The skeleton sergeant comes next. He keeps a journal, and his wound drives me from the room, whenever opened. The deserter and company. He wouldn't have needed John Phoenix's tape-worm, in order to use the editorial "we." A bragging squirt of a Georgian, who got scratched in the finger in Maryland, and marched all the way here to save his precious hide and boast of the Yankees he had killed. George Peet, Fifth Ohio: a good young fellow; lost his foot the other day, after six weeks trying to save it. Henry Shaw, One Hundred and Second New York: a little, white-headed Harlemite, a little conceited; talks a little better English than the rest of them; shot in back; recovering. Arthur Jordan, Tenth Maine: obliging, pleasant, nice fellow; had the measles, and was sent to the "measly ward," from which he has just made his escape on his own hook, returning here at the risk of being put in the guard-house. Sergeant Henry Holloway, Fifth Connecticut: the only one with whom I can fraternize at all; a railroad man, engine driver, etc., infected with the insubordinate ideas natural to his regiment; otherwise, a good fellow. Captain ----, ---- ----, selfishness incarnate. It takes all sorts of men to make up a world, but let us hope that it takes few such as he. _Thursday, September 25._--Great news in yesterday's paper. It seems Pope's officers have been paroled. That is a glimmer of daylight, and looks as if the winter might not be passed in shop ward No. 7, or the Libby. General Prince is courteously alluded to as "the ringleader of the gang." For pure malignity of venom, these Richmond editors would beat even the witches' toad that was stewed after his month's nap under the stone. _Sunday, 28th._--Away with visions of home and ease! Wilder Dwight has been killed, and I am Major, I suppose.... Now to play the man and be prepared to go to the majority in either sense, when God's will is.