STATISTICS.

SENATORS.

From eighteen four, to eighteen hundred

Four and seventy, were statesmen

Sent to represent Lancaster,

In the senate of Kentucky.

First, in eighteen four, James Thompson,

Eighteen six, came William Bledsoe,

Eighteen nine, was Thomas Buford,

Then in eighteen twelve, John Faulkner,

Eighteen thirty-two W. Owsley,

Samuel Lusk, in four and thirty,

In fifty-nine, George Denny, Senior.

HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.

In the House the hillside city

Was in numbers represented

From among the early settlers,

To the present generation.

Thomas Kennedy, elected,

Seventeen hundred nine and ninety,

Then John Boyle in eighteen hundred,

Eighteen one, came Henry Pawling,

Eighteen two, was Stephen Perkins,

Next, in eighteen three, James Thompson,

Eighteen five, came Abner Baker,

Eighteen six, came Thomas Buford,

Samuel McKee in eighteen nine, and

William Owsley, eighteen eleven:

Then in eighteen twelve, John Yantis,

Eighteen thirteen, Samuel Johnson,

Eighteen fourteen, Robert Letcher,

Eighteen fifteen, came James Spillman,

Eighteen twenty-one Ben. Mason,

Then George Robertson, in eighteen

Two and twenty, was elected.

Twenty-seven, R. McConnell.

Eighteen hundred eight and twenty

Simeon Anderson next followed,

Nine and twenty, Tyree Harris,

One and thirty, Jesse Yantis,

Eighteen thirty-two, John Jennings,

Alex. Sneed, in three and thirty,

Eighteen thirty-five, George Mason,

A. G. Daniel, nine and thirty,

George R. McKee, in one and forty,

Jennings Price, in three and forty,

Forty-four, went Grabriel Salter,

Eighteen forty-five, W. Mason,

Horace Smith, in forty-seven,

Forty-eight, La Fayette Dunlap,

John B. Arnold, eighteen fifty,

Fifty-four, George W. Dunlap,

Joshua Dunn, in five and fifty,

William Woods, in fifty-seven,

Fifty-nine, went Joshua Burdett,

Alex. Lusk, in one and sixty,

Sixty-three, went John K. Faulkner,

Sixty-five, went Daniel Murphy,

William J. Lusk, in sixty-seven,

Seventy-one, went William Sellers.

Reëlected, three and seventy.

MEMBERS OF CONGRESS.

First, John Boyle was sent to Congress,

From eighteen three to eighteen nine; then

Samuel McKee, to eighteen seventeen;

Then George Robertson, till twenty;

R. P. Letcher next, from twenty

To eighteen hundred three and thirty.

From thirty-nine to eighteen forty,

Simeon H. Anderson was chosen;

From sixty-one to three and sixty,

George W. Dunlap served the session,

Called to quell the civil troubles,

By pacific intervention.

JUDGES.

John Boyle and William Owsley,

And George Robertson, were Judges

Of the Appellate Court at Frankfort.

Samuel Lusk, George R. McKee, and

Samuel McKee, and Mike H. Owsley,

Form the list of Circuit Judges

Of the Eighth Judicial District.

County Judges, five in number;

James H. Letcher, first in order,

Nicholas Sandifer, the second,

Third, James Patterson elected,

Fourthly, comes George Denny, Junior,

Last is William McKee Duncan.

Police Judges are as follows:

First, T. Gresham heads the list, then

Hugh McKee and Allan Burton,

James McKee and Louis Phillips,

R. Grinnan and W. M. Duncan.

George Denny, Junior, M. H. Owsley,

Served as Commonwealth’s Attorney.

CLERKS.

William A. Bridges, Benjamin Letcher,

A. R. McKee, and W. J. Landram,

W. D. Hopper, E. D. Kennedy,

John K. Faulkner, now in office,

Are the Circuit Court Recorders.

County clerks were Benjamin Letcher,

A. McKee, and W. B. Mason,

James H. Smith, and W. J. Landram,

J. W. West and W. H. Wherritt.

POSTS OF HONOR.

Of our Territorial Judges,—

R. P. Letcher, in Arkansas,

A. A. Burton, in Dacotah.

Foreign Missions,—R. P. Letcher,

Went to Mexico in office;

A. A. Burton, to Colombia,

R. C. Anderson, Colombia,

And to Panama in service.

A. R. McKee, to Panama, was

Sent as Consul for a season.

MEMBERS OF BAR.
1820-1875.

S. McKee and R. P. Letcher,

George Robertson, M. V. Grant, and

James McCoy, and W. G. Mullins,

S. H. Anderson, John Boyle, and

W. Mattingly, John McMillan,

Thomas Chilton, and Charles Talbott,

Samuel Lusk, and W. P. Bryant,

Jesse Woodruff, John G. Totten,

R. D. Lusk, and S. T. Mason,

George W. Dunlap, A. A. Burton,

Alex. Robertson, H. Bruce, and

Levi Blanton, Lewis Landram,

W. Kincaid, and Alex. Aldridge,

A. G. Stephenson, B. F. Graham,

Bascom Brown, and Dudley Denton,

L. B. Cox, J. Smith, Joshua Burdett,

Alex. Lusk, and Thomas Wilbur,

M. L. Rice, and George F. Burdett,

Horace Smith, and L. F. Dunlap,

W. C. Samuel, Charles E. Bowman,

A. R. McKee, and W. J. Landram,

Samuel McKee, and T. McQuery,

George R. McKee, and W. B. Mason,

S. T. Corn, and Phil. P. Barbour,

R. McKee and W. D. Hopper,

James A. Anderson, W. J. Lusk, and

Theodore Bailey, and George Hatch, and

R. M. Bradley, B. F. Burdett,

W. O. Bradley, H. T. Noel,

Harrison Wilds, and M. H. Owsley,

W. M. Duncan, William Herndon,

R. L. Tomlinson, Matt. Walton,

George Denny, Junior, H. C. Kauffman.

PHYSICIANS.

J. V. Gill, and R. McConnell,

A. Edmonson, B. F. Rhoton,

William Gill, and Benjamin Mason,

George B. Mason, L. M. Buford,

Joseph Smith, and W. A. Downton,

J. P. Burton, B. F. Duncan,

J. S. Pierce, and W. H. Pettus,

Alex. Hann, and Lewis Mullins,

Anthony Hunn, and Samuel Letcher,

David Bell, and Harvey Baker,

Jennings Price and Abner Baker,

L. B. Hudson, Jos. P. Letcher,

William Cooke, and Hartford Peters,

Charley Fox, and Houston Jackman,

O. P. Hill, and William Jennings,

Thomas Craig, John Craig, George Givens,

Johnson Price, and M. D. Logan,

Edward Cooke, and S. L. Burdett,

William Bush, and William Huffman,

Lastly, Dr. H. C. Herring,

Are the city’s Esculapians.

We have merchants and mechanics,

Who supply the world of commerce,

We have artisans, and farmers,

Who are thriving, noble workers,

Men whose names are as the legions,

As they toil in honest labor.

We have literary talent,

We have preachers and professors,

We have poets and musicians,

Gallant sons and blooming daughters;

We have statesmen, we have soldiers,

In the halls and in the battles;

Even out upon the ocean,

Has the city’s fame extended;

In the navy as the army,

Have her offspring been promoted;

Every path may claim her children,

Every sphere in life, a foll’wer,

Every scroll of fame, a column.

Cicero Price became a seaman,

Went to cruise upon the waters,

Rose to Commodore in service,

And sustained his proud position,

Through the shifts of fickle fortune.

Let each heart enshrine a volume

Of our honest, upright brothers;

Let the story of Lancaster,

Brush aside the dust and ashes,

Clear away the clogs and brake-wheels,

Come forth as the sun at noonday,

With her hearts and hands unsullied,

With her banner folds untarnished.

CANTO VI.
1833.
CHOLERA.

We have sung the hillside city

In the wilds of old Kentucky,

In the fruitful, blue-grass region,

In its central rich location.

We have sung its days of beauty,

From the hands of the Creator;

Of its innocence and quiet,

Ere the foot of man had pressed it;

We have sung its days of progress

Since the first rude cot was fashioned;

We have sung its days of pleasure

’Mid its households and its people;

We have sung its days of profit

In the gain of cents and dollars;

Days of rustic simple manners,

Days of industry and labor,

Days of glory and of triumph,

Days of pride and exultation.

