will drop to "hard pan," the owners bankrupted, to bring to premium, at least to par, bonds and currency debased and monopolized to further enrich the few. These two conditions, brought about I y financial jugglery, make this result inevitable. They will shut together like a vise and pinch all except workers of the iniquity. They rob the nation during its peril by discrediting its credit. They will rob it again when legitimate business and labor shall lift its credit from the pit into which they mercilessly plunged it, by bankrupting millions in their private vocations.

Thursday, October 20th.-Days pleasant; nights cold. Disagreeable tentmates; lousy partners; P. G. and Corp. Jim J. do not try to kill their acres of lice; they are demoralized, half devoid of sense. They have no excuse for clothing but coat and pants apiece, split from bottom almost to top, and lying on the bare ground, their flesh has become dirtier than hogs. My God! Who ever saw an ape that was once a man? Some men make fine' apes. We have been using "disrespectful language" toward the Corporal. He don't take it to heart, and "dig out"-he digs though. Griff. and I half resolve to leave or eject them. But what shall we do? They claim a share in the hole; none of us can dig another. I believe this is lousier than Egypt, when Aaron stretched out his rod and smote the dust, and all the land became lice. This is triublation indeed. We passed a cold, sleepless, painful night. Rations more liberal, but not liberal. Sanitary goods from the dear folks at home have been here several days. Yesterday blankets were issued, about five to one hundred men. Names of the worst cases taken; blanks and prize tickets were placed in a hat, from which we drew. Five chances in a hundred! Fortune gave me and my lousy partners the biggest chance-a blank. I saw the sentry on post this morning with a blanket on in lieu of an overcoat. U. S. hats are often seen on Rebel heads. Lieut. Barrett, 5th Georgia, having immediate charge of prisoners, sports a sanitary hat on his red pate. He had better thank our Yankee ladies. I would like to lead him into their presence by a rope around his neck. The "red-headed Lieutenant"-"miserable cuss," he is called. He is the scum of Georgia. One of the most despicable, insignificant, fire-weed characters; phosphroic, ill-tempered, hell-infused images of man that ever served a worthless, wicked cause! He will stand at the gate for hours with a revolver in hand, occasionally pointing and snapping it, swearing piratically, calling them "dirty sons of b-s," "lousy hell devils," laughing fiendishly. He often snatches clubs and throws them with all vengeance into crowds of prisoners who come to look at the brute fool, attracted by his loud oaths. He will then call them to come back, not to be afraid; and again jump at them like a mad gander, flourishing sword and pistol. The demon coward!

He is meaner than Wirz, but can't carry it out so logically with a tyrant's grace. Don't know as much-low, shameless, drunk with a little brief authority. Wirz did not care so much to look on the ruin he wrought, the misery he caused, but knew his plans. "Red-head" likes to invite the ladies and go up with them and look down from the wall and hoity toity and simper and giggle, ordering us, fustian style, to do some insignificant thing. At some furtive remark, 1 ke "Where did you get your hat," he wil go into a spasmodic rage-cold water on a griddle! Present. ing his revolver, cocked, with assumed dignity will say:

"Who said that? I dare the son of a b-h, the d-d Yankee, to say that again!"

We suspect this is buncombe, for the high-bred, gay ladies he has the honor to address. They sometimes immodestly laugh at his undignified behavior. Some seem to think it cunning, and tee hee, titter to please. I have noticed some who looked astonished at him, half wishing, I believe, he would fall over the wall. Do Wirz and Barrett embody Southern chivalry? Fit subaltern tools of Davis and several of the bigger devils, to attend to the details of their political pandemonium!

ON BARRETT.

Barrett: He bears a name as if a man!
Strange if such a thing a man could be!
Beast: I know no beast as mean as he!
Reptile: No viler serpents ever ran!
Viper: None fouler befoul yon sea!
Fool: None so big a fool as he!
Barrett, keeper of this prison pen,
Parades these starved, near naked men
Before women invited as his guests;
Curses and fires in their ranks,
Bestows on them insults and pests,
Venomously shows his apish pranks,
All for torment, naught to please;
Adds insults to their miseries.

Real love for woman much protests
That such a brute should on them fawn,
That to such presence they be drawn
To see men cringe to vile behests;

To hear him swear and act the knave
And like a demon laugh and rave
As though it did these guests amuse
To see an imp us Yanks abuse.
Thank God, the soul of womanhood
A worthless cause can never crush!

Her virtue has these wrongs withstood;
Her scorn revealed, by frown and blush.
But Barrett does not sense or heed
They see but vileness in his deed.

DAVIS AND WINDER-THEIR WORK.

Sergeant Bourn, Massachusetts, genealogizes Winder, who presides over our pernicious keepers with malicious grace. The gist of it is that his ancestry had the virus of despotism in their blood. His character is rooted in Toryism; his aspiration is warmed by animosity to popular government. Like most Southern leaders who are labeled Democrats, and stole the name to serve the opposite, he is an aristocrat with the instincts of a pirate. He is of the vicious stuff left over from ages of despotism. Our era is sadly burdened with much of that rubbish. It is the fuel of this war. The appointment of John H. Winder by Jeff Davis as commissary general of prisoners has in it more villainy than is imagined. Davis knew him; Davis is Winder's confidant; Winder is his. They are chips from one root. Had Davis wanted a proper man, Winder would not have been in it. His unpopularity with the mass of Southrons who know him, condemned him for any place. Davis is his affinity. He loves his low meanness because it reflects his own. Davis' meanness is his chief characteristic. It is so big he wants this fellow to help him carry it. He is doing it to Davis' notion. Richmond had its fill of Winder as provost general. It howled. Davis saw this place and handed it out. Richmond yelled: "Thank God, we are rid of old Winder, but God have pity on Yanks who come under his sway!" Odious even to noses of Rebels, but not to the nose of the chiefest Rebel. Davis was happier than they, for he had Winder's pledge that he would be "old pizen" to Yankees in "durance vile," as his imp Barrett delights in saying to us of himself. Davis enthroned him to rule over these later prison hells he devised which are worse than the first. He resolved last fall that these prisons should become deadly engines of war, to help fight the battles of the South. Devilish as he is, he is the fit tool of that arch conspirator, Davis. He is pledged to a work of murder. Had it been an honest job, his pledge would never be kept. He is keeping his pledge. Davis saw no humane traits in Winder toward Yankee prisoners. Davis was farther seeing in that conclusion than in any other public act that distinguishes him. His Confederacy will fail. Winder has not failed to murder thousands. That was the covert aim of Davis as a means to success. Just, considerate men were inelligible. Wirz was for Andersonville, Barrett for Florence. Winder knew them; they pleased his ferocity. Two meaner pieces of fiendishness in

