Budd. Just when the sun was slitting
the east with a long streak of fire, the
Hon. Samuel was, with the jocund day,
standing tiptoe in his stirrups on the misty
mountain top and peering into the ravine
down which we had slid the night before,
and he grumbled no little when he saw
that he, too, must get off his horse and
slide down. The Hon. Samuel was ambitious,
Southern, and a lawyer. Without
saying, it goes that he was also a
politician. He was not a native of the
mountains, but he had cast his fortunes in the
highlands, and he was taking the first step
that he hoped would, before many years,
land him in the National Capitol. He
really knew little about the mountaineers,
even now, and he had never been among
his constituents on Devil's Fork, where he
was bound now. The campaign had so far
been full of humor and full of trials--not
the least of which sprang from the fact
that it was sorghum time. Everybody
through the mountains was making sorghum,
and every mountain child was eating molasses.

Now, as the world knows, the straightest
way to the heart of the honest voter is
through the women of the land, and the
straightest way to the heart of the women