Washington County, Indiana - Chapter 15: Literary Glimpses the I'oet's Corner, 1916

Chapter 15: Literary Glimpses the I'oet's Corner

Among Salem's celebrities mention must be made of some to whom the poetic muse was more or less kind. Only a few scattering little poems, here and there, have been picked up, but these show that greater things might have been accomplished if their efforts had been properly appreciated and encouraged. In 1870 there was a young lawyer in Salem named Jerry Talbott, who possessed a mind exceedingly bright, but whisky was his ruin. At one time he essayed the role of minister, and for a time won considerable reputation as an eloquent expounder of the Gospel, but his old enemy got the best of him, and when he once started on the down grade he never stopped short of the gutter. Like Poe, it was when his mind was stimulated by drink that it turned to poetry, and then it seemed that he could talk in rhyme. He wrote many very creditable poems, but none of them were preser\ecl, excejit the following, which is here reproduced just as it came from his pen, hurriedly written, and without a change of word as it was originally penned, lie seemed to be weary of life, and it was in one of his despondent mood.- that he wrote

A lady of more than ordinary intellect was Mrs. Anna Williams Rhetts. While yet a schoolgirl she contributed a number of articles to the columns of the local press, and occasionally wrote a bit of poetry. Among other things was the following on

Salem S Crown Hill

In Other days when newspapers were required to pay postage on de- Hveries made through tlie local postoltice, it was the custom to have a carrier boy make the rounds of the town and deliver his pajiers at the door of subscribers. This boy was usually termed the "devil" about the printing office, and got very little pay for his labors, or his long weekly tramps. He lived mostly in hope of some day being the proprietor of a paper himself, and was content to pick up the printer's trade and do the bidding of his superiors. W'ith the first issue of the paper at the beginning of the year a neat address was ]M'cpared by the ot^ice force, which was distributetl with the paper and patrons were expected U> make a small contribution to help the boy along.

The shining gems, with .i(jy she founts her store. And hears theiu up the bright Jind golden shore: These rear a temple, grand, sublime and high. Whose glitt'ring spires ki.ss the vaulted sky. 'Tis love's most noble deed this structure builds. Whose worth heaven's supernal record fills. I look once more, and lo, the artist .stands. With pencil sketching .scenes of many lands. On his iiieture n.-itions. like mountains rise. Striving each for some great or noble prize. At home war's fearful angry cloud withdraws. While plenty hails the year with loud applause. Our mansion walls two rolling o<-eans make. Together joined by gulf and northern lake. Joy's living flush on each glad face appears. And frugal hands hold stores for future years. To us this joyous .scene the foreground takes. While heaven with bounty bends for our sakes.

Dr. James I^. WiKnii \\a^ a man of much more than ordinary ahihty. He was reared in Washington cmmty, ohtained a ,c;ood education at the Salem seminary, tauglit schiFdl as a starter, and studied medicine, Ijecominsj the leading physician nf the cnnnty. He was county clerk, and then county auditor for two terms each, making a most acceptable official. He was a ready writer and occasionally indulged in poetic effusions, a few of which ha\'e been preserved. The following lines he penned for the Centennial issue of the Salem Dciiidcraf. Feliruary 2t,. 1876:

In his pavilion, hid from mortal sight. Loose mailed and masked for sublunary flight, Is found the emblem of e.nch Nation's life. Bronzed with the gore of sanguinary strife. When grim iniquity overtakes the state. And governments are stung with party hate; When lust and avarice usurp the throne. -\nd laws and equal rights disown ;

When maddened Anarchy bestrides his steed. Calls mountebanks and barnacles to help him lead, Poisons the populace with dissension's breath - Then bursts the storm - the carnival of Death !

The Old Grist-Mill

About the c:ive tlie elders sweep Where rush forth waters clear ami deep. Adown the stream the wild ferns ^row With lilies sweet and white as snow - While grinds the mill with rumblinfj; sound, Which water wheel turns round and round.

Adown the slieani the niuskrat (li\('s. Or basUs in sun fnmi summer skh-s; The robin chirps his song of cheer. While nesting sils the red-bird near: The children down the dark glen jila.v. Where slumirinus shadows softl.y lay; There's buzz ol' bee ;,nd croak of frog, And pheasants lp".ni|iing on the log. - Whil" grinds the mill with rnmblinL' snund Wbich water wl 1 turns n.imil and round.

