sneak preyed upon his brother. And yet, forsooth, these miscreants bear a commission, hold a command, and, by my manhood, even sport a sword. Of such men the immortal Shakespeare has written thus:

"He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool. Drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swinedrunk, and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bedclothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty; he has everything that an honest man should not have, what an honest man should have, he has nothing."

I would not have it understood, Mr. Editor, that a majority, or even a tenth of our number, are open to these charges. The bad among us are, I am proud to say, numerically small, but that they are skillful and proficient their present concealment evidences. Brought from the various armies of the north and west, we are, in a degree, total strangers to a large number of the present inmates of this prison. The very man who shares our plank is unknown to us by name or state, and may be, for all we know, the mirror of knighthood, or the veriest poltroon.

A sufferer by the peculations complained of, we turn in querulous haste, with jealous eye, upon the first comer, and are more likely to suspect the innocent than to detect the guilty; and we ourselves, while seeking our despoiler, are in turn suspected by a fellow-sufferer, who deems the eager looks of the

loser the preying scrutiny of the thief. For our own sakes, then, let us combine to purge our body of this moral blot, to rid our profession of this novel stain. To one or the other, the condition and opinion of each and every man are known. The knave and the coward, under a close surveillance, must inevitably be discovered, while the brave and the honorable can rarely be misunderstood. Mark then every man by his words and actions. Scan closely the unguarded movements and desultory remarks of the suspected. Meet cunning with stratagem, and ply the rogue to his ruin. The cause we advocate and the uniform we wear demand that we should expose the unworthy and unmask the dishonest; and it is the duty of every honest man to bring the recreant thief to that justice he so much needs and fears.

[Written expressly for the Chronicle.]
THE IRRUPTION.*

BY LIEUTENANT N.

'Twas night, and Rebel Libby, wrapped in sleep,
Was hushed to quiet, weird, sublime and deep:
Along the floor the moon's pale, flickering beam,
Athwart each visage, shot with fitful gleam,
As if in pity she did stoop to bless
And cheer each prisoner with a fond caress.

And what a sight that moon-lit floor displays!
In each pale face, upturned to meet her rays,
She shines resplendent, and paints in colors bright
A cheerful soul within, content and light;

Yet through its workings, now in fit and start,
Unfolds the sorrows of an anguished heart.

* This poem was written soon after the arrival of our officers captured at Chickamauga.

From scene like this we turn our weary head,
To court unwilling Sleep to bless our bed;
When, hark! upon the stillness harshly breaks
A sound, that to the base old Libby shakes;
Like to the war of billows, tempest-clad,
That beat old Ocean's shore, in foment mad,

Or cannon's thunders loud, when heard afar,
In battle's dreadful strife, "grim visaged war."
It nearer, louder comes. "What can it be?
Each wakened dreamer cries, and starts to see.
And what a sight meets their astonished gaze,
By light of moon and candle's flickering blaze!

The vandal Yankees, in "irruption " bold,
In numbers seventy and one all told,
Are in a horde dark Libby's cells invading,
And 'long its files with stealthy tread are raiding;
Their guide a contraband: deceitful black,
To thus direct the cunning Yankees' track.

Surprised, awaked by the in-coming foe,
The inmates rise to strike a mortal blow;
Aloft they rise in majesty so grand
These dreamers, this incarcerated band;
With mingled cries of joy, of fear and rage,
They quickly haste the coming fight to wage;

When lo! above the din cries out a wag: ""Tis not the vandals, only Braxton Bragg, Who comes to reënforce the garrison

With gobbled troops of Teuton Rosy's men."

CHAPTER XIX.

[The succeeding pages are devoted principally to the testimony of individ. uals who have been confined in other prisons.]

CONSPICUOUS upon the list of Rebel prisons stands the pen known South as Camp Lawton, near Millin, Georgia.

The following is the testimony of Sergeant W. Goodyear, Seventh Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers, who was removed to that place from Andersonville on the first of November, 1864.

It was pleasantly situated, about eighty miles north of Savannah, in a country where pine forests abound. Indeed, these were a prominent feature in the external surroundings of many of the southern prisons. Trees would be felled, a clearing made, and here located the rude structure that was to be the cheerless home of thousands for long, weary months. Could a voice be given to these silent groves, and they become witnesses of what they have seen and heard, what revelations would be made of things that can never be known now!

The medium of human language fails to convey all the meaning involved in prison life in the South. It is true that a great part of the suffering in this present war, as in all wars, must forever remain with the secrets of unwritten history. A few, who

were themselves actors in the tragic scenes, may rehearse the story of their individual experience, and thus furnish, as it were, a key to unlock the gates through which others may enter and take a look. This is the only way in which the people at large can become acquainted with this thrilling portion of the war; and authentic and reliable statements are therefore of deep interest and importance.

THE INCLOSURE.

"Forty-four acres of ground were inclosed by the stockade at Millin. The large pine timber, which was cut down at the commencement of operations for building the prison, was left upon the ground; and when the first prisoners went into their confinement there, they found these to be greatly to their advantage; for they were able to construct for themselves comfortable huts of logs and branches lying about them. In this respect they were more fortunate than many, or most others. The last division that entered had no shelter at all, or at least of any account. A small stream of good water ran through the centre, which the men highly prized, particularly as it afforded the much needed privilege of bathing. At the time of my arrival there, the list of prisoners numbered nine thousand. The weather was very cold and stormy; and as the majority of the men were very poorly clad, many of them being without shoes, blankets, or coats, and also without shelter, the suffering was very great. No medicine was issued to the men within the stock

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