Of some thousand Northern officers confined here, Glazier, of course, met several from his own corps, who had been previously captured. He at first felt his condition very acutely. His roving life amid the magnificent scenery of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania was now exchanged for the gloomy and monotonous routine of a prison; but he writes under date of October twenty-eighth, in a more reconciled and hopeful strain "I am gradually," he says, "becoming accustomed to this dungeon life, and I presume I shall fall into the habit of enjoying myself at times. 'How use doth breed a habit in a man.' Indeed he can accommodate himself to almost any clime or any circumstance of life, a gift of adaptation no other living thing possesses in any such degree." Of one man, in the midst of all his philosophy, our hero speaks very bitterly. We allude to Major Turner, military warden of the prison. He describes him as possessed of a vindictive, depraved, and fiendish nature, and moralizes over the man and his career in this wise: "There is nothing more terrible than a human soul grown powerful in sin, and left to the horrible machinations of the evil one, and its own evil promptings. Demons developed from germs that might have produced seraphs, become rank growths, drinking in the healthful stimulants of life and reproducing them in hideous forms of vice and crime. "'Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.' "Thus we see a soul coming pure and plastic from its Maker's hand, yet afterward standing before the world, stained and hardened."