men who condole with the Confederacy, are in love with its virtues and sufferings, and dare expressions of sympathy and admiration in the face of prison, exile, and all the inhuman penalties which the Washington Government and its minions can proclaim.

There are some questions which require a certain complication of reason; others the key to which is found in a single direct and plain thought. Of these latter, women are the better judges. I have seen in a single paragraph in a woman's letter in a New York paper, the questions of this war more effectually disposed of than in all the sesquipedals of the editorial columns, and all the four years' arguments of the Yankee newspapers. "Men," says this female critic (she is talking of the male Yankee), "who would rather run than fight, any day, and who, if they are drafted, will hasten in abject terrour to the first emigrant ship which arrives, to secure a substitute, talk loudly about the glory, of fighting and dying for one's flag and one's country. What is one's flag and one's country? It is not a strip of rag, or a little dirt, a few stones, and some water; these can be found anywhere, and demand no especial consideration. If our country and our flag are dear, it is because they represent to us a larger proportion of the blessings that make life desirable than can be found elsewhere. If these are forcibly taken away from us, if peace is gone, if liberty is gone, if friends are gone,-if home and plenty are gone, what is the country and the flag worth to me? All countries belong alike to God, and if a happy and peaceful life could be better secured on any other portion of this earth, that would become my country."

Thank God, we Confederates have a country to which we may claim a virtuous attachment, in which are wrapped up our individual welfare and our individual aspirations; in which we have pride and honour for the courage of its men, and for the benevolent missions of its laws to every home and fireside. Such a country a woman or child can love quite as intelligently as the man; for it is the expression of what makes life desirable, adorns it with unfailing objects of pride, and associates each member of the community, not notoriously unworthy, with the honours of familiar history.

CHAPTER X.

OUT OF PRISON.-My Parole.-My Boston Benefactress.-In Yankee Atmosphere.-A Letter from Boston.-Some Words on "Peace Negotiations."-Waiting.

August 12.-A memorable day. For on this day after unspeakable and almost mortal sufferings, I was released from prison, on a parole, to remain with a relative in Brooklyn, until my special exchange, which I then supposed to be in negotiation, was completed: A concession obtained for me by friends, to whom my life-long, loving gratitude is ever due.

In the morning, Risk, the laconic orderly, came to my casemate with the short and severe message, "I was wanted at the Adjutant's office." I went there, and was told that I would be released on signing a "parole." The news upset my nerves, and brought my heart into my throat; but, alas! though liberated from the fort, I was yet to be confined in Yankee atmosphere. But I certainly was not disposed to quarrel with the partial favours of fortune, and so I signed my parole with a very lively satisfaction, and could hardly refrain from shouting for joy as I returned to the casemate to gather up my blanket and what few duds constituted my property in prison.

I was required to pledge my "sacred word of honour," "not to commit any hostile act against the Government of the United States, nor afford aid or comfort to the enemies thereof in any manner whatever, nor communicate to any one in the rebellious States, or proceeding thither, or to any one in Europe, or other foreign country, any information that may or can he used to the injury of the United States, and that I will report in writing to the Secretary of the Navy every two weeks, and hold myself prepared to return to Fort Warren whenever he shall so direct; it being understood that this parole is to cease at the pleasure of the Secretary of the Navy, or in the event of my recommitment to prison, or my exchange, or the termination of the war.""

What a parting I have had with my poor fellow-prisoners-messages and entreaties for Richmond, good wishes, affectionate counsels, almost tears! Captain

Green gave me a ring of his own manufacture, and my good friend Marrs wanted to press upon me a gold chain, a remnant of property which the Yankees had, strangely enough, left the poor fellow. As I passed through the sally-port, I turned to wave my handkerchief to the weary, watching faces; but the sergeant orders me to "move on." I have left behind some friendships in those granite walls; and, if there, too, I have left a pleasant record of my companionship in the hearts of my unfortunate countrymen, God knows that I am prouder of it than of any other memory of my life.

August 15.-I was required to report in twenty-four hours in Brooklyn, but found time to see some friends in Boston. I saw my benefactress there, the noble Catholic lady, who had devoted herself to the comfort and consolation of the unhappy men in Fort Warren, and whose name should be inscribed in every record of honour in the Confederacy.

I shall never forget the brief time I spent in the delightful company of this lady and her family. The benevolent smile with which she met me, kindled my heart with a gratitude I could only stammer out in awkward words. But my awkwardness was brief, for in a few moments I felt at home-the feeling which is only the result of that simple grace and beaming sincerity with which so few can entertain a stranger. I remained several hours. There were tears in the eyes of this gentle lady when she read to me letters she had received from prisoners, and especially when she read a beautiful letter from a young Catholic priest, describing his feelings in visiting a field where some Confedrates had engaged the Yankee troops near Washington. He had found there the hat of a Confederate, torn and bloody, close up to the lines, and the incident he had woven into some touching reflections on the unknown gallant spirit that had met death probably leading the forlorn hope of the day.

In that little family circle where I had suddenly stepped from the gray walls of prison, I found a solace and entertainment that seemed to impart again to me the pleasures of life. All were so kind and so interested.

