USA > Indiana > Early Indiana trials: and sketches. Reminiscences > Part 20
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The next day the convention was to meet in the rotunda of the City Hall. I went over early, and was gratified to find myself in the midst of my friends - Col. Benton, Edward Bates, Gen. Hill, Col. Bowlin, Col. Curtus, Judge Birch, Judge Douglass, Solomon W. Roberts, Col. Darcie, Richard W. Thompson, Albert S. White, William K. Edwards, Charles F. Cruft and others. The time for organization came, and Judge Stephen A. Douglass was unanimously elected President, Judge Geyer one of the Vice Presidents, and a full complement of officers were selected. The circular tier seats in the rotunda, holding some 5000, all filled with the separate delegations from the different States ; the central platform was occupied by the officers and invited guests.
Judge Douglass in taking the chair, made a strong explanatory speech, stating fully the object of the convention. The Judge is a short, thick, well-set man, large head, broad high forehead, dark hair and eyes,
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wide mouth, good features, broad expanded chest, powerful voice, delivery good and distinct to the largest audience; his manner is ardent, impulsive and inflammatory, he is well adapted to large audienees, and must continue to be one of the popular speakers of the United States. The committees were appointed, resolutions referred, when Col. Ben- ton took the main stand and delivered one of the most beautiful addresses I have ever heard. He pointed out the route of the Pacific Railroad, making St. Louis the starting-point ; gave a graphic deserip- tion of the country, through which the road must pass ; he most beau- tifully painted to the imagination, Columbus standing upon the top of the Rocky Mountains, with one hand pointing to the Atlantic, and the other to the Pacific, while the trains with their thousands of pas- sengers from Europe and Asia were flying by. I had often heard the Colonel, but I thought he surpassed himself that day. The conven- tion adjourned. Next morning the committees were to report ; quite early the convention was called to order by the president; the com- mittees were still out, when Col. Curtus of Iowa, rose and offered a resolution in substance, that to avoid all Constitutional difficulties in the construction of the Pacific Railroad, it should commence out-side of the States, in one of the Territories, over which Congress had unquestionable jurisdiction ; this seemed to be forestalling the report of the committee on that subject. The resolution was read by the secretary. The president rose to put the question. I looked around me to sce if any other person was rising to speak, but no one rose. It was not my intention to say any thing before the report of the committee came in, but the test question was before the convention. I rose and ad- dressed the chair. The audience .- " Who is it ?" One of the Indiana delegation said, " Mr. Smith of Indiana."-" The main stand." I left the central platform, walked over to the main stand near the chair, from which Mr. Benton had spoken the day before, and addressed the convention for some hour and a half, upon the general subjeet of the Pacific Railroad, its location, its construction, its preservation, the Con- stitutional powers of the Government over it, and its great importance as a national work ; I felt that I had the ear of the convention, I main- tained that St. Louis was the natural starting-point for the main line, that there might be two diverging branches on the east side of the Rocky Mountains, the one finding its terminus at Memphis on the Mississippi, and the other at Chicago on Lake Michigan ; that on the west side of the mountains, there should be two lines, the one termin- ating at San Francisco, California, and the other at the mouth of the Willamette Valley in Oregon. The Constitutional power was touched in the speech ; I held that it could make no possible difference whether
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ยท the road commenced in the State of Missouri, or west of the States in the Territories, as these Territories would become States before the road could be constructed, besides, it would require as great an exer- cise of Constitutional power to keep up and run the road, and take tolls upon it, as it would be to construct it in the first place by Government.
As I closed, Judge Douglass called Vice President Geyer to the chair, and resigned the presidency for the purpose of taking part in the debate on the floor. He replied at once to my speech with much warmth, and in the opinion of many with conclusive success. I did not feel that my Constitutional argument was met by the distinguished Senator ; he suggested that a provision could be inserted in the State constitution of Territories on the line when admitted ; that the Uni- ted States shall have the power to construct and operate the road through the State, after it was admitted into the Union. The sugges- tion looked plausible, but was it sound ? I suppose not, as additional Constitutional powers can only be conferred upon Congress by an amendment of that instrument, in the manner provided in it, and can not be given by the constitution of a State.
The majority of the committee reported in accordance with the views of Judge Douglass; my friend Richard W. Thompson, who concurred with me, dissented from the majority, and moved to strike out the major- ity report, and insert a resolution placing the matter on the ground we maintained. Mr. Thompson addressed the convention upon his motion in a speech of some two hours with great eloquence and power, and was followed by Solomon W. Roberts and Col. Darcie in strong speeches, all maintaining the St. Louis commencement for the main line, and Chicago and Memphis for the termini of the branches. Mr. Thompson's motion prevailed without a count, and the convention adjourned to meet at Philadelphia the next summer. A large number of the delegates went down the river, to attend the Memphis Railroad Convention the next week. I ran down the Mississippi next day to Cairo, took a steamer for Louisville, and reached home in safety.
