REVERY is the presentiment of the heart : the visions it evokes are but our hopes made visible.

The prisoner has ample time, and an ample field for thought. He must think ; and he cannot think without dreaming.

He sees the hour arrive when the prison doors are thrown open ; he drinks in eagerly the first breaths of the pure, untainted air ; he sees the blue sky, nothing but the deep gulf of the sky, above him-an eternity of space ; the sun dazzles him with the radiant splendor of its light, and its rays fall, warm and genial upon him, like a glorious rain of golden fire. He feels himself borne with a speed all too slow for his love, swiftly, swiftly, over the water, and over the echoing rails ; he stands at the threshold of his home, breathless, panting, the heart almost pulseless with happiness ; his mother's, sister's, wife's, children's arms are about his neck ; there is a volcano of hearty greetings--a whirlwind of happy words-a hurricane of kisses I The dream has culminated, but the dreamer does not relax his mind's hold upon it ; he clings to it with a sort of child-like tenacity, until the brain can retain it no longer, and the bright vision fades-a purple flame-farther and farther, to wane at last like a fainting star, in the cold daylight of reality !

If the asperities of an active campaign are calculated to moderate the romantic ardor with which the incipient soldier looks forward to the glorious experiences of the camp and the battle-field, a six months' incarceration in a Richmond prison may not unreasonably be expected to dissipate the last lingering vestige, which may still float vapor-like through his brain, of what is in any way connected with the romantic and the sentimental.

We are not Lion-hearted Richards here, who list at the turret casement of a new Tenebreuse, for the harp and the song of a faithful Blondel ; we are not Byronical Bonnivards chained in the dungeons of a modern Chillon, and destined to leave our prison "with a sigh;" this is no Spielburg to be rendered classical by a thousand Silvio Pellicos ;--it is only a plain matter of fact warehouse, dating back only a dozen years into the past,-a rectangular, unturreted, unbattlemented brick house, with a James River for its Danube-a canal for its lake Leran-and the rear of a row of brick dwellings for its Moravian hills.

Very little of the romantic there is about a captivity in which the cutting up of a hash, the washing of a pair of socks, and the scouring of a cook-pot, are among the unavoidable contingencies of daily life. There is nothing of the heroic about it. The prisoner may urge a claim to sympathy, not for what he does, but rather for what he cannot do,-for what he suffers, and not for what he achieves. His is a negative and abnormal condition : a soldier without a sword-a man with all the helplessness of a child,if he is not fed, he must starve-if he is not clothed he must go naked, -he is a gentleman who cooks his own dinner, does his own washing, manufactures his own furniture, mends his own clothes, and cobbles his own shoes ; he may be rich enough at home, but here lie must rest contented with the meagre pittance of pin-money which may doled out to him from time to time; lie is, in fine, the most deplorable human being that can be conceived of. But few in the world are so wretched, and so poor, that they cannot creep out where the fresh wind blows, and the sun shines, and feel that the wholesome air and the warm glow of Heaven, are blessings as boundless for him as for the richest ! What poverty is equal to the isolation from the exciting avocations of the field, the comforts of home,-to the prison penury of air and light--the misery of idleness-the famine for action -the thirst for liberty?

Of all poetry the most unsubstantial is the poetry of sorrow-it is the poetry of the plant which withers that its fruit may ripen. Bonnivard would no doubt have been much better satisfied with his long captivity in the castle of Chillon, had he been able to while away the tedium of his prison hours by reading Byron's superb manner of immortalizing his imprisonment.

But there are some forms of suffering and sorrow which baffle the most skilful alchemy of the poet ; for it is seldom that he can stoop gracefully from the spiritual to the purely material Let him paint if he can, the poetry of hunger, at a breakfast made up of a tin plate, a pewter spoon, and a very small onion ; of a hard blanket-bed on a bare floor ; let him, if he can, extract passion from the tasteless solidity of cold corn bread,-evaporate romance out of the vapid impurities of James River water,-resolve into ideality the rancid impracticabilities of Confederate bacon,or worry sentiment out of the greasy convolutions of a Richmond sausage !

It is a fact, I dare say not generally ignored, that many of the natives of Bulgaria are in the habit of emigrating to Constantinople, where they either become traders, or, what is more usual, earn an honest livelihood by all sorts of manual labor. These are mostly newly married men, who, after a number of years of separation from their young wives,-years spent in amassing their little fortune,-return home richer by their savings, to spend the remainder of their lives, contentedly and happily, in their comfortable homes.

