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I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay,

No bones to be “laid on the shelf;"
And soon I intend you may “go to play,”

While I manage the world myself.
But harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of


curb and rein;
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands

As the tempest scorns a chain.


MECKLENBURGH. CHARLOTTE is in Mecklenburgh county; and the name of Mecklenburgh has acquired a fame as extensive as this great country.

We do not mean, of course, to distinguish some counties in preference to others; and when we have mentioned the names of any, it was to define our position as we travelled, or to locate some celebrated incident.

Mecklenburgh is associated with illustrious deeds, and the glory of these deeds is the common property of all North-Carolina.

On the 20th of May, 1775, in Charlotte, the people of this county solemnly declared their independence of the British government; and this, you will observe, was more than a year before that national declaration of which all Americans are so proud.

The manifesto was joyfully hailed by the freemen of the surrounding country, and it was undoubtedly the first paper of the kind published on the American continent.

Its authors and friends were true to its principles, and, throughout the eventful war of the Revolution, manifested the same spirit with which they began the drama. They were tried in a fiery ordeal, and were indeed in a very exposed position.

The generals and soldiers of England paid them several visits; and such was the reception given to these invaders, that Mecklenburgh received from them the appellation of “Hornets' Nest.” These hornets did wonderfully annoy the British lion, and they deserve in history an honourable distinction.

Look back once more on the Central Railroad. At one end it branches into two trunks, resting on the waters of the east at New-Berne and Wilmington, the early seats of power in North.


Carolina, and the centres of wealth and fashion, in former times, of British America; and converging afterwards, the main stem passes through the city of Raleigh, a city named after the greatest Englishman of his day, and the first who planted a colony on American soil.

Thence it runs in view of the field of ALAMANCE, a spot that will for ever be dear to every freeman's heart, for here was shed the first blood for liberty; and a little farther on is the battlefield of Guilford. The spires of the peaceful town of Salem, with its many associations pleasant and tender, are nearly in view; the ancient and historical city of Salisbury is passed; and, finally, it terminates at MECKLENBURGH, the scene of the first declaration of independence on the Western continent.

Thus this enterprise passes through a region rich in historic interest, and the names along its borders are names that will always shine like stars in the dusky firmament of the past.


LINES, By Mrs. W. J. CLARKE, of North-Carolina. All hail to thee, thou good old State, the noblest of the band Who raised the flag of liberty in this our native land ! All hail to thee! thy worthy sons were first to spurn the yoke; The tyrant's fetters from their hands at Mecklenburgh they broke. No coward foresight they possess'd, on peril's brink to pause, Nor waited for a sister State to lead in freedom's cause. “ Our lives, our fortunes,” was the cry; our honours and our

all, We lay upon our country's shrine, in answer to her call.From every heart there rose a shout, “No longer will we lie Submissive at the tyrant's feet: we'll conquer or we'll die; For freedom and our liberties we'll brave proud England's host!” King's Mount and Guilford prove it was no braggart's idle boast. There England found a worthy foe her far-famed steel had met; Firm as the rock our fathers stood and cross'd the bayonet ;* Lock'd in the fierce embrace of steel they bravely met their death, Each bore bis foeman to the ground, then yielded up his breath. Ye sons of Carolina, I bid you, in her name, Devote

your time and talents to retrieve her tarnish'd fame.

* The battle of Guilford was one of the few where bayonets were crossed.

Ye are scatter'd through the Union, and, by your sterling worth,
Are enriching every State save that which gave you birth.
Whatever your condition, wherever you are found,
In the ranks of the mechanic, or as tillers of the ground,
Among the learn'd professions, in the legislative hall,
As sailors or as soldiers, ye excel in each and all.
For steady perseverance, for honesty and truth,
The sons of Carolina are famous from their youth.
Then why desert those mountains where first your ardent soul,
Flash'd forth the fire of genius unfetter'd by control ?
Why leave her peaceful bosom, her rich and fertile soil,
To seek an El Dorado, for gold to dig and toil ?
Ah! deep beneath her surface she hideth many an ore,
Rich gold as pure as Ophir or California's shore.
I tell you ye are wanting in the noble pride of State,

you would not thus desert her and leave her desolate.
Ye youth of Carolina, I call upon you now
To add one single jewel to the crown upon her brow.
.You are entering, from her college, the battle-fields of life,
And her fostering care has arm’d you right nobly for the strife;
Walk onward, then, to glory; seek literary fame,
And with the pen of history write Carolina's name.


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THE CATAWBA RIVER. THERE are still two cismontane rivers, or rivers on this, the eastern side of the mountains, which we have not yet reached. These are the Catawba and Broad Rivers.

The last has three prongs or branches in North-Carolina ; and these, called First, Second, and Third Broad River, drain a picturesque, rich, and desirable country, immediately east of the Blue Ridge on the South-Carolina line, near which they come together, forming the Broad River of the latter State.


The Catawba runs between the Yadkin and the Broad, and nearly parallel with them, and, like them, takes its rise in the mountains of North-Carolina, and goes into South-Carolina. Its head-waters come from a land of beauty and plenty; and the main channel washes one of the finest regions of the globe.

The name is derived from a tribe of Indians who inhabited the upland districts of the State; and it falls smoothly and sonorously on the ear, the very sound seeming strangely blended with rague fancies and memories of a sweet and tender character.

When first approach its banks, we are pleased with the sound of its rushing waters; and as we ascend the blue hills along its borders, we imagine ourselves already in the mountains.

We pass through scenes that look like the dim recollections of happy dreams; and we are sometimes unable to realize that we are actually among the terrestrial haunts of men.

This is the country of the fairies; and here they have their shady dells and their mock-mountains, and their green valleys, thrown into ten thousand shapes of beauty.

But higher up are the Titan hills; and when we get among them, we will find the difference between the abodes of the giants and their elfin neighbours.

The Catawba gives name to the best native grape now grown on the American soil; and it waters a country universally rich and universally beautiful.

The productions are various, valuable, and very abundant; and the population, which is becoming very dense, contains, in the highest degree, all those elements attributed to the people inhabiting the middle districts of the State. It is a vigorous, progressive, and moral race, and it is pleasant to behold a picture of humanity so generally robust and happy.

The water power on this river is immense, and of incalculable value, and gold, iron and marble abound along its borders; and hence we may look forward to the day when factories of various kinds, rich farms, innumerable herds, orchards, meadows, forges of iron, mines of gold, and quarries of marble will reward the industry and enterprise of a numerous, refined, and healthy population.



Down in a fair, romantic vale,
Where willows weep and to the gale

Their sigbing branches fling,
A peerless flower unfolds its leaves,
When eve her mystic mantle weaves,

And twilight waves its wing.
And long, bright, sunny years have flown
O’er its sweet head, and each one strown

On its pure leaves fresh bloom; And many a soft and balmy breeze From off Catawba's flowery leas

Has breath'd on it perfume. And never, since that golden morn When earliest flowers of time were born

'Neath Eden's cloudless sky, Has evening shed its weeping dew, Or stars look'd from their homes of blue,

On one with it could vie.
For that sweet flower, the silvery wave

beneath the Indian's grave,
And echoes still his song
As it sweeps onward to the sea,
Pours strains of plaintive melody

Its winding shores along.
To it was at its natal hour,
By her who reigns in Flora's bower

Immortal beauty given;
And when, from off its native shore,
It greets the evening star no more,
Where Eden's sunny waters pour,

'Twill fadeless bloom in heaven.

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