obser-.-ation in the estimation of Judge Downy. 
Ilowever, I have lived througii it, and only record the 
occurrence as or.c I vividly recollect in the checkered 
scenes of my humble, yet somewhat eventful life. 

Mr. Brower, as ever, is one of my warmest friends, and 
as such, he was the mover to the bar proceedings, as will 
be seen by the record, which I highly appreciate and re- 
ciprocate. One thing more and I am done. 


1 '• ■'■'■'. ?)i -u J 


There is an incident connected with my judgeship which 
T beg leave to note. In 18-2(3, I taiiglit school in Eliza- 
betlitown, Ohio, and among my pupils was enrolled the 
name of Abram ]5rower, then a very promising, interest' 
:..^ !:"'■" '■■•^, ■^'^.(1 nq fine a scholar as one need desire. 
But the idea that I should ever be judge, and he one df 
thc most efficient lawyers at the bar. nay more, my right- 
hand man, the ready, skillful and beautiful clerk of my 
court, had not at that time entered either of our imagina- 
tions. But it all came true in time ; and when from the 
bench I saw how nobly and skillfully he demeaned himself 
as an attorney and as a clerk, I could but feel proud at the 
reflection that he was once a pupil of mine, and if I had 
done nothing to develop his active mind, I surely had not 
spoiled him. This merited compliment to 3Ir. Brower, 
growing out of this incident, I think is in place, intending 
no disparagement to either attorneys or clerks, who are 
" hard to beat " the world over. 


To my Associate Judges is here due from me. Hon. I^Iiles 
C. Eggleston, the Presiding Judge, was one of the best 
legal men in the State. Judge Livingston was an honest- 
hearted man, and had been elected several times to tha 
same office. And, although we were often at variance iu 
opinion, yet as men, we lived on terms of great personal 
kindness. Both have gone to their reward, and I alone 
linger upon the earth. Peace to their slumbering dusts. 

I should very much like to pay a personal tribute to all 
the gentlemen of the Bar, and officers of the Court. But 
to do that in the fullness of my heart, would occupy more 
space than I can possibly spare. They all have my best 
wishes, and share in my daily prayers. And with that, 
I trust they will be content. 

After being admitted to the Bar, on the motion and 
testimony of my good friend J. T., and cordially 

324 cotton's keepsake. 

greeted and mnde welcome by other;', I published the fol- 
lowing "law notice," which produced quite an excitement, 
and not a little lau^'hter. 

JAW XOTirv, 
"Look here evcri/hodi/," and more too! 
■ ■■ ■ i ^ JUDGE COTTOX, . 

....-■.'.: A T T R X ET AT L A W 1 ! '-•. 

The undorsigned, having been formally "admitted to the 
bar," as an Attorney and Counselor at Law, takes this 
method to inform "all the world and the rest of mankind,'' 
that he will practice as such, in any and all the courts, 
cither in the county or State; also, in any and all the 
courts in the United States and territories, in Nova Scotia, 
in the Canadas, in Russian America, in any and all of tho 
Mexican and South American States, in any and all the 
courts in Europe, and throughout the Eastern Continent, 
and "the islands that slumber upon the bosom of the 
mighty ocean:" Provided, always, his terms suit, and he 
has any thing in his legal line to practice, and, provided, 
also, that health and all other circumstances are favorable 
to such an arrangement. 

For his deeply profound legal attainments, his overwhelm- 
ing shrewdness and cunning, his marvelously correct and 
active business habits, etc., special reference is made to all 
those who are the least acquainted with him — if total 
ETRAN'GEXESs, SO much the better. 

lie respectfully solicits, and confidently anticipates a 
very liberal share of (" do nothing" with) the law busi- 
ness — (except to keep out of it.) 

Ilis office is at the ""White Cottage," Locust Avenue, 
Mule Town, Dearborn Co., Indiana, where he may at any 
and all times be foujid, when be is nowhere else. Don't 
all call at once, genllomen. 


Editors, generally, will please " lie low and keep dark'' 

about this advertisement, lest I be overrun Avith "notliino 
to do." . 

ALt,i;:cy a::i C:,::::2o!:r at Law. 
Jan. 29, 1S.5S. 

For lite Eegisfer. 

JIr. Editor: — My little novel law notice has not only 
excited much nierrinieat, but subjected mo to much quiz- 
Ing as to my terms, etc. Please spare me a little corner 
of your sheet, and I will answer all at once, and be done 
with it 

In the first place, I must have a good round fee to be- 
gin with, either iu hand, or well secured. "Widows and 
orphans, a double fee as a matter of course. And then it 
is to be distinctly understood, all the time, that I will 
never descend to any mean trickery or mancouvering, to 
eave a client, — that I would scorn to do to save myself — 
will not ask for a favorable judgment or acquittal, unless 
I honestly tjiink that my client is justly entitled to it — 
will never ask for a continuance, or " oliange of venue," 
merely to harrass innocent or injured parties, or to escape 
a just penalty. Nor will 1 ever attempt to confuse or em- 
barrass "a deposing witness ;" but will let tlie whule truth 
come gushing, full and free, like the mountain torrent, 
whether for or against my client. I adopt and publish 
these " rules and regulations," because I think that " the 
practice of the law" calls loudly for reform in all of these 
particulars, and I am fully determined to start oft' riyht, 
or not start at all. Xow, the law rightly- understood, and 
piroperly administered, is exceedingly beautiful — it is soul- 
ennobling — it is heart-cheering and inspiring — it meets out 
equal and exact justice to all, under all possible circum- 
stances — it throws its protecting arms around the new-born 
babe, hovers over him all along through lift, over hia 
bier, and over his house of death. It follows the culprit 

32G cotton's keepsake. 

into court — into prison and upon the scafi'ild — secures to 
him a fair trial, a just juujiuieut, and the full enjoymeuc 
of every utiforfeitcd right and privilege ; it is, indeed, the 
wisdom and experience of ages, condensed aad reduced to 
a system of rules fu' the protection and pioud of alL v^uch 
is the law. And yet tlic practice of it has become disre- 
putable ! and a lawyer is at once too generally set dmvn 
as u Avicked and perverse man — a vilhiin and a knave. 
Now these things ought not so to be, even iu imagination, 
much less in fact.' A minister and a lawyer, as a latinisi 
■would say, should constitute a par nobilejrutruni iu virtue's 
cause—" the cause of all mankind." 

I know well that there are a great many high-minded 
lawyers, -who feel it their duty to descend to things vrliich 
are irksome and painful to them, yet the practice seems 
to require it, and, therefore, they feel compelled to "grin 
and bear it." This unhappy state of things has been brought 
about, in part, by a misapprehension of a lawyer's duty. 
Being true to his client has been thought to mean that afc 
every and all hazards, "by hook or by crook," he is bound 
fo see liis client out of the meshes of a violated law. And 
it may well be questioned if this state of things is not 
chargeable for many, if not most of the offenses against 
the peace and dignity of the State. If I chance to be cuugiit, 
says the offender, a few dnUars and my attorney will work 
me out of it. All law writers say, escaping punishment 
is a great encouragement to crime — 't is not the severity, 
but the certainty of punishment that deters evil doers. 
See Dyraond's 3Ioral Science, page 29. 

Xow can we suppose that the wisdom of a State, assem- 
bled to frame lavrs for the peace and order of the com- 
munity, would constitute one set of officers to see that the 
laws be duly respected and executed ; and another set, bound 
under the solemnities of an oath, to the utmost of their 
abilities to pervert and misrepresent the law, and that, 
too, after having been sworn to observe and maintain it? 
Preposterous!!! Xow, all that an attorney owes to his 

: • " AUTOBioGKAniY. 327 

client is, to see tluit uoue of his rights are inva'led or in- 
fringed upon ; anJ this is all in perfect keeping witii his oath 
to maintain and respect the laws. l>o n't you see it, friends? 
A'ow, if I can only put the ball in motion, that shall pu- 
rify and make honorable a practice so essential to the -well- 
being of all, I shall consider that 1 have accomplished a 
great and good work — that my little book, -which I intend 
shall bear abroad these suggestions, is not -written in vain — 
that I have nut lived in vain. And, in conclusion, if my 
terms are acceptable, and health, and all other things 
favorable, bring on your business, gentlemen. "I'm your 
man." But f^jr the pleasantry of the tiling, you would do 
well, perhaps, to bear in mind, that I Lave assumed rather 
a large field to operate in. South AmeriiM aud Europe are 
embraced in my imaginary circuit. 3Iy book, is to bo a 
book of truth, and this is ' all true — imagination. Nor is 
this all — for would you believe it — the very next day, and 
evening after it was announced to the world, that "I wos 
a regularly built attorney," duly authorized to practice as 
such, I say, that I forthwith received a communication from 
the sun, moon, and stars, which was transmitted with the 
velocity of a i'ay of light — whereupon it was significantly 
suggested, that my "professional services'' would be in 
quite as good demand, and pay quite as well, in those 
shining orbs, as in South America, or Europe. I knew, 
years ago, that some of my poems had a])peared in the 
London papers, placed to my credit, and sent back to this 
country, and I thought that quite a getting up in the world 
for a poor obscure boy. But, that my fame should ever 
reach those "worlds of light, that hang pendulous in the 
blue arch of ether," is quite mysterious and overwhelming. 
Because 1 ever "set my mark high," I reckon. Well, of 
course, I shall go when officially called upon, a suitable 
fee tendered, and a suitable and safe conveyance to and 
from, are provided for me. More especially as this Hide 
globe has ever been altogether too small a field of opera- 
tions for my inquisitive and capaciou.s mind — capital ! ! 


Arranging the aSalrs of the moon, as I am upward 
borne, and so on, as I pass from globe to globe, ner- 
cliance the first that my old friends of Doarl;orn will 
hear of ine, will bo post-marked, Orion, or Arcturius, or one 
of the beautiful Pleiades, iu the immensity of sjiace, |ior- 
chancc, from the morning or evening star. So be patient, 
friends, j'ou shiill neither be neglected or forgotten, when 
I am "'way up thar." Let that suffice. And now I leave 
it to the reader to say that if I am not " the greatest 
author he ever knew — if I aint " the tallest " by more 
than a feet." 

Attorne}- and Counselor at Law — and too. 

Reader, you have now read my humorous hiw notice, 
and may have had a hearty laugh over it, as I intended 
YOU should. Having " a few thoughts more of the same 
6ort left," I will treat you to them, and pass. 

AVhen 3'ou are nearly melted with the burning mid- 
summer sun, only think how comfortable I must be at- 
tending court, on the other side of it, ];r?rfeetly in the 
shade, where, of course, I should be most happy to see 
you. "Whew! 

You have often seen and heard much about the "man 
in the moon," but never knew who he was, I suppose. 
"Well, next time you look at the moon, just suppose that 
the court has adjourned, and I have slipped out to see if 
I could see you. Just imagine that you see a part of the 
."courthouse, and the cupola where I am standing, and 
■<hen a silvery cloud passes between me and you, only 
think that I am waving my great broad-hrimmed hat at 
you, and you have it all "in a nut-shell." The man in 
the moon is Judge Cotton, oh? "Oood as wheat," and 
gooder, too. When you behold the glimmering light of 
the distant pleiades, the ever-faithful and true north star, 
or the dazzling, bright a"nd beautiful ^lars and Jupit-^r, 
just imagine that their courthouses are brilliantly illumiu- 


ated fov an evening session, and that I am perfectly '= tis- 
tonishing the natives" — holding judges, jurors, attornovs, 
and all the bystanders perfectly enchained with wonder 
and delight with my Iffiu eloquence, in one of my mus- 
+ o,.ir. ofl-,,,.fo ,,p.^.i " ^;fv,»;,,ri^l Ip-vv" -^nd "►'t'^>-nal ri'.'ht 
and justice.'" Ain't that m-.iking quite a raise in the world, 
and getting up into the pictures? 

"Where is the eccentric and witty James T. Brown ; the 
grave and deeply-profound P. L. Spooner; the forensic 
and captivating D. S. Majors ; the eloquent and high- 
minded A. Brewer; the industrious and eminent T. Gazley; 
the legal giant E. LHimont ; the strong team, the far-famed 
yar nohile fratum Ilanes and Iluhnan; the uucqualed State's 
Attorney ; the venerable and poetic John Pumont ; the per- 
fect walkingdaw-library, the lamented John Ryman; where 
all the young and promising "gentlemen of the bar," when 
compared with ''tJiis hiah and lofty pleading" of mine? 
Ay, where the world-renowned and world-lamented Grundy, 
Clay and Webster? Just no w-h-a-r I 

I have indulged myself in these fmciful ci.ntemplations 
at nij own expense, in order to prompt the young to 
originate thoughts and reSections ; for none surely will 
deny to me the paternity of these musings. lu the nest 
place, I designed their perusal as a little pleasant and 
agreeable pastime, which is alike useful both to mind and 
body, in small portions. Lastly, I have said that one 
reason for writing my little book was, that I did not wish 
to die, and lie down, and be at once and for ever forgotten. 
Now, it is one thing to speak or write so as to be under- 
stood, and quite another so as to be clearly and di-tinctly 
remembered; and I iH'io venture that no one v.b.o has read 
these humorous and fanciful flights of the mind, can over 
read the geography, or survey the ma[is, of any and every 
part of tliis county, or even of this globe, without thinking 
about Judge Cotton's practicing law there, as, for instance. 
South America or Europe. Neither can he ever behold 
the sun, moon, or stars, without associating my humble 


name and memory -with them. For aught I know, chil- 
dren may yet be taugiit to reganj the nian in tlie moon 
as being Judge Cutton— -/'^ci / And really and truthfully 
I aiitieipate a much lofrier and bolder flight hereafter; far 
bov^nd the most distant nlanet, I shall fondly hope to 
"inherit a kingdom/' and wear crowns and diadems f:i^t 
by tlie throne of God, in bliss immortal, high up in heaven, 
Avhen "the duties and the conflicts of life are o'er;" and 
here I cease my majestic flight, dazzled -with the tran- 
scendant splendor, and lost in the intinite greatness of the 
"great First Cause," Cease, did I say? No, I shall go on 
brightening in glory and bliss, worlds and ages without 
end — hallelujah— amen. 

•-■ ■" " HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPES. ■ : ' '. 

An'D now, as light and shade, harmoniously blended, and 
in due proportions, form the beautiful landscape, so docs 
light and grave reading the pleasing and interesting book. 
I shall, therefore, right here, in close proximity, and in 
open contrast with my fanciful imaginings, record some 
"hair-breadth escapes," in m}- humble life, of rather a 
a serious character. That "night with a panther," if not 
v.-ith a bear, and my rattlesnake story, will, of course, be 
remembered here. 

A Fall from a Cart. — "\Mien I was a lad of some eight 
years old, I fell from a load of hay, right in front of the 
wheel, and so closely to it that it" made a slight skin-wound 
upon the very crown of my head. One inch farther under 
the wheel would have been hopelessly ftxtal to rrio. My 
dear good father thought me lost as it was; and I C4ia 
never forget how tliankful he appeared to be when, upon 
examination, he found that I had received only a siighb 
wound. I see him now — I feel the pressure of his lips, as 
with tearful eyes he greeted mo, and thanked heaven for 
the narrow and wonderful escape. Yes, although lifty 
years ago, I see the very spot^-the cart-wheel, as it rollod 

1 :' ,^.,■;!f<'» 


Euddenl}' upon me, before I conld move — I see old "Star 
and Bright," as though it Avas an occurrence of yesterday. 

A Fall undi".r a Si.ed. — ^Again, at tlie age of thirteen, 
perhap'i, wiiile going to market vith a load of AAOod, in 
+ 1,^ ..■;„, r.y c,-^->>-,,.i \ stf>rii>p(1 suddenly upon the no.-e of 
my sled, in order to let another team pass;. ]My foot 
slipped, and I fell across the nose of tlie sled, as vrc used 
to say, and in turning over to get up, my right leg dropped 
below the runner, which, of course, soon run on my leg, 
just above the knee; and with my arm out upon the 
tongue, and my other leg and thigh above and against the 
roller, I Avas carried several rods before my friends could 
fctop my oxen and my horse, which had taken fright at my 
tdiouglitless ado and outcry ; for with a load of wood upon 
my leg, and that dragged along by my resistance to pre- 
vent its going over me, you may be assured that, aside 
from the fright and the fearful position that I then occu- 
pied, "it hurt like the mischief." And thus I lay some 
time before my friends could disengage me. Fortunately 
no bones were broken. My kind friends took charge of 
my team, put me into a sleigh, and took me homo, where 
1 was confined for some weeks. Had the sled parsed 
over me, I must have lost my leg, and, in all probability, 
my life. I tremble as I recount this little, yet very 
hazardous occurrence; I am in the very midst of it again 
while I record it. 

The Kifle Balls. — Once on a time a gun was accident- 
ally discharged, and the ball struck the liouse not six 
inches from my head. At another time, as I was passing 
along in the street, whiz went the leaden messensjer close 
to my head, only a few inches to the right, and above. It 
was discharged at a squirrel some distance off, and alto- 
gether out of sight of me. 0, I wonder that people are 
not often slain in this manner; it is indeed marvelous to 

A Blow from a Slebge Hammer. — Onco at a raising, a 
man with a large iron sledge hammer, iu attempting to 



drive a pin. hit me ."v full glanoinjr blow just on tlio crn-^a 
of my he;!']. Had that blmv :<truck me a siiiglo half inch, 
or even one-f nirth of ;\n inch h)wcr, it -vvoiihl have crnslied 
my head all into atoms. As it ^Yas, it pcrfoctly stunned 
r.c. I wl.iiLJ, iuiJ olnjuiu ii;i>e ialien, had I not have 
been caught by those -who -were presrnt. I was conveyed 
to the house, where, after a little rubbing and bathing, I 
came to myself a;;ain, and soon got over it. My friend 
thought he had killed me, and was horror-stricken at the 

A Step Overboard, — Coming home from Xew Orleans 
upon a steamboat, I was pacing the hurricane deck, ab- 
solved in thought, when I walked so far off, that it was 
with the greatest effort that I was enabled to throw my- 
self so as to fall just upon the outer verge of the deck. 
It was at the hour of twilight, and upon the mighty Mis- 
sissippi. Had I went overboard I must have perished, and 
perchance, unnoticed. Even now I shudder at the thought! 

The Rattles.vake. — Once on a time, in search of my 
cows, I chanced to step close to an unobserved, coiled up, 
and very large rattlesnake. But true to his generous na- 
ture, to "bark before he bites," I heard his ominous and 
familiar "rattle," right at my feet, and if I didn't jump 
quick and far, I did my best, my very best, in both par- 
ticulars, you may rest assured, and just barely missed his 
well-aimed strike, and the deadly poison of his fwarfal 
fangs. A single half inch, I think, is all that I had to 
"come and go upon." AVas that not a " hair-breadtb 
escape," and from the bite of a venomous reptile somo 
five feet long, and nearly one foot round? And to crown 
the imminence of the danger, I was " barefoot" at the 
time. Tut — tut — tut I did you ever? If I haven't stept 
right into my little book all "barefoot! " "Well, the book's 
my own, the thing is did and can't be helped now, so it 
can't,. and I may as well make the best of it and let ife 
pass without usele.s-s tears or regrei;.s — nay, I 'II turn the 

r,' ^ ■ ': tiJr i^ 


same to " good account," by a little good advice about 

Some parents appear to be unwilling that any body 
phoulJ know tliat their little dears have feet and toes to 
+i,n,.> i;i-A th'^ir poor,,r>! bnvp, cnri'spnuentlv tliev are 
encumbered with "stockings and shoes," almost from their 
birth. It would be exceedingly vulgar and cruel to let 
their little feet be seen or to touch " old mother earth." 
"No wonder that we see so many puny, .sickly children in 
the "higher circles" of life. See the "barefooted'' little 
urchins about the street or in the country! how "rosy- 
checked" and plump they ai'e. There seems to be some- 
thing peculiarly healthy absorbed and imbibed by coming 
in contact with the loose, mellow, and new-stirred earth. 
And 0, how invigorating and delightful is the sensation, 
not only to the naked feet, but to the whole system, from 
" the crown of the head to the soles of the feet ; " and old 
as I am, I often treat myself to " barefooted exercises," 
and " barefooted pleasures," in my fine and mellow gar- 
den. If you really love \'Our children, give them occa- 
sionally a little "barefooted exercise." I pass. 

A Tempest ox Lake EraE. — In one of my eastern tours, 
I took a steamboat at Sandusky bay, bound for Buffalo. 
We were no sooner out from the landing than we were met 
w ith a violent storm of wind and rain, and soon the " surg- 
ing billows " were rolling almost mountain high. At about 
midnight it was observed that our vessel was rolling from 
side to side very often, and as often was heard the familiar 
phrase, " trim the ])oat, trim the boat." The captain be- 
ing aroused from bis slumber, either by this repeat<;d out- 
cry or by tiie motion of his boat, arose, and to his utter 
consternation fjund her nearly ready to sink, with three 
and a half feet of v.ater in Lor hold. But, like a -tjv: 
philosopher, he kept all to himself — set the pumps at work, 
and found her soon afloat about right, when, upon a care- 
ful examination, he found that she had not "sprung a 
leak," but that oce of the hatchways having been left 

334 cotton's keepsake. 

open, every da?hing billow ilnxt brolce over the deck, foond 
way into the hold of the ship. A little farther delay, and 
all would have gone down together. As it was, we lo-t 
some two or three hours time, and the captain gave a 
b^e!>l^f>^|■ <'> "'' -"r: b.aiJ, ^miuo four hundred at least. He 
told me all the particulars in the morning, and that that 
was the Jlrst time ho ever had to breakfast his crew, which 
he did with great cheerfulness, and thought himself for- 
tunate under all the circumstances, to get off safely with' 
that. I knew that something AS'as the matter, but what. I 
could not tell. The fearfulness of the night and the 
"foaming angry billows" so reminded me of my poor lost 
brother, that I sat up to a very late hour in pensive mood, 
not so fearful as awestricken by " the Avild commotion of 
the warring elements." The ne.xt day the cry of " a hat 
overboard," was several times heard, but, as good luck 
would have it, there was no head in it. Fine fish, too, 
would often throw themselves clear of the watery element, 
as much as to sa}', "we want to see what is going on ia 
the world as well as you," or " here I am, catch me if 
you can." 

These reminiscences arc to me mourufullv ploa<ir:g. "A 
fearful teujpest on the lake," I never can nor ever shall 

In- one of my "homeward bound" trips from Maine. I 
took ship at Portland, that most delightful "Forest City,'^ 
and, in some respects, the most delightful city on the 
globe. Tlie stately and the beautiful elms adorn the 
whole city, almost iu every direction, and from one end 
unto the other, perfectly arching all the fine and beautiful 
streets with their wide-spreading boughs, and their pic- 
turesque and cooling shade. In the hot summer season, 
when clothed in green foliage, it is a luxury to behold, 
and a luxury to enjo}'. Add to this "the bay and harbor'^ 


of Portland, -wliich i> not, perhaps, exceeded, iu the "ro- 
Jiiaritic ftnd beautiful,'' by any other bay or harbor upon 
this "beautiful green earth." If the "Bay of Xaples" is 
even s)ij'j)r)srd to exceed it, it is only on account of its 

inj objects ; its palaces ; its colossal and moss-i^rowu 
ruins; the, rumblinL^ fearfully grand Vesuvius 
in the background. But in ail the original elements (if 
beauty and grandeur ; the size and form of the bay ; the 
lay of the land; the graceful and SAveeping incliautlon 
toward its pebbled shore; the diversity of hills, mountains 
and plains ; of ^vild and of highly cultivated ground ; of 
beautiful and fertile gardens ; and the multitude of bright 
and beautiful islands that slumber upon the bosom and in 
sight and in the vicinity of the bay — can not be surpassed, 
even in imagination itself Nature seems to have exerted 
all her energies, all her skill, in producing the "enchant- 
ing scenery." And there it lies in all "its primeval 
loveliness," -with only just such changes as personal con- 
venience might require — enough merely to show that man 
could appreciate surpassing beauty without being vain 
enough to suppose that he could improve it; and it was 
no very extra\agant fancy of one of the most beautiful 
and fanciful poets of that region, when he said that 
" thej' were originally a fairy creation — the summer re- 
treat of an elfin race." 

I have already- spoken of the delightful prospect pre- 
sented to the eye from the summit of Mount Abraham, 
Mount Bradbury, and the world-famed Bunker Hill monu- 
ment; and they are surpassingly grand, majestic, and beau- 
tiful. But the landscape view from Portland Observatory 
totally eclipses any vision I ever beheld. " The everlasting 
hills" of granite, White Hills and all, that, like "Alps 
on Alps, arise" in the north, piercing the very clouds; 
the villages and churches that checker and adorn the 
plains and valleys below; the placid bay of Casco on the 
east, and Saco ou the west, and the broad and mighty 

336 cotton's keepsake. 

Atlantic on the south, -svith her thousand and one islands 
gracefully and peacefully slumbering upon her heavinij 
bosom, in calm and sweet repose ; and, to add to the 
enchanting scenery, there go the ships to and fro. in every 
flirection, with their towering masts piercing the skies, 
and their full-sot and wide-spread canvas whitening the 
sea — coming in, going out, or passing by for some other 
destined port. To the curious, to the man of taste, to all- 
the lovers of the "romantic and beautiful," a view from 
Portland Observatory pays well for all that it may cost to 
obtain it. No tongue, no pen can adequately tell the 
story, or paint the beauties of the scene. To be fully 
appreciated, it must be seen, and felt, and enjoyed. 
*^ Portland scenery against the world f I have thus dwelt, 
because I was here introduced to the immortally glorious, 
yet much persecuted, Neal Dow, of prohibited notoriety; 
and because Portland lies just in sight of my early home, 
and with it are associated many of my earliest and most 
cherished remembrances. And, of course, I " preach and 
lecture" there every time I go east. At my last visit, it 
was arranged for the Rev. 3Ir. Morse, my familiar friend, 
to preach in the morning, and for me to preach in the 
afternoon, or rather, I declined the morning service, which 
was pressed upon me. But after listening to the sweet, 
melting and eloquent sermon of Brother Morse, I regretted 
that I had not preached first, or even had consented to 
preach at all in his church ; and a kind providence, as I 
thought, had interposed in my behalf, by sending us, 
during the intermission, the first refreshing shower that 
bad blessed and cheered the city and the country for weeks, 
or even months. It came down in torrents, precluding, as 
I thought, the practicability, if not the possibility, of tiie 
afternoon service; and 0, how it rcli.'ved my iinnd, and 
revived the parched earth, and the almost perished vegeta- 
tion — verifying the beautifully appropriate lines of IIoyt 



In the vallev that I know — '■ . 

Happy scene ! — 
Thfre .ire moarlow? jalopiri"' Inw^ 
There the fairest flowers blow, 
And the brightest waters flow, 

AH serene; " 

But the sweetest thing to see. 
If we ask the dripping tree, 
Or the harvest-hoping swain, ' ,. 

Is the rain. 

Ah ! the dwellers of the town, 

IIow th(»y sigh ! 
How ungratefully they frown 
When the cloud-king shakes bis crown, 
And the pearls come pouring down 

From the sky ! 
They descry no charm at all 
When the sparkling jewels fall, 
And each moment of the shower 

Seems an hour. 

Tct there's some thing very sweet 

In the sight, 
When the crystal currents meet 
In the dry and dusty street, 
And they wrestle with the heat, 

In their might; 
While they seem to hold a talk 
With the stones along the walk, 
And remind them of the rule. 

To "keep cool." 

But in the quiet dell, 

Ever fair, 
Still the Lord doeth all things well, 
"When. his clcuds with blessings swell, 


And tlipy bro:^k a brimming shell 

On the :tir; 
Theti the shower hath its chitrma, ;; : . 
Sweet find velcoine to the faiins, . . ■• 

An.l tt,o,- !! = «r.,-, tn ;(■« vnu-o. 

And rejoice. 

"Well, as I wa^ pay in;;, we had a Rwect refreshing 
shoAver, but it lield u]i in f];ood time for church, and it 
appeared us thougli all the city -were p>ing to bo in at- 
tendance — such a crowd along the streets, and such "a 
perfpct jam" in tho church, was seldom to be seen. In- 
deed, I was quite overcome by the vastness of the assem- 
bly I was about to address, but in apostolic language, 
'■'the Lord stood by me," and I enjoyed a very comfort- 
able and precious season, and had a good assurance that 
it was even so, in an eminent degree, to my very attentive 
and seemingly delighted audience. The concluding re- 
marks of my dear Brother Morse, the preacher in charge, 
were certainly \qtj complimentary and cheering, a.nd met 
with a hearty response from the vast assemblage in attend- 
ance — verifying, to the very letter, the truthfulness of that 
divine saying, "A prophet is not without honor, save in 
his own country," etc. A similar compliment was paid to 
me, in the same city, fifteen years before that, on a similar 
occasion, by Brother Norton. Said he; "If this is a fair 
specimen of 'the illiterate and incompetent ministers of 
the west,' about whom we hear so much in the periodicals 
and journals of the day, may our city often be blessed 
with such specimens." 

To ray western oratory, personal" peculiarities, and tho 
divine "unction from above," I owe the happy reception 
of my humble efforts. Many clustered around me at the 
altar, with a warm hand and a full heart, saying, " Brother 
Cotton, I recollect distinctly, and never can forget, either 
your text or serm.on pronounced here Lwenty-five and fifteen 
years ago;" and covering mo all over with blessings and 
good wishes, we parted, to meet, iic-rchancc, no mure in 

I i. 

'■" AUTOBIOGRAniY. 339 

time. My lecture to t}ie Sahbatli-scbool, in the evening;, 
wns also an exceedinpjly yMeas;int affair. Stopping on board 
the stoamor on Mimday morning, "homeward bound," 
vhom shr.uld I meet but the Rev. Brother Murse, ^vho at 
? '■"? intr'"Iiv?e'' "■>'^ to *h"- pir^foln^ i.vb.-> r'^i^rnrnirpil me in 
a momt^nt. leave me a very cordial greeting, and paid me 
a very flattering compliment. Said he: "I had the plea- 
eurc to listen to your afternoon sermon yesterday, and I 
nmst say tliat I vras never better entertained in all my 
life — so much so, that I traveled the vrhole length of the 
city nearly to hear your Sabbath-school address, which 
certainly was the most appropriate and profitable address 
of the kind our citizens have ever been treated to." It 
was one of my oddities, and thac no doubt was tb.e beauty 
of it. The delight of the captain seemed so complete and 
full, that the thought, unbidden, crossed my mind, that, 
perchance, for once in my life, I might come in for " a 
free passage." But no; he was too much engrossed with, 
his own afifairs to say "a free passage" once; and the 
only one I ever received in all my life and travels was a 
" free ticket" for myself and lady, last fall, " to Vineenncs 
and back,"' on a visit to my son. To the voluntarj- inter- 
ference of my good friend. Colonel -Jacob W. Eggleston, 
and the generous and nolile-hearted President of the Cin- 
cinnati and St. Louis Railroad Company, ?Ir. Clements, am 
I indebted for this very timely, most acceptable, yet un- 
expected favor. I embalm their names in the pages of my 
little book, as is the remembrance of this great favor, this 
generous and liberal act. in my grateful remembrance, 
thus enabling me not only to visit my son, to view tisis 
ancient and primeval city, but also to view tho world- 
fiimed "Treaty Ground" of the lamented General Harri- 
son and the immortal Tecumsch — a luxury which I had 
long desired to c-njoy. Thanks to my generous friends. 

3-40 conox's keepsake. 


As I was saving. I sailed from Portland to Philadelphia, 
" homeward bound," and while ofl" the cnast of Massaeliu- 

the captain informed me, that he had never before encoim- 
terod on "the mighty deep." Under a double-reefed fore- 
sail, we were driven at a fearful rate over " the crested 
foam of green mountain billows " into the harbor of " Tar- 
paulin Cove," where we intended to "cast anchor," and 
" outride the storm." "When the cove hove in sight, it 
was literally a perfect wilderness of towering ma.<5. All 
the vessels on the coast, and in reach of it, had put in for 
"safe keeping." Our Captain (Crowell) said as we had a 
fl;arful night before us. he would try to work bis way 
through the shipping, so as to get a good inner mooring, 
which lie affected very skillfully and adroitly ; and when 
the order was given to " let go the anchor," for some cause 
the anchor "g^A foul," a.s a sailor would say — that is, it 
did not drop readily, and it refjuired quite an eif,jrt, and 
not a little time to disengage, and let it go. Con«e<T[ueiitly, 
we were carrie^ quite a distance beyond where we intended 
to anchor, and really beyond gx-d anchorage-ground. And, 
of course, when our ship swung upon her cable, "she drag- 
ged anchor," and we, forthwith, commenced drit'ting toward 
a rough and rocky shore ; slowly, to be sure, but still we 
were drifting; and unless our anchor brought us up, we 
could not more than outride half the night. All that we 
could do now, was to rely upon our anchor, and take what 
was for us. The wind blowing "a perfect tornado," and 
the rain pouring down in sheets — in perfect sluices. O ! 
that was a fearful, a dismal night; and, again, I thought 
of my dear, lost brother, and thought, too, that in all 
liuninn probability, I should soon slaniber with him beneath 
" proud ocean's angry foam." The night wore away, and 
still we were nearing the fearful breaker on^ the shore. 
Tl>e captain said the sliip, unless, brought up soun, n\ii:;t 

//.:-, ^-..-oi hV.O'ir 


be vrrecked, and lost ; but if we all kept cool, ami esereiscii 
good judgment, -we mi-ht, perchance, all t)c saveil, and 
•went on to tell us hy,\-. Of course, none uf us slept a 
■wink "the live long nip'bt." A little after midnight our 
proud shin sfnicJc unon h^r k^i^l. which made her timbers 
tremble from bow to stern, and sent the blood almost con- 
gealed to ice. all through my frame. Yet, hope of a better 
inheritance cheered my heart, and .somewhat resigned me 
to my inifiending fate. Thump went the vessel, again and 
again, as the rolling billows receded from shore; and we 
were all awaiting in fearful suspense or calm composure, 
the final issue, when the captain came to me and said : 
We are riding noic — and have been for several minutes, 
and if the flukes of our anchor have a good hold, we may 
yet "outride the storm." If she drags again I will let you 
know it immediately — sojn he said, cheer up boys I she 
still rides safely — and, in short, she safely " rode at anchor" 
all the rest of that bitter night, and the wind veering in 
the morning, she "swung upon her cable," far out from 
that fearful threatening shore, and at about noon, the cap- 
tain gave orders to "weigh anchor," the merry " yo heave" 
was soon heard at the cap.-tan — the anchor taken on board, 
and under a light sail, and a full and fair t»reeze, we were 
soon standing out to sea, all safe and sound, as though 
nothing had happened, esiif^pt all seemed exceedingly happy 
and thankful for our marvelous and merciful deliverance. 
One ship went on shore a total wTeck, and several were b.adly 
injured, two tliat lay just alongside of us, cut away their 
masts to save themselves and cargoes. That was one of the 
nights, by ine never to be forgotten. Mj' Muse thought the 
occasion worthy of a lay at the time, which I hero record, for 
the gratification of my readers, and for my own gratification, 
as one of the thrilling incidents, and "hair-breadth escapes," 
in my eventful life, as well as to preserve it from oblivion. 
For really, I deem it worthy of preservation, not for the 
beauty or harmony of it'^ noetic numbers, but for the thrill- 
ing incident it records in "life's checkered scene;;." 



The an^ry billou:* roll in foam, the bowling tempests roar, 
And v,-e are drifting fast astern upon n. rock-bouud shore; 
A thrilling, fwirfiil shock proclaims thf> fat;\I hour is nigh, 
\\'hen we must be a totiil -wreck — esciipe we need not try. 

The slap is lost! yet we may live the fearful scene to tell; 
Cheer up my Lids, again he said, she's riding safely now, " ' 
And if her anchor-hold proves Jirm, all will be saved I. trow/^ 

The morning dawns, the winds come round, we swing right out 

from shore, 
• And all with gratitutle and praise, God's saving band adore. 
"Weigh anchor'' now my hearty lads, again we'll put to sea, 
"Yo-heave!" was heard — "yo-beavel" "yo-heave! in merry, 

happy glee. 

Unfurl your canvas to the breeze, up with the flying gib, '.■ ' 
And soon we were at sea again, and sailing very glib ; • ' ' 

And now far out upon the main, I set me down to write 
A line or two upon the scenes I passed through safely in the 

In after time I shall rcc-all this thrilling scene to view, 

And gratefully adore, that hand which took me safe'y through; 

And never let it once be said, I was preserved in vain. 

To lire for naught, or worse than that, to give another pain. 

Nay, let me live to do some good, both for "church and state/' 
1 would be busy all the time, though naught I do be gp.-at; 
"When all my duties are performed, and life with me is o'er, 
In climes above I would again, that saving hand adore. 

Reeordinj; these thrilling and "hair-breadth escapes," 
brings them all so vividly to miud, that I seem to be in 
the very midst of them all again. 33elieve me reader, I 
have seen much of the world, and parsed through many 
beautiful, and some thrilling scenes in it. Haven't I? 

<^Said the copUiin. 

'•y . . AUTOBIOGI^APUY. 313 

There are other "escapes," visibly so, which I miglit 
record. Sufrlce it to say, that at least three times have I, 
by painful and protracted diseases been sick "ni:;h unto 
death." And once was so far gone, that all consciousness 
had failed me, and up to this time, a day or t-.vo of my es- 
isience is an entire oiank — a oianK never to l>e tillcJ. And 
during my late and present illness, at one time I thought 
the hour had come, and that I was really dying. And 
I was, even then, happy in the hope of a sweet and 
blissful immortality in another and a better world than 
this. 0, it is not a vain thing to serve God. and that my 
soul knows right well. And how shall I sufficiently praise 
and adore that invisible hand that has sustained and pre- 
served me amid dangers so numerous and so imminent? 
For what great and good purposes of the Almighty have I 
thus been preserved, when nearly all of my youthful asso- 
ciates have fled and gone? And I ask myself what have 
I done in return, either to serve and please God and to 
benefit mankind ? If I have not done as much as I ought, 
and as much as I might, I do rejoice in the hope and ia 
the assurance that I have not lived altogether in vain. 

As a teacher, I have strove to implant in the tender 
mind, correct moral principles and the necessity of early 
piety. I have seen my whole school in tears, and upon 
'their knees crying aloud for mercy or praising God for 
pardoning grace. Some of whom are, no doubt, now in 
heaven, and others on their way thither. Who that wit- 
nessed it can ever forget the scene in my school room in 
my own neighborhood, at the close thereof, many years 
ago? precious remembrance! And others of a similar 
character are even so dear to my heart. 0, how much 
good can be done in the school room ! 

If I have not been what is commonly styled a Reforma- 
tion preacher, I have not altogether preached in vain even 
in that respect, outside of my school circle. ]My single 
seimon upon Mt. Abram, as referred to in my Puems, was 
owned and blessed by God, to the awakening and con- 

344 cotton's keepsake. 

version of some one-half of all that heard me on that de- 
lightful and ever memorable occasion, as they wrote me 
soon after themselves. If a man could not preach with 
holy inspiration upon so lofty a hight — a summit seem- 
inj^ly so near heaven, I know not where he could. 

FciSuus have viitiu approactied me with — "that sermon 
•was made a great blessing to me." " I was powerfully 
awakened, and God has graciously converted my poor 
soul, and I am bound to meet you in heaven." "Bless God 
that I ever heard you — take courage and go on." A single 
instance. Several years ago, I preached at a camp meeting 
near Versailles. To say the least of it, my immensely 
large audience seemed to be well entertained and deeply 
interested. And to me it was a precious good season. 

The next year I had no sooner arrived upon the ground, 
than a very interesting young man pressed his way to me, 
with "I suppose you do not know me?" "I can not say 
that I do, although your countenance seems somewhat 
familiar to me." "AVell," said he, "last year, I came to 
the camp meeting a very wicked young man. I came for 
a frolic and for fun. When you commenced preaching T 
•was standing by that tree yonder in front of the stand. 
Your peculiar manner riveted my attention at once. I 
was melted to tears of de'?p penitence — sought Gud with 
all my heart, and a short time after the meeting broke up, 
my soul was happily converted,^and I have longed to see 
you ever since." The salvation of a single soul is worth 
preaching and praying for a whole lifetime. But I trust 
in God that I have many such jewels to adorn my crown 
of rejoicing in " that better land." 

Finally, at a protracted and interesting meeting at 
Pleasnnt View, the other day, the Rev. J. B. Sparks, 
preacher in charge, and universally beloved, in relating 
his religious experience, said, that while I was preaching 
at a protracted meeting held at brother Price's, in Frank- 
lin county, many years ago, he was powerfully awakened, 
and never more found rest to his soul until God sealed a 


gracious pardon on his heart. Aside from his own soul's 
salvation, ho-w much good Inis already and may yet result 
to the church and the world by the conversion and minis- 
tration of brother Sparks. Oh, I bless God for these mani- 
festations of Ilis apnrobatiiin and savins; power through my 
feeble instrumentality. Surely I ha\c not run in vain — 
neither have I preached in vain for the salvation of souls. 
Yet my great mission seems to have been to build up, to 
comfort, to edify, to confirm and establish in the truth of 
the blessed gospel of Christ 

Peter was twice charged to feed the sheep, and once to 
feed the lambs. Good old elder Henry ^leader said, the 
other day, that at first he did not understand it ; he thought 
the lambs should bo the better fed; but sinre he was 
schooled in raising sheep, it was all explained to him. 
Poorly fed sheep will have sickly, puny lambs. Sheep, 
well attended to and in good healthy condition, will raise 
healthy and vigorous lambs. Could any thing have been 
more beautifully^ appropriate? And why could I not so 
have expressed myself years ago? Because, perchance, 
God never designed that any one man should say all the 
pretty things that are to be said. A soul, converted in a 
sickly, feeble state of tho church, must lack good nursing, 
and will be feeble too. But when the church is in a healthy 
and vigorous state, converts are properly nursed and cared 
for, and soon become healthy and vigorous too. What a 
sermon in few words ! Then even in feeding the sheep as 
I have done, mainly, I have effected a great and good work 
in the church of God, as I would f;\in hope and believe, and 
trust that the Great Day will so reveal it and make it 
known to the everlasting peace and bliss of my own soul, 
and the multiplied scores who have for more than forty 
years sat under my ministry. Even so let it l-e. Amen, 
and Amen! 

346 cotton's keepsake. 


Politicallv I ever hare boon — .am no'^r— and ever exnoct 
to remain an advocate and supporter of the oli JcfTcr- 
sonian-Jaok^oniaa .system of governmental pid'n^v. at least, 
n-s I do and have ever unuer.-tood it. And in becoinin;^ 
a. inemljer «f ti.p r-h-.r^L .inJ a minister of the .c^ospe!, 
f h-iyo rover felt it ne'-ess-^.'-}- to sT-r'fiec> or al-rmdr'n 
any of my "political riirhla and privileges." Conse- 
quently I have been a somewhat active, tlioujch by no 
means a "brawling politician." I have ever paid due re- 
spect to the rights and consciences of others, as expressed 
in uiy National Ode. This saying all manner of unkind 
and ungenerous things against a -whole party, at a ranting 
political meeting, held, perchance, on Saturday eve, and 
then on the next precious sabbath morning, meet as breth- 
ren, wound'jd, grieved, and estranged brethren, to v\-orship 
God in His house of prayer, as has, alas I too often been 
the case, always grated upon my ear, and pained n.y heavL 
And whatever may bo my offenses and my omissions, 
surely all will boar testimony that I am clear of this. 0, 
hovr much injury has the church sustained— how many 
dear brethren ofTendod — wounded — ay, lost, perchance, for- 
ever, through this kind of mad p<diiical ranting? Xow, 
dear brethren readers, the.-e things ouglit not to be. A 
man in this free country may advocate the system of 
policy that seems best to him — may and should vote fjr 
it as a free American citizen, without bringing down upon 
himself the anath.emas of his countrymen, much less bis 
brother's unkludness and uiicharitableness — his cooIne.-;s, 
or his hate. 

I have, however, in my time received some pretty "hard 
rap.s over the knuckk-s," both from the press and from 
the citizens of my cuiumunity — nor would I hardly have 
it othcrv.-ise. A public n.'nn who pleases every body, spends 
his breath for naught, aiid is a blank still. Enemi.;s and 
opposition bring out the man. It is the stricken steel that 
shows its latent sjiark. and iu this sense my enemies Lave 

AUTOBioGKArnr. 347 

done more for me than have my admiring friends, although 
my defeat and mortification M-as their aim. And to sup- 
pose that S(imc vrhom I could name, v.-ere really as 7nean 
a!' over, inside and out, as has been their treatment to me, 
,.-,N.,i.l v,o n'il ilianrdJfy, hp^auso. if SO. they must have 
snfiucated long ago, by their own moral stench. But, upon 
the whole, I have much more to inspire my gratitude than 
jny complaints. 

I can not Avell deny myself the pleasure of quoting, right 
here, a few of the many kind editorials and communications 
that have, from time to time appeared in the journals of 
the day, and I Ihink that I record them quite as much for 
the eTiCOuragement of little obscure boys or young men, as 
for my ow-n personal vanity and self-complacency. At any 
rate, they form a part of my history, and should not be 
■withheld. Here are a few of them, and they will speak 
for themselves. .■.--,,.-'- - .", a .■.,.,.,,.-, 


"Mr. Editor: — I see that my friend, Judge Cotton, is 
on the track for the office of Recorder, at the nest election, 
and with characteristic magnanimity he assures us, that 
"he has not taken the field to any one," and only 
asks, in turn, that none take the field to oppose him. This 
is generous, this is reasonable ! 

Now, Mr. Editor, I am in for the Judge, decidedly ; and, 
sir, if the idea of any man having claims upon the public 
for office, is not altogether inadmissible, 1 claim that Judge 
Cotton's claims to the office in question, are paramount to 
those of any other man in the county ; and I am satisfied 
that facts will fully corroborate the assumption. Judge 
Cotton has boon a resident of Dearborn county, I presume, 
some thirty-five years. Nearly the whole of the active, 
valuable portion of his life has been devoted to the interests 
of tlie county and State, and, I may say, of the world; 
for the Judge's philanthropy partakes not of the selfish, or 
centripetal element, exclusively, but i.s essentially diffusive 

348 cotton's keepsake. 

in its character — a mopt harmonious combination of the 
-centripetal and ccntrifuij^al forcos. His energies have not 
been exerted in the ai.-cunuilation of wealth, or for his own 
aggrandizement, but for the benefit of mankind. In the 
several capacities of teaclier, minipfcr. jurlit'ial officer, and 
temperance lecturer, he has served his generation well and 
fa.ilifully ; and I venture to affirm, that in the prosecution 
of these vaiiuus avocations he has spent more time, made 
greater sacrifices of personal ease and comfort, and sur- 
mounted more difficulties, than any other man in Dearborn 
county has done for such objects. And by far the greater 
portion of this labor has been performed without any hope 
of remuneration, except such as is a legitimate sequence 
of a life devoted to the cause of truth and humanity. And 
now, to sum up the whole matter, I must insist, that of 
all men in the county, Judge Cotton ought to be elected 
our next Recorder. His past valuable and unrequited 
labors demand it; pecuniarily he needs it; and surely a 
grateful and appreciating public will award it. So luote 
it be." 

"The meeting then adjourned, giving three cheers for 
Judge Cottou. "We have been in agony about this mat- 
ter, but the agony is over. Judge Cotton will sweep all 
before him, wherever he grics, like a mighty torrent. "We 
say to our friends abroad, Judge Cotton is the man, without 
any more delay. No time is to be lost. "We can 'elect him 
if there are a dozen candidates in the field. 

In conclusion, we would say to the voters of Dearborn, 
'go to work at once, and in earnest. Let the watchword 

" If the whigs, on a proper consideration of the matter, 
conclude to cast their votes for an independent democrat ; 
I know of no one more capable, honest, and available than 
Judge A. J. Cotton, of Manchester, The high standing 
of the Judge as an honest man, good neighbor, and chris- 
tian, points hira out as the man for that high ofEco." 

h- ■- •'..f'5:^-> 


"The Jud^e was then called out to address the meeting. 
lie begged to be excused, as there -svere a plant}' of good 
speakers present, and as he had akeadj-, perhaps, addressed 
the audience a hundred times upon the subject, and that 
'f ■..T.nM Vip peculiarly embarrassing at this time to impose 
himself upon the audience, many of -n-hom had come from 
afar to hear another gentleman of known ability, of pleas- 
ing, graceful manners, and rich and flowing eloquence. 
But it was no go. Cotton ! Cotton ! ! COTTON 1 1 ! was 
echoed through the hall most enthusiastically. There be- 
ing no " let up," the Judge responded to the call in one 
of his most amusing and happy strains, for some forty 
minufcs. The vast assemblage was often perfeJily con- 
Tulsed with laughter ; and anon they were us still as death. 

Jlis temperance picture, which is purely origiiial, was 
finely sketched, and told well upon the cause. ' It was 
rich as cream.' " 

"Judge Cotton's Poems. — "We have once or twice an- 
nounced the intention of Judge Cotton to collect the most, 
if not all of his numerous fugitive pieces which have en- 
livened the columns of newspapers for twenty-five or thirty 
years. He is getting old, yet he writes poetry with the 
beauty and elegance of earlier years. Ilis style is his 
own, and some of his earlier productions found their way 
into the first magazines in the country. We learn that a 
thousand copies of his book are already subscribed for. We 
hope to hear of their early publication." 

"The PvUMng P.\ssion Strong in Death.— T!y the last 
mail we received a letter and a few verses of poetry from 
our old friend, Judge Alfred J. Cotton, of Dearborn co., 
whieli will be found in another column. 

The Judge is certainly a rare genius — possessing greater 
versatility of character than is often met with in one man. 
lie is a farmer, in a small way — a preacher of the Gospel, 
a school teacher — a universal poet, for many years associate 
judge, umier the old regime — aftenvard probate judge — 


a patriot -rrho loves his coimiry — a universal favorite afc 
vredding partie?, in -which he had a great run, and where 
he offieiiited with entire satisfaction to the yountr folks, 
more especially as he always accunipanied th^,■ marriai^e 
notice with an annrorpriato ver.s'^ or two of his own com- 

He always had a great pas-ion for scribblini; ])Ootry, 
and we remember that, 'once upon a time.' he wrote a 
sonnet that Avould have done credit to Tom Hood, all ai>out 
a lock of Gen. Jackson's hair, which the old ^^cnoral had 
enclosed to him in a letter from the Hermitage. 

The last time we had the pleasure of m.eeting him was 
Gt the people's convention at Indianapolis, on the 13th of 
July last. We saw then that he was rapidly passing do^v^l 
the vale of life, and that liis ' work was about done.' May 
bis end be peaceful and happy." 