Now, there came a fatal era,

When the busy hum of traffic

Filled no more the stirring places;

When the noisy roll of carriage

Ceased to sound along the pavements,

And the death cart’s slow procession

Told of woe and desolation,

Told of pestilence and danger,

Told of cottages all empty,

And of mansions grim and silent,

Of the hearthstones all deserted,

All the happy, quiet hearthstones.

In this sad and fearful era,

In the year of eighteen hundred

Three and thirty, came a despot,

More oppressive in his power

Than the hosts of foreign armies,

More insatiate in his passion

Than the simoon of the desert.

Came a despot whose invasion

Struck the heart all dumb with terror,

Drove the people, panic-stricken,

From the homes so neat and tasteful,

From the places dear and sacred,

To the refuge of the country,

To the refuge of the mountain,

To the refuge of the valley,—

Anywhere for life and safety

From the grim, pursuing monster.

’Twas the cholera of Asia,

Laying hands upon the city.

’Twas this skeleton so ghastly,

With its breath of foul miasma,

With its desolating vengeance,

With its greedy, fatal cravings,

Laying hands upon the city.

And the dooméd victims yielded

To the swift-distilling poison;

White and black and high and lowly,

Fell beneath the sweeping scythe-blade.

On the air was borne the crying

Of the hurrying, the fleeing,

Through the air the sad lamenting

Of the helpless and deserted,

Cries of anguish and of terror,

Wails of suff’ring and despairing.

Some brave souls remained in peril,

’Mid this notable hegira;

Some remained with Spartan courage,

And the enemy confronted;

Some fell, martyrs in the struggle,

When their task of love was ended.

B. F. Duncan, kind physician!

Stood his post a valiant soldier,

Never faltered, never wavered,

While his duty lay before him;

Stood forth bold for his profession,

Stood forth friend and nurse and doctor.

But his skill and his devotion

Could not terminate the death-list,

Could but palliate the anguish,

Could but soothe the dying victim.

Mournful sights were his to witness

In the lone, deserted village;

Painful scenes he long remembered,

In the still, plague-stricken city.

From the news sheets of the era,

The “Kentuckian” or the “Journal,”

(Early chronicles established

In the city of Lancaster),

We may glean the sad statistics,

Glean the names of some who suffered,

Suffered death from the invader,

From the cholera Asiatic.

May the list awake a tear-drop

At the sounds once so familiar.

William Cooke and A. McDaniel,

D. McKee and William Pollard,

Seymour Gice and Mrs. Woodruff,

Thomas Pratt and Charles S. Bledsoe,

Doctor William Gill, E. Sartain,

Robert Gill and James G. Tillett,

Mrs. Gill and Mrs. Gresham,

Then Ray Smith and Mrs. Tillett,

Mrs. Anderson, J. Aldridge,

Mary Crooke and J. Vanmeter,

Nancy Bland and Joseph Evans,

Miss E. Gill and Daniel Bledsoe,

Mr. Parks and Mrs. Jennings,

Mrs. Parks and Patience Wilmot,

J. V. Gill and Mrs. Aldridge,

Mrs. George and David Sutton,

Patience Crow and Mrs. Reynolds,

Mary Robertson, John Bryant,

Mrs. Dunn, James Pope then follow.

Next come Mrs. Pratt, John Pollard,

E. McKee and Ruth A. Evans,

Frederick Hutchison, Ben. Letcher,

G. W. Thompson, Mary Woodruff,

S. S. Wilmot, William Lillard,

Joseph Woodruff and “two strangers,”

Lastly, Alexander Collier,

And “five children,” are recorded.

Sixteen days the grim destroyer

Scourged our city on the hillside,

The sad city of Lancaster.

And the dead, one hundred sixteen,

White and black, were laid to slumber,

Laid to rest from toil forever,

In the old, neglected graveyard.

It was not so old in those days;

Flowers bloomed upon the hillocks,

Blossoms waved among the grasses;

Now, sweet flowers of remembrance,

Live among the few survivors

Of that sleeping generation;

Live with those whose hearts are faithful

To the victims of the death-knell,

Of the fatal epidemic

Of eighteen hundred three and thirty.

And the changing cycle moved on,

As the moons were waxing, waning.

Turn we now from pictures ghastly,

For the hand of God is lightened;

Sing no longer mournful dirges,

For the earth is glad and merry;

Let the requiems rest silent

In the lull of deep thanksgiving.

For the wrath of heaven is lifted,

Lifted from the rescued city.

Gone, the sound of rolling death-cart,

Hushed, the ringing, tolling belfry,

Still, the bier and gloomy shovel,

Still, the idle, listless sexton.

Other days of anxious watching

Followed, one or two years later;

Days when fierce, destructive fevers

Darkened many homes with mourning.^[2]

Yet the citizens are happy

In this season of glad respite;

Now the people of the township

Open wide the doors of welcome

To the long-abandoned firesides;

Open now the shop and office

To the artisan and student;

Active now the hands long folded

From the busy round of labor,

And the fields of grain and verdure

Wave once more beneath the sunlight.

Fields of corn and wheat and barley,

Fields of oats and rye and clover,

Fields of hemp and of tobacco,

All the products and the grasses

Spring again to life and beauty.

Let us sing no more lamenting

For the boon of life is granted,

Swell the choral hallelujah

To the Giver of all blessings,

To the Guardian of our fortunes,

The great Healer of diseases,

Our Preserver from disaster,

Our Physician and our Father,

The beneficent Jehovah,

Who hath stayed the scourge’s power,

Who hath stilled the epidemic

Of eighteen hundred three and thirty.

^[2]What was known as the Lancaster fever prevailed in 1835. A fatal fever also visited Lancaster in 1836, caused by the grading of the public square. Dr. Luther Buford discovered the origin of the malaria and wrote a thesis upon the subject.

CANTO VII.
* * * 1838.
MILITIA.

’Twas a custom of the nation,

Of this grand united nation,

In the days I now am chanting,

Eighteen hundred eight and thirty,

That the military people

In the towns and in the cities,

In the villages and counties,

Should parade in drills and musters,

With the drum and fife to lead them;

Should at stated times and seasons

Herald forth their martial columns;

Should, with powder and with flint-lock,

Learn to battle and to conquer,

Learn the tactics of the army.

Brigade drills, battalion musters,

And an annual encampment,

Took in officers and soldiers,

Men of strong and wiry muscle,

Men from twenty-one and upwards,

To the age of five and forty.

’Twas in eighteen twenty-seven

That John Jennings was commander

Of the élite Light Horse Company.

Captain Travis Dodd succeeded,

And along the years that follow,

To the Sabine Volunteers, in

Eighteen hundred six and thirty,

Captain John A. Price, commander,

There were other noted heroes.

But the incident my canto

Now attunes to hum’rous mention,

Had its birth one fair October,

Eighteen hundred eight and thirty.

Colonel William Stein commanded

The renowned Cornstalk Militia,

Of the county of old Garrard,

Near the city of Lancaster.

None but officers might join them,

Colonels, Majors, and Lieutenants,

Captains, Corporals, and Sergeants;

Only officers were mustered,

In the regimental phalanx.

Stein was large and he was burly,

Was among the “sons of Anak,”

Made a Captain by Dame Nature,

In his giant-sized proportions,

Made a Colonel by his merits,

By his lofty aspirations.

But the county-seat of Garrard,

The ambitious, inland city,

Sent a popular petition,

To the capital at Frankfort,

To the legislative rulers,

For an Act incorporating

Their militia into Guardsmen.

And forthwith their prayer was granted,

Quickly granted by the rulers.

See them now, the dashing Guardsmen,

With their youthful men all mustered,

With their uniform so dainty,

With white pants and true-blue jackets,

With their bayonets and muskets,

All their jaunty sails and rigging!

By and by their martial exploits,

By and by their bold pretensions,

Won a challenge from the Cornstalks,

The redoubtable militia,

From the band of Regimentals,

Now encamped upon the river,

From the fearless giant Colonel,

To appear in his dominions.

John A. Flack, the warlike Captain

Of the brave and youthful Guardsmen,

Was not then within the city,

Was not then at post of duty;

And his men were in disorder,

Were all scattered in confusion.

But they soon began to rally,

On one fair October evening,

Rally ’round their platoon leaders,

Ready to accept the challenge.

