to those cosmopolites on what spot of earth their
vagrant tents are pitched. Neither is he of the stuff that is likely
indefinitely to be detained: even this jealous Government need not fear
to let such an enemy go free. My comrade--not innocent or unmindful of
past losses at _faro_--contemplating the gay cavalier with no loving
glance, growls out, "They won't bother themselves with that rubbish
long."

There is another figure, quite picturesquely repulsive, which will
attract you more than if it were pleasant to look upon. A man,
exceedingly old, stout, and lame, with red, savage eyes, and a scowl
that never lightens or breaks: it would be an equine injustice to
compare his head to a horse's; that of many a thoroughbred measures less
in superficial inches. Clearly, a storekeeper from some remote village,
where he has battened on the necessities of his neighbors for years,
till he has got bloated like an ancient spider in its web. He hobbles up
and down, never interchanging a word with his fellows, but unceasingly
mumbling his huge toothless jaws; they say he never mutters anything but
curses; if so, his daily expense in blasphemy is something fearful to
contemplate. I think that cleanliness is as foreign to that horrible old
creature's soul as godliness: he never shows a vestige of linen, and I
am certain he sleeps in that rusty coat of bluish gray, and in that
squalid cravat-rope, never untwisted since it was first donned. His
offense must surely have been commerce, active and profitable, with
Rebeldom, for he never can have sympathized with any living thing.

One more picture, to close the list. I ought to know that figure, long
and lanky, but sinewy withal, though the head, under the fur cap, is
averted still.

Mock me not, for otherwhere, than along the greenwood fair,
Have I ridden fast with thee.

He turns now--I knew I was right--it is my cheery host of the White
Grounds, who led us so gallantly through brake, and brook, and
snowdrift, when the Federal dragoons followed hard on our trail: a broad
light of recognition spreads over all his honest face as he waves a
stealthy salute, and I straightway go through the pantomime of drinking
to his health and quick deliverance.

Women of all classes are confined here; but beauty alone beams on the
prison-yard from the windows of its cell. At this moment of writing, I
hear voices from a room immediately below me; fair, the speakers
possibly may be, but