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The Use and Need of the Life of Carry A. Nation by Carry A. Nation

THE USE AND NEED OF THE LIFE OF CARRY A. NATION

WRITTEN BY HERSELF

REVISED EDITION
1905

ENCOURAGEMENT FOR CHRISTIAN WORKERS.

"My word shall not return unto me void."--Isa. iv., II.

"When saddened by the little fruit thy labors seem to yield,
And when no springing blade appears in all thy barren field;
When those whom thou dost seek to win, seem hard, and cold, and dead--
Then, weary worker, stay thine heart on what the Lord hath said;
And let it give new life to hopes which seem well-nigh destroyed--
This promise, that His word, shall not return unto Him void.
For, if, indeed it be His truth, thy feeble lips proclaim,
Then, He is pledged to shadow forth, the glory of His name.
True this at present may be veiled; still trustingly abide,
And "cast thy bread," with growing faith, upon life's rolling tide.
It shall, it will, it must be found, this precious living seed,
Though thou may'st grieve that thoughtless hearts take no apparent heed.
'Tis thine to sow with earnest prayer, in faith and patient love,
And thou shalt reap the tear-sown seed, in glorious sheaves above,
Then with what joy ecstatic, thou wilt stand before His throne,
And praise the Lord who used thee thus to gather in His own!
Adoring love will fill thine heart, and swell thy grateful lays,
That thou, hast brought some souls to Christ, to His eternal praise,
That thou hast helped to deck His brow, with blood-bought jewels bright;
Trophies of His wondrous love, and His all-saving might.
Oh, the grandest privilege to be thus used, to bring them in!
Oh, grandest joy to see them safe beyond the reach of sin!
Then mourn not, worker; though thy work shall cause thee many a tear,
The glorious aim thou hast in view, thy saddened heart will cheer,
Remember, it is all for Him, who loveth thee so well;
And let not downcast weary thoughts, one moment in thee dwell,
It is for Him! this is enough to cheer thee all the way;
Until thou hearest the glad "Well done", and night is turned to day."
--Author Unknown

A MOTHER'S CRY,

Yes I represent the mothers. "Rachel wept for her children and
would not be comforted because they were not." So I am crying for
help, asking men to vote for what their forefathers fought for--their
firesides. Republican and Democratic votes mean saloons. There is not
one effort in these parties to do ought but perpetuate this treason. Yes,
it is treason, to make laws to prohibit crime and then license saloons,
that prohibit laws from prohibiting crime. There is not a lawful or
legalized saloon. Any thing wrong can not be legally right. "Law commands
that which is right and prohibits that which is wrong." Saloons
command that which is wrong and prohibit that which is right. This
is anarchy. There is another grievous wrong. The loving moral influence
of mothers must be put in the ballot box. Free men must be the
sons of free women. To elevate men you must first elevate women.
A nation can not rise higher than the mothers. Liberty is the largest
privilege to do that which is right, and the smallest to do that which is
wrong. Vote for a principle which will make it a crime to manufacture,
barter, sell or give away that which makes three-fourths of all the
crime and murders thousands every year, and the suffering of the women
and children that can not be told. Vote for our prohibition president
and God will bless you. Pray for me that I may finish my course with
joy, the ministry which I have received of the Lord Jesus.
CARRY A. NATION,
Your Loving Home Defender.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME AND WHAT I REMEMBER OF MY LIFE UP TO THE
TENTH YEAR.

CHAPTER II.
MY EXPERIENCE WITH THE NEGROES AS SLAVES.--THEIR SUPERSTITIONS.--A
BEAUTIFUL FAIRY TALE.

CHAPTER III.
MOVED TO WOODFORD COUNTY, KENTUCKY.--ALSO MOVED TO MISSOURI.--SAVED
FROM BEING A THIEF.--MY CONVERSION--GOING SOUTH AT OPENING OF
THE CIVIL WAR.----AN INCIDENT OF MY GIRLHOOD SCHOOL DAYS.--WHY I
HAD TO BELIEVE IN REVELATION.--SPIRITUALISM OR WITCHCRAFT.