Of their number was a stranger,

An adopted son of Garrard,

Who was light and lithe of person,

Who was full of life and vigor,

Who had visited the city,

The good city of Lancaster;

Who had joined her sports and pastimes,

Eager for the hour’s amusement,

Ever foremost in adventure;

And the stranger’s name was Dunlap,

And his home was in Lafayette.

He was one of twenty-seven,

Who advanced on the Militia,

At the silent hour of midnight;

Who attacked the Regimentals,

Near the bridge across Dix River,

In the county we call Lincoln;

Who invaded the dominions

Of the annual encampment,

On the fair October evening,

Eighteen hundred eight and thirty.

Sweetly rest the noble Cornstalks,

On their arms are calmly sleeping,

Resting on their arms by moonlight,

Resting, ignorant of danger.

Bright the ever-shifting heavens,

Dark the trees and woodland shadows,

’Round the band of Regimentals,

Near the river-bridge of Lincoln.

Gently came the night besiegers,

Softly marched the twenty-seven,

When a sharp, out-standing picket

Sounded forth the note of warning,

With his damp and rusty weapon,

Blazoned forth the call of danger,

With the snapping of his musket.

Quick the camp is in commotion.

“To arms!” “To arms!” shout the Militia,

The surprised and sleepy Cornstalks.

And the men run hither, thither

In a search for the assailants,

When a noise of tramping horses,

Through the river-bridge, attracts them.

’Twas a feint arranged beforehand,

To delude the Regimentals,

And they dashed on to the outskirts,

Dashed the wild, bewildered Cornstalks,

In a wayward false direction.

The young Guards meanwhile crept onward,

Softly crept to camp behind them:

Four platoons of jolly Guardsmen,

March and counter-march upon them,

Fire blank cartridges among them,

Lighting up the woods around them;

Thrust the bayonets dull before them,

March and counter-march in order,

Fire and load again the flintlocks,

Till the woodland fairly blazes.

In one of these illuminations,

Dunlap saw the foe approaching,

Coming ’round to flank the columns

Of the bold midnight invaders.

Then he ordered forth his platoon,

To cut off the brave Militia,

To arrest the flanking Cornstalks,

When pell-mell fell all together,

In the hard-contested battle.

But the weak, outnumbered Guardsmen,

—Some among the twenty-seven—

Soon were caught and held in capture,

Soon were dragged within the circle

Of the annual encampment.

All the others scampered swiftly,

Scampered off in each direction,

Struggling, seeking to escape them,

Fleeing from the Regimentals.

Dunlap found himself confronted

By a single Lincoln Cornstalk,

(Dr. Huffman, a “Militia,”)

Who essayed at once to take him.

Hand-to-hand in duel comic,

They careered with flintlocks rusty,

They embraced with bayonets blunted,

Dunlap all the while retreating,

Huffman all the while pursuing,

Till a wide ravine arrested,

Stopped their wild, ferocious progress.

Not for long the pause, however;

Dunlap, lithe of limb and active,

Sprang across the yawning chasm,

Huffman, chasing, fell within it,

Rolling down the steep embankment.

Then young Dunlap, still escaping,

Running from his checked pursuer,

Saw before him in the pathway

Another hand-to-hand encounter.

It was Stein, the burly Colonel

Of the conquering Militia;

It was Stein disarming Paddy,

Irish Paddy of the Guardsmen;

Stein disarming Surgeon Buford,

Of the Lancaster Battalion.

Lucky moment for the Guardsmen,

All their men were lost but fourteen,

Fourteen men of twenty-seven;

But the man that sent the challenge,

The bold Colonel of the Cornstalks,

Was divided from his soldiers,

Was a helpless prey before them.

Taking in the situation,

Gaming courage with good fortune,

Dunlap plunged at once to aid them,

Aid the surgeon and the private,

And when three to one in number,

To arrest the burly Colonel.

Then they clinched and fell and struggled,

Then they fought and rolled and rallied,

And arose but ne’er released him,

Till the man that sent the challenge

Was compelled to cry surrender.

“I surrender, but don’t duck me,”

Pleaded hard the gallant Colonel.

And the victors, showing mercy,

Gathered up the scattered Guardsmen,

Fourteen men of twenty-seven,

And proceeded home in triumph,

Took their captive to the city,

To the slumb’ring, quiet city,

To Lancaster on the hillside.

But the scattered Guards, returning

Through the river-bridge at midnight,

Scared and startled Dunlap’s posse,

At the moment of their vict’ry,

Scared and startled Stein’s besiegers,

Till they fled across the fences,

Till they dared not bear their captive

O’er the dangerous moonlit highway.

On and on the captors wandered,

Wandered over brush and briers,

Stumbling on through creeks and by-ways,

Climbing hills and wading gullies,

Sometimes running, sometimes halting,

Till the men were all exhausted,

All but Dunlap and his captive.

Paddy fell out by the wayside,

Buford lagged behind to nurse him;

Some lay down beside their muskets,

Giving up the vain exertion;

Some were nerved to struggle onward,

Eager to proclaim the tidings;

But the pris’ner tried to tire them,

In the deviating pathways,

In the windings of the by-ways,

He endeavored to elude them,

Till his giant-sized proportions

Yielded to the boyish runners,

Till his strategy and ruses

Were outwitted by the youngsters.

And the fair October morning

Was just peeping o’er the hill-tops

Of victorious Lancaster,

When the tramp of full two hundred

Broke upon the early watches;

When two hundred men, exultant,

Started forth in marching columns,

With the drum and fife resounding,

Started forth to meet the victors.

(For, a captured Guard, escaping

From the annual encampment,

From the heedless Regimentals,

Near the bridge in Lincoln county,

Had proceeded to the city,

While the moonlight yet was waning,

Had aroused the sleeping townsmen

With the herald of the vict’ry.)

And the troops went out to meet them,

Went to meet the Guards returning,

Eight alone of twenty-seven.

And the doorways of the city,

All the windows of the city,

Sounded forth huzzas and shoutings,

While the handkerchiefs were waving,

Flags-of-truce, their white unfurling.

Nearer came the weary Guardsmen,

Hatless, spurless, weary Guardsmen,

With white pants, alas! all muddy;

Torn and soiled the true-blue jackets,

Scratched and worn the hands and faces.

But the great crest-fallen captive,

Was in plight both sad and comic!

With his red bandana nightcap

Wound about his head so lordly,

With his armless sleeping-jacket

Hanging on his martial figure,

He was borne aloft in triumph,

To the court-house of the city,

To the central public building,

In the middle of the city.

Then they honored him with feasting,

Served him well with cheering viands,

And they clad his martial figure

In a military outfit.

Golden crests upon the shoulders,

Gilded buttons down the vestings,

Brand-new hat and boots all shining,

Spotless coat and handsome trappings,—

These they gave the fallen hero,

Gave the helpless, conquered Colonel.

And upon a dashing charger,

On a fine dun horse of Proctor’s,

He was given back his freedom,

He was sent to the encampment,

Near the river-bridge of Lincoln;

Was exchanged for all the captives

That the Guards had left in durance.

But he gave the man that took him,

Then and there, a martial title,

“For I cannot brook surrender

To a lower rank than Colonel.”

So he called him Colonel Dunlap,

Called the stranger from Lafayette,

Called the foster-son of Garrard.

Colonel Dunlap, comes the title,

From that day unto the present;

In the private social circle,

In the halls of Legislature,

In the higher halls of Congress,

At the bar and at the fireside,

Comes the title to the present.

Thus was ended the great “Battle

Of the Bridge” across Dix River,

Where the corps of jolly Guardsmen

Captured Stein, the burly Colonel

Of the brave Cornstalk Militia,

Of the dainty Regimentals,

On the fair October midnight,

Eighteen hundred eight and thirty.^[3]

^[3]W. S. Miller, Jr., was made Captain of the “Mulligan Guards,” a company of Militia, in 1874.

CANTO VIII.
1838-1847.
MEXICAN WAR.

Still the moons are waxing, waning,

O’er the city of Lancaster;

Still the ever-moving cycle

Bears her swiftly on its pinions.

’Twas the year of eighteen hundred

One and forty when the Christians

Of the sect called Presbyterian,

Built themselves a house of worship,

Built themselves a sanctuary,

On the street that leads to southward,

From the entrance to the city.

