'&>•■■'■■' * 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■7Y» * A 
 
•: 
 
 
 
 
 vv 
 
 
 
 ***** 
 
 ^> A <, 
 
 
 
 ,0* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 >L'sLf* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 <-° / 
 
 A^' : llK 
 
 
 
 i$5SW, 
 
 4* 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 .l/5i.o 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 / 
 
 ■ir 
 
 
 4> c 
 
 
 
 % 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 1 
 

 
 i. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

 BALTIMORE: 
 
 Jong, Jung €lmt %p. 
 
 W. B. B. 
 
 TEMPUS EDAX RERUM." 
 
 .AS5 
 
 O D. 
 
 (3!)a\wYY\»X«) : SiVjuaIaWv^ Os v>)<a.. Oil 
 
 AAMWli . 
 
 
- 
 
 
 Murphy & Co., Printers, 
 
 17S Market street. Baltimore. 
 
 
 
m 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MARYLAND HISTORICAL SOCIETY, 
 
 This humble effort to embody, in the idiom of the feelings, inci- 
 dents and associations which, however worthy of commemo- 
 ration, as appertaining to the social history of his native 
 city, might appear trivial, in the graver phraseology 
 which records its more important events, — is 
 
 RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR, 
 
 In the hope, that in "Friendship, as in Religion, the motive, 
 not the value, of the offering propitiates its acceptance." 
 
-*2s 
 
J. MORRISON HARRIS, Esq., 
 
 Corresponding Secretary of the Maryland Historical Society. 
 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 If the accompanying jeu d 'esprit, or of sentiment, or of a little, 
 and very little of either, especially of the former, be not out of place, 
 among the more serious and important contributions laid before the 
 Maryland Historical Society; do me the favor to read it, at your next 
 meeting; not as matter for its archives, but for the amusement, and in 
 some instances, for the sensibilities of the members, among whom are 
 doubtless some who remember Doctor Mann's corner, as the Jews of 
 old remembered Zion; though they have not, in this case, a harp like 
 David's to commemorate it, or the physical exile of the author of these 
 lamentations, to hallow its reminiscence, as it is hallowed to him. But 
 they have the moral separation, as well as himself. The alienation, of 
 time, circumstance, and death, from early incidents and associations, 
 which is, to the affections, what distance is to the body; nay, infinitely 
 more, for material space may be overcome, and corporeal disunion 
 have an end; but where is the Promethean fire to rekindle the loved and 
 lost of by-gone days? "Where, but in memories, such as these humble 
 stanzas may excite, to melancholy, but not unpleasing action, the com- 
 panions of our youth; — the events of a period, when to exist is to be 
 happy; and when life is presented to us in colors which, like those of 
 the dawn, are as evanescent as they are gorgeous? Where? In the 
 language of the Eastern Poet, well may echo, and experience answer, 
 Where? 
 
 With sincere regard, 
 
 Yours, 
 
 W. B. B. 
 
 Ellendalr, Va., August, 1852. 
 

a 
 
 ^d? 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 O R 
 
 Jang, Jong Ciic 3^0, 
 
 - * • — ■»- 
 
 "TEMPUS EDAX RERUM." 
 
 I've been to our old haunts, dear Ned, I've been to Bal- 
 timore; 
 
 But it is'nt just the same old place, it was in days of 
 yore; 
 
 Perhaps, because I'm changed myself, and could'nt play 
 the Beau; 
 
 As you and I once did, my boy, a long, long time ago. 
 
 We've trod thro' thorny paths, Ned, we've culled but 
 
 straggling flowers, 
 Since we quitted, for the wide, wide world, that early 
 
 home of ours; 
 Then wonder not, tho' smiles be rife, that tears will 
 
 sometimes flow, 
 As I lift the curtain of the Past, of long, long time ago. 
 
 It does'nt suit my rhyme, dear Ned, to give the years 
 
 exact, 
 But thirty-five to forty-five, come near enough to fact, — 
 So I'll take the range between the two, and circumstance 
 
 will show, 
 I'm telling of a by-gone age, of long, long time ago. 
 
8 BALTIMORE, Oil LONG, LONG TIME AGO. 
 
 1 stood by (hat old corner, Ned, where we've had lots of 
 
 fun ; 
 \\ hence "Docca Manna," cane in hand, would starl us 
 
 on the run ; 
 But Mammon has a temple there; the Doctor's head is 
 
 low, 
 And T did nt see a brick to tell of long, long time ago. 
 