These flattering and honorable notices which have been 
•widely circulated through the periodicals of the day, and, 
to which I might add many more of the same sovt, is to 
mc rich reward for a lifetime, devoted to the well-being of 
the community, in the midst of which my pleasant lot has 
been cast. 


Does my young reader now desire to know bv what 
means I attained this honorable notoriety — this compara- 
tively lofty eminence among the public men, and poets 
and orators, and ministers, and teachers of the day? At- 
tend and you. shall hear more fully what I have already 
inti.oiated. In the first place, I remembered my Creator in 
the days of my youth, which shielded and preserved me 
from the vices and snares that otherwise might have proved 
my ruin. In the next place, I early resolved to save and 
to appropriate all my spare dimes for good periodicals and 
good books; and all my spare hours in their perusal, in 
preference to squandering butii away at the haunts of vice 
and dissipation. I have by tlovr, yet sure dcgre-js, aOv;u- 

• AlJTOBIOGRAFHr. • 851 

TOulated a small library, of some 100 volumes, -n-hich I 
regard as being only a part of tlie savings of eum and 


And I am quite sure that when liu-iness has called me 
awnvfroni tl'f^if nern<:il. 1 lipv*^ )<(^r-n nnite ns nnxious to 
^et Ijaok to them again, to finish a st'irj, a chapter, a book, 
or an invc? tigati'ni, as do tiie idle and dissolute, to get 
back to the Jiaunts of vice and dissipation. Tl:e luve of 
reading — the perusal of good l)ooks — 0! what a ble>sing — 
what a treat 1 1 and how much these things tend to develop 
the mind, and strengthen the heait in noble and liunor- 
able purposes. And without pure moral virtue all is lost, 
and lost for ever. " For," according to the eternal rules of 
celestial pjrecedences, in the immortal heraldry of nature 
and of heaven, "virtue is the pi-incipal thing — it is the 
crowning excellence of mortals — it is the nobility of angels- 
it is the majesty of God." 

My f:\ir reader, as has been beautifally said — "nature 
may have been lavish of her choicest gifts upon \ou — in 
form, feature, and complexion — the muses may have sung 
your praises — history may have embalmed your name, and 
your memory, the most honorable among men, may have 
bowed at the shrine of thy 1 ue ; yet, after all, thy loveli- 
ness is not fully crowned until virtue and piety throws 
around all the power and magic of its charm." There is 
no true greatness either in male or female that is not sanc- 
tified by virtue. But I can not longer dwell. "A word 
to the wise is sufficient," and I proceed. 

On one of my return trips from the East, I called into 
an auction-room at Pittsburg. A set of fine teasj>oons, 
worth, at least, some three or four dollars, v^as put up. 
"Who bids? how much for this beautiful set of teaspoons — 
how much? Start them at something, gentlemen ; any thing 
is better than nothing — IIow much? AVho will start them 
at fifty cents? At that moment, quick as thought, I re- 
sporxded thus: 


Mr. Crier, if no one bids higher, . . » 

, .. ? Then, sir, here's your cash; 

So piass 'em along, and I'll hush my song, 
As quick as a flash. ,, .... 

"Good, sir, tliey are yours ; "wlio are vou? Thiit is worth 
a set of spoons any time." And amid a g;oaeral mui-mur 
of delight, I crowded my way to the stand, tuok my spuuiis, 
and marched out in triumph. And, although we have nnw 
used them constantly for more than IS years, they seem 
little worse for tlie wear. That surely was a felicitous 
moment; but I got matched for it iu the morning — good. 
Going on board a steamboat, for a home passage, I saw 
that the captain was a jolly fellow, like myself, and so 
after a little chat I said: Well, captain, what will you 
charge to take about 200ft of Cotton snugly put up, as 
far as Lawrenceburg? Not over fifty cents, anyhow. 
Well, I think I '11 close the contract at that. Cotton is 
my name, and that is about my weight. 0! that's it, is 
it? Yes, sir. All right said he, and before I had time to 
Bay Jack Robinson, he sung out ! Boys, bear a hand here — 
some more freight — stow this bale of Cotton away down in 
the hold there!!! Hold on, captain, if you please, I tvc- 
kuowledge the corn — take my hai. I love a good joke, if it 
is at my expense — and that is as rich as cream; and we 
took a good hearty haugh, and had a pleasant trip down 
the river together. If the tables were handsomely turnf-d 
upon me then, as they certainly were, I, in turn, have often 
turned them quite as suddenly and happily upon others. 
I will record only some two or three. Presence of mind 
and ready wit, is all that can save one in such a case — 
an after-thought will not do. 

Shortly after I was elected Judge, my early and ever- 
cherished friend, Judge Dowdon, who, like myself, cared 
little who had to foot the bill, so we had a little good-natured 
pleasantry, said to me in the midst of quite a crowd in 
La-ftTenceburg, — Come Judge, go round home with lue. it 

■c'-:,!.: c. ''t»'r^r('-) 



vrill not be much out of your ■way. I 'ni all "alono, and 
"poor company is better than none." Of course it was all 
understood, and there was a great yain haw. I found that 
I was in for it, and quick as thought I chimed in with 

can't have respectable, decent company, I alwnys prefer to 
be alone. I think I'll take the other road !" " Take my hat 
Judge." And if he did not foot the bill to a hearty up- 
roarious laugli, I would not say it. And none lauglied more 
loudl}- and heartily than he. 

At ancither time, when riding past a house-raising, 
and pausing to greet my friends, one after another began 
to crack tlieir jokes, when ray old friend Mr. Blovell, a 
perfect wag, full of frolic and fun, sung out, "0! Judge, 
do you recollect the time I came past your house, and you 
■was skinning a cat?" I saw that I was in for it good, and 
thought quick you may depend. Not a moment was to be 
lost, and I stilled the clamorous uproar in a moment, by 
saying: Why bless me, I have not thought of it once since, 
I am right glad that you have mentioned it. Do you re- 
collect the other part of the transaction ? Xo, not as I 
know of All sung out, what is it Judge ? let us hear. 
no, gentlemen, that would not do, as it vras only a little 
confidential transaction between me and friend Blovell. 
Of course, instead of quenching, that only increased the 
flame of anxiety, for if Blovell, who was always tripping 
up others, could possibly be tripped up himself, it had to 
come. "We nmst have it Judge — come, out with it. 0! 
no, gentlemen, Mr. Blovell will take it very unkindly in 
me to divulge that little confidential matter to ail this 
crowd here. no! I wont, said he, if you have anything, 
out ttiih it. Well, then, said I, in a most significant niau- 
ner, Don't you recollect that you said j'ou had no m<iney 
with you, but that cat v,as your favorite meat, and if I 
would trust you with a quarter, you would be much 
obliged to me, and would surely pay me soon. And you 've 
never done so to thhs dav. I'm glad you called my in'md 

354 cotton's keepsake. 

to it, and if convenient, I should like to have yon fork over. 
And then such another clapping of hands, and bursting 
of jacket?, and perfect screams of laughter, you, perhajss, 
never witnessed. And poor Blovell was tlie worst used up 
man I ever saw. Like the lwiv who bust his o-nn, }'e a>-:is 
sorry that he shot that time. Why Blovell, said one and 
all, that was the meanest trick I ever heard of you, run 
in debt for a quarter of cat, and not pay for it ! how did 
you cook it? etc., etc. Blovell never said cat to me after 
that. And never were the tables more handsomely turned. 
It Avas certain!;,- a rich affair in its line. 

I record these reminiscences of the past for a little spice, 
find to prompt my young readers to close and quick think- 
ing. I could add more of the kind, but as enoujh is better 
than a feast, I forbear at present. My whole aim and 
object is to arouse thought to active and vigorous action. 
What a pity that that most valuable endowment of the 
mind should be unheeded and uncultivated! All the great 
and grand discoveries and improvements of the arts and 
sciences are the work and offspring of well-directed and 
closely-applied thought and investigation. 

"What is thought? It is an emanation from the Deity; 
the guide; the fear and the joy of youth; the companion 
of age ; the solace of retirement ; and the telegraph of 
worlds. Subtile in its essence, mysterious in its flight, it 
wings its silent and rapid way from sun to sun, from star 
to star, and from world to world ; onward and up^rard, 
careering still, it reaches the court of heaven; it takes 
fast hold of the throne of God, and encircles the universe." 
My young reader, this mighty agent, thiij inestimable en- 
dowment, is bestowed upon and intrusted to you for great 
and noble purposes, by your great and good Creator. ! 
cultivate and improve it, whatever else you may or may 
not do, and rich will be your reward. 

•. " • ^ . AUTOBioGRApnr. ■ So5 

•.V • ■ „>"- .-. THE FOOTIXG UP. ■. ' ■- 

There are a thousaiKl other things thnt I should very 
luucli like to introiliiee, l>aC time and spae^e utterly' forbid. 
A mere sketch of my very humble, yet somc.vhat eventful, 
Honorable, uau, I uuu'.a T.^iu L.^..,, ..o^T^l lif:, i; :.ll tL:".t I 
have jn'omised my friends, and is all that I can here ti-eat 
them to, whieh may, in short, bo footed up thus : I have, 
■with my own hands, cleared up and cultivated a small 
farm; have taught school at least twelve years of solid 
time ; performed the duties of a judge, as best I could, for 
more than twelve years ; have read volume after volume 
of our standard works, and many periodicals- — good, bad, 
and indifferent; have written all over, inside and out, not 
]oES, perhaps, than a dozen reams of paper — and that is 
some — try it who may; to which may be added this little 
book. My poems and punnings, such as they are, are 
"legion." And, during my ministry of more than forty 
years, I must have pronounced some three or four thousand 
sermons, and surely more than one thousand temperance 
lectures, and national and special orations, and Sabbath- 
school addresses, etc., not a few. In all, sa^^ at least some 
live or six thousand public addresses, and that is no trivial 
matter, even to count, requiring much thought and exer- 
cise of mind, and, perchance, of the fingers, to arrange 
and mature, and much exercise for the teeth, tongue, and 
lips to pronounce at one letter, or syllable at most, at one 
time. The epitaph which, it is said. Lord Brougham ar- 
ranged for himself, >vould not inaptly apply to me: 

'■Here, stranger, turn your wandering eyes — 
My talc a useful moral teaches; 
The grave in which my body lies 

"Would scarce contain one half my speeches." 

To perform which, I must have traveled more miles than 
it WMuld require to belt this mighty globe, and a large 
portion of that "afoot and alone;" and for all this great 
"work of faith, and labor of love," ail told, up to the 

. 356 cotton's keepsake. 

commencement of my present and long-protracted illness, 
I have not received more tli'iu the value of aljout one 
hundred dollars, in mone^- and pre.-eats ; an amount hardly 
sufBcient to foot my " shoe and boot bill." in the actual 
pervjcp, to p,Tv rf>r)!in<T nlmnt the o-ror^t- wear nrid it^'xr of 
body and mind, and the sacritice of time, and neglected 
business. I have left my plow in the furrow, my scythe 
in the swath, and turned out my school, "many a time 
and oft," to respond to the calls of my afdicted frieads, on 
funeral occasions, and the radius of my circular field ope- 
rations being not less than ten or fifteen miles, I have 
pronounced a^ many as five funeral sermons in a week, 
over and above my Sabbath ministrations. I do not men- 
tion these things by way of regret and fiiult-finding ; no! 
I rather rejoice that it has ever been in my power to serve 
my friends and the community in an\' acceptable and 
profitable manner. I was ever happy and cheerful in the 
\ performance of these duties, and am now happy in the rc- 
• membrance of them. I record these things because they 
arc true, and form parts and parcels of my own history, 
and to show how it has happened that, in this fertile 
country, while others have accumulated competency and 
wealth, I have nothing laid up in store for the inllrmitica 
of old age and affliction. Now, my reader, you will readily 
perceive that if one commences the world with an empty 
pocket or purse, as I did, devotes all the best energies of 
his mind and body to qualify himself for acceptable public 
services, and then works for nothing and finds himself, as I 
have done, he would be very apt to quit as he began, with 
an empty pocket or purse, just as I do. I have been con- 
tent and happy, with "food and raiment convenient for 
nie and mine " — all else, both in time and money, I have 
appropriated to public good, and have trusted in God all 
the time for the futu^'e, and his promise has never once 
yet failed me. AVhonover 1 have been sick, all that heai't 
.could wish has been kihtliy bestowed upon me, in rich and 
"^/rofuse abundance; and r5iave never been .so tiush in 


money and moan? as T have bfcn since niv present illness, 
rives ai.l tens individually, and twenties and thirties collec- 
tively, have been thrown into my lap. It was ti->o liberal, 
too much, and to'equalize and divide the matter, is one of 
th" rl:'"- t- '^ r;"- '•>''' v -^-- "- Vof.->..^ crfofr..] 

But perhaps I had better conclude the history of my 
own doings and honors, before I conclude my book. In 
addition to what I have already written, I have held one 
public religious debate with the somewhat celebrated Rev. 
Mr. Emet, of the Univeralist Church. It was, as admitted 
by all, a very piretty and pleasant affair. Of course, I en- 
tirely used up my adversary, and if I failed in any thing, 
it was in making; him and his sensible of it — "great minds 
differ." Seriously, if I live, you may yet see the contro- 
versy, and then you can judge for yourselves — ^so be patient. 
And then, I have held one somewhat protracted Scriptural 
temperance discussion with my friend, Elijah Huffman, 
Esq., who is some in his way of thinking upon that ques- 
tion. But then, like Brother Emet, of course, he too was 
"a used up man," if I could only have made him see it. 
I have the papers carefully preserved in this also, and may 
perchance place them into your hands befuresj die. That, 
too, was a kindly-conducted and pleasatit affair. For the 
spice of the thing, I will just say, that when I was at Sinai 
Church, the place where we held the controversy, a short 
time since, to make a speech and to get subscribers for my 
book, friend Huffman very pleasantly inquired, at the wind- 
up of my address, if I could not notice in my book, the cir- 
cumstance of the Manchester folks once having sent over 
to him a cotton-bale to." pick or gin out for them? Of 
course, it raised quite a laugh. "0, certainly, I shall have 
that in, by a.11 means — and that j'ou undertook to do it for 
them; but the C'ottiTn, being too tough and stout. for your- 
gin, tore the whole thing all into' slivers';'' -and then the 
laugh was shifted clear round to the other corner of his 
mouth, and" no mistake ;. but friend Huffman took it all in 
good part, .and n-ith a^ood *Tace. ' 

358 cotion's keepsake. 

If I have not fought -with the bensts of Ephesus, I have 
encountered the beasts of the forest, and came oS best there, 
too. Military honors early clustered round m}' hetid ; I got 
up as high as "orderly sergeant," wlicn my ministerial 
duties excused me from all those of n milif^vy ':>li'ir:icter; 
and, whether tou Ijeliove it or not, immediately after I leu 
the field, the whole military system sank into disrepute, 
and was at once abandoned forever, in Indiana at least — 
just think of that 1 ; 

Well, I was the very first elected township clerk ; beat 
two good opponents, and could have beaten twice two more, 
with perfect ease. Once came within ten votes of being 
elected to the State Legislature, and, as before stated, Avas 
elected to the judgeship most triumphantly; then appointed 
by the governor, and then handsomely elected again. AVas 
for many years the president, and then the chaplain of the 
Dearboi-u County Washingtonian Temperance Society ; was 
the first Worthy Patriarch of the ]\Ianchoster Division, Sons 
of Temperance, then Deputy Grand Woithy Patriarch of 
the same, and Deputy Grand Patron of the Cadets of Tem- 
perance — a real hona fide editor — an assistant Marshal of 
the United States, in 1S40 — the presiding officer at Hymen's 
court for thirty odd years, and in common parlance, have 
" married more of the young people than you could shako 
a stick at," and am now an "Attorney and Counselor at 
Law." AVho, then, shall dare say that mine has not been 
a very active, honorable, and useful life? If you think 
there is too much egotism in these disclosures, just set it 
down against Dr. Clark. Ilis advice is — "Stick to your 
text, and make out what you take in hand." Y>'cll, I un- 
dertook to show that I was some, in jnore ways than one, 
ind, reader, I now leave it to you to say if I have not 
"stuck to my text like a tick ;" and (in my own way, at 
least,) have I not clearly made out what I took in hand? 
And, seriously, I have attained to all this distinction, honor, 
and usefulness, not by courting ease, and shunning difficul- 
ties, but by boldly meeting them, and overcoming thorn, as 


gkillful pilots -win their fame in "storms nnd temjiests." 
and not in calms and sunshine. Truly "there is no excel- 
lence without great labor." 

To cro-\vu the climax of my self-adulation and praise, I 
v,,,^ ^r.y rs^Ty r\oy-c ni'ich in tbiA \vorhi. but have seen much 
of it too. I iiave three times floated upon the waters of tho 
nighty Mississippi, and been as far south as New Orleans ; 
have been seven difierent routes from Maine to Indiana — 
have been, more or less, in tv»-enty-four of the States, in all 
the principal cities in the Eastern, Middle, and many of the 
Southern and Western States — all over Ohio and Indiana — 
twice into the Canadas, and as far north and cast as the 
city of Montreal; and the most interesting route, I ever 
took, was down the lakes and the St. Lawrence to Mon- 
treal. Here is much to be seen that is romantic and beau- 
tiful, and made immortal in history and song: here, you 
see the mij^hty and world-famed Niagara; passing over the 
Rapids, just above Montreal, is a most thrilling scene; 
then there is a v^orld of other wonders and beauties iu 
nature that I have not space to enumerate. Go, all you 
that can, and see for yourselves. 

Now don't be alarmed v.n<\ shocked, friends, when I tell 
you that, in mj' peregrinations, "to and fro in the earth, 
and up and down in it," I actually have been all through 
England — with a pretix to it — through Switzerland — with 
a single qualification. So, also, have I been into Norway, 
actually visited Paris, Dublin, Lisbon, and Alsace ; na^', 
more, down into Egypt — at Cairo itself, and even at Athens 
and Home. Now have I not seen sights, as well as per- 
formed wonders? Well I just have, now, 


The following pleasing little reminiscence I think too 
good to be lost. While on my last visit East, I called at 
Taunton, Massachusetts, to see two dear nieces, daughters 
of my lamented brother. . 0, the reception was so kind, and 
tho interviews so sweet, that I seem to enjoy them even at 

3G0 . cotton's keefsake. -. 

this moment! A dear nephow and brother flilling in, 
pweetoned the cup of plt-a^ure. "Well, nothing would do 
but I must pronounce a lecture upon temperance, ^vhich I 
did to a good largo and attejitive, and seemingly J^^lighted 
audii^nco. Mr friends said that it ^ya3 decidedly the best 
address they hud ever heard, and that tlieir friends, in leav- 
ing tlio hall, had so expressed themselves. "Well, now for 
the proof. About an hour after we had arrived at home, 
the bell rang, which called. my friend. Hill, to the door- 
no one was to be seen, but upon the knob hung a beauti- 
ful new carpet sack, with a most beautiful garland of tiov.-- 
ers, or boquet, iu t'.ie handle, with a note appended — "Pre- 
sented to Judge Cotton by the ladies and gentlemen of 
Taunton, who had the pleasure of lisrening to his beautiful 
and eloquent temperance address, this evening." On open- 
ing it, I found it full, to overflowing, with every variety of 
bofiutiful little tokens, such as were most convenient to 
gather up upon the spur of the moment, and at a late hour 
in the evening. I was pressed and pressed to remain an- 
other evening, when all the city was pledged to be in at- 
tendance; but I was too smart for that: I had given them 
tlio cream, and had put in my " best licks," pleased my 
friends, and Avon a fame that I felt no disposition to jeop- 
ardize, although I could have pronounced a score more 
equally as interesting; but thi^re is something in knowing 
just vchen to quit, as I did. Now I do tell 3'ou, that when 
I get a tliousand miles from home, and put the cream and 
spice of a thousand addresses into a few, it makes them 
talk, and no - And yet I was the greenest, awk- 
wardest, and mist unpromising lad that ever attempted to 
become a public speaker. Boys, look up, you, too, may yet 
" perfecthi astonish OiC natives." 

I have frerjuently been admonished, whatever I m-iy do, 
not to fail giving place to my humorsome "Salt River" 
communications. But I must suppress them for three good 
reasims: 1st. For want of room ; 2d. Because they would 
now lip out of time and place, and would not go off as 


morrily and entluislastically, as they originally did. 3d. 
There were some things too personal to occupy a place in 
"a keepsake," -which is intended for all who know me. 
And in it, I would not write one single word that could pain 
;i r.iti';i« Iiuii^l; bL/ul, ^siif.-Liiei lie takes my buuh. or nut. I 
hope these reasons will be satisfactory. To supply their 
phi«:'0 for "spicy reading," my law notice, and '■fanciful 
imaginings," were, in part, introduced. And nC'W for a 
little more "light rcadiuj" to "finish out" with, I record 


or two, and then I shall pass to something more generally 
interesting and important. 

Ghost stories were so common and so creditable when I 
was a lad, that I believed in their genuine existence, as 
much as I did in my own, although many of them had a 
most laugliable termination, as the following will show. 
The cellars in Maine were usua,lly divided into outer and 
inner cellars. The inner cellar was " dark as tar," except 
from the light of a lamp or candle. One of tbe«e inner 
Cfliars was reputed to be haunted, strange noises were heard 
there, both day and night, of that, there could be no mis- 
take. The whole neighborhood were witnesses to it, and who had the hardihood to peep into the haunted 
apartment, were met with two flaming balls of fire, and 
greeted with baa-a, something like a sheep ; the balls of 
fire moved, and the courageous hero fled, confirmed in the 
conviction, that the cellar was haunted " for keeps." Weeks 
and months rolled on in fearful and agonizing suspense, 
night and day those sounds were to be heard, and those 
mo\-ing balls of fire were to be seen, and one venturing to 
gaze a single moment discovered, or. at least, thought he 
discovered, a large set of horns. That was too much for 
enbirance, and the ghost must be lai<l, or the Inu-e must 
bf; f)rsaken. The day was set to make the expi-riment. 
The P.\Rsox came, attended by many of " the faithful ones." 
Portions of the Scriptures were read, and prayers offered 

862 cotton's keepsake. 

up for guidance, for success or protection, whoreupon the 
Parson, Bible iu hand, descended with a bright ami burn- 
ing lamp, followed bj his trusty friends. And no sooner 
Tras the inner door ope»ied, than he Avas met by those 

Tancing a step to^vavd it -nith an invocation to know who 
and what it was. and what Avas the cause of his super- 
natural appearance and residence upon the earth, when io ! 
the monster made a lunge at him, full tilt, which he barely 
missed by springing aside a little, and ka' chii[i went some- 
thing against the wall, and the next thing the parson knew 
he was seized by th.3 skirts of the priestly gown, and lead 
into the deep and dark recesses within. For iu the fright 
his lamp had fallen and gone out And in the agony of 
despair he sung it out lustily, " Take care of yourselves 
my brethren, for he has got me and no mistake." And 
such another scampering and lamentation for the fate of 
the poor pastor may be imagined, but can not be told, 
either with tongue or pen. The parson being now 
back into the cellar, directly saw his ghostship between 
himself and the open door, and what was his delight, and 
yet great mortification, when he found that the cause of 
so much alarm and uneasiness, was nothing more nor ios3 
than " a pet ram," that had fallen down into the cellar 
months before, and was supposed to bo stolen or lost for- 
ever. The light falling upon his eyes made them louk liko 
large balls of fire, and feasting himself upon the vegetables 
day and night, accounts for the unusual noises, and being 
one of the "bunting"' kind, he made a pass at the parson, 
and while gathering backward for "another lick," as is the 
nature of the animal, his broad and crooked horns got foul 
of the parsons gown, and of course lie thought himself " a 
gone sucker," and fell an easy prey to " the tradition of his 
fathers." If you can read that without a good hearty 
laugh, I do n't know you ! 

"Well here is one that I was in for n)yself, in the fjrest- 
homo I so much love. My lady and I were spending an 


evening with her brntlif^r, shortly after ha, like ns, had 
sctiied in the forest at Manchester. A little after dark we 
heard a sharp loud rap at the door, and said, come in, 
and in the meantime opened the dour, but no one was to 
Lj ;.:;:,. C ■:]! it Ic t'; ■: -■-: --ore -i^ti^hcn? Xo. ^We 
had no sooner closed the door than rap, rap, was again 
heard. Of course we were on hand in a moment, hut no one 
could be seen, nor a single footstep could be heard. The 
moon shone titfully through fleecy clouds, yet it was quite 
light ; and all clear around his cabin — supposing some one 
had come to scare us, we both stood at the door, and at 
the first rap, we were to sally forth, and one pass around 
the house one way, and tlie other another. Eap, rap was 
heard just above the door-handle, out we broke, but made 
no discovery of sight or sound. Mrs. Xoyes, at that par- 
ticular time thought it ominous of evil, and the wonder is, 
that it did not so terminate. This rapping, and this use- 
less search for the cause, was kept up for at least one-half 
hour or more ; and if I had not been fully set that there 
were no such things as ghosts, I should have given it up, 
and been greatly terrified. But hitting upon another plan, 
which was to go off a good piece from the house, and see if 
it would rap, when. I discovered, just over the d')or, a man 
I^'ing down upon the roof, just above the "butting-pole," 
as we called it. Ay, ay, my lark, I have you at last. And 
then puch another yaw haw you never heard. Israel Xoyes 
had climbed upon the house, with a short club in his hand, 
lay down flat just over the door, then he would reach over 
and rap, throw his arm back without the least possible 
noise, and was thus enjoying himself at our expense. Any 
one who do n't think that was some in its line, aint sharp — 
that's all. 

One "more of the same sort left." Upon a very dark 
night I went out to feed my horse, without a light — then 
living alone in the woods. I had no sooner stooped down 
to gafhor up the fjdder, v»"hich I had prepared tu feed my 
horse with, than I discovered some body or some thing oa 

364: cotton's keepsake. 

the opposite side of my sta'ule. ""Who's there?" said T; 
no answer. I took a step, and saw it move again. "Sir, 
w-ho ever you are, you had better speak, or be moving, or 
you may get liurt. Wiio are you?" It was all no go; the 

sound could 1 liear. AVhen all my old ghost stories came 
up, my blood fairly curdelod in my veins; my hair, for 
aught I know, stood erect, with my eyes popping from 
their sockets nearly ; and, with my heart in my mouth, I 
approached the specter, determined, if it were a ghost, I 
would kiiow for certain. It still moved, and I tremblingly 
approached, almost ready to lialloo and run. I raised my 
hand, and saw the bhadow of my fingers upon the log, 
and then looking for the light, I saw that Mrs. Cotton 
had placed a lighted candle in the window for my benefit, 
which had liked to have scared me to death. The greatest 
ghost story and the biggest fright that I ever met with was 
nothing more than my own shadow, and a simple rap- 
ping upon the door; and yet they are parts and parcels 
of my life's history, and I give them as cherished remem- 
brances of the past, and for the encouragement of timid 
little boys and girls. AVhenever you see any thing mar- 
velous or mysterious, have the moral courage to ferret it 
out, and all will be well. Parents, don't, O don't curse 
your children with ghost stories, nor with that " great big 
black dog." do n't — never ! 

One more and I am done. Three very fine young ladies, 
of my familiar acquaintance, several years ago, started 
home, from a very pleasant afternoon's visit, just at twi- 
light; and having to cross a ten acre meadow, as tlie last 
one jumped over the fence, something jumped after her. 
She raised a scream ; the others saw it, and all set in and 
run fur life, and that something after them — sometimes it 
would jump at them, and then seem to crawl along; but 
there it was still, after them. They screamed and run ; 
two of them, being more active than the other, soon left 
her in the distance: but the marvelous something tjassed 


her by, and kept on after the other two, -w^io ran about 
an even race. After the niviterioas souiething had passed 
the third young lady, she sh\ckened her pace, and called 
upon her friends, as they understood her, to help her find 

your knittlng-Avork go; don't you see he is still after us?" 
And away they streaked it to the fence, but dared not stop 
to get over. Up and around with the fence they ran, and 
the ghost after them ; for by this time it was a ghost, and 
nothing else. T>y and by, however, it made a great jump, 
and then stopped; and after awhile the girls stopped, but 
kept their eyes upon it, and singing out to their left com- 
panion to come around some other way, that there it was. 
"Don't you see it?" T>ut on she came, and fell down 
close by it with a wonderful ado, a shudder, and sho 
holds up the fearful monster, and then lies down and 
actually rolls over with laughing, or crying out in a most 
uproarious manner. At last the girls got together, and the 
whole thing was explained. The knitting-work was done up, 
the needles thrust into the ball of yarn, and all tlirust into 
the young ladies dress-pocket. In getting over the fence, 
the knitting fell out, and the yarn being strong, the knit- 
ting-work dragged along, and at every little twig or bush, 
would seem to hop or jump. The young lady that had 
got behind tried to stay their flight and fright by crying 
out knitting-wtjrk; but it was no go; they had too import- 
ant business on hand to stop for knitting-work, and on 
they ran until the knitting-work stopped, and would doubt- 
less have run themselves to death had it not stopped in 
good time. 01 how many a hearty laugh have I enjoyed 
while the girls w-ould tell this great adventure. And now, 
my \-oung reader, you may laugh too, if you feel like it, 
and may you profit by the story. I could write volumes 
of amusing stories like these, that I know to be true, but 
I must hasten to the historical part of my work, which to 
niany will bo much more interesting. 



I almost blush when I think how much I have said about 
nivsclf, arid yet "the half has not been told." I have not of mv visit /o. ni.'l PTnlA-itlnn r.r \\^_.■^ f-rr-fonifd 
'• Cave-in-Jvjck,"' a niig!it\ caverii on the beautiful Ohio 
river; nor of my exceediuirly interesting visit to a dear sis- 
ter, at Thomaston, Maine, where I stood beside the tombs of 
the lamented C'illey, who fell in a duel with Graves, of Ken- 
tucky, and the immortal Geuei-al Knox, of revolutionary and 
historical fame. Then here is the " State Penitentiary," 
■y\"hich I visited with thrilling interest. My temperance ad- 
dress here did not so much overshoot the mark as it did the 
audience, which was large to overwhelming. I could write 
quite a pleasing volume about all of these things had I 
Bpaco. Xor have I dwelt upon the proud achievement 
of having once written an "Agricultural Essay'' for ray 
own county fair, which took the premium of fifteen dol- 
lars, against two learned, eminent, and celebrated compe- 
titors. That to me was a proud and happy effort — " killing 
two birds with one stone" — winning both "dimes and 
fame" at a single dash. But, perhaps, I have said quite 
enough already — too much, perhaps, for credence ; if so, 
the charitable regards of the reader is invoked, as also for 
all other seeming improprieties and errors with which, no 
doubt, jny book will abound. However that may be, I have 
said what I have, because it is all strictly true, and for the 
encouragement of poor, obscure little boys. If you think 
me really vain, you do me great injustice; for when I see 
how little I have done to what I might and ought to have 
done, and haw imperfect and bungling have been all my 
efforts to ''serve and please," I am rather humbled than 
made vain at the mention and remembrance of my ver)/ 
lest perfornis-nces ; but I have written what I have thought 
best; and new I must abide the judgment of an enlightened 
and generous public, which I do with confidence and hope. 

K. B.— I hivf. al^o beheld the Qcjieme, t!io Caboosa, and the LcwLton 
FaJla, in all Shcrr roraantic grandeuj- and beauty. 


;.■;.-■ HISTORY, - '. 

- . \ OR .- . ':■.■■-, 


^ ' PllO-LE-GOM-E-XA. 

Mv " Autobio2;rap]iical Sketch,'' being of necessity very 
imperfect and incomplete, it might bo jnoper here to statt^ 
that I have, to the best of my judgment, made such selec- 
tions and disposed of them in such a manner as I have 
thought would be the most pleasingly interesting and use- 
ful to mv patrons and readei's, taken as a whole and not as 
a unif. And presuming that the general reader has noio 
received "the full value of his money," I devote several 
pages for the special perusal, amusement, and interest of 
my good friends of old Dearborn. If, hov.-ever, the general 
reader has the time and patience to folh:nv me through, I 
can but think that it will '' pay well," after all. For such 
a pncture of life — of a forest life, "Jvst as it is in all ifs 
diccl-ered scenes" — of murders and suicides — of sudden and 
singular deaths — accidents and calamities — turke\% doer, 
and moose — wolf, bear, and panther — rattlesnake, copper- 
head, and Indian stories, all mixed up and blended together 
in one harmonious and tnie picture, has never been drawn 
or painted, either by tongue, pen, or pencil, from creation's 
dawn, by a single living mortal, as before stated. That 
seems to have been left for me, and me alone. Historians 
generally talk and write obout states, kingdoms, and em- 
pires — of wars, revolutions, and conquests, etc. I speak 
otUllh ilnngs, of which the whole is made up — " gather 
up the fragments that nothing be lost." My hisiory is 



not located in some far-off cliinp, buf ii^Ii>^ herf \n our 
very rni'Jst, within sight and hearing — -within the know- 
ledt^c of nip.ny of mj' reader.^ of old Dearhorn. \n<] I 
have a=5i;j,no;l to each city, tmvn, viri;ip;e, and i,righl»ir- 
hood its pniper share. ^\"hpn, liowover, I name a certain 
pl-^. :;, .'co ' rdaucije^iur.' tlio men and things there recorded 
are not to be understood as heing rii;fhi in the place, 
but contiguous to it. Thi.s ari-angement -will save much 
needless repetition, and yet locate all things -u-ith sutBcient 
exactness and certainty. 

I had originally intended to classify into separate and 
appropriate chapters all my Indian, snake, ■\volf, bear, and 
panther stories, etc. ; but as such an arrangement -svould 
also require much repetition, and of course much space, I 
have, upon more mature deliberation, concluded to throw 
them in promiscuously, ot tl)ey have and icliere they hare 
occurred. Much of vhich my humble effort.-5 ■will rescue 
from total annihilation and "everlasting forgetful n ess." 
And upon that score alone, if fur nothing else, I can but 
think my little book vrill be vi-orth many times the price 
I ask for it. How else shall the generations yet to come, 
or even our own children and grandchildren ever realize 
that the very sites of our beautiful cities and villacres— our 
Echool-houses and churches, nay, the very spot, perchance, 
■where they noio stand, sit, or lie, while reading the«e pages, 
were once occupied by "the red men of the forest," "the 
hissing and deadly serpent," and " prowling beasts of prev ? " 
And what is true of old Dearborn, is generally true of all 
the counties in the State — of the entire West, and, indeed, 
of the continent, and of the whole world. And, therefore, 
my little book is intended to interest all who may chanca 
to read it, ani/ and evenjicltere. And as such it is hoped 
that it will receive a liberal patronage and a widespread 
circulation, as before expressed. 

History, says Rj'iin, ha.s always been sanctluneil h>j, and 
considered g.j the light of ages — the safe depository of im- 
portant events — the faithful advocate of truth — the reliable 

niSTOi'JCAL. 369 

source of prudence and gi~>od counsel — the rule of correct 
deportment and good manners — it fixes the seal of immor- 
tality upon all good words and good actions — and sets a 
mark of infa]iuj upon all that is erroneous, corrupt, and 
vicious, and thai so inddibhj, that after ages can not cither 
blot out or obliterate it — it is a school of morality opea 
and free to all mankind— it is the precept of moral philoso- 
phy, reduced to practice, tested, and established by age 
and experience." I repeat, then, that this portion of my 
work viuf^t bo somewhat valuable, whatever may be said 
of the balance. 

And I take O'^casion, jvf:( itfre, to remark, that I would 
by no means wantonly inflict pain upon innocent relatives 
and friends in any reference I have already or may here- 
after make in furnishing a true and failkfid histort of 
the times, the incidents, and the orcurrt:nces which I record. 
And, with others, I have presumed to hope that fiv would 
refuse to undergo such a trial and mortification of their 
feelings, if by that means a timch* admonition — a whole- 
some warning may be given to tliose who stand in need 
of it, and wlio thereby may be preserved and saved to 
themselves, to their friends, to their common country, and 
saved, too, soul and body, in heaven at last. This, then, 
is the only object and aim I hope to accomplish by snatch- 
ing them from the hand of oblivion, and of perpetuating 
and publishing then\ to the world. 

Doubtless I shall omit many items and inoiJents quite 
as important and interesting as an}- that I have gathered 
up from obsen-ation or by inquiry. And, if so, it will be 
more the fault of those who Jcnow and who arc interested 
therein than it will or can be the fault of the autlior. For I 
have everywhere requested aU to furnish me any and every 
item of information coming within the range of my proposed 
publication. Some incidents which I have recorded are 
located contiguous to, but just over the county boundaries 
The index will direct each reader to his own location for the 
local histoiy thereof. Having precilsed thus much, I pass. 

370 cotton's keefsake. 

As I passeJ aruund, mtikinp; tipceches and j:;otting sub- 
scri])Grs, I kcjit, a regular jminia! of the places that I 
visited, an 1 of tlie incidents, etc. ; and now, my kind reader, 
yon -will follow me throui;h my somewhat len;^thy 


From Mrs. Barliara C'lcek, Avidow of Xiclinlas Cheek, 
now one humlrod and two years old — the oldest yicrson now 
living in tlio count}-, and smart and vigorous still — I leara 
that the fir?t little shanty ever erected by a -udsite man, 
vrithin the boundaries and territory of old Doarlxirn, was 
about the year 1794; that she and her deceased husband 
■were the fourth fiimily. Mr. George Groves, Mr. Benja- 
min Yv'alkcr, father of the Honorable Henry Walker, and 
Mr. Ephraim IMorrison, father of the Honorable Samuel 
Morrison, had arrived just before them. Her narration 
is full of thrilling incident.', and, if fully -R'ritten out, 
-would make quite a volume, more deeply interesting than 
I dare hope tiiat mine will be. A few poles, set up on 
forks, and covered with bark, constituted their first and 
lone habitation in the wilderness. Surrounded, both by 
day and by night with "ho^^•ling beasts of p-rcy," which 
were held at ba^' or put to flight by " fire and fl:ime" and 
the use of "powder and lead," well appropriated and aj> 
plied. The Indians, though withholding '* the tomahawk 
and scalping-knife," would seize and carry off an}- and 
every thing that might chance to please their f;incy, cither 
to eat, drink, or wear — would sometimes try to terrify- and 
intimidate thera by reporting some of their own acts of 
horrid barbarity and cruelty. One time, three of them 
carried this matter so far, that her husband, "Old Nick," 
as he was fa-uiiliarly called, could stand it no longer. His 
brother, Tavner, being present, he rose up, squared himself 
for the onset, and then, with his bony r?.^'^ and sinewy arm, 
felled the main speaker at a blow, like a slain bullock, 
gave him " a griod sound drubbing," a-nd then ordered him 
to make tracks coon. He, forthwith, gathered himself up 


and put out, but shortly after returned with a company of 
ei^ht, all painted as a signal, for sanguinary Tcnfreance 
"Where is Xiok ?" said they. "Gone away." "No, he 
Tiid — we must have him." and thereupon they commenced 
.. Lh^.xOU„h ::r.r:h ^-^ '-r-r Alonnwliile the old Imly con- 
trived, by sign, or signal, or messenger, to infonn old 
Judge Watts, father of lion. Johnson Watts, vho had 
charge of a small garrison, just over the river, where 
Petersburgh now stands. He came to the rescue, with 
eighteen men — took the Indians by surprise, in the 
midst of their fruitless search, ordered them to wash and 
.be off immediately, or take the consequence. The order 
was promptly obeyed, and thus a tragic and cruel scene 

I knew Old Nick "like a book;" ho was a groat, big, 
double-Gsted, "knock-down-and-drag-out" sort of a man — 
the very man for such a daring act — rather tight tlian eat, 
any time, unless he was very hungry. These things oc- 
curred just above the beautiful city of Aurora, near by the 
Great Lick. Such, then, was the commencement of the 
white settlements in old Dearborn. 

Mrs. Cheek also informed me that, at first, they pounded 
all their corn, when they had any — lived mostly on game, 
which was abundant and readily taken, together with roots, 
nuts, and acorns — that she spun, and wove, and wore cloth 
made out of the wild nettle, prepared as we usuiUly pre- 
pare hemp or flax ; and that she also gathered and pre- 
pared the materials herself 

What do you think of that, girls? Our pioneer mothers! 
0, what hardships and perils they encountered, as well as 
did our pioneer fathers in settling, and subduing, and im- 
proving this county which is now so finely cultivated and 
-SO beautiful. Mother Cheek — venerable woman! — is well 
provided fjr, and lives at her ease with her grandson, 
Stroder Cheek. Lot that suffice. 



So called in honor of old Col. A'.»ram Ferris, a man of 
wealth and fame, who resided iti th.- ppio-h'ior^-'"' ;■ - -.vas 
once an hnnored representative of the county in the State 
Loirislature, but has recently passed from earth away, 
honored, bemoaned, and missed. Here, too, was the resi- 
dence of the lamented George II. Dunn, favorably known 
all over the State and throughout the Union, as an efti- 
cient member of the Congress of the United States. Vt'e 
have few such men as was George 11. Dunn. • Hon. G. P. 
I'ueli, Dr. rvIcCuUough, P. L. Spooner, of legal notoriety, 
and Abram RoUcn, fvH uien of worth and distinction, do, 
or did, reside here. Mr. Rollen nearly lost one of his 
hands by a hay screw, and would have quite but for the 
skillful treatment of my friend, Dr. Brower. He thinks 
there is no such man as Dr. Brower, and well he may. 

Two men— strangers — have been found dead here; but 
how they came to their death remains a sealed book. I 
must not omit to record the name of my very kind and 
cherished friend, Puibert Duck, nor of his very estimable 
and intelligent widow, Mrs. Duck, nor of her only and kind 
son, Robert, all of whom I claim as special friends of mine, 
loved and cherished truly; and the same just tribute I 
here accord to my friend, Wm. Hamilton, and family. Xor 
can I fail to acknowledge my personal obligations to my 
lamented friend, BarkdoU, and family, for the grea.t kind- 
ness shown me wlien I taught school in their district, yeara 
ago. The children, too, were exceeding kind and dutiful, 
and my little Caroline, now Mrs. • , was almost an ex- 
ception. These things I never can forget. Well, here too 
is my good old friend, Thomas Annis. a real pioneer, a 
most excellent man, with a most excellent and intelligent 
family, surrounded by all the comforts and conveniences 
of life ; and the same may bo said of good old father Ma- 
Eon, father Hibbiies, and fajnilies, etc. ' Friend Danford, 


and others hiive removed, and the blessing of llieir friends 
abide with tlieiu. - 


of revolutionarv nnd histirical iiotorioty — honored in life, 
and lamented in death. Soon that valorous band of patriots 
will all have passed a^vay; peace to their niemon' na.l their 
dust, Anderson F. Gaje. my early friend, and i=nn-in-law 
to the lamented general, lives here, in honor and in peace, 
enjoying an abundance of the good things of this life — 
cheered and cared for, in the time of his bereavement and 
affliction, by as kind good sisters as ever blessed a brother. 
He also has many Indian trinkets and curiosities — beads 
•which he took with his own hands from the necks of skele- 
tons, which he exhumed in plowing his ov.Ti fields. They 
are a curiosity, to say the least of them, and evince skill 
and ingenuity in a savage state. Such evidences of a 
former race are abundant all around this region. 

My friend, Samuel Morrison, one of the best men, best 
scholars, and prettiest scribes, son of Ephraim Morrison. 
a first settler, sufi'ered the amputation of a leg, under the 
influence of chloroform, without sensation of pain. 0, the 
wonders of the age! What will not science yet accomplish? 
Mrs. Lancaster was here thrown from a runaway horse, and 
liad her leg broken, and the bone fairly pinned her to the 
earth; and yet the skillful management of Dr. Bro-wer and 
a kind providence preserved both " life and limb." A man 
by the came of Dodd hung himself in the county jail. 
Good old father and mother Kabb, and Brown, and Miller, 
f.nd Guard, Levi Miller, Ezra Gard, and John Morrison, all 
excellent men and women, early settlers, have passed from 
earth aAvay, to "a better inherit<ance above," without a 
single doubt. John Morrison was a mechanical genius 
truly; invented the hay-screw, that has revolutionized the 
entire west. The first one was laid off with square and 
compass, and a spiral line, and cut with a chisel, ('om- 

374 cotton's KEErSAKE. 

pared -R-ith those of the present day, it was a coarse, un- 
gainly thing, like Fulton's first steamboat; but then i'. 
possessed all the merit of originality, and won for tho 
orif!;inator everlasting; gratitude and endurinii; fame. 

Mrs. Sarah linnhnm .inn-bt,.r of .>M FitKer fU-i:\v]. nnd 
sister to lay friend, Bailey Guard, -who has li\cJ nil her 
days, nearly, in and about the Big Bottom, irfi>rms me tiiac 
savage tribes of Indians, and ho\Yiing beasts of prey, clus- 
tered all around and about " the paths her infant feet have 
trod ;" that she once run afoul of a great big black bear in 
going to the stable ; that she made haste to report ; that 
dogs and men were soon in hot pursuit ; and Bruin, for his 
presumption, paid the forfeit of his life ; that her father 
onco wanted just two dozen turkeys for the Cincinnati mar- 
ket; said he would shoot all just in the left wing, and let 
his trusty and well-trained dog pick them up ; that he soon 
returned with his full complement, every single one of which 
Lad the bone of the left wing broken, and not a single wound 
beside. This shows how plenty such game was in those 
days, and what " sharp-shooters " our sturdy pioneers 

Here the sainted good old Father Jones, an early and 
an efBcient minister of the gospel of Christ, met v/ith a 
fearful runaway, but wa.«, as by miracle, through faith 
and prayer, saved from harm. I seem to hear him tell 
the story iioic. And here, too, my cherished pupil, Mrs. 
West, daughter of my early friend, Walter Hays, was 
thrown from ber carriage, and taken up a mangled and 
bleeding corpse. — See "Lament." Here my sainted father- 
in-law, Noyes, lost a fine horse overboard and drowned, in 
being ferried across the ^Miami, and horses, wagon and 
all swept away by a strong current, in attempting to 
ford Tanner's Creek; lost one horse, and escaped death 
himself only as "by the skin of his teeth," IIow true it 
is tliat "dangers stand thick uU through the ground," etc. 
My old and early friends, Joseph and Jacob Hays, have 
my lasting gratitude for personal and kind favors ; tho 

' HISTORICAL. ' 375 

latter of vrhom has had the misfortune to lose his sight, 
May ho, "by tlie eye of faith," -• ;. ..• 

" rend his title clear •- - -•' - ' 

To mansions in the skies." -.. -' ;--, -' 

" " NEW lawhexceburg. 

• ll'^re was tlie early residence of the lamented Stephen 
Ludlow, a gentleman of wealth and honest fame. And 
here, too, early settled and long resided the Rev. Benjamin 
Fuller, a somewhat eminent local minister. If he -was 
"ratiier slow of speech," his words -were the words of 
wisdom. lie has sought him a new home in the " far 
west," where he still survives, full of years and full of 
honors. And here, too, reside my Maine friends, David 
"Woodward and his kind good lady, blessed with an intel- 
ligent and interesting family. Their daughter Sarah, now 
Mrs. Heifer, of whom favorable notice was made in my Ode 
to the Dearborn County Fair, took the first diploma ever 
accorded to any one by the "Lawrenceburg Literary In- 
edtute ;" a distinction as meritorious as honorable. And 
here, too, I must make honorable mention of my kind 
•friends, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. A Mrs. Finch, now livhig 
in Hartford, informed me the other day, that, in very 
early times, she occupied a little log-cabin right in the 
midst of this town (then a 3Irs. Walden) ; that she had 
herself often shot turkeys (and I think deer, too,) out of 
her door and windows ; the Indians encamped all around 
her; that they once struck up "a shooting-match" close 
to her door ; that she loaded her piece, walked out, asked 
and obtained permission to fall into the ring, and take 
part in the pleasant pastime ; that, when her turn came, 
she "drove the center" to a hair, and made the very best 
shot, which so pleased and amused the old chief, that he 
p:ttted her uprm the shoulder, saying, "Good squaw, good 
Bquaw:" and then made her a present of a beautiful kind 
of a shawl. Tliere is a pioneer lady for you worth taJk- 
iiig about— a story worth being told and preserved, v.'hich, 

376 ' cotton's keepsake. 

but for me, -would have been lost for ever. Turkey, nr^d 
deer, and Indians swarmed ri;;ht in the very heart ut New 
L'lwrenceburgI What a clian^^o, what a mighty cl!an;Te a 
shiglc half century has made! "Be astonished, heaven I 
and wonder. earrh '" Tf-^ra v-a< b^'d l''.-^*- ccr-nicmoiM- 
ble campmeeting, at which time and place the sainted 
Jacob Bhisdell set the '■temperance ball" in motion. — 
(See ReOection-J, etc.) 

■ And here, too, is the residence of ^loore Ilolden, world 
rouowued for his patent millstone dress ; one of the won- 
derful improvements of the age. Mr. Ilolden stands enroll- 
ed high upon the scroll of fame, beside John Morrison, 03 
one of tl'e benefactors of the age. Several yeai-s ago a little 
sou of his was missing, and nowhere to be found, though 
diligently sought fur with ]irayers and tears. A notice in: 
a Madison paper, some time after, of a little boy, found 
dead in the Ohio river, arrested his attention, %vhen lo! his 
lost one was found cold in death. - At .play in the creek, it 
fell in a)id was dri)wned, and drifted thus far away. Poor 
little dear, early taken from the evil to come. And here 
follow tragedies upon tragedies. A JMr. Chyle, principal 
clerk in the distillery, was torn all into shreds by being 
caught in the machinery. A fine scholar, an excellent man, 
but engaged in a bad business, and died in a bad cause. 
Another man was scalded to death in the distillery, which 
was .subsequently consumed by fire — a total loss. 