CHAPTER IV.
MY FIRST MARRIAGE.--A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.--MOTHER GLOYD.--MY
DRUGGED AND WHISKEY MURDERED HUSBAND.--LOSING MY POSITION AS
TEACHER.--SECOND MARRIAGE.--LOSS OF PROPERTY.--KEEPING HOTEL.--
STRUGGLES FOR DAILY FOOD.--THE AFFLICTIONS OF MY CHILD.--ANSWER
TO PRAYER.

CHAPTER V.
THE BAPTISM OF THE HOLY GHOST.--REJECTED AS A BIBLE TEACHER IN
METHODIST AND EPISCOPALIAN CHURCHES.--TAUGHT IN HOTEL DINING-ROOM.--
VISION, WARNING AND BLESSING.--ENTERTAINING ANGELS.--THE JEWS.--
PRAYER FOR RAIN AND ANSWER--GOD'S JUDGEMENT ON THE WICKED.--
MOVED TO KANSAS.--DEATH OF MOTHER GLOYD.--SERMON OF A CATHOLIC
PRIEST.

CHAPTER VI.
WHY MY NAME IS NOT ON A CHURCH BOOK.--CLOSING THE DIVES OF MEDICINE
LODGE.--CORA BENNETT, AND WHY SHE KILLED BILLY MORRIS IN A DIVE
IN KIOWA.--HER RESURRECTION.--RAIDING A JOINT DRUGSTORE.

CHAPTER VII.
SPIRITUAL LEADINGS.--JESUS A CONSCIOUS PRESENCE THREE DAYS.--LOSS OF
LIBERTY BY COMPROMISING.--THE PRICE PAID TO BE REIN STATED.--
DISGRACE TO IRE A MILLIONAIRE.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE DIVINE CALL.--THE JOINT DRUGGIST OF MEDICINE LODGE.--BEER A POISON.--
DOCTORS MAKE DRUNKARDS.--SMASHING AT KIOWA.--ATTITUDE OF SOME
W. C. T. U.'S OF KANSAS.--SUIT FOR SLANDER.--SMASHING AT WICHITA.--
CONSPIRACY OF THE REPUBLICANS TO PUT ME IN THE INSANE ASYLUM.--
SUFFERINGS IN JAIL AT WICHITA.--SLANDERS FROM THE RUM-SOAKED
PAPERS OF KANSAS.

CHAPTER IX.
OUT OF JAIL.--EGGS AND STONE.--SMASHING STILLING'S JOINT AT
ENTERPRISE.--WHIPPED BY HIRED PROSTITUTES.-PLOT AT HOLT BY HOTEL KEEPER
AND JOINTIST TO POISON AND SLUG ME.--AT CONEY ISLAND.-HAND
BROKEN AND HANDCUFFS.

CHAPTER X.
LEGAL STATUS OF PROHIBITION AND JOINT SMASHING.

CHAPTER XI.
MY TRIAL FOR DIVORCE.--THE LICENSED RUM TRAFFIC THE CAUSE OF SO MANY
DIVORCES.-DIFFERENT TIMES AND PLACES I HAVE BEEN IN JAIL.--AT THE
CAPITOL OF CALIFORNIA.--WIDE OPEN TREASON.--AT THE UNIVERSITY OF
TEXAS.--WOOLLEY CLUB AT ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN.--CATHOLIC PRIEST
AND CIGARETTES.

CHAPTER XII.
WOMAN'S SUFFRAGE.

CHAPTER XIII.
ECHOES OF THE HATCHET.

CHAPTER XIV.
CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE.

CHAPTER XV.
SPIRITUAL AUTHORITY FOR MY CHRISTIAN WORK.

