Thursday, April 26, 1900
McCLINTIC’S CAMP
The snow is about 15 inches deep here yet, and the ramps are green everywhere.
You can tell when you are going to meet a native of Webster by the smell of his breath as far as you can see him, and he has his little knapsack on his back to carry them in and a ramp hook in his hand.
J. A. McLaughlin ate a mess of ramps and said he was going to see his girl and has never returned.
Al Hill was the cook, but the hogs were getting poor, and they give him the G. B. and he went home. Harry Hummel has charge of the cook room.
Elihu Moore, of Huntersville, is the blacksmith.
Paris Hammond will move to H. Nathan’s place soon, where he expects to run a steam grist mill in the near future.
A LEAF ROM MY NOTEBOOK
I pick up my Notebook again to tell you more about my trip from Slaty Fork to Edray.
Here we are with what seems the garden spot of the Old Field Fork of Elk in full view. Just to the right of us on a little elevation is John B. Hannah’s residence. He is, in a large sense, alone in this world, as his faithful companion left him last summer and went on to Heaven before him. He, doubtless, is ready for an exchange of worlds whenever the message comes for him to go.
I suppose none will dispute it when I say that this is probably the best Christian in this section of the county. J. E. Hannah with his interesting little family lives with his father.
But yonder is George L. Hannah’s home. Though this man also has seen something of the troubles of life, yet he is contented and happy. He is opening up afresh a dry goods and grocery store. The prospect is fair for a good business here. Nearer the public road however would be better, if it could be made convenient. Mr. Hannah keeps the Yelk post office. The mail carrier from Marlinton to Mingo dinner here. Not long since, George’s parents “shuffled off this mortal coil” and left behind them good evidence, we are told, that they went to the Father’s house on high.
Their family is scattered some, like the most of families, especially those so advanced in life. We hope, however, when the general roll call takes place, they will answer all right and meet their parents in Heaven.
This family is scattered we say, and so it is, and yet we have already noted something of Andrew and Sheldon down this creek, and here lives William just above George, but a little to the right of him. We take in William’s situation and surroundings. We are pleased with the retired and quiet spot where William lives. The scenery here in summer is grand. Mr. H. has a nice family and a pleasant place to live. As time will not permit us to delay here, we will delay our talk till some more favorable time.
Here we go “winding up the hill,” where we see the first butterfly of the season “go glancing to and fro in the sunlight.” Gazing upon the fertile vale below but glancing occasionally at the rugged and abrupt front the edge of Gibson’s Knob presents to view to the left until we reach Uncle Billy and Aunt Polly Gibson’s very comfortable home. This aged couple is well known in this section of country and uncle and aunt to nearly everybody. They are very hospitable and kind and have many visitors. One daughter of theirs, Mrs. Varner, lives with them. Mr. and Mrs. Varner have some very interesting children, and especially interesting to this aged couple. It will be well if these grandparents are not children spoilers, as most grandparents are. These little folks, however, are a great comfort and pleasure to them. One of their sons, George, sleeps the sleep of death in Colonel Levi Gay’s graveyard…
DIED
Wm. A. Bussard, of Frost, died at the Pocahontas House in Marlinton last Monday night after a week’s sickness of brain fever. He had been operating a saw-mill near the town. When he got sick Uriah Bird had him removed to his hotel where he was nursed by his wife. He was unconscious a week before he died. He came to this county from Highland a few years ago and engaged in the mercantile business. He married Miss Susan Rider, of Frost, who, with three children, survives him.
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Harl Marvin Arbogast, an excellent young man, son of Mr. and Mrs. B. M. Arbogast, died at his home near Arbovale, aged 19 years, nine months and two days. His friends had great hopes of his recovery, until the day before his death. He remarked to his father, “I will not be with you long; the Lord is calling for me.”
All was done for him that skillful physicians and loving friends could do, and in the darkness of night came the messenger with this summons: “Well done, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!
