admiration of all. The writer of this, though in middle life, never tires looking at a fine steamer or train of cars. This was so of Elsie, who frequently went to the plantation landing, carrying Octavia with her.

At this time a magnificent side-wheel steamer had been built, and was advertised to leave Mobile at a certain time, and would pass the landing on Colonel R.'s farm at noon.

About six months previous to this a prominent lady living in Mobile had had her three-year-old daughter, named Octavia, stolen from her. Strenuous efforts were made to find her, large rewards being offered for her return, but in vain! This lady had a brother, a captain in the Southern army, who had been on duty at Mobile. He assisted his sister in her efforts to find her child, to whom he had become much attached. This captain and his company were transferred to another part of the Confederacy, and took passage on this boat, he telling his almost crazed sister that he would keep a sharp lookout for her child.

The boat arrived at the landing at the appointed time, and stayed there some time to put off a lot of freight. Among the spectators on the bank were Octavia and her mother. This army captain saw Octavia and thought he saw a resemblance to his sister's lost child. He told some of his company to accompany him ashore, and as soon as he was in speaking distance he was sure he had found the lost child, and running to the child took her in his arms, exclaiming, "My Octavia, my long-lost child," at the same time kissing and caressing her. Elsie, dumfounded with fear, began crying, and told the captain that the child's name was Octavia, but that she was its mother. The captain threatened to have her arrested by his soldiers if she didn't hush up. The captain of the boat saw and heard it all. Elsie by this time was yelling and screaming at the top of her voice, and was trying to take the child from the captain, who ordered his soldiers to take Elsie. By this time the captain of the boat had arrived at the scene, and suggested to the army captain that it was possible for him to be mistaken, and that this child may be his sister's child's double. He told Elsie to send for her witnesses, which she did, and soon had a dozen negroes of the place who positively identified the child as being Elsie's. Among the witnesses was Aunt Lucy, who was Elsie's nurse at the birth of the child in the captain's arms, who had been struggling to get out. This was positive proof, and the captain gave her back, saying this was a clear case of mistaken identity, and as he was honestly mistaken he would make the amende honorable.

Aunt Lucy said: "Dunno what gwine cum of dat chile; she been drowned twice, an' kilt wunst wid de soljer's gun, an' now dis Mister Cap'n tink she his sister loss chile. Sho', 'fore Gawd, dis nigger dunno what gwine cum to dat chile. Elsie better take her hoam an' keep her dar." Elsie gathered the child in her arms, crying and shouting for joy, at this narrow escape of again losing her child.

All of this was reported to Simon, who ordered his sister to stay at home and keep the child there with her. This was carried out to the letter, and deprived her of the pleasure of seeing Simon; but better that than run the risk of losing her child.

In the earlier days of Alabama the forests were full of game of all kinds, bears being plentiful at one time. They were very destructive to the farmers' calves, lambs and pigs, and, in a few instances, to children. A determined war had been made upon them and most of them had been destroyed, but, as we will see, there was at least one left, as one actually came out of the swamp to the Colonel's negro quarters, and attacked Elsie's child, and would have killed her but for her and the other children's screams, which attracted the dogs and some men near, the latter gathering clubs, axes or anything at hand, and with the dogs' help finally dispatched him, but not before he had killed one of the dogs. Bruin was probably no respecter of persons, and attempted to appropriate the prettiest child he could find. After this Aunt Lucy said: "My Gawd, what nex'? De 'Federate cap'n like got her, an' now a big ole b'ar. I 'spec he hongry, an' want white chile to smack he mouf on." Elsie was indeed grateful that her child had escaped this awful death. It was her daily prayer that no evil should befall her child. While the means of rescue had always heretofore been at hand, it might not be so in the future.

The war between the States dragged heavily on—at one time the Northern and at another the Southern armies were successful. Colonel R. languished in a Northern prison on Johnson's Island, while Simon did the same thing in a county prison in Alabama.

The Confederate States were strongly blockaded, so much so that there could be no egress nor ingress except by blockade runners, which was a dangerous piece of business. Consequently very few of the delicacies of life could be had in the Southern States. This blockade also kept out quinine, which is so necessary in the South. For the want of this Octavia came near dying from an attack of malarial fever. Her physician gave her up to die, telling the attendants there was no hope for her. She lay unconscious for days, and it seemed as if every breath would be her last. During this stage of her illness it was suggested that an all-night prayer-meeting be held in her behalf. Being a favorite, the negroes turned out en masse, Octavia's only attendants were her mother and Aunt Lucy.

They carried their devotions on all night, singing, moaning, groaning and praying, and were too much exhausted to do anything the next day. At one time during the night Aunt Lucy said to Elsie that the child was surely dead. But by close examination Elsie said she could detect a weak, thready pulse at the wrist, and slight movement of the chest, and said that "while there is life there is hope." Still she was cold half way up her extremities, and the two were kept busy making hot applications. She lay in this condition two days after the prayer-meeting. Finally she said in the faintest whisper that she wanted some water, and from then began to improve, and in a month was playing with the other children.

Aunt Lucy always said that "dem niggers brought dat chile fru by dey prars. De Scripters say, 'de ferbent, effectual prar of de richus availeth much, an' de prar ob faith shel' save de sick.'"

There was much rejoicing because of Octavia's recovery, and none rejoiced more than Elsie, who thought her and the negroes' prayers were answered.

While on the subject of having prayer-meeting for any special object, I will relate the following incident: In a certain section of country there was a drouth of long standing prevailing, and it looked as if everything would be parched up, and nothing be saved for man or beast. It was suggested that the negroes have a prayer-meeting at their church to bring rain. One of my neighbors, who was almost a skeptic, encouraged the negroes, most of whom farmed on the large plantation which he owned. On the appointed night there was a large crowd present, who prayed, sang and shouted until three o'clock in the morning, when there came up one of the most terrific storms which that section had ever experienced. It rained a perfect flood; the wind was a most frightful tornado, tearing down houses, fences, crops, trees, and killing some stock. The hail was terrific, ruining some crops. My neighbor met some of the brethren the next day and said: "Boys, what made you pray so hard last night? We wanted rain, and not a h—l of a storm like we got." One of them replied: "Boss, I tells you how it wuz. Dat fool nigger Pascal was de cause of de whole ting. In his prayer las' nite he prayed de Lawd not to sen' one of dem leetle drizzle-drazzle showers, but one of dem trash movers. An', boss, we sho' got it, an' mo' too. I tell you, boss, dem niggers prayed all nite for rain, an' when it did cum yu jes' ought tu seen dem niggers prayin' fur de rain, win' an' hail tu stop. We thought sho' we gwine git kilt. Dat fool