Thus was made the first partition,

From the venerable mother,

From the church within the suburbs,

Called Republican and holy,

Where the sects were wont to gather,

In the willing, weekly worship.

And the pastors and the preachers,

Served the flock in health and sickness,

Served the flock in death and marriage,

Served them well in home and pulpit.

And the doctors and the lawyers,

All the households and the tradesmen,

Still pursued their avocations,

Still enjoyed their social pleasures,

Still advanced in arts and learning,

In the peaceful Christian city.

But a great financial crisis

O’er the people was impending;

A depression in all traffic

Drew the citizens together,

Brought about excited meetings,

To discuss important measures,

For relief amid the pressure;

To originate devices

For averting present danger.

All along this stirring epoch

There was incident and action;

There were interests of public

And of private weight and import;

Varied causes and occasions

Kept the people in commotion.

The Militia drills and musters

Still diverted men and boys;

And the quaint, unique processions,

Called “Log Cabin,” ruled the hour.

Eighteen hundred four and forty,

Brought the fierce election canvass

For the presidential office;

Democrat and Whig opponents,

In the race for fame and power.

Henry Clay and Frelinghuysen

Proudly bore the great Whig banner,

James K. Polk and George M. Dallas,

Were the Democratic champions.

And the voters of Lancaster,

All the voters of the county,

Met together in the masses,

Met to celebrate the contest;

Barbecues and basket dinners,

Gathered orators and hearers,

Gathered women, men, and children,

All together in the masses.

In the wood of Isaac Myers

Politicians were assembled;

In this ample, shaded woodland

Was a glorious celebration,

Hempstalk flag-poles bore the colors,

High o’er wagon, coach, and horseman;

All the people congregated

To do homage to th’ occasion.

Doctors Craig and Cross were speakers,

Also Caperton of Richmond.

Grand this gala day of feasting,

Loud the triumph and rejoicing.

But the Whigs were sore defeated,

Vain their festal acclamations.

Now a heavy cloud of sorrow

Overshadows fair Lancaster,

Shadows all the hillside city,

In the swift-revolving cycle.

When the great and vexing question

(See the hist’ry of the country)

Of the Texas annexation

Called for volunteers to aid her,

Called the Union to assist her,

In her daring revolution,

In her independent parting

From the rule of Santa Anna,

Then the city on the hillside,

Sent up wails of grief and mourning.

For the farewells to the brothers,

To the sons and gallant soldiers,

Who took up their line of marching,

For the distant, unknown countries.

On the sunny fourth of June, in

Eighteen hundred six and forty,

They led out their willing chargers,

They arrayed in mounted columns,

Down the streets that lead to northward,

From the entrance to the city.

And the mothers and the sisters,

All along the sidewalks weeping,

Waved adieux and sighs heart-rending,

To the precious forms and faces,

To the buoyant, untried soldiers,

Moving on in martial phalanx

To the Mexicana struggles,

To the fights in foreign places,

To the fatal Buena Vista.

Some alas! were gone forever,

When the bending road concealed them,

Some were hid till time eternal,

From the strainéd gaze that sought them.

I append the list in measures,

In the numbers of my canto;

Sing the names of sons and brothers,

Whose dear lives were put in peril.

Johnson Price, the chosen captain,

A renowned Militia hero,

Serving well his post of honor,

Was, in after days of freedom,

In eighteen hundred nine and forty,

Sent, a delegate from Garrard,

Sent to represent the county,

In the noted State Convention,

In the council of the rulers,

Met to change the Constitution.

Then out in the land to westward,

In the land of California,

He adorned his grave profession,

Was a healer of diseases,

Till the Master called him homeward,

In this distant land of strangers.

L. F. Dunlap, First Lieutenant,

Was elected by the people,

Eighteen hundred eight and forty,

To the Frankfort legislature;

Then away in California,

Where he served with judge and jury,

In the lawyer’s hard vocation,

Where again he was elected

To the legislative body,

He was stricken in his vigor,

In the flush and prime of manhood,

In his youthful life of promise,

By a fearful epidemic;

Fell a victim to his friendship,

Fell beside the sick and dying.

And Lieutenant George F. Sartain

Cast his future lot in Texas.

Left the soil he represented

In the Mexicana battles.

S. McKee went out First Sergeant,

And returned among his people,

Filling prominent positions,

In the long years coming after

Horace Smith, the Second Sergeant,

Also served his native city

In the halls of Legislature,

In eighteen hundred forty-seven;

Then removed to California,

Where he practiced jurisprudence,

Was the Mayor of Sacramento,

And he died some years thereafter,

In this thriving western city.

Then the reading of the record

Of the list resumes as follows:—

George Montgomery, John Sellers—

Third and fourth in rank as Sergeants,

V. B. Smith and A. R. Harris,

Were the Corporals, first and second;

Then Third Corporal, William Jennings,

Of whose name is future mention,

In the nation’s civil struggle,

Fifteen years beyond this era.

And G. Smiley, fourth in order,

Went as Corporal among them.

Private William Jennings Landram,

Was promoted to First Sergeant,

And in coming years of trial

Climbed the scroll of fame still higher.

And James Hutchison was buried

’Neath the southern gulf’s deep waters;

Homeward bound, his mortal body

Found a sailor’s final resting.

B. F. Graham, first a private,

Soon arose to Quartermaster,

Was assailed and killed on duty,

By the Mexican marauders;

Fell, defending army stores,

In the wagon-train advancing

From the marshes of Comargo.

Branson Wearren met his death stroke,

On the field of Buena Vista;

Found a soldier’s mausoleum,

In the smoke and blood of battle.

Some were carried off by illness,

Some returned to die still later;

Others lived to serve their country,

In a sadder, fiercer conflict;

Others still, resumed the quiet

Of their own domestic circle.

Eight and seventy names are written

On the muster roll of striplings.

[For the remnant, see Appendix]

Of the volunteering column,

Of the valiant sons and brothers,

Of the saved and of the fated,

Of the lost and of the rescued,

Who left home the sunny morning,

In the month of June, so eager

For the clash of steel and armor,

With the fighting Mexicana.

Fare ye well, ye gallant soldiers,

Who have fought our country’s battles;

Whether soon or whether later,

Whether north or whether southern,

Whether east or west or foreign,

Ye have fought them well and bravely,

In the ever-changing cycle;

Bear, ye echoes, to our patriots,

Waft, ye breezes, our sad parting.

CANTO IX.
1847-1861.
PROGRESS.

Now we come to architecture,

In the annals of the city;

Now the spirit of improvement

Makes a giant-stride among us,

Opens wide her money-coffers,

In the growing, hillside city.

On the westward street, called Danville,

Rose an institute of learning,

Rose the Franklin Female College,

Soon the pride of all the region.

And within its classic chambers

Have the children of the county

Gone to school in many hundreds;

Have in hundreds learned to grapple

With the mysteries of science.

Num’rous teachers have united

In the duty of instructing,

Teachers from the distant sections,

Teachers from among our people.

Music, English, French and Latin,

Morals, manners, Calisthenics,

Healthful sports and games and pastimes,

Useful precepts, laws and lessons,

All were taught within this building,

Which the Odd Fellows erected

In eighteen hundred forty-seven.

Far and wide the ranks are scattered,

Strange their destiny and varied,

Yet the tie of love and duty,

Binds the teacher to the pupil,

Binds the pupil to the teacher,

Wheresoe’er their footsteps wander,

Wheresoe’er their fate may lead them.

May they ever fondly cherish

All the dear associations,

All the lessons of ambition,

Taught and gained at Franklin College,

Taught within its classic chambers.^[4]

In eighteen hundred eight and forty,

Was a novel institution,

Introduced within the city;

A society established,

By an act of corporation.

And they called themselves, “The Hunters

Of Nimrod.” Oswald Von Koenig,

Scion of a Saxon family,

Introduced this curious Order;

And the Lancaster Sanhedrim

Numbered six in solemn council,

Hill, Kinnaird and Cope and Burton,

Sandifer, McKee—the Council—

Were the city’s chartered members.

Afterwards the German stranger,

Met his death in tragic manner,

Dashed his body from a window,

In the flourishing Falls City:

And the accident was mournéd,

Was lamented by the Hunters.

They deposited their leader,

In the Cave Hill cemetery,

And the stone that marks th’ enclosure,

Was the gift of A. A. Burton,

One among the chartered members.