 So, I crossed the street, to Bigger's, but there a fabric rose 
 Before me, which they say is kept for concerts, and for 
 
 show T s ; 
 While he at whose command old Time went either fast. 
 
 or slow, 
 Had fallen 'ncath his scythe himself, a long, long time 
 
 ago. 
 
 That scythe mows down both great and small, for Little 
 too, was gone. 
 
 Who, by some queer antithesis, held t'other corner- 
 stone; — 
 
 And tho' a train-band Colonel, he would manfully be- 
 stow 
 
 His mind to march of clock and watch, a long, long 
 time ago. 
 
 And Docca Manna's rival too. who made the square 
 
 complete — 
 Four corners formed by Calvert intersecting Market 
 
 •Street— 
 With dandified Apotheca, kept less for use than show, 
 Had vanished from this classic ground of long, long time 
 
 ago. 
 
BALTIMORE, OR LONG, LONG TIME AGO. 9 
 
 Such was, dear Ned, you know, the spot where boys 
 would congregate: 
 
 In after years, where Belles would pass, and Beaux 
 expectant wait; 
 
 Then marvel not its memories stirred my dormant feel- 
 ings so, 
 
 The Present often was forgot in long, long time ago. 
 
 Then I strolled along our Market Street, determined 
 
 there to trace . 
 Some ancient shop that bore its old familiar sign and face; 
 Lo! there but one, with rods and lines, arranged in 
 
 tempting show, 
 The same as taxed my boyish purse a long, long time ago. 
 
 Not oft on granite front appeared ; on lettered architrave, 
 A name of old, long years had spared, from ruin, or the 
 
 grave; 
 But humbly nigh, a vestige left, as tho' designed to show 
 The triumph of progressive art, o'er long, long time ago. 
 
 Memorials of the Past were gone, or left, the wreck to tell, 
 
 The Little Darky, with his own, had rung their funeral 
 knell, 
 
 And saddened o'er, with mournful quest, 'mid monu- 
 ments laid low, 
 
 I sought, where Nature once held sway, for long, long 
 time ago. 
 
 Bui all in vain. — Think not, dear Ned, proud oaks were 
 
 towering still, 
 To guide me, in my musing walk, to Belvidera hill; — 
 
 2 
 
 rm> 
 
10 BALTIMORE, OR LONG, LONG TIME AGO. 
 
 Alas! for Howard's sacred Park; for Dryads steeped in 
 
 woe, 
 Stone, brick, and mortar leave no trace of long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 Alas! for nutting boys, dear Ned, and sentimental girls; — 
 Above their wasted Tempe now, the smoke of chimneys 
 
 curls; 
 And sights and sounds of busy life, proclaim the overthrow 
 Of sylvan sports, of young romance; of long, long time 
 
 ago. 
 
 Or should we go where first we Hashed our maiden 
 
 swords abroad, 
 To Lindenberger's lot, you know, along the Pratt Street 
 
 road; 
 We'd have to drill on house-tops now, no room for us 
 
 below, 
 And not a haw- tree tells the pranks of long, long time ago. 
 
 I don't know where they find a place for our old troop's 
 
 parade, 
 For even through McHenry's fields are streets and alleys 
 
 laid; 
 And city cows; I can't conceive where they roam, to 
 
 and fro, 
 For buildings cover all their range of long, long time ago. 
 
 The Basin stops these at its brink, but they are working 
 
 round 
 To Whetstone Point, for grand reviews, so oft, of old, 
 
 renowned ; 
 
 w l 
 
BALTIMORE, OR LONG, LONG TIME AGO. 11 
 
 And Federal Hill, of doubtful fame, in our young days, 
 
 you know, 
 Is not the rowdy place it was, a long, long time ago. 
 
 I grew so tired of pavement, Ned, 1 thought it had no 
 
 end, 
 For now to turnpike gates, of old, the city airs extend; 
 And houses all are strung along, in one continuous row, 
 Where we drove out, to breathe more free, a long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 My strolls led not towards Potter's fields, or questions, 
 
 much about; 
 But there, my boy, the dead, no doubt, are well nigh 
 
 crowded out; 
 For the living walk the surface now, regardless that 
 
 below, 
 Is mouldering many a cherished form of long, long lime 
 
 ago. 
 
 They've a place, they call it Green Mount, for graves, 
 
 of modern years, 
 Where my eyes, all filled with wonder, could find no 
 
 room for tears; 
 Perhaps, because they traced no names, to make the 
 
 current flow, 
 As I read on moss-grown head-stones of long, long time 
 
 asro. 
 
