Henry Watterson (About 1908) Henry Clay—Painted at Ashland by Dodge for The Hon. Andrew Ewing of Tennessee—The Original Hangs in Mr. Watterson’s Library at “Mansfield” W. P. Hardee, Lieutenant General C.S.A. John Bell of Tennessee—In 1860 Presidential Candidate “Union Party”—“Bell and Everett” Ticket Artemus Ward General Leonidas Polk—Lieutenant General C.S.A.—Killed in Georgia June 14, 1864—P.E. Bishop of Louisiana Mr. Watterson’s Editorial Staff in 1868 When the Three Daily Newspapers of Louisville Were United into the _Courier-Journal_. Mr. George D. Prentice and Mr. Watterson Are in the Center Abraham Lincoln in 1861. From a Photograph by M. B. Brady Mrs. Lincoln in 1861 Henry Watterson—Fifty Years Ago Henry Woodfire Grady—One of Mr. Watterson’s “Boys” Mr. Watterson’s Library at “Mansfield” A Corner of “Mansfield”—Home of Mr. Watterson Henry Watterson (Photograph Taken in Florida) Henry Watterson. From a painting by Louis Mark in the Manhattan Club, New York “MARSE HENRY” Chapter the First I Am Born and Begin to Take Notice—John Quincy Adams and Andrew Jackson—James K. Polk and Franklin Pierce—Jack Dade and “Beau Hickman”—Old Times in Washington I I am asked to jot down a few autobiographic odds and ends from such data of record and memory as I may retain. I have been something of a student of life; an observer of men and women and affairs; an appraiser of their character, their conduct, and, on occasion, of their motives. Thus, a kind of instinct, which bred a tendency and grew to a habit, has led me into many and diverse companies, the lowest not always the meanest. Circumstance has rather favored than hindered this bent. I was born in a party camp and grew to manhood on a political battlefield. I have lived through stirring times and in the thick of events. In a vein colloquial and reminiscential, not ambitious, let me recall some impressions which these have left upon the mind of one who long ago reached and turned the corner of the Scriptural limitation; who, approaching fourscore, does not yet feel painfully the frost of age beneath the ravage of time’s defacing waves. Assuredly they have not obliterated his sense either of vision or vista. Mindful of the adjuration of Burns, Keep something to yourself, Ye scarcely tell to ony, I shall yet hold little in reserve, having no state secrets or mysteries of the soul to reveal.