ing the individual representative of nature made of huge proportions, at the expense of his stomach. Man is a queer animal; some are born great, and don't know it. Like English Hobson, who, in letting horses, forced each comer to take the one next the stable door, little dreaming, that "Hobson's choice" would become a common proverb, and thus be notorious in a certain sense. So with my chum; the greatness, that I envelope him with, will descend to posterity, as a "commissary's choice." My fellow prisoners can see the point. We make history for the pilferer, but on the bread question we lose avoirdupois. "Necessity knows no law;" but when a man slips up on a friend, on the subject of bread chunks, and in a season of good wheat crops, in a fraternal sense, we place him beyond the pale of-communion. It is not exactly the province of a prisoner of war, to say much about outside barbarians, but as Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War, the barbarian aforesaid, has placed himself in a position to be shot at, why it is but fair, we should make him a target; and if we don't knock the black out, the arch military fiend of the war department of the United States will, if the North whips the fight. Until the world in aghast at the atrocities, that in such an event will ensue, will exclaim, not as of yore, when the Puritans were robbing and murdering the Indians, "Lo! the poor Indian !" but with ejaculations of horror, "Alas! the poor African!" He bid Godspeed to Senator Brown, as he was leaving the senate, to unite his fortunes with the South. He was also Buchanan's legal adviser, when the struggle was fermenting. He earneastly advised and commended the course that Breckenridge pursued ; and look at him now. I have examined the record alphabetically of all great men, both good and bad; and of all the bad men, not one but has had some spark of manhood, some devotional instinct, or some humane inspiration. Robespierre signed death warrants with one hand, and stroked a poodle with the other; Marat left intelligent works of science, although a butcher of his kind; Nero was fond of music; Caracalla had architectural tastes; Xerxes and Alexander could weep; but poor Stanton is sans soul, sans heart, sans taste, sans everything that is noble and true. I had asked a parole, for the State of Ohio, knowing they were granted in a score of cases, and it had been strongly recommended by that polished gentleman, and humane Union soldier, Inspector General Wright, of the State of Ohio, and approved by Governor Todd, of the same State, whose consistent kindness to prisoners is proverbial. And on being transferred from camp Chase to this prison, I had forwarded the parole to Edward Everett, of Massachusetts, for his influence, as the superintendent of our prison would not honor any recommendation of Governor Todd, referring me to the Secretary of War. In a few days, I received the following from Mr. Everett : "CHICAGO, May 14th, 1862. "DEAR SIR:-Your letter, inclosing General Wright's parole, having been forwarded to me at this place, was received by me this evening. I will, by the next mail, address a letter to the Secretary of War, inclosing General Wright's parole, and requesting the Secretary to ratify it. "Respectfully Yours, "EDWARD EVERETT." The immaculate gave an equivocal reply. Again the honorable gentleman applied and a similar answer from the scarecrow of the war department. The third time the kind-hearted Everett asked for my release, and the final answer of the bear was: "No special paroles granted until the rebels lay down their arms, as the arrangement for a cartel has been broken by their bad faith, by thus telling a lie; and snubbing the distinguished son of Massachusetts, whom he detested because he was a gentleman. Were it not so, the favor would have been granted, out of courtesy to Mr. Everett's eminent position, and even if a political opponent, among gentlemen, the courtesy was doubly due-little points, however, that Stanton is not supposed to know anything about. It was not a fling at me, for I am too small a fish for this mighty Leviathan to swallow, Plutarch said: "the difference between a man and a beast was, the latter had no knowl edge or feeling of a Deity." If Stanton felt or knew there was a God, he would act differently, "the Beast.” Of all the damning outrages committed by our enemies on the Southern people, one of the most high-handed, is the arrest of private citizens, of whom several hundred are driven into the pen to-day, like sheep led to the slaughter. Some taken from their beds, others from their desks, and ploughs, and some from the bar, and pulpit, hurried off, half clad, without warning or a suspicion of a charge against them. I asked one, of the several old men, in camp Chase, a man at least seventy-five years of age, with hoary beard and tottering steps, as he was wandering listlessly around the prison yard: "How came you here?" "I can't tell. I was taken from my home and brought here, I don't know what for. I did no one harm, and am very much distressed about my people; they will not know what has become of me.” Others did not know why they were similiarly treated, nor could any of us tell them. Among the arrivals, this morning, is the distinguished Dr. Hobson, of Kentucky, one of the most eminent divines of that State, who preaches us a sermon to-morrow. Lieutenant Gibson, of the Eleventh Arkansas Regiment, Volunteers, was murdered to-day by a sentinel, whom, I learn, did the shooting wilfully and maliciously. An order, that would have put a Caligula or Nero to the blush, had been published by the hypocritical and contemptible Pierson, to the effect, that all prisoners should retire to their quarters at retreat, which was at sundown, the only period of the day, that it was possible to be comfortable, crowding us into a suffocating room, to the number of fifty in ours, three bunks high, and reaching to the ceiling, two in a bunk. One tin pan for us to wash out of; and the straw of our beds changed, not at all in our room. I don't know of other messes. Yet they say we are well treated. Lieutenant Gibson, as all of us. obeyed the orders of the petty despot; yet this poor fellow fell a victim, as some one must be shot, at intervals, to advertise the crew, (a majority of them) of that Hessian battalion (Hoffman's,) so they could play the feather-bed |