 I've told about the Old Town Clock; have sung the 
 
 City Spring: 
 The Presbyterian Bell, and how I felt to hear its ring; 
 
 
12 BALTIMORE, OK LONG, LONG TIME AGO. 
 
 I thought of the old Court-house too, but this, dear Ned, 
 
 you know, 
 Was reckoned of the things that were a long, long time 
 
 ago. 
 
 I'd have to borrow ten more years, did I go back to this, 
 Its watch, bell, box, and pillory for such as did amiss; — 
 Besides, they'd make us out too old, if I should dare 
 
 to show 
 That our Olympiads dated thence, some fifty years ago. 
 
 But no, I cannot quit thee thus, thou venerated seat 
 
 Of justice, and of school-boy sports, where such loved 
 memories meet; 
 
 When " Court-house Boys," as well as men, their plead- 
 ing faces show, 
 
 And claim their birth-right in the past, in long, long 
 time ago. 
 
 The Court-house Boys! oh! were we once, so young 
 and light of heart, 
 
 As imps who, at that magic name, to life, and gladness 
 start ? 
 
 Had we e'er sunny locks, and eyes, and cheeks of health- 
 ful glow, 
 
 As grace those called forth images, of long, long lime ago? 
 
 Were we, dear Ned, of those who there, with plugging 
 
 top in hand, 
 Or bandy, ready for the match, in anxious circle stand!* 
 Or is it you and I, I see, on earth there, kneeling low, 
 To send the Marble to the ring of long, long time ago? 
 
 yw 
 
32% 
 
 BALTIMORE, OH LONG, LONG TTME AGO. 13 
 
 Or which of us is leading on, to that old Cobbler's stall, 
 Who sits, and dreams not, in his cell, with renovating 
 
 awl ; 
 Of our wild freak, to hurl him down, shop, goods, and 
 
 all, below 
 The neighboring steep, though now filled up, of long, 
 
 long time ago. 
 
 And see! the laughing school girls' eyes that shine through 
 yonder panes, 
 
 Alas! I dare not ask my heart if but one pair remains 
 
 Of all that watched us. at our pranks, and home con- 
 spired, you know, 
 
 With us, to tease their pedagogue, a long, long time ago. 
 
 That kind old man, who, from his grave, if he could 
 
 rise, and trace 
 What time, and change, and grief have wrought on 
 
 school-hood's shining face, 
 Would think, no doubt, we'd paid him off, and cleared 
 
 the score we owe 
 For many a trick we played him once, a long, long time 
 
 ago. 
 
 And he, stern Captain of the watch, whose name I've 
 
 quite forgot, 
 But I see him hobbling in that pace we called one and 
 
 a dot; 
 The greatest man alive, we thought, when he his might 
 
 would throw 
 To that high bell, and pull the rope, of long, long time 
 
 a°ro. 
 
U&&. . 
 
 _ . ~J 
 
 ^ 14 BALTIMORE, OR LONG, LONG TIME AGO. &\ 
 
 The curfew-bell to our young sports, that sent us all to bed, 
 For nine o'clock, you know, was our retiring hour, dear 
 
 Ned ; 
 And if a rowdy, after that, but dared his face to show, 
 The watch-house lodged him for the night, a long, long 
 
 tune ago. 
 
 Beneath (hat awful frowning arch, the whipping-post 
 
 behold, 
 For nine and thirty lashes, on the bare back, duly told; 
 Fine sport for us, but not for him, whose skin, at every 
 
 blow, 
 Gave token of the law's effect, a long, long time ago. 
 
 Hard by, there stood another arm of awful warning, near, 
 Though seldom culprit hazarded a sentence to severe; 
 But when there did, 'twas glorious fun, eggs not too 
 
 new, to throw 
 At him who dared transgress the rides of long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 But Ned, dear Ned, those days have passed, their relics 
 
 all are gone, 
 The Court is rased, from lofty spire, to firm foundation 
 
 stone, 
 And, on its site a column stands, to those who met the foe, 
 And nobly fought, and bled, and died for long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 They lie entombed, as valor should, in its maternal earth, 
 Their names aloft, recorded there; just tribute to their 
 worth ; 
 