John Daniels was run over by his own horses and wagon, 
ii:iangled, and to.ken up a breathless corpse. Abial Baker 
fell dead in the street with an apoplectic shock. A gentle- 
man and lady in crossing the pond upon the ice, fe'i through 
and perished together. Thomas, a son of Joseph, and a 
bri.tlifr til Sewell Plummer, a bad of some ten years, fell 
out of his skiff, and was drowned in the pond, abso. The 
dwelling house of Father Xoyes, the one in which I was 
married, was consumed by fire; but no lives lost, through 
mercy. A stranger bad hl.s thigh so crushed, tliat it was 
tliought by the phy-acians iu counsel, that am^iutaiiou 


vras unavoidable ; but Dr. Harding said the fractured bones 
were all in place, and he would assunie the responsibility 
of saving both life and4inib, and did it handsomely. I 
saw the gentleman after the point of danger was sat-oly 
|Ja^*led, uiul a uioiu hapity and giaiulul uiaii I uever ^iivv. 
And, like friend Roland, he thought there was no such mau 
this side of the bi^ water, nor on the globe, as Dr. Hard- 
ing. And no marvel, surely. At the joUitieation of the 
erection of the toll-bridge over Tanner's Creek here, a can- 
non exploded, mangling and killing my neighbor and 
friend, John Rounds and a Mr. Price, and fearfully wound- 
ing a Mr. Shcrod. 0! how many such accidents occur by 
the useless "thunder cf the muttering cannon" — by un- 
sliillful cannoniors. I have yet several similar cases to re- 
cord. " I that men would be wise." And yet tlio crowning 
tragic scene is yet to be told. A Mr. Nicholas Evans and 
a Mr. William Wells, a colored man of my intimate ac- 
quaintance, had a misunderstanding about something which 
Wells so explained as to give Evans entire apparent satis- 
faction. W'ells turned away and sat down. Evans, there- 
upon, slipped noiselessly up behind him, caught him by 
the hair of his head, drew it back suddenly, and then with 
a large and sharp pocket-knife, at one fell swoop, cut his 
throat from ear to ear; and he weltered in his gore a breath- 
less corps. Evans tied, was pursued, subsequently taken, 
brought back, tried and sentenced to several years of im- 
prisonment at hard labor in the Penitentiary, whore he is 
noxc, and in part paying the penalty of his rash, and bloody, 
and murderous and malicious act. How true it is, that 
"the ways of transgressors are hard," leaving out of the 
account the retributions of the future and coming "judg- 
ment of the great day." Wliat a picture of real life is here 
presented in the history of a single little village or town. 
AW fad and nojiciion, and to which much might be added, 
but I can not longer dwell, and must pass by paying a 
just tribute to my most vvortiiy friend, -JohiU I. French, now 
an honored., and useful citizen of Ohio County. 

78 . cotton's keepsake. 


Ou tiie 10th day of Pccoiuljer, ISl?, I first landed at 
Lawrenceburg, then a small viihigc, mostly of log cabins, 

and beauty. No city in the range of my acquaintance has 
had as many difficulties to encounter, and so nobly met 
them, as tiie city, or rather citizens of Laivrcnceburg. The 
elevation of their streets, and their embankments to guard 
against, and to prepare for Hood and overflow, is a living 
wonder, and a monument of enduring praise. And, thou^di 
deserving a better fate, she is, after all, unfortunate in the 
termination, both of her railroads and canals. She never- 
theless has large business houses, and one of the finest 
churches in the State. 

Ilei-e Warren was murdered, and here Fuller was hung. 
(See ballad.) I shall refer to this subject yet again. Here 
the little son of my friend Stephens, came suddenly to an 
untimely and tragical end. Here the young lady deliber- 
ately walked out into the beautiful Ohio and perished, poor 
girl! from her own rash act. (See ballads.) The falling of 
the bridge erected across the Miami, was a miracle of 
wonders. Thronging with busy workmen, the whole fabric 
was precipittited suddenly to the depth of some fifry feet in 
a cumbrous roass of ruins, and yet only tvro men were killed, 
and some few slightly injured. The like before, I think, 
was never known. Wonderful interposition, m jst surely 1 
The courdiouse, and all the public records were consuaied 
by fire many years ago, which was a great and general 
calamity, resulting in a great deal of litigation, ill will, 
disquietude and loss. The fine mansion-house jf my friend, 
Wm. T. Teiris and others, have also been consumed by tire. 
Mr. F. Craft, man^' years ago, in passing along the street, 
stepped upon a stone tiiat rolled from beneath him, and he 
suddenly fell backward upon the pavement and broke Im 
ekull, and was gathered up a quivering corpse ; veiifying. to 
the very ktter, the truthfulness of that divine sayingi 

:-:ij ;>rt>'> 

' ■ AUTOBioar.APiTT. 379 

" There is but a step between me and death.'' A i\rr. 
Askew, merchant, was suddenh- killed by the fallinji; of 
his storeroom in a mi2;hty tempest, or sweeping tornado. 
Here I saw a colored man hit with a brickbat, which was 
intentionally Imrlcd at him — he gruanen, ana staggered, and 
fell. It was thoufrht, by some, that he was feigning it all, 
BO said the colored man who hit him. Just at that time Dr. 
Harding chanced to be passing along the street, and like 
"the good Samaritan," he paused and examined the iallea 
man. Gentlemen, said he, this is no sham, the man is 
actually dying, and will be a corpse soon ; directed him to 
bo forthwith taken home, where he died in a few hours. 
At the report of Dr. Harding, the murderer forthwith fied, 
and so far as I know, has never been heard of since. A 
little son of my most excellent friends, George B. Sheldon 
and lady, lost a hand, nearly, by a " cutting machine." 
Since I became acquainted -with Br. Sheldon, no one man 
in all the West, has done a better, or a more liberal part 
by me. His house has been my kind and -welcome home, 
yes, I know that it has been welcome. And dollar after 
dollar has he voluntarily placed into my hands, and some- 
times, several at once. Subscribed for six copies of my 
book, one for every single member of his family, and paid 
all in advance. I have few friends like G. B. Sheldon and 
lady, and I embalm their names in my book, as it is iu 
■ niy heart and memory. 

And here, too, resides my excellent friend. Dr. Harding, 
"whose house is also my -welcome home, where every kind- 
ness and respect is shown to me that a friend could ask. 
Under God I owe my life to Dr. Harding, for kind and 
skillful professional treatment during a severe and danger- 
ous illness, many years ago. And then I owe him a debt 
of lasting gratitude for the reasonableness of his bill, and 
the lenity and forbearance shown me. Dr. Harding is 
justly celebrated as one of tho be.^t physicians in our com- 
munity. I say one of them, for we have many who are 
justly eruineut and celebrated. Doctor, excuse me if I 


380 cotton's keepsake. 

use your history to inspire hope in the bosom of obscure, 
nay, even in forbidding little boys. The Doctor was rai-ed 
in the "Ripley Slashes," and v.-hilc a little barefooted I'oy, 
•«-as badly bitten by a copperhead. Why, bless me if I 
}. .'.^ ..">. Q...i: lIiu uui.:iur rij^uc into my book, all baref ut, 
too. Ah, ine ! what shall 1 do now ? AVell, I suppo-^e I 
might just as well make the best of it, and let it go. Well, 
he was suakebitten, and if he had died, perhaps every one 
would have said, better be him than any other lad in the 
community, because he was a poor, near-sighted boy. Brt 
the result shows that they could better have spared any 
other boy, for in him was garnered up the germs of a 
strong mind and a useful man. And if there is any merit 
in ti)e truly "self-made man," the doctor is entitled to it 
in an eminent degree. And we have " self-made ladies.'' 
as well as "self-made men," and the doctor's escellent 
lady is surely one of them. Pvaised in the forest by the 
side of me, she has, by dint of personal application, un- 
aided almost altogether by schooling facilities, made her- 
self learned and useful, loved and honored, and now holds 
a high position in the bright galaxy of female writers and 
poets, and has made herself worthj- of all praise and all 
imitation, and is blest with sweet, dear children, and a 
happy home. And the kind hospitalities of that neat, 
pretty, happy home I have oft enjoyed, and gratefully ac- 
knowledge it here again. 

Reader, you must pause a moment. My impertinent 
muse is clamoring for something, and will not bo put off. 

Well. Mr. Muse, what do you want ? I want to sing 
an aciostical lay to Mrs. Harding. A lay to Mrs. liar- 
ding, indeed ! Now you know you can't h'^ijiii to sing 
an acrostical lay worthy of Mrs. Harding. Yes, I know 
that, but then I can show my good will. Yes, and '•get 
me into a snap," offend Mrs. Harding and the doctor, turn 
■up Jack, and play the mischief, eh? Well, just let me 
try — "a half loaf's better than no broad/' Well, as 
you 've been so trusty and faithful to me all your days, 


you may try tliis once and see what you can do. Good, 
and here goes — - . - ■ .■ 

}tly slumbering harp awake "■..., 

.. . . ; !^r-ur^? tby -nnto^' I'^j-', ■; . '_ [,'' 

' -. Sing of the fair, ... 

Let virtue mind and grace . 

. > ^ . Unite to find a place ;. ' . 

. • ... - . Close in each heart, ^. .-. 

^j.: , ..' Ye friends of "moral worth," 

Sing not of " royal birth," ' ''.. . " ' 

' ;. ;... However high, ..■.■. 

- ;; - All will in this agree, - 

, " • ,. ■ Reader, say is not she ' , • 

■ Deserving more, ' . . 

■ ■. ■■ - In whom the graces dwell? ' ' ■■ . ' 

No fame can that excel, 
"Gained by merit." 

"Well, now you have done it ! I told you so ! I knew 
you would only spoil it ! Is that the best you could do 
for so deserving a lady as IMrs. Harding? Aint you 
ashamed of yourself? Don't ever attempt to interfere 
again unless you Icnoic that you have something on hand 
better than that I'll try and forgive you this time, how- 
ever, though I fear Mrs. Harding and the doctor will 
never forgive me. 

- Before I farther proceed, I will close the chapter of acci- 
dents and tragedies. The beautiful Protestant College that 
sat upon a beautiful eminence, just back of this city, was 
utterly consumed by fae many years ago, and the enter- 
prise abandoned fur ever. Sad calamity. 

My friend Squire Anderson was thrown from his horse, 
which, with a shai-p corked shoe, .^et foot right fair in his 
face, cut liis nose entirely off ju.r.t below tliC eyes, and 
smashed it all " as fiat as a pancake." It was a fearful 
sight and as gha'-tly a wound as I ever saw, yet by the 
fkiilful treatment of Dr. Fuller, ic all healed up vdth 

"382 cotton's keepsake. 

scarce a perceptible scar, so that the S([uire has still a verj' 
respectable "handle to his face/' and as nice a little -svite 
as stands on foot anywhere. 

A son of Mr. Jame? Arniitronir, on a pleasure tour over 
th: r:".:r, ■*..:.-- u\,clu^..i.;.'!_^, ol.-ji. bj, oiio uf bi^ ^oung coin- 
paniou?, brought home in great ap:<)ny, and died soon. 0, 
what an affliction to parents and friends. 

A Mr. Gonlding, while passing over the river in the ferry 
boat, to escape an arrest, (I believe) said that no man could 
take him — that he carried a bjdj guard with him in the 
shape of ,a revolver, which he undertook to show, but by 
Bome means, in drawing it from his pocket it Avent off, 
and he received the charge in his thigh, fracturing the 
Lone in a fearful manner, above the pos.-^ibilitv of an 
amputation, and he lingered a few days in great agony, 
and died. Oli, boys, the protection of a good moral 
character is much safer and much better than dirks, bowie- 
knives, and pistols. 

John F. Lane, son of the lion. Amos Lane, deceased, and 
brother to G. AV". and J. II. Lane, of Mexican and Kansas 
notoriety, a "West Point cadet, and lieutenant in the United 
States army, a young man of great hope and promise, both 
to bis country and to his friends, for reasons " for ever 
sealed up," in the very dawn of his brilliant and hopeful 
career, dciil)erately fell upon his own sword in the most 
possibly scientific manner, and was a corpse in a moment, 
without a struggle or a groan. But his sainted mother 
went down to her grave sorrowing for him. 

For a little relief, I will now introduce the reader to my 
early and g(jod friends, Dr. Brower and lady, and to his 
tasty and beautiful residence, and to his very neat, pretty, 
pattern garden. The doctor early befriended me, got me up 
a school, at Elizabethtown, aided me in passing my school 
examination, and in some sense, was the very maker of me. 
I owe him an everlasting debt of gratitude, as does the Noyes 
family, for prol"essional services, which we shall never be 
able to repay. I need not here say that Dr. Drower is one 

a ■-;: ■^u ii 

•■ - msTORiCxVL. '. 383 

of tlie most justly-celebrated physicians and surgeons in our 
midst. He approaches the sick-beJ, and uses the knite with 
a grace and ea.*e peculiar to himself. And now, if you 
would again see tilings done up in real " apple pie" order, 
rv'^ "Tioofor fh-iii n pink." JjTst onll oD my friends, John 
Callahan and his good lady; and for a little more of the 
same sort, just call on Mr. and Mrs. Omar Tousey — put up 
for the night at B. T. "W. S. Anderson's, and, if yuu aint 
sick, you '11 relish your breakfast well — the danger is that 
'.you'll "eat yourself sick," not knowing how or toheri to 

I have failed to mention many persons and things vrorlhy 
of note, because I have not the room to spare, nor even to 
do half justice to those persons and things of Avhich men- 
tion is made. 

The old pioneers are nearly all gone. The Rev. Dr. Fer- 
ris was an excellent and useful man, and his " memory is 
precious." Gen. James Dill, lion. Amos Lane, Dr. Perci- 
val, John Gray, David Guard, Walter Armstrong, and my 
ever-c!ierished friend, James W. Hunter, Esq., one of the 
best magistrates and best majors, and the most graceful 
man on parade in all the land. My veneraljle friend, 
Judge Dunn, seems to stand alune. His histury is one of 
thrilling interest aud high honors. "When quite a youth, 
being over on the Point, as it is called, he crossed tl;e Mi- 
ami, with two other persons, in search of stray stock. Night 
coming on, the otiier men thought best to strike up a tire 
and encamp for the night ; which they persisted in doing, 
in spite of all the remonstrances of their young companion, 
Mr. Dunn, who told them it would nut be safe. He, there- 
fore, left them for home, all alone, vrith the promise that he 
"Would be on lia'-id again early in the morning. When, lu 1 
he found both of his friends cold and stiff in death ; toma- 
hawked and scalped — stripped and robbed I AVhat a nar- 
row escape by youthful foresight and caution! The judge 
has held many posts of honor and trusc in the community; 
and vrhen he sl^all have been gathered to the land of his 

3S4 cotton's keepsake. 

fathers, his name and his memory shall not perish, hut be 
embalmed in the hearts of his friends and countrymen, 
and, in the pages of history, shall be immortal. (See Aj> 

I j^honld verv niufli like to r.nv a sv-rinJ and jn^t triVmfe 
to all of the attorney'^, the clerks, and shcriiTs of my court, 
residing here; but space utterly forbids. SufSce it to say, 
that tliey M'ere all very kind, competent, and eiScient, and 
occupy a warm seat in my afiectiuns, and are engraven upon 
my memory as with "an iron pen." As clerk, C. O'Brien 
stands number one, all tlie time, a_r;ainst the State and 
against the world; and so does my friend, Milton Grep-g, as 
sheriff — now the able and eS'ective editor of the " Xew Al- 
bany Tribune." 

So much, then, for the city of Lawrenoeburgh, and I pass, 
with a grateful acknowledgment, to the Rev. Mr. Long, the 
stationed minister, whose labors God has singularly owned 
and blessed, and who is very highly appreciated and 
esteemed by tlie people of his charge, as is also the Kev. 
Dr. Bond, pastor of the Baptist church. No neglect or dis- 
respect is intended to be shown to my higldy esteemed 
friends. Dr. Tait and Dr. Weedlestaedt, now of Minnesota, 
in speaking so fully and freely, as I have, of those "with 
whom I have had more to do." 

Ilere is to be seen the splendid mansion of the lion. 
Henry "Walker, my early and my personal friend. A gen- 
tleman of great moral excellence and literary fame. He is 
usua!l3' noticed by journalist-s as "the great western ora- 
tor" Mr. Walker's mannors are peculiar to himself; he 
apes no man, and so far as I know, no public speaker ever 
attempted to ape him. He is an original oddity, and must 
be seen and heard to be rightly appreciated. lie would, 
perchance, exceed the expectations of some, and fall below 
that of others, just according to the tastes and fancies of 
his auditors. He has a vast horary cf books, which his 

'■" HISTORICAL. ■ ■ 080 

addresses show have not been altogether neglected. Ills 
i;itlier being the first settler, he, of course, is one of the 
oldest inhabitants of the county, and has received many 
public honors at the hands of his foliow-citizeiis. Ills good 
lady is a native of -tiuiuL-, ^^u^,■>lce I Iiali. I knuvr her 
family and friends to bo highly honorable and respecred. 

Messrs. Ila^Ties and llolman, attorneys at law, and of 
eminent distinction, will please appropriate to themselves 
the kind seotimeuts and remembrances tendered to gentle- 
men of the bar at Lawrenccburgh. Here Avas the resi- 
dence of tliUL sainted and good man, the Rev. Judge Je-^se 
L. ITolnian, ihe honored father of Wm. S. llolman, so ex- 
tensively knovrn and respected as a man, an attorney, and 
a politician. 

The eminent Dr. Sutton and Dr, Bond, and Dr. llaynes, 
my kind rjcrsonal friends, reside here, justly loved and higlily 
appreciated. Here, too, reside the Hon. Judge Emory, V>'m. 
11. Green, and Wm. T. Harris, Esqrs., T. and J. Taylor, Ciiam- 
bers and Stevens, the Gaffs, Cobbs, and Lozier, merchants of 
fame and fairness — all nn- kind personal friends. Nor can 
I possibly pass unnoticed ^Messrs. Sewall and S.anuel Plura- 
mer, and Wm. Jipson, and their good ladies and inter- 
esting families, formerly my kind and excellent neiglibors 
and fellow-townsmen, and ever loved and cherished fric-nds. 
I have known them long, and love them dearly. 

Here, as before noticed, is the beautiful residence of my 
good and worthy friend, Stroder Cheek, and the home of 
the venerable old Mother Cheek, the oldest person in tiie 
county, and, for aught I know, in the State. Here George 
Cheek, the father ci Stroder and brothers, was fuund to be 
missing. Every possible search was made in vain, a libe- 
ral reward offered for his discovery, dead or -"alive, and 
after many months of painful anxiety, he was discovered 
in the creek — raeciguized by his apparel, and forthwith 
found a decent and appropriate burial. My lamented 
friends, John R Wa!.kin.-, a Mr. Ballej, and a Mr. Squibb, 
v.'iro horribly mangled by the explosion of a powder keg, 

386 ■ cotton's keepsake. 

on a pleasure and celebration trip on the St. Louis rn.U 
road, sunived a short time in great pain, and died. Per- 
haps five perished, and several others were slightly injured, 
among whom \sas a Mr. James Reading. Aurora lost some 
cf liCi" LvioL, v.hLL .Lo uv.cjilj" uoplured. 

A man fell through the bridge, and was found a corpse. 
Anotlier one walked out into the river, then put a pistol into 
hi^j ir.outh, and fell a bleeding and mutilated corpse in the 
beautil"ul Ohio. Another man, after trying both to haug 
and shoot himself, but was discovered and arre^sted, delibe- 

>atcly threw himself into the river and perished';:,^ j^If- 
■Green, having a personal ditliculty wiU; a !Mr, Hancock, I 
believe, was shot, and died- suddenly. .•(jJd.Cbuvh'}- Vattier 

-/deliberately shot I'Jias-C'-inwe'i. nViv of-. Napoleon — put a 
heavy charge ot'lo?>;oC?hyt| i;i!r,' y:^^]\i\) ariTl tliigh, that had 

_\\?ell-nigh prLiveu--uiia|.«-^"Xc^ iJi.n\VL-^,oi,\--,crippled him for life, 
fur which he rejaveredla^ihr'nty. -damage. Ilenr}- Vanmid- 
dlesworth struck'.aHr.' ^Lfeh'ead, I believe, upon the head, 
with a grubbing hoe,;aE"fJ broke his skull; but Vjy the sur- 
gical skill'of-Pr. Percival, he survived. Yanmiddlesworth 
and another' man perished, on the Fourth of July, by the 

, untimely discharge of a cannon, as per acrostic. Indian, 
wolf, bear, and panther stories are too numerous to men- 
tion, but in keeping with all other accounts. 

.' • The steamboat Metcalff descending the riv.°r in a thick 

-fog, the pilot, mistaking the smoke of Gafl''s distillery for 
an up-river steamboat, sheered suddenly to pass it on the 
right, according to usage, run square into a high bank, 
just above the mouth of the creek, which resulted in the 
total xuin of the boat and the loss of many precious lives 
uf men, wouieo, and children; who, with an awful shock 
and fearful outcry, were suddenly aroused from a comfort- 
able berth, sweet repose, and happy dreams, to struggle 
and perish iu the waters of death. How sudden, how 
painful, how melancholy the scene. That mammoth dis- 
tillery has been twice consumed hj fire, and two n:ien per- 
ished in tlic tiames. My eloquent friend, the Jlev. ^Ir. 

msTORicAL. < 387 

Miller, is "far-famed" and dearly loved. A ]Mr. Caldwell, 
a notorious horse-thief and plunderer, in territorial times, 
\ras pursued by a body of armed men, overtaken, ordered 
to halt upon his peril. Sham shots vrerc given to bring 
liim to in vain ; tlicu a acauiy aim brought him to the 
ground, a bloedina; corpse, and his grief-smitten wife sold 
his body to Dr. Percival, to be anatomized, for a calico 
dress. Companions in. crime, O how affectionate they arel 
Our a.i^rioultural friends, Messrs. White and Lane, must 
not be overlooked, as gentlemen of distinction, and moral 
excellence and ^vcrth. Old Father Coziiie and I'aniel Bar- ■ 
tholomew, deceased, my early friends, must be embalmed 
in the pages of my little book. "Mr. and Jlrs. T5arthoIomew, 
v.'ho still survives, made their honse my happy home, when 
there, in days " lang syue." How sweet the memory still — • 

how sweet! Hugh >r. Allen, blowing into the muzzla 
of his gun, received the full charge into his head, and fell 
a mangled and bleeding corpse.. 


George Groves settled here in 1794, the' 'firx-t .settler of 
this section of country. From my kind fi-iesd^-.^-G.eorg©-- 
Laird and Joshua Seth, ar.d others, old and respectable 
residents, I leani that a fearful Indian massacre of several 
persons, by the name of Laughry, gave namo to the pretty 
stream now knowu as Largliry Creek. So also a man by 
the tame of Hogan, while quietly fishing at the mouth of 
Ifogan, was shot, tomahawked, and scalped; and a Wm. 
Tanner, the same way pi'ocisely, at the mouth of Tannei-'s 
Crc'.^k. If v,-o coulvi command the origin of all the names 
in the country, what a history, what a book it would be 1 

1 farther learned, from Mr. Sech, that a young lad and 
his sister, by the name of Willard, were captured aud ca.r- 
ried off by the Indians, over into Kentucky, seme sixty 
odd years ago. After awhile, they commenced cutting oat 
large pieces of fiesh from the body of the girl — broiling 
sad eating it in her presence; that they tortured her thus 

388 cotton's keepsake. 

repeatedly for tliree lonj, painful days; then, with unheard 
of cruelties, put her to death — tomahawked and scalped her. 
The heart sickens, and tiie hloud fairly curdles in my veins, 
at the recital. But a terrible vengeance awaited them. • 
T;.o cuV-v L<;u ins escape, grew up to be a man, and 
established himself in a kind of grocery and liquor busi- 
ness, at an early day, near the mouth of the creek, where 
•who should call upon him but seven Indians, and a pretty 
young squaw, a part or all of Avhom he immediatel}' recog- 
nized as his own captors, and the cruel murderers of his 
loved and lamented sister; and he resolved, if p':>6sible, to 
te avenged ; but, as the saying is, " he never let on." 
Gave them all free access to his liquor, and, to his gi-eat 
pleasure, soon found that all were in for a drunken spree, 
except the pretty squaw, who was selected to ke'ip watch. 
And about midnight they were all dead-drunk, when, 
watching his opportunity, he gave the proUy squaw a 
deadly blow with his ax or bludgeon ; then haitening 
down to the creek, he cut a hole in the ice, and there, one 
at a time, liej hj main strength, drew them down, and 
thrust them in under the ice, to wake up in a watery 
grave, the poor squaw and all ; and thus every single soul 
of them perished. I leave it for the "reader to say if that 
is not quite an Indian story, and altogether too good to 
,1)8 lost, as I have it upon good, reliable authority? The 
country hereaVjouts was full of bears, wolves, and panthers. 
Here a colored man, whom I knew well, was murdered 
several years ago, and the deadly and fearful weapon wa3 
a scythe — the scene fearful and tragic. 

Is quite a smart business place. I first saw it in 1S18, 
then quite in the woods. Good old Father "Wilber still 
survives, honored and esteemed by all who know him. 
His sons are the principal merchants in the place — correct 
business men, of moral excellence and worth. Good old 
Father IloUiday, father of F. C. lloiiiday, the eminent 

; <: 

EisTorviCAL. " 389 

divine, the Christian, the gentleman, and the schoh^r, re- 
sides here. His house ^vas consumed by tire; but his 
friends were kind and true to him, a^ Aveil they should be. 
lie informed me that he had seen more vsild turkeys in one 
H.:.-. C-: .:.\.vc tL:.!. ^...Id, :^ hio ufiai...., uui.voniently 
stand iipon a whole acre of land. He thought si> tlicn, 
and he thinks so now. There is a turkey stoi-y f^r you, 
bo^-s. Allow two feet square, or four square feet, to a 
turkey, and there must have been more ten thousand 
turkeys. "Work it out for yourselves, boys. In this com- 
munity reside my early and worthy friends, Squire Jarret, 
Squire "Wilson, John Eilling^ly, Joel Lynn, and James 
'\Valker, brother to the Hon. Henry "Stalker, all in easy 
circumstances, and most excellent citizens. 

A gentleman, attempting to keep an officer at bay with 
his rifle, was himself shot, and died suddenly, years ago. 
My esteemed friend, Mrs. Pr. 3Iaderas, died suddenly, 
lamented by all. And here, too, was the former residence 
of my early and ever-cherished friend, Nathaniel Squibb, 
Esq., now of California. Squire Jarret has resided here 
all his days; is an excellent and worthy man : and he in- 
formed mo, that, in early life, his shirts and pantaloons 
were made of the wild nettle, as noticed befl-re, by Mrs. 
Cheek. That a very rich lady )wv% residing in Dearborn, 
was clad in a nettle dress whou he first saw her — a rosy- 
cheeked, healthy girl, and happy and " cheerful as a lark." 
"What do you thin'k; of that, girls? The narrative of my 
good friend, Squire Jarret, is full of interest, full of 
romance, and full of real life. " May his days yet be 
many, and full of pleasure." 


Robert Conway settled here in ISOO: raised a large 
family, who have received many honors, both as private 
citizens atid public men. "While watching a lick for deer, 
three large pautliers came into the lick. The odds being 
vastly a^^ainst him, he retreated imobscrvod, well content at 


■that. Jones shot IIutchinsOD. mistakiug hira for a door. 
It was a deailly aud a fatal shot. 

Colnnel James Ilastiuc^s. an old settler, and much re- 
gpocted, cut his throat with a razor, in a most fearful 
manner, and w""' -^ " :-• j i.^ a. ftv^ Uiuments, in 1851. 
James "Woods hung himself upon an apple tree, in ISoi 
James Pomeroy was drowned, in 1S45 — all men of families. 
A German hung himself in the woods, in 1S52. 

Elias Greathouse, wife, and three children, were drowned, 
in 184-3. A sudden flood swept their house away in the 
night time, and all perished together. The mother was 
found many miles below, with a piece of the cradle, in 
which her infant slept, still in her hand. Poor mother! 
A Mr. Mclntire was fearfully mangled and killed with a 
threshing-machine. Allen Boyce and Mrs. Hiram Scrantnn 
both badly bitten by snakes — suffered much, but recovered. 
A man was killed by a log, which rolled over hira, and an- 
other one by the falling of a tree. Old 3Ir. Thatcher, father 
of my friend, E. Thatcher, fell off the fence, and broke his 
neck. " Such is life." Improve it well. My venerable 
friend Kittle (the honored father of A. J. Kittle, a graduate 
of Greencastle College, an excellent and a promising young 
man), resides here, at an advanced age. My friend Turner, 
and the Kev. Mr. Records, rather an eminent minister, have 
both removed. The blessings of all attend them. John 
Walker, brother to Henry, once shot a doer; an Indian 
rushed in upon him to seize and carry it away. "Walker 
drew his rISe upon him, and then told him not to move his 
rifle upon his peril, but to move oS" in double quick time, 
with his gun at a trail, which was forthwith done accord- 
ingly. "What intrepidity 1 Chester Thair, an insane per- 
son, set his house on fire, and perished in the flames. 
Poor fellow I 


Hon. James Pvand settled here in 1807. Tarkey,-deer, 
snakes, vulvcs. bears and panthers wore numeruus. Hi^ 

' . ; mSTOKICAL. ■ • 3'Jl 

story ■svouLi form a volume. Snakes of monstrous size. Saw 
one with a ]arp;e ground-hog, or -vvoodchuck, half swallowed, 
taking it easily, and at his leisure. His good lady was 
drowned while washing beside the creek — fell in and per- 
LLv^J- poo-- vroiviau I ?iir. r.:.:-. 1 h:.: :-:'^-<-"-.:'-t'"d thi^- county 
in the State Legislature with credit and .satisfaction — is some- 
what advanced in years as well as in honors. His name 
and memory will long survive. jMv good friend, John 
Henry, deserves a passing notice. He interested himself 
much in my enterprise, and his name is well worthy of a 
place in my little book. An csoellcnt man, loved by all 
the good who know him. Hon. Judge "Watts settled here 
at an early day. Was a strong, popular, and useful man, 
and a Minister. His son, Col. Johnson Watts, our dis- 
tinguished and honored fellow citizen, occupies the old 
homestead. He was a soldier in the war of 1812. Had 
two sons in the Mexican War, one of whom died in that 
far-off land, was brought home, and amid ap})ropriate 
honors, was interred in the family burying-ground, where 
ho slumbers his "last long sleep, that knows no waking." 
The colonel once ran afoul of a great big rattlesnake, in a" 
coil, which he says was a perfect monster of a snake. 
Turning round for a clu1), he saw another in the same 
position and of the same size. He began to think the ter- 
ritory " too snaky " for him, unarmed as he was, and 
forthwith very cautiously beat his quiet retreat, leaving 
to their snakeships the quiet and full possession of the field. 
But they, of course, knowing the colonel to be " abraccman 
of war," and supposing his movement a mere ruse to de- 
coy them, or for j^ome other reason, their snakeships thought 
best to move quarters too, for when the colonel returned, armed 
and equipped according to law, " fur a snake fighi," lo ! and 
behold! they were not to be found, demonstrating tlie truth 
of that quaint saying, "In union there is strength," as also 

"He that tarns and runs away, 
May live to fight another day." 

392 cotton's keepsake. 

And here I will treat my readers to one of the colonel's wolf 
stories. And if that don't pay, I'm a poor judge. The 
nei.uihborhood Ii;id long been infested uith an old cunning 
•wolf, -which baffled all their skill to entrap, -when a great 

hunter. Iw fh(^ Tio>>in r.e ai;„_ ^ j^^jj ^^^^^ ».oiunei that he 

•would come and pick hov up. He and the colonel put out 
into the forest, struck up a camp-fire for the night. Thoa 
to cut the cobwebs from his throat, he took a good swig 
of old haldface, and went out and raided a long heavy howl 
that would have beat any wolf all liollow, and forthwith 
from a distant knoll, came back a -^volf's rt sponsc. There 
Fhe is, said he, took another dram, then lay down and took 
a nap. At about midnight he went out and howled again. 
Back came the response from the same direction. Her den 
is there, said he. At early dawn they started off in that 
direction within hearing distance of each other. The colonel 
came to a narrow beaten track, saw that it led into a great 
hollow tree that had fallen down. He beckoned his friend, 
■\vho said, thex'e she is, and forthwith rushed to the mouth 
of the hole, and closed it up. "Whereupon there was a 
great commotion -^'ithin, charging the coL>nel to stand 
ready witli his tomahawk, he drew his big knifo, and then 
in spite of all remonstrances, pkinged lieadforemost right 
in amojig them. lie found six pretty snuirtly grown 
cubs ; but to his great disappointment, the old wolf canio 
up missing. He dispatched all the young ones save one, 
that he kept to call up the dam. The colonel was taught 
how to make it howl, then when his friend had gone at a 
little distance, he made it sing out — the old wolf answered 
in a moment, and came running round and round at a dis- 
tance, as though "she smelt the i-at," and then disappeared, 
and no outcry of her young could call her back ; and much 
to their vexation and mortiticatiou. But it was the last 
they ever heard or siiir'ered from her. If that aint a wolf 
story worth telling and preserving, v.hat is? Tliore'.5 a 
second Ocn. Putnan story for you_ boys, aint it? 

A Mr. Whitaker v>-as aucusted by a bearj shiilded him- 

niSToracAL. ' 393 

self behind a, small troe, kept moving round and round 
cautiouc-l_)', the boar fliirly eat his gun = tock all oK, thou 
M-itli a dextrous and hanr.y hit Avith the naked barrel, 
ho lay his tbc at liia feet, and escaped unhurt, save a Ijad 
f'i'^ht ami n tf^dious c.^nilict. Jcreiriiah llichard?on's 
horses ran away, stove the -svagon all into atoms, and killed 
him instantly. 

A son of Goddard Stepp, 20 years old, Avhilc l.lov^dng 
into the muzzle of his gun, his foot slipped from the liam- 
mer, off went the gun, and lie received tlio Avhoie charge 
into his mouth, which was most horribly mutilated, and 
he fell a corpse. 

haet's Mn.L, ' ■ " - ■- ■■ 

Owned by "Williara Hart, an early settler, an cscelleni; 
and good citizen. Mill consumed by fire iu 1S43, full of 
grain, and no insurance. 

Daniel Paul had a little girl burned to death, her clothes 
having caught fire by a candle, and four otliers badly in- 
jured by the explo:^ion of a powder keg. One is tutally 
blind, an inmate of the State Asylum, smart and intelli- 
gent. Throwing cracker.s about at Christmas was the cause 
of the explosion. Children, be careful with powder, it is 
a dangerous plaything. Ann Eliza Stcnp, a little girl, in- 
haled the hot steam from the nose of a boiling tea-kettle, 
and soon after died — poor little thing I 

John Campbell was killed at a log-rolling, a large log 
poising over liini. leaving him a mangled corpse. John 
Sellers and Israel Seaborn, both hung tiiemselves in l>o5, 
and Isaiah Dowess sh^t lum-elf through the heart deliber- 
ately, in IS-Vi, 13<;njanuu Hall was badly Ijitten by a cop- 
perhead, in 1S2-J Alexander lioyle di»'d with a feuvful 
cancer, in 1S53. dames II. Connell was badly injured at a 
raisir.g, in ISll— jaw bone broken all t" sma.-ii, but recov- 
ered. ?.Ir-. Eliza ]\ennett v.-;is throrrn f-om her hiT.=''>, and 
killed upon tl:e ^sput. The babo iu he: arms was uninjured, 
as by a juiracle. 

BOl.' -••. -' cotton's keepsake. 
■ ■ ' coles' chapel, 

Named in honor of" tlic Eev. Eleazcr Cole, an early seUler, 
and an acceptaldo and useful minister of the po-jpel. He 
and Ids good lady li.ive pa->ed pway, but their names and 

Hero resides that excellent man, Daniel Kelscy and his 
kind lady, daughter of father Cole, with an interesting 
family of children, grown up and mo=tly settled around 
them. "When one year old he felt into the fire, burnt one 
of his hands to a crisp, and measurably lost its u«e forever. 

llis horse, taking fright, ran away, capsized his bugi'-v, 
threw him and his daughter overboard; both wore sadly 
frightened and seriously injured, llis son Israel and L-o 
reuzo Wright were both badly bitten with copperheads— 
EuiFerod much, but recovered. 

Xathanicl "Wright was killed at his house raising. A 
log Blipjved upon the skids, came dmrn suddenly, and 
crushed him to death. IIo died in great bodily pain, but 
in peace of nind, in 1820. 

Piced Crandell, au old and good citizen, fell from bis 
horse last summer, and well nigh broke his neck — will, 
in all probability, be crippled in his shoulder for life — had 
his house and goods all oonsumed by fire, in 1S17. 

The Ivev. Mr. Xeison laid me under obligations of grati- 
tude for the interest manifested in mj behalf. Tlarvey 
Cole and other early settlers reside here, loved and hon- 
ored. John Cole had one f'Ot cut clean or clear off, with 
a mowing maohin-,^, and the other badly wounded, and 
crippled for life. 

Father K'^-lsey was much beset with wild beasts, as were 
his neighbors, in their early settlement. In broad day- 
light a bear came to his very door, fell af'oal of one of his 
large hogs. Hearing the outcry, he rushed to her relief — 
he ler. up — took to the woods — and the dugs after him — ■ 
treed, and thon he shot him, took his hide and "tanned 
his jacket." 

/ " HISTOrxICAL. ■' -SOS 


Is the residence of that excellent and upeTul man, Col. 
Jacob Vi'. Ejcirleston, t'ue Leonidas and chani].'ion of Tem- 
perance, the kind frif^nd and good citizen. Pr. ^Martia and 
his inieresting laniuy rebuiu iiere, ; anvi here is my 
early and true friend, Thomas Guion, one of the first men 
I ever volod fur in this county, and I voted for him re- 
peatedly afterTvard, and loved to vote for hiai — % gentle- 
man of moral excellence and worth. Hero, too, are my 
friends, the "Wymonds, and the Stevensons, the TihLett?e3, 
the Vandolaps, the AVitheroes, the Knowleset, and ethers, 
all good men and true — my early friends. The Rev. "W'ni. 
Knowles is an excellent and useful man, and minister of 
the gospel. Dilsborough is one of my strong holds all the 
time. My friends here voluntarily met me at their church, 
one evening, and subscribed for sixty-five copies of my 
book. Rev. James Murray and his most pious and esti- 
mable lady buried three of their dear children, almost at 
once — a painful visitation. 3Iy worthy friends, "Wni. B. 
Miller and James iNoble, hn.d c'.ioir hands badly rxiangled 
and torn in the machiner}- of the steam mill; Xoblo lost 
one hand entirely, and all the fingers upon the- other. 

Mrs. Layborn Bramble had her breast amputated, dh- 
cased with n fearful cancer, but died soon after, poor woman. 

Jacob Hoover's son fell from a tree some twenty-five 
feet, and broke his leg in three places, and was otherwise 
badly bruised and injured, but recovered. 

Mr. and Mrs. George Abraham, on a visit to their 
friends in Ohio, while passing through Elizabethtown, the 
tvagon took fire from a coal which had fallen from a pipe ; 
in a moment all was in flame. Mr. Abraham jumped oiit, 
bat the horses took fright, ran ol7 at a most fearful rate. 
and ]Mrs. Abraham was burned to a perfect crisp, and 
returned t(j her friends a frightful corpse. Many of the fires 
charged to incendiaries will, in my judgment, ho tased to 
"pipes and eigar.s," in the final settlement, Tiie v.ond-?r 
is, that every thing is not oousumeJ wliere they are used. 

)96 cotton's keepsake. 


In comprniy Avith the Kcv. Benjamin Liwrenco, of sal n fed 
memi.iry, tlion t!ie circuit yn-caclier, I first visited the Mt, 
Talior ?ettiement. ahinii- r.^rfj- ,-r..,..~ .-,_■-,_ y,""^ u\aiufl uur 
Avay throii:;h hy-'.vays and blazcd-out tracks, I hardly know 
ho\v, until \Y0 fi'uud ourselves at good old Ralph Smith's, 
whom we found in the act of dressing a fine deer which 
he had just taken, and the first one I ever saw in the hands 
of its captors. It feasted my curiosity, and then, well 
served up, feasted my lonf:;ing appetite. Alas! that noble 
race of animals is now quite extinct in this section of the, 
country, but then we have our fertile fields, our railroads, 
and telegraphs, which certainly arc far more valuable, ia 
their stead. So we go. y 

Father Smith died suddenly from an injiiry received iu 
the breast by a heavy lift at a wagon. Good old Mrs. 
Smith died suddenly with a disease of the heart. Four 
of their children died suddenly of tiui milk-sickness, in 
1S27. Theii- hou'^e and all its contents was once consumed 
by fire. George Smith, a brother to Kalph, died with a 
fearful cancer, and hi.s wife and three children died in a 
short period, with the milk-sickness, and two other childrea 
with the drnpsy. Two excellent families almost extinct. 
What a history! — what a lesson 1 

Temperance Srnith, daughter of E.alf)h, now ?ilrs. .John. 
Cornforth, a sweet, interesting little girl, when I first saw 
her, and an estimable lady now, lives upon the homestead, 
enjoying ample competency, and one of the kindest and 
best husbands that ever blessed a Avoman. ITer first hus- 
hand, "Wm. Po-vvcl, a sou of James Powell, Esq., my ever- 
cherished friend, f.'U overboard from a steamboat and per- 
ished. A son of Xathaniel ^V'allace was throv/n frum a 
run-away horse and killed suddenly. 

My kind friends, I'^'ank Sawdon and his good lady have 
my best wish'is and warmest thanks t'or their kindnr'ss and 
interest in mv behalf, a.s indeed have all in the community. 


I -^'13 quite at home among them, truly. But 0, -prhat a 
change have forty years wrought among theni ! OM 
father Frazier alone survive'^, of the first settlers, I b.?rieve, 
and thus it is, " one generation passeth away and another 


So called in honor of my kind, good friends, good old 
Father, John, and Servetus Tufts, early settlers and excel- 
lent citizens. Good old Mother Tufts, full of years, and 
ripe for heaven, is waiting in hope until the change comes. 
And here is my friend, Wm. Sawdon, and his excellent 
family. Here, too, is my friend. George Randal, who de- 
serves a special notice. Friend Randal, when I first knew 
him, was a young circuit preacher of promise, but quite 
moneyless ; under which circumstances, he married a INIiss 
Ilhoda Ewbank, youngest daughter of good old Father and 
Mother Ewbank, now of sainted and precious memory, and 
u most industrious and pious young lady. Reared in com- 
fort and competence, as she was, friend Randal resolved 
that she should never sutler want, if industry and good 
management could prevent it; and so it was that ho al)an- 
doned circuit preaching, rented himself a farm, rolled up 
bis sleeves, and went into the business with a right hearty 
good will: and, behold, he now owns a full mile square of 
land, minus eighty acres — say five hundred and sixty 
acres — four miles from Aurora, and a splendid mansion 
house, barns, and everything to suit. He is worth, at least, 
some thirty thousand dollars, and has raised a large family 
of children — raided them well, too, for a more intelligent 
and interesting family of children you scarcely could find 
in a day's ride in any direction. Poor young men, look up, 
be industrious, be economical, be honest, and you, too. may 
surprise both yourfrelves and your friends. AVitli brother 
Randal's indomitable energy and application, he must. have 
bceti an eminent divine, long e'er this, hud he remained in 


898 cotton's keepsake. " 

the itinerancy. This is rather an extraordinary ease, and 
I have given to it an extraordinary notice. 

Well, here, too, reside my good old friends, Wm. McCon- 
noll and lady, loved and honored by all ; to all of -whoai, 
and nthrrs nnnoT^ip-^^ :r.y ^^ratiLuuO Is due fur personal in- 
terest and kindness, and especially so to Squire Tufts for 
his volunteer address io my behalf. 

So called in honor of iMartin Trester, Esq., a worthy and 
a f-;unie\vhat distinguished citizen, and an early settler. 
"Wildcats and panthers Avere his early game. "Would that 
I could "write out his entire history for the amusement and 
entertainment of my readers. It is in perfect keeping with 
the report of all the early settlers, and of my own observa- 
tion and experience. lie has a beautiful home and a happy 
famil}', all living in competency and peace. To him, as 
well as to ray venerable friend George Grier, Esq., is my 
gratitude due for personal attention and kindness. Nor 
can I pass unnoticed my other kind friends, Henry F. 
Wright, A. Abbott, James Walker, H. Tufts, E. N. IIop- 
pin, and others, who took hold of my little enterprise with 
a hearty good-wiU, as did my friends all around. "A 
friend, in need, is a friend indeed." 


Formerly the coanty seat, is located on a very high ridge, 
some two and a half miles northwest from Aurora. In the 
jail, here, Doud hung himself, and a stranger cut his 
throat; and right in the jail, I once married a happy 
couple — a novelty. Here George Goulding hung himself 
in a mill ; here Jos-sph Peters killed John Eastman in an 
atfray, was tried and acquitted, as a justifiable homicide. 
They were half-brothers or brothers-in-law — what a pity! 
Peters has an interesting family, who are often pained at 
the bare mention of the sad occurrence. Not at all, chil- 
dren; if it be your aiisfortune, it is not your fault, surely. 

'" '- • msTorjcAL. ' ■ 399 

A little son of Mr. , and ^Irs. Ellen Young, was run 

over with a heavy-loaded wagon, and crushed to death in a 
Biomeut. He was a sweet, interesting little boy. I remeni- 
l>er, while holding court there, I was passing along the 
::t:':.;t -rr'.th r. r:-o*:'-y *i""-o<- in T„y tmnd. which, I saw, so ar- 
rested his attention that I gave it to him with a kind and 
cheering word. lie was perfectly transported, and ran 
home in great haste, proclaiming to his good mamma — - 
"Dudge Totten dave me dis!" His father died soon after 
him, and his truly bereaved mother administered upon the 
estate. I remember distinctly that she once tiled a pctitiun, 
written in her own fair hand, that, for form and phrase- 
ology, would not have disgraced the most learned and skill- 
ful attorney at the bar, us they exclaimed themselves. She 
is decidedly an intelligent and interesting lady. Girls, 
take notice — there is nothing like being able to meet any 
reverses in fortune, and of managing your own atlairs. 

A Mr. I'owell, while laying up a fence, accidentally fell 
and broke his neck, many years ago. Joshua Brewingtoa 
had a little son drowned in a cistern, right here. George 
Hume, that afflicted good man, now no more, lost five chil- 
dren, almost at once, with the milk-sickness, in 1^47. 
Clark J. Durham, a most promising' young man, was fear- 
fully mangled, torn, and killed in the machine-shop (as per 
elegy.) 0, how that father, how that mother, how the chil- 
dren all mourned the absence of one so kind, so tenderly 
loved ! — and 3-et there is a pleasure in that pain. Hon. 
Stephen Wood died from a wound received in cutting up 
corn — poor suffering man! Friend Cordery, a somewhat 
wealthy merchant, and an excellent man, had his house 
broken into and robbed of several hundred dollars ; and 
for giving publicity to his suspicions, was fined several hun- 
dred more — a very singular and a very hard case, and no 
mistake. Then his .stable was set on tire and utterly con- 
sumed, together with his horse and buggy, and his cow, I 
believe. The entire premises were saved only by a miracle; 
the wind coming briskly from the right direction. 

400 cotton's keepsake. 

Dr. Torbet. to wliom, under God. I owe my existence, re- 
eidfis here, and to -ivlioni. kind attention, during; my severe 
illness several years aa;o, for moderate charges and for in- 
dulgence, my lasting gratitude is due. as to friend Harding, 
years bofure that, ns p.iH.>rwl l,<.rof,.r .,.0 ]>,. T.rbjt 
his sainted, precious, lauicnted, and cherished lady nursed 
ine, if possible, with mure than a parent's tenderness and 

Here, al^n, I feel it due to my exceedingly kind and most 
generuus friend, Wm. Cheek, to say that he was an exceed- 
ingly expert, correct, and pleasant clerk of the court for 
many year.s. la common parlance, he " had a heart as big 
as a teakettle." He now resides in the vicinity of Xapo- 
leon, noted for its " great crossings." I hope friend Cheek 
will not " go with the multitude to do evil," nor go " the 
downward road" with them, as per anecdote: A trnveler 
once inquired his best route to Indianapolis, and was an- 
swered, "Go by the way of Xapoleon." "Well, how to 
Columbus, in Bartholemew County?" "Why, ]iy the way 
of Napoleon." "And how to ]Madison ?" "Well, tir, liy 
Napoleon, ag.ain." These were all proper answers, but the 
stranger, supposing himself hoaxed, pertly asked — "And 
which way to h— 1?" "By the way of Napoleon, by all 
me.ans. Hurry along, friend, when you get there, you'll 
have company enough, and need inquire no ;nore, fur all 
the people about Napoleon are going that way!" I guess 
not — 'pon honor. 

A son of my friend, Wm. Brice, lost one of his hands 
by an accidental discharge of his gun, and a Mr. Sellers 
escai'Cd a horrible death just "by the skin of his teeth." 

. "Di.ngcrs stand thick through all the ground, 
To push us 10 the tomb." 

Alls! how true, and yet how few seein to heed it. I 
must nut pass unnoticed my early friend, James Mills and 
fjimily, my pleasant homo in court time. !Mr. Mills died 
eeveral years ago, lamented by all who knew him. Mrs. 

■■'-';:: CO 


i> :;■(. .<■ ;t. 

1 hn^ /'.A 


Mills has suffered the amputp.tion of one of her feet, is 
now living -nith that sweet daiicrlitor, Sarah, now Mrs. 
John M. Wilson, Esq., where every kindness and attention , 
i-i naid to her that affection and fondness can sui:>i;;est, and 
an ample competency can effect. My little pet David, has 
become an interesting nnd promising young man. Eliza- 
beth, now Mrs. R. D. Brown, Esq., who aick^d n\c es.sen-. 
tially in copj-ing my census duplicate, in 15-40, resides liere, 
blessed v.ith a kind, good husband and a happy home. 
Jauics, a most extraordinary young man, a dutiful son, a 
fund, sweet brotlier, a worthy companion, wun bright 
honors in the Mexican war. came home and suddenly died, 
.beloved and bemotuied by all wlm knew him. He died in 
eight of heaven, in hope of a blessed immortality. I fain 
■would, but can not longer dwell. 

Good old father Nichols, father Canfield, David Kerr, 
Stephen Jarvis, Benjamin Vaile, father Durham, the ven- 
erable Widow Weaver, and other cherished friends, too 
numerous to mention, reside here; to all of whom I owe 
a debt of gratitude for their liberality and kindness to 

David Gardner paid me in advance for three copies of 
my book, and made me a present of two dollars, beside. 
Thomas Spicknell subscribed liberally too, and he and his 
good lady have kindly entertained me, " many a time and 
oft" Such friends are worth having, and of being held 
"in everlasting remembrance." 


Here I held a public temperance discussion with my 
•worthy friend, Elijah Huffman, Esq., as before noticed. 
As usual in all such cases, we both came off Levi — but 
n.ine was a little the b?dt — best as matter of course. 
Old father Ilannegan was a Revolutionary sdiiier; he 

died . years of age. I pronounced his funeral ser- 

Tuon, and wrote his epitaph. Peter and Joseph Hannegaa 

402 cotton's 

reside here — my early and eyer-c])orished friends. lion. 
John Crozier and lion. George Cornelius, ex-representa- 
tives, reside here also. Frieod Cornelius' son ph-ncred 
into the creek to bathe or swim on a liot d-i'- — •c-iiriC out 
;;,uddctiiy, complained a moment, and died upon the spot. 
0, wliat a painful shock ! Boys, be careful Kow you 
plunge into the -water when overheated. A Mr. Chllson 
hung himself upon a tree in the woods several yea.r» ago. 
My friends will excuse me if I make special mention of 
Mrs. Noah Vcivis. When she was a little interesting miss, 
I used to preach at her father's house, out upon Laugury, 
and ever found it a pleasant and welcome home. The 
memory of good old father and mother ^Montgomery, how 
precious to my heart. More of this iji its proper place. 
I had the pleasure of joining in the bands of matrimony 
two of 3Irs. Davis' daughters at one time, and at one 
ceremony, the only occurrence of the kind in all my 
hymeneal career. (See hymeneal department ) :Mr.s. Davis 
is a sister to the Captains Montgomery, of world-wide 
fame, and of good report wherever known. Eliel Chatfin, 
John Todd, and Samuel Yfood, early settlers and worthy 
citizens, and my early friends, must be registered in my 
book. My most worthy friend, "\Vm. Arnold, Esq., has 
removed to Iowa, loved and missed. 


lion. Jolin D. Johnson, ex-representative and delegate to 
the State Constitutional Convention, resides here in peace 
and plenty— an excellent man, honored by all, as well he 
should be. And the same may be said of my venerable 
friend, Joseph Churchill, Esq., and old father Givan. All 
have large, intelligent, and exceedingly tine and interesting 
families of children. 