CHAPTER XVI.
IN NEBRASKA.--WHAT I DID WITH THE FIRST MONEY I GAVE TO THE LORD
AT CONEY ISLAND.--WHAT I SAID OF MR. MCKINLEY.--IN CALIFORNIA.
"CRIBS" AT LOS ANGELES.--ARREST IN SAN FRANCISCO--CONDEMNED BY
SOME MINISTERS.--WHISKEY AND TOBACCO ADVERTISEMENTS.

CHAPTER XVII.
MY VISIT TO WASHINGTON, D. D.--ARRESTED IN THE SENATE CHAMBER.--
TAKEN OUT BY OFFICERS.--THE VICES OF COLLEGES, ESPECIALLY YALE~
ROOSEVELT A DIVE-KEEPER.

CHAPTER XVIII.
PROHIBITION OR ABOLITION.--WHAT IT MEANS.--THE FREE METHODISTS AND
OTHER MINISTERS ENDORSE THE WORK.--A CATHOLIC PRIEST'S ENDORSEMENT.--
MODERN DEBORAH.--JOHN P. ST. JOHN.

CHAPTER XIX.
DR. MCFARLAND'S PROTEST.--KICKED AND KNOCKED DOWN BY CHAPMAN OF
BANGOR HOUSE.--MEDDLING WITH THE DEVIL.--TIMELY WARNING TO OUR
BOYS AND GIRLS.--BRUBAKER OF PEORIA.--WITCHCRAFT.--LAST TIME IN
JAIL.

CHAPTER XX.
WHY I WENT ON THE STAGE.--THE VICE OF TOBACCO.

CHAPTER XXI.
TRIP ON FALL RIVER STEAMBOAT, FROM BOSTON TO NEW YORK--OFFICERS TRIED
TO LOCK ME IN MY STATE ROOM.--SEQUEL SATISFACTORY, MADE PLEASANT
TRIP AND MANY FRIENDS.

CHAPTER XXII.
TRIP TO CANADA, CORDIAL RECEPTION.--RETURN TO CHICAGO TO FILL ENGAGEMENT.--
SECOND VISIT TO CANADA.--TRIP TO MARITIME PROVINCES.--VISIT
CLUB IN CHARLOTTE TOWN.--PREJUDICE AGAINST ME OWING TO MALICIOUS
REPORTS.--SPEAK IN PARLIAMENT IN FREDERICTON.--VISIT TO SIDNEY.--
SCOTT ACT.--MY ARREST AND RELEASE.--EPISODE IN JAIL.

CHAPTER XXIII.
COWARDLY ASSAULT BY SALOON KEEPER, G. R. NEIGHBORS OF ELIZABETHTOWN,
KY.--APATHY OF OFFICERS, BUT PEOPLE MUCH MOVED BY OUTRAGE,
LECTURED AFTERWARDS, THO' VERY FAINT AND WEAK FROM LOSS OF BLOOD.--
CIGARETTE SMOKING IN HIGH PLACES DISCUSSED WITH MISS GASTON,
PRESIDENT NATIONAL ANTI-CIGARETTE LEAGUE.

CHAPTER XXIV.
SISTER LUCY WILHOITE'S VISION.--WRITES TO ME FOR CO-OPERATION IN MAKING
RAID ON MAHAN'S WHOLESALE LIQUOR HOUSE.--HESITATE ON ACCOUNT
PRESSING ENGAGEMENTS AHEAD.--ANSWER THE CALL.--RAID SET
FOR 29TH.--W. C. T. U, CONVENTION IN SESSION.--FOUR SISTERS AND
MYSELF START FROM M. E. CHURCH.--A CALL FOR THE POLICE BEFORE WE
COULD EFFECT AN ENTRANCE.--TAKEN TO JAIL IN HOODLUM WAGON.--
UNHEALTHY CONDITION OF CELL IN JAIL FROM FRIDAY TO MONDAY.--
GOOD OLD PENTECOSTAL TIME ON SUNDAY.--COUNTY JAIL MONDAY.--TRIAL
WEDNESDAY.--JAIL SENTENCE AND FINES.--APPEAL TO DISTRICT COURT.

