The weekly union record., 1865-07-15
THE UNION RECORD.
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A Legend of the Kimshew Mountains

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A Legend of the Kimshew Mountains.
Far uP, mid Old Kimshew's granite hills.
Where stately pines shade mountain rills
Where roams the bear in search of grub,
Or denned, is fondling mate and cub;
Where the antlered herd with quick
Bounds at the rifles ominous click;
Where in days gone by the dusky maid was wooed,
By shady brook, or meath tangled understood;
Where countless streamlets foam and jump
Down mountain side, o'er golden lump,
There winds creek, through swamp and vale
The scene Of hope toll and the oft told miners tale
In years gone by sturdy band,
Who hailed from Georgia's sunny land;
Injured to toll meath other skies,
And skilled in where the orc lies
When roaming DER these granite hills
In search of that the pocket fills;
Well armed with rife, pick and pan,
And something to warm the inner man;
Through ravine and gorge, Ger mountain trail,
Their mountain guide the stalwart Gale.
They camped beside rock-grt stream
Where golden treasure was seen in dream.
Unused to morning sumbers late,
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And ere old Sol his rays had shed
Upon their light and boughy bed,
With barred arms whose muscle shows,
Cover strength to deal the sturdy blows;
With judgment cool. and eyes well peeled,
And picks that Dremen had new steeled;
The ground was broke, the shaft begun.
Without form, or speech, or sound of gun,
While Pink was sent in search Of game.
II didn't matter, wild or tame.
When old Sol had reached his midday throne,
Pink had ready for their meal at noon,
The choicest steak, as fresh and rare
As e'er was cut from stag or bear;
And beneath the shade of friendly pine
They came to rest to drink and dine.
An hours time to rest ard smoke
To chat and joke and then to work.
A ten foot shaft and the gold was struck.
Bold Westbrooks shouts" boys, we're in luck
Well claim the creek from mouth to head,
Let the claims be paced by long legged Fred
High rung the laugh, the joke, the song,
Bright burned the camp fire all night long,
Bright visions danced through every brain,
OF purses filed and home again.
OF fond embrace, of joy, and pleasure,
Freedom from duns by prospective treasure
Spirits rose, as spirits went down,
Revery reigned till dewy morn,
Whisky stepped, their whirling brain
Was light as air, nor felt pain;
Overcome at last, to slumber sunk,
Nor dreamed that they that night were drunk.
The morrows sultry mondays sun
Woke them TO life, one by one
And reeling, took another snifter,
To cut the cob webs and give the nerves twister,
And because one sorry wight
Tho't " hair of the dog would cure the bite
Then to the water did repair.
With sooted face and matted hair
And such ablutions there were made
As ne'er was seen by nymph or naiad
Somewhat refreshed, but with aching heads.
Again they sought their boughy bed.
Ere the sombre haze of departing night
Had fed before the morning light;
Ere the bear had reused him from his lair,
Or the wild deer songht his browsey fare,
They stood around the camp fire bright,
With sobered thoughts of yesternight
While scattered round i" dead sogers lay.
Mementoes of the drunken fray;
f" Dradfetch the stuff cries honest Gale
"a I'll drink no more, not even ale -
" Breakfast ALL pipes high toned Fink.
:" "D-n your croaking, let's take drink.
The miners meal, no walters there,
For he who waits will loose his share
Was soon dispatched, then came the task.
The claim to open, the rock to blast;
Begirt with broad, deep granite belt
As hard as gad or drill eer felt
Lay the claim. The opening-there's the rub
Whence comes the whisky and the grub.
Z" That's easy-run our faces Faces were current
then,
Though dishonesty lurked in the heart. of men
And poor Old Trust was alive and sane.
His epitaph now reads, :" Died of credit on the
BRAIN
Those halcyon days VINO has forgot them.
When slugs were plenty and whisky had no strych-
nine
Then our mountain towns were attracting posts,
When gathered were the mining hosts;
On Sundays, in particular, they came
To buy their grub to treat friend and take game
Then fortune smiled upon all who wooed her.
In gulch, ravine, or meath river boulder
Dust in the morning" there was magic in the
name,
To man or woman, twas the open sesame
For every want. to every pleasure,
But alas. alas =" old times are gone forever.
With humble mein and honest air.
II must be confessed such acts were rare;
Their faces were rendered in the usual way.
The impressions taken, with the promise TO pay.
At every store and whisky mill,
From Kimshew to Dogtown. and Yankee Hill
Old Time trudged on, and so did they,
Sometimes at work, oftener at play
Poor Trust grew weary, duns came fast,
Quarrels arose, and divisions at last.
With whisky and gaming the tale was told.