sed the spontaneous and universal uprising of
the North, which followed that event, I dispatched letters to several of
my Southern friends, giving them as near as I could an account of the
true state of feeling here, and representing the utter madness of the
course the South was pursuing. One of these letters went to my Union
acquaintance whom I have called, in the preceding pages, "Andy Jones."

He promptly replied, and a pretty regular correspondence ensued between
us, which has continued, at intervals, even since the suspension of
intercourse between the North and the South.

Andy has stood firmly and nobly by the old flag. At the risk of every
thing, he has boldly expressed his sentiments everywhere. With his life
in his hand, and--a revolver in each of his breeches-pockets, he walked
the streets of Wilmington when the secession fever was at its height,
openly proclaiming his undying loyalty to the Union, and "no man dared
gainsay him."

But with all his patriotism, Andy keeps a bright eye on the "main
chance." Like his brother, the Northern Yankee, whom he somewhat
resembles and greatly admires, he never omits an opportunity of "turning
an honest penny." In defiance of custom-house regulations, and of our
strict blockade, he has carried on a more or less regular traffic with
New York and Boston (_via_ Halifax and other neutral ports), ever since
North Carolina seceded. His turpentine--while it was still his
property--has been sold in the New York market, under the very eyes of
the government officials--and, honest reader, _I_ have known of it.

By various roundabout means, I have recently received letters from him.
His last, dated in April, and brought to a neutral port by a shipmaster
whom he implicitly trusts, has reached me since the previous chapters
were written. It covers six pages of foolscap, and is written in
defiance of all grammatical and orthographical principles; but as it
conveys important intelligence, in regard to some of the persons
mentioned in this narrative, I will transcribe a portion of it.

It gave me the melancholy tidings of the death of Colonel J----. He had
joined the Confederate army, and fell, bravely meeting a charge of the
Massachusetts troops, at Roanoke.

On receiving the news of his friend's death, Andy rode over to the
plantation, and found Madam P---- plunged in the deepest grief. While he
was there a letter arrived from Charleston, with intelligence of the
dangerous illnes