Those farmers slee|i where wild Hewers grow. Wlio came to mill long, long ago - Where ground the null with rtunbling .sound Which w.iti^r wheel turned round anil round.

Mrs. .\i\i;eliiie C<illins was, m her day, one of the iiiost ijifted women of Salem. She was an atithur of some note, and pnhhshed the only no\-el that was ever jirodneed bv S;ilem talent. This \\;is entitled "Ruby's Ilnsband." She wrote poetry oceasioindlw the follow m- lines beni.u fr<iin her iien ;

When The Clock Strikes Three

AVlien the clock struck three, the weary maiden still was sleeping. And the dark-winged angel his holy watch was keeping; The face so young and beautiful, with shroud of silken hair Had felt its last caresses, and wliisiiercd its last prayer.

The Old College Bell

THE OLD COLLEGE BELL. By Adelaide Reld. Last night in a dream there was liorne to my ear .\ sound so familiar, so mellow, so clear. It awoke me from slumber and all through the day My spirit was haunted with things passed away.

Like the song of a bird from the old church spire, It floated about me, rose higher and higher; Then with tremulous billows of sound on the air. It was wafted away o'er the hill-side so bare; It left me enraptured; I knew, ah! so well. That voice was the ring of the old College Bell.

Many's the time, in the bright early morning. That bell has rung out an unwelcome warning That bade us arise - in its loud, noisy way - To prepare for the duties that came with the day; Each tone seemed to ring out more wildly and long - "Now-to-work, on-to-work," was its unceasing song.

At tap of the bell the classes passed out - Some full of conceit and others with doubt - To spend all the morning in hard, earnest work, For 'twa.s never "the fashion" to idle or shirk - Except now and then, a soph' made apologies For not being posted in .some of the 'ologies; Explaining deep problems, constructing our arcs. Carefully noting all helpful remarks; Sipping with gods and goddesses nectar. Engaging in combat with war-like Hector; Discussing with vigor deep points of science. How acids with alkalies form an alliance; Defining the annual and perennial herbs. Or digging down deep for the roots of Greek verbs- Till the bell rang again, that most welcome call That invited us up to the old dining hall. And once I remember, ah ! only too well. How that bell tolled out a sad funeral knell. It filled us with awe. for one of our number Had crossed the dark river and lay in deaths slumber. We laid her to rest 'neatb the bright flowers of May, Whose beauty and bloom had so soon passed away, How strange not to see in its place that dear form As we came, with sad hearts, to our places next morn.

We all have grown up into women and men, With lessons far harder to learn now than then ; With life full of burdens - minds full of care - That wrinkle the face and whiten the hair.

Many's the bell that I've heard since then, With its message of "peace and good will to men" ; Its glad New Year welcomes, its dreadful alarms, Its gay marriage peals, which to all hath its charms; I have heard the sweet chimes from cathedral bells, And their music, so charming, still with me dwells; But none of them all o'er my head had the power Of the bell that rang out from the old college tower.

On April 25, 18 18, someone found the following lines on the public square, near the court house, which were published in The Tocsin. This was written soon after the first temperance wave passed over the country, and shows the kind of argument employed against the use of strong drink in that early day.

Whisky The Old Rail Fence

In the merry days of boyhood when we never knew a care Greater than the mumps ^t measles or a mother's cut of hair, When a sore toe was a treasure and a stonebruise on the heel Filled the other boys with envy which they tried not to conceal, There were many treasured objects on the farm we held most dear. Orchard, fields, the creek we swam in. and the old spring, cold and clear; Over there the woods of hick'ry and of oak so deep and den.se. Looming up behind the outline of the old rail

On its rails the quail would whistle in the early summer morn. Calling to their hiding fellows in the field of waving corn. And the meadow larks and robins on the stakes would sit and sing Till the forest shades behind them with their melody would ring. There the catbird and the jaybird sat and called each other names. And the squirrels and the chipmunks played the chase-and-catch-me games. And the garter snake was often in unpleasant evidence In the grasses in the corners of the old rail

