POINT LOOKOUT.

     HAVE seen so little in relation to the life of a prisoner of war that is  worthy perusal, that I have thought a brief sketch of what I saw at Point  Lookout, in the course of two visits I made to that place during the war, would not be uninteresting to the general reader.
   It was  early  in  November, I863, and early in the morning, when I made  my way along the streets of Baltimore,  through a wretched, drizzly fog, to the steamboat. At six A.M., we were under  way. The weather was bad and dirty; the propeller pitched and rolled very disagreeably; and the fog did not lift until about noon, when we made Point Lookout. This was a long, flat headland, overtopped with a grove of lofty pines, and easily recognized by its light-house, the extensive hospital buildings and storehouses, the plank inclosure, and dingy tents of the prison - camp, and the triad of guardian gun- boats, "standing around," like policemen on the streetcorners. Our steamer rounded the point, lurching and tossing in a chopping sea, and came up to a sloppy wharf, where she made fast alongside great piles of fire-wood, corded up ready for use. The wharf was thronged, and made almost impassable, with army - wagons, officers, soldiers, a few civilians, and shivering gangs of Negroes in cast - off uniforms, sickly and dismal-looking, as if they had a full appreciation of their "contraband" circumstances, and dreamed not of a Fifteenth Amendment.
   A Lieutenant and guard occupied the gangway; and, as we stepped ashore, our passes, which had already been inspected by a Government detective  aboard the steamer, were taken from us; we passed the guard, and found ourselves "inside the lines " emphatically, strangers in a strange land. We tarried on the wharf, seeking for a pilot; and mean while the fog, spiteful as Kuhleborn, came back upon  us  with an ominous front of cloud, and proceeded to empty the vials of its wrath upon our heads in a way that set umbrellas at defiance. The rain came continually heavier, and entered and abided with us; and the wind blew fitfully fierce; and the steamer growled dismal, croupy music in her escape-pipe, and the wagon-horses stamped, and reared, and plunged, and splashed us with mud; and the Negroes discharged cargo in a listless, slovenly, sullen fashion, as if it were no concern of theirs: and still we stood upon the wharf, until our guide- a chance acquaintance-should be at leisure to serve us.
   When, however, our lodgings were secured, and the rain had ended, and there was a glimpse of blue sky low down over  the Virginia shore of the Potomac, the  aspect of things was less disheartening, and I ceased to shrug my shoulders. I  left my companions at the miserable bar racks where they "took boarders," and  proceeded to deliver a letter of introduction to one of the surgeons of the hospital. The buildings of this department I found to be admirably arranged. There  were several series of barracks for con valescents, mess-rooms, and commissary buildings; and within these, near the water, the several wards of the hospital  were built, divergent from a covered, circular walk, which answered for a common centre, and made access easy and  convenient to every portion of the establishment. This plan of building a hospital like a wheel, in which the central part, roofed over and surmounted by a large tank of fresh water, answered as  the hub, and the several ward-rooms as spokes, struck me as being very ingenious. The requisite compactness was secured, and, at the same time, the freest circulation of air, and the most thorough ventilation, in every part. It was owing to these fine hospitals, in every part of the country; to a large and efficient medical staff; to an abundant and judicious dietary, and to the  devotion and fidelity of volunteer nurses and aids, that such a large proportion of our sick and wounded soldiers were restored t  service, or to society, during the late war.
   Having seen the hospital, delivered my letter, and exchanged a word or two with the feeble convalescents of both armies, who were lounging languidly about, I returned to our "boarding-house," a rickety shedding, that had evidently been built by contract. After tea-commissary biscuit, bacon, cheese, coffee without milk, sour bread, and watery, raw oysters-I sought my bed, a miserable iron cot, overspread with damp-smelling blankets that I feared to inspect. Here, while the wind howled and the rats kept fearless jubilee, I slept uneasily until day broke, and the rapid roll of drums, with the bugle's tantara, told me at once that the Sabbath had come, and that "there are no Sundays in war."
   Permission and passes were to be ob tained before we could visit the prisoners' camp: so there was another Provost Marshal to be called upon.  "The De partment of St. Mary's," in which Point Lookout was situated, was, at that time, under the command of one Brigadier General M(arston), an effete and dilapidated New Hampshire politician, with a nose like the angle of a "gambrel-roof" and the peevish temper of an old bachelor, who knew how; "ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria."