 WK 
 
BALTIMORE, OR LONG, LONG TIME AGO. it 
 
 That boyhood's glance, and manhood's prayer, uplifted 
 
 from below, 
 May bless these martyrs to the homes of long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 Then I'd sit beside the window, in Barnum's grand hotel, 
 Swan's lot, what more need I, my boy, of its location tell? 
 And, looking on the passing forms that thronged the 
 
 street below, 
 Would, now and then, encounter one of long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 Ah! Ned, my friend, I did not dream I had so ancient 
 
 grown, 
 Till I read, on care-worn faces there, the wrinkles of 
 
 my own; 
 And ladies too, I sometimes met, divinities, you know, 
 But these had suffered mortal change since long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 But yet, my boy, in all these turns, tho' features had 
 
 grown old, 
 And heads were grey, and trembling hands stretched 
 
 out my own to hold; 
 I felt it there, all tingling still, the blood, in generous flow, 
 The welcome squeeze that told the pulse of long, long 
 
 time ago. 
 
 Yes, yes, the spirit still is there; tho' land-marks be 
 
 defaced, 
 And our old haunts, all dimly now, in modern changes 
 
 traced ; 
 
 ?W~ ^C 
 
16 BALTIMORE, OR LONG, LONG TIME AGO. 
 
 But all unchilled, all fervent yet, in hospitable glow, 
 Are kept alive tlie sacred fires of long, long time ago. 
 
 The sacred fires of heart, and hearth, oh! Ned, they 
 
 burn as bright 
 As ever, in the dear old town where first we saw the 
 
 light; 
 Then pledge nic in this toast, my boy, let hearts and 
 
 cups o'erflow, 
 To Baltimore as she is now, and was, long time ago. 
 
 
 W. B. B. 
 
 Ellendale, Va., August, 1852. 
 
#Ifo Cjntrxlj gell 
 
 "SQL" ILL A DI LOXTAXU." 
 
 I'd rather hear that dear old Bell, 
 
 In reckless discord, ring, 
 Than music's most harmonious swell, 
 
 Though Mam 'sell e Lind should sing. 
 
 There is a language in its sound — 
 
 A magic in its tone — 
 Calling bright images around — 
 
 Restoring pleasures gone. 
 
 It falls on my long exiled ear, 
 
 To make the dead alive, 
 Friends, kindred, early loves appear, 
 
 And early hopes revive. 
 
 Not Orpheus, he whose fabled lyre 
 Gave breath to stocks and stones ; 
 
 Could half such wondrous life inspire, 
 As that old Bell's loved tones. 
 
 A child, once more, in Sunday suit, 
 I press my mother's side, 
 
 Holding my boyish prattle mute 
 Lest God and she should chide. 
 
A youth, with glowing fancies fraught, 
 
 The long lost thoughts arise, 
 As when, in well known pews, I caught 
 
 Some fair first love's soft eyes. 
 
 A man, I look for aged worth; 
 
 The Fat Iters of the race; 
 Anil busy memory calls them forth 
 
 To take their honored place. 
 
 But Father, Mother, early love, 
 
 And early hopes are lied, 
 The friends, who now my heart-strings move, 
 
 Address me from the Dead. 
 
 And change lias come on me, on all; 
 
 The very house of prayer 
 lias nought but thy familiar call 
 
 To tell me it is there. 
 
 Ring out old Bell, — thy noisy chime 
 
 Is music to my heart; 
 Ring, ring, and drown the voice of Time, 
 
 Lest dreams, and all depart. 
 
Cjie Citg Spring. 
 
 And art thou flowing still, old fount, 
 
 As when thy stream of yore 
 To its old barrel's brim would mount, 
 
 And sparkling there, run o'er? 
 
 Not thence, in marble channel, led, 
 With art's cramped arch on high, 
 
 Its course was nature's gravelled bed, 
 Its roof the boundless sky. 
 
 "Us boys" \v T ere not forbid to rove, 
 
 Or do as we might please; 
 For thou had'st then, no stately grove, 
 
 No fence, no walks, no trees: 
 
 No keeper's frown, no placard's threat 
 Repressed our sports and glee; 
 
 Though often, when we went home wet, 
 We'd rue our pranks with thee. 
 
 I'd love, if thou could'st speak, to hear 
 The tales thy tongue might tell; 
 
 They'd come as grateful to my ear, 
 As notes from that " Old Bell." 
 
~-^ 
 
 THE CITY SPRING 
 
 A thousand scrapes, ten thousand joys, 
 
 Thy chronicles contain; — 
 The old town, and the new town boys 
 
 Would live and fight again. 
 
