te man of the
South, as he actually is, should deem my picture overdrawn, I will say
that 'the half has not been told!' If the whole were related--if the
Southern system, in all its naked ugliness, were fully exposed--the
truth would read like fiction, and the baldest relation of fact like the
wildest dream of romance.

* * * * *

The overseer was never taken. A letter which I received from Colonel
J----, shortly prior to the stoppage of the mails, informed me that Moye
had succeeded in crossing the mountains into Tennessee, where, in an
interior town, he disposed of the horse, and then made his way by an
inland route to the free States. The horse the Colonel had recovered,
but the overseer he never expected to see. Moye is now, no doubt,
somewhere in the North, and is probably at this present writing a
zealous Union man, of somewhat the same 'stripe' as the conductors of
the New-York _Herald_ and the Boston _Courier_.

I have not heard directly from Scipio, but one day last July, after a
long search, I found on one of the wharves of South street a coasting
captain who knew him well, and who had seen him the month previous at
Georgetown. He was at that time pursuing his usual avocations, and was
as much respected and trusted as when I met him.

A few days after the tidings of the fall of Sumter were received in
New-York, and when I had witnessed 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 every where. 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 hight,
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