Hugh Alexander had a son drowned in the creek, under 
circumstauce.'j somewhat indicative of foal play. A Mr. 

' ' ■ msTOPJCAL. ■■* 403 

Lambertson -tvas tliroum from a runaway horse, and his 
brains actually dashed out against a tree — poor man. 

The Rev. Mr. Connelly, pastor of the Baptist Church, is 
highly e.steenied and useful in his ''work of hibor and 
love." My Sparta friends have done no]>ly by me— that 
they have. A Mr. Sage was oucc bitten by a copperhead, 
but recovered. 

mooke's hill. 

ITore, at a campmeeting, the Lord -wrought wondera for 
ine. It was doubtful with many whether I ought to preach, 
whether I ever could. It was resolved upon to give me au 
opportunity to shuw myself, and let all the people judge 
for themselves. I was to preach on Sabbath morning at 
sunrise, and brother Thomas llitt was immediately io fol- 
low me with one of his sweet, melting sermons, so as to 
cover my defeat and save the cause. Jacob-like, I wrestled 
all night with God in prayer, either to be set" free or con- 
fused and silenced for ever. If it were not my duty to 
preach, why should I feel the woe upon me? I knew that 
I was (jrt'cii and awkward, and unpromising. I also knew 
that God could bring strength out of weakness — could 
thresh a mountain with a worm; and what God willed, 
that I desired to do ; and I yielded up my all to ITim, to 
be determijicd by the morning service. "Well, so it was 
that I astonished every body — myself, preachers and all; 
and such another shout in the camp you never heard. 
Even good brother llitt publicly apologized for his embar- 
rassment in having to succeed such a happy eflbrt. And 
from that day to this, I have had a fair field, good audi- 
ences, and happy meetings. And my friends who stood 
.out at first, (among whom was my good friend Judge 
Dunn) say I should preach more instead of less. That to 
me was a most propitious occasion, and the memory of it 
is sweet, and cheers my heart even to this day. 

"VV^e talk about forest cities, railroad cities, and the like. 
Well, Moore's Hill should be christened the "clergyman's 

404 cotton's keepsake. . 

Tillajra." Let me sec, tliore are the Reverends "Wood, 
Smith, Ad.ims, Curtis, Prather, Spencer, Mapes, Connelly, 
Ferine, and the stationed minister, in t'oe bargain — all gou i 
men and true, right in Muore's Hill! Kev. John Dashiell 
had both ot his legs broken at a time, bvit is no\r sound 
and wclL 

John C. ^^oore, that excellent and useful man, had a 
little son which accidentally hung himself while at play, 
-and was found dead. O, what a painful shock! The old 
citizens have mostly parsed away. Kana C. St:vens, my 
early friend, and Dr. Bowers, and Culiins, and Ferine 
reside here. The Dashiells and others have removed, 
greatly missed and fondly cherished still. 

Good old Father Moore, of sainted memory, must not 
Tje unnoticed or furgotten. One of the earliest settlers, his 
liouse was a preaching-place, and a home fir tlie prouchers, 
for many long years. The church, the community, arid 
even the world, owe much to the memory and to the 
labors of Father Moore. If not what might be called an 
eminent and eloquent preacher, he was an excellent and 
useful man. At a campmeeting upon his premises, the 
first temperance pledge was presented, and the first tem- 
perance society was formed in the count}-, at the instance 
of the sainted and beloved John Strange. Dr. 11. J. Bowers, 
I believe, was elected the first president, and I was one 
of the officers. Father Moore took hold of the enterprise 
with a right hearty good will, and the result is, they have 
iic\er yet had a low, filthy doggery in the place since. 
Father Moore's family have been right all the time upon 
the liqtior question ; but J. C. has made "to 
Boston." In furnishing a true record, these things must 
conio in ; but it is also true that, at a great personal sac- 
rifice, J. C. Moore makes not another whisky-barrel. Pro- 
gress and reform all the- time. John C. ]\Ioore is one of 
the very best and m.ost influential and useful men in the 
place. Friend Bowers says that their beautiful college is 
the result of temperance, and should bo christened "Strango 


CoIle<:!;e." My. ever-cherished friend, AVilliam J. McCreary, 
Esq.-, once had a fearful runa'way here. And now, buys, 
for a bear story, to quit on. A ^Ir. Heath, more than forty 
Tears a;i;o, wa.s beset by a furious bear, riglir iiere in 
Moore's HiU. Aioue i;; me aeptii? of au u.ib.\yl::i: f.;rest, 
out of sight and hearing, he struggled for life and victory 
for two long, fearful and painful hours. "With his as iu 
his hands, and a large tree- at his back, he kept her afc 
bay, but could inflict no fatal blow. His heart oft failed 
him, and he nearly abandoned all hope, -svhcn a fortunate 
blow gave him the advantage, vrhich he adroitly fallowed 
up, and then triumphed in deliverance — killed the old 
bear, and then two large cubs, and escaped unharmed, ex- 
cept much fatigued and much alarmed. A two hours' fight 
with a bear, right here in Moore's Hill, not far from the 
beautiful church and college I Boys, think of that will 
you? Good old Mother ]\Ioore still survives. 

William Wheeler, Esq., and James Wells, with exceed- 
ingly interesting families, reside here, in honor and good 
circumstances. Good old Father and ]\Ioiher Ewing, L be- 
lieve, have both passed away. Nelson Kctcham. my former 
neighbor and friend, once lost two children at a time, or 

nearly so. A Mrs. was once badly bitten by a 

copperhead-suake, right in her own house, but recovered. 

My venerable friend, Elijah Fuller, an early settler, tells 
■wonderful stories about wild beasts, such as every where 
abound. He is well stricken in years, as is my friend, 
Squire Falkner. A man and his daughter were drowned 
in attempting to ford the creek with his horses and wagon. 
The Rev. Mr. Lie, a Green Mountain Boy, a perfect giant, 
and an excellent and useful man, is located near by. And 
here, too, is my good friend, George Valentine, and others. 

)1: >:■ ixta li-n^"' ii.liii 

406 . cotton's keepsake. 

■' •■■ ■ . GREEN CHAPEL. 

Here resides the Rev. John Stoopo, a good nnd useful 
man. Omar G. Stockman, a model fanner, and a fri^-tid 
woriti iiaving. And here, too, I find my fair friund, 3Irs. 
Ellen Younp;, now Mrs. George Burroughs, hajipily located, 
and blessed with abundance and pence. IL-t only child, 
Anne Young, is most promising and interesting — is quite 
a poetess, as is a young Miss Burroughs. Friend Bur- 
roughs is. an old resident, though not a very old man, 
whom I place upon the list of my choice and ^vorthy 
friends. It is a fine settlement. I -wili not omit my 
friends at Hull's schoolhouse, \vhu treated me kindly. A 
very excellent man, in moderate circum-tances, and long 
afflicted \vith poor health, feeling that he Mas a burden 
upon his family and friends, applied a razor to his throat, 
and cut a fearful and anfui gash; but by" timely aid, ho 
•was saved from sudden death — has improved in health — is 
useful and beloved. What a narrow escape! vidiat must 
have been his mental sufferings! Friends, don't neglect 
the poor and afflicted too long. don't! 

Sqcike Elkod, post-master, merchant, and inn-keeper, 
gave me kind and good entertainment and a i'vea pass, aside 
from his cheerful patronage to my work. lie deserves to 
have his name published in largo capitals, to bo preserved 
as a memorial of him for ever. Here ray personal acquaint- 
ance is limited, but they did a generous part by me. The 
Stevenscs, McCabes, Yandciahs, McKittrichs and others, 
have long resided here, and whose kindness I gratefully 


Hero used to reside old Father Sutton and lady, whom I 
early knew and cherished as friends, dear to my heart. 
Their numerous children live hero still, in peace and plenty. 


My good friend Craven resides a little cast, — an early set- 
tler — wolvos plenty. Wm. Sutton once had a fearful runa- 
way affair, was injured but a little. J. N. Blasdell, wliom I 
have long known as an excellent and worthy citi/.en. resides 
liere in easy oirenmstance^. Ali of wlioxii tic;vl.uu me uiosfc 
kindly, as did their excollont fimilics. John Smith was 
killed by the fallii-.g of a tree in 1854:. Isaac Ilowery by 
the falling of a limb in a storm in lS3ti. Jolm F. Beal 
had his thigh and his ribs all badly broken by a fall from 
a tree. Isaac X. Blasdell once had a fearful runaway, but 
escaped unharmed, by a miracle. Vachel Lindsday dirked 
his own son, a lad of some 16 years, in a most horrid and 
fearful manner onco. A Miss Tucker hung herself here, \a 
■1S42. „, , ^.. ■ ■ - , 

'v.' ■:■..'*.". PIERCEVILLE. ' _ ^ 

Father Williams, George M. Stites, Nathaniel Pixon, Wm. 
D. Bratton, A. Ilenthorn, 0. Gookins, E. P. French, CMarke 
and James Jordan, and their good ladies, well deserve a 
favorable notice at my hands, as does friend Brooks, "Wood, 
Squire Hill, Milliken, the Snodgrasses and others, of South 
Milan, just below. A man by the name of Tanner, I be- 
lieve, years ago, in attempting to follow the Brookville trace 
hoine, from Versailles, got lost in a snow-storm, and per- 
ished. A young man here, was once fiercely beset with a 
panther, but escaped unharmed. 


Here reside? good old Father and Mother Kichardson, 
parents of the Rev. Harman Richardson, a somewhat emi- 
nent divine, an excellent and a useful man. The old folks 
mourn the loss of the son of their old age, a sweet promis- 
ing boy, of many prayers and bright hopes, early taken 
from the evil to come. So friends, yield him up to the will 
of heavoi), and soon, I doubt not, you'll meet him in "that 
better land." The Rev. Mr. Harbin, to whom I once 
listened with great pleasure, and all the friends hero treated 
Jne most kindly and liberally. , I must not fail to mention 

lO^ • ■ ^ cotton's keepsake. 

my yonng friend, Dr Roberts, who rendered me gratuitous 


So named in honov of T't^i'n T>.•.>^^^ - iv;0..t ei.J^geLi^; and 
business like man, who was the real builder up of the 
place. lie went Siauh to impruve his health; but died iu 
Kew Orleans — v.-as brought back, and sleeps in the village 
bur^-iug-ground, and a beautiful marble shaft, -srith suitable 
inscriptions, marks his routing-place ; so much for the taste 
and affection of a fond, a widowed companion. Old Mrs. 
King, living alone, her dress caugiit on fire, and she was 
burned to a crisp, and died shortly after disMvery, in. 
great composure of mind, and free from pain. A young 
man was suddetily killed by the falling of a tree. Livings- 
ton Suell and lady, found their little babe dead by their 
side in bed. The poor mother was frantic with grief. 
Subsequently the house and all was consumed by fire. P. 
S. Hunter and lady, the Freemans, Plummers, Mayhews, 
MaxT^-ells, Sopers and others, I can not omit to mention,^ 
as deserving my lasting gratitude for their liberality and 


The residence of that beautiful orator, thelTon. S. S. Hard- 
ing, who lives in a palace, and abounds in jilenty, and 
brother to Dr. 31. II. Harding, of whom favorable mention 
has already been made. Their venerable widowed mother 
died precisely as did Mrs. King, consumed by the burning 
of her dress, all alone — had been left but a bhort time to 
be iu company again soon, when, alas! it was too late. 
Her cries were heard but not apprehended. Full of years 
and full of honors, she passed thus painfully away, loved 
and lamented by all who knew her. A Mr. Blackmore 
was suddenly killed by the fail of a board from a building. 
A Mr. Dixon and son were both drowned in attempting to 
ford, the creek in a wagon, one of the hoi-ses also ]?erished. 
The lamented Judge Dennison once had a fearful run away, 

^ , HISTORICAL. 409 

and Tvas crippled for life. Old Father Swift twice Trounded 
iu the -wars of the country, used to reside here, but has 
goue to his reward. His excellent widow still survives hioi. 
i\Iy early and good friends, ^h: and Mrs. Miuerva Swift, 
1!... Tv^v. I*, r. Stiles c.r.l ^::1" fri^r.d P.^.n- • ^ p"'l la'Iv 
friend Aklen, Dr. Isgrigg, John Sage, and the Hon. llirani 
Knowlton, who was exceedingly liberal and kind to me, are 
gratefully remembered, as well they should he. 

Hon. S. S. Harding's steam mill was once consumed by 
fire. ■ - ■ ■ 


My first ministerial services in the west, were rendered 
in this community, at good old Father and Mother Mont- 
gomery's, of sainted and precious memory, parents of the 
Captains Montgomery, of whom favorable mention has 
already been made. I have left home before sunrise, of a 
precious Sabbath morning, traveled all the way on fuot, a 
distance, then, of some eighteen miles, preached at 11, footed 
it back to Boardman's, preached again at 4, and then footed 
it home by early bedtime ; and was happy arid cheerful 
in "this great work of faith, and labor of love," and am 
happy now in the remembrance of these bygone days. 
What minister can say as much, and as truthfullj'. Some of 
mj^ fair audience were clad in their striped linen and plain 
linsey dresses, and looked quite tasty and fine at that. 
Gentlemen in moccasins, buckskin overalls and linsey 
hunting shirts. Yet we had good times, and got happy. 
Capt. James Montgomery, then an interesting young man, 
had just completed a saw mill vrhich consumed all his 
mo.ans, and before put to use, it was consumed by fire. 
Thi<! so disheartened him, that he took to the river, where, 
by correct habits, he soon won fame and favor, and aecu- 
nuihited wealth for himself, and opened the way for all his 
brothers, Samuel, J. Edward, and John William. So that 
the burning of his mill was the making, both of him and 
his. How iiiiperfect and shortsighted T,-e are. No steam- 

410 cotton's keepsake. 

boat captain in all tbo "West has a more enviable reputa- 
tion than my early friend, Ciipt. James Montgomery, now 
of New Albany. When a young man, he was badly and 
dangerously bitten by a copperh.ead. Rock fern, boiled 
}„ ,„.„,, ^;,u „„,, ^_„i._ _^ n,. ..,^K...tion cf tho ylnnt 
to the bite, gave inmiediate relief. Save this receipt. 
Rock fern grovss in the richest places in the woods, has 
a white blossom, and a scolloped leaf, which doe? not en- 
tirely surround the stem or stalk. Remember that, too. 
John William, the idol of all, -was drowned at Cincinnati, 
and mine was the mournful pleasure to pronounce his 
funeral address. ITe sleeps in tlie family burjdng-ground, 
on the old homestead, beside other loved ones, who,-e names 
and memory are precious. A daugliter, Mrs. Dashiell, my 
early pot, lives on the old place in happy circumstances. 
A Mr. Yansile was killed by the falling of a limb from a 
tree. Two children were lost, and both perished in the 
woods at an early day. Friend Peckhara, Googins, Fisher 
Dean, of the early settlers, still survive. A Mr. Risinger 
shot his niece, mistaking her for a deer, and she fell dead 
on the spot, and he was frantic with grief and horror at 
the spectacle before him. 0! how fondly I cherish my 
early friends, tlie Montgomeries ! 

Here used to live my lamented friend, Amos Boardman, 
before referred to. And here still live my early friends, 
Squire Robinson, friend Edwards and Whitehead, good old 
Father Stevenson and Canfield, early and cherished friends. 
The Rev. B. F. Ferris, a gentleman of note and distinction, 
of usefuness and v, orth, a most pleasant family, resides here. 
And here, too, are ray friends, Wm. Shane and Dr. Howell, 
a somewhat eminent physician. 


■ 0. HEusTis rx^. 

In all my extcnsiye travels, I never found a better land- 
lord and landlady, in one cj-tahlislunent, than Mr. and Mrs. 
Ih^iisri^ Friend Tleii^tis Im^ more, quaint sayinii's and 
amusing aneod .'tes to amuse and entertain his guests chan 
any other man 1 ever ^aw, in his calling; and Mrs. lleustis 
is an A Xo. 1 landlady against the world, for a neat and 
excellent cook ; and the happy faculty of making herself 
companionable and agreeable to her guests, and, at the 
same time, preserving her own proper dignity and self- 
respect, she possesses in an cminciit degree. They keep an 
excellent house, good fxre, and reasonable bills. My hand 
in, here let me give an item or two in my tavern experi- 

Once on a time I put up for the night, fared well, but 
paid just about two full bills. After I had mounted my 
nag in the morning, I said : " Stranger, you are the best 
cut out man for a landlord that I ever saw — at least in 
some respects." "Ah! in what respect?" "Why, sir, 
while your guests are with you, you take right good care 
of ihem, and when they go away, you take right good care 
of yourself." • Crest-fallen and mortified, he said, if I thought 
his bill too high, he would refund. "Not at all, sir; but 
you must not take every thing for green that may chance to 
look green ;" and I "left him alone in his glory." 

So again: la one of my eastern tours, I happened to be 
the only passenger in the stage, a little west of Bo:;ton. A 
fine broiled mackerel was smoking on the table, for break- 
fast. The landlord sat down with me. Taking all the rich 
part of the mackerel into his own plate, he told me to 
help myself, when seizing the plate, I passed it over to hira, 
saying, "Landlord, if you please, I should like to exchange 
plates with you." " Exchange plates ! What do you moan ?" 
" Why, bless you, sir, I reckon I know the good part of a 
mackerel as well as yo\i do. I was raised down about Port- 
laud, where good mackerel is ali the go." And then if ihero 

412 cotton's Kf:EPSAKE. 

•was not a red face, and a hawing and heaimlng, I -vrould 
not say it. " 0, if you prefer this, you can havo it. sir, and 
^\■elcolnc." " Xot I, .sir; but do n't you ever try thar game 
Avith another guest;" and I venture he never did. ]'o'")r 
man. he l,wf nli np-o^^t- f >- !■- --'-^^ I v-^iif'' :t, and I left 
hiiji to enjoy the hixury of liis musings. AVeli, let that suf- 
fice as specimens, and I pass. 

Here, in t!ie neighborhood of friend Ileustis', I taught 
my first school, nearly forty years ago. The Congers, 
Millscs, Powells, Morrises, and Dazies have disappeared. 
!My venerable friend, Daniel Hathaway, still occupies his 
early forest home, much improved and beautliicd — was 
thrown from his horse; broke his leg; and is crippled for 
life. A fearful mortality bereaved him of several of his 
children several years ago. I have few such friends as 
Daniel Ilathaway-T-better none can have. Elder Babb, an 
excellent and acceptable minister of the Baptist Church, 
now resides in the north part of the State. Father Gari-i- 
gus has passed away, but his excellent lady, and mother of 
a numerous and excellent family of children, still survives 
to bless and comfort them. My most fondly cherished and 
early friends, Philander Fvoss and lady, whose house was 
my early preaching-placo, and they the first couple I ever 
married, removed noith, and died several years ago. The 
dear children all are peculiarly dear to my heart and 
memory, as I have good reason to know that 1 am to theirs. 
O, how fondly and kindly greet and entertain me when 
I can do myself the pleasure to call upon them! Early 
associati(in;s and friendships, how sweet, how true, and how 

James and Joseph Kelso, Thomas Slack, William Flint, 
"WiJIiam Shane, Thomas Coen, and Sandf<u-ds S. llawley, and 
all their dear kind families, are by no means to bo forgotten 
or overlooked. Mrs. llawley was one of my ■t-yj-^ first and 
hesi pupils, as was also her excellent brother, James Steven- 
son, and my kind good neighbor, Samuel S. Conger; better 
scholar.? and better citizens would be hard to find. Thev arw 

niSTORICAL. 413 

about all that are left in this region of my first pupils, and 
hence this special notice — thi.s calling up to mind the plea- 
sant scenes and associations of ")jygi>ne days." 3Iy ever- 
clicrished friend, Juhu Jacksou, %Yho sleeps here beside 

"Lastlon,^ sleep that kno^s no wakhig," •■ . ^ 

■was also one of my first friends and best pupils. With a 
sigli and a tear, I drop the curtain anJ pass. 

John Keiley -was crushed to death in Conger's Mill. His 
good lady, also, died only a short time before, leaving a 
large fiimily of young children, and numerous friends to 
mourn their loss. Old Father Conger suifered a Trorld of 
woe, for years, with a lame leg, but at a good old age, 
both he and his excellent lady fell asleep in death. They 
were my early, my ever constant friends. Cyrus Mills, 
Esq., one of the best men in the world, removed we-t, aud 
died soon after, lamented and honored by all. My lament- 
ed friend, Zaehariah S. Conger, and his dear widow, Tacey, 
laid me under great and lasting obligations for their gen- 
erosity and kindness to me. Bless the children ! how fondly 
I cherish their names and memories ! My first school ! 
how fondly I cherish it even to this day ! A poor log cabin, 
with a "cat and mud" chimney, puncheon floor, and oiled- 
paper for glass, was the best house that the county could 
then afford ; and still wc were all happy, and got along 
well. Children, think of that noic, and be thankful for, 
aud I'sdl improve your "better inheritance." "Will you? 

Here I have labored much, both as a minister and a 
teacher; some of my early pupils are now highly educated, 
respectable, and useful. Prominent upon the list, stand 
Francis Dorman, Edwin Ferris, Sampson Givan, and Matil- 
da Mcader, now Mrs. Ahira Smith, who is indeed a fine 
poetess, an excellent lady, and a happy, contented wife, as 
luay be seen by her beautiful poem heretofore noticed. El- 


dor Meader and his excellent lady are happy in all their 
family relations — all taking part in their family devotions, 
and all rejoicing together. 

"Does pare rcli,_:ion charm tliee ' . > 

• :.' ■ •'Would 'ft thou that she should arm theo 

.'. . . ■ Against the hour of woe? 

■- '• Her dwelling is not only ' _ " ' ' 

. • - In temples built for prayer, ' /•.. ' ' ', 

,j^. -,. ■ For home itself is lonely, " 1 ' >~ ' ' ' 

->' , Unless her smiles be there. - ';"■■■ ■ ."' 

,_#;_" • "Wherever we may wander, 

;'■ ■_. * 'Tis all ui vain we roam, '"* ; •■ ■'• 

If worshipless her altars 

Around the hearth at home." 

Shubar L. Header, my dearest friend and brother, hi3 
exceedingly kind lady, ray early associate and friend, and 
other loved and cherished ones, have removed to new homes 
in the "Far West." The blessing of heaven abide with 
them, as do my prayers, my good wishes, and kind remem- 
brances. Good old Father and Mother Dixon worship God 
in the same happy manner, as do Elder Meader and lady, 
and live by the same pious rule. Old Father and Mother 
King, of precious memory, and Father and Mother Terrell, 
parents of Asahel Terrell, one of the very best county com- 
missioners we ever had, and old Father Ellis have passed 
away. Mother Ellis is still active and well, and "smart 
as a steel-trap." Iler eldest son was drowned many ^-ears 
ago, over which she still mourns and grieves. Old Father 
and Mother Givan, early settlers and choice good citizens, 
still live, well stricken in years. The kind mate of my 
youth in Maine, Rufus Eice, slumbers here in death. Ilis 
excellent and kind family are scattered abroad. Happy 
indeed has been my connection with them. My good 
friend, Kufus, Jr., and bis kind lady, Sarah, are my cher- 
ished pupils, and occupy the old homestead in peace and 
plenty. Mr. and Mrs. John, Dorman, Mr. and Mrs. John 

:•'..■ ?.'K' 

_. ^ HISTORICAL. 415 

Todd, Michael and Sarah Dixon, "Wm. Green, Hezekiah 
Ilall, David McCoy, Wm. Withered, Father Syms, and all 
their kind families I fondly cherish, -\vith my uunamod 
friends iu this community. 

Joel "^'""•Ti-.ori in onrlv •s^tHor. -^vas found dead by the 
side of the road, just at the foot of the hill here. A tre- 
mendous tornado swept all before it nearly, several years 
ago ; much damage was done, but uo lives were lost. 

But I see 1 am crowding things too much. My friends, 
David Ellis and lady, and family, and Joseph's also, well 
deserve my gratitude and love. Father Ilaynes and lady, 
■parents of my eloquent friend, Lawyer llayncs, and old 
Father Ilulse, and Elder Ferris are well worthy of my re- 
membrance and love. Father and ^Mother Smith, and 
Loter, and that sinoidar genius and worthy man, Jacob 
Fielding, early settlers, now no more, well deserve a place 
in my litile book. 

Mrs. Ferris, a pious lady, suffered a world of woe with a 
fearful cancer, of which she at last died, in triumphant 
hope. Religion! the sanctifier and the sootlier of all 
our woes, how precious thou art; "As thy days are, so 
shall thy strength be." Ameji. 

A Mr. Mackoy, son of the sainted Father and ^lother 
Mackey, was bitten by a mad dog, and sometime after 
died, frothing and foaming with fearful con^iilsions, of hy- 
drophobia, the very thought and mention of which are 
painfully horrible. Well has the poet said — 

"Dangers stand thick through all the ground 
To push U3 to the tomb; 
And fierce diseases wait around 
To hxirry mortals home." 

Old Father llowery threw off his coat and, and then 
plunged, head foremost, into bis well and perished. I give 
the facts, and you, reader, may the comments. Robert and 
Fanny Ketcham, and Purnell and Rachel Parsons found 
their little babes dead upon their pillows. 0, what a pain- 

416 cotton's keepsake. 

ful sliock ! But loss to u?, to thorn is gain, no oue can 
■doubt. So cherub doars, farewell, farewell I . •-, 

Durham's mill, 

Owned by Noah C. L'uvliam. cs-represontative, and a pro- 
j.,luciiL luaa in the coiiiniunity, my early, kind, and con- 
stant friend. He has an intcresiing family, and lives in 
the enjoyment of abundance and peace. Just below, are 
ray excellent friends, the Johnsons, so favorably known all 
over the country. My good friend, Thomas ^Millburn, has 
removed west. Xathau and his lady have passed away ; 
she died with a fearful cancer. Old Father and ]Mothcr 
Eumsey, early settlers, are no more. One of my last and 
most important decisions, as a judge, was upon an issue 
connected with the c-sratc ; it was a subject of much interest 
and controversy, but the Supreme Court affirmed my judg- 
ment in all things. 

A gentleman informed me that he and several others 
■vvore out on a hunt, when their dogs started a panther, 
■vrhich they soon treed. All were anxious to bring down the 
game — •all, in a hurry, shot, and all made a clear miss; 
but the panther, not liking his position, sprang from the 
tree, and would have struck the ground, at least sixty yards 
from the tree, if his dogs had let him alight at all. But 
before he struck the earth, they were all upon him, and 
stretched him out, so that he fell an easy prey. They 
skinned him, and hung him up by their camp-fire, and got 
sixteen pounds of tallow, which was so hard that it would 
perfectly rattle. Just think of that panther story, right here 
in .Manchester, at Durha.n's Mill ! 

beuce's scnooLnousE. 

Here I met with a warm reception, and a good sub- 
scription. The Elders. Parkses, ^lenualls, CanlieMs, Chis- 
. mans, Clementses, "Wards, and Bruces, atid otlier kind 
ffiemis, must all be registered. Walter Kerr was deputy 
eheriff in mv court for vears — au excellent oflicer, a wor- 


thy man, a good citizen. Cynis Canficld, one of the best 
assessors in the State, and one of the best men in it, has 
gro-R-n up in this county, and knows it all "like a book." 
My old friend, John Howard, who, like myself, has taught 
c.^hnol all his days, honored and useful in his calling, is 
holding forth here. His pioneer and torest nisiory ought not 
to be lost. !My early neighbor, I)avid Ketchani — and a 
kinder neighbor never lived — resides here. Good old 
Father Stevenson has removed ; his excellent lady suffered 
the, amputation of her breast in a most heroic manner; it 
being fearfully diseased with a cancer, but died a few 
years after. A Mr. McKenny, residing here, was executed 
in Illinois for rubbery and murder — poor, mistaken man! 

The Ilov. Mr. Erwin laid me under lasting obligations, 
by withdrawing an appoiotmeut, to accommodate me, and 
for his kind address and interest in my behalf lie and 
the sainted Rev. Father Morgan, and Curtis, and the former 
excellent pastor, Cell, have wrought a good work here, 
both for the church and for the community. Wm. Dils, 
many years high sheriti", a first rate officer, lives here, most 
pleasantly situated. Ilis kind, good lad}^ was a daughter 
of the Rev. Father ]\Iorgan, as is, also, my fair friend, !Mrs. 
Anderson, whom I fondly cherish. My good friend, Daniel 
Frazier laid me under renewed obligations, for personal 
kindness and interest in my enterprise, as did my young 
friend, Samuel B. Sanks and others. John Elweil and 
several of his family died suddenly and most singularly a 
few years ago, and a 3Iis3 Cheek deliberately threw herself 
into a cistern, it is supposed, and perished — poor girl. 
Who is to blame? Anybody? There must be an awful 
struggle in the mind before a delicate and tender female 
could lay violent hands upon herself. 0, what feanul 
disclosures the fiual day will reveal. . "Stand from under,' 

.■A;"ii:fo'i -ri 

418 cotton's keepsake. 


So named in houor of Francis "Worlcy, a -v^-orthy and 
distinguished citizen. Ilis father was one of the first 
settlers, once heard a great ado among a flock or drove of 
'-•ild I.jjjo iu the woous:, cautiousl}' approached, saw a big 
volf upon a high stump, surrounded by some fifty large 
hogs, ail eager to get a nab at him for attempting to seize 
one of the little pigs. There sat mister wolf eying the hogs, 
and father Worley, eying him for a time, summoned him 
down with a faithful and trusty leaden messenger, and the 
hogs tore him into " fiddle-strings," with a right hearty 
good will. Hogs have at one excellent trait of charac- 
ter. They never desert their friends in the hour of danger. 
"Honor to whom honor is due." At another time father 
"Worley, I think, or some one down on Laughry, saw a 
bear and a panther attempting to cross a deep ravine, in 
opposite directions, upon the same log. Like McPiierson 
and his friend meeting upon the brow of a precipice, 
neither would back out, and there they stood parleying 
and growling, and menacing each other ; panther at la^sb 
turned about to retreat, Avhcn bruin caught him back to 
with a death-grip and a squeeze that stopped his breathing 
apparatus in a hurry, but in the struggle both rolled oif 
into the chasm below. By-and-by, bruin was seen wad- 
dling up the steep bank, and came and sat down upon the 
crossing log again, as much as to say, '" Stop me who dare," 
when "bang" went the trusty rifie, whiz M-ent the ball, 
and pop went bruin into the ditch again. The huntsman, 
cautiously approaching, saw them side by side, caha and 
cold in death. Tlie boar had actually killed the panther, 
and he had killed the ]>ear. There's a bear and panther 
story for you boys, that 's worth telling, both for the story 
and the moral it contains. If mister bear and mister panther 
had been a little more kind and accommodating, neither 
of them would have been injured. Slulbornness and sel- 
fishness often punish themselves. 


Again, if you mn^i encounter <in adversary, be careful 
how you take hold of him. Had bruin caught his adver- 
sary' in such a manner that lie could have brought his 
fearful talons in play, he -n-ould, no doubt, have got " the 
■ftortc of LUK! ^^\'l." Lcr-" " iinml. then, even froia the 
instinct and precaution of a bear. Ease, safety, and suc- 
cess in any and every thing, depends much upon how we 
' take hold of it An old adage says, " take every thing by. 
the" smooth handle," which I have done all the days of my 
life, and I do assure you that it works to " o, perfect charm.'' 

Mrs. Mary Ann Worley, widow of the lamented Henry 
Worley, and daughter of 0. Ileusti?, Esq., was once thrown 
from a runaway horse; her jawbone was all broken to 
atoms nearly, and otherwise seriously bruised and injured ; 
but to the surprise of all, and the skillful management of 
Dr. Harding, she recovered, scarcely disfigured at all. Her 
presence of mind and her mother-love was such that she 
;laid her inftmt babe down so gently that it did not awake 
from its peaceful slumbers. It was taken up, carried in, 
and laid upon the bed for a corpse, but to the surprise of 
all, it soon let them all know that it was alive and well, 
and had enjoyed a good, sweet nap. She is now the in- 
teresting and happy wife of Mahlon Kerr, son of my early 
friend, Walter Kerr, Esq., so favorably known all over 
the country, as before noticed. Other kind friends I faia 
would, but can not, in justice to them or myself, mention 

fowler's schoolhouse, 

So called, in honor of a large family of Fowlers, living 
in the neighborhood, of high respectability and usefulness. 
Good old mother Fowler is now eighty-one j-ears of age, 
smart and active .still. Her history, like old mother Cheek's, 
perfectly tallies, and is full of thrilling interest. She once 
killed " a whopping big rattle-snake," right at her donr. 
Soon after, another of equal dimensions came right into 

420 cotton's keepsake. 

■her house and ont at the other door, and she ran after ib 
and killed that one too. Tiioy Avcre evidently mates. At 
another time she was hadly bitten with a copperhead. And 
if I only kneu- that my fair readers -svould m.t ])lush, I 
would tell them how it happened— jmt ri.s the fair lady 
luld ii. lo me. 1 think I'll tell it, any how, "hit or miss.'"'- 
"Well, the old lady, young, beautiful and vigorous then, was 
out in the aeld "pulling flax." A young and beautiful 
wife and mother out in the field "pulling flax!" IIow 
that sounds, don't it? Now, don't faint or scream if you 
can avoid it, when I inform you that she was pulling flax, 
barefooted, when she was thus bitten. Mercy on me I 
"What shall I do now? A barefooted lady pulling flax, has 
got right into my book^ too. Did you ever see the like?" 
Tavner Cheek, brother to Nicholas, as before stated, re- 
sided here at a good old age, highly respected by his neigh- 
bors and friends, and I have long known him to be a man of 
truth and veracity, — located here in ITv'G. lie confirms the 
Indian story about " Old Nick," and adds that his brother 
jumped upon the fallen Indian, and stamped upon him ia 
his face, and nearly killed him before he would let him go, 
and then told him to be off", Avhich he seemed in great haste 
to do, and glad to get off at that. Tavner informs me that 
wolves, bears, and panthers were numerous, that in the night 
time they kept up a constant pow wow at the Big Lick, 
just above the mouth of Ilogan, where the beautiful city 
of Aurora now stands — that they often caught panthers 
there with a klni of hook set fir theui — often shot them; 
and once .when v.-at;hing there for deer, eight wolves came 
into the Lick at once, and he shot one of them — had seen 
hujidreds of turkeys at; a time, and had seen as many as 
one hundred deer at a time often on the bottom, had shaded 
himself in a booth of bushes, and shot as many as four 
without being discovered, took his own time, and took his 
choioe of the lit — that he had killed more than one hundred 
wild cats in his time. They were a singular and savage 
animal, dark brmdle color, with short tails aud sharp claws, 

' ■ HISTOKICAL. ' * 421 

and so lon<T, that -when taken by the hind fpct, he could 
not raise them clear from the earth — that Iiis lather had 
killed as many as thirty doer in tlie Lick, close by wliere 
he now lives, on "Wilson Creek ; when his cabin \ras not 
ia.u« Lhuu oue Li.iii...d yar:l: f;-:::: the T.'-h, nn.l Ms flunily 
occupying it — that a large bear came in to one of liis neigh- 
bor's cabins, sat him down in the corner of the room — the 
family slipping out the back -n-ay as the bear slipped in, 
gave the alarm, and he ^vas shot and killed in the cabin; 
that he, in company -with a few others, once camped out 
near -where friend Bnrk's beautiful mansion house noAV 
stands on the State road, where t'ne road forks for Law- 
renceburg and Aurora, took tlie pick of a turkey for sup- 
per, which was served up to order. In the morning, they 
folloAved along the ridge, about where the turnpike now is, 
as for as about where our good friend and fellow citizen, 
Jeremiah Ilowerton now lives. There their well trained 
dogs started game down Elk Pain, toward ITogan Creek, 
and that their dogs brought up five bears, three panthers, and 
one wild cat, all of which surrendered at discretion, when 
summoned so to do by their trusty rifles. Just think of tiiat, 
right here in Manchester. Here are Indian, turkey, deer, 
wild cat, bear, wolf, and panther stories, to which I might add 
a few elk, all reported by a single man of sterling integrity 
and truth. Had I room I would devote several pages to Mr. 
Cheek's thrilling and interesting narration. My venerable 
friends Joshua Sanks and Jesse Laird and others reside 
here, loved by all that know them. Mr. Cheek's narration 
prcLdudes a farther notice here, except simply to slate that 
good old Father Sanks is 80 years old, and never had the 
toothache — never was confined to his room a single day l>y 
sickness, and never had '• a law suit " in all his life. 

"A life of health and peace" 

for you, the result of temperate habits, and a correct 
moral and religious deportment, worth more thnn *' the 
gold of Opiilr," or the glitter of a crown — worthy of 

422 cotton's keepsake. 

■ nil desire, all imitation, and all praise. Wouldst thou live 
long aud eujoy life, be respected aud loved, " _ 

" Go thou aud do likewise." '- . .': . 

'weight's corner. 

The early settlers, Hon. Judge Palmer, old Father and 
Mother True, old Fiuher Vaughau, and Dils, aud Darling, 
and Riley Elliott, of cherished memory, are no more. Good 
old Father Jaqueth almost stands alone. His precious good 
lady died suddenly witli an apoplectic shock, so did good 
old Father Darling. His sou Thomas, now ^vell stricken 
iu years, had like to have passed away in a singular man- 
ner, but recovered, much to the surprise and cumfjrt of his 
fiirnily aud friends. A Mr. Ince hung himself iu the barn 
yoars ago. Old Father Jebine, a revolutionai-y soldier 
hung hiuiself upon a sapling iu the woods, that hardly 
cleared his knees from the ground. A Mr. Cunningham 
jumped out of his -wagon to pick up his hat, and fell and 
broke his neck. A Mr. O'Brine was looking back after hig 
friends, when his horse stumbled — threw him, and broke 
7iis neck. Here the Duncan House and four children were 
consumed by fire in 1322, {.See ballad.) The Freewill 
Baptist Church was consumed by fire a few years ago. 
About fifcy years ago a large elk was killed b}' John 
Dawson, and one of his neighbors, nigh where my friend 
Thomas Darling, Sr., now lives, and the last of the race in 
this coram unity. 

Old Nathan Finch, who first owned the old Jarroeth farm, 
inf;rmed me the other day, that while boiling sugar-wacer 
in the evening, ho was beset with a number of panthers, 
which he only kept off by throwing brands of fire at them. 
Supposing they had left, ho put out for home, which he 
Lad scarcely reached, when they surrounded his forest 
cabin, in hot pursuit of him — that bears and wolves were 
"thick as fleas." It was his lady, theu a Mrs. "Walden, 
that shot the turkay, and beat the Indians at a mark in 
Kew Lavrronceburg. And right here Tavner Cheek and 

.-. HiSTorjcAL. • 423 

others, killed their five bears, three panthers, and one -wild- 
cat, in one day, right here in sight and hearing of the 
turnpike and telegraph, the beautiful college edifice, and 
the Providence and Zion Chapels. This , shove's bow 
nntneroiis sucb animals were in pioneer times^'es right 
here in Manchester — In oar very midst. ! ^vhat a change, 
what a happ3' change has time, industry, and religion 
wrought ! . - 

I must not fail to notice the death of good old Father 
Oldham, one of the most pious and eloquent exhorters I 
ever know, who fell dead at his plow handles, last spring, 
with a disease of the heart. His good lady died "full of 
hope," several years ago, and his only and dear son, the 
Kev. Edward Oldham, his wife, and all ids children died 
within a short time of each other. Three sisters, Mrs. 
Julia Lyons, Mrs. Kebecea Eobinson, and Miss Charlotte, 
dear, preciuus friends, kre all that now remain of the large 
and worthy Oldham family. Such are the inscrutible ways 
of Him, who is too wise to err — too good to bo unkind. 
My early friend, Loziei-, and father of G. M. Lozier, Esq., 
ex-representative, rather a distinguished rnan, has removed 
west, and his pious lady to her home above. The squire's 
interesting and intelligent lady is a sister to my friend, 
Sparks Blasdell, Esq., and a daughter of Jacob Blasdell, of 
sainted and precious memory, whoso name can never be too 
often repeated, nor too fondly cherished. My exceedingly 
kind and good friends, Robert Owens, Wm. Palmer, Jere- 
miah Howerton, Columbus and Sullivan Jaquoth, Elias 
Heustis, James Burk, Henry Wood, Piobert and Charles 
Mason, their kind ladies and children, and others too 
numerous to mention, are f^indly cherished; and ray worthy 
friends, lion. Col. Wm. Perry, Abram True, David Tibbets, 
Esq., and Stokely Dills — whose house was all consumed by 
fire — and whose names, and wives and children we all love 
and respect, have sold out and removed, followed by the 
blessings of the friends who remain here. 


A Mr. Beach caui^ht three -wolves in one trap — one loft 
liis foot, the other two were held and slain, and for this 
wonderful feat, he was ever after known as " Wolf Beacb." 
Tliis was the last of wolves among us liere. A Mr. ]Mat- 
tocks had his thitrh all shattered +■-> n^n':,^z■ hy tlio explosion 
tii a cannon, at a mass raeetiui;; on the Fair Ground, and soon 
died. Poor fellow ! lloswell Craw felled a tree upon him- 
self, lay out all night, and was found in the morning man- 
gled and cold in death. 

Thomas Wilcox, a lad of some twelve years, at a shiva- 
reeing party, came to a sudden and painful death. It being 
dark, one of the parties discharged his pistol, with its muz- 
zle, unobserved, right upon the breast of young Wilcox ; 
and, although nothing but powder, the concussion upon 
the vitals was so great, that he fell, lingered one painful 
day, and exj)ired, to the deep anguish and grief of his kind 
and fond fi^ther and mother, who mourn his untimely end 
until this day, and v.-ill go down to their graves sorrowing. 
My young friend, Leonard C. Chase, sang a fine poetic lay 
upon the occasion, which I should be pleased to treat the 
friends and my readers to, did space permit. A single quo- 
tation, however, I will make: 

"No tongue can tell what feelings fell 
Upon the people all around, 
■ ' • ' When news they pot a boy was shot, 

And he lay moaning on the ground.' 

So much for a foolish shivareeing party, of which men- 
tion will again be made — and so much, too, for AV'right's 

N. B. — The Rev. Dr. AYooley, whom his friends regarded 
as an eminent and eloi^uent minister and a successful prac- 
titioner, quite recently removed to that country where 
"Sickness and sorrow, jviin and death 
Are felt and feared no more." 

But his name and his memory are fondly cherished 
still. . 



Here I taught some of my most pleasant schools. It is, 
decidedly, one of the finest S'lttlements in the West. Mary 
J-^v.r^^ A-^,yr-v,t..r. of f) o,%v.t^-' ;i ri ! 1 A »-i T1 SiH'll. <1if>d prcciously 
happy In religious hope and enjuynient. Miss Eliza and 
Jiliss Clara, fond, sweet sisters, and daughters of my early 
and most estimahle friends, Keul.ien ami Betsey True, died 
vrithin a short period of each other. Both were exceedingly 
interesting yuung ladies, and Miss Clara ^vas a Sue writer, 
a young lady of taste and genius, whose name and memory 
can never be obliterated from my throbbing heart !Mis3 
Sarah, daughter of Thomas and Jane Smith, my over dear 
friends, was almost an exoeptlou for mind and amiability. 
All dear cherished pupils, who have passed sweetly from 
earth away. — See Obituary. 

Joseph and Hannah Hansel, Ralph and Mary Collier, 
George and Ann True, John and Ana Collier, a much af- 
flicted but most interesting young lady; Samuel and Fran- 
ces Etta Beggs, Isaac and Helen Ward, Adolphus and Sarah 
Jane Kirshner, Joseph and Ann A. Hall, Alfred and 3Iary 
Jane Chamberlain, were all, except two, my early, my cher- 
ished pupils, and as such, and as families, have my warmest 
love and gratitude for great personal attentions and kind- 
ness. Joseph Hall and Adolphus Kirshner are now in the 
furniture business, in Cincinuati. Should any of my readers 
or friends visit the city on business, " in their line,'' I con- 
fidently advise them to give my worthy and most deserving 
friends a call, at Xo. 59 Broadway, a few doors below 
Lower Market. 

Miss Jane Ann, Miss Eilen, and Miss Mary, daughters 
of Tlionias and Betsy Hansel, are names too precious and 
dear ever to be overlooked or forgotten by me. Xor can I 
pass unnoticed my other pupils here; Miss Elizabeth and 
Mi.s.s Almira Firth, Miss Jane Ann, and little Miss Mary 
Thompson, Miss Jennie Davis, Miss Ann, Miss* Frances 
Etta, and Miss Rhoda Hall, Miss Mary Ann, Miss Helen, 
Miss Rachel, and little Miss Sebra Smith, Miss M;iry Eliza- 

426 cotton's keepsake. 

beth, and Miss Angeline Yanhorn, Miss Elizabeth, Miss 
Ann, Miss Sophronia, and little Miss Hannah Taylor; Miss 
Mary Ann, ]Miss Frances, and Miss Elizabeth Emerson ; 
Miss Lovina, Miss Clara, and 3Iis.s Enicline Elliott; Miss 
Eli-:r.b;th Ai^u, Mis^ Eii/.ii J.uid, Miss acbra, and little 
!Miss Josephine Hansel ; Miss Clara Jane, Miss Louisa, and 
little Sebra, and Harriet Beecher Collier; little Miss Ma- 
ria Snell: little Miss Ann Eliza and Flora Collier; ^Nliss 
Rose Ann and Miss Elizabeth Pierce ; Miss Harriet, Miss 
Sarah, Miss Catherine, Miss Arzilla, Miss Lovina, Miss 
Mary Eliza, and Miss Elmira Jane Q'rue — precious names — 
and pupils loved most fondly still, though scattered abroad 
and "far aicay." The Lord bless them all — how dear they 
are to my heart I 

" The good boys" must excuse nic if I omit their names. 
I scarce can find space to rei.-ord the names of 'heir kind, 
good sltiters. Bear this in mind, boys — ■will you? — and 
" take the will for the deed." 0, I love to dwell upon the 
memories of my cherished pupils, and know full well that, 
gcneraUj, they do upon mine — that I do. 

!Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Davis, Mr. and ]Mrs. George Tliompson, 
!Mr. and Mrs. George Snell, Mr. and Mrs. John Taylor, Mr. 
and Mrs. Thomas Ilansell, Mrs. AVidow True, Mrs. Widow 
Collier, and 3Irs. V/idow Hall, whose hospitalities I have oft 
enjoyed, are all gratefully remembered and embalmed in the 
pages of my little book. This, to me, is a somewhat extra 
neighborhood, and I give to it an extra notice. 

Hannah, a dear sweet little daughter of Joseph and 
Fanny Hall, was suddenly killed by lightning, in 1822. 
She was sitting close to the hearth, received the electric 
shock, and gasped and died, while the grief-stricken 
parents were at church. Good old Father HawxwelL Father 
of my much esteemed friend, John Hawxwell, died suddenly 
with an apoplectic shock. Good old Father Collier and 
good old Father Hansel, also, passed suddenly away years 
ago, both loved, and lamented by all who knevr them. 
Mother .Hansel, sainted woman, v.iil, in all human proba- 


Lilitj, soon "join her frienJs above." Judge Dowdon and 
lady, my choicest friends, removed, and both fell asleep in 
death. Janu-s Hall fell from an appletree, that ■vvell-ni^di 
broke his back, and injured him, perchance, for life. Jarno? 
Tiiomiis'jn fell some thirty or forty feet from a tree, while 
after nuts, was much bruised and injured, but recovered. 
Boys, be careful how you climb trees after nuts, will you ? 
Charles Pierce, my good old friend, once had a fearful run- 
av\-a3', but escaped harm as by a miracle. Virgil Dowdeu's 
little daughter lost a hand entirely b}' a "cutting machine," 
Can't be too careful, friends. lli^L^ht here, old father Cun- 
ningham killed three panthers in an hour, and then caught 
two cub bears. The woivers killed one of his best dogs, 
right at the mouth of the run, by Mrs. Hall's. His daugh- 
ter, now Mrs. Sciuire Connelly, of Jackson, encountered a 
n»onstrou3 big rattlesnake and took his rattle from him. 
Instead of running J'rom him she ran at him, and beat 
him too at that. Young ladies, what say you? could you 
do that' Joseph and John Hansel killed another, five or 
six feet long, as large as his thigh, and took nineteen 
rattles from him — monstrous ! That 's a snake story that 
will p«.'/, and di'J "^"ell to quit on. 

What will the little boys think who live here fifty years 
hence, who, perchance, may read this story as they glide 
along upon the railroad track, or while cultivating this 
rich bottom field where his snakeship " met his enemy and 
Tic was theirs." I can not pass my worthy and kind friend, 
John Hammond, unnoticed — surely not — never. Benjamin 
Hall, an early and ever-cherished pupil, has long resided 
in the far-off and beautiful Oregon. Bless me, how my 
pupils are scattered abroad. God biess them all, and make 
them a blessing to all with whom they have to do. •' iSo 
mote it be." My excellent friend, Ralph Collier, was a 
Xo. 1 scholar all the time, for close application and " good 
behavior in school," and as a result, he is 7iow one of the 
nio.^t iiitelHgent, most business-like, most ■ useful, most 
loved and honored men in nil ■' these digiiings," and has a 

428 cotton's keepsake. 

._ lady and family to match to " a perfect charm." So much, 
^ then, for a little obscure " Tanner's creek boy." Close 
application and a correct deportment will make a man of 
usefulness and honor of the most forbiddinc^ nnd obscure. 
"n,-,y<^^ dj ^, ou heur that:' Will you heed it? Save your 
spare dimes and your leisure moments — turn all to ^ood 
account, and you \vill accomplish wonders. 

"Little drops of water, little grains of sand, 
Make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land," 
Therefore, " despise not the day of small things,"" for 
" behold what a great fire a Ktlh matter kindle th." I here 
treat you to a beautiful little poem, and pass. Treasure 
up the moral, and may you all profit by it. 

