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Having eaten I then began to inquire about Mr. Broadhead, for I did not know a soul in the placenot even Mr. Broadhead -as my arrangement to enter his office had been made by letter. I was then told that he was out of town and would not return for a week. I located his office and went to it, finding in charge there a young lawyer by the name of Campbell-now the Honorable Robert A. Campbell. He seemed to know of my coming and it was not long before I was comfortably seated in what appeared a very large room. This office was on the second floor of a two-story brick building and was reached by an outside stairway. There was a small room in the rear of the office that afterwards became my bedroom. The lower floor was occupied by Doctors Bolton and Reynolds as a drug store and here they had their office also. They were co-partners both in the drug business and as practicing physicians.

In the way above described, I was inducted into the quaint old town of Bowling Green. It was indeed a curious old place. The court-house and jail stood in a public square, and a store, livery stable, blacksmith shop, hotel, and saloon faced the square. Residences were scattered here and there without much seeming attempt to place them in order upon the streets. The population, black and white, did not exceed three hundred souls all told.

The most prominent families were those of Mr. Broadhead, Judge Hunt, Dr. Reynolds, Dr. Bolton, Judge Murray, William Blain, Elcazar Black, Wesley Hendrick, and James M. Martin. In the country, not far away, lived William G. Hawkins, Johnson Hendrick, William K. Biggs, William A. Harris,

Simeon P. Robinson, Edward Dorsey and others, all prominent and thrifty farmers.

Those living in the town of Bowling Green made a happy and congenial family. They were cultured people and kept well informed as to happenings in the world, and their homes were open to all the good men and women of the town and surrounding country. They were quick to extend courtesies to strangers, and through these kindnesses I soon became acquainted with every man, woman, and child in the place. It was but a few days after my arrival that I met and became acquainted with Miss Lizzie Chambers Hunt, daughter of Judge Ezra Hunt, who three years later became my wife.

The young men and women of the town and neighborhood made a most charming society. I recall with much pleasure the names of many of them— Sallie Block, Lizzie Hunt, Nancy and Martha Hawkins, Maggie Blain, Virginia Martin, America Wise, Victoria South, Mary Hendrick, of the young women; and Robert A., Henry C. and James Campbell, William McCormick, James N. Black, George Winn, John W. and Peter Martin, John Edwards, and John W. Hendrick, of the young men.

At the time I entered Colonel Broadhead's office, I was about as poorly prepared as a young fellow could well be, to undertake so important a work as the study of law. My education was only such as I had been able to obtain from country schools and one year at college at St. Charles, together with what I had picked up while teaching the "young idea how to shoot." From the farm in Lincoln County I received enough money to pay my board, which was

three dollars per week, and now and then a suit of clothes of an inexpensive character. However, notwithstanding the limited accomplishments I had the courage to begin, and with that as principal asset the battle started.

The Bar of the county was a strong one. Cases of great importance were tried, and ably tried of course. I had the opportunity of attending sessions of the court which in a measure served as a lecture room for me. There were two terms each year and each term lasted for two or three weeks. When the courts, Circuit, Probate, and County were not in session, the little town was quiet indeed. Now and then I would appear before a Justice of the Peace and try a case, receiving a fee of not exceeding five dollars.

Cow.

The first that I tried was at New Harmony, about ten miles from Bowling Green. The style of the case was Tabitha Ray against Hezekiah Laird, alias "Old Greasy." The suit was to recover possession of a The cow had strayed away from its owner, Miss Ray, and had been taken up, posted, and sold by Laird to pay the costs and expenses of posting. At the sale Laird became the purchaser. Miss Ray engaged me to bring a suit in replevin to recover possession. I hired a horse for fifty cents from Billy Blain and rode out to a school-house at New Harmony, where Justice Goodman was holding court. I went in with more assurance than knowledge, and won the case. The cow was turned over to Tabitha and she handed me over the princely sum of five dollars in gold. After paying twenty-five cents for my dinner at the hotel and fifty cents for the hire of the horse, I had netted $4.25. Such fees were scarce,

but now and then I would pick up a dollar by preparing a settlement of some administrator or curator in the Probate Court. In this way I got along fairly well.

In September, 1858, I was made Ring Marshal at a county fair. I wore a long red, white, and blue sash that reached from my shoulders to my heels and marched around the "ring" with great pomp, calling out at the top of my voice, "Bring on your four-yearold bulls, your four-year-old trotting stallions, etc.!" I was vain enough to think that I was admired by all the girls who sat in groups in the amphitheatre. Whether I was admired or not by them, they certainly made a beautiful picture as they sat in their bright gingham dresses and snow-white sunbonnets.

Bowling Green was a delightful place to live in, and the young people enjoyed themselves as much as any might elsewhere. Dancing parties were held in the dining room of Blain's Hotel and on the first floor of the court-house. These parties were attended not only by the young men and women of Bowling Green, but by many from the city of Louisiana and elsewhere. Two fiddles or more, technically and artistically speaking, two violins, made the music. They were played by negro men-"Old Major," a free negro, and Levi Bryson, who belonged to I. N. Bryson of Louisiana. The dancing generally continued from dusk until dawn, and frequently during the night the old song sung in accompaniment to the fiddles was, "We will dance all night till broad daylight, and go home with the girls in the morning!"

While the young people were prompt in their

attendance at these parties, they were equally prompt at church on Sunday.

I had never attended a service conducted by an Episcopal clergyman and was totally ignorant of the prayer-book of that church. Such services were rare in Bowling Green, for there was no place to hold them except through the courtesy of the Presbyterians in the church building owned by them. On one occasion during the fall of 1858, the Rev. Dr. Worthington, rector of an Episcopal church at Louisiana, came to Bowling Green to hold services. My sweetheart, who afterwards became my wife, was a communicant in the Episcopal Church and so when the time came I accompanied her to the service. Her father, Judge Hunt, was not a member of any church but was a "dyed-in-the-wool" Benton Democrat. He disliked Buchanan, then President of the United States, with an uncompromising hatred. When we returned from the service I was accosted by the Judge, who asked me if I had heard anything new at the church. I answered "Yes," and proceeded to say how perfectly appropriate the prayers seemed to be, especially the "prayer for the President of the United States." This seemed to stir up his hatred of Buchanan and he promptly said, "I think so too, for the d-d old scoundrel needs prayers as much as any one could!" I was a little shocked at this because I had been taught to believe that Mr. Buchanan was a very good man. I was wise enough under all of the surrounding circumstances, not to antagonize the Judge.

There was at the time in the office of Judge Hunt,

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