t at Bolton, part marching and part riding to the depot in freight cars.
I noticed many of those marching arm in arm with great burly negroes.
The old Maryland blood boiled in my veins at this spectacle, but I hope when these ebony idols, if they ever should, (which is doubtful,) cross over to Virginia, each will be presented with a hoe in exchange for their muskets.
Business of course is prostrated here as everywhere.
As for myself, I cannot live in a Confederacy where Mt. Vernon is not — Hundreds and thousands of Young Baltimoreans have already left, and others are about starting for the home of Washington, Jefferson, Monroe and Madison.
Benjamin F. Butler, alias Strychnine Butler, has left us.
"We hie less most deeply feel, &c."
He used to ride up the streets to his quarters (the Gilmore House,) between a file of soldiers, a la Lonis Napoleon; but this tyranny over Maryland cannot be borne much longer, while Virginians have their eyes open.