Here the chronicle reminds us

Of the noble art of printing,

Now revived within the city,

Now engrossing all her readers.

And the news sheets are before us,

With their timeworn local items,

With their cunning jests and humor,

With their antique advertisements,

With their long-forgotten pages.

The “Republican” and “Argus”

Have the earliest existence,

In this era of advancement;

Then the famous “Garrard Banner”

Floats upon the world of letters.

And again the public buildings

Rise and multiply about us.

On the eastward street, called Richmond,

Was a Baptist Church erected.

Still another sect divided

From the Old Church congregation,

In eighteen hundred one and fifty.

In the next year of the cycle,

Eighteen hundred two and fifty,

The Reformers built another,

On the southern street called Stanford.

And the thriving, stirring city,

Boasts her dwellings and her churches,

Her Deposit-Bank and cash-box,

Her commercial business houses;

Spreads abroad her lawful limits,

Widens out her corporation,

Swells the list of tax and tariff,

By her handsome architecture.

And the energetic people

Cling to rustic ways no longer,

Learn conventional exactions,

Tread the labyrinths of fashion,

Con the magazines and modistes.

And no quaint old invitation

To the jolly square cotillon,

Now regales the hour of pleasure:

But, a dance at nine this evening,

Or a hop, or social gath’ring,

At the new hall, called the Sontag,

Where quadrille, or waltz, or Lancers,

Marked with grace the “light fantastic.”

And the Categordian Maskers,

With the Callithumpian Minstrels,

Held high carnival among us,

Formed a Mysticke Crewe of Comus.

All the sewing-bees and quiltings,

Apple-parings, and corn-huskings,

Barbecues and basket meetings,

Chicken-fights, and swift foot-races,

Even singing-schools, were banished

To the primitive old fogies.

Tallow candles were supplanted,

By the lamp and spermaceti,

Linsey woolsey, jeans and cotton,

Long suspended from the weaving,

Changed to silk and print and muslin,

Changed to cassimere and broadcloth.

Now the seamstress plied her sewing,

With machine and modern patterns;

Now the drudge of toil domestic,

Sought out many new inventions,

Soon rejoiced in work made easy,

By the labor saving structures.

And the turnpikes of the county,

Echoed loud to wheels revolving:

All the rude, unsightly landmarks,

Were now graded and remodeled,

Were McAdamized and hardened.

Now the bridle and the saddle

Rose to harness and coach-trappings;

Now the rider and pedestrian

Took an airing in the carriage.

Sledges darted by in winter,

When the snows were firm and steady,

When the white and shining crystals

Covered road and wood and meadow.

There were speeches and mass-meetings,

When elections stirred the people,

Anniversary orations

Of the nation’s independence.

In the springtime came the circus;

Summer time, school exhibitions;

Fairs and pleasure trips in autumn,

Rare festivities in winter.

And sometimes there were dissensions,

In this era of my story.

One disastrous feud was raging,

In the year of eighteen fifty,

And continued with great venom,

Through two years or more of bloodshed.

Yet the spirit of improvement

Tarried not for man’s caprices.

Duties, taxes, trade, and commerce,

Public gala days and triumphs,

Dances, weddings, and storm-parties,

Floral festivals and music,

Or the promenading concert,

Lent a pleasing variation.

Or a serenade by moonlight,

Or a picnic, or band-meeting,

(It was Landram’s skillful “Saxhorn,”)

Or the famed association,

Called the Literary Circle,

Where was wit, and sense, and humor,

Where were readers and were critics,

Where were essays and selections,

In the style of choice belles-lettres.

And the weekly local paper,

In the year of fifty-seven.

Tells the story of the changes,

Tells the story of the pleasures,

Notes the firmer grasp of fashion,

Notes the new, intruding customs.

’Tis the “Sentinel” presiding

O’er the city’s daily doings,

The “American Sentinel” watching

All the curious innovations.

And the interesting columns

Show contributors in numbers,—

Many writers of the city

Furnished items and productions.

Roscius, Citizen, and Alma,

Ida, Claude, and Regulator,

Many signatures unnoted,

Many noms de plume forgotten,

Filled the sheet with spicy reading,

With discussion, fact, and fancy,

Prose and poetry and fiction,

Rhyme and riddle and acrostic,

All the sorrows and the blessings,

All misfortunes and successes,

All the city’s daily doings.

And the moons were waxing, waning,

As the cycle brought its changes.

^[4]George W. Dunlap, Jr., purchased this Institute in 1874, and established a graded school for young ladies.

CANTO X.
1861-1865.
CIVIL WAR.

Eighteen hundred one and sixty,

Rolls its direful weight upon us;

Now the horoscope of nations,

Opens wide its omens to us.

In the mystic stars of fortune,

Of the western constellation,

Of the grand, united countries,

On the continent of freedom,

The astrologer now gazes

On a weird and crimson shadow.

Stars of fixed and cruel brightness,

Stars of fitful gleam and shining.

Stars of strange and faint illuming,

Reads the national magician;

Stripes of gory hue adorning,

All the mammoth constellation;

Stripes extending down the shadow

Of the shifting, warning picture.

What broad stream pursues its flowing,

Through the fateful, dark camera?

What bedews the starry emblem,

With the startling shade of crimson?

’Tis, alas! the fearful shadow,

Of contention and of vengeance;

’Tis the strife of human passion,

In the hapless land of freedom;

’Tis the clash of angry foemen,

Steel to steel in fierce encounter;

’Tis the symbol of a struggle,

In the brave, aspiring nation.

Not the tramp of foreign armies,

On the soil we bought with bloodshed,

Not the aid to captive strangers,

In the distant, unknown countries;

But the war at home and fireside,

The assault of friend and brother,

The array of kith and kindred,

In one grand, domestic quarrel.

And the soldiers went in legions,

Went in tens and tens of thousands,

Swarmed upon the fields of battle,

Crowded tent and camp and barrack.

And the city of Lancaster,

Ever foremost in her duty,

Gave her mite of men and warriors

To the ranks and to the hardships,

Gave her fighting men to suffer

In the civil war that deluged

All this mighty West Republic

In eighteen hundred one and sixty.

First we note the conquering armies,

With their brave, victorious leaders,

Who enlisted in the service,

From the county of old Garrard.

General Landram was promoted,

In the rising scale of glory,

From the easier gradations,

To the topmost roll of honor.

Born within the hillside city,

Architect of his own fortunes,

Native industry and talent

Led him up to high position.

Poet, pensman, and musician,

Writer, editor, and lawyer,

Social leader and controller

Of the city’s hours of leisure,

He put by these modest duties,

To adorn the post of soldier;

He ascended as commander,

In the conquering Union armies.

His command—“Nineteenth Kentucky,”

Of the Infantry—the footmen,

Was the charge at first entrusted,

Numbered eighty men from Garrard

Of the officers and privates,

Company H. begins the roll-call.

Morgan Evans, first a Captain,

Was promoted soon to “Major,”

And was killed when bravely fighting,

Fell before the Vicksburg trenches,

Fell in May (the twenty-second)

Eighteen hundred three and sixty;

And his body lies distinguished,

By a shaft of pure white marble,

In the quiet cemetery

Of his native hillside city.

Here the “Blue” and “Grey” are resting,

’Neath “the laurel” and “the lily,”

“Love and tears” the one, adorning,

“Tears and love” the other, mourning.

Captain Alexander Logan,

Lives to chronicle his story.

First Lieutenant T. A. Elkin,

On the staff of Colonel Landram,

Drilled a band of Zouave urchins,

In the lance munition tactics,

Ere he joined the army proper,

Ready for its earnest duties.

By promotion he was Captain

Of the Cavalry—the horsemen,

And survived a soldier’s perils,

Made a creditable record.

Stephen Hedger,^[5] First Lieutenant,

Was advanced from rank of Second.

Now the Sergeants, nine in number,

Are the chief among subalterns;

Joseph Vaughn, and John H. Bussing,

James D. Price, and A. M. Bishop,

A. Kincead and Henry Innis,^[6]

Wilson Duggins, John L. Connor,^[6]

And Hugh Burns, the last recorded.

Then nine Corporals are written

On the fresh and modern record;

John C. Vaughn, and George S. Pollard,

Thomas Alverson, James Chumbley,

William Rigsby, and James Griffey,

Gideon Duncan, James H. Dismukes,^[6]

Lastly, Alexander Duggins.