   His command comprised a small brigade, and his business was the general care and supervision of the prisoners. The General had his head-quarters in a neat frame building,  immediately upon  the  bayshore, and just in the edge of the grove of tall pine-trees which marks the Point from afar off. It struck me that a man could be happy there, with that beautiful  bay ever in view, sprinkled with the white sails of many craft; and with the murmur of the waves, and the plaintive, ceaseless voices of the pines filling his  ears with Izoctz(r"le music; but-it was currently reported the General had a chronic seizure of nostalgia that made him sigh pitifully for the shadows of the New Hampshire hills and the nasal voices of his political worshipers). In front of the house-to keep the tides from undermining it  there was a sea-wallbuilt along the line of the beach, and upon this wall, the live-long day-and night, too, I suppose a sentinel paced with monotonous tread, right-about facing, and going through sundry mysterious motions with his musket, each time he wheeled. 
   To the left of the General's house is a double - cottage, devoted to the business of the Provost-Marshal, who, at the time of my visit, was a certain Captain Patterson, a man whose fiery hair and freckled face, no less than his name, betrayed a Scottish lineage.
   To this cottage we resorted, at halfpast eight of that bright Sunday morning. Captain Patterson was not in, but  would "soon be there." The clerks were polite, and made us feel at home  while we waited patiently. There were three of us: Mrs.____, a Baltimore lady, Mouline-my comrade-and myself, and our errands were the same: to visit our brothers, who were prisoners of war in the camp. A pass from the Provost Marshal was requisite to procure us access to them. The weather was charming: soft, mild, balmy as budding- time in spring; the sun streamed down with a golden radiance that made the blood tingle in sympathy; the bay, greenishblue in the sunshine, and fretting a little with remembrance of last night's gale, pranced along in white- capped rollers, and broke upon the beach with a murmurous mimicry of ocean. The tawny beach, firm, elastic, pebble-strewn, was fringed, here and there, with green festoons of sea-weed; "the stately ships passed  on"-pungies and half-rigged schooners, principally-up and down the bay and river, to harbor or to sea; and through the dark pines the breeze sent its unceasing voices, woven into strains of music one would have given much for the faculty to interpret. We waited patiently: all was so new, so charming, in this scene, that patience  seemed no  longer a virtue, but a gift.
   We waited, while the hours passed on, and the sentry trod his wall, and the Provost did not come. Presently, there was an accession to our company: a great, lumbering old family carriage drove up, bearing a gentleman and t wo ladies -people of the neighborhood-come, like ourselves, to visit prisoners. Three or four soldiers also straggled in, passes  their object. Time wore away eleven  o'clock came. "Where was the Provost?"  Busy with  the General.  Yes, there they were. Through  the window, tantalizingly open, we could detect the General's prominent profile, reflected'against the Provost's flame – colored shock. Only forty yards away, and quite likely to see that certain ladies and gentlemen had been walking up and down in front of that office for more hours than one-precious hours, too, if measured by the standard of anticipation, anxiety, uncertainty. However, business is business,  and ours would have consumed at least three minutes of that valuable time Captain Patterson was bestowing upon  yesterday's paper —so, we waited. We walked upon the beach, picking up pretty pebbles and bits of transparent quartz;we gazed wistfully out seaward, and watched the fleet of brigs and schooners that were coming and going in and out of the Potomac, catching the sunlight upon their white sails, and gliding along upon even courses with a quiet and beautiful grace of motion.
  Still the time fled. Twelve o'clock came, and one-no Provost. There were signs of disaffection among the loiterers. The soldiers retired in disgust, having failed to bring the common enemy to close quarters.  Mrs.____ and Mouline withdrew to dine. The carriage still held its position, but greatly demoralized by the retreat of its supports. I remained still on active duty, keeping faithful guard in front of the double-cottage. The sentinel on the General's sea-wall eyed me  with sympathetic glances as he trod his beat there was a fellow-feeling between us. Two o'clock witnessed the final inglorious retreat of the carriage and its occupants, but beheld also the return of Mrs.___ and Mouline to their posts.
  And now, patience and perseverance seemed at last about to be rewarded. General M        and Captain Patterson appeared, (vos filaudite!) crossed the veranda, and, without so much as tossing a look at us, entered the pine woods, and, walking rapidly, disappeared from our sight in the direction of the prisoners' camp!