 And pretty girls would gather round. 
 Who oft have dealt the prize 
 
 Thai fists, as well as lance, have found — 
 The light from Beauty's eyes. 
 
 Not Froissart's tales of war and love 
 On which I am wont lo pore, 
 
 Could so my yearning fancies move, 
 As thy collected lore. 
 
 They've hid from us, thy place of birth, 
 And now, thro' mouths of br;is>. 
 
 Thy formal streamlets, issuing forth, 
 To marble basins pass. 
 
 A ponderous ladle's by thy side 
 
 For all who seek thy brink; 
 And well dressed folk descend with pride 
 
 Thy marble steps, to drink. 
 
 Not thus, when all thy gifts were free, 
 Steps, ladle, pride, unknown; — 
 
 The homage then, of bended knee, 
 Made 1 th\ cool flood our own. 
 
 
 Thou'rt changed old friend, and so am I, 
 Since first our course began ; 
 
THE CITY SPRIXO 
 
 Thou'rt now a thing of majesty: 
 And I an exiled man. 
 
 A temple rears o'er thee its crest, 
 With column, frieze and dome, 
 
 A cottage, in the far, far West, 
 Is now my humble home. 
 
 Well, be it so; I yet may fill 
 
 This iron cup of thine, 
 Nor^wish it Lethean; no, not 'till 
 
 Some sterner lot is mine. 
 
 No — not^while friends leave death's dull vale. 
 
 And smiling meet my call; 
 And living loves my presence hail 
 
 In home, in hearts, and hall. 
 
 
li 
 
 din <DIb Cahm-CIfftk. 
 
 Not silenced yet, ihou babbling knave, 
 
 Utit taking still, delight, 
 To sound t lie hours, when gay larks crave 
 
 Admittance home at night? 
 
 Rousing mammas from needful nap, 
 Papas from happy snore, 
 
 \s some sad truant's cautious rap 
 Tells of him at the door. 
 
 In vain the friendly night-lock there, 
 
 The gas-light, left to burn; 
 Some treacherous hinge, or creaking stair 
 
 Proclaims the late return. 
 
 E'en brides awake from slumbers fraught 
 \\ ith dreams, bright hope has cast; 
 
 Though long tried dowagers are taught 
 To sleep through all, at last. 
 
 I marvel thou 'it not voted down, 
 
 As all old things may be, 
 By thousands in this ancient, town, 
 
 Who've cursed thy toll of three. 
 
 

 THE OLD TOWN -CLOCK 
 
 That awful hour, when pleasure's ranks 
 
 Dismiss them for the night, 
 And, not less terrible, when banks 
 
 Close on some hard run wiffht. 
 
 Ah! thou could 'st tell another thing-, 
 Didst thou dare speak aloud. 
 
 Than old Church Bell, or City Spring, 
 Howe'er with speech endowed. 
 
 But thou had'st best, perhaps, be mute, 
 
 As what thou hast to tell, 
 Might now, not altogether suit 
 
 The living age so well. 
 
 At least, I trust that, all the fuss 
 
 May be when I'm away, 
 Should'st thou become but garrulous 
 
 Of either night, or day. 
 
 Well! well! old friend, for thou art such. 
 
 Albeit 1 rail at thee; 
 And in thy annals there is much 
 
 Of pleasant thought to me; — 
 
 Thou 'it but the monitor of Time, 
 And bound to sound the hours, 
 
 And if we're startled by their chime, 
 The fault's not thine, but ours. 
 
 But we may yet redeem past hours, 
 To wreathe with what are left, 
 
 * 
 
'-■ I T HE OLD TOWN-CLUCK. 
 
 And dress thy dial-plate with flowers 
 Whence all the thorns are reft: 
 
 That thus, when Life's last peal is rung-, 
 From thy once dreaded hell, 
 
 A voice, responsive (o thy tongue, 
 May whisper, all is well. 
 
 Wat 
 
 RD- 1* 
 
• '. .'• '■■ . ! g 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 TSbm, Mam Chin 
 
 W. B. B. 
 

v^ 
 
 
 
 dsfe 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
^<3 
 
 
 
 
 
 V 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■■ ' 
 
 V 
 
 4 •jSSfr' %> 
 
 
 
 4? *!/*- 
 
 s 
 
 DOBBS BROS. 
 
 LIBRARY BINDING 
 
 AUGUSTINE 
 d^r^k FLA 
 
 4».™ 
 
 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 'iT'l'LlT'ir,",! 
 
 015 973 250 2