The convention at Philadelphia, was held the next summer, and resolutions similar to those adopted at St. Louis, were passed with great unanimity. The subject has been before Congress at every ses- sion since, but nothing has been done, except some explorations and reports. It seems now to be pretty well settled, that the great Pacific Railroad, will be constructed on the central route, through the south pass of the Rocky Mountains, by associated enterprise, with the col- lateral aid of the Government, in the shape of grants of lands. The great importance of this national work must ultimately secure its con- struction, and I yet look forward to its completion in my aay.
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POETS OF INDIANA.
Is there one other State in the Union, that has produced finer poets than John Finley, Esq., of Richmond; Mrs. Julia L. Dumont. of Vevay ; Mrs. Sarah T. Bolton, Rev. Sydney Dyer, John B. Dillon, Esq., Rev. James Greene, and Henry W. Ellsworth, Esq., of Indianapolis? They have all delighted the publie with their prose and poetry. The Rev. Sydney Dyer has published a neat volume of songs and ballads, a casket of beautiful gems. Mrs. Julia L. Dumont has given us her interesting " Life Sketches from Common Paths." Mrs. Sarah T. Bolton will, no doubt, publish in book form, her poems and interesting letters from Switzerland. The poems of Heury W. Ellsworth, Esq., were written while he was our Charge at Stockholm. The " Hoosier's Nest" was written by John Finley, Esq., as a New Year's address in 1830, for the Indiana Journal. It has never been published entire in any other form I believe, the latter verses have run through the press in America and England. I give it entire.
THE HOOSIER'S NEST. BY JOHN FINLEY, ESQ.
Untaught the language of the schools, Nor versed in scientifie rules, The humble hard may not presume The Literati to illume,
Or classic cadences indite, Attuned "to tickle ears polite ; " Contented if his strains may pass, The ordeal of the common mass,
And raise an anti-critic smile, The brow of labor to beguile.
But ever as his mind delights To follow Faney's airy flights, Some object of terrestrial mien Uncourteously obtrudes between, And rudely scatters to the winds The tangled threads of thought he spins. Yet why invoke imagination To picture out a new creation, When Nature with a lavish hand Has formed a more than Fairy land For us ? An Eldorado real, Surpassing even the ideal !
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Then who can view the glorious West, - With all her hopes for coming time, And hoard his feelings unexpressed In poetry, or prose-or Rhyme ; What mind and matter unrevealed, Shall unborn ages here disclose ? What latent treasures long concealed, Be disinterred from dark repose ? Here science shall impel her car, O'er blended valley, hill and plain, While Liberty's bright natal star Shines twinkling on her own domain. Yes, Land of the West, thou art happy and free ! And thus ever more may thy hardy sons be, Whilst thy ocean-like prairies are spread far and wide, Or a tree of thy forest shall tower in pride.
Blest Indiana ; in thy soil Are found the sure rewards of toil, Where harvest, purity and worth May make a paradise on earth. With feelings proud we contemplate The rising glory of our State; Nor take offense by application Of its good-natured appellation. Our hardy yeomanry can smile, At tourists of "the sea-girt Isle," Or wits who traveled at the gallop; Like Basil Hall, or Mrs. Trollope. 'Tis true among the crowds that roam, To seek for fortune, or a home, It happens that we often find Empiricism of every kind.
A strutting Fop, who boasts of knowledge, Acquired at some far Eastern college ; Expects to take us by surprise, And dazzle our astonished cyes. He boasts of learning skill, and talents, Which in the scale, would Andes balance, Cuts widening swathes from day to day, And in a month he runs away.
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Not thus the honest son of toil, Who settles here to till the soil, And with intentions just and good, Acquires an ample livelihood : He is (and not the little-great) The bone and sinew of the State. With six-horse team to one-horse cart, We hail them here from every part. And some you'll see sans shoes or soeks on, With snake-pole and a yoke of oxen : Others with pack-horse, dog and rifle, Make emigration quite a trifle.