    Mouline thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked out to sea. I saw Mrs.____'s eyes fill up with tears not to be repressed, as she bitterly exclaimed, "I wish the steamer were here, to take me home!" My comments made the clerks in the office look curiously at me, and shrug their shoulders. At last, however, virtue received its reward. Captain Patterson returned at three o'clock, and, being now at last accessible, was found to possess grace enough for the little favor we required of him. The passes were granted, an escort provided, and with hearts palpitating with the quick revulsion from bitter disappointment to eager expectancy, we wended our way joyfully toward the prisoners' camp.
   Perhaps it was to compensate us for our long and patient waiting on that bright Sunday that we were granted the unusual favor of a repetition of our visit to the camp next morning, when, for a period of several hours, we were free to go whither we listed, and to examine for ourselves the unique and curious world there revealed to us. Later in the war, no person was admitted into the camp upon any pretext, unless he were some missionary, with white cravat and black valise, who came to lecture the prisoners upon the ungodliness of secession, and feed their hungry bellies with goodly store of tract and pious admonition.
   The prison-camp was an inclosure of several acres in extent, immediately upon the bay-shore. It was quadrangular in shape, fenced in upon three sides with a plank fence about fourteen feet high, with a platform arranged outside along its entire length for a sentry-walk, so that th e guards might be able to oversee all that transpired within. On the fourth side, the water-front, the fence was not so high, no sentries were mounted, and there were two open gate-ways, leading to platforms built out some distance over the water, and meant to subserve various hygienic purposes. Sentries constantly guarded this open front, so as to prevent escape, while there was a regular picketguard pacing the wall, and relieved every four hours. There was also a corporal's  guard at the main entrance-gate, and a guard- house adjacent to the sutler's booth, while a regiment of infantry, some cavalry, and a battery of artillery were encamped immediately opposite the inclosure. Arrived at the main entrance, we presented our credentials, were admitted, and put ourselves in charge of  Sergeant Finnegan, who, as Sergeant of  the camp, was virtually guardian of the whole body of prisoners. Before speaking of the general couad'a?il, a word or two as to the arrangements of the camp. At the time of which I write, there were about 7,600 prisoners, apportioned off into divisions and companies, one hundred men to a company, and ten companies, (numbered from A to K) in a division. The upper third of the camp-ground (marked off by a ditch and a sentry-walk, across which no prisoner is permitted to come, unless on duty, or on special leave) was appropriated to commissary buildings and mess-rooms, of which there was one for each division, calculated to dine three hundred men at a meal. Each division and each company was in charge of a Confederate Sergeant, who mustered the men, called the roll, told them off for special duty, and acted as their agent with the authorities; for which services he was compensated  by extra rations, extra privileges, or, as the case might be, with a parole that made' him free of the whole region inside the Federal lines. This was quite a source of profit to many of the Sergeants, they receiving commissions for disburs ing the funds of prisoners, (when they had any) selling their wares and toys, buying their supplies, and acting as their factors in numerous transactions, ille gitimate equally with legitimate.
    Beyond the mess-rooms was an open space, then the sentry - walk, after that  the pumps, wells, etc.; another open space, and then came the prison-camp  proper, neatly laid off into avenues and streets, according to the various com panies and divisions: so that, given his number- e.g., John Smith, Company A, First Division-any individual in the whole camp could be found when needed.
   At my first visit, on Sunday afternoon, I did not go down into the camp proper, but, sending for the person of whom I was in search, contented myself with a distant view of the strange and animated scene. Over and above the dirt natural to soldiers in active field life, and which must necessarily have been inseparable from the Confederate soldier, who had to make his uniform do such faithful and protracted service, there was a sort of dinginess peculiar to the celor of the material of which the Confederate clothes were made; and consequently those soldiers were perhaps the dirtiest in appearance that the world has ever seen.
  I looked down upon the busy aisles and squares of the camp, where some two or three thousand of these men were moving about, singly or in groups, talking, walking, sauntering, staring, or scratching; and I confessed to myself that it was the motliest scene I ever witnessed, or expected to witness. Immediately about me were a dozen or so of prisoners, doing voluntary service in the Commissary Department, at whom I looked full as curiously as they did at me. They  were all lads, spare, thin, sallow, and, as a rule, having an expression in their eyes which told of hardships so long endured as to be contemplated patiently. I was particularly interested in one little fel low, a mere child in appearance, but with a certain manly air that was evidence enough of his bravery, while every thing about him told that he had received the rearing of a gentleman. He told me that he was nineteen years old, but I should not have thought him to be over sixteen, so slight was he, so boyish-look ing-or, rather, girlish; for his long, smooth hair, his fine-cut features, his quiet, blue eye, and especially the way in  which his lip quivered in acknowledg ment of a kind word or two, made me feel toward him that pitying sense which is awakened within us by the sight of a distressed and helpless female. He was a South Carolinian, attached to Rhett's  battery, had been wounded at Gettys  burg, and taken prisoner during Lee's; retreat. Poor little Woody! He seemed to stand apart from the rough men around him, as if none were his friends; and he had no one to befriend him. I took the  name and address of his only acquaint ance in Maryland, but he had made some mistake in regard to it-no such person could be found. Ah me! I knew there  was some poor mother's heart aching for that boy.  I could see "mother's pet" written in every line of his sad, lone some- looking face.