CHAPTER XXV.
CLOSING REMARKS WITH PLANS FOR THE FUTURE.--PROHIBITION CLEARLY
DEFINED.

CHAPTER XXVI.
CARRY NATION CLOSES CRUSADE IN DAYTON, OHIO.--HOLDS THREE LARGELY
ATTENDED MEETINGS. --SPEAKS TO LARGE AUDIENCE IN ARMORY.--HAD
ENGAGED NATIONAL THEATRE, BUT INSPECTION OF AUDITORIUM INTERFERED.--
REVIEW WEEK'S WORK.

CHAPTER XXVII.
SKETCH BY WILL CARLETON, IN HIS MAGAZINE "EVERYWHERE."

CHAPTER XXVIII.
LIQUOR DRINKING IN HEALTH AND DISEASE.

POETRY.

{illust. caption = This is what's the matter with Kans. This is a reproduction
of an oil painting I had made and put on my building in Topeka. The oil being
poured on the wounded heart a prohibition ballot.}

The Use and Need of the Life of Carry A. Nation.

CHAPTER I.

MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME AND WHAT I REMEMBER OF MY LIFE UP TO THE
TENTH YEAR.

I was born in Garrard County, Kentucky. My father's farm was
on Dick's River, where the cliffs rose to hundreds of feet, with great
ledges of rocks, where under which I used to sit. There were many large
rocks scattered around, some as much as fifteen feet across, with holes
that held water, where my father salted his stock, and I, a little toddler,
used to follow him. On the side of the house next to the cliffs was
what we called the "Long House," where the negro women would spin
and weave. There were wheels, little and big, and a loom or two, and
swifts and reels, and winders, and everything for making linen for the
summer, and woolen cloth for the winter, both linsey and jeans.
The flax was raised on the place, and so were the sheep. When a child
5 years old, I used to bother the other spinners. I was so anxious to
learn to spin. My father had a small wheel made for me by a wright in
the neighborhood. I was very jealous of my wheel, and would spin on it
for hours. The colored women were always indulgent to me, and made
the proper sized rolls, so I could spin them. I would double the yarn, and
then twist it, and knit it into suspenders, which was a great source of
pride to my father, who would display my work to visitors on every occasion.

The dwelling house had ten rooms, all on the ground floor, except
one. I have heard my father say that it was a hewed-log house,
weather-boarded and plastered as I remember it. The room that possessed
the most attraction for me was the parlor, because I was very
seldom allowed to go in it. I remember the large gold-leaf paper on the
walls, its bright brass dogirons, as tall as myself, and the furniture of red
plush, some of which is in a good state of preservation, and the property
of my half-brother, Tom Moore, who lives on "Camp Dick Robinson"
in Garrard County, this Dick Robinson was a cousin of my father's.
There were two sets of negro cabins; one in which Betsey and Henry
lived, who were man and wife, Betsey being the nurse of all the children.
Then there was aunt Mary and her large family, aunt Judy and her family
and aunt Eliza and her's. There was a water mill behind and almost
a quarter of a mile from the house, where the corn was ground, and
near that was the overseer's house.

Standing on the front porch, we looked through a row of althea
bushes, white and purple, and there were on each side cedar trees that
were quite large in my day. There was an old-fashioned stile, instead of
a gate, and a long avenue, as wide as Kansas Avenue, in Topeka, with
forest trees on either side, that led down to the big road, across which
uncle Isaac Dunn lived, who was a widower with two children, Dave
and Sallie, and I remember that Sallie had all kinds of dolls; it was a
great delight of mine to play with these.

