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to appreciate his speech, which was entirely original, and summed up, as follows:

And etc.

"Strike till the last armed Yank expires,

Strike for the green graves of your sires."

This was while the rank and file were joining in the chorus:

"On the wings of love I fly

From groceree to groceri."

Beall fought at Donaldson, and stood well, was taken prisoner, and wound up at this place, where he now is, and likely to remain, as his corpulence prevents any active exertion, by which his escape might be effected.

Our witty man is Hutton. Punning is a low character of wit, yet brilliant sallies, jokes, and bon mots, of the man of genuine wit, are acceptable to any crowd, therefore Hutton is popular with the mess. Our jokist sleeps in ths upper bunk, and says, it is "the first story coming down from the clouds," says, he is above the malaria of tobacco spittle, the noxious exhalations which do not reach him, and from the pure atmosphere of his perch, he expresses those sallies of wit, that has dubbed him, the Hood of the mess. Hutton was in the fight at Donaldson, says, it was a warm affair, and, at this fight, he realized for the first time, "the incapacity of legs, to sustain the emotions of a heart, to whose promptings a pair of flickering extremities could not respond, hence Hutton was bagged and bunked. His witticisms are often, and piquant, and although his jokes are sometimes broad, they are generally good, and he is still secure in his position, as the wit of Mess 2, Block 8. The Irish element of our mess, consists of Burke, Dwyer, and Fletcher. The former is a genuine Celt, full of expletive and nervousness, and is noted, for accepting a challenge, to fight at ten paces, with double charged muskets and fixed bayonets, is all impulse, and, like all Irishmen, is ready to fight, if you tread on the tail of his coat. Dwyer is a man of fine proportions, and my beau-ideal of a "bould soldier boy." He was a participant in the Rebellion of '48, in Ireland, is an en

thusiastic follower of the banner of freedom, and will follow it to the death. Fletcher was a commissioned officer, in Tappen's Tenth Arkansas Volunteers, made his mark at the battle of Belmont, and was taken prisoner, at Shiloh. He is from St. Louis, Missouri, is a good liver, and filled with the spirit of adventure, is a rigid disciplinarian, an efficient soldier, and, like all of Celtic origin, is ever ready for a discussion "with sthicks." He takes his imprisonment cooly, and gives his own experience, as follows: "I was born in the county of Tipperary, Ireland, December 14th, 1835, imported to the United States, March 7th, 1843, left the fangs of that government, at St. Louis, Missouri, May 14th, 1861, for having whipped, on the 11th of the same, "Old Fagan," (the biggest miller and Union man of that city,) for having upheld the shameful conduct of the Dutch, who massacred the citizens, in the camp Jackson affair. I could add several minor fights, to the list of those, in which I was engaged, in our espoused cause of liberty, but do not think it necessary, to refer to any, except the four pitched battles of Carthage, Springfield, Belmont, and Shiloh. At the battle, last mentioned, "killed completely," (to say nothing of several bad hurts, whose marks I bear from the former ones,) was what they put on the muster-rolls, opposite my name. I was brought, a corpse (to liberty) to this prison, having been packed, without ice, with several others, dead, soldiers like myself, in steamboat and car, and exposed, along the whole route, to the rude gaze and gaping stare of the Union-shriekers. I embarked in this, my military career, short, as it has been, as a "private," under the "noblest Roman of them all," the gallant Sterling Price, and when found dead, at Shiloh, it was my boast, that in the lineal rank of our "Grand army" I was next to that of my captain. When day of resurrection, for "dead soldiers" arrives, I trust, that I may rank him, at any rate, I know that I will get a "brevet," equal to his, for "services and faithful performance of duties," as a prisoner, for carrying water, "euchreing" the Federal suttlers out of newspapers, keeping out of the range of our sentries' guns, etc. My

eyes fill at the thought of all these, and may this happy day of resurrection soon come to all of us prisoners.'

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Our quiet man, Dr. Warren,* is one of the most affable gǝntlemen of our mess. He is the great pacificator, is usually the referee, and one of the most placid of our motley group, and from his application to study and sedentary habits is very reserved, his urbanity of manner, has entitled him to the respect of the entire mess. He is from Kentucky, and like all her sovereigns, thinks there is no place like the "dark and bloody ground." The doctor volunteered from Mississippi, and as he is naturally proud of his native State, is equally as much so of his adopted one, that has done so much for Southern rights, and honor.

Captain James N. Bolen represents the cavalry in our mess. This gentleman belongs to the Kentucky cavalry, and was among those dashing horsemen, whose sabres are ever flashing, between the Ohio and Tennessee, and who, under the command of Morgan and King, are making havoc among the hordes of the enemy, who are scattered from Louisville to Corinth. Bolen is an off-handed, plainspoken man, of force and character, satirical, and good at repartee, is a good soldier, and those who know him best, will admire his candor, and excuse his crudeness. Lieutenant R. J. Moore, of the Twenty-sixth Mississippi Regiment, is the literary genius of our mess. In looking at Moore, I am impressed with the fact, how poorly we judge one another. Why is it? It is, because we accept, improperly, first impressions as lasting, and confuse the simple street introduction, or a night's acquaintance, with that of a few days, for it is only upon a cultivation of your new acquaintance, allowing a period of time to appreciate his or her attributes, you are not impressed by a passing glance, as it requires remarkable perceptive faculties, in such instance, to even approximate to the realities of your subject, you must examine each feature, you must hear the subject talk, must draw out idea after idea, and thus, by study, you can easily select congenial friends. There

* Dr. Warren, physician, Friar's Point, Mississippi.

fore I believe first impressions are lasting, but it does not imply that the figure in the sand by the sea-side, that each wave destroys, or a handful of spray may dissipate, is lasting, but I accept rather the simile of the photograph, which shows, that while the operation is instantaneous, yet there are powerful combinations studied and used, to establish the impressions they impart to the subject. Lieutenant Moore would deceive you, at first glance, calm, and apparently unimpassioned, he is a Vesuvius, or Hecla, at rest, only awaiting a vent, that will allow the smouldering fires, to burst forth in resistless fury, with inspiration to have made him a crusader, who would have followed Richard, or Godfrey d'Bouillion, to the walls of Jerusalem, and yet but few men have more of the milk of human kindness in them, thon Lieutenont Moore.

The Boulevards of Paris, Savastopol Des Italians and Capucan, are among the principal lounging thoroughfares of that gay capital. London has her Pall Mall and Regent street, and New Orleans its Canal, St. Royale and St. Charles, New York its Broadway, and why not the denizens of this Confederate capital have our promenade and resort. Our principal walk is enjoyed by the figures of a thousand officers, who can boast as pure a descent as a Howard or De Courcy. The principal rendezvous of the bloods is in front of the post-office, which from the construction of the buildings, affords shade to the lovers of debate. Each of the thirteen buildings has a wood-pile, and here, with knives in hand, the sir oracles of the prison, will with Delphic mystery, explain while whittling the signification of the times. In other countries, little tables are placed before you with beer, and etceteras, but with us, conversation must be the production of the brain, and not of the spirit, however, a drop or so does get in some time, and ts potency is often felt, increasidg animation and boisterous conversation, the passers by are bitterly criticised, for men are, (if the truth must be told,) more garrulous than women. There goes a man with long hair, richly colored and luxuriant. "I'd cut that hair off," says one, "perhaps he told his gal, he would not cut it off until he came back," "he looks gay

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