   Visiting the camp, on Monday morning, early, we were escorted by the lively Finnegan right into the heart of the mys tery, and left there in charge of our re spective relatives. After a turn or two,  my brother left me to go get his breakfast-his division just then marching up to their mess-house in a long file, two abreast-and I sauntered about, along  the boundary avenue," seeing the sights."
   The entire camp was in a state of activity, and a more bizarre spectacle it was impossible to conceive. I endeavored, as I best could, to fix upon some average characteristic by which to comprehend the scene in its esisenzble(?), but I fear I was not very successful. In fact, there was no exact standard to be pitched upon the Confederate did not satisfy any one's preconceived notions of a soldier. In every particular, his appearance was the opposite of what his reputation in the field led me to look for. He was, for example, unrivaled in the endurance and celerity of his marches - marches in which his only commissariat was the field of unripened maize-his only ordnance to be conquered from the enemy's trains-yet, his gait was without edan: it was careless, slouching, free, and, apparently, rather dull and slow. His  shoes were of every pattern, and generally bad -I mean when he had any at all, for nearly one-fourth of the poor fellows I saw were utterly barefoot. His uniform was scarcely to be recognized as such, save that he invariably wore a jacket of an invariably dingy hue. His head-gear was indescribably motley and various, embracing every possible mode:
the blue kei, lettered and jaunty, in spite of dilapidation and dirt; slouch hats, black, brown, gray, torn, ragged, bandless, weather-beaten; old Guayaquils, Quaker broad-brims, (doubtless the spoils of Pennsylvania shelves) dismasted "stove-pipes," sailors' Scotch caps,  elaborate, embroidered, velvet smokingcaps, and-no hats at all. Some whom I saw were in their shirt-sleeves; and some had scientifically bandaged the hurt places in their garments, and wore dingy bandanas about waist, shoulder, and knee. Many sported their blankets like a Mexican poncho,- and, by way of substitute for blanket, I quite frequently saw some peeled and dilapidated quilt, or a strip of drugget or carpeting, many-hued as Joseph's coat. Yet, there was one distinguishing mark by which the Confederate soldier could invariably be recognized. This was: DIRT. It is a fact, that, with few exceptions, these veteran marchers and inveterate combatants were always dirty. They smelt' like tramps and /abitzeds(?) of the work-house; they looked like the puddlers of a brickyard. Dirt gave a hue, an odor, and a texture to their garments. Dirt added warmth and substance to their underclothes, (when they had any) and was irremovably ingrained in their skinsclinging to them as tightly as their sunburn.  Three-fourths of the army were infested with an ineradicable psoric taint, which must still torture some portions of the Southern country, and will probably survive the present generation. This universal dirt was to be deprecated, as impairing the health and efficiency of troops; but it seemed to be inseparable from the kind of service which the Confederate forces had constantly to encounter. Whenever our own army had  to encounter like severities, it was not able to preserve a more cleanly habit.
   A hospital-patient at Point Lookout informed me, that, when McClellan's army was at Harrison's Landing, recuperating after the fatigues and losses of the Seven Days' Fight, it became so filthy and infested that one could not lie down upon the ground anywhere without being invaded by a ravenous swarm, ten-fold worse than those fleas of Tiberias, whose paeans have been sung by "Eo6then(?);" and a Confederate prisoner, actuated by a quaint esprit de caris that was laughable enough, remarked to me, seriously and soberly: "'The Yankee gray-backs are a great deal bigger and fiercer than ours!" In point of fact, the Confederate service was a terribly hard one, and the men were so exercised in the mere matter of existence, that care of the person never had time to occupy their thoughts. They had not sufficient clothing for a change; nor had they often camped where water was so lavishly supplied as to be wasted on ablutions. So, it happened that the Confederate soldier -both in the field and camp-was constitutionally dirty, and possessed of an intrinsically bad smell. Nevertheless, there were individuals in it-and I saw numbers of them at Point Lookout, where their Maryland friends had many opportunities to supply them-who were as scrupulously neat, sweet, and clean in their persons, upon all occasions, as if they had just emerged from a bandbox. 