As we grew to early manhood, when we thought the country girls In the diadem of beauty were the very fairest pearls. Oft from spellin' school or meetin" or the jolly shuckin' bee Down the old lane we would wander with a merry little "she." On the plea of being tiretl (just the country lover lie). On a grassy seat we'd linger in the moonlight, she and I, And we'd paint a future picture touched with colors most intense As we sat there in the corner of the old rail

There one night, in hajipy dreaming, we were sitting, hand in hand. Up so near the gates of heaven we could almost hear the band. When she heard a declaration whispered in her list'ning ear - One she often since has told me she was might.v glad to hear. On my head there's now a desert, fringed with foliage of gray. And there's many a thread of silver in her dear old he;id today: Yet the flame of love is burning in our bosoms as intense As it burned in the corner of that old rail fence.

Since Mary Left The Farm

A question thtifs been mooted late, all through the country round, Is how to keep the boys at home to help us till the ground. The city has its many charms - likewise its poison d<?ns - Where many youths are led astray and land in prison pens.

This matter we have all discussed - at the meetin's and at home, But still the problem isn't solved; the boys are prone to roam. Just when this trouble will have an end, the good Lord only knows. Quite oft we lose the best we've got - and always will, I 'spose.

But now a worser evil - if such a thing can be - Strikes at our homes and happiness and our prosperity. Our girls are what is wanted - good wages they can earn, Short-handin' or type-writin', for the head of some concern.

You never miss the water till the well runs dry, they say. We never missed our Mary till she had gone away. At first we thought it kind o' nice to have a girl in town ; So handy for to visit her whenever we went down.

But things have all been going wrong since Mary left the farm. An' wife is a predictin' that she's sure to come to harm. She's .iust been gone a single month, but seems almost a year. So guess I'll jog down there today and bring her right back here.

Since she left I've done the mllkin', got kicked twice on the head. Fell out the mow while huntin' eggs, an' thought that I was dead. I next went out to slop the .sow, that was our Mary's pet, Slipped and fell into the trough - I smell that swill plain yet.

While carrying water from the spring I stumbled and fell, I wished that Mary was at home and the water was in - well. Thought 'twas no use to grow profane, and rip and cuss and swear, But I nearly lo.st my 'ligion while I was lying there.

Then the carpet was to raise and dust, and wife said if I'd please The job to take, 'twould her relieve, so down upon my kntes I v^'ent, and surged and pulled for half an hour or more, Got cai-pet tacks stuck in my knees and niy best trowsers tore.

I've got to churn, get in the wood and make the breakfast fire. Feed the hens and scour the porch, all work I don't admire. So hurry wife, get j1.> biled shirt, an t I'll drive down to town An' bring our Mary right back home, if she is to be found.

I used to think she was no good - told Peter Jenkins so. When she to him the mitten gave - now Peter was her beau. With Mary back we'll be all right, we'll move 'long like a charm, An' never more with my consent shall Mary leave the farm.

The content, peace and happiness that exist among the dwellers in the rural sections of our country are nowhere made more manifest than in the offerings of those who have been gifted by the poetic muse. That some of them have appreciated our natural scenery and were able to express that appreciation in verse is in evidence in the following little poem :

The Ole Mus-Cat-A-Tack

You may talk about yer Wabash an' yer Mississinewaw, You may blow up the Ohio till you paralyze yer jaw. You may sing about yer Brandywine an' golly-bustin' Blue, Yer Mau-mee an' Big Sugar an' Tip-over-a-canoe. You may preach about an' screech about yer lazy Kankakee, But there's not a single one of them that's good enuff fur me. If you want to see a river that's a whoopin' cracker-jack Jist you take a double-header fur the old Mus-cat-a-tack.

Rooster in the corn<-rib, peacock on the gate; An' a chap fm Buzzard's Glory is a sparkin' sister Kate. The box is full of kin'lin', an' the bucket's full of coal ; The pancake's on the griddle an' the sugar's in the bowl. The backlog's in the corner, the tobacker's in the pipe, An' they've got my city cousin in the woods a-huntin' snipe. The cellar's full of apples an' the fodder's in the rack. You kin bet it's jolly liviu' on the old Mus-cat-a-tack.

