At Atlanta, Augusta, Mobile, and other places, where we made our stay long enough to get a little acquainted, my son and myself were daily taken out to ride, and were shown everything of interest that was to be seen.  Henry did not enjoy this journey more than I did-to me as well as to him, the trip was one prolonged pleasure, and by the time we reached New Orleans nearly a month after we left New York, my son had so recuperated that I had every hope of his speedy and full restoration.

It was the beginnings of winter when we reached New Orleans; but during the whole month of December while we remained in that city, winter, if indeed it was winter, which we could hardly believe, was only a prolongation of the last beautiful autumn days we had left at the north.  Now Orleans was then at the very height of prosperity; business was brisk, money was plenty, the ships of all nations and countless steamboats from St. Louis, Cincinnati, Louisville and all points up the Mississippi and Ohio rivers lay at the levee.  The levee itself, from end to end, for miles along the river front, was one mass of merchandise which had come to the city, or was awaiting shipment.  I had never seen a livelier city.  Indescribably gay, too, was New Orleans that winter.  The city was full of strangers; the hotels were thronged; there were balls every night; the theatres were crowded, and everybody seemed bent on having a good time.  With all the rest, there was an extraordinary military furor, and militia companies and regiments paraded the streets every day, while secession meetings were held in various halls, or in the public squares, nearly ever night.

From the St. Charles hotel where we stopped, St. Charles street seemed ablaze and alive all night, and densely thronged all day.  Sunday brought no rest, for Sunday, so far as military parades, amusement and general gaiety were concerned, was the liveliest day in the week; and Sunday night the theatres were sure to present their best performances and to draw their largest audiences.  And so, from morning till night, and from night till morning again, all was whirl, stir, bustle, business, enjoyment, and excitement.  To me, unaccustomed as I was to such scenes, New York even seemed tame and dull, and slow in comparison with New Orleans.

This is a picture of the Crescent City as it presented itself to me and to my son in the early part of the winter before the war.  No one knew or even dreamed of the terrible times that were to come.  No one believed that war was probable, or even possible; it was well enough, perhaps, to prepare for it; but secession was to be an accomplished fact, and the North and all the world would quietly acknowledge it.  This was the general sentiment in the city; though secession, and what would, or what might come of it, was the general topic of talk in the hotels, in the restaurants, at the theatres, in the streets, everywhere.  Now and then some southerner with whom I had become acquainted would try to draw me out to ascertain my sentiments on the subject, but I always laughed, and said good naturedly: