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V :ia
VOL. 1.
GREENSBORO, N. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1875
NO. 10.
POETRY.
The Farmer King.
BY GEO. W..BUNG AY.
The farmer sat in his oM arm chair,
Rosy aial fair,
Contented there.
“ Kate, r declare,'’
He said to his wif-, wiio was sitting near,
“ We need not fear
The liard times here,
Tliough tile ieaf ol life isye’low and sere.”
•‘rni the King and you are the Queen
Of this fair scene,
Tlip.se fields of green
And gold between.
These cattle grazing upon the hill.
Taking tlieir fill.
And .sheep so sMii.
Kike miny held by a single will.”
” These bai-nyanl fowls are our .subjects all;
They hectl tlic call.
And like a squall
On fast Will ■■ .'ill,
Wherever we, soatter for them the grain.
’Ths not ill vain
We live and reign
In this onr happy and calm domain.”
And the days be dim or tin ,
In rain and shine,
These lands of mine
These fields of thine,
In cloudy shade and in sonny glow.
Will overliow
With crops that grow,
When gold is high and wlien it is low.
Uuvexed with shifting of .stocks and shares,
And bulls anci bears,
Strifes and cares,
And the affairs
d)f speculation in mart and street,
In tliis retreat
Sweet peace can meet,
With plenty on tiei rural beat.”
A Centenniax Romance.
The Louisville Journal tells the story
of ninety-nine years ag» ! Sunday, July
14th, 1773, just when the rudely con
structed fort at Boonsborough lay in
drowsy stillness on the banks of the Ken
tucky river, Daniel Boone and his asso
elate, Richard Callaway, bad been absent
since early in the, morning, and the good
wives, sharers in the toils of the early
pioneer days, were enjoying the rest that
the Sabbath, brought ever, to tiie unbro
ken wilderness. In the grateful shade of
the tree in one corner of the enclosure
■sat three young girls, just blooming into
womanhood, and giving an unwonted
charm to the rough evidence of civiliza
tion which had but recently forced them
selves upon the primitive harmony of the
■■'urrounding scenery. The eldest of
these maids was Elizabeth Callaway.
The other girls were younger by two
years, and differed from her in appear
ance, Fanny Callaway was fairer than,
her sister Betsy, but not more pleasing in
appearance. The third girl, Jemima
Boone, was also naturally fair, and like
ibanny, owed whatever fairness she may
have lost to constant exposure to the
■weather. Nor were these younger mai
dens without their fancies, too., for the
wilderness matures its occui ants rapidly,
and though but fourteen vears counted
the lives of the two girls, each had a lov
er who was a hardy and bold pioneer,
and ready to encounter any danger for
his lady love.
As evening drew nf ar, the last linger
ing breath of air seemed to lull itself to
rest, and the July heat seemed to become
still more oppressive—the quick ear of
one of the girls caught the sound of the
river as its subdued murmur floated up
over the bank, and she proposed that they
should go a short distance below the fort
to where a canoe was lying, drift out up
on the bosom of the river, and catch the
rising coolness of the evening waters.
ffardly were they seated and prepared
to push from the shote, when they detect
ed a slight rustle in the brush, and in a
moment more five stalwart and hideously
painted Indians leaped to the side of the
canoe and pulled it olo-^e to the shore.
What girl of sixteen could be equal to
such an emergency ? It was here that
the true heroine displayed herself. It
was here that the sentimental girl, who
had just been dreaming of her absent lov
er, and wandering through the realms of
maiden fancy with love-sick girls like
herself, in an instant converted herself
into the daring and hardy woman of the
frontier ; it was here that Betsy Callaway,
without a moment's hesitation, delermir-
ed to defend the honor and the lives of
herself and her young companions, and
wrote her name in the annals of Kentucky.
Standing erect in the canoe, she seized
the paddle and at a single blow laid open
to the bone the head of the foremost In
dian. The other Indians pressed on, but
still undaunted, the orave girl fought
them with the ferocity of a mother pro
tecting her young. Finally exhausted,
she sank to the bottom of the canoe, and
with her trembling sister and friend was
dragged ashore and hurried off to meet
whatever fate might be in store for them.
The consternation of thj fort can well
be imagined. The fathers of the girls
soon returned, and before the niglit clos
ed in, Daniel Boone at the head of a party
on foot, and Richard Callaway, at the
head of a party on horseback, were off in
pursuit. In Boone’s party were Samuel
Henderson, John Holder and Flanders
Callaway, What gave these youths such
determined looks and maue them press
on so eagerly ’—Was it only a kindly
spirit that prompted them to the rescue
of forlorn and captured damsels? Ah I
as Samuel Heoderson stole along he wa.3
thinking of the ohve cheeked heroine,
Betsy Callaway; and John Holder clench
ed his hands and ground his teeth when
he thought of poor, little, frightened Fan
ny ; and Flanders Callaway almost forgot
his kith and km for think.ng of his cap
tured Jemima Boone.
When the Indians started with the
girls they made the young ones take off
their shoes and put on moccasins, bat Bet
sy refused to takeoff her shoes and as
she walked along she ground her heei into
the soil to leave a trail. Noticing this,
the Indians made the whole party walk
and deviate from the course, so as
tn.- Water and destroy
the trail. Then the undaunted Betsy
broke off twigs and dropped them along
the road, never doubting for a moment
that her father and lover would soon be
in hot pursu’i of them ; and when the
savages threatened her with uplifted tom
ahawks if she persisted in this, she secret
ly tore off portions of her dress and drop
ped them on tne road.
Boone’s party soon found the trail and
followed it rapidly, fearing that the girls
might grow weary and be put to death.
All Sunday night and Monday the pur
suit was kept up. On Tuesday morning
a slender column of smoke was seen in the
distance, and the experienced eye of the
hunter at once detected the camp of the
Indians. A serious difficulty now pre
sented itself. How were the captives to
be rescued without giving the captors
time to kill them ?
There was but little time for reflection,
as the Indians must soon discover their
presence. The white men were sure
shots, and so they picked their men, fired
upon them and rushed into the camp to
the rescue. At that moment of attack the
girls were sitting at the foot of a tree,
Betsy with a red bandanna handkerchief
thrown over her head, while the heads of
Fanny and Jemima were reclining in her
lap. Betsy’s olive complexion came near
serving her a bad turn at this juncture
for one of the rescuing party coming sud
denly upon her mistook her for an In
dian, and was about to knock her brains
out with the butt of his rifle when a
friendly hand intervened and saved the
girl from meeting her death at that mo
ment when she saw liierty within her
reach.
The fathers and gallants carried their
loved ones home in triumjih, and this ro
mance of real life in Kentucky a century
ago would not be completed without the
information that the dreams of love and
happiness that were so cruelly disturbed
ninety-nine years ago this summer dav
were subsequently all realized. Brave
Betsy Callaway became Mrs. Samuel Hen
derson, and lived to tell the story of her
capture to her children and her children’s
children. Little Fanny became Mrs.
Jolin Flolder, and Flanders Callaway
took to his home Miss. Jemima Boone, and
thus cemented the friendly ties of the
Boones and the Callawajs. It i» a long
time ago, nigh on to a hundred years, and
all the actors in the romance have long
since departed ; but their memory is green
with many of us yet, and we can all well
afford to give a few thoughts to the event
that marked their characters and the
times in which they lived ane loved.
A conscientious farmer in Lewiston,
Me., wiped the mud from his cart wheels
before permitting his load of bay to go on
the scales to be weighed. But such men
are uever sent to the Legislai ure.
Christian Shirks,
A SHOET SENTINEL 6ESMON.
What trivial excuses serve to keep
Christians from attending the public ser
vices of God's house, "boi.'iiKe not the
as.sembling of yourselves togeiner, as the
manner of some is,'’ said the inspired
apostle of the Gentiles And yet see them,
hear them Going to church today?
No. Why ? It’s too cold or too hot, too
damp or too dusty, too windy or too sul
try, too this or too that, too anything, ev
erything or nothing, but the right thing.
But let a circus, with its vulgar clowns
and bare legged somersaulters come along
and rain or shine, dust, mud, mow, hail,
or twiiiii...-.. ., vjLriBtiane
will be liien. ic Uieii cliiidren see
the animals ” No trifling inconvenience of
weather ever keeps them from attending
to liieii'liaily nnsuiess oi then'pleasures.
Chopping, hauling, selling, shopping, pic
nicking, party-going ; thej never tail, in
storm or calm, to put in a prompt appear
ance at them all. But the moment Sun
day dawns, each moie-hiii on iheroadto
the church becomes a mountain, and each,
mole a lion. Why is this ? Is Sunday
heat any hotter, Sunday cold any colder,
Sunday wet any wetter, Sunday dust anv
dustier, or Sunday wind any widier, than
that of any other day ? What amount'of
Sunday expo,'■me vioiijd prove fatal to an
able-bodied Christian, upon whom all the
rage oftht week-day elements isspentin
vain ? Turn out, turn out, ye worship-
dodging servants of the Living God.
Away with your honeyfuggling pretexts'
and apologies for laziness and indiffer
ence. When Jehovah spreads his boun
teous feasts, Sunday after Sunday, in ten
minutes walk of your homes, will you
starve your immortal souls to save the
blacking on your boots from the mud, or
the flowers on your flimsy bonnets from
a few drops of rain ? Death will hardiy
postpone his call on account of the weath.
er ; and you may have to tako your last
ride cemetery-ward, in an hour of storm
and cloud. Ilou cant goto Heaven un-
der an umbrella. Fair-weather Chris-
t)ari8,-who only attend church when the
day IS bright and their clothes are new,
will be apt to land, in eternity, where it’s
always hot and dry.—Rai. Sentinel.
A Practical Explanation.
Charley! what K osculation ?”
Osculation, Jenny, dear
Is a learned expression queer
h or a nice sensation. ’
I put my arm, thus, round your waist,
This IS approximation ; *
You need not fear—
There’s no one here--
Your lips quite near—
I ttien”—
“ Oh, dear!”
Jenny, tliat’s osculation
Turned Rounds
A young sprigof a doctormet at a cohvlvi-il
party several larks, who were bent oil plw i
lu his hat a very laige brick, or, in plidn nm
guage. to make bim gloriously drunk wh cl,
they accomplished about 10 o'clock ,t ui'i?
The poor doeter insi,sted on gotag, nd ^ c
party accompanied iiim to the ttabfe toas' M
him to mount his horse; which tbev at lemni
did with his face ,0 tlia’anhuaFs tail.
Hallo, said tiie doctor; after fedilio- i,,,.
the reins, ‘ l am inside out on mv orie
face behind, I don’t knotv which-AsoZtr;,;.
wrong anyhow.” voineitm.g
.“ A'.®'” P-’-Tlaitned one of the wai-
‘jmst getoff, doctor, and tve will put
” Get ofi'l” hiccupped the doctor, “ no vi,n
dont. Just turn the horse round and it will
all come right-you must ail be dnuili,'-
if
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