The emigrant is soon located- In Hoosier life initiated- Erects a cabin in the woods, Wherein he stows his household goods. At first, round logs and clap-board roof, With puncheon floor, quite carpet-proof, And paper windows, oiled and neat. His edifice is then complete, When four clay balls, iu form of plummet, Adorn his wooden chimney's summit ; Enseonced in this, let those who can Find out a truly happier man. The little youngsters rise around him, So numerous they quite astound him ; Each with an axe, or wheel in hand, And instinct to subdue the land.
Ere long the cabin disappears, A spacious mansion next he rears ; His fields seem widening by stealth, An index of increasing wealth ; And when the hives of Hoosiers swarm, To each is given a noble farm. These are the seedlings of the State, The stamina to make the great. Tis true her population various, Find avocations multifarious ; But having said so much, 'twould seem No derogation to my theme,
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Were I, to circumscribe the space, To picture but a single case ; And if my muse be not seraphic I trust you'll find her somewhat graphic.
I'm told in riding some where West, A stranger found a Hoosier's Nest, In other words a Buckeye Cabin, Just big enough to hold Queen Mab in. Its situation low, but airy, Was on the borders of a prairie ; And fearing he might be benighted He hailed the house, and then alighted. The Hoosier met him at the door, Their salutations soon were o'er. He took the stranger's horse aside And to a sturdy .sapling tied. Then having stripped the saddle off, He fed him in a sugar trough.
The stranger stooped to enter in, The entrance closing with a pin ; And manifested strong desire To seat him by the log-heap fire. Where half a dozen Hoosieroons, With mush and milk, tin-cups and spoons, White heads, bare feet and dirty faces, Seemed much inclined to keep their places ; But madam, anxious to display Her rough but undisputed sway, Her offspring to the ladder led, And cuffed the youngsters up to bed.
Invited shortly to partake, Of venison, milk and Johnny-cake, The stranger made a hearty meal, And glances round the room would steal. One side was lined with divers garments, The other, spread with skins of varmints ; Dried pumpkins over head were strung, Where venison hams in plenty hung ; Two rifles placed above the door,
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Three dogs lay stretched upon the floor- In short the domicil was rife With specimens of IToosier life. The host, who centered his affections On game, and range and quarter sections, Discoursed his weary guest for hours Till Somnus' all-composing powers,
Of sublunary cares bereft ' cm ; And then-No matter how the story ended, The application I intended, Is from the famous Scottish poet,
Who seemed to feel as well as know it,
That burly chiels and clever hizzies, Are bred in sic a way as this is.
BACHELORS' HALL .- (IRISH IMITATION.) BY JOHN FINLEY ESQ. Bachelors' Hall ; What a quare looking place it is ! Kape me from sich all the days of my life ! Sure, but I think what a burnin' disgrace it is, Niver at all to be gettin' a wife.
See the ould Bachelor, gloomy and sad enough, Placing his tay-kettle over the fire ; Soon it tips over-Saint Patrick ! he's mad enough, If he were present to fight with the Squire. Then like a hog in a mortar-bed wallowin, Awkard enough, sce him knading his dough ; Troth ! If the bread he could ate widout swallowing, How it would favor his palate, you know. His dish-cloth is missing-the pigs are devouring it, In the pursuit he has battered his shin ; A plate wanted washing -- Grimalkin is scouring it, Tuuder and turf! what a pickle he's in !
His meal being over, the table's left setting so, Dishes, take care of yourselves if you can ! But hunger returns,-then he's pining and fretting so Och ! Let him alone for a baste of a man ! Pots, dishes, pans, and such greasy commodities, Ashes and pratie-skins kiver the floor; His cupboard's a store-house of comical oddities, Sich as had niver been neighbors before.
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Late in the night then, he goes to bed shiverin' Niver the bit is the bed made at all ! He crapes like a tarapin under the kiverin ; Bad luck to the picture of Bachelors' Hall.
PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE.
BY MRS. SARAH T. BOLTON.
Voyager upon life's sea, To yourself be true, And wher'er your lot may be, Paddle your own canoe. Never, though the winds may rave, Falter or look back ; But upon the darkest wave Leave a shining track.
Nobly dare the wildest storm, Stem the hardest gale, Brave of heart and strong of arm You will never fail. When the world is cold and dark, Keep your aim in view ; And toward the heacon-work, Paddle your own canoe.
Every wave that bears you on To the silent shore, From its sunny source is gone To return no more. Then let not an hour's delay, Cheat you of your due, But, while it is called to day, Paddle your own canoe.
If your birth denied you wealth, Lofty state and power, Honest fame and hardy health, Are a better dower. But if these will not suffice, Golden gain pursue ; And to gain the glittering prize, Paddle your own canoe.
