Lived from close of war at Dalton to Dec, 1865 ; since with Bay State Shoe & L. Co. [Charles E. Bigelow, Pres.], and living at: Perry, Houston co., Georgia, Griffin, Spalding co., Georgia, Franklin, Ky., Marshallville, Georgia, Binghamton, N. Y., Brooklyn, N. Y., Glen Cove, L. L, Hoboken, N. J., Kensico, Westchester co., New York, Newtown, Fairfield co., Conn., Orange, N. J., 1874, Rahway, N. J., N. Y. city, 1880, etc.

            Residence since 1881, Rome, Floyd co., Georgia, 1898. Maj. Watkins at same time owns and operates a fine 320-acre farm, 4 miles from Rome, principally cotton ; is proprietor of Montsana mountain, on top a 12-acre vineyard of fruit and grapes, in James co., Tenn., n. Ooltewah ; and of a 50-acre orange grove n. Brooksville, Fla. The following from a newspaper, 1884:

THE MODEL ORANGE GROVE OF SIR FREDERICK NEERGARD AND MAJ. A. M. WATKINS.

            A few days ago we visited the orange grove at Buena Vista located on one of Hernando’s famous hills, just 1 1/2 miles S. E. of Brooksville, and in plain view from the court house square.

            The first thing that attracts the attention after leaving town is the broad expanse of the Choocoochatta prairie, now like an immense emerald in a setting of massive live oaks draped in long gray moss, but when overflowed is a beautiful sheet of water, sparkling under the sunlight like myriads of jewels. When this prairie is overflowed the scene often changes like magic — away off in the southeast corner is a deep sink that connects with a subterranean channel that from some unknown cause opens, and in a few hours the prairie is dry.

            As there was no water on the ground we drove directly across this magnificent natural pasture, stopping now and then to wait on our friend, who must needs take an occasional pop at some of the thousands of birds and ducks, or stray alligators that were prospecting some of the sinks for a late dinner ; we’d have been there yet if the birds had not risen and sailed away out of reach as the echo of the shots were reverberating around the amphitheater.- The ‘gators also knew the signal indicated a sore head or black eye for them, so left incontinently in a wild hunt for the hole the water goes out at. There being nothing more to keep us we resumed our search for Buena Vista. Soon something white, like a bow of promise, began to loom up in the distance, but not liking to display our ignorance we held our peace and waited developments ; as we drew near the thing assumed the shape and form of an immense gate — the biggest seen since the one old Noah opened when he let out all the living creatures left over from the flood. It was immense, gigantic, a — well, when our friend took his lazy eyes off the lazier cattle grazing on the prairie, he found us stupefied, but still hanging on to the ragged edge of a knowing look, we didn’t want to admit that we were astonished at anything ; but you are not to tell this to anyone, it’s strictly confidential.

            While our friend was opening the ponderous shutters, we took in the grand arch bearing the words: “Buena Vista Grove,” in large, shaded letters, and just -underneath them the motto, “Finis coronat opus” — the end crowns the work. We got through the gate and found other inscriptions, but as we were going ahead up-hill we concluded they were admonitions to keep off the grass, not to pull the flowers, don’t deface the statuary, or something of that sort, so, rather than display our ignorance by stopping, we let our friend drive on, resolved to see it out some other time. All around we saw that a master hand and head was directing operations, as the land was in a fine state of cultivation, and the orange trees stretching in every direction were in splendid condition.

            When we had climbed about two-thirds of the way up, our friend stopped to show us a curiosity; it proved to be a fine spring of water, cool and fresh, and never failing. Truly, it was a curious freak, for here it gushed out of the hillside full one hundred feet above the prairie or water level. Satisfied with our inspection and assured that there was yet more to be seen and that it was only a few hundred yards to the top, we resumed our seat and traveled on up to the front of the tenement house, on top of one of the highest hills in the county, and about as near heaven as the average editor generally gets. Sitting in our buggy on top of this hill the country around spread out like a panorama. Brooksville was in plain view, we could see the people in town as they walked the streets. ‘Turning our eyes to the northward, we could see Judge Mayo’s, 8 miles off ; a few miles nearer was Dr. Snow’s place. Mount Airy, and a number of other notable places ; to the eastward, 3 miles off, was Anna Dale grove, which looked as though it was on another hill equally as high as the one we stood on ; south and west was the prairie with its herds of cattle, horses, sheep, and hogs, and just over on the other side was South Brooksville, with its handsome residences and thrifty young groves and healthy, happy people; a little to the left was the residence and beautiful grove of Captain Wm. Hope.

            Captain Hope was one of the first white men to settle in Hernando county, and just a little nearer was the grove of his son, W. Esten Hope ; it is just seven years old, and is now showing fruit for the first time. We had barely finished our inspection when we were recalled to our whereabouts by a harmonious sound that unerringly tells the Southerner there is a well fed, comfortably clad “nigger” around — a jolly Southern cornfield hoeing song — and sure enough, there they were just over the hill.

             Some twenty-five of the best humored fellows, hoe in hand, digging and singing away for dear life. We had always heard that the Major worked things blue that staid around him, and this singing father surprised us, but there it was and considerably modified the awe in which we had stood of him — fearing that in his pushing business way he might think our visit a trespass on his valuable time ; but our friend had been here before and didn’t stand a bit in awe of him, so began yelling at the top of his voice to attract the Major’s attention, and he came up smiling and extending an old-fashioned Southern plantation welcome, expressing his pleasure at seeing us, but he added : “Gentlemen, if you expect to tramp around here much you should have provided yourselves each with a pair of Bay State shoes, as most any others are liable to rip and let your feet get wet. “

            The Major told ns that he had enclosed 561/2 acres of land, which he bought two years ago for three thousand dollars, this summer he set out on it about 2,800 orange trees, and would not take $10,000 for the property. Three years ago he purchased the Anna Dale property for $4,000, and this, under his vigorous management, has doubled its value. The Major was so hospitable and pleasant that we could not leave as soon as we proposed, and were compelled to postpone our visit to Anna Dale until some day in the near future — at any rate before the oranges and bananas are all gone. We had a sample of the bananas and propose trying them again.

            Major Alfred Moore Watkins is a Director of the Florida Orange Land Co. [ex- Gov. George F. Drew, Pres.], Brooksville.

Mr. Watkins is a subscriber for this Genealogy.