For the fifty-eight remaining

In the ranks, [vide Appendix].

The great Mississippi Valley

Was their theatre of action.

At the city of New Orleans,

Eighteen hundred five and sixty,

Colonel Landram was commissioned,

Brigadier Commanding General.

When the armistice was sounded,

When the hero, Lee, surrendered,

And the companies disbanded,

At the trumpet proclamation,

Then the city on the hillside,

Summoned home her noble chieftains,

Once again to routine quiet.

Colonel Faulkner was a leader

In the conquering Union army,

Was the only son descended,

From his military father,

Who led forth his men to battle,

In the war of eighteen thirteen.

In the chronicle before us,

We read, “Colonel John K. Faulkner,”

Of command “Nineteenth Kentucky,”

Of the Cavalry—the horsemen.

First comes Captain Robert Collier;

Then is Captain Joseph Thornton,

First Lieutenant W. M. Kerby,

First Lieutenant E. H. Walker;

James L. Baird, and Thomas Dunn, are

Next in order as Lieutenants.

Sergeants six in number follow

In the company’s statistics;

Curtis Pierce, and James M. Rothwell,

J. M. Carpenter, S. Rothwell,

John McQuery, P. H. Fletcher;

Then the Corporals, eight in number:

Robert Baugh, and James T. Dollens,

A. T. Conn, and James D. Adams,

J. H. Anderson, James Perkins,

G. W. Dollens, A. J. Hammock,

John F. Kennedy, the farrier,

And James Sims, the company’s saddler.

See the Privates, forty-seven,

In [Appendix] of my ditty.

Of the first Kentucky Cavalry,

Company G had two commanders,

First, was Captain Thornton Hackley,

Then came Captain Irvine Burton.

William Carpenter, First Lieutenant,

Second Lieutenant, Henry Robson,

Second Lieutenant, Daniel Murphy,

Sergeants: James F. Spratt, T. Wherritt,

Eugene Miller, W. B. Saddler,

J. H. Kennedy, James Ross, and

A. M. Saddler, William Sherod.

Corporals: John L. Pond, R. Hukle,

Joseph Hicks, and Miles M. Chandler,

John E. Wright, and Hiram Roberts,

James O. Lynn, and Robert Rainey,

John T. Brooks, the ninth in number.

Fifty-seven private soldiers,

Filled the columns. (See [Appendix].)

General Lovell H. Rousseau^[7] was

Yet another gallant warrior,

Of whose glittering escutcheon,

All the city’s pride is boastful;

Lawyer, politician, soldier,

He in Congress represented

Louisville and all the district,

And won military prowess,

In the nation’s civil combats.

Colonel William Hoskins glories

In unsullied reputation,

Both as citizen and soldier,

Both as friend and as companion.

Served the Union in its struggle,

Served his county’s legislature;

Is a genial, polished courtier,

Ever welcome at the fireside,

Ever welcome in all circles.

Whether lifting up his voice in

Measures for the public welfare,

Whether shouldering the bayonet,

For the bloody field of battle,

Whether drawing strains of music,

From the violin’s sweet echoes,

Colonel Hoskins wins a greeting,

Claims a welcome in all circles.

Major M. H. Owsley, leader

In “the Cavalry” of Kentucky,

Was advanced from rank of Captain

In eighteen hundred one and sixty.

Since those times of manly trial,

He has step by step ascended,

From the youthful lawyer’s office,

Up the grade of politicians,

To the bench of legal power.

A. G. Daniel, Junior, Captain

Of the Home Guard nightly patrol,

Served the Government thereafter,

In responsible positions.

W. A. Yantis ranked Lieutenant,

Led the military music

On the march of Wolford’s cavalry.

R. L. Cochran was Lieutenant,

Also, R. Leslie McMurtry,

Officers from brave Lancaster,

In the army of the Union.

Other men perchance from Garrard,

From the inland hillside city,

Took up arms to save the Union,

Fought the desperate seceders.

Far and near the slogan sounded,

Long and loud the fatal summons,

Till around each fireside lonely,

Soon a “vacant chair” was standing;

Till the only free retainers

Were the women and the children;

Till the crippled and the aged

Were the guardians of the homesteads.

* * * * *

How the shadows of the picture

Darken o’er the southern landscape!

How the “Lost Cause” sheds a gloaming

On the erst illumed horizon!

All about the stricken region

Hangs the doom of vanquished power;

All throughout the conquered country

Sounds the knell of fruitless bloodshed.

Mothers mourn their slaughtered first-born,

Wives lament their martyred husbands,

Sisters guard the worn grey jackets,

Maidens prize the blood-stained tresses.

Farmers, planters, cultivators—

All the men of thrift and profit,

Grieve above the desolation,

Deep bewail the fruits so bitter.

Furrows in the soil may ripen,

With a renovated harvest;

Furrows in the heart are open,

With a ceaseless, arid planting.

Wind and rain and shower and sunshine,

Soon give back the laborer’s treasure;

None of nature’s sweet restorers,

Bring alas! the mourner’s idols.

From the North were foreign legions,

Swarming on to bayonet charges;

From the South the fostered nurselings

Of the native born American.

Every drop of blood a rending

Of the ties of pure affection;

Every pillowed head a token

Of “Somebody’s Darling,” stricken;

Every “Picket Guard” on duty,

Joined in dreams an absent “Mary,”

Every hospital and barrack,

Held the hope of some fond household.

Captain Matthew David Logan,

Major and Lieutenant-colonel,

Long a citizen of Garrard,

Long a practicing physician,

Led a band of Southern-Rights-men

To the troubled land of Dixie;

Bore the “Bonnie Blue Flag” above him,

Held the Stars and Bars unfurling.

Forest, Breckinridge, and Morgan,

Gallant gentlemen and soldiers,

Were his comrades in the struggle,

Were his mighty fellow-suff’rers.

His career through countless hardships,

His successes and his losses,

His adventures without number,

Culminating in the northern prisons,

At Fort Delaware, Columbus,

Morris Island, Fort Pulaski,—

All these woes and hopes defeated,

Left their gloomy impress on him,

Added years of bitter pining.

May the dove of peace brood over

Every blighting grief and trial,

May all past despair and anguish

Hold abeyance till the Judgment.

The Confederates were rallied,

Oft in haste and stealth and darkness.

All the archives of their columns

Are obscure, or lost forever.

See [Appendix], for the gathering

Of the names that float about us,

Whether officers or privates;

Let the blanks be duly pardoned.

H. D. Brown,^[6] was First Lieutenant

Of command of Captain Logan;

J. T. McQuery was Lieutenant;

James McMurray was a Sergeant,

And the Sergeant, Joseph Arnold,

Was promoted while in service.

Sergeant D. A. King is numbered

With the officers belonging

To the gallant Third Kentucky,

Of the Cavalry—the horsemen.

CANTO XI.
1865-1874.
CHANGE.

Now the civil war is ended,

Now the strife by arms is over;

And the city’s star of fortune

Beams with undiminished glory:

All her brilliant constellation

Wears new rays of future promise,

All her plans for peace and progress

Move to swifter execution.

In eighteen hundred three and sixty,

Of the late, eventful cycle,

Was laid out a modern city

Of the dead among the grasses;

Was enclosed a cemetery,

On a green and graceful summit,

At the city’s southeast section,

On the street we call Crab Orchard.

Shrubs and flowers lead the stranger

To invade the sacred precinct,

Clust’ring evergreens invite him

To behold the sad environs.

Gleaming shafts of purest marble,

Greet the eye of friend and mourner,

Costly slabs of stone and granite,

Wearing strange device and fashion,

Lie amid the urns and vases.

Lie among the shells and mosses:

Tell of forms long since departed,

Tell of loved ones safely resting,

Tell of fresh turned earth and sodding,

Of green wreaths and floral tributes,

Kindly tributes of affection.

And the ancient trodden graveyard,

Of the city’s early ages,

Lingers on with sunken tomb-stones,

Lingers on with gray inscriptions,

Lingers yet with moss and ivy,

Winding close their clinging tendrils,

Lingers now a small enclosure,

In the suburbs of Lancaster.

In eighteen hundred sixty-seven,

Fell the second central court-house,

In the middle of the city;

Fell the tall and stately locusts,

With their grateful, cooling shadows,

Fell the ruined iron railing,

Once so rich and ornamental.

