The weeks rolled on. Few things worthy of note occurred. The same monotony which makes prison-life so dreary robs it of interest when recorded. We would rise in the morning from our hard bed--the floor--and wash ourselves by pouring water on each other's hands; then eat our scanty rations when brought. Then the effort was to kill time until dinner came, which was about four o'clock. It was not abundant, but if we had a bundle of roasted sweet potatoes to add from our own stores, as often happened, it was not so bad. Then we did anything to keep busy until the gas was lit. This was kept burning all night, not from any favor to us, but only that the guards might see that we were not arranging any plan for escaping. This was the most cheerful hour of the day, for under the soft inspiration of the gaslight conversation flowed freely, and all the incidents of our past lives were rehearsed. Wells or some other rebel officer would often enter and talk with us. Arguments and discussion on all manner of subjects were introduced, and often continued until the midnight bells were striking in the town. Then would come our evening prayers as we lay down to dream often of home and friends and freedom. In the morning the same round recommenced. Thus days glided into weeks, and weeks passed into months. The golden hues of autumn deepened into the sombre colors of early winter, and still we were in Atlanta. It almost seemed as if we would never be anywhere else. At length there came a day of wonderful joy. A number of officers, including the provost-marshal, came to the barracks, and, inquiring out our room, had us all drawn up in line. One of them stepped forth and addressed us, saying that he had good news to communicate, which they had been hoping to receive for some time past. He continued, "You have all been exchanged, and all that now remains is to send you out of our territory by way of Richmond and City Point." Each of them then came along our line and shook hands with us,--the Tennesseeans and regular soldiers included, twenty in all,--offering congratulations on the happy terminations of our trials, and wishing us much joy on our arrival at home.