Lassiter, Esq., of Gates county, North Carolina, I am indebted for much of the information gained of that locality, and I could relate a good deal told me by that gentleman which might be very interesting. Mr. Lassiter lives at a beautiful farm, on the main Edenton road, near the Silver Spring, a place of great resort for persons living in that part of the county. I will relate a very interesting conversation which I had with a very old colored man that I met in the road near the Orapeake Mill, in Gates county, North Carolina, when on my way to Suffolk, Va., and not far from the beautiful village of Jonesville, lying on both sides of the Suffolk and Carolina Short Line or Grand Trunk Railroad. I said to the old man, "Uncle, where do you live?" "Boss, you ax me a hard question," replied the old man. "Git off your hoss an sot down, I'm gwine tell you sumfin. Do you smoke de pipe, boss?" I replied that I did, and handed him my bag of tobacco. He took from his pocket what I supposed he called a pipe. It was the butt end of a corn cob hollowed out, with something protruding at a right angle, which he called a stem. What it really was, I could not tell. He filled it with tobacco. I then handed him a match, when thanking me very kindly, he lighted his pipe, drawing it a few times to see that it was well lighted, said: "Boss, I will now tol you sumfin dat happen many years ago. Do you see dat mill pon' yonder?" alluding to the Orapeake. I replied that I did. "Well, boss, dat pon' was de cause of my trouble. One dark nite I was in dar strikin' at fish. I had just hit a large chub, when a white man, who was in dar strikin', cum up and sed: 'Boy, dat is my fish.' I tole him dat I kilt de fish, an dat it was mine. 'Bout dat time he was gwine to take de fish, an den I took up my hatchet dat I had in de bote, whar I split liteard wid and hit him on de head. He drapped down in de bote, and I seed dat I had done sumfin bad. De man was dead, and I wood be hung if dey cotched me. So I drug de man ober de side of de bote into the water, and mashed him down in the mud, an dat man never cum up any more. I didn't go home any more. An arter a while de white man was missin', an de peple gin to talk, an I gin to git skared. Do you see dat house up dar?" I said I did. "Well, Marse Luke Sumner libbed dar. De big house dat he libbed in is done torn down, and de small one made outen it. He is done ded now, and when he libbed dar is mor'n a hundred years ago. His gran-son, Marse Joe Riddick, now own de place and libs at it. He mus be ni eighty year old. Well, dey fine de white man was done missin, an it bin dat I was strikin' fish in de mill pon' de same nite, dey 'gin to look for me, an my daddy tole me dat I had better go into the desart, which was de Dismal Swamp. I took his 'vice and lef. De runaway ketchers cum in dar to look for me, but didn't get me. I staid dar 'til de war was ober. I cum out and hab been lookin' 'bout dis place to see if I node anybody,