■'• ' • ■ LITTLE BT LITTLE. • r. 

" Little by little," an acorn said, .-, 

As it slowly sank in its mossy bed, v' ., . ■ ,. : 

r "I am improving every day, 

';. Hidden deep in the earth a^ray." 
Little by little, each day it grew; 
Little by little, it sipped the dew; 
Downward it sent a threadlike root; 
Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot. 
Day after day, and j-ear after year, . ' 

Little by little, the leaves apjiear ; 
And then the slender branches spread far and wide, 
. Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride. 

"Far down in the depths cf the dark blue sea, 
An insect train work, ceaselessly ; 
Grain by grain they are building well, 
Each one alone in its little cell. 
Moment by moment, and day by day, 
Is ever stopping to rest or to plaj'. 
Rocks upon rocks they are rearing high. 
Till the top looks out on the sunny sky; 
The gentle wind and the balmy air, 
Little by liUle, bring verdure there; 


Till the summer sunbeams S^J^J smile 
On the buds and flowers of the coral isle. 

"Little by little," said a thoughtful boy, .- 

Learning a little every day, 

And not spending all my time in play. 

And still this rule in my miud shall dwell — ' • ' "' 

' Whatever I do, I will do it well.' . '• " "" 

Little by little, I'll learn to know ' .. -" 

The treasured wisdom of long ago; . 

And ono of these days perhaps we '11 see, 

That the world v.ill be the better for me. 

And _do you not think that this simple plan 

Made him a wise and a useful man? ■" 


Here is the residence of Richard Slater, ex-aenator, and 
of John Boyd, men of influence and notoriety, political 
adversaries, but choice personal friends of mine. My good 
friend, the Rev. Richard Spicknell, removed west, and sooa 
after died in the joyous h(vpe of "a better inheritance 
above." A. Mr. Bailey was killed by the falling of a tree 
jears ago. Whitesell's steam mill was consumed by fire a 
few years since. Old Father Jloiniberg fell from the roof 
of his barn, and soon after died. In the early hettlement 
here, a little son of INIr. Levingberg, not three years old, 
Tras lost in the woods, tarried out all niglit and all the 
next day, before he was found. He had wandered several 
miles, but could give no satisfactory account of himself 
Friend Scott informed me the other day that the whole 
forest was alive with persons in search. And when found, 
such another shout was never heard. Mr. Scott is my ever 
faithful and worthy friend. The Rev. Joseph Proctor, a 
somewhat eminent minister, and a friend, is most kindly 
remembered. Old Father Skaat,s, a Revolutionary soldier, 
Wfis buried here, wltli military honors. My ever dear 

430 cotton's keepsake. 

friend, Mc^Iath aud family have removed, loved find 
missed. And now my ever fiitliful, ever true friend, 
James An^evinc, must re'-i;ive a passing notice. 3Ir. 
Angevine has few equals, and no surieriors, for moral ex- 
cellenep in '"ll th'.'^ (:c::::.:ii..il_,. I am mure indebted to 
liim and his exceedingly fine an^l amiable family, tlian to 
any other one fiimily in all the west. By ni^^ht or by day, 
in sunshine or in tempest, his house has been my happy 
home. I have married nearly all his chiMren, preached 
all their funeral sermons, and, almost without an excep- 
tion, returned v.ith an exu-a \' or "yellow 5*' jingling in 
my pocket. If all my ministerial services had been half 
as well paid for, I s'uould have an abundance. He has 
often loaned me ri;''V.ey, but would never take a cent for 
interest. "When I have been sick, he has contributed 
freely and voluntarily to my necessities, to the tunc of ten 
dollars at a time, subscriiied for nine copies of my book, 
and voluntarily paid all in advance. DifTerences of political 
or religious opinions have never for a moment interfered 
with our affairs, or cooled our jiersonal love or fricndsliip. 
Mjr Muse whispers me afjai)i that I ought to sa}-, right here, 
Bomething like this : . . 

My good oM friend, J.imes Angevine, 

And all his household dear, 
Deserve a tribut'' at my hands, 

Which I present them here. 
They've been most kind to me and mine, 

For lo ! these forty years, 
Which I acknowledge cordially, 

With gratitude and tears. 

And since my acquaintance with Captain Hugh Scott, both 
he and his have performed toward mo and mine a similar 
part, and are entit'^il to share in the above trihiile largely 
and freely. My friends will readily see that this is a little 
exlra liberality and kindness that well deserves a Utile ixira 
ackno\Yled;rment. And the kind remembrances of their 

msToracAL. 431 

"loved and lost" John, Gilbert and Eli:^a Angevine {^Iva. 
Kowe), and Nathaniel and Sarah Scitt (Mrs. Carsun), 
claim "the triijuie of a sigh and a tear." "\Vm. S. Ward, 
Esq., an excellent county commiasioner, good old Father 

in Jesus," years ago, but "their memory is precious" still. 
Old Father Christy died of a fearful cancer. George Hall 
died in a most painful manner, after losing both his eyes, 
and "suffering a thousand deaths'' — poor fellow! — yet he 
died in full hope of " a better inheritance above." My ex- 
ceedingly kind friend, Freeborn Lewis, once, in my presence, 
had a fearful runaway; but, in a most astonishing manner, 
escaped both death and damage. John Bontee was, iu 
early times, closely beset with "a pack of vrolves," whoso 
name was "legion;" but by great presence of mind and 
good management, he made his escape. Good old Father 
RoAve, and Father Row, and Father ^Ic^latb, and Ib-nry 
Likely, Esq., and their kind families, are all reniuved by 
death or otherwise ; but fondly cherished still. "Wni. Ruw, 
a young man, much beloved and respected, leaning upon his 
gun, accidentally struck the hammer with his foot, and re- 
ceived the full charge in his breast, and fell a bleeding 
corpse. My early and venerable friend, old Father Fvodgers, 
died at a good old age, with a fearful and painful cancer. 
Ills kind good lady, and his preciously dear daughter, jIIss 
Ann, died several-years before, loved, lamented, and ndssed. 
His most amiable and most praiseworthy niece. Miss Carrie 
Guiou, with a devotion and fidelity seldom to be found, 
stood by him, night and day, to the veri/ last, doing all that 
ingenuity and aifection could devise to soothe his pain, and 
to comfort and cheer his heart. Estimable young lady! 
dear, cherished pupil of mine ! wherever my book Is read, 
this shall be known as a " memorial of thee." I name 
Father Rodgors here, because hero ho worshiped, and all 
are burled hero. 

The venerable Widow Ferine says, when she first settled 
here in the forest, some forty or fifty years ago, not only 

432 cotton's keepsake. 

were the howling beasts of prey, but Indians, too, were 
numerous, and would often enter into her cabin at night, 
strike up a tiro, treat themselves unceremoniously to any 
and every thing they could find, enjoy themselves thus fur 
hours, :....l [l.'^ii. iv^cliv., xiLuuuL uierlng iier or hers any 
personal molestation or violence. And a Mr. Smith (I 
think that was the name), who raised the very first cabin 
on the ridge, had it partly covered, wlien he chanced to 
Bee two big Indians lurking about it Supposing them to 
be spies for mischief, he stole upon them, and with a deadly 
aim made one of them " bite the dust." The other precipi- 
tately fled — paused at the distance of some forty rods, and 
then turned back, unwilling to leave or forsake his friend. 
Meantime, Smith had kept his eyes upon him, and re- 
loaded his gun, and when the Indian had come withia 
shooting distance, he, too, was made to bite the dust, and 
share the fate of his friend. Smith dug a grave, put them 
both in, and buried them right here, within gunshot of 
the church ; and that winds up the story. Ain't that 
.■worth preservation? Indians pillaging houses, and then 
shot, right here in yorkvllle; and but fur me, who would 
know it? 

yaxhorn's scnooLiiorsE. 

One of the very best sohoolhouses I ever occupied, and 
one of the best disti-icts. Of forty pupils, only twenty-fivo 
of them were Smiths, and my most excellent friends, Juhn 
Smith and lady, only furnished eight ; and for good and 
kind pupils, one need not desire better — could not find 
thcra if they would. If all the Smiths that Ave hear and 
read so much about, are, for moral excellence, like this 
Smith stock, may they never be less ; and, judging from 
appearances, they never will, though John and his excel- 
lent lady have only fifteen children yet — as sweet children 
as ever blessed a parent. • And would you believe it, my 
very worthy and exceedingly kind friends over tlie creek, 
William Ilawling and lady, have had twice llfceeu— yes. 

. msTOKiCAL. 433 

twice fifteen. Perhaps it -will relieve jour wonderment a 
little Avlien I explain it thus — they had fifteen, lost one. 
and tlien had another, -which makes twice fifteen, you 
eeo. Every thing is simple and plain when you under- 
butiid u. 

JMy early and ever-cherished friends, Cornelius Yanhorn, 
Esq., his kind afflicted lady, and his exceedini;;!}' kind 
children. Miss Mary Elizabeth and Miss Angeline, are 
loved and cherished pupils of mine, and dear to my heart, 
as are all the numerous and beloved Smiths. Here, too, 
Avore the lamented Sarah, beforementioncd, and her dear 
sisters, Mary Ann, Ellen and llachcl, enrolled high on 
the list, and deeply engraven on my heart, as was Eliza- 
beth Sharp, sweet girl, now no more. My worthy and 
precious friends, William and Coourod Row, and "William 
Robinson, and their kind, interesting families, have re- 
moved, loved and missed by the community generally, 
and that I know right well. Here I record a general act 
of kindness, never to be forgotton. At the close of an 
evening-school, friend Robinson and Collier went up to 
the desk, and commenced counting out money, when I 
pleasantly' remarked, I thought they had more tliau their 
share, and that I should like to come in for a part of it. 
Friend Robinson said they would let me in, and gathering 
it all up, handed it over to rne, saying the accompanying 
paper would explain. "I do not understand you." "No 
matter ; the paper will explain ; take it all, and look it 
ovpr at your leisure." And while I hesitated, they laid it 
all on tbe desk for me, bade me good night, and left me 
to close up thii hou.-e. On opening the paper of explana- 
tion, it read as follows: 

"AVe, the undersigned, consider it due to A. J. Cotton, 
for his ser\-ices as temperance lecturer, as a minister of the 
Guspel, and school teacher, and fur the groat good he has 
afflicted upon society generally, to tender to him, as a tes- 
timnnl:,! of our respect, fur those services, the following 
EUuscription, fur the purpose of treating himself to 'a new 


coat,' as .'a Christmas present.' '' Ten dollars enclosed, 
•R-ith the list of subscribers. 

A thunder clap from a cloudless sky at noonday, could 
not liave taken me ^vith a more sudden surprise. It wa.s, 
however, a vory plooc^r,*; =--.rpri;c-, set ou foot by my good 
friend' Robinson and lady, by whom five dollars more were 
given to treat my good lady to a new dress also. Precious 
are such friends, and precious their remembrance. -My 
hand in, I will finish my coat story. AVhile President of 
the County Temperance Society, I contented myself with 
rather a shabby coat for such a high dignitary, because I 
had not the means to do better. And my heart was too 
warmly engaged in the good cause, to think much about 
my coat, which was comfortable, if not respectable. At 
which time a very kind friend approached me, very timidly 
and cautiously, lest he should wound my pride — wished to 
know if I would take it kindly, if my friends should pre- 
sent me a new coat. lie was authorized to ask me, and 
if acceptable, to assure me that the coat should bo forth- 
coming. I assured him that it would be a most timely and 
acceptable present, the like of which, however, had not 
entered into my imagination. Enough said, added he, and 
we parted, he to report progress, and I to enjoy happy 
dreams, and soon a new coat. Well, I looked and waited, 
and waited and looked, but I never heard another word 
about the coat. I suppose it was intended as a hint that 
tlie president should wear a better coat. Well, however, 
that I did not treat myself to one, as my " coat of tar and 
feathers" story well demonstrates. Reader, did you ever 
hear about that? Perhaps not, I have kept that pretty 
close to myself, but will now disclose it as an iucidenC 
worthy of note in my eventful life. I name it here, because 
it comes in well with my other coat stories. Well, this is 
it: I had" my old coat on, bound to the Grand Division at 
Patriot several years ago, called at Rising Sun on my wa)', 
and made a temperance speech in the evening, to a crowded 
house ; had e.-iccellent order, and, as I thought, a right giX'd 

- / HISTORICAL. 435 

{ime, felt pleased myself, and tlioiight everybody else did ; 
went home to share the kind hospitalities of my venenvble 
nnd good friend Judge Jelley and lady, where I was most 
kindly entertained, as I ever had been. Well, early in ihe 
morning, two very good-looking gentlemen, whom 1 thought 
I had seen before, called upon me, nnd desired me, for the 
sake of a little chat, to take a walk with them, and sup- 
posing all fair that looked fair, I readily assented. Oa 
and on we went, and nothing new or novel was introduced. 
I began to think something was up, but what, for the life 
of me I could not conjecture. At last they said, %ye will 
call in here, and in we all went, when lo ! they accosted 
rne ahont in this manner- Xo\v, sir, just oil' with your coat 
What do you mean ? said I. Off vrilh your coat, sir. If 
you do not, we will do it for you. ! gentlemen, you 
cant be in earnest — did I ever think I should come to this? 
No time to parley, sir, everything is all ready for you, 
and seizing my old coat, off tliey took it, and in double 
quick time dab they took me, and had me completely clad ia 

a coat of as beautiful broadcloth as ever mortal need to 

wear. " The tar and feathers " I escaped, you see ; and the 
Rev. B. F. Morris, that celebrated Presbyterian Minister, 
and the Rev. Wm. M. Fraley, their excellent stationed min- 
ister, were the gentlemen who led off in this matter. And 
thus ends my coat stories, which fur good reasons, I have 
chosen thus to report. 

Miss Eliza, Sarah, Jane, IMatilda, Mary, Adaline, Albina, 
Maria, Ellen, Minerva, Flora, Melissa, Elizabeth, Angeline 
and Sebra Smith, Miss Hannah Harrison, Miss Ann, Clema 
and Hannah Robinson, little ] Goff, Miss Caroline, 
Sarah Jane, and Mahala Eow, Miss Mary Jane Vandolah, 
Miss Hannah Jane Ferree, well deserve a name and a place 
in my little book, as they have in my kind and fond re- 
membrance. Miss Mary and Miss Susan Scott, though never 
pupHs of mine, are friends worthy of all praise, and I em- 
balm their names in the pages of my little book, with the 
oiher young ladies of their intimate acquaintance, and I do 


it v,-\t\i pleasure — a deserved . tribute to '•modesty and 

And, I think, in all my life, that I never saw a more 
kind, attentive, and Jutiful daughter to an nftiieted mother, 
11. .-.:i L.ij r,,u- iVieiiu, -ui>.s .Mary E. Vanliorn. Girls, you 
can never ho too kiral to your good mothers; and a kind 
dutifi'.l child, 01 what a treasure. My friends in this conv 
munity will take this extra notice kindly, because it is a 
Just tribute which they themselves accord to her. Girls — 
daughters — do you hear that? 0! you can never be too 
kind and dutiful to your good and aflUcted mothers. I- 
repeat it, you never crrn. And it is with pleasure that I 
send the name and the example of .Miss ^lary E. Vanhorn, 
abroad in my little book, a? worthy of all praise and all 
imitation. And my liUle sweet Angeline is all afiec-- 
tion, and kindness, too. Good old Father and ^lother Smith 
are both over 80 j'cars of age — the oldest couple — have 
lived longer together as " husband and wife," raised one 
of the largest and best families of children in all this com- 
munity, and that is saying a great deal, truly. And when 
they shall have been "gathered to the land of their fathers," 
their children, and their grandchildren, until the third and 
fourth generation 

"Shall rise up and call them blessed." 

saavdon's SCHOOLIIOUSE, 
So named in honor of my good friend, Wm. Sawdon, a 
worthy and a good citizen, who has a fine family, and a 
pleasant home. Father and Mother Liddle, of precious and 
sainted memory, are no more. Good old Father and Mother 
Brown reside here. My good friend, John Liddle, has long 
been afflicted. And IL.d.erfc Iluddleston and lady, my 
highly esteemed friend^, lost a sweet dnu^hter, under cir- 
cumstances peculiarly afllictlve. "Wni. Wliitiakcr, an early 
and good citizen, went t'> England to obtain a legacy, and 
on his borne-bound passage, perished in the ill-fated steamer 
Arctic that wu» lost, and every single soul on board per- 


ished. Not C7ie Icfc to tell the story of hoic, or ivhen, or 
ichtre. All Is a total blank to be filled by vajrue conjecture. 
How fearful and sulonin the contemplation ! More so to 
me, perhaps, because a loved brother of mine perished at 

Here I tau,':ht a very pleasant and agreeable school, all 
things con'ii'iofed. It is altngether a pleasant district 
]l>!es5 the cliildreu, how I long to see them all asain. 
John Grubbs, John Garetson, John Darling, George Liddle, 
Wm. and Kiiben Ilanselis, Edward Ewbank, "NYm. Ewbank. 
Wm. Smitl), L-q., John Saiirh, David Smith, and James 
Gootee, and all their guod ladies ajid kind children h)tve my 
gratitude and my Ljve, fir th':'ir kindness to me, as do 
otiiers in t!ic cominvurty. ]\Irs. Guotec is my early and 
highly esteemed friend, is a most excellent, yet much afflict- 
ed lady, but has a kind husband and a. pleasant home. 
Jnhn Iluaghtnd had a little girl burned to death, by her 
dress taking fire. Jlore were the honors referred to ia my 
poem paid to 

" Honest Thomas Miller." 

Here the Ilev. Stephen Liddle, a very useful, and an ex- 
cellent man, lived beloved, and died lamented. Here a 
Mr. O'Connor v,-as found dead, out in the woods. Old 
Father O'Connor, Benjamin and Martin Ewbank, and 
families, are worthy a place among my early, and my cher- 
ished friends. 

Fur bear, wolf and panther stories, all in this community 
arc referred to my good but afflicted friend, .John Grubb, 
%vho v/JU " astonish you jest." The same story all the way 
round. To please the children, to encourage others, and to 
gratify myself, I n.ust here make mention of my liilh class, 
at least, iltlle Jane Ann, and P^tizabeth Smith, little 
Angeline an.l Adaline Ilmsel, Elizabeth Miller, Sarah 
O'Connor, and 3Iary Jane Lwijank were dear, sweet, in- 
teresting little girls, all d:arly loved, and fondly cherished 

438 cotton's keepsake. ■ '. . 

still. Boys, if I name toui- dear, kind sisters, you must rmt 
t:ikc it nrniss, if I omit your names. It is not because you 
are for,L!<.tren, nor because you arc not loved ; bet because 
I can not spare the room. And what I row smv niit- you, 
- "1 saj- ur.!;a all." the second time, and don't for^^ft it. 
Cost vhat it may, I am unwilling to pass unnoticed, Miss 

Sarah Gootee, Miss Mary Jane, and Miss Susan 

Grubbs, Miss Mary Ann Ilansolls, Margaret Liddle, Miss 
JIary Jane and ]Mis3 Raohol Ewbank, -whose names and 
memories I fondly cherish, as dearly loved pupils of mine. 

Here a good brother kirdly received n:ie, but "sawed me 
off at the knees," almost before I had taken my seat. lie 
said he had been so much imposed upon that ho would 
never subscribe for another book; and beside all that, he 
had learned that by wailing awhile, he could got them for 
about half price. Thinks I to myself — " my cake is dough 
here, sure," which threw me into " a fit of the blues ;" 
when what should happen, but my young friend, Benjamin 
M'ColIough, invited mo over to his office. lie said he had 
-to leave on business, and could not be at my meeting:, but 
handed mo over two dollars, "book or no book." That was 
both liberal and kind, and I learn his misfortune with sor- 
row. The house was -well filled, and nearly twenty sub- 
Fcribers obtained, and several dollars voluntarily prepaid. 
A bad beginning sometimes ends well. My friend dealt 
with me honestly, and doubtless, has often been imposed 
upon; so the greater will be the com'pliment should he pa- 
tronize my work, after he sees it, a result that I confidently 
anticipate. I think he is good for two or more copies at 
the subscription price. They v\-ill be more, instead of less, 
all the time, and no mistake. 

The first Quarterly Meeting I ever attended, in this 
county, was at good old Father and Mother Ewbank's. 
Bishop George preached, and, oh. sucli preaching! — tho 
■whole atmosphere and csery thing around seemed hoi/ 


and heavenly. The text and sermon I distinctly remember 
to this day. "Deliver us from evil," etc.. was the text — 
the conclusion of the Lord's Prayer. The sainted bishop, 
and Father and Mother Ewbank have gone to their friends 
and to their reward in heaven, no uouut. David Ewbank, 
a son, and a twin brother of my worthy friend, Mrs. Fanny 
Hall, was suddenly killed, by the fulliiig of a tree, forty 
years ago. Old Father Morgan was drowned in attempting 
to ford the creek, here. John Ewbank and his escellent 
family occupy the old homestead, in the enjoyment of great 
peace and plenty. Thomas, one of '' tlie excellent of the 
earth," died recently, loved and lamented. His good lady, 
deeply afflicted, is comforted with good chihiren. Rhoda, a 
dear and ever cherished pupil, has parsed from earth away, 
leaving one of the kindest husbands, and several children, 
who are tenderly cared for by her good sister, Catharine, 
another loved and cherished pupil; as are Miss Ellen and 
Miss Hannah Ewbank, and others — all fondly dear to my 
heart, engraven in mj- affections, and registered in my 
book. Squire Iluddleston, Yirgil Dowdon, the Campbells, 
^ the Robinsons, and others, are all my early and pre- 
cious friends. 

Now for a turkey story worth telling. Mrs. Squire La- 
zenby, then a Miss Rawling, and one of those twice fifteen 
children, which only amounted to sixteen, by a new nioda 
of computrition, once saw a large ilock of wild turkeys in 
the field. The men being all absent, she seized one of the 
loaded rifles, and out she put. Having heard that " iwo 
birds might be killed with one stone," she thought it a 
good time to make the experiment whether two turkeys 
could 7iot be killed v\ith one ball. So taking her time, two 
came in range, and bang went the gun, and down went Miss 
Rawling, flat upon her back, witli a heavy kick from her 
gun, in not holding it finnly to her shoulder. A little 
amused and mortified at her awkward predicament, and 
supposing, as she hud fallen herself, all else had escaped 
unhurt, she gathered herself up fur an inglorious retreat, 



when lol to her infinite surprise atid gratification, she saw 
a tiirkey in tiie " flurries," and ru-hinjr toward it, saw an- 
otliei'. She picked both up, and marched home in triumpii, 
such as Queen "Vie." never experienced, perchance, wlien 
T.noi^ ■■'■-— *; ,j Lhroui; ju .lanianient. 

What do you t^av to that, girls? — a young forest lady 
kill two turkeys at a shotT Another beat an Indian at a 
mark, and f^hot deer and turkeys from her door. La, 
bless me! I can "beat ihajt all hollow" nnyself. I have 
shot at turkeys out of my own window, and neither hurt 
them, nor myself either. I once shot nine times at a squir- 
rel, in the same manner; ammunition and patience both 
failing, I gave it up for a bad job, and left him alone in 
his glory. But it settled one question in my mind very 
clearly — that you could never klil a squirrel by shooting 
at him and nut hitting him, as some say ihcy have ; for if 
missing him vine times hand running would not bring 
him, I should like to know by what rule one miss 
Ti-ould? Seriously, since the injury in ray breast. I could 
never steady my hand with any degree of certainty, either 
to shoot or write. But do n't thi.s story match the ladies 
admirably ? 


Is the resting-place of the immortal Jaoob Blasdell (see 
poem). Jonathan and Enoch, and others of the excellent 
Blasdell family, reside here, in honor, peace, and plenty, 
my ever constant friends. Here, too, is Squire Dawson, a 
■worthy sou of old John Dawson, mIio settled here more 
than sixty years ago. Indians once entered his cabin in a 
menacing manner, and attempted to tomahawk his wife, 
and, of course, himself, too. As he cjuld talk Indian well, 
he drew his rifle upon them, told them not to stir upon 
their peril, for the first orio that moved his tomahawk would 
be a dead nmn. Holding them all at bay, he talked to 
them, and then told them all to retire in peace and quiet, 
•Vfhich they promptly obeyed. There are presence of mind 


and Jntio|iidity for you, in the hour of peril, wortli\- a Hm- 
man generul I lie once ca:nc suddenly upon a lar^o pan- 
ther, which M--\H intent upon other <rame, and !-h'>t hini 
■when within a few paces of him, just as the panther was 
makiug rendj, iVu In'.n. IIv, uv.c-. ^--^''^ih*' n lirge onst-iron 
kettle, clear from Cincinnati, upon his shoulder an.d upon 
his horse. lie killed a large elk on the Darling Kidge, 
more than fifty years ago, and the last of the kind in this 
region. Tlie>e are scenes in a forest life, for you, worth 

Here old Father Eay was drowned — the "Old Man of 
the ^Mouutain," whose poem we have already quoted. He 
■was quite a writer, and fither of Martin 'M. Kay, of Indi- 
anapolis, a gentleman of worth and of extensive fame. 
Captain Gibhs, of 3Iexicaa notoriety, resides here, as do 
also my other friends, the Knapps, the Craig.>, tlie Now- 
lands, the Robinson's, and other friends, all good true. 
My venerable friends, old Father and ^lother Fra/ior, once 
dad a fearful runaway, and both were badly injured. They 
still live, at a good ripe old age, surrouuded with plenty, 
and beloved by friends. 

Hero was the first incorporated college in the State, I 
believe; a timber house, some twenty by twenty-four feet 
square, and here it still stands, in a dilapidated state. A 
log building for a college! Did you ever? Yes, such was 
the beginning of our high literary institutions, which now 
beautify and adorn, the State. — "Despise not tlie day of 
small things." 

Why, reader, the first schoolhouse I ever occupied was 
built of round logs, chinked and pointed with mud, pun- 
cheon floors, cat chimney, and oiled paper for glass, as 
before stated: and if I don't knov/ something about a 
pioneer's life, who does ? "Well, we have excellent school- 
houses, and seminaries, and colleges now, and I rejoice 
that I have lived to see it. my young readers, how you 
ought to appreciate and iaiprove your "better inheritance." 

442 cdtton's keepsake.' 


Good o1(] Jelm G );).]wiii settled in this county in ISOO. 
Indiana were nunierijiis, and richly ornamontod v.\th silver 
and other showy Tr!i>t'^*'- • f r a slri^Io luad of powder, 
could purchase much silver; could talk Indian v\cn ; once 
went to their canip. near Georgetown, and joined in their 
sports; could outjurap, outrun, and outshoot them; per- 
formed all these feats in one day, and jocosely said: "In- 
dian good for nothing:. I beat him at jump, run, and shoot, 
and now I can beat iiim with bow and arrow/' That was 
an indicjnity not to be borne, and iu a moment an Indian 
peized bis bow, and drew a bead upon him — his eye flash- 
ing fire; and he thoa,<:ht himselt "a goner;" bat another 
Indian in a moment sei/:ed his arm, and turned away his 
shot, and he escaped, as by a miracle. lie trembles now 
when he calls the scene up to mind. 

Saw fine elk, but never had the good fortune to take 
one ; killed one deer, with six balls in it, all well and 
sound. A bear once suddenly sprang upon him ; he 
drew his tomahawk ; bear wheeled and escaped. He and 
his dog had many a hard tussle with bears, wolves, and 

"Me and the old woman have lived tocrother fifty-five 
years," said he, " and never had a quarrel nor a fighfc 
yet." " Xo," said his good lady, pleasantly ; " I started 
off right with him, and have had no difficulty since." 
Fifty -five years without a quarrel or a fight, ai\d all owing 
to a ri^ht start! Young gentlemen and ladies do all they 
can to picjtse and to win the aifeetions of each other, get 
married, and then to start right, the gentleman sets up 
his authority to let his better half know, in the start, that 
he will never submit to " petticoat government," and the 
lady sets up that she 13 not to be a slave, to be domineered 
over by her husband : and this they call starting right — live 
in strife and conf^jsic-n; quarrel and fight like cats and 
dogs : ut'ar out Ufe in pain and sorrow, and die unloved and 

* • -nisTORicAL. 443 

unlair.ontcd. Young ladies are sometimes very captivating 
and lovely; keep every thing as nice and " neat as a pink" 
about tliom ; get married ; set up for themselves ; become 
slovenly and careless, fretful and peevish; make home a 
prison iiuuse una a boul.iu. , J.l.o tl.:lr hv.:bn"ds to di;- 
tractioQ ; drive them y;-o;?i home; and in they plunge into 
dissipation, to drown their grief and mortltication ; their 
•vv'ives making a -n-ondcrful ado about neglect and dissipa- 
tion, M-hen they have brought all upon themselves, by -what 
they thought was "starting off right." I am emphatically, 
and I believe, by universal consent, am admitted to be most 
emphatically a lady's man, nor would I be any thing el>e; 
yet I know ladies who liave mean, worthless, drunken hus- 
bands, that are a thousand times too good for them, because 
they have made them what they are by their own neglect 
and willfulness. I tell you that such do not start off right. 
"Mother Goodwin, you say you sfaiicd ojf right, and have 
lived hajip;/ all your doys ; will you please impart the 
happy secret?" "0, certainly; after I was married, I 
took more pains to accommodate and please my husband 
than I did before, and he has always done the same by me." 
"0 ho! really been 'sparking' all your days, eh?" "Just 
BO," said she; "that's the way to do it aln'ays." Do you 
hear that, girls? Boys, do you? "A word to the wise is 

Father Goodwin knew a Mr. William G , an Indian 

captive, who could charm all the birds around him; has 
seen as many as two dozen fluttering ai-ound his head ar,d 
shoulders at a time; has seen him do it often, any where in 
the woods. Who can explain? What wonder next? Wait 
a little, and I will tell you. (See Pennsylvaniaburg.) Enoch 
Jackson, a strong and popular man in the county, an ex- 
representative, lost the sight of both his eyes in a very 
sudden and painful manner, and then was thrown from a 
runaway horse and buggy, broke his thigh, and is a raaa 
of sore affliction, sharing largely in the commiseration of 
his friends; was oucc ray competitor fur office, and the 

444 cotton's KEErSAK:E. 

■worst tliin!::; I ever stx'vl about him ■wo.'' said in great plea- 
santry: "General Jackson, at New Orleans, kept behind 
the cotton, and I liopo my friemls will keep Enoch a littlo 
behind, t-iol" and a roar of Jaugliler followed, I as.-nre you. 
I, however, deeliriod i p'M, f. r ..hlv^li my iriend.s chide mo 
to tiiis day. AH for tlio best, friends. 

Old Ezekiul Jackson, for years representative, was tv.'ice 
badly bitten by a copperhead-sn.ake. Edward Jackson was 
killed by the falling of a tree, years ago. Many p-^rsons 
here have died suddenly ■with the milk sickne-s. iNIy 
friends, Charles and Amanda Philbrick, one of my most 
cherished pupils, ^rave me a ■^varm reception and kind en- 
tertainment. Called upon my friend, Thomas Langdale, 
and v.'as never more pleasingly and happily entertained. 
His estimable daughter, Jane, is lady of tlie house, since 
the death of her dear good mother; and I must say, I 
never knew a dau.i^hter perform such a task better ; " neat 
as a pink," and "smart as a steel-trap," as was her younger 
sister, :\Iartha. Every tiling in and about the house was 
kept in "a])ple-pie order." Expressing my admiration to 
her neir'hbors, they said that' she was an exception; that 
no encomium could exceed her ment. If she is not -whiifc 
some would call "a perfect beauty," she certainly is a very 
comely young lady, and her neat appearance, affability of 
manners, intelligence of mind, and amiability of heart, 
makes her both lovely and beautiful, indeed. And if I 
■were a young nian, I should, perchance, conceal this rich 
jewel, until I could oxultingly call it my own, or at least 
inj so to do. 1 devote this space as an act of justice to 
my fair friend, 3liss Langd.ale, and to encourage all other 
daughters, similarly circumstanced, to " go thou and do 


John Gibson, a revolutionary soldier, died here. Ilia 
ladv, at ninety, is *mart and active. Here is the residence 
of the Piov. Thomas Ilargett, one of the most eminent local 

:< /> 

nrsTOPvTCAL. ■ 445 

preachers in the county, to wliom, as to Robert TTaddook, 
Daniel Cloud, John Gibson, and others, I am much indebted 
for the interest taken in my book enterprise. 

My ever-cherished fiiend, Juhn Wilson, died suddenlv, 
alter a short but painxul lunes^. iii^ brother Daniel died 
^ soon after, with the apoplexy. A son of good old Father 
I^ean came running around the corner of the house at the 
exact mon>etu when a man had shot at a mark. The ball 
took him fair in the head, and he fell a bleeding corpse iu 
his tracks. 

For the first time in my life, I have this day stood by 
the grave of Amasa Fuller, who was executed at Lawrence- 
burgh, many a long year ago. (Sea Ballad.) And the 
■whole "tragic scene" came up vividly before me again. 
I saw him come out of the jail— saw him baptized and 
partake of the holy sacrament — saw Elder Daniel Plummer, 
with uplifted hands, and heard his stentorian voice, as 
though he intended to make the whole world hear— 
warn young gentlemen and ladies to be careful how 
they trifle with "won affections and plighted vov/s." Saw 
the cap drawn over poor Fuller's face — saw him drop- 
saw him struggle in death— saw him out down— saw the 
lancet applied, if, perad venture, it might resuscitate him— 
saw him handed over to his friends to be buried ; and 
here, poor man, ho lies. And here, too, by his side lies 
the friend who took charge of him, whose history adds 
much to the interest of the tragic scene. The skotuii which 
I am about to give has no parallel in all the history of 
the world, at least so far a3 I am acquainted— too painful 
to read, and yet too singuhir to be lost. For it is the 
Daniel Fuller, who took charge of the body of Amasa, 
after hi-, execution. Shortly after tliat he had a faUnor 
out with a Mr. Goulding, a brother-in-law, brotlier to hia 
lady. Goulding called Fuller out into the door, :uid after 
a few words, shot him through the body, just below the 
heart. Fuller fell, theu got up, went into the house, lin- 
gered several hours in pain, and died. Couldin'-' passed 

446 cotton's keepsake. 

down the lane a short distance, re-loaded his riSe, applied 
the muzzle to his breast, .and with his ramrod disoharjjed 
it, receiving the full contents, and fell, but survived a few 
hours, and expired a few moments after Fuller did. Those 
■n-l.o Tt-.^-'. -ritr.osscs of tho ov.liio odj it beggars aii descrip- 
tion. The gushing blooJ, the writliing victims, the out- 
cries of distracted friends, may be conceived but ti)ld never.' 
Well, a few years after this, a Ijrutlier of this man, Gould- 
ing, hung himself at Wilmingtun, as before noticed, and 
another brother, I believe, accidentally shot him.-elf while 
crossing the Ohio river, as before noticed, also. So muc!i, 
then, for the tragic end of the Goulding family. And now 
for the Fuller famil}- — Amasa was hung, Daniel, we have 
just said, was shot, his two sons both died together in the 
hospital down south ; one of his brothers was all mangled 
and torn in a mill just below Harrison ; another brother 
was taken captive by the Indians — made his escape — fell 
into a dispute with a man in Illinois, who struck him with 
a heavy hoe upon the head, and he fell, and ga«ped, and 
died. Aiid to crown the climax, old Father Fuller was 
charged in early time with killing an Indian — the sheriff 
arrested him upon his warrant, took him upon a horse for 
Cincinnati, and to make sure of him, tied his feet under 
the horse and started, but, having no roads, following 
blazed tracks and by-paths, they accidentally ran afoul of 
a large hornet's nest, the hornets alighting both upon him 
and the horse, he lost his balance, the horse, maddened 
and frightened to frenzy, ran off with might and main, 
dashing the old gentleman against trees, logs, and every- 
thing else, until his brains and all his bowels were dashed 
and torn out, and he literally torn into shreds and atoms. 
This, if not minutely, is all substantially correct. It occur- 
red not in the far-off isles of the sea ; it is not a story of 
fiction, but of truth, that took place right here in our 
midst, in Dearborn county, and State of Indiana: and I 
am a living witness to much of it myself. AVlnit a history! 

.VJl'J i> 

■ niSTOEicAL. 447 

What a tragical mortality ! What a Ic-son to contemplate! 
And where, 0, where can its parallel be found? " He that 
readeth, let him understand." 

That excellent man, Aaron Ecnhain, and his good lady, 
have resided in this county more than sixty years. Mrs. 
Bonham, then a Miss Guard, sister to Bayley Guard, tliat 
■worthy citizen, once encountered a hoar, as before noticed. 
Friend Bonham had a fearful runaway thirty years a<T0, 
and has been injured by it ever since. Here, too, is my 
rnerry friend, Reuben Ilogors, for years the county auditoi-, 
and an excellent oflicer, seldom if ever equaled, and surely 
never surpassed, lleuben is some, I tell ye ! My friends 
_ here did a noble part by me. Here Scoggins was murdered. 
(See Balhid.) A son of VTm. Jackson, his supposed mur- 
derer, accidentally shot himself and died, poor fellow. A 
Jlr. Lemon was gored to death by one of his oxen in the 
yiird — a fearful and a tragic scene. John Donnaho was 
suddenly killed by the falling of a tree. Here was the 
former residence of our worthy friends, Jacob Dennis and 
Aaron Scoggin, early settlers, now no more. 


Here I find my old neighbor and friend Kobort 
McCracken, the tirst settler in Manchester. (See Man- 
chester.) Hero, too, is the venerable Father and ^lothor 
Crozier, who have resided in the county for more than a 
half century— have lived together as man and wife ab-nit 
sixty years— have raised a large family, of whom Ihrn. 
John Crozier, of Sparta, ex-representative, is one, and a 
first rate citizen, at that. Joseph Stephens, a distinguished 
citizen, resides here. I once decided a long and vexatious 
chancery suit, to which he was a party, in part upon 
grounds that neither party had suggested, and which dc- 
ci.sion seemed natisfactory to both the litigant parties, and 

448 cotton's keepsake. 

thus en'le.'l a long and vexatious suit. The reminiscence 
is to me a pleasing reflection, and hence I record it here. 
My early and ever<-liei-Ished friends Joseph Adams and 
Matthew Swann "lie slumbering -with the peaceful dead." 

So named in honor of Mrs. Elizabeth Mills, wife of Jpaac 
Mills, and sister to Judge Dunn, one of the most excellent 
women that ever lived. Her kind, good husband died sud- 
denly, ^ThiIe attending Quarterly Meeting, at Manchester, 
and Avas returned to a most fond wife and family 

"Still and cold in death." 
She survived him s>'veral j'cars, and then " fell asleep in 
Jesus." Her son, General Charles Mills, one of the finest 
men in all my acquaintance, died in rather a singular man- 
ner, universally beloved and lamented. A Mr. Ilays fell 
from his -wagon, many years ago, broke his le^r — the bone 
actually pinning him to the earth. llefu>ing amputation, 
died with a fearful convulsion, while I held his hand in 
mine. A youngster, sitting upon the ground, and throwing 
liis knife each side of his leg, in play, accidentally severed 
the femoral artery in his thigh, and bled to death. Puor 
boy! Another excellent young man was picking the flint 
of his gun, when it accidentally went oif, and killed his 
kind little friend; which almost grieved him to death. 
A Mr. Dickinson, also, moved away, and hung hiniself, 
much to tlie grief of his dear children, whom I know and 
love. Jlere Mrs. Abraham was consumed by fire in her 
wagon, as before noticed. My friends, Lewis Dunn and 
lady, and guod old Father and Mother Scroggins, and that; 
most precious and guud woman, Mrs. McIIcnry, and Mrs. 
Dr. Brower, have h:'d their friends upon earth to join those 
that are in heaven. The doctor has married another ex- 
cellent huly — a f )rtui.e he well deserved. 3Iy venerable 
friend, ]Majur Molfcnry, still survives at a good u!d age; so 
docs my cherished iric-nd, good old Mother Tebovr. Both 
hiive been exceedinglv kiud to me. 

niSTOiiicAL. ' 449 

In 1S26, I tfiugTit school here, through the kind influence 
of my friend, Dr. Bruwcr, -whose kindness I can never for- 
get nor sufficiently ackno\\dedge. Lawyer Abraui Crower 
was tlien cue of my best pupiL-;. Neither of us then anti- 
cipatea our hiture cuiiiieL-uuns ui fuiuit, di-.-UuiiJo, a^ hv.loic 
intimated. His, at least, is a bright and brilliant one. O, 
Low sweet the cherished reniembrauce of my pupils and of 
all my old Elizabethtown friends. 

I have already said that Major McIIenry and lady we're 
exceedingly kind. They were constant and liberal in their 
favors, and of course, I and my lady felt under great obli- 
gations to them, and both really longed for an opportunity 
to shov: it ; at last it presented itself, and we gladly em- 
braced it. The major said if we would not take it amiss, 
his lady would be pleased if mine would pick a little wool 
for them — some fifteen or twenty pounds. "0, certaiiil\-, 
with great pleasure," said Mrs. Cotton. "Well, along came 
the wool, and we both " pitched into it" with a hearty good 
will. When completed, the major examined it, and said it 
was decidedly the nicest job of the kind he ever had done. 

" How much shall I pay you for it, Mrs. Cotton ?" 

"Pay ! why, sir, don't say pay ; you are a thousand times 
welcome to it," said Mrs. Cotton, "you have been so ex- 
ceedingly kind to us." 

" AA'ell, now, Mrs. Cotton, we intended this wool as a pre- 
sent to you, so soon as picked," said the major. 

And sure enough, he would take neither pay nor wool ; 
thus we had the materials for a good web of cloth, which 
served us well and timely. "We could scarcely sleep tliat 
night for joy and gratitude, for to us, at the time, it was a 
" lift" indeed, and a noble and generous act, too good to be 
untold. Most gratefully do I cherish the names of Major 
Jilclleury and his sainted precious lady, and my luved little 
Margaret and Frances, pupils ever dear to my heart. May 
■we all meet at last iu "that better land above." Even so, 


450 cotton's keepsake. 

Is iu tlie neighborhood of Bund's old milL In early 
times I got my grinding done here ; a tour and a trip of 
some two or tlireo days, -as noticed in mv " Fuvr^<jt Olr-." 
Tue oiu gentleman and lady passed away years ago, loved 
and lamented. Their son, Edmund, one of the finest, most 
generous-hearted young men I ever knew', came to a pain- 
ful and tragic death. Leading a young horse fromtho 
stable he wouiid the halter around his hand, so as to have 
a sure and fost hold. The horse came out, rearing and 
pitching in a frolicksouie manner, took the turn on him, 
and ran off. His band being held fast, Mr. Bond was sooa 
prostrated, and the horse took fright, dragging him all over 
the yard, hitting him against posts and fences, actually 
dashed his brains out, tore his hand from his wrist, and 
left him a mangled and bleeding corpse. So much for 
making his hand fast. 

I used to think that Charles Mills, Edward Hunt, and 
Edmund Bond were three as nice young gentlemen as I 
ever knew, and still think so. Mr. Hunt only lives, azid 
is an out-and-out gentleman — a No. 1, .all the time. Here 
"Wm. Lancaster, brother to Robert Lancaster, of Guilfurd, 
was killed by the falling of a tree, many years ago. An- 
other brother was killed by lightning in a singular man- 
ner ; he was an excellent and worthy man, as is my friend 
Eobert. My old friends, Samuel Eeese and lady are no 

ISly viilt to the mill brought fresh to my mind the re- 
miniscences of the past, and I sighed fur the loved and 
lost, as I thought of the scenes and the days of yore. My 
young friends, A. J. Gance and lady, kindly and cheerfully 
entertained mo, and interested themselves much in my be- 
half; for which my lasting gratitude is due. 'Whot pleas- 
ing — what melancholy reflections cluster around "Bond's 
old mill!" 



No\r, reader, sauff your cainlle, rub your eyes, am] take 
a good long breath, and then you may proceed ; aud if you 
do n't say this is some, " my name is llayue^." Isaac 
Brooks, T^ho is a neat and model f;irmer, and an exoelient, 
truth-telling man, and to -whom I am kindly indebted, in- 
formed me tiiat there were snakes of enormous size about 
Jemison's Run ; that he had several times seen one that 
must have been, he thinks, uot less than twelve feet long, 
and I think he said, as large as his thigh. One was once 
killed in the neighborhood, that mcasurt'd just eleven feot. 
There's a snake story for yon, right here in Dearborn 

My friend, David "Williams, who settled here in early life, 
says, that the wolves were so thick he had to watch his 
sheep by day as well as by night, and that tliev often gath- 
ered around him while thus engaged. Panthers of enor- 
mous size were plenty'. One once accosted two little boys, 
close by him, but by a wonderful presence of mind, the 
little fellows escaped. He had killed many bears, and one 
close to his cabin door. He also informed me that old 
Aunt Betsey Garritson, now eighty odd years old, then liv- 
ing in his neighborhood, went out to bring up the cows, 
with her trusty dog by her side. Alone in the woods, she 
was beset with a bear ; Jowler stepped in between her and 
harm, and pitched into old Bruin, " like a thousand of 
brick," who, however, proved more than a match for him. 
Aunt Betsey neither screamed, nor fainted, nor ran away, 
but flew about and hunted up a good, sound, wieldy club, 
or handspike, and rushed to Jowler's rescue; and whea 
she could safely do so, without endangering life or limb of 
Jowler, bang and bang she gave it to Bruin every time 
she could see a chance for a fair lick. It began to come 
so " hot and heavy," that Bruin thought it the better way 
to lot up Jowler and try Aunt Betsey. Anticipating his 
maneuver, she fell back a little, and Bruin after her. Jow- 

452 cotton's keepsake. 

ler was no sooner up than ho had Bruin by the liam?tring 
again, and so, having his hands full with Jowler, he let 
Aunt Betsey take care of hersolf for awhile longer. Tussle, 
tussle, witli dog and boar, when, pop I Aunt Pjetsey to ik 
t!:; b:.., ..^..! i, .> Iilt a, ^I„Iil Lc.iil_, ^uoJ-wui. Bi-uin uia'le 
another pass at her, but Jowler seeeiaed to say — •" You shall 
never harm niy mistress while I live" — and, nab, he tuik 
him again ; and Aunt Betsey seemed to say — " You shall 
never harm my trusty dog, while there is strength in my 
arm to strike a blow." And now, with a double over- 
handed lick, ker-whack! she took him fair across his "how 
d'ye do?" department, stove in his forcastle, and he fell 
quivering to the earth, v\'here she "gave him Je-sie" to 
her heart's content, and then drove up the cows, and re- 
ported progress. "What do you think of that, young ladies? 
Could you do it, think? This story is suhstantial'ij true — 
I have it on good authority, and know aunt Betsey well. 
Such were our forest women ! Had this wonderful feat 
been performed in the Boeky Mountains or upon the Alps, 
all the journals in the land would have heralded it abroad, 
all over the world, years ago ; and mine is the fortune and 
the pleasure to rescue it from oblivion. This story itself is 
worth all I ask for my little book — aint it, reader? 

But I am not done with this neighborhood yet. Eiilic 
Burk, now well stricken in years, a resident here for about 
the last half century, confirms all that I have written, and 
adds, that he once found a snake egg, the size of a com- 
mon hen's egg, just ready to hatch. The young snake, not 
yet at maturity, was eight or nine inches long, and as 
savage as a snake could well be — evidently, one of these 
large snakes, to which reference has been made. At an- 
other time, his di'g had got something at bay about an old 
fence. After awhile, he went out, saw a large snake that 
seemed much distended, succeeded in killing it, and, upon 
an examination, found thirty-two, young, and pretty well 
grown snakes In it. Demrmttrating the old traltirm, that 
snakes swallow tljeir young in lae time of danger, or rather 


thiit tho young ones hMe themselves thus, when an alarm 
is >iveti. Even the affoctiuu and care of a mother snake 
coiiimaii'is our admiration. Burk's brother, Eiisha, and 
Mr. A. Thompson, vrhile at the mill, heard a fearful outcry 
uniuiig lue iio^i, and, iu.>iiiug uu,., o.iu a munaiiuuj panther 
upon one of the ghoats — the three dogs were on hand in a 
inument. Panther let up, and took to a tree— a shut only 
broke his foreleg, and in attempting to jump to another 
tree, and not making due allowance for tho crippled leg, 
came short of the tree and fell; the dogs all mounted him, 
and would all have been whipped, had the men not timely 
interfered. He would catch a dog in his sound paw, and 
actually hold him clear from the earth, with his sharp 
talons piercing him through and through, tho poor dog call- 
ing out lustily for quarters or for help all the time. He 
would down with him, and up with anuther in the same 
way. Could not shoot again without hitting a dog, which, 
with a woodsman, can not be thought of; so taking up a 
handspike, one of the men rushed into the dangerous strife, 
and fortunately hit the panther a fatal blow, without injury 
to the dogs. The panther measured, from nose to end of 
the tail, eleven feet. Monstrous ! Had seen as many as 
five hundred turkeys at one time ; deer, as thick as pigeons. 
Wolves, bears, and panthers, and Indians numerous. Some 
little difficulties, but no Indiuu tragedies worthy of record- 
ing. And, I Conclude with a wolf story, which I have from 
good old Father Burk. One old wolf, more cunning th lu 
the rest, somewhere found a safe retreat, and committed 
numerous depredations, with seeming impunity, after ail 
the others were either killed, or had removed to parts 
unknown. And every attempt to decoy or take her, proved 
abortive and vain. At last a great wolf hunter from Penn- 
sylvania, whose trapping operations had been crowned with 
signal success, about the Alleghany ^Mountains and the 
Susquehanna river, came into the place, and undertook 
to try his skill here. The first morning, he discovered that 
she had been about ; next morning he put out early, and 

454 cotton's keepsake.. 

Boon came lack " full tilt,'' exclaimino;, I have her ! The bal- 
ance of the -[iiryis rather painful and inhuman, but I roL-.'iil it 
for the moral — for ihe instruction it imparts. Tiie trapper 
called to his aid several men, went and tied the inuuth 
of the wolf with i, •^tro'";^ tv, luc --ih>..i tied ail iicr legs 
together, swung her under a pole which two men to^k on 
their shoulders, and brought her into BuVk's yard, aud 
laid her down; then lie took a switcli, and made miss wulf 
actually lay still at a word — then he untied her niuuth, 
and with a stone, actually bruke out all her tocth, and then 
■ eet his pack of dogs upon her, until Father Burk toM him 
It was too cruel, he could stacid it no hmger, and he must 
kill her forthwith, or remove. Accordiugly^ he disparchod 
her at once; and I stood upon the fatal aud tragic s-pot, 
and sighed at the recital of such cruelty. That scene. 
Father Burk says, has haunted him e\er since, and he never 
thinks of the man without a shudder. Now the moral is 
this: ^yicked acts of cruelty haunt men to their graves, 
aud curse their memory when they are dead. But more 
of this in anotlicr place. All that I have here recorded, 
took plaoe, not in the nnwn, but right here among us, a 
,few miles south of IIarris(>n, on the ^Vhitewater, in L'ear- 
laorn County. I now leave it for the reader to say, if tiiis 
eketch, xVunt Betsey and all, is not too good to be lost, 
is not hard to beat, aud worth a dollar easy ? And I here 
pause for a reply. 


