bacon, my wheaten loaves into corn dodgers, and my wine into bran
coffee.

I had purposed to visit the North during the summer months, but the
many friends I have found here are so anxious to have me remain, that
I find it impossible to tear myself away. But I expect the General[1]
will soon be here, when I shall be obliged to say farewell to my
Southern friends and with much reluctance leave their sunny clime for
my cold, chilly, Northern home.

But their kindness and hospitality will ever be green in my memory
and I shall improve every opportunity to show them the gratitude I
feel for the hospitality they have actually _forced_ me to accept.

[1] General exchange.

This letter, as I have said, was sent through all right, whether it was
because they did not read it or because they failed to discover the
satire--perhaps it should like Nasby's have been labelled a joke--I never
knew. The next was written in the same vein, after I had escaped and been
recaptured. Both had been published in the daily papers here, at the time,
but the last one I have thus far failed to find. It was written after my
escape and recapture, and detailed how, rather than risk the scene that
would be sure to ensue, should I announce my intention of departing to my
friend, the Confederate Colonel, and fearing I might be overcome by such
an affecting leavetaking, that I concluded to start at three o'clock in
the morning, while he was still sleeping, and thus spare not only him, but
myself, an interview that would certainly be embarrassing to one or both
of us.

But that, after I had traveled three hundred miles, his couriers overtook
me, and were so urgent in their appeals for me to return, that I could not
deny them, and had concluded to stay and see a little more of this
beautiful Southern country before my return. But just as soon as I could
persuade my friends to consent to my departure, I should surely return,
and would try and make my friends in the North a good long visit, at
least, before making another journey.

My letters were generally received by my friends in due time, but although
they were promptly answered I never received a line to tell me whether my
wife, who left for Newbern on the night of the first day's fight, had got
home or not, and when I was finally released, after nearly a year's
confinement, I did not know whether she was living or dead until I
telegr