human flesh cannot be found except Davis and Winder. They are like them, but not as big; not so brainy as the chief culprits. They have no higher conceptions of their positions than to be brutal, harsh, savage, murderous toward Federals. "Ve's cot chu voul!" said Wirz to us. "I'm ol' pizen to G-d d-n Yankees," says Barrett. Their records prove it. They are written in blood, punctuated with agony, embellished in gloom, embossed by the deaths of over 15,000 in two prisons to date. Nothing just or sensible is found in their prison management. Both are addicted to outrageous fits of insane rage. The fit is generally on in their contact with prisoners. They invent pretexts to starve, abuse and persecute. They are reputed no good at the front; but are notorious for killing more men at the rear than forty brigadiers. That suits Winder, Davis approves. If not he would suppress them. Like Davis, all Winder wants "is to be let alone." Davis lets him alone. What devoted loyalty to the cause of human bondage! What unenviable conspicuity!

Saturday, October 22d.--Got a small piece of soap yesterday, the first I know of being issued. Resolve on a general wash, keeping an eye open for snakes. The water is cold. Several hundred suits, or pieces of suits, of clothing from our lines are being issued. They go about four pieces to the hundred men, no man getting more than one piece, whether it is what he most needs or not. The articles are shirts, drawers, pants and hats. To my knowledge no jackets have been received by men inside; some paroled, outside, the healthiest, warmest dressed, have appropriated, by Rebel permit, entire suits. Fatted on "extra grub" they are sound. This afternoon they have been in and strutted through the streets in sanitary goods, among ragged victims, who behold, envy, and despise. Could they not at least have given their old clothes to the naked and suffering? Thus is the work of benevolence and benefaction turned to the account of pimping struts who like too well to palaver around Jonnies. The wind is cold and swift this afternoon, cutting us to the quick. We have been seeking at the gate an opportunity to go out for wood, but have returned to our hiding places without success, crouching and shivering. Few go out but policemen. This police was first organized for our protection but it now serves a purpose of Rebels and themselves. Nevertheless it has done work which would not have been done by Rebels, and have got extra rations. But it does not harmonize well with good sense to "talk turkey" to please low minded Rebs. It all tends to strengthen these green fellows, already biased and led away, who, swaggering, say: "You'ns good Rebels as we'ns, for we'ns only fighting to keep niggers down, and if yo'ns hate niggers, what yo'ns fight we'ns for?"

Sunday, October 23, 1864.-Crouching all night, in our low,

dark place, suffering with cold and gnawed by vile vermin which increase with cooler weather. Stiffness and weakness makes walking difficult. We are routed out at daylight for roll call. The penalty for not being in line is no rations for the day, for the hundred, sometimes the thousand in which we are. The weather has moderated. It is remarkable how well we hold out. How men

not as well off as we are with our dirt hut, and no more, or less clothing, can live, I can hardly see. The dead line here at Florence, is simply a furrow made with a plow about twenty feet from the wall. Our roll call is close up to the line. This morning one of our men lay in the furrow dead, shot by sentry in the night. He was a sick man, and had come out of his quarters for a necessary purpose, being close up to the line, when he was fired on. His friends found him immediately afterward, but dare not move him. This morning a lieutenant came, to whom the facts were told. He replied by excusing the guard, saying "men must not come up to that mark.”

or

Dead men were being brought from all parts of the camp and from the hospital ground in the northwest part of the field, and laid below the gate, side by side, heads to the wall. Forty were already gathered. He was carried thither. We took occasion to notice these men. Not one had shoes, socks or coats. Their faces were thin and yellow, but there was a placid expression of countenance common to all who are "where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest." No barbarous hand tyrant's chain can drag them down in misery more. But what a scene for their dear ones at home to look upon! Could the wives, the sisters, the mothers look upon them thus, or the fathers or brothers, their hearts would be struck with horror that we cannot even feel. Wards are being built on hospital ground from poles and lumber, by men on parole. The work is slow. Medical supplies received from Columbia, S. C., from the medical purveyor, are less than half the requisitions of surgeons, Drs. Junius O'Brien, David Flood and Strather being the principal in turn. The doctors of the hospitals report delineating the state of affairs, making suggestions of changes that should and could be made for the better. Here there is some attempt at police regulation in prison; the west part is laid out in streets, the camp kept passably clean. Rations are less in quantity; sometimes better in quality. No shelter is given; we are turned in destitute and enfeebled, and with no hope of aid. The hospital is better organized, but no beds or floors. A short distance from the prison are stacks of old straw and acres of wild grass, which men would have gladly pulled had they permitted. Here, too, we are surrounded with pine forests whose dense evergreen boughs invite us, but do not shelter feeble, shivering bodies from the storms of autumn, fogs and blasts of