USGENWEB NOTICE: In keeping with our policy of providing free information on the Internet, data may be used by non-commercial entities, as long as this message remains on all copied material. These electronic pages cannot be reproduced in any format for profit or other presentation. ********************************************************************** LAWRENCEBURG CITY PAGE 378 On the 10th day of December, 1818, I first landed at Lawrenceburg, then a small village, mostly of log cabins, and timber houses. Now it is aquite a city of taste, wealth, and beauty. No city in the range of my acquaintance has had as many difficulties to encounter, and so nobly met them, as the city, or rather citizens of Lawrenceburg. The elevation of their streets, and their em-bankments to guard against, and to prepare for flood nad overflow, is a living wonder, and a monument of enduring praise. And, though deserving a better fate, she is, after all, unfortunate in the termination, both of her railroads and canals. She nevertheless has large buriness houses, and one of the fnest churches in the State. Here 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 deliberately walked out into the beautiful Ohi 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 precipitated suddenly to the depth of some fifty feet in a cumbrous mass of ruins, and yet only two men were killed, and some few slightly injured. The like before, I think, was never known. Wonderful interposition, most surely! The courthouse, and all the public records were consumed 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 of my friend, Wm. T. Ferris and others, have also been consumed by fire. Mr. F.Craft, many years ago, in passing along the street, stepped upon a stone that rolled from beneath him, and he suddenly fell backward upon the pavement and broke his skull, and was gathered up a quivering corpse; verifying to the very letter, the truthfulness of that divine saying, "There is but a step between me and death." A Mr. Askew, merchant was suddenly killed by the falling of his storeroom in a mighty tempest, or sweeping tornado. Here I saw a colored man hit with a brickbat,which was intentionally hurled at him - he groaned, and staggered, and fell. It was thought, by some,that he was feigning it all, so 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 fallen man.Gentlemen, said he, this is no sham, the man is actually dying, and will be a corpse soon; directed him to be forthwith taken home, where he died in a few hours. At the report of Dr. Harding, the murderer forthwith fled, 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, on 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 is has been welcome. And dollar after dollar has he he voluntarily placed into my hands, and sometimes, 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 in my heart and memory. And here, too, resides my excellent friend, Dr. Harding, whose house is also my welcome home, where every kindness 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 dangerous 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 the best physicians in our com- munity. I say one of them, for we have many who are justly eminent and celebrated. Doctor, excuse me if I use your history to inspire hope in the bosom of obscure, nay, even in forbidding little boys. The Doctor was raised in the "Ripley Slashes," and while a little barefooted boy, was badly biten by a copperhead. Why, bless me if I haven't got the doctor right into my book, all barefoot, too. Ah, me! what shall I do now? Well, I suppose I might just as well make the best of it, and let it go. Well, he was snakebitten, 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. But 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 the 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 doctore's excellent lady is surely one of them. Raised in the forest by the side of me, she has, by dint of personal application, unaided almost altogether by schooling facilities, made herself 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 worthy 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 ackowledge it here again. Reader, you must pause a moment. My impertinent muse is clamoring for something, and will not be off. Well, Mr. Muse, what do you want? I want to sing an acrostical lay to Mrs. Harding. A lay to Mrs. Harding, indeed! Now yhou know you can't begin to sing an acrostical ay worthy of Mrs. Harding.Yes, I know that, but then I can sow 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 bread." Well, as you've been so trusty and faithful to me all your days, you may try this once and see what you can do. Good, and here goes - My slumbering harp awake Resume thy wonted lays, Sing of the fair, Let virtue mind and grace Unite to find a place Close in each heart, 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 so so! I knew you would only spoil it! Is that the best you could do for so deserving a lady as Mrs. Harding? Aint you ashamed of yourself? Don't ever attempt to interfere again unless you know 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 accidents and tragedies. The beautiful Protestant College that sat upon a beautiful eminence, just back of this city, was utterly consumed by fire many years ago, and the enterprise abandoned for ever. Sad calamity. Mr friend Squire Anderson was thrown from his horse, which, with a sharp corked shoe, set foot right fair in his face, cut his nose entirely off just below the eyes, and smashed it all "as flat as a pancake." It was a fearful sight and as ghastly a wound as I ever saw, yet by the skillful treatment of Dr. Fuller, it all healed up with scarce a perceptible scar, so that the squire has still a very respectable "handle to his face," and as nice a little wife as stands on foot anywhere. A son of Mr. James Armstrong, on a pleasure tour over the river, was accidentally shot by one of his young companions, brought home in great agony, and died soon. O, what an affliction to parents and friends. A Mr. Goulding, while passing over the river in the ferry boat, to escape arrest, (I believe) said that no man could take him - that he carried a body guard with him in the shape of a revolver, which he undertook to show. but by some means, in drawing it from his pocket it went off, and he received the charge in his thigh, fracturing the bone in a fearful manner, above the possibility of an amputation, and he lingered a few days in great agony, and died. Oh, boys, the protection of a good moral character is much safer and much beter than dirks, bowieknives, and pistols. John F. Lane, son of the Hon. Amos Lane, deceased, and brother to G. W. and J. H. 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 this country and to his friends, for reasons "for ever sealed up," in the very dawn of his brilliant and hopeful career, deliberately 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 good 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 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 professional services, which we shall never be able to repay. I need not here say that Dr. Brower is one of the most justly-celebrated physicians and surgeons in our midst. He approaches the sick-bed, and uses the knife with a grace and ease peculiar to himself. And now, if you would again see things done up in real "apple pie" order, and "neater than a pink," just call on 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 you aint sick, you'll relish your breakfast well - the danger is that you'll "eat yourself sick," not knowing how or when to quit. I have failed to mention many persons and things worthy of note, because I have not the room to spare, nor even to do half justice to those persons and things of which mention is made. The old pioneers are nearly all gone. The Rev. Dr. Ferris was an excellent and useful man, and his "memory is precious." Gen. James Dill, Hon. Amos Lane, Dr. Percival, John Gray, David Guard, Walter Armstrong, and my ever-cherished friend, James W. Hunter, Esq., one of the best magistates and best majors, and the most graceful man on parade in all the land. My venerable friend, Judge Dunn, seems to stand alone. His history is one of thrilling interest and high honors. When quite a youth, being over on the Point, as it was called, he crossed the Miami, with two other persons, in search of stray stock. Night coming on, the other men thought best to stike up a fire 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 not be safe. He, therefore, left them for home, all alone, with the promise that he would be on hand again early in the morning. When, lo! he found both of his friends cold and stiff in death; tomahawked and scalped - stripped and robbed! What a narrow escape by youthful foresight and caution! The judge has held many posts of honor and trust in the community; and when he shall have been gathered to the land of his fathers, his name and his memory shall not perish, but be embalmed in the hearts of his friends and countrymen, and, in the pages of history, shall be immortal. (See Appendix) I should very much like to pay a special and just tribute to all of the attorneys, the clerks, and sheriffs of my court residing here; but space utterly forbids. Suffice it to say, that they were all very Kind, competent, and efficient, and occupy a warm seat in my affections, and are engraven upon my memory as with "an iron pen." As clerk, C. O'Brien stands number one, all the time, against the State and against the world; and so does my friend, Milton Gregg, as sheriff - now the able and effective editor of the "New Albany Tribune." So much, then, for the city of Lawrenceburgh, 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 the people of his charge, as is also the Rev. Dr. Bond, pastor of the Baptist church. No neglect or disrespect is intended to be shown to my highly 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." Barb Boese barbwire@midusa.net