I do not know exactly how this fact about the sensible bridegrooms of Bulgaria happened to creep into my inkstand ; but I suspect it was owing to the alarming rumors, just now prevalent, of the permanent suspension of the cartel for the exchange of prisoners, and the strong probability of our being compelled to remain in captivity during the entire continuance of the war. It has occurred to me that it would be as well for us to settle down in Libby in good earnest,-to send home for furniture and all the appurtenances of civilized domesticity, marry some patriotic Northern girl by proxy,-and make ourselves as comfortable and cosey as possible. Then, the war over, we may with good grace plunge all at once, á la Bulgarian, into the consummate blissfulness of a home, and feel that our years of captivity have not been a mere useless void.

The monotonous routine of prison life is not the most grievous of its evils. We are surprised, 9u looking back upon the past days of our prison history, to feel that weeks and months seem to have slipped away so quickly:-this surprise is wholesome. Memory, in reviewing the past, depends upon marked incidents to guide it : "on such a day I was captured;" "In such a year I entered the army," are the kind of remarks with which the mind is apt to assist memory. By such aid it computes the relative dates of the occurrence of events,-these events are its landmarks. The more of these landmarks memory can see, the more it remembers of past life. Over the monotonous uniformity of prison life, memory wanders back as over a. trackless shore, and its landmarks are so few, that it sweeps over the breadth of months with a swiftness, by which, to be deceived is to be benefited. Were it not for this melting away of trivial incidents into an oblivious vacuity, what mind, however strongly fortified behind the ramparts of philosophy, could bear the fearful burthen of all the tedium of the present multiplied by all the tedium of the past This wav-eless sea over which time sails on, and leaves no wake,-this Sahara over which the little caravan of daily sorrows journeys on its way to Lethe, and on which the foot-marks of to-clay are buried under the shifted sands of to-morrow,-such as it is, is better than too clear a record of an episode in our lives which could not be too vividly remembered without a shudder, nor all unveiled without a sigh.

" Barter Rumor-painted all over with tongues," might head a chapter of Libby life with quite as much pertinence as the opening scene in a Shakespearean tragedy.

These rumors are generally about the exchange of prisoners, or Rebel retaliation ; but when these prolific subjects have been temporarily exhausted, new tongues are painted on the imp's motley garb. The fact is, that I suspect Rumor to be the child of Idleness; for it is those among the 'prisoners who are seldom seen to read, study, or devote their time to any rational occupation, who premeditate and circulate such startling reports as " an immediate exchange of prisoners"-" flag of truce boat just up," or " lots to be drawn for hanging."

It is no wonder that I am called aside some twenty times a day by some lugubrious hypochondriac, and mysteriously informed that " Oh, it is horrible ! too horrible to think of !-The Rebels have raised the black flag, and ten Federal officers are to be hung, every day for the next three weeks, in retaliation for an equal number slaughtered in cold blood by Butler I" (probably for his breakfast.) Or perhaps it is some youthful and excitable Second Lieutenant on the highway to promotion by the War Department, and to lionization by a score of patriotic young ladies at the North, who taps me on the shoulder, accompanying this jocose and amiable manifestation by an expressive wink of his favorite eye, and who whispers in my ear (loud enough to be heard all over the room) that " the commissioners have met, and have agreed to a general exchange, and that in less than a week we will all be out !" And away he goes, smacking his lips over the savor of a premature brandy-punch at Willard's, or a dim-visioned goblet of Heidsick at " an evening party at home."

It requires all the philosophy and stoicism acquired by a long acquaintance with this sort of prison necromancy, and the vivid recollection of numberless very bitter disappointments, to enable one to arrive at the conclusion that the "hanging" and the "punch" are the one about as likely to transpire as the otherwith some degree of probability, and certainly the "advantage of position," in favor of the former.

Among the many curious and interesting operations of the human mind, none appeal to us more forcibly than those which are the result of habit, or are due to the influences of education. The merchant continues to invest, long after the acquisition of affluence has lifted him above the necessity of speculation ; the actor, long retired from the stage, still walks the highway of real life with something of his professional strut; the sailor, in his old age, still fixes a shrewd glance upon the gathering cloud, and watches the changing wind ; the old soldier, propped by his crutch, beholds in the world but another battlefield, lives strategically, and dies with the word of command on his lips.

I am led to these reflections by a sight which I repeatedly witness here, in the prison : that of Federal officers, in full uniform, sitting behind barrels, and peddling apples and segars to their fellow-prisoners. These enterprising, if unsoldierly -and ingenious, if undignified, gentlemen-must present a broad and interesting field for philosophical investigation to the Confederate strangers who visit our prison. For, what though it be no crime against humanity to peddle apples at five for a dollar, or segars at thirty-seven and a half cents a piece, in a Rebel prison, it might have occurred to these huckster-gentlemen, that neither the brick walls nor iron bars of the Libby can, with good grace, transmute a commissioned officer in the service of the United States, into a segar pedlar, or an apple dealer. There is but one conclusion which can explain this anomaly, and it is a profoundly philosophical one : these gentlemen are the creatures of habit.

