Three ladies called at the prison to-day. After they left the building, one of them looked up, and seeing some of the prisoners at the window, bowed to them. The guard called out to the corporal, who started a soldier after them. He pursued them down the street, but returned shortly after, saying they refused to return with him. Of course, we were all pleased with the result.
Thursday, Feb. 12.—Our time is spent in reading, when we have anything to read; card playing, dominoes, or checkers. Newspapers we get occasionally. Some devote much of their time to smoking, others to relating stories of adventures, with an occasional song and dance.
Among the songs is one, written before my advent into this, my prison home, by some one, of whose name even I am ignorant; but being a picture of our prison life, as well as a faithful expression of the sentiments cherished at the time in the breasts of many who dared not give them utterance outside of these prison walls, without the risk of punishment or exile, I give it here entire and unaltered.
SONG.
Air—Villikins and His Dinah.
All persons confined in the Capitol jail
Must know that habeas corpus shall never avail
In taking them hence, for ’twas lately decreed
That laws are denied to all men of our creed.
Chorus