Supper was over, too,—soon over! A small cake of meal, more or less musty, a bit of “salt horse,”—the meal was not prolonged. It was brought into the hall in a great kettle and sundry pans. The prisoners had each a tin plate, with an ancient knife and fork. There was no table; they sat on benches or old boxes, or tailor fashion on the floor. They had a way of pleasing their fancies with elaborate menus—like the Barmecide in the “Arabian Nights.” Only the menus never, never materialized! To-night, in a mess of thirty, a colonel of A.P. Hill’s, captured at Fredericksburg, laid out the table. “Mountain mutton, gentlemen, raised in Hampshire! Delicately broiled, served with watercress. No man must take less than two helpings! Brook trout, likewise, speckled beauties, taken this afternoon! There was a pool and a waterfall and some birch trees, and I went in swimming. Light rolls, gentlemen, and wheat muffins, and, I _think_, waffles! Coffee, gentlemen,—don’t cheer!—Mocha, with sugar. The urn full and plenty more in the kitchen. Something green, gentlemen,—lettuce, I think, with cucumber and onion sliced thin and a little oil and vinegar.—Don’t cheer! This mess has all the early vegetables and all the garden fruit it needs, and is _not_ scorbutic!—Gentlemen, a dessert will follow—a little trifling jelly or cream, and I think a dish of raspberries.” The “salt horse” was eaten, the thin cake of old, old meal, the small and watery potato apiece. The mess arose. “For what we have received may one day the enemy be thankful! Amen!” It was a festal night. They had a prison paper—_The Pen_—issued once a week. Foolscap paper was at a premium as was pen and ink. Therefore there was but one copy. It was read on Monday night by the gathering in division such and such a number. Tuesday night it passed to another division and another social hour. Wednesday night to another, and so on. The privates had their paper, too, and late in the week there were exchanges. This was Monday night and the hall of the editorial staff. The smoky lamps burned dim in the close and heated air. At times these officers were able to secure tobacco for those who smoked, but more often not. This present week it was not, and the hall missed this disinfectant. There were a few long benches, a dozen stools, some boxes and barrels. Those who could not find seats sat on the floor, or lounged against the darkened walls. They had a table beneath one of the lamps, and a space was kept clear for the performers of the evening. There was to be a debate and other features. The chairman of the evening arose. “Gentlemen, we will open as usual with Dixie—”