  The average fhysique of the Confederate was about that of the Federal soldier, I think. As a rule, they were less stout in flesh-thinner in cheek, and less prominent in muscle-evidently in consequence of a poorer quality of food. I noticed, also, that while there were a great many remarkably fine-looking men -men stamped with that air and bearing which are inseparable from good breeding, education, and refinementthere was also a much larger proportion of lads -slim, slender, and undeveloped -than in our army. Unquestionably, these boys suffered more in health than soldiers who had four or five years more on their side; yet they, in many cases, evinced qualities of endurance, and general soldiership, far above their elders.
  I was watching the hasty ablutions performing around the pump, and-while unpleasantly conscious that I was the centre of an increasing, staring, possibly admiring crowd-was amusing myself with the actions of one tall fellow, who, standing in file at the mess-room door, preparatory to taking his breakfast, had lifted his weather-beaten cap with one hand, and with the other was grubbing, plowing, harrowing, scraping, and raking among his long, unkempt, gypsy -like black locks, with a zeal and earnestness of endeavor impossible to describe, and  so significantly, that I felt quite a contagion of example, as I involuntarily stepped to windward of him. When my brother returned from breakfast, his face twisted into a depreciatory grimace whilehe told me of his fare, and the insatiate yearning that possessed him for "one good square meal once more in his life." I called his attention to the chap I had been watching, and remarked that he reminded me of the model husbandman
"qui cultie a la fois son esprit et ses champs.” "Pshaw!" said Bobus, "that's  nothing-look  there!" 
 and he pointed across to the sunny side of the inclosure, where, seated under the lee of the fence, were some fifty or sixty men, very busy, indeed-some with their shirts off; some with their trowsers in their hands. It was a picture by Murillo, done in American colors. Bobus now escorted me around the camp, from one point of interest to another. Presently we came to the sutler's -a shop outside the fence, with an open counter toward the camp. An eager throng was collected here, but apparently rather of spectators than customers. "See how those Tar - heels block up;the way," said Bobus. "They have no money; they never buy any thing:but here they stand, the livelong day, gaping at a cheese, or a link of sausage." Henri Murger speaks of a Bohemian flinging glances at a Christmas-turkey in a shop-window, hot enough to roast it, truffles and all; and the fierce eyes with which some of these poor Goobers regarded the riches of the sutler's shanty-its stores of provend, and its wealth of wear-convinced me that the chronicler of Bohemia did not exaggerate in his description. The scene was a fair commentary upon "the want and woe" of war. I thought, as I stood there gazing, that if some of the ardent preachers for active hostilities could have stood where I did, and seen what I did, they would have-"passed by on the other side."  It was a naive and vulgar hunger, perhaps; and some of the Baltimore boys, whom I knew in that same camp, would have starved sooner than exhibit it.  Nevertheless, the sight affected me poignantly; and, with a keen sense of  human impotency in the presence of human misery, I turned away, saddened and chilled to the very depths of my heart.    In the camp, however, such sights provoked no sympathy, but only scorn and ridicule. I speedily discovered, that, outside a man's own immediate circle of friends and acquaintances, there was little or no kindliness or fellow-feeling among the prisoners. A sauzve-qui.pezt rule prevailed: it was, continually, "devil take the hindmost." At the same time, there was but little open talk or free confidence: "There are so many spies in camp," it was explained to me. It must be remembered, however, in vindication of the prisoners from the character of unmitigated selfishness, that they were here confined without superiors to whom they could look up; every officer above the rank of Sergeant being sent to a different point, or, as was later done, confined in a separate camp. The sense of equality in such circumstances naturally engenders a spirit of selfishness:
   I, Jack, am as good as Gill; I, Jack, have "to hoe my own row"-let Gill hoe his likewise. Had their officers been with them the case would have been far different, for the Confederate soldier was much attached to his superior; who held him accountable, of course, for the quality of his service-all veterans do that -and was a severe, because an intelligent critic of his conduct; but he judged him justly, and sustained him always.