To the left of our house was the garden. I have read of the old-
fashioned garden; the gardens written about and the gardens sung about,
but I have never seen a garden that could surpass the garden of my old
home. Just inside the pickets were bunches of bear grass. Then, there
was the purple flag, that bordered the walks; the thyme, coriander,
calamus and sweet Mary; the jasmine climbing over the picket
fence; the syringa and bridal wreath; roses black, red, yellow and pink;
and many other kinds of roses and shrubs. There, too, were strawberries,
raspberries, gooseberries and currants; damson and greengages, and apricots,
that grew on vines. I could take some time in describing this beautiful
spot.

At the side of the garden was the family burying ground, where the
gravestones were laid flat on masonry, bringing them about three feet
from the ground. These stones were large, flat slabs of marble, and I
used to climb up on top and sit or lie down, and trace the letters or figures
with my fingers. I visited this graveyard in 1903. The eight graves
were there in a good state of preservation, with not a slab broken,
although my grandfather was buried there, ninety years ago. My father
had a stone wall built around these graves for protection, when he left
Kentucky. I am glad that family graveyards have given place to public
cemeteries, for this place has changed hands many times and this graveyard
is not pleasant for the strangers who live there. We who are
interested in these sacred mounds, feel like we intrude, to have the homes
of our dead with strangers.

{illust. caption =
MY OLD HOME WHERE I WAS BORN IN GARRARD COUNTY, KENTUCKY.
THE OLD GRAVE YARD NEAR BY, AND MY GRANDFATHER's GRAVE.}

The memories of this Kentucky home date from the time I was
three years old. This seems remarkable, but my mother said this
incident occurred when I was three years old, and I remember it distinctly.
I was standing in the back yard, near the porch. Mr. Brown,
the overseer, was in the door of my half-brother Richard's room,
with my brother's gun in his hands. At the end of the porch was a
small room, called the "saddle room." A pane of glass was out of the
window and a hen flew out, cackling. Aunt Judy, the colored woman,
went in to get the egg, and walked in front of Mr. Brown, who raised
the gun and said: "Judy, I am going to shoot you," not thinking the
gun was loaded. It went off, and aunt Judy fell. Mr. Brown began to
wring his hands and cry in great agony. I screamed and kept running
around a small tree near by. This was Sunday morning. Runners were sent for
the doctor, and for my parents, who were at church.
Aunt Judy got well, but had one eye out; we could always feel the shot
in her forehead. She was one of the best servants, and a dear good
friend to me. She used to bring two of her children and come up to my
room on Sundays and sit with me, saying, she did not want to be in the
cabin when "strange niggers were there." This misfortune had disfigured
her face and she always avoided meeting people. I can see her
now, with one child at the breast, and another at her knee, with her
hand on its head, feeling for "buggars." I was very much attached to
this woman and wanted to take care of her in her old age. I went to
Southern Texas to get her in 1873. I found some of her children in
Sherman, Texas, but aunt Judy had been dead six months. She always
said she wanted to live with me.

My mother always left her small children in the care of the servants.
I was quite a little girl before I was allowed to eat at "white
folk's table." Once my mother had been away several days and came
home bringing a lot of company with her. I ran out when I saw the
carriages driving up, and cried: "Oh, ma, I am so glad to see you.
I don't mind sleeping with aunt Eliza, but I do hate to sleep with uncle
Josh," think I was quite dirty, and some of the colored servants snatched
me out of sight. Aunt Eliza was aunt Judy's half-sister, her father
was a white man. She was given to my father by my grandmother,
was very bright and handsome, and the mother of seventeen children.
My grandmother remembered aunt Eliza in her will, giving her some
linen sheets, furniture, and other things.

