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 debris 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,
Phoenix-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 reecho 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 crepe 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 Caesar 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.