The city became excited—­a public meeting was called, strong indignation resolutions were passed, and highly approbatory ones of the course and conduct of the intrepid senator, pledging him countenance and support.  A subscription was taken up, and a splendid silver tea-set was presented him, and in this blaze of excitement the bill became a law—­and the city one extended gambling-shop.  The silver set was publicly exhibited, with the name of the senator engraved upon it, and the cause for presenting it, and by whom presented.

Moore was contemplating this beautiful gift with a group of friends:  among them were the three individuals who had been the authors of all this mischief, when one of them asked Moore, “Where will you put this rich gift?  It will show badly in your pine-pole cabin.”

“I intend having the cabin, every log of it, painted red as lightning,” said Moore.  “The silver shan’t be disgraced.”

Originally it had been intended by those getting up the joke, when it had sufficiently frightened Moore, to laugh at him; but it took too serious a turn, and Moore died a hero, not knowing that every letter was written by the same hand, and that the whole matter was a practical joke.  All, save only one, who participated in it, are in the grave, and only a few remain who will remember it.

Larry Moore was a Kentuckian by birth, and had many Kentucky characteristics.  He was boisterous but kind-hearted, boastful and good at a fist-fight, decently honest in most matters, but would cheat in a horse-trade.  Early education is sometimes greatly at fault in its inculcations, and this was, in Moore’s case, peculiarly so.  Had he not been born in Kentucky, these jockey tricks perhaps would not have been a part of his accomplishments.  For there, it is said, no boy is permitted to leave home on a horse enterprise until he has cheated his father in a horse-trade.  Moore left the State so young that it was by some doubted whether this trait was innate or acquired; but it always distinguished him, as a Kentuckian by birth at least.

He was remarkable for the tenacity of his friendships.  He would not desert any one.  It was immaterial what was the character of the man, if he served Moore, Moore was his friend, and he would cling quite as close to one in the penitentiary as in the halls of Congress.  It made no difference whether he wore cloth or cottonade, lived in a palace or pine-pole cabin, whether honest or a thief, the touchstone to his heart was, “He is my friend, and I am at his service.”  Not only in this, but in everything else, he strove to imitate his great friend and prototype, General Jackson.  He lived to be an old man, and among his constituents he was great, and made his mark in his day in the State.  There was some fun in Larry, but he was the cause of much more in others.  Larry, rest in peace, and light be the sand that lies on your coffin!

CHAPTER XXVIII.