The dear little girl who had actually bundled out of bed to see a "Southern prisoner," I had to tell of young McBlair's attempt to escape, and all our other little histories in the fort. Then she must show me her stock of photographs of the "poor prisoners," and with them some English caricatures of Lincoln, which, like all such specimens of English humour, were admirable, alike in portraiture and in point. I did not leave for my hotel until near midnight.

1

August 16.-I am yet strange and giddy in the comparative liberty of a parole after the horrour and torture of a Yankee prison. In the streets of Boston there was sounding in my ears the usual surly "halt" of some brass-harnessed Yankee at almost every step; and in the cars, whirled for twelve hours by the white houses and apple orchards of New England, and through the peaceful scenes of the country, I was imagining the reveille, the harsh call to the cookhouse, the orderly's round, and all the other routine of a day in prison.

I am living in a very remote suburb of Brooklyn; and here, incog., and intent to avoid all social contact with the Yankee, I must possess my soul in patience, until, in God's good time and merciful providence, I shall again breathe the air of home and of liberty.

August 17.-A letter from my dear friend in Boston:

BOSTON, 1864.

I did not half tell you, my dear Mr. Pollard, how glad and grateful I am for your release. I did not realize it until after you had gone. The pleasure of seeing you face to face, of making you a veritable fact, after believing you somewhat a myth, of talking with you upon the one subject of deep interest to us both, was too much at the time to take in that other joy of your freedom. I suppose if I were a boy, I should have thrown up my cap, and made a noise like that "the shrouds make at sea, in a stiff tempest, as loud and to as many tunes." As it was, I followed the impulse of a womanly nature, and, kneeling down, I thanked Him who had heard our prayer, and loosed your chains, and opened wide your guarded prison doors.

We are getting up some things for the prisoners. What shall I put in for Mr. Pollard, was my first thought-forgetting, for the moment, that you had taken wings. I wish I had asked you more particularly what is best to send. I shall really be grateful for any suggestions. After all, how little one can do for so many. What are the five loaves and two small fishes among such a multitude. It is only that the doing one's best is acceptable from the sympathy it expresses. You, dear friend, entirely over-estimated the very little I found it a privilege to do for you. If I could atone by a life of service for the least of the wrongs my people (alas! that I should say my people) have inflicted upon as noble a race as God ever created, I should only be too happy. You must never think of any little thing I have done in any other way. If I have given you one moment's cheer or comfort, it has been more to me than to you that I have been able to do so.

I shall hope to hear from you as soon as you have had your fill of sleeping between fresh, clean sheets. I think I would take it out after the fashion of Rip Van Winkle. And the pleasure, too, of sitting at a table with one's own friends, and eating in a Christian way! It must almost repay you for the hardship and keen discomfort of your prison life. No more rations, no more abominable pork. Deo gratias!

He is, indeed, a very true

I have just received a call from a gentleman friend and faithful man; and the time will yet come when his voice will be heard above the wild waves of passionate strife, and his calm power will be felt. I intend writing him this week, and it will give me great pleasure to tell him what you said of him.

Well my friend, there is nothing else to write, but to say with all my heart, God bless you. And may He bring you to the haven where you would be, and give you the dearest desire of your heart and life everlasting. I know you will write me when you can. Say one farewell word when you leave, that I may follow you with thoughts and prayers of affection and true sympathy.

August 20.-Since I have been on parole, I have already discovered something of the public temper; so much so as to satisfy my mind that the great disappointment of the North, thus far in the results of the summer campaign of 1864, has given rise to a certain desire to end the war by negotiations. And it is not to be doubted that this desire has found some response in the South. The undignified and somewhat ridiculous overtures for peace made in this summer by parties, who, on each side, anxiously disclaimed that they had any authority from their governments, but, on each side, by a further curious coincidence, represented that they were acquainted with the wishes and views of their governments, cannot be altogether a story of egotistical adventures. They betray the incipiency, though an obscure one, of negotiations; and, I think, the times are rapidly making developments of the tendency of an appeal to compose the

war.

I cannot anticipate what bribes may be offered the South to confederate again with the North. But one has been already suggested in the North: it is, to find an atrocious compensation for the war in a combined crusade against foreign nations.

The New York Herald declares: "With a restored Union, prosperity would once more bless the land. If any bad blood remained on either side, it would soon disappear, or be purged by a foreign war. With a combined veteran army of over a million of men, and a fleet more powerful than that of any European power, we could order France from Mexico, England from Canada, and Spain from Cuba, and enforce our orders if they were not obeyed. The American continent would then belong to Americans. The President at Washington would govern the New World, and the glorious dreams and prophecies of our forefathers would at length be realized."

To a proposition of such infamy of infamies, the attention of the civilized world should be called. What a commentary upon that European policy which has lavished so much of sympathy and material comfort upon the North, and, on the other hand, has rejected the cause of a people, who, as they are resolute in maintaining their own rights, are as equally, indeed expressly and emphatically, innocent of any designs on the right and welfare of others! The suggestion is, that of a huge and horrible Democracy, eager to prey upon the rights