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Would you wrest the wreath of fame From the hand of fate ? Would you write a deathless namc With the good and great ? Would you bless your fellow-men ?- Heart and soul imbue With the holy task, and then,- Paddle your own eanoe.
Would you crush the giant wrong, In the world's free fight ? With a spirit brave and strong, Battle for the right. And to break the chains that bind The many to the few,- To enfranchise slavish mind,- Paddle your own canoe.
Nothing great is lightly won, Nothing won is lost ; Every good deed, nobly done, Will repay the cost. Leave to Heaven, in humble trust, All you will to do : But if you succeed, you must Paddle your own canoe.
A HOME ON THE MOUNTAIN.
BY REV. SYDNEY DYER.
LET others sigh for a valley liome, Where the brooks run murmuring by, I'll build my cot on the mountain's dome, Where it leans to the deep blue sky. I love to dwell where the eagles soar, And perch on its starry crown, The wild winds howl, and the thunders roar, As the storm comes rattling down ; Then sigh who will for a valley home, Where the brooks run murmuring by, I'll build my cot on the mountain's dome, Where it leans to the deep blue sky.
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Let others pine for the vale below, Though a home is more genial there, I love the drift of the mountain snow, And the health of its bracing air. We'll bound away on the chamois' track, Or mark as the noble deer Leaps high in air, as our rifles crack ; Hurrah! for our mountain cheer. Then sigh who will for a valley home, Where the brooks run murmuring by, I'll build my cot on the mountain's dome, Where it leans to the deep blue sky.
WASHINGTON'S TOMB. BY REV. SYDNEY DYER.
IMMORTAL and sacred, untouched by decay, The tomb of the hero in glory appears; And nations their homage unceasingly pay, To his ashes that hallow the place of their tears. Though he sleeps in the grave, still, enraptured they greet, The banner of stars which his valor unfurled, And hither, as pilgrims, they hasten to meet, And Washington's tomb is the shrine of the world.
The deeds of the warrior, the tongue of the sage, The strains of the poet, though others may claim, The glory that dazzles the world's brightest page, Is the halo that circles our Washington's name. While a freeman shall live, his devotion will greet The banner of stars, which his valor unfurled, And hither, as pilgrims, the nations will meet, And Washington's tomb be the shrine of the world.
While others for glory have fought and have bleed, His heart and his fame to his country he gave, And here, as the feet of the pilgrim are led, Each heart is enshrined in our Washington's grave ; And the gaze of the freeman with rapture will greet, The banner of stars, which his valor unfurled, And the hearts of all ages in unison meet, At Washington's tomb-the first shrine of the world.
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While sacred, immortal, his restiug shall be, And nations, admiring, shall covet his fame ; May the bonds of our Union be lasting and free, And dear as the love of our Washington's name. By the tomb of our hero united we'll greet, The banner of stars which his valor unfurled ; We'll stand by its honor, its foemen defeat, And save from pollution the shrine of the world.
MY DAUGHTER NURSE. BY MRS. JULIA L. DUMONT.
I HEAR her still-that buoyant tread, How soft it falls upon my heart ; I've counted since she left my bed Each pulse that told of time a part.
Yet in a dreamy calm I've laid, Scarce broke by fitful pain's strong thrill, As one who listening waits some strain, Wont every troubled thought to still.
And o'er me yet in visions sweet, The image of my precious child, Plying e'en now with busy feet, Some tender task-for me has smiled.
Oh ! youth and health ; rich gifts and high Are those wherewith your hours are crown'd; The balm, the breath, of earth and sky- The gladsome sense of sight and sound.
The conscious rush of life's full tide, The dreams of hope in fairy bowers ; Action and strength, their glee and pride, Are portions of your laughing hours.
But, still to dim and wasting life, Thou bringest dearer gifts than these : Gifts, that amid pale suffering strife, Love, filial love, beside me wreathes.
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Sweet draughts fresh drawn from love's deep spring, Still lulls muy many hours of pain, And not all summer joys might bring A draught so pure from earthly stain.
Why is it, that thus faint and prone I may not raise my languid head ?- A daughter's arms around me thrown Yet lift me from my weary bed.
And what have flowers or skies the while To waken iu a mother's breast,
Soft gladness like the beaming smile, With which she lays me back to rest ?
Those smiles, when all things round me melt In slumberous mist, my spirit fill :
As light upon closed eye-lids felt Beneath their curtaining shadow still.
And still in happy dreams I hear, While angels' forms seem o'er me bent,
Her tones of ever tender cheer, With their high whisperings softly blent.