Is a beautiful village, upon the Whitewater, divided by the 
St:ate line, and named in honor of the lamented General 
Harrison. Alvah Ross aud his ever dear sister, Emeline, 
now the accomplished and agreeable Mrs. Phillis, children 
of my early and lamented friend, Philander Ross, heretofore 
mentioned, reside here, and gave me a most kind and cor- 
dial reception. They seem more like children tlian friends. 
How the scenes of early life came thronging back upon the 
memory, and wo rej'.'iced and wept together over them. 


Colonel AVarner Tebbs, the veteran soldier, the early set- 
tler, aud a worthy good citizen, resides here, as do rtlso 
Dr. Clarkj Squire Godly, and Squire Bowlsby, my early 
a!id my pj'ccial friend^. Here Br.rdscl killed his wife 
villi u i.>.,i,d <i.c, a.i.d r;;.:i.d V ■•■•'■■'-■.>' ^"T...;.!.; n:c th.i' the 
spectacle v:a^ av.-i'ully horrible, and for •which Bunbel was 
hnng in Cincinnati, I believe. I'ccentl}', a Mr. Bender 
stabbed a Mr. Teller, and he fell a bleeding corpse. Just 
north a little, a young and fair bride came to a tragical 
end. On their way to the infair, they were met by a 
shivareeing party; the bride's horse took fright— dashed 
ofi" into the wood ; the bride lost her balance, and fell, but 
her foot held her fast in the stirrup, and away went the 
horse, dashing its iinfortunate rider against trees and every 
thing else, until she was torn almost limb from limb — de- 
nuded of all her fine apparel ; nor cuuld she be rescued 
from the frantic animal until he, a noble creature, was 
Bhot, and fell upon her mangled corpse 0, these fiolish 
shivareeing afFiiirs, how I abominate theuh They are de- 
signed for a little syurt, but are a great annoyance, and 
often end in mischief. Here remember Thomas AVilcox; 
see more hereafter. 

Old Father Swales was drowned in attempting to cross 
the river here, many years ago. Old Father Purcel'.s son 
was killed by lightning, and tiie old gentleman, full of 
years and honors, now slumbers by his side. I found my 
friend, D. Phimmer, just ready to move, much to the regret 
of all his fiiend-r!. My friends did nobly by me here. 
Friends Rittenhouse and Shroyer, and their exceedingly 
kind ladies, extended to me a hearty welcome, and a most 
agreeable entertainment. My worthy and early friend, 
George Arnold, Esq., ex-representative, etc., ha5 left the 
State, much to the regret of his friend.-:. ^ly old friends, 
Mr. Iloyter and Edward Rowe, and his good lady, whose 
names and nicniorie.s are deeply engraven upon my heart, 
have also removed, dearly loved and greatly missed. , Mrs. 

456 cotton's keepsake. 

Kowe is a sister to Mrs. Mc3Iath. The blessings of vM 
their friends aljide them still. 

The excellent pastor of the M. E. Church, a ^Ir. , 

Iftid me under threat ob'i^iations for his official and person:'.! 
v;.,.i..„.. ru. T^H ^'-- "-■■■-] Such goiierous acts ] 
hiijlibj appreciate, and never forget. - - _ -■ 


Is near Kinks ton's old mill, en the Whitewarer. Hero re- 
sido^ that sainted man, Father Chapelow, eig!ity-four year? 
old, and sixty-tivc years a niem1)er of the church. It i.s- 
worthy of a pilgrimage to ji^in him in his pious family 
deyotions. The linos quoted at Elder blender's, are pecu- 
liarly appropriate here. Old Father Barbor, Richard Ar- 
nold, and Zedekinh Uorih.un, my early and \yorthy friend.s, 
reside here. Jonathan Hallowell and "William ITlnkston, 
so favorably kno-wn, have remoyed, loved and cherished. 
Here just in sight, Noyes and Crouch ^yere dro\vned — see 
ballad. In atteuipting to ford at the mill, a young ladj' 
vras drowned, under circumstances peculiarly painful; she 
■was making preparations for her \vedding. which was to 
come ofi' in a few days. Poor girl ! Here Daniel Lake, 
by an unfortunate blow in a personal strife, killed a iMr. 
Smith — yoluntarlly gave himself up, was tried, and ac- 
quitted as a justifiable homicide. Old Fatlicr Ilinksttm 
wa-s found dead in his garden. I'aniel Kersey, whom I 
knew and love<l in Maine, while in the act of openin-^ a 
Sabbath-school by pr.iyer, fell over, and expired in a mo- 
ment. To him. how soon was "prayer lost in praise." 

"Be ye also rea<ly, fur in such an hour as ye think not, 
the sou of man cometh." 

ealdeige's SCnOOLIIOUSE. 

Here resid'^s the Key. Mr. Baldrige, a somewhat eminent . 
minister of the Christian or CampbcUite Church, a worthy 


citizen, and ray familiar and kind friend; has a most in- 
terestinjj and well educated family; lives at home, in easy 
and happy circumstances. Hero, too, are my good friends, 
Dr. Swales and brothers, sons of old Father Swales, before 

AV. Mess, F. II. Gibson, J. W. Liddle, and T). D. Murirnn. 
Old Father Cloud, and other early and kind friend?, rejido 
here. A little north, a girl left home in the ni^lit time, 
unJer censurable circumstances, and vras found in tiie 
morning with a heavy rail across her breast, and she cold 
and stiff in death. Poor girl! 

•""• ; ' ■ ■ .'■ LOGAX. 

Here I have had some "tall times'' in the temperance 
cause. Old Father Bodine, at an early day, hung out his 
teniperanee sign, which subjected him to the scons and 
jeers of the drinking boys; but it told well upon roform. 
It set men to thinking and talking, and every conclusion 
was that temperance was a fine thing. Fling out your 
banners every where to the breeze! I have no language 
to adequately express my gratitude to my early, con>tant, 
and good friends, Charles Jolley, Esq., William Laird, 
James Salmon, Isaac Southard, Z. A. Bonham, AVilliam 
Horner, Claude Boatman and brother, friend Albah. and 
others, for personal kindness and favors. Good old Father 
and Mother Horner, Father Shane, Father and Mother 
Southard, Mrs. Laird, and Mrs. Salmon, have passed away, 
bemoaned and missed. In 1853, a tornado swept over the 
country here, such as I have never witnessed, either in the 
hour of its terror, oi- in its devastating effects. Tiie inci- 
dents, thrilling and marvellous, would fill quite a volume ; 
but I have not the space to spare, and so must deny myself 
the mournful pleasure. My friend, "William Cox, sang a 
lay of some length and merit upon tlie occasion. Horses, 
cattle and hogs, in considerable numbers, died hereabouts 
■with the- bite of niad dogs. I saw some of them iu their 

458 cotton's keepsake. 

frothing, foaming couvulsions. Happily no human lives 
■were lost. - 

Good old Father f^nd iNrotliPv T.owlo Qot"cd here iu 1S15, 
•v\-hen iires and torches vere necessary to keep the howlinp; 
Leasts! at Lay. I have kuown them long, and loved them 
veil; and although the old gentleniau eniLraced a system 
of religion \»"hich I think, taken as a system iu to-to, is ex- 
ceedingly erroneous and fallacious; yet J ever regarded 
Lira as Leing strictly pious, iu the most orthodox sense 
of the -word, and doubt not that he is happy -with the He- 
deemer on h'gh. lie was certainly an excellent man, and 
raised one of the kind'^;st and best famiiies I over knew — • 
friends that are worth their weight in gold. My most in- 
timate acquaintance, however, is with rny friends, Freeboru 
and John Lewis, and their exceedingly kind and pleasant 
families, to which I may safely add their kind brothers 
and sisters. Mr. and Mrs. Ilawling, Lefore noticed, well 
deserve a place. IL're was the former residence of my 
eloquent friend, J. F. Watkins, ex-representative, orator, 
etc. Good old Mother Watkins, Mrs. MuGrath, Lawrence 
McGulre, William Swift, and others, old and true friend.?, 
reside liere. One huntc-r killed fifty-two deer in one winter, 
and another took five young wolves at a time, right here 
about Dover. 


I,-;a;"io Lawrence is all that now remains of the ntimerous 
and esoelient LavsTence family. Old Lsaac Lawrence died 
suddenly, and George was found dead in the field. Major 
Lewis, ex-representative, and Squire "Williams, Eber Jones, 
and Nicholas Yeager, are about all that is left of the 
old stock. Mrs. Ahijah Wilson, ray early friend, buried 
her husband, her fathijr, one child, one brother, and two 
cousins, in less than one year. A tree was foiled upon a 
young lady as she was passing by, which crushed her to 


death. A !Mr. young -was also killed by the falling of a 
tree. Ciiristupher Hoover was thrown from a runaway 
wagon, piric'-5ti^m drove into h's throat in such a fear- 
ful manner, that he dii:'d s^on after. 0, the pipe and the 
ci^ar ! 

Aiid now for the Ilazea family. "Look here, every- 
body." Tlie "Widow Ilazen, daughter of the lanientcd old 
Fatiier Stewart, had ten children, and nine of tliem were 
living when her oldest child lacked twenty odd davs of 
being eleven years old! I saw them years ago, when it 
was difficult to tpll vrhirh was the oldest. Such an inter- 
esting sight I never before or since saw an^-where. l»id 
you, reader? Ten children, and nine living, and the oldest 
not eleven years old ! AVell, it will unravel the marvel 
somewhat, when I inform you that there were three pair 
of twins. Francis Clarion, th.e odd twin, is a very worthy 
and promising young Baptist minister: liis two sisters at 
home are excellent school teachers, and exceedingly pleas- 
ant young ladips. Mother Ilazen is happy at home, and 
-happy in the hope of a blissful immortality hereafter. 
"When I take ray seat in " the Senate of the United States," 
my first move will i";o to secure to mother Ilazen a wiiole 
congressional ti-.wnship of land, to which I think she is 
well entitled as a prolific mother, and an excellent woman. 


Here I am quito at home among early friends — have 
pronounced several national and one special oration oa the 
occasion id' tlio return of the corpse of my friend Son man, 
from the plairis of Mexico, before noticed. The old gen- 
tleman and his son Thomas, and indeed all the family, . 
have been most liberal and kind to me. I have preached 
tlieir funerals and pronounced their oration, for all of 
■which services I have boeu most liberally compensated. 
As I said of another, so I say of the Sunman's; if all had 
dealt as lib^raiiv with mo, I should liave abundance and 


to spare. And still they are all in with a hearty good 
will and a liberal patronage for my book. Such friends 
all deserve a special notice. The Squire paid me in ad- 
vance fur five copies of my book, 85.00. Good for the 
Snnivo. TT"'-r. "-":■ ■^'■- f:r;.:;. ;,.^.id<j£ice uf Elder Palmer, 
that excellent and able niiuister of the Baptist Church, 
who nuw sleeps at Center Square, in Switzerland coua'iy. 
David Ferine, father of tiie Jlev. Dr. Ferine, a genliemau 
BO well and so favorably known, Wm. Yansile, Peter Yan- 
sile, Ptobert Cunuinj^ham, and Samuel Allen are the prin- 
cipal old settlers left; all of v.hoin I have long known 
arid long respected. Thomas Clark's son was killed — 
thrown from a runaway team and wagon. John Osborn 
was killed by the falling of a tree. A Mr. Barnhart acci- 
dentally shot himself, and died soon. Isaac Aiden, father 
of Hon. Alvin J. Alden, ex-representative, while dressing 
a calf, his knife accidentally plunged into his thigh, severed 
the femoral artery, and he bled to death in a few moments, 
and one of his children was scalded to death. Mrs. Alden 
is a daughter of old Father Morgan, who was drowned in 
Tanner's creek, as before noticed, is an excellent woman, 
and enjoys both peace and plenty. Hubert Cunningh-im 
had a little child scalded to death with the boiling con- 
tents of a teapot, which it tipped over into its little bosMm. 
Poor thing. He also lost three children and one grand- 
child, in a fev,- days. Another little child was scalded to 
death in a kettle of boiling lard. An old citizen shot his 
■wife, and is now in the penitentiary for it. Joseph Xice'y 
was found dead in an open room. And ^Vm. II. Brewer, 
supposed to be murdered, both sons-in-law to Mr.' and Mrs. 
Peter Van?.ile. How painful, how tragical their ends. The 
venerable good old Isaac Colman was found dead in his 
bed, all alone. 

'•'Found dead — dead and alone, 

On a pillow soft, on a snow white sheet, 
Nobody bv?ard bis last faint moan, 

Or knew when his heart had ceased to beat. 

HISTORICAL. . - 461 

No mourner lingers with tears and sifrhs, - 
Save the twinkling stars with their brilliant eyes, 
And the night wind passed with a wailing sound, 
By the dying couch where his form was fonnd. 

Found dead and alone — and yet not alone, 

Some one was there— some friend stood near, 
To claim his spirit as his own — 

■ To hear him sigh and mark his tear; 
One, when every friendly human door 
Is closed to his children, lone and poor, 
And opes the heavenly portal wide, 
Ah, yes ! God was near when the good man died." :" 

Samuel Aldcu, the ctreafc fruit and nursery man, was once 
really charmed with a large blacksnake. The snake got 
his eye upon a fixed gaze — he stood a moment — everything 
began to look bewitohingly beautiful. 0, ho never saw 
anything so pretty — felt it impossible to keep from ap- 
proaching, though he knew the power of a charm was 
upon him, and to approach would bo dijath. Finally move 
he must, and move he did, and with a mighty eiibrt, closed 
his eyes, turned his fiice, and felt released, though chilly 
and faint. lie says he would not encounter the same strug- 
gle and feeling again for a thousand dollars. We have 
shown that men can charm birds, and now, more wonder- 
ful still, that snakes can charm men. The snake would 
have coiled around his neck and choked him to death, as 
their manner is, had he not, by a mighty mental and 
physical effort, th^o^m off " the spell that bound him." 

This is a snake story worth telling, from a man of truth 
and veracity. 

- huebel's CORXER. 

John Taylor, Bryant Conncly, Esq., Alvln J. Alden, 
George Anderson, and Thomas Ehler, are about all the 
early friends left here. Friend Ehler is one of the few 

462 cotton's keepsake. 

paying friends, -whom I have with ministerial duties served 

at the burial of hi? dear children, and deserves ^n-ell to bo 

enrolled upon that list of friends, whom I have found to be, 

"Like angel's visits, few and far betvreeu." 

Michael Ehlor foil dead on his floor in a minute. His 
flither-in-la^v, ]Mr. Sehuter, fell from a load of liay and broke 
his neck. John Hendricks fell from a tree, in pursuit of 
a swarm of bees, and died in a few hours. A fearful mur- 
der and robbery took place in this community, years ago. 
A man by the name of Hellion, it vras supposed, made 
■way with a stranger that put up with him for the night. 
Hellion fled, and has not since been found, to my kno-\\ ledge. 
Friend Taylor is a profound scholar, a faithful and true 
friend, and has a kind family, to whom I am much indebt- 
ed. Squire Connelly has killed manj- wild cats. Bears, 
wolves, and panthers were thick and troublesome. Reader, 
I ■ have given you " a lady bear story," and now for •' a 
lady panther story." The Squire gives the following, which 
he had from the lady herself — a lady that I once knew, and 
just the woman to do it, if any woman could or would. 
And this is tlie story : Her husband being from home, her 
dogs treed something in the night, close by the forest cabin. 
And it being a convenient tree to climb, and she an ex- 
pert climber, up she goes, to see what was on hand, and 
what should it be but a pretty well grown young panther. 
Mister panther, not liking her near approach, presented his 
"farewell department," with a view of mounting up a little 
higher, out of her way and out of her reach, when she 
suddenly seized him with one hand, just above his ham- 
string, and with an iron grip held on, and letting all her 
weight upon him, commenced her descent. Mister panther, 
cat fashion, sticking close to the tree "for dear life." But 
down, and down went both lady and panther, when step- 
ping out upon the lower limb, with a sudden square ofl 
jirk, mister pantlier lost his hold, fell among the dogs, and 
^vas "a used up man," before he had time to say — "0! 


do n't." I ask, is that not too good to be loat ? I tell 
you, sonic of our forest ladies were general-i'?ies, who are 
hard to beat (or darin</ adventure and enterprise. That 
lad}' v,'as 3Irs. Peter Boltz, whom I well knew. What do 
J?- --- to that, girls? " Thinli you could " conio it?" 
"Well there 's no necessity for encountering bears and pan- 
thers 7iow. But there are other duties and dangers for 
you to meet, in the " active and busy scenes of a more 
refined life." And happy is he, or she, who shall well pei-- 
form ihcir part upon the great theater of "'life's drama," 
in the day and age in which they may chance to live. 

- "Then up and at it, one and all, • - ' . 

■ ■ '■.. Nor lose one single minute, 

■'. -. You all should make this world the better, 

,;;'.- 1 For having just been in it." 


Is eleven miles from Lawrenceburg, on the Indianapolis 
State road, and a little over one mile south of my early 
"forest home," and just in sight of my present cottage 
residence. It was thus named under the following circum- 
stances. A letter received from California, was post-marked 
" Mule Town," and our little village having long been 
annoyed by a span of very mischievous and breech mules, 
in a playful moment, the village was called " Mule Town.'-* 
And it pas.^ed all around as a laughable hit, all in sport 
at first, but it settled down by common consent Into an 
established christening; and thus it has, and thus it will 
remain. AVell, Mule Town is not to be " gi-inned at " after 
all. Let me see — there are two large stores, two shoemak- 
ing establishments, a large coopering, a wagon, and buggy, 
and a good blacksmith, and a tailor shop, a very large and 
fine steam-flouring and sawmill, a postoSlce, a fine church, 
and, decidedly, one of die very best academics in the State. 
It is justly considered a model building — with model 

464 cotton's keepsake. 

teachers,* and has, in constant attendance, more than one 
hundred pupils, and some of whum are " model pupils," 
. Bure. Two boarding-houses, and other building? to suit. 
"Well, that's soine. And just in sight, is the fine mansion 
house of good old Tather Noyes, ^vho settled here in 1817, 
for the purpose of benefiting his 3-oung, and rising family. 
But how uncertain and transitory are all worldly calcula- 
tions and aspirations. The old gentleman himself, Berija- . 
min, Israel, Sarah, (Mrs. Bcnj, Sylvester,) Talmai, Eliza, 
(Mrs. Peter C. Wilcox,) Hugh, Daniel and Ch.arles, his sons 
and daughters, all " slumber in the dust," and some of them' 
far asunder. A little sweet infant babe he buried in jMaine. 
Mrs. Cotton, Mrs. James P. Milliken, and Mr. Amos Noyes, 
Esq., the merchant and miller, a worthy, active, business 
man, is now all that survive of twelve children. The ven- 
erable good old Lady Noyos still survives, at 8-5 years,' and 
lives with me and mine, feeble in body, but strong in mind, 
and longing to "depart, and be with Christ, which is far 

The other day, in a pensive mood, she throw off quite a 
lengthy and pretty poem, which commenced thus: 

"I'm nearly deaf, and almost blind, 
And to my chair I am confined; 
And hero I sit, day after day, 
Aad wear the tiresome hours a.wny. 
But hush, my muse, I'll not complain — 
I never can be young again. 
In yonder world youth, health, and bliss 
I shall enjoy — but not in this." 

Now aint that beautiful for an old lady of eighty-five? 
Surely the Psalmist was right when he said — " If by reason 
of strength it be four score years, it is labor and sorrow," 
etc. Yet, like the sainted Job, she says submi«sivch- — "All 
the days of my appointed time v.ill I wait till my ■change 

* ProfiJ3or 0. H. Smith, and otiiers. 

HISTORICAL. , .; 465 

come." jMother Noyes is an exception anioiig -u-omen, and 
almost alone remains of all her early lieii^hbors in the wil- 
derness. Old ^Mother Miller, old Father Barton, and 3Ie- 
lanethon "Wicks, early and good citizens, died Avith fearful 
cancerti. Old Father and Mother 31cMul!en, old Sister 
Pardiin, Father and Mother Euble, of precious memory, 
Father and ^ilother Freeland, Father and Mother Rich, 
Father and Mother Mead, and Father and Mother Milli- 
ken, Mrs. Piatt, and Mrs. Ketcham, Mrs. Ilorham, old 
Father ManliS", old Father Ketcham, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Micajah Dunn, parents of Gersham Dunn, Esq., and brother 
of the lion. Judge Isaac I'unn, early and good citizens, 
have passed frum earth away, and most of them rejoicing 
in hope. , • 

. Wm. Barton fell down dead, with a disease of the heart 
Sauford Sanders cut his toe a little, took cold in it, suffered 
a world of woe, and died at last, poor fellow ! He pre- 
ferred that to amputation. ^Y. W. Jordan, one of our very 
safest merchants, and an excellent man, a kind husband and 
u fond father, put on a pair of new boots to go to Cincinnati, 
on mercantile business ; they simply blistered his feet, in- 
tiammation set in, and no medical skill could savfr him. 
He died beloved, bemoaned, and missed. How trivial an 
affair maj' wind up our careei-, after braving the dangers 
and ills of life ! What a lesson, reader ! Take heed to it, 
and "be. ye also ready." 

Peter C. Wilcox was once thrown from his wagon, a 
wheel of which ran plumb over his face, smashing his nose 
and tearing his upp'Or lip almost entirely off. A bunch 
of hoop-pules, coming between his head and the wheel, is 
all that saved him from a sudden and fearful death. As 
it was, it is still a most marvelous escape. He recovered 
from his v,-ound, a little the worse in his appearance ; but, 
as I said of Squire Anderson, who is a brother-in-law, ho 
still has a very respectable " handle to his face," and as 
nice a little lady as ever was Wrapped up in "so much 
.calico," and children that I dearly and fondly Ic, e. And 

466 cotton's keepsake/ 

my dear little Lizzie, sweet girl, now iMrs. PLitt, is " one 
among a thousand'' of my cherished pupil?. Alfr'^d. r-on 
of David and Charity Piatt, my early and my kindest 
"forest friends," was suddenly killed by the falling of a 
tree, many years ago. 

IMy early and good friends, Silas and P.'itty AVicks. have 
l)een sorely affliet-ed and bereaved. Their dearly-loved 
daughter, Ann — Mrs. Joseph Suiter — was happilv married, 
then suddenly died. Charles Noyes, who was drovrned in 
the Whitewater (see ballad), wa3 a sou-in-law — husband to 
Lorinda, now the amiable and accomplished Mrs. George 
Clark, and their only daughter. They lost tlirce dear, 
Ewcet children, in about one week, with, the scarlet fever. 
Another dearly beloved daughter fell from a cherry tree, 
and was a cory>se in a few hours. Their son, Stephen, had 
graduated, at Philadt^lphia, with brilliant honors, had en- 
tered the practice of law, under circumstances trie most 
flattering, and v.'as a corpse in a single week. lie was de- 
cidedly the most talented, most eloquent, and best-informed 
young man in this community. "And devout men carried 
Stephen to his burial, and made great lamentation over 
him." — See Acts, yiii: 2. How applicable! Taken as a 
whole, this was a very intelligent and interesting family of 
children. Piatt bids fair to make his mark in the world. 
If this is a little extra notice, it is well deserved. 

My ever-cherished friend, John Bcnnct, as before noticed, 
removed to Henry county, came back on business, and 
suddenly died. Mary Xoyes, sweet woman, a sister-in-law, 
■widow of Benjamin, married Araasa Sawyer, a niost happy 
union, and died soon and suddenly. Miss Betsey Greeu- 
hara died of a fearful scald — a painful case. Samuel 
McMullen lost two dear, sweet little girls within fifcoea 
Kiinutes of each other, and another in the same week. O, 
what a sad breach I Wm. Tebbetts, Esq., buried his wife 
and eldest daughter, Mrs. Martin, at one time. ^Irs. Wm. 
Dawson died, at her breakfast-table, with a sudden rupture 
and homorrliage of the lungs. Her daughter, Mr.-^. Bidin- 


ger, in layiuj:; her pipe upon the -windoTr, a coal of fire 
chancod to drop in an uncorked jug containina; two pounds 
of powder, -when a fearful explosion took place, which en- 
veloped her in flame?, burned, and wounded her in a fear- 
ful and fri^^Iitful manner, but still she lives willi scarce a 
perceptible scar. -A little son of Hon. J. P. and I'riscilla 
Millburu was scalded to death — poor boy! Jonas Martin 
■was kicked by a horse, which ruptured his liow'els. Ho 
survived a short period in great pain, and then died. 
Charles Noyes and Ephraim Crouch were drowned in the 
Whitewater. David Piatt, son of old Mr. Piatt, and brother 
to Smith and others, died at Elizabethtown, with the milk 
eickness, as did Mr. Patterson, fiither of Judge Patterson, 
of Ohio county. Daniel Xorthrop and Dr. Lee had their 
houses all consumed by fire. 

- And here, a shivarecing party having been desired and 
ordered to depart, in vain, the groom, telling them what 
they might depend upon, discharged his mu.sket, loaded 
with white beans, many of which entered so deeply into 
the flesh of a young man, that it required surgical imple- 
ments and skill to extract them. Piather a hard way to 
plant or gather beans. 0, the folly, the annoyance and the 
danger of a shivaree! which consists in getting all the 
young men and boys together, at the time of a wedding or 
infair, each with his bugle, trumpet, cow-bell, tin pan, or 
anything else that will make a noise ; and if you want to 
hear anything frightfully or ridiculously laughable, just 
listen to tiie discordant, grating sounds of a ehivareeing 

Old Mother Noyes, Mother Manliff, Mother Barton, 
Mother Ketcham, and Sister Wicks, as she is universally 
called, and a pious, good sister at that, good oM Father 
Plait, and Fath-ar Ilorham, Wm. Tibbets, Esq., Silas Wicks 
and lady pro all that now survive, of the early f:»rest set- 
tlers, here. My exceedingly kind and good friends, Justus 
H. West, Moses Cook, David :McCoy, Joseph Roberts, Witt 
Fisher, Robert and James Kennedy, lion. James P. Milli- 


ken, so long, so favorably and extensively known, Horace 
and Jane Brimhall, Mrs. Nancy Noyes, Friend and Sarah 
Northrop, AddJ>on and Enieline Chandler, and others,, 
all dearly loved and fondly cherished ladies and families, 
have re:noved from among u-, much to our personal i-egrets. 
The best -jvishes of their numerous friends abide theni still. 
Those noted Christian Pilgrims, old Brother Gearhart, and 
old Brother EUingwood, who are "the salt of the earth," 
on their way to "Canaan," and daily rij)ening fur bliss im- 
mortal in the skies. 

Joseph Whitesell's little son fell through the bridge and 
killed himself, poor little fellov,- — a mighty smart and 
sprightly lad. George Claspell fell from a tree some forty 
feet, was badly injured, but recovered. Lewis Vvhitesell 
lost a hand entirely, by the bursting of his gun. George 
II., son of Gersham Dunn, Esq., once received the whole 
bitt of an axe into his heail, just back of his ear — a gash so 
frightful that you could put your whole finger into it — the 
brains actually flowing out freely, and yet he recovered, 
without any seeming damage, to the surprise and joy of alL 
Dr. Harding, his attending physician, reported this case as 
one of singular occurrence and importance to the medical 
board. It was a wonderful case, truly. 

And now, having said much about everybody and every- 
thing in this community, I will say something more about 
my ov.n self and family. Here, was my early forest home. 
(See Ode, and a night with a panther, for particulars.) . 
There were no springs of water upon the ridge, or in this 
community, when I first settled here, which accounts for so 
many of the early locations upon the broken creek lands. 
I have brought many a bucketful of water from a spring 
near by Bennet's old mill, now Harmon's switch, on tho 
railroad, a distance of at least two miles. What do you 
think of that? Vv'hy did n't you dig a well ? Sure enough, 
why did n't we ? Because one must creep before he can 
■walk. I drew the water for use at the raising of my tir-t 
cabiii, all of five miles, from that famous spring in Con- 

msTORicAL. 469 

ger's or Morris's neighborhood, -which was the neare'it and 
the best -place that I could then obtain it. Now living 
springs abound all around me, and within a stoae's cast 
of my duor. As the country is cleared up and improved, 
"living waters" gush forth everywhere; the philosophy- of 
•which is simple, but I need not, can not, here es;>lain. 

'* Wild beasts of prey and game was plenty, though I 
took but little of iL My neighbors have taken as many 
as one dozen and a half of wild turkeys out of a turkey- 
pen, at one time ; three were as many as I ever got at 
cue time. Now a turkey-pen was built up of poles or 
small logs, some ten or twelve feet long, somethi-ig like a 
cob-house, three or four feet high, and then covered all 
over with heavy poles, with a natural or artificial ditch 
passing under one side and terminating about in the cen- 
ter of the pen ; then on the inside it was covered over 
next to the wall some three feet with bark or clapboards, 
leaving the opening right in the center. Corn or wheat 
being thrown into the trench or ditch, the turkeys, follow- 
ing it up, soon find themselves in the pen, and instead of 
backing out, or going back, to get out, they go round 
and round at the surface, which will novrhere admit of 
their escape; and they are safe, though all could get out 
the way tliey came in, if they would only look down in- 
stead of vp. My reader, you may learn a moral oven from 
a turkey. A loJ't>/ head leads to ruin, while huiniiUt/ se- 
cures safety and repose. 

Quails were taken in the same way, upon a smaller 
scale, and soraotimes with a kind of basket trap set upon 
"a. figure four," as it is called. But the most successful 
and speedy manner was with a net, v/hich being set, the 
quails, by a skillful hand, could be drove into it. Vv'hilo 
I resided at Elizabethtown, Dr. Brower, who is ''master of 
.'all that he undertakes" — "a workman that need not be 
ashamed," took four dozen, iniiitis or plus, one, (1 have 
forgotten which,) at one single drive or haul There 's a 
" quail story" for you, worth telling. 

470 cotton's keepsake. ■ ■ 

A big bear once crossed my path, in the nio;hfc time, at 
the mouth of Ketcham's run — fri.<:ch toned both me and my 
Jiorse, too, made a short pause in tlie road, just ahead of 
me, then concluded to let me pass — gave the track, -svent 
on about his own business, and I felt much relieved, aud 
much obliged to him. This, boys, is no stump, but a ri^al 
" genuine bear story." Benjamin Ni)yes once met a bear 
in the woods, and took after him with his ax — afoot 
and alone. Bravo! Just like Benjamin. Bruin took to a 
tree, and then Xoyes and others took him from it at their 
leisure. The last one taken in the nei'jjhbnrhood crossed 
the Srate road several times close by Mule Town and Upper 
Manchester, and was. taken upon the creek, hard by. Yes, 
right here, at Mule Town. Who could believe it? and who 
would ever know it but for me ? Just ou the creek, east 
of my cabin home, Lewis Whitesell and others once killed 
a rattlesnake of huge dimensions, which had long been 
assailed by his dog; and eleven young rattlesnakes, one 
foot and a half long, each, had sought refuge by running 
down the throat of their mother, as before noticed, on 
a similar occasion. There 's a big snake story for you, and 
upon good and reliable authority, too, as I well know. My 
own pantlier aud rattlesnake story will here be remembered, 
and called to mind again. 

"Well, in early time.?, Mrs. Cotton killed two very largo 
copperhead-snakes right in our humble cabin home : .she 
found them colled up in one corner, imder the table, and 
soon let them know that she was "mistress of the house," 
and that intruders must take the consequence, and she made 
them "bite the dust." At another time, as she stepped out 
in the evening, something seemed to catch hold ami jerk 
her dress. She called me to bring a light, when lo I ri^hfc 
at her feet lay the largest kind of a copperliead-snake, wliic'i 
had struck at her just as she stepped off the door-step. His 
fearful fangs, of course, pierced the skirt of her dress, which 
by her motion j-^^rked him from his coil, and gave notice th:it 
"all was not right." Was that not rather a narrow escape? 

■ ''historical. 471 

Mr. Snakef', however, paid the forfeit of his life for thug 
presuming, and good enough for him. I once killed a black- . 
snake so large, that he had a big gray squirrel, nearly all 
swallowed, and there he lay, " taking it fair and easy ;" and 
once on a time I heard a little singular sound, and turning 
around, I saw a large frog leaping, as " for dear life," down 
tlic hillside, and singing it out strangely at every bound, 
and just behind him came rushing along, "in hot haste," 
the largest kind of a black-snake. Mister frog reached the 
creek, plunged into shallow water, and lay as still as death, 
and seemingly "as flat as a pancake." His snakeship 
rushed across tlie creek close by him, lost his trail, "tacked 
ship," and came back, and took his position right on the 
bank, just opposite to him, when I interfered, which snalee 
seemed to think was not fair play, and he forthwith put in 
"leg bail ;" and then I too went on about my own business. 
At another time, a setting hen, out under an old log, just at 
.the evening twilight, raised a flutter and a fuss. Rushing 
to her rescue, I found her completely enveloped in the coil 
of' a large black-snake, at least six feet long, wrapped or 
■ entwined all round her body and her wings, and twice or 
thrice around her neck, and thus he choked hor to death 
before I could render her any relief; and this being his 
manner of taking large game, is the reason why I supposed 
he would have used friend Alden in the same manner, as 
before stated. I tell you, reader, it was "rather snaky" 
about those early forest times, and no mistake, surely. 

Well, now for something to accommodate myself and the 
"young fulk.s " of my own particular neighborhood exclu- 
sively. I have already incidentally made mention of my 
interesting. little pupil and niece. Miss Elizabeth X. Wilcox ; 
and surely I can not well say too much in prais-e of one so 
kind, so studious, and so interesting; and her little sl-i Al- 
dora must not be f<,irgotten or overlooked — a swoot little 
motherless dear. Then here come Misses Luciuda C, 
Dorothy C, Sarah Jane, Amanda, Alvira, Augusta, Helen, 
Mary Frances, Xarissa, Gertrude and Caroline Noyes; and 

472 cotton's keepsake. 

here, too, Miss Elizabeth Phebe, only child of Charles and 
Mary Xnycs, deceased, a young lady of excellent mind, 
■which she has wall iuiproved; amiable and obliging in iier 
disposition, graceful and pleasing in her manners, she has 
secured the love and good will of ull who know her. I 
extend to her this special notice, because she is " a -lone 
or^ihan." and richly deserves this meed' of honest praise. 
Misses Martha, Mary, Priscilla and Indiana 3Iilliken were 
all kind, dear pupils and nieces of mine. Misses Abba, 
Jennie and Mary Jumper, Mary, Eliza. Phebe and Emily 
Milliken, Misses Mary, Frances and sis "West. Miss Isabel 
Chandler, Miss Mary Jane !Morse, Miss Arabella Freeland, 
Miss Aurilla Crocker, Misses Keturah, Mary Ann and Cassie 
B.jdine, Miss Jennie Eklridge, Miss Mary Sisson. Misses 
Unadilla and sid Crider, Misses Harriet, Geneva and Alice 
Jordan, Misses Elizabeth and Sarah M. Jacks'jn, Miss 
Harriet Conger, Misses Betsey, Clema, Mary and sis Cook, 
blisses Ella, Harriet Ann, Isabel, Amanda, ^Melissa and 
Nancy McMullen, all the Misses Livingston and Kennedy, 
a part of whose names are forgotten, and so I name none 
of them, iMibses Alzora and Grace Powell, Misses Mary, 
Sarah, Betsey, Cynthia and Lydia McCoy, Misses Catharine 
and Tamaris Fisher, Miss Lydia Roberts, Miss Harriet Lay- 
born, jMisses Sarah Jane and Olive Barton, Misses Mary 
Jane and Melissa Thompson, Miss Geneva Tibbetts, Jliss 
Mary Ellon Sayres, Miss Fanny Cummings, Misses Rebecca 
and Pruda Fitzgerald, Mioses Abigail, Nancy, Lucy and 
Sarah Rice. Misses Margaret and Martha McCrackon, itliss 

■ Murearta, Miss "Whitesoll, Misses Keturah and 

Louisiana Wicks, Misses Hannah, Sarah Jane, Elizabeth 
and Priscilla Dunn, ]Miss Sarah Kelley, Misses Sarah Jane 
and Pruda Piatt, Misses Mary, Catharine, Eliza and Fanny 
Keteham ; all of whom I embalm in the pages of my 
little bo;ik, as dear kind pupils. One or two I have 
recorded in their famil}- conueetion, to keep the associa- 
tion. A few also are now married, and a few are dead; 
but I treasure up their names here as a memonto of 


them. T^Iiss Mni-f^aret M. Coy, though never a pupil, is 
a loved and cherished fi-ieud, and I associate her name 
with her youthful associate^, to be preserved together; 
and it affords me pleasure thus to give evidence of oher- 
islied remembrances ; and I will here close the list bv re- 
curding the names of all my dear grandchildren, the most 
of -svhom have been dear kind pupils, too ; and, of course, 
tlieir names must appear in grandpa's book. "Well here 
they are:— Lewis and Dorothy, children of my own loved 
Elizabeth and Richard Piatt'; Orval W., Estelle C. and 
Dorothy Victory, children of my only surviving son, Wm. 
and Priscilla Cotton ; Sarah Louisa and Alfred Charles, 
children of my lamented son, Alfred B. and Jane Cotton, 
and Phebe Elizaljeth by his first wife Phebe, who died 
when sis was only a few days old. She has grown up 
with us, and appears to be quite our OAvn. The Lord 
bless them all, is grandpa's prayer, and at last, when 
life's duties, dangers and conflicts are over, may we 
form an unbroken circle — "a fond family in heaven." 

This being my own neighborhood, is my apology 
for devoting so much space for the recording of names. 
But as I do it at my own expense none surely need 
complain, cltlier here or elsewhere, now or hereafter; 
see reasons more fully expressed at Manchester, and 
then say whether I deserve censure or praise for these 

And now for a boar story, that is a hear slr/ry, to conclude 
Mule Town history. 

An early forest neighbor of mine, by the name of Bills, 
knoAvn as "Dumb Bills," and "as deaf as a haddock" at 
that, once caught two little " cub bears," not fiir from my 
forest home, took them up carefully, went down to the 
creek close by — selected a little clear piece of bottom land 
for his theater of action, looked well to his trusty rifle — 
and then by pincliing, mr^de the little fellows sing it out 
lustily, to call up old mother bear, and with his keen 
" hawk's eye," kept a good look out in every dlre-ction, 

474 cotton's keepsake. 

And by-and-by old bear hove in fight, at quite a distance 
npon the brow of the hlU. Now the little ones ?«ng it out 
lustily again, and mistress bear douI>les her speed, and now 
another sharp outcry, and mistress bear " puts ia her host 
licks," comes waddling along at the top of her speed, hair 
erect, tongue out, and growling, vengeance upon the captor 
and the teaser of her young. Yes, here she comes, " might 
and main," " full tilt," and when within a few yards of 
the object of her care and her vengeance, "ker-bang" gucs 
the rifle, and down drops mistress bear, suddenly in her 
tracks, and so great was the momentum of her sy-ecd, that 
she actually turned a perfect ''summerset/' and foil quiv- 
ering in death, just at the captor's feet. Bills knew the 
tender spot — knew that he could hit it in a moment, at the 
right time, reserved his fire, and then with a quick motion, 
a steady nerve, and a deadly aim, he was " lord of the 
turf," and " victor of the field." 0, vrhat daring intrepidity 1 
■what self possession, for " a deaf and dumb man 1" Such 
vere some of my early neighbors— the "forest pioneers." 
Now, boys, aiut that single story ahoid worth one dollar, 
and altogether too good, too thrillingly interesting to be 
lost ? And how many such, my little book will rescue from 
oblivion, to amuse and interest little' boys and girls, who 
shall live rigid here in after years. And personally I know 
that all these things are siibstantialhj correct and true. 
So much then, for Mule Town, " my early forest home." 


The first cabin was raised here in 1S15, by Robert 
McCracken, now residing in the eastern end of the county. 
He informed me, the other day, that he cut his own road 
clear from Cambridge — that his nearest neighbor was four 
or five miles distant, and he tliat much farther west thau 
any other white man, in the depths of an unbroken and 
interminable wi'deruess. His Indian and wild beast stories 
are some, and tally with similar reports everywhere. Two 
years after he settled in the forest, quite " a Yankee colony " 


j arrived, and he sold out to the Rev. Daniel. His brother, 
i Col. ]Mark McCraeken, retained his portion to the day of 
I his death, and erected that large and spacious mansiou- 
; house, nov,- occupied by Win. II. Baker, wlio, from a poor 
1 boy, has -worked his way into tliat beautiful and valuable 
; possession. 

I Col. Mark McCracken, at an early day, flung out his 
; temperance banner to the breeze, Avas a man cstensivel}^ and 
favorably known, and may well be said to be one of the 
leading men in the community. He died in the midst of 
life, loved, bemoaned, and missed. His sainted mother died 
a short time before, at the advanced age of 91 years. The 
venerable old Mr. Piummer, the honored father of the Rev. 
. Daniel and Capt, Luther Piummer, had a leg twice ampu- 
tated, it being all fearfully fractured by a falling tree in 
the East — ^survived many years, and died at a ripe, good 
old age. Father and mother Freeman, parents of Mrs. 
Daniel Piummer, fell asleep at about 86 years of age, and 
all died in the blissful hope of " a better inheritance." 
Edward Freeman, my loved and familiar Edward, buried 
his little granddaughter, and his own sweet daughter, 
Louisa, Mrs. Turhorn In one day, and died himself the 
next, I believe. And thus was his most oscellent lady, 
my highly esteemed friend, suddenly and sorely bereaved. 
Henry Ileutis, brother to 0. II. Heustis, Esq., and son-in- 
• law of the Rev. Daniel Piummer, was thrown from his 
•wagon, fell upon a log, which produced a rupture in his 
bowels, suflered a world of woe, and then died. He was 
! a man of genius and of eloquence, dearly loved, and greatly 
- missed; His faithful Almira soon after found repose beside 
him in "the house of death." And Mrs. Harding sung 
a sweet and pensive lay at the death of her fond sister, 
as she did upon another similar occasion — the death of 
her dcur sister Jane, of whom mention has already been 
made. Old mother Heustis is very smart and active at the 
age of 86 years, and a wonderful fine old lady. 

My early forest friends, Simon Alexander and lady, died 

476. cotton's keepsake. 

suddenly, withJn two weeks of e:ioh other. A pairful 
and sore affliction to all their chihlreu and their fiiendi. 
James Matthews, a good, and well deserving son-in- 
law, also died suddenly, as did John Milliken years be- 
fore, loved and lamented, and cherished siill. A s<:>u of 
Daniel Kersey's was killed in the bark-mill. A son of 
Moses Roberts was drowned in the tan vat. My wortliy 
friend, James M. Clark, had his thigh bruken by a fall, 
and his daughter, Miss Ann, a dear pupil of mine, suf- 
fered the amputation of a fearful tuuaor from her hide 
the other day, which she endured, and bore " like a gen- 
eral." Old Mother Piles was found dead at her dc^or in a 
praying posture years ago. My venerable friend. Job Syl- 
vester, Father of Capt. Benjamin Sylvester, nnw of St. Paul, 
Minnesota, is over 90 years of age, the oldest man in this 
community, and a precious good old raaa at that. ' lie 
lives -with his daughter, Mrs. Capt. Luther Piummer, where 
he is kindly nursed and cared for. His precious good lady 
passed to " that better land" several years ago, and soon, 
no doubt, they'll meet above, to part no more for ever. 

Father and Mother Kunnels, Judde Clark, and Joseph 
Plummer, before noticed, are no more. Mrs. Plummcr, his 
widow, precious woman, has been blind for years, but " the 
eye of her faith" is brilliant and sound. She and good 
old mother Clark are tenderly nursed and cared for by 
their dear and dutiful children. Pachard llansel, Juhn B. 
Clark, Stephen M. Clark, David Runnels, and. Ednmnd 
Ohisman,- and their good ladies and families, have removed, 
blessed and remembered by all their fi-iends. Rev. Benja- 
min Plummer, a young but accompllshiid minister of the 
Gospel, seems to be filling the place of his venerable uucle 
Daniel. Mny the mantle of Elisha fall upon him, and the 
Lord bless him in his " work of faith and labor of luvu." 
Good old Rev. Father Eldridge has served his day and geu- 
ration well auvl faithfully, and soon-will enter into rest. Mary E. Clark, now the estimable and accomplislicd 
Mrs. Dr. Eldridge, years ago, on behalf of the ladies of Man- 

HISTORICAL. 1 , 477 

Chester, made the Bible-presentation Address to the Sons 
of Temperance. To sav that it was beautifully avipropri- 
ate is to say but little. It was surpassingly so: and mine 
was the honor to respond. To be eclipsed by so brij;lit an 
orb," or rather to be lost in its greater brilliancy, like the 
morning star, was rather a pleasure than a pain; nnJ yet 
my friends say that I f\xirly beat myself. The greater 
compliment, however, is found in this : both of our addresses 
were subsequently used, east of the mountains, on a simi- 
lar occasion, word for word and line for line, and so pub- 
lished in the papers, which I read for myself If a little 
disreputable to the users, who thus made themselves ob- 
noxious to the charge of plagiarism, it certainly was very 
complimentary to Miss Clark and myself. Miss Sarah 
Plummer and Miss Mary Flint were Miss Clark's fair at- 
tendants, and must be registered and perpetuated in this 
connection, as matter of course. That was a proud day for 
Manchester and the temperance cause; and if the Division 
has gone dov.n, it wrought a great and good work in its 
day. It, however, never should have gone down — there 
was no earthly cause for it; but I can not dwell, although I 
could write a full volume, and weep over the necessity. 
Jly askjciation with 3Iiss Clark, now the modest, amiable, 
and intelligent jMrs. Dr. Eldridge, makes her name and her 
memory dear to my heart. The doctor and his brother 
Albert, now in Illinois, and Dr. Sayres, have claims upon 
my gratitude for kind and generous personal and profes- 
Bional services. 

Dr. Terrel has recently located in our midst, and comes 
with the fame of an excellent man and a good physician, 
without which he could stand no possible chano.? wiih our 
other excellent physicians. My venerable and kind friends, 
Brother Samuel Roberts and lady, Brother "Whuc-'mb and 
lady, Brothf^rs Amos and Jonathan Ross and li iie.J, Bri> 
ther E.iias Schooley and lady, Captain Luthe: P'ummer 
and lady, Jamcj Walso and lady, and Salmon T. Wavren, 
and good old Aunt Esther Ereemau, ate about all of ilie 

478 cotton's keepsake. 

old settlers left. And none, surely, ^vi!l take it amiss, 
•when I say, what evei-ybody else snys, that Captain Plum- 
mer, fur moral excellence and -worth, has few equals, and 
no superiors awjivhere. ]Mr. "Walso also deserves a little 
special notice. He commenced the world a poor orphan 
boy, unpromising, penuiies.s, and friendless, except the en- 
couragement and good counsel of the Kev. Daniel Plum 
mer, with whom he lived for several years. Now he owns 
and occupies the beautiful farm and splendid mansion 
house formerly owned by Captain Benjamin Sylvester. 
Ho also owns another valuable farm. "We associate his 
name and example with those of friend Randall and Ba- 
ker, before noticed ; to which we might add those of (Hlver 
H. and Elias Hcustis, George M. Lozier, Jeremiah Hower- 
ton, ]\alph Collier, John B. and James M. Clark, Samuel 
S. Conger, James Garrigus, Smith Piatt, Peter C. Wilcox, 
Alden H. Jumper, and the Hon. James P. ilillikon, and 
others right in our midst, here, who started out in the 
■world empty-handed, but whose wealth now is computed 
by thousands, and most of them all, too, have held high 
official stations among men. Thus securing to themselves 
•wealth, honor, and fame by their OAvn personal efforts of in- 
dustry, economy, and moral worth. What a lesson to pon- 
der upon and to apply ! 

My reading and observation go to show, that poor boys 
often die rich men, and rich boys often die ■poor men, and 
the reason is as obvious as the nose on a man's ficc. 
How much better, then, it would be for men of wealth to 
dispose of their means themselves, as. they go along through 
life, to charitable and benevolent purposes, than to hoard 
it up for their children to quarrel about, perchance, after 
they are dead and gone; and, instead of thanking you for 
■what you have left, a thousand chances to one, they will 
complain because you did not leave them more. Such 
things but too often occur. Had a fortune been left to 
me, I, perchance, should have done little good in the world, 
either to myself or to anybody else; and surely never 


should have come out author — never should have published 
this little book, which, I trust, v*-ill accomplish some little 
good at least, and afford pleasing and profitable entertain- 
ment to its readers, when " life's duties are o'er" with me. 
"Without a single dime, yes, a single dime, I commenced 
the -world, and have " worked my way ; and the reflection 
is gratifying to my heart. Perhaps the celebrated Dr. Ar- 
nold never uttered a more truthful and wise sentiment 
than when he said — "Many an unwise parent labors hard, 
and lives sparingly all his life, for the purpose of leaving 
enough to give his children 'a start in the world,' as it is 

Setting a young man afloat with money left him by his 
parents or relatives, is like tying bladders under the arms 
of one who can not swim, and then thriLst him out from 
the shore — ten chances to one, he will lose the bladders 
and go to the bottom and perish. Teach him to swim, and 
he will never need the bladders. Give your child a good 
example, and a sound physical training in some manual 
calling, and you have done enough for him upon that score. 
Then see to it, that his morals are pure, his mind culti- 
vated, and his whole nature made subservient to the laws 
which govern men, and you have given him that which 
will be of more real value to him than the wealth of the 

To be thrown upon one's own resources, is, in truth, to 
be cast into the very lap of good fortune, for our faculties 
then undergo a development, and display an energy that 
works miracles and comprehends wonders. 

Now, this saying that "I am able to raise my sons and 
my daughters without compelling them to labor," is only 
another method of saying, I am able to raise them drones, 
loafers, criminals, and convicts. I repeat, how many hearts 
could bo made glad, homes of poverty and afHiction happy 
and cheerful, how much good to the church and to the 
world, if men of means would well apply and appropriate 
them to charitable and good purposes as they go along 


through the Mvorld. Such men -would be rich indeed. 
" Kich in faith and good works," whicli is the only true 
riches. Mv dear reader, if you have no respect for my 
opinion, my advice and my own history, surely you wiil 
not set at naught the council and the advice of the " world 
famed " Dr. Arnold, as quoted above. Head it over again 
and profit \)j it, -n-ill you — everybody ? 