The steady and significant depreciation of the Confederate currency may be judged of by the fact that in July, 1863, a one dollar United States Treasury note was valued at four dollars in Confederate scrip ; in August at six; in September and October, at seven ; in November, at ten ; in December, at twelve ; in January, 1864, as high as twenty. A gentleman's coat will cost about $3'00; a lady's bonnet $250 ; a pair of shoes $50 ; a pair of chickens $20 ; a pound of sugar $5 ; a small loaf of wheat bread $l ; a box of matches 25 cents. The monthly pay of a Rebel soldier is eleven dollars.

The great-escapade through the tunnel seems to have completely destroyed the mental equilibrium of our young Commandant of the Prison, Major Turner. He seems determined that not another prisoner shall escape from his clutches, and spares no precaution to insure our safe-keeping. The iron bars in the windows have been strengthened, and rendered impregnable. A corporal's guard patrols the building every two hours during the night, (to the tune of the " Rogue's March," whistled by the unterrified captives as they lie in their blankets) ; this patrol examines carefully every fire-place, window, nook, and corner, of every room. Major Turner seems to have been suddenly seized with the frantic idea that we might tunnel ourselves out of a third-story window, or that we might be constructing a huge balloon wherewith to elevate ourselves from the roof of the prison !

We have now roll-calls without number. We are counted and recounted, from morning until night. Even in the middle of the night we have been waked up out of our blankets to be counted, because one of the sentries happening to look down into a sewer at the corner of the street, imagined that he saw a 'Yankee," or the shadow of one, crawling up out of the inlet-when, no doubt, it was his own shadow that he saw.

Any one late at roll-call is compelled to stand up under guard, in the kitchen, for four hours. Yesterday I saw a row of five or six thus standing against the wall, for being late.

A day or two ago we were all ordered down into the kitchen, a room one hundred feet by forty-five. We were, one thousand in number, crowded into that filthy apartment. The smoke was so thick that it was with difficulty we could breathe. Even Dick Turner, the Warden (whose cruelty has, evidently, been much exaggerated) was softened at the sight ; he went to Major Turner, and begged that we might be allowed to occupy one of the rooms up stairs. But the fossilized little Commandant was inflexible

" You have heard my orders, Sir," said he, no doubt raising high his belligerent eye-brows, striking his spurred heels together with a very warlike and most imposing jingle, and dismissing poor Dick with a senatorial wave of his right hand, " you have heard my orders, Sir, and they-must-be-obeyed !"

" But," persisted the lesser Turner, "they will be choked to death with the smoke, and-"

" Item !" interrupted the pompous little Commandant, curling his hairless lip which looked as though a moustache was afraid to grow there, and coughing a portentous cough which sounded as though he had another pair of spurs in his throat.

Poor Dick felt that in such a cough might indeed be involved the future destinies of the whole Confederacy,-so back he came to us, and in that suffocating kitchen we had to stand, jammed together,, during four mortal hours.

What was going on up stairs ?

What was all this about ?

It was a search for miners' tools, and fire-arms !

I would not wonder if our bewildered little Commandant really suspected that he might discover among our poor empty boxes, and our dilapidated wardrobes, at the very least a battery of Parrot guns, a train of ammunition wagons, a derrick or two, muskets and pistols, picks, spades, shovels, saws, hammers, and who knows what not !

When we returned to our quarters, we found all our little files and tools, used for bone cutting (and some of the bone-work too)-gone I All villainouslooking pocket-knives-gone ! Whatever had an edge, or a tooth, or a point--gone ! Whatever looked as though it might be useful in lifting out the bottom of a fireplace, or digging a hole-gone !

Really,-when our distracted little Commandant now comes into our rooms, he keeps his knees well together,-it is necessary to be very cautious,--some of us might slip out between his legs !

Our boxes from home, or rather a portion of their contents, are being again delivered to us. We are no longer permitted to be present when they are opened. Captain Monroe, who has now charge of the delivery of boxes to us, has, I dare say, made this new arrangement, in order to spare our feelings in cases of confiscation. The boxes are now opened in a warehouse on the opposite side of the street, and such proportion of their contents as is deemed consistent with Captain Monroe's ideas of honesty and fair dealing between enemies, is doled out to us in blankets which we carry down to the street-door for that purpose. Yesterday one officer received as his share of his own box, two Northern newspapers and a Bologna sausage ; another one was rendered happy and comfortable by being given, out of the contents of a barrel, a package of salt and three tin candlesticks !

During the recent three months of starvation, we could see our boxes piled up in the warehouses near the prison, whilst we had hard work to keep soul and body together upon prison rations ; and every night we could hear these boxes being broken open and pillaged. All this was in retaliation, we heard, for the alleged stoppage of boxes sent from here to Rebel prisoners at the North. But why refuse to give us even the coffee and sugar sent us by our families, when coffee and sugar are regular rations given to Rebel prisoners in the Northern prisons ?