   As a rule, however, an able officer, no matter what treatment he receives from those above him,'is certain to be appreciated by the rank and file. I heard a Confederate soldier speaking of his Captain, a martinet and tyrant, who had occasioned him long  imprisonment and much  suffering.  "I hate the fellow," said he, "but I can't help respecting him. He's as brave a man as ever lived, and a splendid soldier. I would follow him anywhere; for he would be sure to get me out, or-to stay in with me." 
   Near the sutler's booth a brick-yard was located, where thousands of bricks, neatly made of the stiff, white oak-clay which composes both soil and subsoil at Point Lookout, were laid out in symmetrical rows, to dry in the sun. These adobes were fabricated by the prisoners for the hearths and chimneys of their chebangs.  Brick-making was only one of numerous branches of industry pursued in the camp; and, like another rebellious people aforetime in bondage, our Rebel prisoners were forced to make their bricks "without straw "-no means of burning them being provided.
  I was struck with the truth of an observation made by the English Colonel Freemantle, in his pleasant book, upon the many slang words, phrases, epithets,etc., current in the Confederate camps. I have noticed the same thing among the Federal soldiers. I suppose it is an American propensity to invent names as well as things. The war vocabulary is a surprisingly large one, and will contribute handsomely to the next edition of Mr. John R. Bartlett's excellent "Dictionary of Americanisms." Some of the slang in use among the prisoners at Point Lookout was very amusing, as well as suggestive. For instance: prisoners who procured their release by taking the oath of allegiance, were called " Galvanized Yankees "-I suppose from the analogy to that worthless jewelry which is produced in imitation of gold by the electrotypic process. But it would require a separate article to do justice to this subject.
   Bobus next conducted me toward the camp proper.  "This is Market Street," said he, as we turned into the main thoroughfare- an avenue about twenty-five feet in width, with a shallow ditch on each side. Market Street had three or four streets parallel to it, and was intersected by probably a dozen more, all trodden hard and firm by the incessant feet that traversed them. The tents were pitched so as to front upon these streets, and were of three patterns: the common A tent, the wall tent, and the Sibley tent. The latter was much the best one in use, but was objected to by the prisoners, on the ground that too many men could be packed into it, rendering it unhealthy. Nearly every tent had its fire-place and chimney, albeit some were built in the most primitive fashion-of sticks and mud-and many had been disabled by the gale, the night before. Many ingenious fellows had built themselves substantial wooden houses- well framed, weather-boarded, battened, taut, and snug- made entirely out of cracker-boxes; of which, of course, a very great number came to camp. But, indeed, the whole camp bore evidence of industry and skillful mechanism, and sufficiently proved the fact that the inventive ingenuity of the continent is not by any means monopolized by New England. I saw singularly tasteful rings, made with a penknife out of an old horn button, or a piece of beef-bone. Badges, breast-pins, chains, seals, etc., abounded; but the most elaborate and elegant piece of workmanship was a species of fan, carved with a penknife out of a single block of wood, and yet as carefully and delicately wrought as a Chinese toy in ivory. Considering tools and material, these fans (which were sold at twentyfive cents apiece) were remarkable specimens of handicraft. Some of the prisoners, I learned afterward, wishing to escape, had built themselves a couple of boats out of cracker-boxes, and were just ready to launch them, when detected. And one inventive genius, who certainly merited to be encouraged, constructed a miniature steam-engine out of such old scraps of iron, etc., as he could pick up in camp and around the beach. The engine was said to run admirably, and yielded its builder quite a handsome revenue, by grinding hard-bread, and turning bones and gutta-percha for the ring-makers.
   Market Street was a curiosity, indeed; and I may have gazed about me with eyes that wonder filled rather too full of speculation, but hardly think I stared so much, or so hard, as I was stared at, especially by the Tar-heels. No sooner did I pause at any point, but a crowd of curious ones would gather around me, so that I was glad to "move on" again.  Poor fellows! Any body from the out side world was a treat and a wonder to them, shut up as they were from every thing like diversion and variety.