Before I conclude, I must say here is the residence of 
Freeman Plum mer, the patentee of the "Corn Planter," 
before noticed ; and here, too, is the residence of Dr. 
Gardner, youngest son and child of the Rev. Daniel Plum- 
mer, and brother to Freeman. I have known the doctor 
all the days of his life, and a 3'oung man of a i)urti\ better 
moral character I never knew anywhere. lie is certainly 
a young man of mind, well read in the science of medicine, 
and age and experience will do the balance for him, and 
secure both "wealth and fame." 

And here I record a few more precious names, to close 
up my school list: Miss Harriet True, Miss Susan Con- 
dale, Misses Antoinette and Alzora Pioss, Miss Ann Roberts, 
Mis.s Lydia Pluramer, Misses Aurilla and Augusta Sylves- 
ter, Miss Ann, Maria, Jane, Ellen, Louisa, Sarah, Alice, 
and little sis Clark, Miss Sarah Schooley, :>riss Bald- 
ridge, Miss Crider, Miss Sarah Wilson, Miss Ellen 

Freeman, the little Misses True, Miss Celia Ann, (of 
precious memory,) Mary Jane, Sarah, Caroline, Mary Ann, 
Sarah -Jane, a:id Harriet Ilansell, Miss Adaliue and Jane 
Ellingwood, Miss Sarah "Walters, Miss Isadore and little 
sis Plummer, Miss Perry, Miss Elizabeth and little sis 
Murdock, and all the Misses Stevensons, the most of whom 
are pupils, that I fondly cherish and embalm in the pages 
of my little lx»ok, with a right hearty good will. Some 
few names are recorded out of pure friendship, to keep up 
the faiiiily and the neighborhood association, as said upon 
a former ucc-.ision. This to some may appear a small busi- 
nes3 fi;r an author. Bat do n't you know that my pupils, 
seeing their own names in my book, will prize it the higher 

.' " niSTomcAL. 481 

on that account — ■will think of me and the advice I have 
given tliem, as they may chance to read these pajjjcs over, 
lon<^ after I shall have passed from earth away. I^Iy object, 
then, in recording tlie names of my pupils, is to show that 
even in affliction and old age, they are not forgotten, and 
that I feel the same solicitude to "serve and please" ihem 
that I did "in years agone." Tiiat and that put together, 
'is my apology, ^Yhich, it is hoped, will be satisfactory, too, 
more especially as I do it at my own expense, purely, and 
none need read unless they choose to. These suggestions 
are intended to cover the whole ground, and I pass. 

I have purposely withheld a notice of tlie Ilev. Duniel 
Plummer until the last, because I really think that both , 
the church and the communit}' here are more deeply in- 
debted to him than to any other man or minister in our 
midst. lie led a colony of enterprizing men who settled 
here, and made Manchester mainly what it now is. As a 
rainistfr, he has been at the beck and call of every body, 
by night and by day. And forty years of able, eloquent, 
and efiieient ministerial services, as a gratuity, is no small 
item. Then Elder Plummer has paid a liberal quarterage 
both fir himself and faniily, during all this time. Ills 
house, too, has been thronged as " a free Methodist tavern," 
as his good lady can well testify of a tnifh. Added to 
this, the beautiful brick church here is almost an entire 
gratuity at his hands. "Who, then, has done as much for 
naught? Taking sermons, orations, temperance lectures, 
and Sabbath school addresses all together, I suppose my 
public addresses would rather outnumber his or any other 
man's hereabouts. But otherwise Elder Plummer stands 
head and shoulders above all around him. And taken all 
in all together, there is no one like him. Through his 
ministry I was awakened, though converted under the 
labort^ of another. By him I was baptized an<l received 
into tlic church. By his ministration I was married to my 
good lady, forty years ago. I have sat under his ministry 
all that dme, both with pleasure and profit. And surely, 


but for my venerable good mother, I should have inscribed 
my little book to hini. And this aoknowled.Liement of it 
here amounts to about the same thing. Elder Plummer 
has been a man of great physical and mental energies — is 
now somewhat advanced in years, and frail and feeble — a 
mere sliadow of his former self. But could a painter, with 
a skillful hand, sketch his life, in his most vigorous, palmi-' 
est days, it would be a picture " worth dimes," and '' worth 

He has " served his day and generation " well and 
fixithfully, and, in all human probability, will soon "hear 
from on high," "It is enough — come up hither." "Enter 
thou into the joy of thy Lord." This is no vain, fulsome 
compliment, but the grateful tribute of an old friend — of 
an honest heart. 

And this concludes my journal and history, except to 
say, that the largest rattle-snake I ever heard any thing 
about, was killed forty years ago, upon the creek not fi\r 
frum the old county poor-house, hailing from a den, a rocky 
cavern, in the steep hillside. It was about seven feet long, 
and at least one foot and a half round, and snorted thirty- 
two mnnstrous rattles. I have it upon the honor of my 
friend, Ceojamin Tibbetts, who says he helped kill and 
measure it ; and if any body doubts his veracity, they can 
satisfy themselves by calling upon Oliver II. Ileustis, Esq., 
or upon the Miller Johnsons. A'ow is that not a '"mighty 
big snake story" to quit on? And that, too, right here 
in Manchester, where my little book is written, to be sent 
abroad with that story in it. What will the little boys 
think, who live here forty years hence, when they chance 
to read this story — being residents of the very connuunity 
where it originated? AYhat will they? I pause for a reply,. 
and proceed. 


It will be remembered that I have gi\en one very in- 
human wolf story, with name and place. I have reserved 
two others, v;hich I choose not to locate. 

vv,. . • " ^.' Xl"/;::... historical. ., 483 

-A. mjin vrhom I -well knew, many years a^o, caught a 
poor AVulf in his trap, and calling to his aid two other 
persons, he proeooded to Lake singular vegeance upon her; 
tied her mouth with a cord, ran a gambrel through her 
hamstrings, hung her up over a beam in his kitchen, and 
then actual!}' skinned her alive, and turned her loose. 
She ran about forty rods, fell over, struggled long and 
fearfulh-, and at last died. I ate, or at least tried to eat, 
a most excellent dinner in tliat very same kitchen not 
long since ; but was sick at heart, and shuddered at the 
recital of the barbarous and cruel act The good lady of 
the house said she wished that she had never known it ; 
that it troubled her every time she thought of it; and tlsat 
she could scarcely keep it out of mind for a single day, 
and often lay awake, and thought about it, when she fain 
would be asleep ; and that is no marvel — surely not 

The cruel actors have been dead for years, but ore never 
thought of without a sigh or a shuddor. It will slick to 
their memories like " the shirt of Xessus." 0, my young 
readers, do n't so afflict your surviving friends, nor cvrse 
your own memories, by such acts of cruelty and crime. 
don't — never I 

And now for another. A venerable old pioneer, among 
other tilings of early times, informed me, that he and 
some three or four young men once came across a wolf 
pen, with a wolf in it. It was suggested that now wag 
the time to have some rare sport in taking sanguinary 
vengeance upon poor mister wolf. There was some misgiving 
and parleying, but the thing took, and at it they went, and 
skinned the pon-r wolf alive — growling and groaning at 
every breath; then the lile-leader cut his hamstrings ; then 
thrust his knife into each eye; and then left him to 
struggle and die in that fearful plight. 

" ^I}- friend," said I, ''I am sorry that you told me 
that; the sooner that is forgotten the better." "Ah!" 
said the old mao, " would that I could forget it. It has 
haunted me for more than fifty years, by night and by 

4 Si cotton's KEEPS.iKE. 

day. I don't know how it was that I consented to it. I 
wns opposed to it, hat the boys some how got me in, and 
1 have deeply reg;rctted of it all my days." Xow had he 
real true moral couraf.'e — a fixed purpose to do right — had 
he obeyed that sacred injunction, "if sinners entice theo 
to sin, consent thou not " — he would have saved himself a 
a lifetime of regrets and unavailing ^Foe. I reluctantly 
record these barbarities and cruelties, but I do it fi)r the 
moral it imparts. As I said before, be careful to do noth- 
ing in 3-oiith that shall curse your memories — nothing that 
you fain would, but can not, forget. Remember this, will 
you? "We take the Indian's buffalo, moose, elk, deer, and 
even his lands, and then talk about savage torture and 
cruelty. AVhen for the loss of a single lamb, now and 
then, to satisfy the cravings of animal life, according to 
nature, the ivhite man outrivals his brother in torturing 
his poor captive. shame! My informant has sorely re- 
pented, and is iiow a pious, good old man. 

Now, I suppose that, in the nature and fitness of things, 
it is right to destroy all animals that disturb or annoy us ; 
but then it should be done with the least possible pain to 
the poor animal that has fallen a captive into our hands. 
Such barbarities and cruelties as I here record, upon the 
most reliable authority, are a burning shame upon our 
race — an outrage upon common humanity, that sends a 
blush to the cheek, and a pang to the heart. 


Don't be alarmed, reader, at the heading. I only ])ro- 
pose to "agitate" your risible faculties a little f.jr your 
own gratification and amusement. If there be "a time to 
laugh;" I think that time is now. I have had my laugh, 
and now you may have yours, if you are in a laughing 
mood, but don't hurt yourselves if you can help it. 

As an offset to these wolf stories, I will now give you 
two fugitive stories, which I gathered up from some of the 
parties interested therein, that have a more pleasing out- 


couio. Pro or con, you must lau.ijh, if there is laugh in 
you. I give them not to agitate the "political question," 
but to enjoy the fpice of thorn. 

In a pretty viUage in old Dearborn, just at early twilight, 
two colorcil men, with slouched hats and tattered garments, 
and both barefoot at that, were seen shying their way along, 
at the outskirts of the village. They evidently were run- 
aways. The hue and cry was raised, and all set off in hot 
pursuit, but lost sight of them in turning a corner ; but no 
matter ; they could soon overhaul them. But not so ; they 
had strangely and suddenly concealed themselves. All the 
village was soon up and after them in hot haste ; every 
nook, and corner, and stump, and haystack, and stable was 
thoroughly searched, to no purpose. "Jim, get my horse — 
quick," said one. " "W'ell, -uhich horse, Jack?'' "The 
fastest horse, to be sure." "Shall I saddle him?" "Xo, 
you fool you ; the niggers will get clear out of reach of us. 
"Wo must head them soon." And directly on he mountt-.j, 
bareback, and plied whip right manfully, as did others. 
One rode to one crossing, and another to another. " If vou 
see them, halloo 'shoot him I' but don't do it." 0, it was 
a wonderfully exciting time. "What could hove become Crf 
them?" says one; "perhaps you were mistaken ; they might 
not have been negroes." "Yes, they were; I saw their 
legs clear up to the knees. I kjiow they were runaway 
negroes." And all brdke out again in hot pursuit, and 
kept it up till near midnight, when the knoMing ones could 
hold in no longer, and three young men broke out in an 
uproariotis laugh — "April Fool!" 

It was John and Jim here that you were after, and I 
•was to start after them, and you all, like April fools, fol- 
lowed me, said one. And then such another ha, ha, and 
screaming, and biting of lips, and cursing, and impreca- 
tions, v.i're seldom mixed up together. Some, like Gilpia 
of oM, were so galled in the seat, that they could hardly 
stand or walk for a week. All this happened on the eve 
of the first day of April, 1S3-. The boys that started it, 

486 cotton's keefsake. 

suddenly divested themselres of their ^Ter^^ing apparel, and 
joined in the pursuit. Now, uint that rich? I conceal tho 
parties, lest it should offend. Boys, do n"t betray your- 
selves, if you can help it. It is the richest " April-fuol'' 
story I ever heard, and no mistake. 

And now for another: Two men were making shingles 
ill the woods, when what should they espy creeping alonj^ 
through the Lushes but a poor tattered runaway negro. 
Supposing that negro-catching would he much more profit- 
able and patriotic than making shingles, they "left all, and 
followed him ;" occasionally getting glimpses of him, and 
then he would come up missing. Baffled in their attempt 
'to take him alone, they gave the alarm, as the prize was 
evidently too great to be lost, and a " half loaf being better 
than no bread." But while the pursiters were in hot haste 
afrer him, others took every favorable position to afford 
him aid; went out with plates full of victuals, if possible, 
to feed the poor fugitive. At last he hove in sight, was 
kindly addressed, assured that they would befriend him, 
showed him the teraf>ting refreshment, and timorously ho 
approached, and the hearts of his friends leaped v.ithin 
them for joy and pity. But no, the poor negro paused, 
said something about betrayal, and off he dashed in mad 
dismay, in spite of all the kind assurances of his sympa- 
thizing friends — this state of things was often renewed, tho 
chase continuing for hours. At last, the poor negro sur- 
rounded and exhausted, yielded up to his f^xte, and fell 
down, and soon was in the hand.s of his pursuers, who, 
with a kind of triumphant shout, let all the pursuers know, 
"We've got him! Ave 've got him!" while the lookers on 
sighed in svrayiathy and commiseration for the poor fel- 
low ! And then turning him over to see what he looked 
like, his captors were shocked to hear an uproarious laugh, 
•with " you dani'd fools," I knew yuu wanted to chase a 
negro, and none happening along, I thought I 'd let you 
chase we. And who should it be but a stout athletic young 
man, whom they hud taunted with being " a friend of nii/- 


ffers." Here I drop the curtain, and don't laugh, if you 
can help it. - .-; 

"A KISS. ' ■ - 
Don't bhi.<th or be alarmed, reader, at the caption. Read 
■what I have written, before you render judgment against 
mci and then render a verdict "according to kiw and 
evidence," which is all I ask. 

At the- conclusion of one of my addresses, a very fine- 
looking lady approached ni^at the altar, with an extended 
hand, and a good, sensible, wa,rm pressure thereof, saying : 
•' I suppose you do not know me." AVIien I was a little 
girl, you used to preach at my father's house, and I remem- 
ber to have sat in your lap many and many a time, though 
26 years have rolled a^vay, since I last saw you. Do you 

recollect little E 1\ ? Bless my life ! is this my little 

svceet pet E ? And at the. recognition and the remem- 
brance of past scenes, and buried friends, we both sooia 
funud ourselves bathed in tears of joy and sorrow. To bo 
short, I called upon my fair friend, found her happily situa- 
ted — had one of the very kindest and best of husbaud.s — 
Burroundcd with beautiful children, and all the comforts 
and conveniences of life — had a most precious and agree- 
able interview, and, as I arose to depart, she accompanied 
me to the door, with such endearing fondness, that I could 
hardly tear myself away from her ; she seemed so mucli 
more like a child than a friend. Well, I suppose I 

must go, said I, at last, and my dear E , v,-!ien you 

■were a little girl, I used to greet you oft.m. and know of 
no good reason why I should not treat myself to that ui- 
voccnt luxury noxc. And, so saying, imprinted upon her 
pure lips, love's fondest, purest, sweetest, holiest seal of 
affection and love, which she returned with such affijction- 
ate fondness, that I seem to have enjoyed it all the time 
ever since. It must have been just such a SAveet greeting 
as the immortal bard, Tennyson, once received, and of 
which he said: 

488 cotton's keepsake. 

"AVith one fond, sweet kiss she drew 

My wbole soul through my lips; ' . .> 

As sunlight drinks the dew." 

"Why sliould friends be denied tlii> innocent luxurv ? Why ? 
Nor am I singuhir in this. All our most celejirated puvts 
have sung a h,y, to the sweet and innocent bliss of a fond 
and pure greeting. See the following: 

"Ae fond kiss and then we sever, , - ■ 

Ae farewell — alas! for ever.'' — Burns. •- ' •' ." 

"You kissed me — my heart and my will 
In delirous joy for the moment stOLtd still _; 

Your lips clung to mine, till I prayed in my Miss, 
They migiit never unclasp from that rapturous kiss." 


" Still would I steep my lip in bliss, 
And dwell an age on every kiss." — Byron. 

A celebrated and beautiful -nriter says, that "kissing 
may well be coupled with poetry, indeed we are not sure 
that one word ought not to express both — for what is a 
kiss but a poem — a lyric of love, condensed into one bliss- 
full expression," and then adds: 

"If any one can, just please tell me this, 
"V\'hy love greets its friends with a sweet modest kiss? 
Because love is so strong, and language so weak, 
We express by a kiss what the language can't speak." 

Now I -will only add, that I do rdigloashj believe, that 
when real and intimate friends meet, and part under cir- 
cumstances that would justify shaking hands, and saying, 
"how do you do" — or "good-by," they should be permit- 
ted to express their pleasure or their regrets, by pure and 
foiid greeting — not clandestinely, but openly, and abuvo 
board. I confess, that I never thus met, and parted with 
a fair friend of mine, ATheu I would not have regarded 


such a privile2;c a luxury. But r»n intimation to that ef- 
fect, would generally be looked upon v.ith suspicion, and, 
therefore, it must be suppressed, as " the times and seasons " 
now are. 

The circurastances which have led me into these remarks 
are my apology for introducing them here. Early usages 
and Scripture authority abundantly sustain me in all I 
ask, all that I have said, and all that I would advocate or 
do in the premises. More I might say, but enough for the 
present — perhaps too ranch. ; " 

"Well, my kind friends, you have now read my book prcttj 
nearly through, and, perchance, your name has not once 
been repeated; but you are not to suppose that it is be- 
cause you are not loved, or because you are forgotten. I 
could not name everybody, and so I have made such seiec- 
tions as I deemed most appropriate and expedient. P-^r- 
haps, at this very moment, you are in my mind's eye, 
wherever you are, and fond remembrances endear you to 
my heart. I should have been glad to make special men- 
tion of 3'ou, as of all my other friends in Ohio, Switzer- 
land, nipley, Decatur, Franklin, and Hamilton counties,' 
which surround old Dearborn, as also of many cherished 
names in my native State — Maine. But that pleasure I 
must forego, and my unnamed friends must excuse me. 
It is already such a book of names as never before was 
published by anybody, anywhere. Again, judging from 
my book, you will conclude that I have been long and in- 
timately acquainted with everybody and everything in old 
Dearborn. AVell, why not? I have resided here forty 
years, have preached and lectured all over it, long and 
often. I have manj- times been a candidate, and for more 
than twelve years a judge of the court, which brought nig 
in contact with everybody; and If I don't kuow every- 
body in the county, and every nook and corner ia it, who 
should? And, as a consequence, who is better quuliilod to 

490 cotton's keepsake. ' •■ • 

"Vrrite out its history? But, then, say you, Are there no 
sinners, no corrupt, wicked men in the range of your ac- 
quaintance? Yes; but then I do not find so man}- of that 
character as some people do. And who ever knew me to 
retail scandal, or to speak evil of my neighbors, except 
under great provocation. One of the earliest precepts ever 
taught me was this — "'Deal gently with all, speak evil of 
none," for . ..■ 

"IIow oft unknowingly the tongue . '. 

Touches a chord so keenly aching, 
That just OM word, or accCTtrwrong, 
- Pains the heart almost to breaking." 

Beside, I would not pain wj friend?, by speaking unkindly 
of theirs, in a " Keepsake" like this. 

I will, right here, treat ynu to a little composition of 
Miss Elizabeth Ann Ilansell, one of my dearly-cherished 
pupils, because I can write nothing better, and because my 
fair pupil will thus aid me in writing out my little book, 
as others have done before her. And more than all that, 
the composition is too good to be lost, and I record it here 
for preservation. Ye pure in heart, read it, and then tell 
me if it is not beautiful, and beautifully appropriate here. 


"The most costly gem, that ever decked the monarch's 
brow, is not more higlily prized than is kindness by the 
afllicted. To such a few kind words are of infinite value; 
and may we not ask — What are kind -words? To the weary 
and Vi'ouuded heart they arc a healing balm ; they give new 
vigor to the soul overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, and 
■when "hope's brightest prospects are vrithered, they are a 
fertile spot in life's desert. Kind words to the erring! for 
they will exert a great influence, and make a deep impres- 
sion toward v\ inning them buck to the paths of virtue and 

" Kind words to the orphan ! He is in a cold and unfeel- 
ing AYorld, without a mother's watchful care or a father's 

': HISTORICAL. '491 

loving counsel. lie surely must feel lonely, but if we can, 
by our kindness, iu the least alleviate his sorroT\-.s, let us 
shew the path of life with fairest ilowcrs. 

"Kind words to the agedl They have endured enoui;h 
of life's ills; they will not linger long with us; tliey will 
soon plunge into the cold stream of death ; but while it 
is in our power, let us endeavor to spread light and fra- 
grance around their paths. 

" Kind words around the fireside ! Oh ! must it bo that 
the peace and joy of home's hallowed shrine mu'^t bo 
broken up by barsh words and cold and bitter strifes ? 
13y loving words and gentle actions, let us ever keep sacred 
the ties that bind kindred hearts together. 

" Kind words to our teachers ! They have endured much 
on our account. Often, too often, we think and speak un- 
justly of them, when they have tried, in every pos.sible 
way, to act in a manner that would secure our highest in- 
terest and welfare. Let not our voices, then, bo raised 
against our teachers, but let us rather act better our part 
in the future, that they may not have so much anxious 
care in our behalf. 

"Kind words to our schoolmates! They may be scorn- 
ful and treat us disrespectfully, but shall we be likely to 
gain respect if we treat them so? Far from it; but be 
kind, and they will soon become ashamed of their conduct. 
Kindness will accomplish more than all the barsh words 
ever uttered. 

"Kind words to all ! for they cost nothing but ivLat they 
bountifully repay; they shed beauty around; they nourish 
the beautiful ilowcrs of love and friendship, causing them 
to grow and expand their foliage, imparting their fragrance 
to all around, till transplanted to a heavenly clime, where 
they will bloom in all their vigor and unfading beauty for 
ever. " ' Lib' ILvnseli,." 

Now, aint that beautiful? 

TJut our officers in high places do wrong! "Well, wliafc 
if they do? They arc our oilicers, and as such, should be 

492 cotton's keepsake. 

honored ami respected. If tbey do -wrong, expose the 
■wronc;. but assail not the mntive, which alone is known to 
them and to God. Keep tiie ojjices of the county honored, 
and let the small still voice of " the ballot-box" remove or 
continue the officers, as duty and risrht may require. I am 
heartily sick — I am ashamed — -I fear for my country, Mhon 
I see, that not only officers, but all the offices of the county 
are sinking into such general disrepute ! My readers, my 
countrymen, "these thiu'jis ought not so to be." I can 
speak out as sharply as any other man, Avhen it is impera- 
tively demanded, as some, at least, can testify. 

Some that I could name, have dealt very unkindly and 
illiberally ^vith me, in this little book enterprise. I once 
asked quite a wealthy neighbor, if he felt free to patronize 
ray book undertaking; but "it was no go," although I had 
preached the funeral sermons for two of his brothers, and 
numerous other friends, at the expense of, at least, one day 
each. And, then, I was so feeble and emaciated, that I 
could scarcely stand up to ask him. Another, whom I had 
ministerially served in the same manner, and as abundantly 
able, when my prospectus was presented to him by a neigh- 
boring merchant, said: "If you don't want to drive your 
customers away, do n't show that again ;" nor could he be 
prevailed upon to "cast in his mite" to a public donation 
that was gotten up for me. 

Another, whom I once caused to bo announced in tlie 
.papers as <a candidate, and paid a dollar for it myself — 
voted for him often and always — but my book had no 
attractions, my services no claims upon him, though often 
generally asked to subscribe, but no — he sold out, moved 
away with thousands, but ho had not one dolliir fur my 
book. Xow, five dollars each was the very least that each 
one of these should have forked over, and that right cheer- 
fully. Now, while it is their right to do as they olmose, 
with their money, it is my right to place my own estimate 
upon the value of such friends. In my book, however, I 
have spoken as kindly of them and theirs, as thou;^h thej 

" mSTOPJCAL. 493 

had acted a more liberal and generous part by me. As an 
offset to this, many have rallied to my support, that I did 
not anticipate. A single case, and I pass. Goinp; from 
one appointment to another, I was accosted thus — •'Halloo! 
Judge! — don't know where your friends live, I reckon — 
come in, come in." And there was just enou^^h of the Irish 
brogue in it to make it " rich as cream." " "NVell, I did 
not know tliat you lived here, and have but a slight ac- 
quaintance with you, anyhow," said I. " And sure that's 
true, but I have known you long and u-dl. I could not 
get out ot your meeting, last night. I hope you did well, 
though. I'm in for your book, and I'm g(/iDg to pay you 
for it, too." "I don't ask any pay nov:, I am only trying 
to see if I can get suV>?ci'ibers enough to justify me in the 
publication. Xcver mind the publication ; here's the mo)ie>j, 
book or no book. If you succeed, send me a book, if not, 
keep the money in welcome. Nor is this all. I intend 
to see my neighbors, and get them to take it, too ; every 
body should take one of j'our books." And then covering 
me all over with blessings, and wishing how well I might 
succeed, I was permitted to depart, and " went on my way 
rejoicing," thinking, perhaps, that "I was scrmehody after 
all." And if I could, I would record the name of WM. 
WITIIEREU in my book, in characters of living light, as 
large and a.s fair as the moon — that I would, 

"We have already stated tliat tlie first white settler in old 
Dearborn was about 1794; and fifty-six years brings it up 
to 1850, and 50 being a number of peculiar significance to 
the American people, and to the world, the 56 of '76 being 
the heaviest 50 ever known to mankind, so heavy that all 
Europe could not lift it, we shall show the progress and 
improvement of the first fifty-six years. The census returns 
of 1850, which is now before me, foots up at 3549 dwell- 
ings, 4602 fivmilies, 20166 inhabitants, and 1520 im proved 
farms, and 72 productive establishments. Siie has also 

494 cotton's keepsake. 

many miles of turnpikes, railroads, telegraphs, and canals. 
The Assessor's Report foots up the real estate at .'?3,6SO.;;<0 

Personal, l,ViUi\,S,-,0 

Corporation, 1,04j,0u(J 

Total s6,6;]'J,'^';o 

The real value of wlncli, even in 1S50, would have been 
at least 50 per cent, above these estimates ; so say good 
judges. Tlien it would all foot up thus — .?9,9oS,S45. 
There is in the county, SOS sections, or 190,909 acres, 
averaging a little over fifty-tv^'o dollars per acre— creeks 
and all other waters included. All the wealth iu ri'94:, 
was just the naked territory, worth perhaps not more than , 
25 cents per acre, and from twenty-five cents to fifty -two 
dollars is an advancement that perfectly bewilders the im- 
agination, and enough to astonish the universe, and that 
in the brief space of fifty-sis years. And from one to 
20,106 citizens in the same time, is positively incredulous — 
is overwhelming — yet so it is — a demonstrated fact, clearly 
shown by "figures which will not lie." A^hat a fruitful 
theme for contemplation, for gratitude, and for praise. 
And what a high and brilliant destiny yet awaits old Dear- 
born, if she be true to herself, as her general policy of 
improvements, her schoolhouses, her colleges, and her 
churches, indicate that she will. Even so let it be. 

For the sake of convenience we will suppose that the real 
wealth of the county, personal, real and mixed, is just 
10,000,000 of dollars, which can not be f\ir out of the way. 
Now ten millions is very easily read or pronounced. But 
when we com© to think closely about it we are perfectly 
bewildered and lost in the vortex of numbers. How shall 
we justly appreciate or comprehend it We will suppose it 
all to be in silver, and that each dollar weighs an ounce, 
which is exact enough for my present computation — then 
$10,000,000 will equal 625,000 lbs., or 312} tuns. At 1} 
tuns per wagon, it would load 20SJ ; and at four 
per wagon, it would require more than 832 to haul 

:- HISTORICAL.. - 495 

it. And allow four rods to each team^^and we have a polid 
line of fmr horse teams, and four rods a part, that would 
be a little over two and a half miles long. Put it into 
sacks of S2,000, each 125 lbs., and it would require just 
5,000 men to pack it— place tliemjn single file, two paces 
apart, and they would form a solid column nearly five miles 
and a half long. Count one dollar per second, without a 
single miss, and ten full hours per day, and it would take 
one man 278 days, nearly, to count them. Millions, when 
you.come to handle, measure, or weigh them, are no play- 
things. And such is the overwhelming value of old Dear- 
born, in dollars and cents, the result of honest toil and 
■ enterprise, for a single half century, in whole numbers. 
Wonderful! — wonderful! So much, then, for the progre.-^s 
and improvement— for the real and substantial wealth and 
resources of old Dearborn. And where can a parallel be 
found ? Echo answers — where ? 

I have christened the "historical" part of my work a 
Panorama. Now, I will give tlie wheel a few iunis^ and 
let the reader look on, or rather remember, and I will re- 
port what I see for them. Xow I see a little shanty in 
the unbroken forest, which is occupied by the first white 
• family upon these shore.*— savage beasts, and savage men, 
and all kinds of wild game, in profuse abundance, all 
around them, and they solitary and alone in the dense, 
unbroken forest. Now I see the sturdy axman, making 
his first little clearing, 

" Where, stroke on stroke, 
. The wahiut and the sturdy oak, 
Fall headlong.-' 

Now scores of trees have fallen, and crushed and killed j 
scores of men. I see them thus in every direction. Mercy! I 

mercy on me ! And now I see men and boys filling froai 
trees like leaves in autumn, mangled in death, or crippled 

496 cotton's keepsake. 

for life. Dear me, what a sight! Xo\y I see runnvny 
horses and carviiigps, dashin;; their riders or occupants 
into death and ruin, in a most fearful uianner. Uless luo, 
■wliat a fearfLil sigiit ! And now tlie ritlo and musket are 
doing a sad work every where. Bang! bau-^! they go, and 
down falls a bleeding victim, gasping and struggling in 
death. me! Now scores are drowning every where, in 
cistern*, wells, ponds, lakes, rivers, and oceans. Now mea 
and women are committing suicide V^y drowning or shoot- 
ing themselves, or cutting their own throats; now they 
are shooting or cutting the throats of their neighbors; 
.now they are being sent to jail, or the penitentiary ; now 
they are being hung upon the scaffold, and thousands 
witness the sad spectacle. But I have not time to show 
you all ; take the panorama and look into it at your leisure. 
Such then is " the picture of human life," as it rcall}- is — 
-full of danger, and full of death, full of temptation, and 
full of crime — no, not full, but too full. 

Moral. — As we know not, when we go out, how or when 
wc shall come in, Ave should always keep our affairs, and 
especially our hearts and minds, in a state of constant 
preparation, either for life or death, since "we know not 
what a day or an hour may bring forth." 

Was ever such a picture of real life before drawn by 
pen or pencil? But, perhaps, some will say that I have 
overdrawn it; tha.t strangers will think that Dearborn is 
an unusual place for murders and suicides — for accidents 
and sudden death.s. Not at all, friends. "What is true of 
her, is true of almost every place, as a similar report 
would show. Look around you and see; call up to mind 
■what you have forgotten ; then just travel back with me a 
single moment into Maine, "the land of steady habits," 
and read a small portion of her history. My poor In-other 
that perished at sea, was once taken up for dead, by the 
falling of a tree, escaped by the skin of his teeth^ and 
was injured for life. !M\' dear sister threw her ankle 
square out of joint, by stepping upon a rolling stone ; has 

HISTORICAL. - - 497 

suffered a world of woo ; and never has fully recovered 
I from it; and I well-nigh perished "under a sled." Israel 
j Noye?, before he left ^Maine, was thrown from his horse, 
{ whii'h trod upon his forehead, and smashed his skull in jusfc 
over the eye. lie was taken up for a corpse; many pieces 
of bone were taken out; and he carried the scar into his 
grave. Hugh Xoyes, also, fell forty feet from a tree; frac- 
tured his skull ; was taken up for dead ; pieces of bone 
vrere extracted ; and he, too, carried the scar into his 
grave. Alfred C. York, a young man of hope and promise, 
who was named for me, accidently shot himself with a 
fowling-piece, and fell a mangled and bleeding corpse. 
Poor fellow! His name is fondly cherished still. Islva. 
Isaac Cushman cut her throat with a razor, and perished 
in her own gore. Mrs. Isaac Allen cut her throat in a 
fearful manner, but was arrested and saved. Mrs. Xehe- 
inlah Allen hung herself,- and subsequently a daughter, a 
woman grown, hung herself. These things all occurred 
right in my youthful neighborhood. Then Drew murdered 
a luun, and was hung at Portland ; and 0, what a sad day 
that was to me I Poto killed his wife with a shovel; and 
iNirington killed his wife and seven children, and then 
cul Jii.t OUR ilir oat from ear to car; all were found in the 
morning, ghastly, bloody, and stifi', and cold in death. All 
this took place not far from my father's residence. There 
. is a picture of horror for ynu. 

And such things occun-iug in actual life, it may bo well 
oceasicnally to " beliold them as in a glass ;" and hence it 
i.s that I have drawn my picture ; and surely it is sucli an 
one as no author ever before attempted. I have omitted 
some tragical deaths, because friends have desired me so 
to do; and I have also omitted some infiiuticides, because 
of the delicacy of the subject 

And 0, what "a temperance ])icture " I could draw, were 

it admissible here. Many of the crimes, and tragedies, and 

aecident.s, and calamities, are clearly chitrgeable to "the 

ardent.''" "Hum and ruin," "one and inseparable." I 



said, in the outset, that the principal merit of my book 
would consist in its oiiginality, its oddity, its variety, nivl 
its tnitlifulness ; and I have the assurance to ask, if upon 
these points I have not faithfully redeemed my pled;;e. Al! 
my stories, I believe, are suhstanilalhj true, though not in 
all the minor particulars; as, for instance, the story abuut 
Judge Dunn and that Indian massacre. I gave that in 
short hand, for convenience, intending to publish the judge's 
thrilling narrative, as presented to the Pioneer Association 
of Cincinnati, in an appendix, to Avhich the reader was re- 
ferred/ But I find I must dispense with my appendix alto- 
gether, and I regret it sorely. The judge's own version, 
however, fully endorses all that I said, simply changing the 
words and circumstances a little. He also confirms all the 
marvellous Indian and wild beast stories, and even the 
"nettle-weed" apparel. My book is emphatically and 
essentially "a book of truth," spiced witli anecdote and 
variety, in order to make it the more pleasingly profitable 
and acceptable. I might have footed up all my stories of a 
certain character, but I have thought it best to let the reader 
do that himself, as a little pleasant pastime. 

And now, as I have only one surviving child, a son, I will 
here give a ft-w extracts of his published California letters, 
as well for their preservation as for " a memorial of liim ;" 
and will only say, that he left home in ftehle health, very 
feeble, and that, after two years absence, he returned, all 
safe and sound, with his health much improved, and with 
twelve hundred of "the yellow boys" in his pockets, or at 
his command. I am well pleased with the moral tone of 
his letters, under all the circumstances, and think them 
well worthy of preservation and general perusal, on that 
account, as well as for the reliable general and historical 
information they contain. But here are the extracts; read 
them, and judge for yourselves. 

niSTOPJCAL. 499 


"TIio follo-sving are the suli?tance of late Calif irnia letters 
from W. X. Cuiio-v, to his parents aud friends an Man- 

Fort Laramie, June 15. 

Vi'e are Avell and getting on without any serious diffieiilty, 
our horses little worse fur the wear, but we shall make the 
trip, I think, very safely. A thousand teams, at least, have 
passed tliis place enroute for Oregon and the Gold Diggings; 
and there is a vast ti-ain in our rear. We have passed as 
many as one hundred and fifty a day, and we can now see 
them thick for miles. This is a delightful region of coun- 
try. Laramie, Scott's Eluffs, and the scenery 
is romantically grand aud beautiful, and irresistibly calls 
forth the wonder and admiration of the entranced beholder. 
All I know from our region of country are well — except 
we all occasionally have slight attacks of homo sickness. 
.- . - Wii. N. Cotton-. 

I sit me down again to inform you how it goes with me 
in this far off land of song and gold, which, when you have 
read, you will say is poorly enough indeed. But having 
pledged you upon honor that I would at all times, aud 
under all circumstances, give you a fair and true statement 
of my health and my success, I will now, as on ail former 
occasions, unbosom myself fully and freely to you. 

My health remaining so poor, and the mining prospects 
so dull, I have concluded to abandon all farther operations 
therein, and shall set out early to-morrow morning, for 
Sacramento City, and try, if possible, to get work at my 
trade. How I shall succeed remains yet to be seen. My 
anticipations arc not very high, for I know too well that 
this country, healthy and beautiful as it Is, is full of people 
^'-JU^^^'J business. But, having incurred the expense and 
encountered the toil and dangers of the outward trip, I am 
fully and firmly resolved, in spite of afilictiou and dis- 


heartening failures, to hope on and stay on, and make 
something out of it, if there is anything here fr..- mo. If 
not, after a patient, a fair and a thoruugh trial, I sliall luice 
the back track, as be^t I may — on that you may safely 

The contents of this letter, I know and feel, will grieve 
and afllict you much, but how much more so would it, to, 
learn that I had abandoned my.'ielf to utter despair — to 
dissipation, and all the wicked abomination of this far- 
famed land of " the shining ore." But, no, friends, no, 
but rather like an afflicted one of old, " my integrity I 
hold fast, and will not let it go." 

I have just stept out a moment to take my la«t survey 
of the surrounding scenery, seven miles from Shasty City, 
which is rather rich and romantic than otherwise. The 
golden blazing sun appears to be about two rods above the 
towering peaks of the western mountains, and all around on 
either hand, the mountain summits are capped with fleecy 
snow — their sides are variegated and beautified by bold 
precipices and nodding evergreens, among which and along 
the ravines, the miners may be seen at their laborious and 
various callings. The sighing of the tall tree tops in the 
breeze — the mournful murmurings of the limpid streams, 
as they rush headlong to the mighty ocean, and the pensive 
musings of my own heart, ail conspire to make It both 
impressive and Imposing. But I must turn away from all, 
scarcely knowing whither I should go, or what will become 
of me. But duty and necessity prompts, and I tear, my- 
self away from all these things and my kind friends here," 
•with a bold and manly heart. The " die is cast," and the 
struggle o'er. - 

If any of my friends have symptoms of the California 
fever, I would jitst prescribe for them: "Let tliem arise 
bright and early some morning, rain or shine, no matter; 
let them fancy that they are in California. Shoulder their 
spades and grubbing hoes — march straight into some creek, 
or out upon some steep hillside — toil hard all day — have 

a; historical. 501 

little to eat, r.nd, wlien ni;2:litr:\ll comos upon them, weary 
and faint, let titeni fancy again that they have scraped to- 
gether the precious, dust to the full value of 'l'> ccuts, 

and are out at- least one dollar for board, scanty and poor 
as it was, and finally let them fancy themselves in my con- 
dition, (and thousands are worse otF,) without health, with- 
out money, and in debt, and some 3500 miles from home, 
and if that do n't cure them, let them come on and try it for 
themselves. Perchance they may do better — perchance not. 
But my paper is out and I must hold up. I will write you 
again from Sacramento, whether for better or worse. In 
the mean time, do n't fail to address me there. Oh, if you 
knew the pleasure your letters impart, you would, as I trust 
you do, take pleasure in writing. All the Dearborn boys, 
so far as I know, are well, and some are doing well. My 
love to all inquiring friends. Farewell, farewell ! 
' . ■ • "\Vm. N. Cottox. 

BccKSPORT, Cal., Jan. 31st, 1853. 
' Having at last found a resting-place and a leisure mo- 
ment, I seize my pen to redeem my last pledge. I found 
Sacramento a perfect mud-hole, owing to the recent inun- 
dations; LaMTenceburgh was never a patching to it. I 
could get into no business, and can hardly say that I want- 
ed to. I then pressed my way to San Francisco, but to no 
better purpose. Everything was full to overflowing. I then 
directed my course to Humboldt bay, two hundred and fifty 
miles above, on the coast, where I arrived safe and sound, 
liut faint and weary. Here I found employment, getting 
out lumber at one hundred dollars per month, and I shall 
commence operations in the morning. My health has im- 
proved since I have inhaled the breezes from the broad 
and beautiful Pacific. 

"Whether I shall be able to work, or whether I have 
fallen into honest hands, remains yet to be seen. I am 
most euipliatically "a stranger in a strange land." There 

502 cotton's keepsake. 

is no human soul about nic that I hnve ever seen or hotird 
of before. But I keep a stiff upper lip, as the snvinL'; in, 
and am oheered and auim;Lted whh liope that a b^-ttcr dav 
has dawned upon me. The bay will supply us with an 
abundance of fish, ducks, and ^eese, and the forest abiAind.s 
with deer, elks, autelopes, wolves, California lions, <;rizzly 
bears, and Indians in any quantity'. So then I shall liave ■ 
plenty of company, such as it is. If my health improve^ 
and my employer be honest, I shall be abundantly satisfied. 
Well, I am at last fairly at the "jumpIng-otT place," on the 
shore of the famed Pacific. I will write to you again soon. 
My love to all my old friends. Farewell. 

Wii. N". CoiTov. 

BccKSPORT, Cal., ^larch 28, 1S53. 
Dear Parents: — I am still with Mr. Pean, on the bay, 
and find both him and his family very kind and agreeable. 
My health continues greatly to improve. Indeed, I feel 
that I am well — can toil hard all day, and scarcely feel 
the least fatigued when night calls me to my repose. And 
that I have not been able to say before for years. The sea 
breezes are so in\-igorating and bracing, that I almost feel 
as though I were in a new and enchanted world. From a 
■well known principle in natural philosophy, these sea 
breezes are warm and delightful in winter, and co.d and 
refreshing in summer. All that I have ever read and heard 
about them I find more than realized in their rich enjoy-, 
ment. "When I arrived here, about two months ago, my 
"weight was just one hundred and twenty-seven pounds — 
to-day it stands at one hundred and forty-six pounds, which 
is a little more than I ever weighed before — so much about 
my health — and my increased cheerfulness keeps even pace 
with it. I am full of hope, and feel that a brighter day 
Las indeed dawned upon me. But, oh, what have I men- 
tally and physically suffered since I left home, no language 
can express, no inexperienced mind can conceive ! 

.:;•. HISTORICAL. 503 

I am now receiving one hundred dollars per month, 
chopping and hauling lumber a short distance to the bay, 
and then we raft it down a short distance to the mill, ^Yhcre 
it is fioon savred up and disposed of to good account. And 
such timber, too, is a sight to behold, or would be, I guess, 
if you could see the whole of it at once. We have pines 
here that are three hundred feet high, whose summits seem 
to pierce the very clouds. Well, that will do for hight, I 
guess, and tax your credulity at that. We have trees, 
called red wood, eighteen or twenty feet through, which I 
have seen ; there is one of the kind in the neighborhood, 
I am informed, measures twenty-three yards in circumfer- 
ence, or twenty-two feet through. A gentleman, here, 
Bawed off a cut, from one of these trees, eighteen inches 
long, which is over twenty feet through, and is going to 
ship it whole round to New York for the World's Fair. 
You will, perhaps, say that this is rather a big story, and 
BO it is; but then, you see, I had mighty big timber to 
make it out of. 

I long to see you all very much, and suppose that I could 
now do so this fall, but as I am hero ia good health, 
well pleased, and doing well, I can not think of returning 
before one year from this fall. It is a long time to look 
ahead, I hardly dare think about it, but as my trip has 
been alike hard upon me and my family, I am resolved to 
make something out of it, before I leave, if there is any- 
thing here for me. 

Your letters are ever thankfully received, and I hope you 
will continue to send them often — would that you were all 
here yourselves with me, standing on its borders, and look- 
ing out upon the broad waters of the Pacific— inhaling its 
reviving atmosphere, and then turning you around, fifty 
miles in your rear, or from the coast, over a beautiful plain, 
you will see mountains in every direction peering up into 
the clouds. 0, it is delightful! It is beholding "nature 
in her grandest — in her sublimcst moods!" 

I must now hold up, but will write to you again soon; 


my •warmest expressions of love to you, to my douLly doar 
•wife and babes, and to my friends generally. Fiire.vcU, 
dear father and mother, farewell. Good night. 

/ Wm. 2s. Cottox. 

BucKsroHT, IIuMBOLT Bay, Cal., Sept. 5. 

Dear Parents: — Yours of June 29tli was duly received, 
and it made my heart leap for J03' to learn that you and 
yours and mine were all still alive and well as usual. Yuu 
manifest great solicitude for niy health and happiness 
while here and for my safe return " iu due time." As I 
am your only surviving child, I trust tiiac I duly aj^pre- 
clate your anxiety about nie, and shall hope to act, at all 
times, and under all circumstances, even in this far off 
land, worth}' buth of myself and you. You also manifest 
not a little solicitude lest I be led astray from the path of 
virtue and peace. True, there are many allurements to 
vice ; but then you should also rememl)er that I stand on 
firmer, safer ground in this particular than I should were 
I " a drunken, gambling, pilfering chap," like too many 
in this " land of gold." But I am very careful what com- 
pany I keep. I recollect the story of " Poor Tray," and 
try to profit by it A man who is correct in his morals, 
keeps only good company, is industrious, "minds his own 
business," can get along as safely and be as much re- 
spected here as at any other place " on this green and 
heautiful earth." 

I keep a sharp look out for "breakers ahead," and 
hitherto have got along smoothly and happily, so far as 
these things are concerned, ever since I left home, and trust 
that I shall until I return thither again. Ah ! that to me, 
as well as to i/ou and mine, will be a joyful day, but how 
eoon I can not 7iow say. I am here in good health, and 
" doing a fair business," and I do not wish to leave tuo 
Boon, and shall endeavor to avoid the other error, thot of 
staying here too long, (which would iicrcr be if my family 


^nd friends were here.) " The broad, Leautiful Pacific," 
''the roiiiantic scenery" around me, and, above all, the 
nilKl and healthy climate, has charms for mo that I havo 
nowhere else found. And if I, in the end, fail in the dimes, 
I have gained ihousands in health, and with that I shall 
be content, and abundantly compensated for my trip. Tho' 
gentlemen for whom I liave been laboring are now behind 
"ftith me more than §200, so I have concluded to hold up a 
little — may resume soon. I have this day been offered $75 
per month to work on a farm, which is much easier and 
less dangerous than " rafting logs down the bav." "We 
get many good " sousings," but none as yet have been 
drowned. I think I can get S80 per month if I would 
Bay the Avord, and I may, as it is right here close by my 
land. I shall be at something soon, I can not be idle hera 
If at nothing else, I shall make further improvements on 
my laud, it will all tell by and by to good account, and 
"no mistake." I shall write to you as usual, quite often, 
and hope you will continue to do so too. "A letter from 
home!" O what a treat! let me enjoy it often. If mine 
continue to miscarry, do n't be alarmed, but console your- 
selves with the thought that I am somewhere in this busy 
world doing well, and always " right side up, with care." 
All my friends here are well, and doing well. My love to 
all my old friends. Adieu, adieu. 

Wu. N. Cotton, 



- Hatin'g studied human nature long and well, and bcinj 
thus "posted up," in the "whims and caprices," the diversi- 
fied tastes and opinions, the "likes and dislikes" of man- 
kind, I have not the vanity to suppose that every one will 
like my little book, even as a loliole — much less, that any 
one should like all that is in it. It was not so anticipated, 
not so intended. Like " mine host," I have catered for 
many tastes, and not for one only. If you find any thing 
that don't suit your taste, just " Jeff it he," as you would 
at a well-spread table. If you tind enough " savory and 
palatable " before you for " a full and rich repast," with 
that you should be content. And from the ample provision 
and the great variety I have served up for you, you can 
not appropriate and enjoy the full value of the " bill of 
fiire," all I have to say is that you must be \cry penurious, 
or very hard to please, or, perchance, both. And some few 
euch readers, no doubt. I shall have after all. ' For I have 
long been more than convinced by observation and experi- 
ence, that no man can make a speech or v^-rite an article, 
or do his whole duty faithfully and fully, in any particu- 
lar, and " please ecerybod;/." The thing just " can't he did," 
so it can't. You might just as well undertake to "jump 
Jim Crow," in a tar bucket — gather up a bushel of fleas 
turned loose in a stubble patch — climb to the moon on a 
honey locust — dam up the Mississippi with a thimble full 
of sand — capsize the Andes with a knitting needle — empty 
the ocean with a teaspoon — sail to the north pole on a 
shingle — raise a mighty tornado with a fanning mill — scull 
tip the falls of Niagara in a potash kettle with a crowbar — • 
quench the fires of ^Etna with a single dew drop — or blow 
out the sun with a hand-bellows. And that, as a lawyer 
would say, is "making out a pretty strong case," and no 

If my little book shall prove to be " an accoptablo 
offering" to my friends and patrons gcneraVy; if editors 

HISTORICAL. ■' -507 

extend to it a favorable notice — "the tiling; will take," and 
I and mine are amply provided for until "the duties and 
the conflicts of life are over," and that is all I ask — r>A\ I 
desire. If otherwise, "the thing is out," and the drama 
will close with "myself a used up author." But there is 
no 7-eal terror even in ihaf. ]Many of earth's greatest ben- 
efjxctors have died in poorhous-js and in prisons ; and of 
some it is written that — 

'•Tlieybcgf^ed their daily bread ■ 
Tiiruugh lands their valor won." 

Considering the vast amount and variety of the matter — 
the materials and the workmanship of my little offering, 
its price should at least be one dollar and a half instead of 
one dollar, at which it is offered. I would, however, realize 
from the sale of many thousands, "the little I stand in need 
of sooner than to realize the same amount from a few, be- 
cause it would give to it a wider circulation, and be much 
more accessible to " the humble poor." Consequently, if I 
can possibly "double the cape," at the present price, no 
alteration will hereafter be made. Ten cents upon two 
books equals twenty upon one — just as good for the vender 
and 80 much better for the purchaser. 

Reader, if you think my book possesses merit worthy of 
your countenance and support — that it really is . " a bar- 
gain," at one dollar, say so to your neighbors and friends, 
and it will help the thing along. If you think otherwise, 
admonish them, that they may not be bitteii too. 

In reading " the proofs" from the plates, I was trans- 
ported with delight to see how near to perfection my book 
•will appear — the result of intense care and applicntion on 
my pait, and the taste and skill of those who have had 
charge of its mechanical execution. A few slight errors — 
veri/ sligJif- — are to be found in its pages, but eveu those 
are "like angel's visits, few and far between." 

My dear reader, if yvnv time and patience ore n->i alto- 
gether exhausted, please follow me ihovg'k my closing 

508 cotton's keepsake. 

remarks, and then I "n-ill " dismiss yoa in due form," lioth 
vritli my thanks and my benediction. My intended "Ad- 
vice to parents and teachers," in the peaoefnl and hajipy 
management of families and schools, and my arithmetical 

-illustrations for be;;i!iners, in the science of nunil>ers, I 
find I must omit, with many other things deeply interest- 
ing, and deeply as I regret it. And here I would remark — 

-an old adage says that, "it is useless to cry over spilt 
milk" — over those which can not be remedied or avoided. 
Well, I now discover that in my little book enterprise, 
1 have committed two egregious errors, for which there is 
no remedy, except to " grin and bear it." First, I should 
have undertaken to publish my Poems only— then I could 
have used a fuller type — saved what I have been compelled 
to cast aside, which would have formed a volume sufficiently 
large for the patience of the reader, perhaps, and quite as 
large as could well be gotten up for one dollar. Then my 
Autobiograpliy and nist;)ry would have filled another vol- 
ume of a similar size, equally convenient, and interesting. 
In attempting to crowd two volumes into one, I have, in 
Bome sense, spoiled both, although the volume I here pre- 
sent must be more valuable and interesting than either of 
those separately, because it contains much more matter, 
and a more pleasing variety. It is myself, then, after all, 
that is the principal loser. 

