THERE were many Northern people at the hotel, and among them we formed pleasant friendships and acquaintances, and visited around from room to room. Those whom I most distinctly remember were Dr. De Forest, wife, and little daughter, of Troy, Ohio; Mr. James Leighton and wife, of Vermont; Captain Ford and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Munn, Mrs. Captain Birch, Mrs. Webb, and “Camp” Dick Robinson, of Kentucky. There were a number of cotton speculators here. Several Jews by the name of Levi from Cincinnati, a Mr. Coan and a Mr. Cohn, from Columbus, Ohio, and Colonels, Majors, Captains and Lieutenants galore. We also met a Dr. Mitchell and wife, of Illinois, who boarded at the City Hotel. Much of the time I was the only child about, and was petted and spoiled to my heart’s content. The water supply at Jackson was very scant, and there was not enough for domestic purposes at the hotel. There was a well in the yard, but its supply was soon exhausted. The negroes would haul it in barrels from the Forked Deer river, and many times I have watched them loading up the empty barrels, and then unloading them full of water upon their return. By a strange coincidence my mother was now within a few miles of her father’s unknown and unmarked grave, he having died and been buried on the banks of the Forked Deer many years before, when she was a child too small to remember him. A sad rendering of the words, “So near and yet so far.” Many incidents occurred at the hotel, amusing and otherwise. A little newsboy called Johnny was a frequent visitor, and a great favorite with the ladies. I saw him one afternoon select several one dollar bills from a handful of paper money. These he folded very carefully and then drew his knife blade right through the center. Several of the ladies remonstrated with him, but he only laughed, saying each piece was worth fifty cents. “Camp” Dick Robinson, so called from the Union soldiers having camped on his land in Kentucky, was an eccentric character. He occupied room No. 23, and seemed to think the world in general and the hotel in particular were made for his especial accommodation. One day, having written a letter and lacking an envelope, he came out into the hall in a towering rage, shouting at the top of his voice: “I want an envelope. Can’t I have an envelope? Why can’t I have an envelope?” Several doors were opened, heads thrust out, and the much needed envelope supplied. Later on No. 23 was used as a prison. A female spy was arrested and confined in this room a week or more. Her meals were carried to her and a guard stood at the door, musket in hand, night and day. One Saturday night a lady arrived, and the next morning took her sewing and descended to the parlor, where she occupied herself with her work until some one reminded her that it was Sunday.