With some of his fellow-prisoners he made several attempts at escape: once he was actually outside the jail, but was soon retaken. From the jail he was removed to the Macon stockade. Digging out thence, he was making his way towards our lines at Atlanta,--travelling only nights, resting in the woods by day,--when he was caught by a rebel scout, and returned to his prison quarters. From Macon he was taken to Millen, to be guarded in the stockade at Camp Lawton. Returned to Macon, he was ordered thence again to Andersonville. Shrinking from the horrors of that well-remembered pen, he was willing to risk every thing in another attempt at escape on his way thither. Going by rail, he determined to jump from the moving train; and, as several who had thus jumped with the cars in slow motion had been shot down by the guard, he made up his mind to leap while the train was at highest speed. On a down grade, he made the fearful plunge, and, as though by a miracle, he rolled unharmed down the embankment and into the ditch below. Quick as thought he was up and off for the woods. How pure and free seemed the fresh air of heaven! God speed and shield the flying boy! At the next station, the guard of the train gave the alarm, and soon a pack of five blood-hounds, with their mounted brutal keepers, were on his track, and in full pursuit. Bravely but vainly Manning sought to retain the freedom he had won at such fearful risk. Plunging into the recesses of a dismal swamp, he had brief hope that he should evade his pursuers; but soon the baying of the hounds was in his strained ears, and about him were the ringing echoes of the on-spurring guard. His hiding-place was speedily surrounded, and his hope of escape cut off. Yet he clung to dear liberty to the last. Again and again came the blaspheming shouts of his pursuers, demanding his surrender, and threatening him with "no quarter" if he compelled them to push further through the entangling briers and slimy morasses. He waded out into the sluggish waters of the inner swamp depths, to turn if possible the trail of the keen-scented hounds; but with undeviating directness they bounded towards him through brake and fen: he heard their labored breathing; then caught a glimpse of their flashing eyes and foaming jaws, as, with a vindictive howl at their long-delayed triumph, they leaped ferociously out of the thicket into the water where he stood, firm in despair. "Oh! 'twas a horrid moment," he said, "when they caught me and made a spring for my throat. I sank in the mire: a gurgling sound filled my ears--" One hound clutched him by the shoulder as he fell in the water: another sent his sharp fangs through the flesh of his side. As he rolled in the deadly struggle, the keepers came up and choked off the dogs, although one of them was urgent to have him torn in pieces because of his temerity. Weak, bruised, bleeding, despondent, Manning was carried to the Andersonville stockade, there to