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ENQUIRER - SUN: COIDMBDS, GEORGIA, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1890.
HOME COMING.
Back after journeying leagues of guileful sea,
Back from long tarriance among climes remote.
I did not guess what heats of amity
Lay hidden among the hearts of these my friends.
Absence has clothed me with a purple state,
Crowned me and sceptered me a transient king
With those I love and those 1 had dreamed till now
Not half so rich in love’s warm royalties;
While clear through every greeting, equable
As breezes through a grove of sister trees.
One bland familiar human Impulse floats!
Different, indeed, the welcome had I fared
Back from that vaporous voyage we all must make
Sooner or later to the unknowable!
How then the faces leaned toward mine would
flash
With query, amazement, awe! How faith would
clutch
My band victoriously: How science, then.
Eager for larger lore, would clasp my knees!
And, ah, how chili negation’s eyes of ice
Would blaze upon me their supreme surprise!
- Edgar Fawcett in Touch’s Companion.
AKENTUCKY “WARNING ”
Late cne afternoon in September I
reached the cabin of John Htmgerford,
in a cove of the Kentucky mountains.
The family consisted of father, mother
and three small children, and there were
many comforts about the place. Hun-
gerford was an industrious, hard work
ing man, and one of unusual intelligence
for a mountaineer, and the wife and
children were far above the average.
They extended a right royal welcome,
and we had been visiting away for two
hours when a woman rode np on a mule.
The beast was badly blown and wet with
perspiration, and the woman must have
come with important news. Now was
developed a trait peculiar to all the
southern mountaineers. They are game
to a man—and woman. They are- the
coolest people in the face of danger one
ever saw.
“Howdy, John?” queried the woman
as she drew rein at the door, and as Mrs.
Hungerford appeared she added, “And
howdy, Mary?”
Both answered that they were well,
and John inquired:
“How are all you'uns, Sarah?”
“All able to dig, thankee, John.”
“Com an’ taters turnin’ out well?”
“Reckon they be, what little we’ve
got, but barks and roots pays better.
Chilling any this fall, Man-?”
“Not a hit, Sarah.”
“Haven’t heard from them’nns, 1
reckon?” queried Hungerford after a
long pause, during which the woman
tried to size me np.
“Mebbe. Who may he’un be?”
“Stranger from the no’th.”
“Sartin?”
“I’m shore."
“Will he back with ye—stand to your
back in case of trouble?”
“Haven't mentioned, but I reckon.”
“Well, then, they’uns is coming up to
night to put on the hickory.”
“Hu! Who said it?”
“Heard it at the comers. It’s shore.
Bassett is gwine to lead ’em. Are ye pre
pared, Jim?”
“Reckon.”
“And Mary?”
“She’un is prepared.”
“Well, then, that’s all I’ve got to say.
Hope you’ll hurt they’uns till they’ll be
have themselves. Good-by, John—good-
by, Mary.”
She was off with that. I had a dim
suspicion of what was meant, but the
coolness of the trio puzzled me. When
she was out of sight I asked:
“Is it trouble?”
“Stranger,” replied Hungerford, as he
pulled a twig off a bush and bit at it,
“I’ve been warned away!”
“How—why?”
“Took sides with the Oldhams against
the Bassetts, and the Bassetts have
warned me to leave.”
“And as you have refused to go they
are coming to take you out and switch
yon?”
“Exactly—if they kin!”
“And are they coming to-night?”
“I reckon."
“And you?”
“16hel be ready.”
We sat in silence for a moment. 1
looked up at Mrs. Hungerford, but she
was sewing away and trotting her foot
as placidly as if danger was at the other
end of the world. The children soon
began a game of tag, and the husband
softly whistled as he switched the twig
over the ground.
“Great heavens! but you take it cool
ly,” I exclaimed as I noted everything.
“Stranger,” answered Hungerford as
he turned to me, “I need somebody to
back with me to-night. This ain’t your
fuss. You don’t know the Oldhams
from the Bassetts. ’Deed you may have
stayed with an Oldham last night. You
don’t want to mix in, and yet”
“I don’t want to kill or be killed, but
can’t I help you some other way?”
“You kin. He'nn is all right. Mary,
I knew he’un was.”
“Glad on’t," she briefly replied, not
even looking up from her knitting.
Hungerford took the whole matter as
coolly as if it was an ordinary business
transaction. There was only one way
by which his cabin could be approached.
It was arranged that I should secrete
myself in the cowshed on the one hand,
and his wife in the smoke house on the
other, and at the proper moment this
flank fire would have its effect.
Hungerford was to hold the house, and
he was the only one who was to shoot to
kill. As he said it wasn’t my fuss, but
it wasn’t human nature to leave him to
fight a mob alone. When all had been
arranged we went into supper, and after
the meal a double barreled shotgun was
got down and loaded for the wife. The
husband had his army musket, which he
loaded with buckshot, and 1 had my re
volver as a weapon. As we finished oar
preparations and sat down on the door
step the wife carelessly inquired of her
husband:
“Gwine to shoot to kill, John?”
“Reckon I orter,” he replied.
“And me?”
“That’s according. Mebbe you’ll have
to.”
“And the stranger?”
“Oh, he’ll fire high.”
“Pap, can’t I shoot?” asked the eldest,
a girl of 10.
“Shet, Tilly!”