One of aunt Eliza's sons was named Newton. My father had a mill
and store up in Lincoln County, near Hustonville. Newton used to do
the hauling for my father with a large wagon and six-mule team. He
would often do the buying for the store and take measurements of
grain, and my father trusted him implicitly. Once a friend of my father
said to him, as Newton was passing along the street with his team:
"George, I'll give you seventeen hundred dollars for that negro." My
father said: "If you would fill that wagon-bed full of gold, you could
not get him." A few weeks after that Newton died. I remember seeing
my father in the room weeping, and remember the chorus of the song
the negroes sang on that occasion: "Let us sit down and chat with the
angels."

The husband of aunt Eliza was "uncle Josh," a small Guinea negro, as
black as coal and very peculiar. I always stood in awe of him, as all
the children did. I remember one expression of his was: "Get out of
the way, or I'll knock you into a cocked hat." The reason I had to
sleep with aunt Eliza, Betsy, my nurse, was only ten years older than
I was. Betsy was a girl given by my grandfather Campbell to my
mother when my father and mother were married. My mother was
a widow when she married my father. She had married Will Caldwell,
a son of Capt. Caldwell, who died in Sangamon County, Ill.,
he had freed his negroes and moved there from Kentucky. Will Caldwell
died after three years, leaving my mother with two children. Both of
them died at my grandfather Campbell's in Mercer county, Kentucky, before
she married my father.

I was about four years old when my grandmother Moore died. She
lived on a farm in Garrard County, about two miles from my father. She
used to ride a mare called "Kit." Whenever we would see grandma
coming up the avenue, the whole lot of children, white and black, ran
to meet her. She always carried on the horn of her saddle a handbag,
then called a "reticule," and in that she always brought us some
little treat, most generally a cut off of a loaf of sugar, that used to be
sold in the shape of a long loaf of bread. We would follow her down
to the stile, where she would get off, and delight us all by taking something
good to eat out of the "reticule." We would tie old Kit, and then
take our turn in petting the colt. The first grief I remember to have
had was when I heard of the death of my grandmother. I wanted to
see her so badly and go to the funeral, and for weeks I would go off
by myself and cry about her death. I used to love to lie and sit on
her grave at the back of the garden. Older people often forget the
sorrows of childhood, but I felt keenly the injustice of not being allowed
to see her dead face and do to this day.

We left that home, when I was about five years old, for a place
about two miles from Danville, Kentucky. The house had a flat roof, the
first one built in that county; it had an observatory on top. Our nearest
neighbors were Mr. Banford's family, Mr. Caldwell, and Mr. Spears.
Dr. Jackson and Dr. Smith were both our physicians, and my father
used to hire his physicians by the year. Dr. Jackson was a bachelor
and said he was going to wait for me, and I believed him. I remember
visiting Dr. Smith in Danville and seeing a human skeleton for
the first time. I also saw leeches he used in bleeding. I remember when
one of my little brothers was born, they told me Dr. Smith found him in
a hollow stump. After that I spent hours out in the woods looking
in hollow stumps for babies.

My mother's father was James Campbell, born in King and Queens
County, Virginia. His parents were from Scotland. He was married
twice. By his first wife he had two sons, William and Whitaker. William
married and died young, and I heard, left one child, a daughter.
Uncle "Whitt" lived to be an old man. The second time my grandfather
married a Miss Bradshaw. He had four sons and six daughters. I
used to stay at grandma's with my aunt Sue. When my mother would
take long trips or visits, she would send the younger children, with my
nurse Betsy, over there to stay until she returned. The only thing I
construe into a cross word, that my grandfather ever spoke to me, was
when I was running upstairs and stumbled and he said: "Jump up, and
try it again, my daughter." I was so humiliated by the rebuke that I
hid from him for several days. He was a Baptist deacon for years.
When gentlemen called on my aunts, lie would go in the parlor at 10
o'clock in the evening and wind the big clock. He would then ask the
young men if he should have their horses put up. This was the signal
to either retire or leave. He never went to bed until everyone else had
retired. My grandfather lived in Mercer County, not far from Harrodsburg.
My grandmother was an invalid for years, and kept her room.
My aunt Sue was housekeeper. In the dining room was a large fireplace.
The teakettle was brought in at breakfast, water was boiled by
being set on a "trivet," over some coals of fire.