But hush, that is her own light tread, It is her hand upon my brow ; And leaning silent o'er my bed, Her eyes in mine are smiling now.
My child, my child, you bring me flowers- Spring's fragrant gift to deck my room ; But through the dark drear winter hours, Love-love alone has poured perfume.
TWILIGHT.
BY REV. JAMES GREENE.
I love the thoughtful hour when sinks The burning sun to rest, And spreads a sea of flowing gold Along the illumined west ;
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When nature seems as if from toil, She found a glad release, And breathes through all her works the breath Of harmony and peace.
That twilight hour attunes the soul To nature's minstrelsy, And leaves the temple of the heart From passion's discord free ; The music of the world without Pervades the world within, And sweetly drowns the jarring notes Of vanity and sin.
I can not prize in hours like these E'en friendship's sacred voice, Nor do I need a kindred heart To share these mystic joys ; For 'tis an hour to be alone- Not in the cloister walls, But forth mid forest, hill and stream, In nature's glorious halls !
Yet never am I less alone, Than when alone "I" stray Abroad for quict converse With the gentle closing day ; The very stillness of the hour Is eloquent with thought, And every zephyr floating by, With speechless language fraught.
I hold communion with the stream That gurgles through the vale, And find companions in the flowers That scent the passing gale ; And when I rest, where spreads the grove, Its deep, inviting shade, Forgotten thoughts come back in tones By trembling leaflets made.
Those tones unuttered, bring again, In pageantry of light, The roseate hours when life's gay morn Was beautiful and bright ;
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And words of kindness sweet as if By angel voices sped, Float from that shadowy land where rest The loved and early dead.
Nor can I feel alone when all Around me speaks of God- When arching sky, and flowering earth Proclaim his praise abroad ; And soft as fall the twilight dews, From pearly stores above, I hear a voice in every breeze, That whispers God is love.
If in these faintly pencilled lines, His glory shines so clear, To those who gaze upon his throne What vision must appear ? What faney's ardent wing shall soar, To gain that viewless hight, Or tongue deseribe, or heart conceive That world of fadeless light !
BURIAL OF THE BEAUTIFUL. BY JOHN B. DILLON, ESQ.
WHERE shall the dead and the beautiful sleep? In the vale where the willow and cypress weep ; Where the wind of the West breathes its softest sigh ; Where the silvery stream is flowing nigh, And the pure, clear drops of its rising sprays Glitter like gems in the bright moon's rays- Where the sun's warm smile may never dispel Night's tears o'er the form we loved so well- In the vale where the sparkling waters flow ; Where the fairest, earliest violets grow ; Where the sky and the earth are softly fair. Bury her there-bury her there !
Where shall the dead and the beautiful sleep ? Where wild flowers bloom in the valley deep ;
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Where the sweet robes of spring may softly rest In purity over the sleeper's breast : Where is heard the voice of the sinless dove, Breathing notes of deep and undying love ; Where no column proud in the sun may glow, To moek the heart that is resting below ; Where pure hearts are sleeping, forever blest ; Where wandering Peris love to rest ; Where the sky and the earth are softly fair, Bury her there-bury her there !
LINES TO AN ABSENT WIFE.
BY HENRY W. ELLSWORTH. Shall we meet again together, As in happy days of old, -- When around our winter fireside, Many merry tales were told ? When the yule-log sparkled brightly And still brighter every eye, -
As we recked not of the tempest, In its wild wrath shouting by ?
Shall we meet again together, On the green and sunny plain, With the tall grass round us waving, And the hillowy ripened grain, -- Where we scared the timid rabbit, And the speckled prairie hen ; - From the morning 'till the twilight, Shall we wander there again ?
Shall we hear once more together, The soft ripple of that stream, Whose tones were wont to gladden us, Like the musie of a dream ? Where, in forest-paths, we lingered, Or with arm-in arm stole on, 'Till the silver stars had faded, And the witching moonlight gone ?
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Shall we meet again, sweet mother, With that dear one by our side, Whom our hearts have loved to cherish In the fulness of their pride ; Whom we oft have watched together, In each sunny hour of glee, While we blest the glorious Giver That such gentle ones could be ? Shall we meet again together, For the loved and early gone, As with noiseless steps we linger Near each dear sepulchral stone ; - Watching long till evening draweth Her dark pall around their bed, And with folded hands above them Breathe our blessings on the dead ? Shall we meet yet, love, together, In that spirit clime on high, Where the blest of earth are gathered, And the heart's best treasures lie ; - Where each deathless soul retaineth All it knew or loved of yore ; - Shall we -father, son and mother - Meet above to part no more ?
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