The children went off into a comet
and rejoiced that there was going to be
“a font,” but by and by grew sleepy
and went off to bed. Up to 10 o’^ock
we talked of everything but the coming
event. At that hour Hungerford said:
“Reckon it’s time. They’ll be here
by 11.”
The wife tied a shawl over her head,
picked np and examined the gun and
walked off to her station with never a
word. I went over to the shed, took the
place picked out for me and five minutes
later all was darkness and silence. It
was just about 11 that 1 heard the low
hum of voices and the footfalls of men,
and ten minutes later four or five of the
gang of twenty came directly up to the
shed and leaned against-it as they in
spected the house.
“All sound asleep,” whispered one.
“We are dead shore of him,” added a
second.
“There’s to be no let up, boys!” cau
tioned a third.
“We must switch him till he gives in.
We’ve had enough fooling.”
•‘What of the wife?” whispered the
first.
“Blast her! She’s as bad as he is!
Let’s give her a taste of the gad, too!”
“Agreed!”
One of them went away to call up the
crowd, and in a few minutes all were
assembled. Then I gleaned.from their
whispers that John Hungerford was to
be whipped to death, and that his wife
was to receive less merciful treatment.
They even planned to fire the house, and
wipe out the whole family root and
branch. At a signal all advanced, and
five or six men jumped against the door.
It was barred. Then a voice called:
“Open, John Hungerford! We’ve
come for ye, and we are bound to
have ye!”
The words were answered by a shot
from the house, and then the shotgun
roared from the smoke house. 1 ele
vated the muzzle of my revolver and
fired six shots over the confused and flying
crowd, and next moment all who could
get away were gone. Hungerford came
out with a lantern, and by its light we
saw two dead men and three wounded.
The wife had also shot to kill. One of
the wounded was past speaking. The
other two, who were strangers to the
family and belonged in a distant village,
begged for mercy and promised all sorts
of reformation in the future.
In the morning, as I was ready to go
on, there were three dead outside the
door and the two wounded were groan
ing with pain. The nearest doctor was
five miles away, and I was to stop and
leave word for him. As I left the house
Mrs. Hungerford said:
“Thankee, stranger, and we won’t for-
git it.”
And the husband said:
"It wasn’t your fuss, of course, but
what a shame to have wasted all them
bullets!
“Good-by, and God bless ye!”—M.
Quad in Detroit Free Press.
Accommodating.
Visiting southerners—at least those
from Texas—are not at all pleased with
the rush of northern railroads, if we may
believe Maj. Martin, of that state. They
are used to a very different sort of do
ings. By way of illustration the major
tells this story:
I remember that a woman one evening
asked the conductor of a train in my
stat9 to stay at a certain place all night.
She wanted to spend the night with
some friends, she said, and if he didn’t
oblige her she should have to wait twen
ty-four hours for a train.
The conductor said he hated to be dis
obliging to a lady, but he didn’t like to
delay the other passengers. Finally he
agreed to talk it over with them, and
we decided that if her friends would
give us lodging and breakfast we
wouldn’t mind an extra day spent on
the way.
The train waited half an hour while
she got off and consulted with her
friends, and just as we were about to
leave the place she came and told us
that they had agreed to the terms. The
fires in the engine were banked, and the
train left on the track. Next mom ; ng.
after a comfortable night spent in the
farm house, we left the place twelve
hours late. Talk about accommodating
railroads!—New York Tribune.
Room for Suspicion.
The Rev. Sampson Doolittle lives in
the suburbs. The other evening he met
Brother Reachup in a back street, stroll
ing carelessly along with an empty bag
on his shoulder.
“Hi, Brer Reachup,” said the Rev. Mr.
Doqlittle, “wha’ yo’ gwan so sly wid dat
bag dis houh in de eberain'?”
“I hopes yo’ don’ spec’ I’se after chick
ens, Brer Doolittle!” exclaimed Brother
Reachup indignantly.
“Sho!” replied the Rev. Doolittle.
“Did 1 say’s I spec’s yo’ ob dat? But 1
got jes’ hyuh to say, Brer Reachup, an’
dat is, ef I draps into yo’ house t’mah' to
dinnah an’ axes yo' fo’ a wing an' a
piece ob de bress'an’de piece dat goes
ober de fence las’, wid plenty ob gravy,
an’ yo’ says yo’ hain’t got no chicken. I’ll
spec’ yo’ ob p'varicatin’, Brer Reachup,
dat’s w’at 1 will.”—Chicago Special
Press Bureau.
What a Dollar Will Do.
Four gentlemen sit down to dine in a
hotel. They sit for some time, yet none
of the waiters pays any attention to their
wants. They are hungry. After a mo
ment’s consultation each of the famished
guests lays a dollar beside his plate.
There is a marked change in the be
havior of the waiters. The four gentle
men eat a hearty meal. The waiters
become interested. The four leisurely
pick their teeth and calmly put their
dollars back into their pockets. They
even smile. The waiters don’t.—Jury.
Antiquity of Wearing Mourning.
The custom of wearing mourning for
deceased relatives and friends is of ex-,
tremely ancient origin, dating back to a
remote period of history. Even semi-
barbarous nations observe this time hon
ored fashion, although, as a rule, they
do not mourn in dismal black as doe3
the enlightened-Christian.—Jenness-Mil-
ler Magazine.
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Rev. R. Htber Newton.
Prof. Jos. Rodes Buchanan.
Henry George.
Hon. W. C. P. Breckinridge, M. C.
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Prof. Bretano, of Academy of Paris.
Joaquin Miller.