Secondly', I committed an error in not fixing up ?. larger 
page — an octavo instead of a duodecimo — then 1 could 
Btill have used larger type, and still have kept my book in 
due shape and proportion, and to secure which, I have been 
compelled to use smaller type than I intended or desired. 
But, every thing considered, I am vain enough to believe 
that I shall treat my friends to a very nice, pretty, interest- 
ing little book, quite superior to any thing that I promised 
them, or that they had any good reason to expect at my in- 
experienced ]ian<ls. And if they shall think so, too, it will 
all be right, for one of their "think so's " will be worth 
many of mine. 


Well, " live and learn" is anothei* niasim, true to the life. 
I thouglit, with all the materials I had on hand, that it 
TToiiiil be '• a perfect play spell," " a most agreeable pas- 
time," to " write out a book," and " come out an author." 
But never ''in all the horn duys of my lij'e,' did I ever as- 
sume a task so laborious, both to body and mind; so lull 
of care, so delicate, the sulyect of such deep solicitude and 
restlessness, aiid sleepless anxiety, as the task of "preparing 
a work for the press." And the abundance of matter has 
been no small part of the annoyance to me. What to select 
and what to reject has taxed my ingenuity and my judgment 
to its utmost tension, and still, no doubt, I have often erred 
at last. I have, however, in my soundest discretion, and 
cocdest deliberation, done my best, my veri/ best, my death 
best, all things considered, and with the result I inusi and 
icill be content. 

;My manuscripts have undergone no revision, no correc- 
tion, by any living mortal. As I said in the preface, I have 
cdiosen to keep \t ])i!reli/ and exclusively my own; and thus- 
I send it abroad, with all its errors, upon its " mission of 
love." And in writing it out for the press, I have endeav- 
ored to make it increase in interest as it has increased ia 
size, instead of ''tapering olf,'' as many books do; and to 
the best of my judgment, all things considered, I have 
"kept the very best of the wine for the last of the feast," 
and well indeed if it shall so appear to the reader, and 
without which it will prove a failure. 

My dear, kind readers, my book is now WT-Itten ; is now 
in your hands ; and although a much larger book, and I 
think, too, every way, a much prettier, and more interesting 
book tiian I promi.sed, or that you had good reason to ex- 
pect, as stated before, yet nevertheless I fear, I grcalhj fear, 
that your " anticipatiims " will not be fully realized. But 
if you will only take into the account my protracted illness, 
my great debility, I think you must and ivill admit that I 
have ]M'rf )rmed wonders. At any rate, I have astonished 
viysclf, if nobody else. Hardly able to sit at my desk, so 

510 cotton's keepsake." 

faint and fechh, 3-et '''little by little," I have at l.*i.=t com- 
pleted my volumirnjus manuscripts; and which, iu C'l'.i- 
iicction with superintending the publication, " cfnTcctii.-^ 
proofs," etc., has been nearly the deatli of me. I iiiM' ac- 
tually fainted away in the oflice, and there had to lie d' 
and be revived before I could finish my morninc; ta-k. and 
once was so faint, and dizzy, and blind, and feeble, tlmt I 
^vas compelled to leave my task undone, and to seek ropo.s<» 
and quiet in my bed. And I am so faint and di/./.y noxn', 
that 1 can scarcely sit at my desk, or wield my pen ; fur 
my "Conclusion" I have omitted until now, that I might 
the better know lioxo to conclude. 

The printers are after me, and so I must furnish tiieni the 
balance of the copy, and I trust I shall be able to "worry 
through it," and so " I stick and hang on." But I am quite 
sure that neither the love of fiime, of honor, or w ealth, could 
have held me to the task under ail the forbidding and almost 
insurmountable discouragements and difficulties I have had 
to encounter and overcome. I should rather have sought 
repose in the bosom of my family, and upon n»y bed, th'tu 
to earn wealth, honor, or fame, at so dear a price. A desire 
to "serve and please" my friends; to snatch from oblivion 
the "thrilling incidents" in a forest life, and of life gener- 
ally, as it is ; to leave a memorial of myself, something that 
shall do good after I am gone, and something to sustain and 
maintain myself and lady under the inlirmities of affliction 
and old age (fur I would not be burdensome to any ; no, not 
for a sinfjle day) — has nerved my heart and held me to my 
task, until Fixis is about written to my book — and I feel, 
too, that it is about written to my life's history. Well, be 
it so. God, in answer to prayer, and in his own wise ]in)vi- 
dence, has "lengthened out the brittle chord of life," until 
my delicate and laborious assumption is accomplished. And, 
adoring him for his grace, I can, I think, undcrstandingly 
pay, with one of old, "Now, Lord, lettest tliou thy servant 
depart in peace." I thank God for my existence, and cheer- 
fully surrender it up at his call. I have found mere sweets 

' * HISTORICAL. ;- 511 

than bitters, more pleasures than pains, on the great theater 
of "life'.s busy and chan-ing scoties." I early learned to 
look upon the hrighf side, and to "take every thing by the 
smooth handle ;" have dwelt ^vitb gratitude upon the bless- 
ings, instead of brooding over the ills of life, with murmur- 
ing and comphiinLS. And hence it is that mine has been a 
very pleasant voyage "o'er life's tempestuous sea," and 
Mrs. Bolton never sang a sweeter, a truer lay than the fol- 
lowing.- Head it, and profit by it, everi/hody. 


" We bid the joyous moments haste, 
And then forget tlicir^W^er; 
We take ' the cup of Hie/ but taste 

No jxirtiou but the lilier: ^'; 

"But we should teach our hearts to deem 
'\:\ie sweetest i\.\o^^ ihc strongest, 
And pleasant hours should ahi-ays seem 
To Linger round us longest. 

" As life is sometimes ' hrighi and fair,' 
And sometimes ' dark and lonely,' 
Let us forget its ' toil and care' 
And note its BPacHT hours only." 

This is a gem of rare beauty which I have noted and 
emphasized, in order to impress its truthfulness and beauty 
upon the reader. I know it to be true, by a blessed and 
liappy experience. 

And here I would again, most humbly and most grate- 
fully acknowledge, that to Divine Providence, 1 am deeply 
and lastingly indebted, for the gift of life, and all its rioh 
pleasures and pure enjoyments. And I have full faitii and 
confidence to hope and believe that thesamo divine good- 
ness will still be exorcised toward me, either in prolonging 
the duration of my life and pleasure, or by giving me grace 
and fortitude to sustain me under any sad reverses that 
may befall or overtake me. I confidently rely upon the 

512 cotton's KEErSAKE.. 

promi!5e -which ha<? never yet once f\iiled me, "all along 
the journey of life." " As thy days are, so shall thy 
strength be." The past is told — the future is known only 
to Ilnr "in -whom we live, and move, and have our being," 
and into who^e hands I now commit my all, " suul, liody, 
and spirit;" all that I am, all that I have, and all that I 
hope for, in life, and in death; in time,, and in eternity. 
Yes, I now commit all to Ilim, " in Avell-duing, as unto 9 
faithful Creator." 

And when I lay. my spirit down, 
^' ' Thy servant, Lord attend, 

And ! my life of mercy crown 
AVith a triumphant end. 

But before I close my book, or ^-o hcnee to be no more, 
I feel impelled' to say that I shuuld do violence to my own 
feelings, to my sense of right and justice, to my bounden 
duty, not to acknowledge my pvre lieartfelt gratitude to 
my kind neighbors, and friends, and fellow citizens in 
general, (not universally by any means) but generalhj, for 
the very liberal and clieerful patronage, and other helps, 
they have extended to-ward me in my book enterprise. 
Dearborn, alone, put me up about one thouand subscribers, 
many of whom took several copies, and voluntarily paid in 
advance, "book or no book." And all the money I wag 
out in getting up that list, was one single h<ilf dime for 
ferriage. All passed me free, sent me on my way with 
their horses and buggies, and the general strife seemed to 
be to see who could best nurse, and entertain, and do the 
most for me. And I know that all did it with " a righi 
hearty good will," because it was done so cheerfully, and 
the money often refused. Nor have my good friends in 
Cincinnati been less liberal and kind. Here I have been 
two months and a half superintending the printing and 
publishing of my little book, and not the first friend ha3 
charged or taken a single " red cent," and over and above 
passing me "scot free," they have treated me to a tine new 


hat, coat and vest in the bargain. Taken all together, the 
like surely was never known, and I have learned that wealth 
in the pockets of m}' fricn/h is quite as safe and available 
in *• the time of need," as tlmugh it wore in i:iy own. If 
I am not rich in dollars and cents, I am in the all'ecticns 
and good-will, of all those, ffencran>/, most intimately ac- 
quainted with me, the demonstrating proofs of whicli I 
have abundantly received, and, with which I am abundantly 
satisfied, and feel that I have not lived in vain. Prom- 
inent among my kind friends in the city, are Capt. Hugh 
Scott and lady, and their amiable daughter. Miss Susan, 
and Miss IMary Dinsmore, Mathew Hall and lady, James 
Carson, Esq , and his good venerable mother, Charles Ange- 
vine and lady, and good old Mother Davenport, Adolphus 
Kirsher and lady, Thomas and Joseph Hall and ladies, 
Hev. George B. Rogers and lady, James Owry, Esq.,. and 
lady, David Guiou and lady, and my ever-cherished Caroline, 
of whom honorable mention has already been made, and 
Edward B. Oummings and others. 0! these friends have 
been exceedingly kind and liberal toward me, as I tind them 
everywhere. Nor can I pass unnoticed the editorial corps, 
friend Bookwalter, of the Ilcgister, friend Martin, of the 
Banner, friend Goodwin, of the American, friend Waldo, of 
the Reveille, and friend Gregg of the Tribune, for favorable 
and complimentary notices, and others, whose journals 
have not "come to hand," may have equal claims upon my 
*' gratitude and love." ! I am " overcome with obligations."' 
And still obligations of " gratitude and love" come crowd- 
ing in upon me, and I can not pass without saying that "the 
publishers," Applegate & Co., friends C. V. O'Driscoll & 
Co., of the Franklin Foundry, and ?des>rs. Henry, Whel- 
pley, and Giddings, forerufo in the office, and all iho eom- 
yjositors and stereotypcrs, have bef^n exree iiugly kind, oblig- 
ing, and agreeable in their dealings with mo. I repeat. I 
am overcome with obligations of gratitude and love to Crod 
himself — to all my frieiids — if not to tliis *• beautilul green 
earth," which I quite soon must leave. 

514 cotton's kekpsake. 

Applegate &, Co.j are deserving of all praise and a lib- 
eral patronaj;e, -n-hich is bein^ accorded to them. Kind and 
obliging in tlieir interconrse, they put their ^vork up " in 
first rate ordei-/' as will be seen. But enough. 

Finally, I -R-ould just say, for the gratitication and infvir- 
rnation of my readers and friends generally, that four years 
ago I went on a visit to my venerable mother and friends, 
descended the lakes and the St. Lawrence, as f;ir north 
and east as 3Iontreal, in Canada, crossed over into Maine, 
enjoyed a most delightful season, got " as hearty and fat as 
a bear," and returned home, invigorated both in mind and 
body, but arriving there in the midst of that exceedingly' 
hot August, the change of temperature being so great, and 
the transition so sudden, I melted down, " like a candle in 
the sun." It appeared as though I could not breathe, that 
I must suffocate. I became restless and nervous, lost my rest 
and my appetite, took what is called the "water-brash," in its 
worst form, and gradually wasted away, or ran down from 
two hundred and twenty pounds to just one hundred and 
twenty-six — a mere skeleton — hardly enough left to "keep 
Boul and body together." I thought my time had come, and 
made all my arrangements to close up the affairs of life, 
and really thought once I was dying, and was happy in tho 
hope of "a better inheritance above." But contrary to my 
ovni expectations, or the expectations of my family and my 
friends, it has pleased God to continue my stay upon the 
earth until the present day. From one hundred and twenty- 
six pounds, I gradually ran up again to just one hundred 
and fifty. But for several months past, I have been run- 
ning down again — have just stepped off the scales, and find 
I hardly balance one hundred and thirty-five pounds, and 
BtiU the inclination is downward, and I begin to feel again 
that I am about at the foot of tho hill. Well, be it so. I 
am both happy and content, now that my book is finished 
and complete. Peradventure, God has spared me alone for 
that purpo.'»e. I repeat, I am both happy and content in 
view of my approaching dissolution — of death and the 


grave. And although life is still sweet, and friendship 
dear, and earth's inviting charms still court my stay, yet 
.upon the whole, I rather court than dread "the repose of 
the grave." Indeed I do, through mercy rich, and fuU, 
and Jree. 

"0, 'tis better to depart, , \ 

'Tis better far, to die." 

Die! did I say? Oh, nol ■ 

" TuF. GOOD MAN XEVER DIES." — B. S. Baxter. 
. " 'The good man never dies,' though threescore years and ten 
May have passed unheeded b}' iu the busy marts of men; 
In fertile field or shady grove, on mountain, eca, or shore, 
" 'His -works of faith and love' are blessings evermore. 
• As the circlet of the sea at the pebble's tiny fall, 
■ As the ■wavelet of the air from the mountain hunter's call, 
As the streaming of the light, so, mid -weariness and strife, 
Do his ' -words of gentleness ' Jill ' the infinite of life.' 
Tliey live -while he is ^vasting, they breathe when he is gone. 
Immortal in their freshness is every good deed done; 
Immortal in their blessings, and on — immortal still — 
To u-Uher and to blacken alone are ^ deeds of ill.' " 

These thoughts cheer and animate my heart, novr that 
the labors and duties of life, with me, are apparently 
-about -wound to a close. "What the purposes of God, to- 
-ward me, are, 1 can not say, nor am I overly anxious to 
know. The -u-ill of God be done, whether it bo "life or 
death." It is confidently anticipated by most of my friends, 
now that my book is ofl'niy hands, that mental and physical 
repose in the bosom of my family, and light open-air exer- 
cise will resuscitate and revive mo, and that I may yet live 
to number my " three score years and ten." But I feel as 
though I were about 

" Freed from the cares of earth, life's journey o'er. 
And gladly hail thee, thou brif/Jd sunny shore! 
From all my toils and cares removed by death, 
Peacefully, joyfully, 1 yield my breath. 


I see tlie fair trees, on the batiks of the stream, , , 

-' ' All waving in glovv. and brightly they gleam; 

0! rich are the cliistci-s of fruit -which they bear, 
iSemling right near me, and unjlwj me there. 

Friends may lament — they see not the sight 
"Whioh now is so tilling my soul with delight; 
Angels are beckoning — my Savior says come — 
0, why should I tarry when ' ahaosl at home.' " 

And if I only had the assurance that I should " slof^p my 
last lung sleep, that knows no waking," in some delightful 
cemetery like Mount Auburn, near Bosi:on, Greenwood. Xew 
York, Laurel Hill, Philadeljihia, or Spring Grove, near Cin- 
cinnati, it would tend much to "loosen the bands of death," 
and make death itself a welcome messenger ; for I do con- 
fess, that the idea of being buried in some fence-corner or 
dihipidated family burying-ground, all grown over with 
"briars and brambles," is, to me, rather a chilling and for- 
bidding contemplation. But in these tasty, neat, and beau- 
tiful cemeteries, one almost feels that it would be a luxury 
to " lie down and die." 

"How sweet to lay our precious dead 
In such a spot to sleep, 
Where waving trees their branches spread, 
- And stars their vigils keep; - . 

While angels watch with wakeful eyes, 
To guard ihe dust we so much prize. 

Where wildwood tiowers their pale leaves shed, 

And 'pinks and roses' wave. 
Where bud on bud bows down its head 

Above each cherished grave : 
Here lambs are gathered to his breast; 
The sad find joy — the weary rest." 

But I shall be content to slumber in the " Zion burying- 
ground," at Wri'_'ht's Corner, beside my lov^d and ci>eri>!iel 
friend, Edward Freeman, or the Ilcv. Brother Griflith, or 



•wherever it slinll be deemed most expedient find convenient 
by my friends. It is, upon the whole, matter of little con- 
sequence where I repose in death — since 

God, my redeemer lives, 

And ever from the skies 
Looks do^vn and v.-atchcs all mj' dust 

Till he shall bid it rise. 

The evening; shades are now iipon me, and feehlo and 
faint I must hasten to my repose, with the prayer and the 
"partins; word" my good mamma early taught me, and 
which I have repeated a thousand times, and love to repeat 
it still:— 

"}sow I lay me down to sleep, 
■ I pray the Lord my soul to keep; 

If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my sold to take." 

"Good nit;;ht, reader — good night, friends — good night, 
all." And all is said. 


CiNCixNATi, Jiuie 5, 1858. 



Mv Poems, being all properly classified, -will he indexed 
as paged, and not alphabetically. ^ly Autobiography, and 
the most important items in it, will also bo found by re- 
ference to the Index. The Historical Incidents and facts 
will be found by reference to the localities where they oc- 
curred. Each citizen of old Dearborn will find that which, 
more immediately interests him, by a reference to his own 
city, village, town, or Neighborhood. 

P E 31 S . 

r.ELXGiors. PACE 

Lines — Experimental 23 

Call to the Ministry 2G 

Love-Feast Ilymn 23 

Class-Meeting Hymn 29 

Prayer-Meeting Hymn 32 

A Happy Death 33 

A Poetic Sf^rraon 35 

Sang on Divinity 40 

Day of Judgment , 4-1 


Execution of r'uUer 47 

" " Eennett 55 

" " the Kelloys 57 

Youthful Convict 53 


520 - INDEX. 

".. \,i* TEMPERANCE. ' paob 

The Tomb of Blasdell ., 02 

Rising Sun Piiut 6'» 

Divorce (7/ 

Temperance I'iUy 71 

" " Cantata 75 


The Yankee Xation. 78 

Political Adaress 81 

Xational Toast? S3 


Xcwcaflle Banner 85 

Complimentary Epistle 83 

Answer to same 92 


Invitation to School 97 

Answer 98 

School Composition 99 

Response 1 00 

rupii-s' AdJeu 102 

Response 103 

Reautie? of Nature 104 

R-sponse 306 

Contentment 108 

Lightly Tread...... HO 

Teacher's Farewell Ill 


To Parent.s 116 

To Brother^ 117 

To Mrs. Cotton 118 

To Sisters, 120 

Letter Directions 125 

INDEX. 521 


Hymeneal Punnings 12'J 


Sabbath Schools 151 

• Temperance 154 

Kational Ilymu 157 

"Washington 150 

Jackson 1C2 

Indiana Volunteers 105 

LaJies' Tribune lOS 

Daughters of Temperance 171 

Industry 172 

Coun ty Fair 175 

A Forest Life 17S 

Progress ISO 


INIavy Tuttle 102 

Captain Godfrey Sno-\v 194 

Duncan House and Children 105 

My Brother 197 

My Son 200 

Infant Twin-brothers 201 

Thomas Miller 204 

Merrit Scoggin 205 

Mrs. Julia L. Dumont 207 

Clark J. Durham 200 

Xoycs and Crouch 210 

Gilbert Angevine 214 

Johnny ]>. Shddun 216 

Mrs. M. J. West 217 

Juhnnj- Stevenson 21S 


522 ' ■ ^ ' INDEX. 


The Suicide 'J:'.'> 

Lament --1 

John Amnii Cotton -23 


The Grave '. 224 

Robert Sunraan 225 

Thomas Watts 220 

Dr. CuUeu Croi.kshank 226 

David Conger 227 

Several Little Children 227 

Mrs. E. M. Piatt 229 

Mrs. Phcebe Cotton 231 

Several Young Ladies 231 

Epitaphs 234 


An Indian\s Grave 233 

"Cherished Pupils 240 

The Squirrel 242 

Mount Abram 243 

Mj Native State 245 

Mount Bradbury 246 

The Lovers 247 

Ketort 250 

Bunker Ilill Monument 251 

The Weathervaue 252 

The Forest Oak 2.U 

New Yeai-'s Addresses .-... 2.»tJ 

Steamboat Pted Stone 203 

The Snow Bird 200 

A Lock of Hair 2G3 

. . ^ ^ i>sDEX. 523 


Farewell to Maine 270 

Niagara Falls 272 

Ohio lliver 274 

Albums 274 

Acrostics 277 

Moore's Hill College 2S0 

A U T B 1 G n A P II Y . 

Autobiography 2^') 

War of 1S12 293 

A Night \Tith a Boar , 301 

" " " " Panther 303 

Marriage 311 

A Candidate 314 

An Editor 314 

Bar Meeting 317 

Law Xotice 324 

Ilairbreadth Escapes : 33;5 

Portland '. 334 

A Tempest on the Ocean 340 

Ministerial Success 344 

A Politician 340 

Complimentary Xutices , 347 

The Means resorted to ."^V 3">0 

Pleasantries. 3Si 

Thought 354 

The Footing up 3'j-3 

The Boquet S')'> 

A Ghost Story 361 

Conclusion .^ 3GG 

52i '^ INDEX. 



nistory COT 

Journal 3.'> 

Pen-is' School-house 372 

Ilaidensburgh 3. 3 

New Lawreneeburgh 3..> 

Lawrenceburgh City 3. > 

Aurora City 3>4 

Fremuat School-house t'^T 

Hartford 3-S 

Milton 3S9 

Bear Creek Church , 3',t0 

Hart's Mill 3''3 

Cole's Chapel... 304 

Dilsborough 3.'5 

Mount Tabor 305 

TuSVs School-house 3'J7 

Trester's School-house 393 

Wilmington , 3^'•5 

Sinai Chapel 401 

Spart:!. i •^''" 

Moore's Hill 403 

Chesterville 405 

Sparta Church F. B 405 

Green Chapel 40'j 

Elrod " 4i>3 

Stringio'ivn 40G 

Picrceville **07 

Dclawavo 407 

Prattsburgh 403 

Milan 4iJS 

^ >. INDEX. OZO 


Peckham's School-house 409 

Clinton '110 

0. Ileustis' Iim 411 

Pleasan tvie^v 113 

Durham's Vi\\\ 415 

Bruce's School-house 416 

Ebenezer Church 417 

Worlej's Schojl-houso 41S 

Fowler's " 41'^ 

"Wright's Corner 4l22 

Stone Chapel 425 

Yorkville 429 

Vanhorn's Schuol-house 4-^2 

Sawdon's " • ^'^>^ 

Grubb's " • ^-'^ 

Gnilf>r4 -13S 

Cambrld-e *^^-^"^ 

Salt Fork Church -142 

Wesley Chapel - ^-^'- 

Benham's S.-hool-house "l"' 

Sugar Grove Church ■l^' 

Elizabethtown "^ - ^ 

. Locust Grove ■*"*'^ 

Burk's Schuol-house -^''1 

llarri&on "'^ 

Chapelt) w's School-house 4jt» 

Baldridi^e's " "^^'^ 

l.^;;--' • ^- 

B„vor 45'^ 

Lawrenoevillo '*'^'^ 

520 . ^ INDEX. , 


rennsylvaniabiirgh '.. 439 

Hubble's Corner 461 

.Mule town 4G3 

Miincliester 474 

T^o Wolves 4S2 

The Fugitives.... 4S4 

A Kiss 487 

Eeflections 4S9 

Kind Words 490 

Progress 493 

Ecview 495 

California Letters 499 

Conclusion 506 

The S^veets and Ills of Life 511 







', — ? 





























^ t 

Pi '^ 

,» o 



In a'-lJition t'l p. lar;:e acrt vanca a??firtiiient of 

School, Classical, Theolog-ical and I/IiMellaiieous Eoolrg, 

■^vliich they have constantly on hand, publish a series of 


suitable for the family circle, as well as j^ublic libraries. 

At this time, '^\ hen the press teems so abundantly Tritb ep^he- 
meral literature, tlie tliinkiiis^ mind experiences a need of niore 
siib-tantial aliment ; of sou)ethini,' which shall nt tlie same timo 
furnish not only enioymeiit fur the present, but fur after thouijht ; 
foujeiliinc: from the perusnl of which, one can arise a \vi?er, if not 
a better mais : and amor^ir their publicatioiis, they flatter them- 
Relves such books will be foumi It is their aiin"to select suoh 
works, the intrinsic wortli of which will cause th^tn to be so!i<_^ht 
eficr by euli.;hte!:ed an.l discriii'.inating niiud-,, and as worihy 
of i- racing tl e shelves of their libiiiries. 

Atnongj their pr/oiications may be found the followin::, to 
which they would rfSpecifully invite attention. To thoe'it is 
their intentic-a to add tlie best works of the standard Historical 
ctid other authors, and they trust that their s-lections will l^e 
RUL-h as to entirle rliera to a liberal share of tJic patronage of the- 
l>i:»;.k-bL:yin^' public. 


"With a portrait of the author, engraved exprcsr-ly fjr 
this edition, accompanied ^vith Maps, (kc. ■ Plain and em- 
bossed gilt. 

Frmn the N'j^hnUr ajul Louisville Christimi Advocate. 
♦'It would be ditTicult to find any contribution to Sacrc-d 
Literature that lias attained to a hiyher rank than the 
Commentaries of Dr. Adam Clarke. , Yv'hether regardt-d 
as a prodig}- of human learning, or as a monument of 
what perseverence and industry, within the compass uf a 
single lifetime, can accomplish, it will long coniinue to 
challenge the admiration of men as a -work of unris-alled 
merit. It is a treasury of knowledge, in the accumula- 
tion of which, the author seems to have had no purpose 
in view but the apprehension of truth ; not to sustain a 
particular creed, but the apprehension of truth for truth's 
own sake, restrained in the noble pursuits of no party 
tenets by no ardor for favorite dogmas. " It is difiicult to 
conceive of a complete library without this valuable work, 
and yet alone of itself, it aflords to its possessor no mean 
variety of entertainment. Besides forming a moderate, bu; 
clear elucidation of the true meaning of the Sacred Word, it 
abounds v>'ith illustrations in science, the literature of all 
ages, and the history of all times and all countries ; and a^j 
a lexicon for the exj^osition of abstruse phrases, of diiHcult 
terms, and the true genealogy of words of doubtful imporc. 
it immeasurably surpasses all similar works of the age." 



S vols, super-royal 8vo. Plain and embossed gilt. 

The increasing demand for Dr. Clarke's Comrneniai^ 
on the Xeio Testament, has induced us to issue an edition 
on superior paper, large clear type, handsomely and sub- 
stantially bound, containing 1978 pages, with a portra:! 
of the author. 


1 1 vols, in 3 ; contaiiiing An Eseav ou tlie Improvement 
of Society; The Philosophy of a Future State ; The Phi- 
losophy of Pveligion ; The Mental Illumination and ^Sloral 
Improvement of Mankind ; An J]ssay on the Sin and Evils 
of Covetousness ; The Cluisiian Philosopher, or Science 
and Kfligion; Cclecti'd Scenery, illustrated; Sideral Hea- 
vens, Planets, etc. ; The Practical Astronomer ; The Solar 
System, its Wonders ; The Atmosphere and Atmospherical 
Phenomena, ttc. Illustrated %vith numerous engravings 
and a portrait. 2 vols, royal 8vo. Plain and embossed 
gilt. . , 

T/'is edition is 2}ri>'^t\l from entirchj neio 2jlates, contoin- 
ivg the recent revisions of ile author, cud is the o'nb/ com- 
plete edilio7i p'-i^^'^hed in the United Slates. 

" Dick's Wokks. — Tho>e v,ho read at all, know both 
the name of Dr. Dick and the A\-ork itself now reprinted. 
It has long found acceptance -with the public." — I'rcsby- 
terian Bevicw, Ed.lnhurg, 

«* We hail this remarkably cheap and greatly improved 
edition of Dr. Dick's admirable and highly popular Works. 
It it is' a real love to tiie millions to be able to purchase 
such an excellent -work for so inconsiderable a cost. We 
earnestly rt-commend this vrork to all our readers, and es- 
pecially to all who desire to store their minds with gene- 
ral information." — Wedeuan Associated Magazine, I>jiidon. 

."Eleven difierent -work? are embraced in these vol. 
nmes, making it an edition full ? id complete. ' The range 
of subjects embraced in these S' veral essays and scitntitic 
treatises is varied, are all highly important, and of prac- 
tical utility to mankind generally. Tiicse characteristics 
of Dr. Dick's writings, while ihey render th^m p-.rma- 
nen'ly valuable, insure for them also a vride circulafion 
among all classes of readers." — Ptisl->jterian of the West. 


The Ancient History of the Carthagt-nians, Assyrians, 
Babylonians, Medes and Persians, Grecians and Macedo- 
nians, including a Histoiy of the Arts and Sciences of tin 
Ancient-s, -n-itli a Life of the Author. 2 vols, royal 8vo 
Plain and embossed gilt. 

"A new edition of Eolun's xincient History has ivM 
been issued by Applegate & Co. The value and in^.].or- 
tance of this work are universally ackno■v^■ledged. E\(.-iy 
private library is deficient Avithoutit; and it is now fur- 
ni.^hed at so clieap a rate, that every family should have 
it. It sliould be placed in the hands of all our youth, a; 
infinitely more insiruciive and useful t'nan the ihousaiid 
and one trasliy publications with which tlie country is 
deluged, and v/iuch are so apt to vitiate the taste, and luin 
the minds of young readers. One word more in behalf of 
this new edition of KoUin : It may not be generally known 
tliat in previous English editions a large and interesting 
portion of the work has been suppressed. The deticii-n- 
cies are here supplied and restoied iVora the French edi- 
tions, giving tiie copy of 2\Iessrs. Applegate & Co. a supe- 
riority overprcvio\is English editions." — Western Recorder. 

"A superb edition of this indispensable text and refe- 
rence book is published by Messrs. Applegate & Co. 
Tlie work in this form has been for some years before the 
public, and is the best and most complete edilit^n pub- 
li.'^hed. The work is comprised in two volumes of about 
600 pages each, containing th.e prefaces of Kollin and the 
"History of the Arts at 1 Sciences of the Ancients, which 
have been omiited in mest American editions." — S^jring- 
f.eld liijjid,lic. 

" The work is loo well knoAvn, and has too long been a 
favorite, to rec^uire any commendation from us. 1'liough 
in some matters more recent investigations have led to 
conelu.-^ions dilft-ront from those of the Author, yet his 
general accui-acy is unqucstionabhi." — Wesi. Chi i^. Ado, 


»■■■■■ ■ ■ ■ « 


1 vol. royal 8vo, 750 pages, ^vilh a portrait of Addi- 
son. Plain and embossed gilt. 

The nnruerous calis for a coinplcie and cheap edition of 
this valuable work, have induced us to nc-wbj stereotype it, 
in tliis form, corresponding in style and price Avith our 
other books. Its thorough revisions have been committed 
to competent h.-^nds, and ^\'ill be found complete. 

Fnmi ilic Central Chri.^ran Ihnill. 

" One hundred and forty years ago, when there were 
DO daily newspapers nor periodicals, nor cheap tictions for 
the people, tl-.e Spectator had a daily circulation in Eng- ' 
land. It was witty, pithy, tasteful, and at times \-igorous, 
and laslied the vices and follies of the age, and inculcated 
many useful lessons which would have been disregarded 
from more serious sources. It was widely popular. It 
contains some very excellent writing, not in the spasmodic, 
moon-strnck style of the fine writing of the present day, 
Dut in a free, graceful and flowing manner, it used to be 
considered essential to a good style and a knowledge of 
Belles-Lcttres to have studied the Spectator, and ^\e are 
certain our age is not wise in the selection of some of 
the substitutes which are used in its stead. It should yet 
be a parlor volume, which should be read with great profit, 

"But we do not design to criticise the bonk, but have 
prefixed these few facts for the information of our readers 
to a notice of a new edidon of the work by Messrs. Apple- 
gate & Co. It is entirely of Cincinnati manufacture, and 
is in a style very creditable lo the enterprising house 
"nhich has brouLjht it out." 

■ Frc7n ths C'mchmali Commercial. ■ 

" Applegate &; Co., 43 Main street, have just published, 
in a handsome octavo volume of 750 pages, one of the 
very best classics in our language. It would be super- 
fluous at this day to write aline in commendation of thia 
work. The writings of Addison are imperishable, and 
will continue to charm youth and age while language lasts.'' 


"With Historical and Critical Xotes, and a Lir s of Plu- 
TAKCH. Elustrated with a portrait. Plain and embossed 

• This edition Las been carefully revised and corrected, . 
and is printed upon entirely new plates, stereotyped by 
ourselves, to correspond with our library edition of Dick's^ 
Works, &c. 

' From tie Nasliville and LouisuUe Christian AJroccUe. 

*' PLrTARcn's Lives. — Tliis great T\-ork, to whicli lias 
lono- since been awarded the first honors of literatute, is 
now published complete in one volume by Messrs. Apple- 
gate (fc Co., of Cinciuuati, and offered at so low a price as 
to place it within the reach of all. This is a desideratum, 
especially in tins age of 'many books.' Kext in imjior- 
tance to a thorough knowledge of history, and in many 
respects fully equal to it, is the study of well authenti- 
cated bio'aapb.y. For this valuable purpose, we know of 
no work extant superior to the fifty lives of Plutarch. It 
Is a rare nuu'.azir.e of literary and biographical knowledge. 
The eminenrmen whose lives compose this work, consti- 
tute almost the entire of that galaxy of greatness and 
bnghtncss, which stretches across the horizon of the dis- 
tant past, and casts upon the present time a mild and 
steady luster. ]Many of them are among the most illus- 
trious of the earth." 

From the Ladies' Rppository. 
"It is a better piece of property for a young man to 
own, than an eighty acre lot in the Mississippi Valley, or 
many hundred dollars in current money. We would 
rather leave it as a legacy to a son, had we to make the 
choice, than any moderate amoimt of property, if we were 
certain he would read it; and, we are bound to add, that, 
■were we now froing to purchase a copy, this edition would 
have the preference over every other of which we liave 
any knowledge." . . - 



Ancient and ]Modern, from the birth of Christ to the 
Kightecnih Centurv, in which the Rise, Progress, and "\'aria- 
tious of Church Power ore considered in their conuccrioa 
wirli the state of Learning- and Philosophy ; and the Politi- 
c:il History of Europe duriug that period, cotjtinuo_d up to 
• the present time, hy Ciiarlks Coote,'LL. D. 80G pages, 
1 vol., quarto, spring back, marble edge. 

■ ' ■ From the 2i[as>riic Rctieic. 

This great standard history of tlio Church from the birth of 
Chri^st, lias just been issued in a new divss by the extensive pub- 
libliiiig house of Applegate 6z Co. Xotliing; need be sold by us 
in relation to the liieiit^ or reliLd>ility of iIo>heim's History ; it 
has long bonie the approving'seal of the Prorestant world. It 

■ has become a standard work, and no pid)lic or private libraiy is 
complete viilnii* it ; I'.orcan an individual be well posted in the 
history of the Christian Church for eighteen hundred years, 
without liaving carefully studied ^lo^heiin. We wi>»h, however, 
particularly to roconunend the present edition. The pages are 
in large double columns ; ilie type is large and very distinct, and 

■ the jiriuting is adnurablc, on line while paper. Ii is really a 
pleasure to read such ]>rint, aiid we reconinnud our friends to 
puichase tlus edition of this indispensable work. 

' ! ■ • From the Td' scope, Dayton, O. 

This work has been placed upon our table by the gentlemanly 
and enterprising publii-hers, and we are g'lad of an opportunity 
to introduce so h^autiful an edition of this staiuiard Church liis- 
tory to our readers. The work is printed on beautiful vv-hite 
piiper, clear large type, and is bound in one h.andsome voluaie. 
Ko man ever s^t down to read Mosiicini in so pleasing a diess. 
■What a treat is s\icli an r-dition to one wiio ha^ bueu studying 
this elegant work in small cl.>-^e print of other editions. 

Fro7n Profrssor Wrijlitson. 
"Whatever ba^ik lias a tendency to add to our knowledge of 
God, or the character or conduct of Ids true worshipers, or that 
points cut th.e errors and mistakes of former £-eneratious, must 
liavc an elevating, expanding, and purifving influence on the 
human mind. Sach a work is Mosheini's 1-Icclesiaslical Hi^5lory. 
Like " Kollin's History of the Ancients," it is the standard, and 
is too well known to netd a word of comment. 



Containing Tales, Sketches, Anecdotes, 'and Geras of Tlioii^.^ht, 
•.Literary, Moral, Pleasing and Instructive. lUuaU-ated vith 
Bteel plates. 1 vol. octavo. Einbo-;sod. 

To furnish a volume of miscelhiueous literature both pleasing 
and instructive, ha-i bo^'n the object of the editor in compiling 
this work, as well to supply, to some extent, at least, tlie place 
that is now occupied by publications which few will deny are of 
a questionable moral tendency. 

It has been the intention to mnke this volume a suit:ib!e travel- 
ing and fireside companion, prolitabiy emj:ai;ing tlie luisure mo- 
ments of the former, and adding an additional charm to the 
cheerful glow of the latter; to blend amusement with instruc- 
tiiTn, pleasure with profit, and to pie.-eut an extensive garden of 
rigorous and useful plants, and beautiful and fragrant fiov.-ers, 
amoug v-hich, perchance, there may be a few of inferior worth, 
though none of utter inuulity. While it is not ex.;b:-jvely a re- 
ligious work, yet it contains no article that may not be read by 
the most devoted Christian. 

' From the Cincinnati Daibj Times. 

This is certainly a book of rare merit, and well calculated for 
a rapid and general circulation. Its contents present an ei'.en 
give variety of subjects, and these not only carefully but ji.di- 
ciously scltcted, and arranged in appro[iriate departments. Its 
contents have been hitrlily spoken of by men of di-":ingui>hed 
literary acumen, both editors and ministers of variouu Christian 
denominations. ">Ve ciicerfullv recommend it. 


of the most interesting everyday books ever published. Like the 
Spectator, it mav be"perased "again and again, and yet afford 
something to interest and amuse the reader. Its varied and choice 
selections of whatever is beautiful or witty, st;.rrling or amu.s- 
ing, can not fail to atrbrd rich enjoyment to minds of every- char- 
acter, and a pleasant relaxation from more severe and vigorous 

G.\TTTEP.KD Tp.EAStTEES. — " \ choice Collection of short and in- 
teresting articles, comprising selections from the ablest authors. 
Unlike volumiuous works, its varied seh-'Ctlons aiJord amusemeu!; 
for a leisure moment, or entertainment for a winter evening. ^ It 
is alike a companion for the railroad car, the library and parlor, 
end aever fails to iutereec its reader." , , ; 



LIGION, as received and taught by lilethodists in the 

United States, 

In Avhicli the doctrines are carefully considered and 
Eupportod by the testimony of the Holy Scriptures. By 
Kev. A. A. JiMEsox, M. D. 12nio, embossed cloth. 

This> book contains a clear exposition of the doctrines of • 
the Anicles, and, of the errors against Mhich the Articles 
vere directed, -written in a popular style, and divided into 
sections, for the purpose of presenting each doctrine and 
Us opposite error in the most prominent manner. 

Fro7u R(T. JonN Millks. 
" It is a book for the Methodist and for the aqe — a re- 
ligious nndhnn in j^arvo — combining sound theoingv v.ith 
practical religion. It should be found in every Methodist 

Fmn Rev. ^\'. R. Baeccce, Pastor of the Melhodist Cnurch in St 

Louis, Missouri. 

-' "From our intimate acquaintance vrirh the gifted and 

}>ious Author of these ' 2s otes,' we antie-iy-ate a rich intel- 
ectual feast, and an able defense of the Biblical origin of 
the doctrines of the Articles of Picligion, as contained iu 
tlie Discipline of the Methodist Church." 

" The laymen of tlie Methodist Church have long need- 
ed this -work. Although we regard the Twenty-Five Ar- 
ticles as seli"-evident truths — the concentrated teachings of 
the Holy Bible, and the bulwark of the Protestant Faida 
— they are not sufiicieuily understood and comprehended 
by those professing to believe them. Dr. Jimeson has 
furnished us, iu a condensed form and popular style, with 
a lucid exposiiion and triumphant defence of our faith, 
tjuslained and supported by history and the opinions of 
the Fathers, and adapted to the present wanes of tlie 



" Or, the Scientific Explanation of Cummon TbixHgs. 

Edited by P. E. Petkks;ox, Member of the Academy ot 
Natural Sciences, Pliiladelpliia. • " 

From T. S. Arthur, Editor of the Home Gazette. 

" 'Familiar Science, or the Scientific Explanation of 
Common Things,' is one of the most generally useful 
books that has lately bec-n printed. This work, or a por- 
tion of it, came first from the pen of the Eev. Dr. Brewer, 
of Trinity Hall, Cpaabridge ; but, in the foim it jirst ap- 
peared from the English press, it was not oulyunsuited to 
the American pupil, but very deficient in arrangement. 
These defects, the editor has sought to remedy. To give 
not only to the parent a ready means of answering inqui- 
ries, but to provide a good book for schools, is the object 
of this volume. About two thousand questions, on all 
subjects of general information, are answered m language 
so plain that all may understand it." 

From Vii. S. Clatenger, Frincijxil of Gramsnar School, PMla. 

*'The pages of 'Familiar Science' are its best recom- 
mendation. The common phenomena of life are treated 
of in a simple and intulligible manner, which renders it 
both pleasing and instructive. In the family circle, as a 
text book, it will form the basis of an hour's interesting 
conversation, and in the hands of the pupil, it will be a 
valuable aid in the acquisition of useful knowledge." 

From 'Viii. RocEiTS, Prindjxil of RingicoIJ School, Pldladdphm. 

■ "Robert E. Petersox, Esq. — Dear Sir — I have been 
much gratified by an examination of your book, entitled 
'Familiar Science.' The cause of every day phenomena, 
such as evaporation, condensation, the tbrmation ol clouds, 
rain, dew, etc., are so familiarly explained, tliat all classes 
of persons may readily comprehend them, and 1 believe 
the book has only to be known to be appreci;ited by 


A choice 5C'lectio:i of original and selected 7\inpcr'!nce Music, 
nrrimgcd fi>r one, t\ro, three, or four voices, with au exteusivo 
variety of Pcpnlar Temperance Songs. SJ'.iio. 

This is a nent Tolurae. woll prin^od. an 1 well bound, containing 250 r^are^. 
It i.s the best colle.-;ivn of teun-.Tanre - luj? ni.i music we have seen. \Voro a 
few copie.-] sccuro.l in cverv town in Cl'ii >, in the hunds of the w:ii-m-h-->arte'i 
frieucU of the .\I:-.iu> L:iw, an ek-mont of powor and in.erest w:.iil.l in mW-X to 
temperance uii'etin^<. an i a ^tron.'cr iiupul-e jjiveu to the onward march of the 
>Dld water army. — :>:'niin,'t, i^O..) l^.acoi. 

This will certainly become one of the most popular tcmpcranco fonj; book? 
T»hioh has been putii.-iiel in the country. We think it is, so far aj we htiva 
examined, the best coUec-tiun of s.'>n.;s we have seen. Some of ihem are ex- 
ceedingly beautiful aud affectm;;. — f^jiiiperanci Cliart. 

This is a popular Temperance Sonc; Boole, (lesicrneii for the people, and should 
Vie in every family. Vi'e can'-n-.'n I it to the patrona;;e of all our tempe- 
rance friends, as the best tenr r:.ii ■ • - u .-;.r, with ma-io attached, we hava 
seen. The music in this wori< . '. .. . , ..-to Ilarri-ou"s Numeral :^}«tepi, 
for tworeas'jns: First, becau^.» i: i ■ . '. : ami scientific that al! the peo; le 
can easily learn it. Second, it i~ i['.:l: ul. lo set niu«io in a book of this si:ie 
aud shape, except in uuaiorals. — t/tii'unci O^mmtrciaL 


Ev" A. D. FiLLMonr, Author of Ghri~ti;in P.salmist, d:c., contaia- 
inor all Sy.stein< of .Not.atiou. New Edition, enlarged. 

The title, " Universal Musician," is adopted because the vork 
is desii^ned for everybody. The style of expression is in common 
plain English, so tliat it may be adapted to the capacities of ail, 
instead of simply pleasing tlie fancy of thi? few. 

Most of the music is written in Harrison's iS'unieral Systeru of 
Notation, because it is the most intelligible of ail the dilferent 
systems extant, and is therefore better adapted to the wants of 
community. Music would be far better understood and ajipre- 
ciated by the people generally, if it were all written in this way. 
For it is more easily written, occupies less space, is more quiricly 
learned, more clearly understood, is less li.\ble to be forgotten, 
and ■will answer all common purposes belter than any oilier. 
But the world is full of music, written ia various systems, mid 
the learner should acquire a knowledge of all the priuv'ijjal varie- 
ties of notation, so as to be able to read all music. Toauord thia 
knowledge to all, is the object of the present eftbrt. 

Poetry, v.-lii^'li is calculated to please as well as instruct. ii:;.s 
been carefuliy iolfCted from many volumes aln-adv pi-.bii-.iie.l, 
aud from origi;>;il cijii;positio:'.s farnislied exp'.'es>;y :.j;- ihi- wmk. 
Much of the hiii-iC is which is williiiL-ly >'.!Mn;'.U:.i to 
the ordeal of public opinion. Some of it-certaiuly po- ^e-^es some 
merit, if we may judge from the avidity with wiiich it is pil 
fered and ollered to the public by some, would-b.-, authL-rs 


. t^iiivcrssilliricl ; Or Confessions of UnirtTsalifm. A Pcem in twelra C'lir.- 

tos, to '.vliicli are v.'lled Lectures or; Uriivrir.-r.lism, -n-bcreia llie ^ysti-m i:i ss- 

plainp'l. niid it? cbi?f nm-.mieii's considered and riefutod. 
8nIvatio:i !>j- Christ. By Rev. \Vm. Sni;RLors. Lyrist. By Itfv. \>'ij. B. GiLLriAM, Tiistrof tl)p First CumVerlaud 

Presl.yteriiiD Liiur li, C.'liinstia. Teau, I'i;;urod Nctcj, ■J.'.O ra-es. 
AiMcricaii CliiircSi J5ari>. A Chmce Collftlion .-.f Ilrmns ani Tunf! 

adaj.tL- 1 to all C-M-i-tiau L';i'.irci;c=. Slurring SclitHjls, a.iid Privuie rauiili-;^. 

Ky itev. \V. KhiaEFUI'.t. IJmo.. b:i!f niorocro. 
The Caiuj> I^ieeiing asitl .SabbalU School tJjoiistcr. 11' 

AaROX (.'.'i. 

Siicrod rfielanc-oM, A Collectioa of KeTival Ilyip-as. By r,-v. K >f. Dvlpt. 
A Riogiaphti'al Skrfch of CoIoJiCl Waijirl JJoone, the Fiiil 

SettkT iu ivfiiti:; ky, intprspersL-d v.iUi ini-idents in tlie curly aunals of the 

country. 15y Timothy i' I'Jino. Kmbossed cloth. 
Iiifeof Tcc!im«oh, and of Ir.s Ri-othertbp Trophet, T.-itha IIi;-tor:cal Sketch 

of the thTii-iii.'O liidi:i:is. iiy li. L';.ask. 1-Jmo., eaibossod cloih. 
Jjifn aJitl AilvetH aires of EInck ISa^rU, v.ith .^Icptchesof Ko^kxik, 

the S:ic &ud Pox Indians, aud tlui Plack Uawk War. l!y B. P".-AJLE. Iteo., 

enibosstd cloth. 
Western Adi-oiif!ire. ByMTiuy-;. Illustrated. 
l^ewis &- Clarlic's .5o:iruai to the Ltociiy 3xOiintains. lUo^- 

iraled. PJmo., shoe;;. 
f.ife and Essays of ISrn. FvaijUliii. ISmo., cloth. 
WecJieal Student i:s iOurope, Or Xotes on i'rauce, Ensland, Italy. 

6:c. JlUistratfd witli otet:! p'lalt-s. 
The Poor Plan's ISomc, Or Kich Man's Palr.ce: Or Gravel Wall Enild- 

iui;.s. 'i'uis is one c,r tlie mo-t desiralde books puWishod, fir all who cont.-.n- 

piate ereciinj; d.vtljin'js or out-hoi-ses, as thijcost is not over ync third thnt 

of hriik or frami-. and quite as duvpble. Illustrated with muiierous' p!:\ii^ 

Slid a cut of the authoi's residence, with full directiocs, that every inau u.r.r 

be his ov.-u builder. 
I^ectuiT^ and Serinojis. P.y Kev. F. G. Black, of the Cuml-erlaud 

Prosijyterian Church, liiiuo., eraL^ofsed cloth. 
A JSe^v History of Texas, from the first European Settlements, in 

IGs-.', dovru to tiie present liim. — inoluding an account of the ilciican ^> ar, 

together with the Treaty. Pajier. 
BSap of the AVe*lcrn Kivers. Ey S. B. MrNSOX. Bein;: a i.iap'-.f iho 

iia\i--'.':I-:e '.arts -.f t(,k Mi-=ouri. .Mississi;.;.i, Ohi-^, Illinois, Cuniberlan-i, ani 

"Wal'Msh lavers, with a Table of Distances. 
A IVc\y liistory of Oregon and California- By Lansfoed VT. 

Hastings. Paper. 
I'arley's Am.'rira, Europe. Asia. Africa. Islands. T-jies cf the S-a, Greece. 

l;onio, \Vi:;ter Eyenin- T^nles Juvenile Tales, Bible Ctories, Anecdotes, ilua. 

Moon, £ud Stars: n>'W andreri-.,-! editions. 
l»arJcy".-J Iti/ht I^ .Mi.'ht, Pivk Bo'dliero, The Truth Ft')-^'er. Philip Brusfju^, 

T:rt.:s «':".-^ea and band. Tales of tb.e Kevuluii'-n: 
XSiadley'K ISowsokecper's Collide and €00!: Bc-o'^; Or a p'airi 
. ai.d ecou: uiii-al Cook il.,ok, containing a great variety of new, valuable, aud 

ai prove 1 receii'ts: l::iiio:. cloth: 
IjTOns' Knslish <r;vajiirrtar. A new Gramm?r of the Emrli-b Xsa- 
pua -e. far-iiharlv exp!:ii::e l. aud a iaptefi to the use of Scho-rls a:id Pi iv.-.;? 

■fc^tudt^ntJ. Th./v.-or')-, is so nrrar^'ed as to infallibly recuro the ar'cnti'.n. to 

BWiken in:5uirv,«nl to have the most lailias iaii/rtS:=iou3 upon tu.. u.iU-j 

of the Iv-arner.' 12 110., cl'^Th. 
Coninscii School S'r'.mer.