contemplate the joys and happiness held in reservation for those who serve God upon earth, when they have ceased to labor and to suffer in this vale of sorrow, grief and tears, and are transplanted to that heavenly Eden where the redeemed of the Lord shall sing anthems of praises to that God who has redeemed us from the thralldom of sin, and washed us white in his own precious blood.

I hope the reader will not charge me with incredulity, when I affirm a faith in the recognition of friends in the spirit land, that have long been lost to our embrace in this sin-smitten world of ours. For the faith within me, I offer the consoling language of the Apostle, "We shall see as we are seen; and know, also, as we are known." I cultivate the consoling impression, that if in this mortal life we possess the faculty of knowing each other, we will know also in the life which is to come, where our minds will be more vivid, and more capable of comprehension. I was more forcibly impressed with this subject on being thrown among some of my long absent friends, some of whom I had not seen for forty years. O, what sensations of exquisite pleasure and joy pervaded my being upon that occasion. Surely it was akin to heaven.

One of the number that formed that happy group was the veritable Col. Paul Anderson, the once wee little babe I loved so fondly, to whom I have above alluded. I need not tell the reader I gazed upon him with that scrutiny that gave satisfaction to my mind, and filled me with unutterable joy and gratitude. To know that God, who had preserved me through all the trying vicissitudes of my life, permitted me to look once again upon the form of him who had been the idol of my childish heart in the days when I knew no sin, was to me a pleasure indeed. He, however, knew me not, having left his neighborhood ere he was old enough to retain lasting impressions of any one.

Eight summers passed, and my fond and indulgent

mother was claimed by the King of Terrors as his lawful prey, leaving me a crippled orphan at the age when I most stood in need of a mother's counsel and affection. How sadly I felt my bereavement. Yet too young to fully realize the loss of an only parent, I felt, for a time, as though I could not live without my mother. There was no one to fill her place in my lonely heart, or in the family circle. The vacant chair could not be filled. The void thus created in my heart could not be reoccupied.

It was several years after my mother's death before I met with any one who could come near filling her place. My brothers all were very kind to me, and seemed to

idolize me, but my oldest brother seemed to manifest spe

cial care and affection for me; in fact, he became to me as my all in all. I almost adored him.

My sister, though young, acted nobly, was kind, and loved always to make us comfortable and happy; and through her industry and maternal care my brother was enabled to keep us together. A short time before my mother's death, my brother purchased a home, which was then known as the Bethel place-named after Bethlehem church, near by. At that place mother spent the last two years of her widowed life, breathing her last on the 25th of September, 1826.

Mournfully, her six orphan and beloved children, with a large concourse of friends, followed her to her last resting place. With hearts filled with unutterable grief we saw our last earthly parent and dearest friend consigned to the cold and silent grave by the side of our father, who had slept there for eight years.

The mournful and saddening scene of that day left a lasting and touching impression upon my young and tender heart; but time, with its sad realities, admonished us that we were alone, and that it behooved us to do the best we could for ourselves. At the close of the second summer of

our orphanage, we were found making preparations to leave our dear old home, with all the fond ties that clustered around that lovely spot.

My brother having purchased a home in Brownsville, West Tennessee, which was at that time a new part of the State, land being cheap, with other great inducements, we moved to that part of the country. Several of our neighbors had already located there, and many followed soon. after-among whom were Peter Rogers, William Moore, William Harding and Esquire Purtle, all of Wilson county.

Soon after our mother's death, my second and third brothers left home in order to learn a trade, preferring it to farming. Again the family circle must be broken, perhaps never to be again united. How sad was that separation ! Young as I was, it was almost insufferable to see my two brothers leave the once parental fireside to battle with the cold and indifferent world, and seek a home among strangers. They had been my playmates; and as comforters in part, since my mother's death, deeply I deplored their departure, and that parting has never been erased from my memory. But such is life. The swift wings of time hurry us on from event to event, and from scene to scene, and when we arrive at mature age, we can look back upon the past with wonder and surprise at the many trying and heart rending scenes we have passed through, and yet we live; but God in his infinite wisdom and mercy "tempers. the wind to the shorn lamb," and suffers us not to be tempted and tried beyond that which we are able to bear—giving unmistakable evidence that as our days may demand, His strength will ever be.

In February, 1828, my oldest and yougest brothers, with my sister and myself, bade farewell to loved neighbors and home; my native land, the home of my childhood; the graves of my beloved parents and a beloved brother, together with many much esteemed associates and neigh

bors. We embarked in a flatboat, which my brother had fitted out for the occasion, it being the usual mode of emigrating on water in those early days. We quietly glided down the proud old Cumberland into the Ohio, from thence into the father of waters, the Mississippi, to the mouth of the Hatchie; up its narrow crooked channel we continued our navigation, by means of hooks and poles-rather an odd way of travelling, when contrasted with the magnificent steamers in use at the present time. But the flat and keel boats of those days were made comfortable; in them, families could be pleasantly quartered. A slow way of travelling, it is true, yet the beautiful scenery that everywhere met the eye along the banks of those rivers, at that time, served, in a great degree, to dispel the monotony of slow travelling.

I being young, and naturally fond of the beauties of nature, enjoyed the perilous trip with pleasure, not being aware of the many dangers that hourly surrounded us. I usually took my knitting and repaired to the deck of the boat, where my youngest brother was acting as pilot and steersman. There I would sit for hours knitting and singing, while my eyes would feast upon the beautiful scenery that was constantly presented to the view.

Not unfrequently would landscapes remind us of the dear old spot we had so recently left and we did not forget our brother, whom we so sadly left behind in the city, or village of Nashville. We would often count the years that would elapse before his apprenticeship would expire, and he be free again, and come to our embrace. Four years seemed to us a long time. Oft our hearts would become impatient in contemplating the "tardy movings of the wheels of time." But, every bitter has its sweet, as Esop has said in one of his fables, which has often cheered my drooping spirits. When sad at the recollection of the absent brother left behind, my heart

would become elated in the anticipation of again meeting another fond brother, who had preceded us one year to our new home, anxiously awaiting our arrival.

Hatchie river, at that time, was scarcely navigable even by the boats that then plyed that stream. A steamer had never been known to venture up its narrow confines until February, 1828. On a beautiful day of that month, while efforts were being made to extricate our little craft, which was fast upon a log, and which seemed almost impossible to move, to our great joy and surprise a beautiful little steamer bearing the apellation of Rover, came puffing and darting around a bend of the river. We all were delighted in seeing it, and were proud to know we had the pleasure of seeing the first steamboat that ever plowed the waters of Hatchie river.

Great was the sensation manifested by the inhabitants of Brownsville and vicinity, on its landing. A banquet was prepared in honor of the captain and the ladies that were aboard; a grand reception was also given them by the citizens of Brownsville, which was then but a little village, but now is quite a city. No doubt some of the old inhabitants are yet living, who remember the foregoing incidents. We were four weeks making our way up the narrow stream, and, notwithstanding our pleasure while on the voyage, I was glad when we reached the place of our destination, and was no less delighted at the prospect of living in town, altogether a new feature in my life.

The associations I formed, in the short space of time I lived there, were very pleasant and lasting in memory.

Brownsville at that time afforded a very good school, two hotels, three dry good stores, one tailor shop, three doctors, one blacksmith shop and one grocery, I believe. Major Hiram Bradford and brother kept what was called the Western Hotel and a dry good store, Steel and Patton a dry good store, and Esquire Bray a hotel. Drs. Johnson, Barber and Bruce were our practicing physicians.