And a grand, imposing structure,

At the open southwest corner,

Now extends its costly apex

Far above the churches’ steeples,

Reaches forth its white cupola,

High into the azure ether.

And the central, broad arena,

Of the square, right-angle outlines,

Has been leveled to the surface

Of the streets and roads around it,

Bears no pile of architecture,^[9]

To be seen afar and nearer,

To be seen from hill and valley,

By the traveler wand’ring hither.

On the summit of the tower,

Of the octagon bell-tower,

Of this new and gorgeous building,

With its porticos and stairways,

With its halls and council chambers,

Is a high observatory,

Whence is viewed the distant landscape,

Whence is seen the rural beauties

Of this land of agriculture.

Near this pinnacle so lofty,

Is the ever-warning town-clock,

Is the pendulum vibrating,

To diurnal revolutions,

Is the fire-alarm resounding,

Over hill and dale and meadow,

Is the heavy bell sonorous,

With events of varied import.

It was in this year of changes,

Eighteen hundred sixty-seven,

That a fearful conflagration,

Tore away a block of buildings,

At the city’s southeast corner;

Razed an ancient block to ashes,

On a wintry Saturday evening,

On a night of snow and tempest,

In the month of February.

Soon a handsome row replaced it,

Soon the enterprising people

Cleared the débris and the rubbish,

Cleared away the silent ruins,

And rebuilt the last possessions.

Silent? Aye, but speaking ever

Of events and actors vanished,

In the history of Lancaster.

Of the offices and store-rooms,

Of the dwellings and the households,

Of affairs of public moment,

Of the hidden and domestic,

Of the groups of Mystic Brothers,

Of the Masons and Odd-Fellows,

Of ye ancient Sons of Temperance,

All the secrets of the bygone,

Speaking from the smoking ruins.

So there rose another structure,

Phœnix-like, upon the ashes.

Where the merchants and the tradesmen,

Can pursue their avocations.

And the store-rooms are surmounted,

By a Hall of spacious model,

Where the city’s merry-makers,

Find an evening’s recreation,

Where the weary men of business,

Often seek an hour’s diversion;

Where the order of Good Templars,

Held their rites and ceremonies,

Where the skating-rink and concert,

Where the festival and supper,

Where the theatre and lecture,

And the dancing-school and tableau,

—All the public entertainments,

Have beguiled the times of leisure.

Eighteen hundred nine and sixty,

Came the hissing locomotive,

Came the train of rumbling coaches,

Dashing through the quiet city;

Came the smoking iron monster,

Of the “Louisville and Nashville,”

Sounded loud the shrill steam-whistle

Of the railroad “On to Richmond.”

And the Old Church walls so sacred,

Fell beneath the stormy cargo,

Our Republican ancestress

Bent her hoary head in shrinking;

All the rank and mouldy ruins

Fell before the thund’ring onset.

Never more the timeworn benches

Shall reëcho words of wisdom;

Never more the brick and plaster

Shall have grace from text and precept,

Ne’er alas! her slumb’ring children

Give her earthly praise and homage.

Gone forever, church and pastor,

Gone, all gone, her saints’ communion,

Dust to dust the crumbling mortar,

Earth to earth the human body,

Air of air the ghostly phantoms,

Heav’n of heav’ns the final meeting.

* * * * *

In this section, once a wildwood,

Now are clustered many buildings;

Now hotels, depots, and warerooms,

Tell of industry and labor;

Now the loud mill-whistle pierces

Through the fogs of early morning,

Now the neat and tasteful cottage

Takes the place of tree and grapevine,

And a porter’s lodge adorning,

Guards the modern cemetery,

Guards the modern double entrance,

To the home of sleeping loved ones.

All about this busy section,

Are the signs of swift progression;

Swift progression towards profit,

In the thrift of living workmen,

Swift advance to time eternal,

In the fast increasing graveyard.

In this year the game of Base-ball,

Occupied the young athletics,

Occupied maturer players,

Gave the city’s “men of muscle,”

Daily rounds of fun and frolic.

And the ball and bat and score-book,

Answered oft a neighbor’s challenge,

Won the palm in match and test games,

Won the victor’s crown of laurel.

Eighteen hundred one and seventy

Brought a company of soldiers

To protect the hillside city

From the dreaded Klan of Kuklux;

From this band of masking lynchers,

Who defied the legal councils,

Who withdrew the reins of power

From the tardy, lenient, rulers,

Who dealt quick and fearful justice,

To all hapless state offenders.

And the law-abiding people

Called the U. S. A. to aid them;

To disband the Regulators,

With their penalties mysterious,

To respite their guilty culprits,

From deserved but lawless peril.

And the garrison enlivens,

With its neat and healthful barracks,

With its drum and fife and bugle,

With its tents and lofty flagstaff,

With its officers and soldiers.

Colonel Rose was first to answer

The petition for assistance;

Then the “Fourth” sent troops to guard us

(The Fourth Infantry, C company.)

Captain Edwin Coates commanding,

Bubb and Robinson, Lieutenants,

With the Surgeon S. T. Weirrick,

Spent two years within our circles,

Winning friends while firm on duty.

Wolfe and Galbraith then succeeded,

For a few months of probation.

Colonel Fletcher, Major Barber,

And Lieutenant Will. McFarland,

Doctor S. L. Smith, the surgeon,

Now control the troops among us,

Now preserve the law and order.

Eighteen seventy-three was saddened,

By another fire disaster,^[10]

Which consumed the new Bank building,

Burned the late established “National,”

On the fated Southeast corner,

Of the chastened hillside city.

And two handsome halls were numbered

With the property that suffered,

With the storeroom of the merchant,

The lamented H. S. Burnam;

And the Masons and Odd-Fellows,

Once again sustain misfortune,

Once again construct new temples,

For the gath’ring of the mystic.

On the fifteenth day of August,

Came the dreaded epidemic,

Came the poisonous contagion,

Came the cholera’s gaunt spectre,

Spreading woe and desolation,

Ever bringing fell destruction.

Forty deaths were soon recorded,

Forty homes in sable shroudings,

All the bells were ringing “softly,”

For the crêpe was “on the door.”

A devoted band of nurses,

Led by William H. Kinnaird, were

Ready night and day to succor,

Ready to confront the danger,

Ready with true Christian courage,

To invoke a balm in Gilead,

To console ill-fated brothers.

Eighteen hundred, four and seventy

Finds the city of Lancaster,

In praiseworthy competition

With the spirit of the present.

Still the waxing, waning moonlight,

Sees her changing with the cycle.

Now the light’ning wires unite her

With the world in speedy transit;

The “Kentucky News” informs her,

Of the moving scenes about her,

Links her name with sister cities,

In the tie of common welfare,

Wafts her praises to the public,

Casts her errors on the waters.

Her rejoicings and enjoyments,

Scarce know pause or diminution,

And the Cornet Band musicians,

(J. P. Sandifer, the leader),

Serve the city’s gala seasons,

Furnish melody in numbers.

All along the panorama

Of her shiftings and adventures,

Are peculiar memoranda,

Dotting, here and there, the margin.

Now the “Red Stars” have a meeting,

With their weird, uncanny customs;

Now the “Knights of Pythias” cluster

’Round a shrine of secret magic;

Now the “Eastern Star” is dawning,

With its cabalistic mottoes;

Now the “Julipeans” revel

’Neath the awnings on the greensward,

With their mighty dignitaries,

With Sockdologers, Sapsuckers,

With their Knockemstiffs, Lawgivers,

With their Orators and Wise-Men,

With their visitors and laymen—

All their corps of jolly members

’Neath the cooling, woodland shelter.

Strange societies and groupings,

Hidden wonders and dark missions,

Items fanciful and puzzling,

Dot the margin hither, thither,

Of the shifting panorama.

Change and progress rule the city,

Tearing loose her timeworn moorings;

Now Excelsior, the watchword,

Leads her prow forever onward;

Now her streets are all encumbered

With the architect’s essentials;

Now the rubbish from the burning,

From the third great fire that swept her,

On the first evening in April,

Gathers in the northwest corner;

And this row of ancient houses,

Numbered with the things of yore,

Soon will rise again to greet us,

Soon resound with plane and trowel.