   " Come on," said Bobus; and I followed him through the press and throng. I never beheld, within so small a compass, such a variety of life and character as I encountered upon Market Street. Gray beards and children; red-headed Tennesseeans, and dark Creoles from Florida and Louisiana; men well-clad, and men in rags; men lounging and "loafing," or rushing and "shoving" their way along: the street was crowded and thronged with them. Here would come a fellow -barefoot, ragged as to his shrunken breeches, hatless, dirty and torn as to his shirt, his beard shaggy and innocent of comb or brush, his skin tarnished and brown with the stains of many a hard campaign; yet he would march along, sedate and dignified, with a tattered, filthy blanket flung over his shoulders, as stately and proud as any Don Caesar that ever strode the Prado. Here would chance an Irishman, jolly and dirty, with as many freckles on his nose, and dimpling smiles about his mouth, as he had rents in his garments.Here came one in whom you could detect the old-time dandy, though his skin appeared in a dozen unbidden places through his threadbare harness. It was manifest in the tie of his ragged neckcloth, or in the twirl of his mustache, or in the cock of his frontless, greasy kipi, or in the nonchalaitt assumption of his bursted boots. Here came a "Tiger," browner than the brownest, brawnier than the brawniest, shaggy, defiant, insolent, and "ugly"-looking, as he lounged by, sucking fiercely at his stubby pipe, and shouldering his undisputed way through the crowd. Here, a Baltimorean, better clad than most of the prisoners-thanks to friends at home-always to be known by his jaunty step, his trimbuilt figure, his easy, rollicking air, and the inevitable tooth-brush thrust always, like a nosegay, in the button-hole of his neat jacket. This specimen of the Tarheel, who comes shuffling by, staring at you with lustreless eyes, is a veritable production of the piny woods-one who has been nurtured from infancy on sweet potatoes and persimmon beer. Poor devil! War has not used him kindly. His shoes are soleless; his carroty hair steals out through the broken places in his straw hat; his clothes are worn through, stained, draggled, besmeared, and his grimy person is the very incarnation of dirt.  He carries a sauce-pan in his hand, and is doubtless going to the Commissary shed, to ask for "something for a sick man"-the universal formula of his eleemosynary importunity.
   While I was present, a Tar-heel came up to Sergeant Finnegan, and, pulling a most dolorous face, solicited "a pint of grease-for a sick man!" Some of the prisoners, of the meaner kind, carried their begging to a most outrageous height. Vidocq, in his amusing memoirs, speaks of the manoeuvres of his fellow galley-slaves in the Bicetre prison, to obtain money by playing upon the simplicity and party prejudices of provincial royalists, writing to them what they called "Jerusalem letters." Many a "Southern sympathizer" in Maryland was imposed upon in like fashion, and many a letter de Jerusalem was dispatched by the Tar-heels, the Goobers, the Clay-eaters, from Point Lookout.  The plan was as follows: A fellow who wished his wants supplied, would secure a copy of some Baltimore paper, and then would get some prisoner "to the manor born," to indicate to him those among the advertisers who were supposed to be friendly to the Southern cause. Prepared with a list of these and their addresses, he would write off as many letters as he had paper and stamps for, giving a distressing picture in each of his destitute condition, and entreating aid of some kind. If the person addressed happened to have a son in the Southern army, so much the better for Mr. Tar-heel!  That son was his intimate friend, brave fellow! Often had they shared the same blanket, eaten out of the same skillet, and impartially shared the (indefinite) contents of Tar-heel's haversack. More than half of these letters produced a substantial return; and one prisoner boasted that sixteen letters which he had forwarded, in a single day, to various parties, all unknown to him, had brought him in two boxes of clothing and provisions, and more than one hundred dollars in money. It is only fair to add, that the great majority of the prisoners repudiated these mean artifices,despised those who employed them, and spared no pains to put down the practice.    But, there are other sights on Market Street. Here are the makers of rings busy in their tent-doors, like Eastern tradesmen in their bazars; here is the post-office, with its expectant throng; here is a crowd gathered about a sort of bulletin-board, upon which all new camp regulations and "orders of the day" are promulgated; here is a faro-bank, with dealer and croupier, and a greedy retinue, betting every thing, from a fragment of tobacco to a Confederate six per cent. bond. And what is this man doing? He holds out a number of pieces of tobacco, cut into sizes meet for quids, upon a sheet of paper spread over the palm of his hand, and whines out his willingness to exchange "a chaw terbacker for a cracker!"  Over yonder is his counterpart, crying, "A cracker for a chaw terbacker!" "Crackers are the predominant currency here," said Bobus, in explanation. "They are our nearest approach to specie, and are esteemed more valuable than the Yankee'greenbacks.'  They certainly comply with the demand for hard money. But, let's stop here for a moment," added he; "this is Wall Street-the grand centre of trade and barter; the mart and emporium of traffic. In its way, it is a great place for speculation."