Every morning my grandfather would put in a glass some sugar,
butter and brandy, then pour hot water over it, and, while the family
were sitting around the room, waiting for breakfast, he would go to
each, and give to those who wished, a spoonful of this toddy, saying:
"Will you have a taste, my daughter, or my son?" He never gave but
one spoonful, and then he drank what was left himself. This custom
was never omitted. I remember the closet where the barrel of spirits
was kept. He used to give it out to the colored people in a pint cup
on Saturdays. Persons have often said to me: "Our grandfathers used
it, and they did not get drunk." Truly, we are reaping what they have
strewn. They sowed to the wind and we are reaping the whirlwind.

After breakfast, the colored man, Patrick, who waited on my
grandfather, would bring out a horse and grandfather would ride around
the place. He was very fond of hunting, and always kept hounds. My
father would tell this joke on him. When "Daddy" Rice was baptising
him in Dick's River grandpa said: "Hold on, Father Rice, I hear Sounder
barking on the cliffs." Sounder was his favorite hound. There was a
Mr. Britt who was a great fox hunter, who lived near my grandfather,
and whose wife was opposed to his hunting. One morning my grandfather
went by Mr. Britt's house winding his hunter's horn. Mr. Britt
jumped for his trousers and so did Mrs. Britt, who got them first and
threw them into the fire. Another time, quite a party of ladies and
gentlemen had gathered at my grandfather's place, to go on a fox hunt.
Grandfather went upstairs hurriedly to put on his buckskin suit. He
jumped across the banisters to facilitate matters, lost his balance and
tumbled down into the hall, where the company was waiting. He did not
get hurt, it was a great joke on him. When he was a young man
he learned carpentering in company with Buckner Miller, who was of
the same trade. These two young men came to Kentucky from Virginia,
on horseback, seeking their fortunes. They had many experiences,
always endeavoring to stop at houses for the night where there
were young ladies. One house where there were quite a number of
girls, Buckner Miller played off this joke on my grandfather. The
girls occupied the room below where the men were sleeping. The men
heard a commotion in the girls' room. My grandfather tipped softly,
down and Buckner after him, to find out what was going on. They
opened the door sufficiently to see the girls in their gowns, circling
around the candle, playing "poison." Mr. Miller, to pay my grandfather
for some pranks he had played off on him, gave him a push, and grandfather
rushed into the middle of the room in his night clothes. The
girls flew under the beds and the men ran upstairs and climbed out at
the window.

{illust. caption = MY FATHER, GEORGE MOORE.}

My father's name was George Moore, and his father's name was
Martin Moore. He was of Irish descent. He had two brothers who
died when the cholera raged in Kentucky, about 1842. One of them,
William Moore, married a Miss Blackburn of Versailles, Ky. He had
several sisters, some of them died young.

Mark Antony, in his memorial address over the body of Caesar, said
that Brutus was Caesar's angel. If I ever had an angel on earth, it was my
father. I have met many men who had lovable characters, but none
equaled him in my estimation. He was not a saint, but a man--one of
the noblest works of God. He was impetuous, quick, impatient, but never
nervous, could collect himself in a moment and was always master of
the situation. I have seen him in many trying places but never remember
to have seen him in a condition of being afraid. When he lived
in Cass County, Mo., during the war, we saw Quantrell's men coming
up to the house. These men were dressed in slouch hats, gray suits,
and had their guns and haversacks roped to their saddles. My father
was a union man, but a southern sympathizer. He cried like a child
when he heard the south had seceded and taken another flag. He did
not know to what extent he was disliked by this gang of bushwhackers,
and we were very much alarmed; fully expected some harm was meant.
Men on both sides were frequently taken out and shot down. When
the Bushwhackers would kill a union man then the Jayhawkers would
kill "a secesh."

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