All the city’s luckless harbors

Shall revive with added grandeur;^[11]

Now her handsome jail and court-house,

Her new halls and spacious churches,

Her improved suburban dwellings,

And her central, model buildings,

All betray the stride of fortune,

All betray the march of knowledge;

And the crumbling hall of science,

The Academy of Garrard,

Wears a modern dress and fashion,

On the old revered foundation;

New red brick and glossy mouldings

Now invite th’ aspiring student;

No more ancient hallowed landmarks,

Linger now to move the tear-drop;

Yet a classic aura gathers,

All about the hidden ruins.

Shades of Cæsar and of Virgil,

Shades of Webster and of Murray,

Manes of ye classic worthies,

Gather ever o’er the ruins.

^[9]A brick engine-house was erected on the square in 1875, to shelter the new Champion Fire Extinguisher, called the “Undine.”

^[10]One year later a Hook and Ladder company was organized, with George W. Dunlap Jr., as Captain, and W. H. Wherritt and Theodore Currey as Lieutenants.

^[11]A new Deposit Bank building was erected during the summer of 1874.

CANTO XII.
1874.
PAX VOBISCUM.

Nigh a hundred years are buried,

In the endless sweep of ages,

Nigh a total centenary

Hangs its harp upon the willow,

Since the rude log-cabin era,

When the city on the hillside

Was preëmpted by the stranger,

By the stranger surnamed Paulding;

Since the pioneer council

Came to “Watty” Dunn’s old spring, and

Met in caucus and selected

A foundation for their court-house:

Chose a green and ample clearing

Near the well-known Wallace cross-roads.

Here alone in “God’s first temples,”

Here with nature’s wild communing,

Henry Clay, a youthful trav’ler

Through the wilderness, surprised them;

Found the little band assembled,

Paused, and shared their noonday luncheon.

Thus beheld Kentucky’s hero,

The domain of future triumphs,

Thus his eyes beheld the section,

Destined soon to make him famous.

And the pioneer council,

All unconscious of his greatness,

Bade their stranger guest a welcome

To the tangled, gloomy woodland,

Bade him break the loaf of faring,

Bade him eat the salt of friendship.

Then they pointed out the clearing,

Where the building should be fashioned,

Thus the ground was consecrated,

In the statesman’s august presence;

Thus a halo of true glory

Hung about the rude log court-house.

’Twas the first judicial movement

In the city of Lancaster,

’Twas an impetus that prompted

The erecting many houses,

’Twas the gath’ring of a people,

A community of workers.

Could the story of each household,

In the city on the hillside,

Be translated for my canto.

For the ditty I am singing,

Many a wail of grief and sorrow,

Many a sigh of hope defeated,

Many a smile of sweet fruition,

Schemes for profit and for pleasure,

Plans of varied speculation,

Schemes and plans of thought and action,

Would unfold their pages to us,

Would reveal their secrets to us.

Could the history unwritten,

Of each hearth and home be given,

Then I trow, the world of fiction,

With its brilliant, stirring pages,

With its “marvelous traditions,”

With its plots and strange dénouements,

With its tragedies unnumbered,

And its comedies prolific——

Well I trow this world of fiction,

Would be “light and airy nothings,”

In the scale of real pictures,

By the light of life so earnest,

Of the suffering and doing,

Of the daring and enduring,

We should find imparted to us.

Could we lift the mystic curtain,

From the holiest of holies,

From the sacred, inner temple

Of each soul’s unseen communion,

We should gather, we should garner,

Many lessons full of profit,

Lessons long and full of wisdom.

We should see the struggling victim

In the toils of the ensnarer;

See the troubled spirit writhing

’Neath the lashings of detraction;

See the burdened nature groaning

’Mid the polished shafts of envy;

See the sinner’s cunning malice,

In the act of human torture;

See the Christian’s anxious fightings,

Foes without, and fears within him.

All these lessons we should garner

From each spirit’s veiled communion.

Change is written on the landscape,

Change is speaking from the hearthstone,

All the work of sure mutation,

Lays its impress on the city.

Could the earliest explorer

Of this Eden habitation,

Tread once more the waving blue grass,

’Mid her rivers, rills, and streamlets,

Not the aged Rip Van Winkle,

Oped his eyes in greater wonder,

Not the sleeper and the dreamer,

E’er beheld in more amazement.

Then the shaded, quiet woodland,

Was the home of untamed creatures;

Now the solitudes are teeming

With mankind and man’s inventions;

Then the wolf, and bear, and panther,

Held their orgies in the caverns;

Now the silent grottoes foster

Only Nature’s radiant jewels;

Then the rattle-snake’s quick poison

Nerved its fangs to fierce encounter;

Now the bruiséd head lies harmless

’Neath the heel of the seed of woman;

Then the canebrake and the thicket

Harbored noxious weeds and vipers;

Now the undergrowth has vanished,

’Mid the golden sheaves of harvest;

Now the trees have laid their foliage,

In the dust of human footsteps,

Now the forest trees have fallen,

At the bidding of the woodman.

Oak and chestnut, hickory, walnut,

Poplar, sycamore, and locust,

Beech and elm and pine and cedar,

Laurel, holly, ash and maple—

All the trees have bent their growing

To the husbandman’s caprices.

All the beasts have fled to westward;

All the reptiles skulk in hiding;

All the rivers and the brooklets

Have subdued their wild, free rolling.

Ancient mounds and Aztec relics,

Mural signs and hieroglyphics,

Toltec remnants and weird mummies,

All the arts and queer devices

Of a prehistoric people,

Have entombed their sylvan phantoms,

In an everlasting Lethe.

Now the woods and plains are surveys,

Of distinctive tracts and precincts,

Now the wide, primeval limits

Bound neat villages and districts.

There are Bryantsville and Fitchport,

Buckeye, Logan Town and Tyro,

Duncan Town and Buena Vista,

Hyattville, Paint Lick, and Lowell,

Clustered round the mother city,

The fair city on the hillside;

Clustered ’mid the charming bowers

Of the Garrard county woodlands.

Now the wild flower’s timid blooming

Colors distant fields and by-ways,

And the city’s rare exotics,

In the crystal greenhouse, flourish;

Rose and lily and camelia,

Tulip, fuschia, and verbena,

Rear their gorgeous tints to gladden

Many a sweet domestic picture.

All the knotted thorns and briers,

Serve in close-cut garden hedges;

All the grapevine swings are curling

Over tasteful, latticed arbors.

Apples, pears, and plums, and peaches,

Herbs and blossoms, fruits and berries,

Swell the trade of horticulture,

Birds and fowls and flesh and fishes,

Now supply the city’s market.

Houses, homes of care and culture,

Public buildings grand and costly,

Deckings rural and artistic,

All the mart and traffic symbols,

Mark the once entangled wildwood,

Deck the erst embowered valley.

Nature views her splendid ruins,

In a garb of man’s creation;

Smooths her rugged frowns and wrinkles,

’Neath the mask of modern pruning;

Draws her cloven foot in hiding,

Under skirts of art so simple;

Buries all her savage spirit,

In the graces of refinement;

Merges wilderness and mountain,

In the sea of cultivation.

And her name, no longer rustic,

Bears the soubriquet, Lancaster.

’Tis our birthplace, dear and sacred,

In the heart of old Kentucky,

’Tis the pride of Garrard county,

Fairest city of the hillside.

May she never know misfortune,

While the moons are waxing, waning,

May her blessings ever linger,

As the cycle brings its changes.

May the strife of human passions,

May all riots and dissensions,

May disease and flood and fire,

Lift their baleful shadows from her.

Let her children cling unto her,

’Mid the wreck of mind and matter:

Be her sons’ and daughters’ motto,

Stand, united; fall, divided.

God protect thee, fair Lancaster—

Cherished city, pax vobiscum.

FINIS.

STATISTICS.

SENATORS.

HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.

MEMBERS OF CONGRESS.

JUDGES.

CLERKS.

POSTS OF HONOR.

MEMBERS OF BAR.1820-1875.

PHYSICIANS.

CANTO VI.1833.CHOLERA.

CANTO VII.* * * 1838.MILITIA.

CANTO VIII.1838-1847.MEXICAN WAR.

CANTO IX.1847-1861.PROGRESS.

CANTO X.1861-1865.CIVIL WAR.

CANTO XI.1865-1874.CHANGE.

CANTO XII.1874.PAX VOBISCUM.