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