I kin hear the baby voices at the cabin on the hill ; I kin hear the wheels a-hummin' in the little yaller mill: I can see the water drippin' in the holler sugar troff ; I kin hear the gals a-lafTin' as they come to "sugar off': I kin see my father stan'in' there, a-Ieanin' on the hoe; I kin hear my mother singin' as she used to, long ago. As soon as I kin git a chance, you'll see me make a track Fur the water-beech an' willers on the old Mus-cat-a-tack.

Home-Made Bread

It makes a fellow hungry just to tliiulv about the bread Of honest old-time baking, on which iu youth he fed - - The loaf that showed the traces of the pan's intense caress, But bulged above those wrinkles as if spreading out to bless The ones who gazed upon it with a joyous appetite That reveled in the prospect of the slices thick and light.

Today the chemists make it, and the flour is analyzed; The bread is scientific, and is properly devised ; The baker's wagon brings it - it is conscienceless and hard ; The cooking schools concoct it by the rules upon a card ; Exactness and precision guide the baking, it is said, But, O, they never equal the old-fashioned loaf of bread!

Sometimes there comes a fancy from the mist of yesterdays That holds the yeasty perfumes of the dough set out to raise, And then we hear the patting on the floury mixing-board, And see the old-time oven with its load of goodness stored. And when the door is opened, what a satisfying gust Of pungent rich aroma floated from the browning crust!

Its crumb was always fl.iky. and its crust was never burned; Your mother used to make it (but your sister never learned). The const.int march of progress hurls our cherished things afar - The liiPTiK'-iiiade bread no longer flanks the apple butter jar - Nil ninrc I he tang of spices tells that something good is spread .\\n], ,1 ii'ni|4ing portion of the good old fashioned bread.

A Hundred Years The Calf Path

But still he left behind his trail, And thereby hangs my moral tale. The trail was taken up next day By a lone dog that passed that way; And then a wise bellwether sheep Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep. And drew the flock behind him, too. As good bellwethers always do.

And from that day, o'er hill and glade, Tl^rough those old woods a path was made. And many men wound in and out. And dodged and turned and bent about, And uttered word of righteous wrath Because 'twas such a crooked path; But still they followed - do not laugh - The first migrations of that calf. And through this winding woodway stalked Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane. That bent and turned and turned again ; Thi.s crooked lane became a road. Where many a poor horse, with his load

Toiled on beneath the burning sun, Aud traveled some three miles in one. And thus a century and a half They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet The road became a village street. And this, before men were aware, A city's crowded thoroughfare. And soon the central street was this Of a renowned metropolis; And men two centuries and a half Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout Followed this zigzag calf about And o'er his crooked journey went The traflic of a continent. A hundred thousand men were led By one calf near three centuries dead. They following still his crooked way. And lost one hundred years a day; For thus such reverence is lent A well established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach Were I ordained and called to preach; For men are prone to go it blind Along the calf paths of the mind. And work away from sun to sun To do what other men haye done. They follow in the beaten track. And out and in. and forth and back - And still their devious course pursue. To keep the path that others do. They keep the path a sacred groove. Along which all their lives they move. But how the wise old wood gods laugh Who saw the first primeval calf.

Early Reminiscences Of Farm Life

On September 2Q, 1875, at the first old settler's tneeting in Washinsfton county, W. W. Stevens, by special request, prepared and recited the following resume of pioneer life, entitled. "Back at the Old Homestead."

And each one felt his joy complete As toast went round with cider sweet. AVith supper o'er the host would say : "Clean up the room and call the play." "Old Sister Phoebe" and "Weevily Wheat" Brought all the youngsters to their feet. Or if a fiddler could be found The dancers then went whirling round. The "prompter" frisked around the hall, Placed his couples, then he'd call : "All to places; balance eight." Move along, "tis getting late. "Cross over four and ladies chain." All now dance with might and main. "Ladies to center and hands all round." How the clattering heels do sound. The old-folks too quite happy seem Keeping time to "Devils Dream." "Right and left till partners meet. Promenade now to your seat." Thus went on the dance or play, Ofttimes till the break of day. Never a jar nor an angry word Through all the frolic was then heard. In taking leave 'twas plain to see That all had enjoyed the husking bee.