     It was, indeed, a curious mart, and most reminded one of John Bunyan's description of "Vanity Fair." Four or five hundred persons were clustered together, in a close, eager group, through which it was quite difficult to force one's way, nearly every man present having something vendible, and each one crying his wares aloud, like hucksters in a market-house. "Here's a splendid pair of gloves," said one, holding up a shrunken pair of   black, worsted mittens, with mouse-nibbled fingers.  "Who  wants to buy  a  boot?" and a soleless, moldy, old calfskin was held up for admiration. "Cakes! cakes!" cried another, with half a dozen stale ginger-cakes in a wooden tray, hanging before him. " A ring for four bits! a ring for four bits!"  "How many crackers for my trowsers?" yelled another, elevating the cast-off article. "Do you want to buy a rael goold watch?" I was asked, and, before I could answer No, I felt some one twitching at my elbow, and turning, saw a genuine Goober.  "Stranger," said he, with an indescribable drawl, "the fare we git h'yar ain't norn of the biggest fer a tall man, an' ef you an' me kin strike up a leetle trade, I reckin et would be a graat help to me.Do you want to buy some ribbings?" and, taking from his pocket a velvet something which might formerly have been a lady's needle-case, he opened it, and straightway unrolled before my bewildered eyes some yards of broad ribbon, of the most horrible, uncompromising sulphur-yellow that can be conceived. "Et's only a dollar, straanger," said he, evidently impressed with the thought that he was offering his goods at a sacrifice. I bought the ribbon; and then, fearing lest other goods equally serviceable, might seek a market with me, I followed Bobus, and rapidly walked away from Wall Street.
    I ascertained that there was much gambling in camp, and Sergeant Finnegan told me it was productive of great mischief, as, among such a motley crew, there were of course many desperadoes, who would not hesitate to cut through a man's tent, and rob, or even murder him, if his accumulations offered sufficient in ducement. Consequently, the authorities  had made repeated, but unsuccessful, efforts to break up the practice. 
   From Wall Street, I accompanied Bobus to view the bay-front of the camp, where were many prisoners amusing themselves by fishing from the wharves; many pacing the sands, and picking up pebbles; and some impatient spirits, gazing out seaward with restless eyes, watching the moving vessels, and sniffing the crisp, salt air as if it was replete to them with suggestions of that blessed freedom for which they yearned. Near this, I saw a piece of tunneling, which had been cut by certain of the prisoners who had planned an escape, in the execution of which they had been  entrapped and most brutally shot down, with the connivance of the General in command. I saw the victims of this massacre-no other term was given to it by the officers with whom I conversed about it at the Point-at the hospital; and from thence accompanied Bobus to Baltimore Street-a locality named in compliment to its population, who were chiefly Marylanders, captured at or near Gettysburg, and brought to this camp from Fort Delaware, where the smallpox was raging violently. Many an old acquaintance of happier times did I meet on Baltimore Street, and many a cordial grip of the hand did I exchange! 0,boys!-the glory of Charles Street, and Madison Avenue; frequenters of "Guy's," habiueds of "Old Drury;" ye that used to congregate on the avenues, arrayed in all the glories of your purple and fine linen-O, boys! what a change was here! Dingy and seedy were ye, and ragged and weather - beaten, brown as tan - bark and rough as shagreenhard-fisted and tough, however, and manlike, and- happy! I could not doubt it, for I could see the clear eye, and hear the ringing laugh. Ye went away, mere puppies and snobs, most of ye. Ye came home-ye who survived; too few, alas!-men, veterans, leathern hided, iron-framed, steel-nerved.  But, 0, the aching hearts, the anguished lives, the broken homes ye left behind you in that going, brave boys! 0, the voids never filled, the graves still green, the memories still bleeding, the voice of lamentation in Ramah! 0, the desolation and the terrors of such a war!
    It was eleven o'clock, and we must depart; for the steamer was already due. We said our farewells, and turned toward the gate. As we reached it, it opened to admit a party of sixty, who had been detailed to gather fuel, and were returning, each man with a huge fagot bound upon his back. Pending their entry, I turned to wave a last adieu to Bobus, and take a final look at the camp. The blue smoke curled lazily above the tents; the hum of voices rose drowsily in the distance; the busy throngs moved to and fro in their motley garb, as before; and above them all, overlooking all, the bluecoated sentinels paced around the walls with steady tread, their bright muskets gleaming in the sunshine. Then, the steamer's whistle was heard; we started on our way; the gate opened, closed, and was barred behind us: and we were outside the prison-camp of Point Lookout.
                                            

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