Why confiscate, wholesale, the boxes sent by Sanitary and other charitable Societies at the North ?

Oh, what a lucky hitch for the Rebels in the box question !

Some days ago we sent money, through the Warden, to purchase some under clothing in Richmond. Upon receiving the articles sent for, we were not a little surprised to discover stamped on them in blue letters : "Sanitary Commission. Philadelphia." Upon reproaching Mr. Dick Turner for this rather unfair proceeding of selling us articles which it was intended should be distributed to us gratuitously, he replied with such charming impudence that we could not get angry with him, " Why, gentlemen-they are a d -d sight better goods than you could buy any where in Richmond, for the same money !"

When it became known, a few days ago, that General Kilpatrick had crossed the Rappahannock and was on his way to Richmond, with the probable design of liberating the Union prisoners confined here, the excitement was tremendous. We had suspected that something unusual was occurring from the fact that we could not obtain the daily papers, and from the hurried movement of troops over the bridges across the James river, and through the streets, within sight of the prison. All the city troops and home guards were sent to the front. Indeed, among the killed and wounded in the engagement at Green's Farm, were some of the very soldiers who had stood guard, a few days before, around our prison.

The stairs leading from the first to the second floor were now unaccountably taken down every evening at sunset, by means of a rope and pulleys, and a sentinel, musket in hand, stood under the opening, with a lighted candle near him, ready to prevent any movement on our part in that direction. An order was read to us from Major Turner to the effect that any prisoner approaching the windows, would do so at the peril of his life ; the sentries having received strict orders to shoot any one who should touch the prison bars. It was rumored among us that some of the prisoners had written an anonymous communication to Major Turner, illforming him that unless he became more lenient in his treatment of us they would " cut his throat," and, as it was quite natural that the young commandant should object to this unpleasant process, it was surmised that all these precautions were taken with a view to its prevention.

But when we learned, through some of the negroes who swept the prison, that General Kilpatrick, with a brigade of cavalry, was within a few miles of Richmond, the true cause of these startling preventive measures was at once apparent to us. It was no doubt feared that we would make an effort to break out, overpower the guards, and endeavor to reach the Federal forces.

On the night of the 3d, we could distinctly hear the cannonading which was going on near the Chickahominy. This would have been exciting enough under any circumstances, but our anxiety was not a little heightened by the well-authenticated information that the cellars of the prison had been mined, and that it was the desperate determination of Major Turner to blow us up sooner than allow us to be liberated by Kilpatrick's raiders. Many were at first skeptical with regard to this barbarous gunpowderplot, but so positive was the evidence in support of its truth, that the conviction of its reality soon became general. If any skeptics remained, their doubts must have been removed by the statements published in the Richmond papers, to the effect that measures "not necessary to mention at present," had been taken by Major Turner to thwart the proposed liberation of the officers in the Libby, by General Kilpatrick, in case of his capturing the capital. Indeed, some of the prison officials, after the retreat of the raiders, made no secret of it.

With that sort of philosophical nonchalance so sure to be acquired during a long captivity, we laughed at Major Turner's gunpowder plot, and many jokes were enjoyed at the expense of this modern Guy Fakes. To be sure, with General Kilpatrick thundering away at the fortifications of Richmond, and with the rumored two hundred pounds of gunpowder under our feet, our feelings on the night referred to, were not of the most enviable character. Some of the more nervous, felt quite ill at ease, and some one, as I sat up in my blankets listening to the cannonading, whispered tremblingly in my ear, that he had it from the very best authority, that a soldier was sent down to where the kegs of powder were buried, regularly every half hour during the night, with a lighted candle, to see that the fuse was all right !
On the 4th, the body of that gallant soldier, Colonel Dahlgren, was brought into the city.

To-day the rumor is that General Kilpatrick has retired. The rebels are of course jubilant over the escape of their capital from the danger which threatened it. The newspapers are very bitter in their denunciations against the _raiders. They say that Colonel Dahlgren's body should have been gibbeted upon the very spot where it was found,-that the prisoners taken from General Kilpatrick's command ought to be immediately hung,-and that if the Confederate capital had been captured, it would have been the signal for the raising of the black flag in every State of the Confederacy.

Peace reigns once more in the prison. The excitement consequent upon General Kilpatrick's raid ha- - died out among us.

There are now rumors, instead, of our being released in what the Rebel authorities would call a legitimate way ; by which I suppose them to mean that we are to get out of the prison through the door instead of through the roof.

The shooting at prisoners at the windows still continues. The sentinels seem to consider it very fine sport, especially those of their number who, never having been at the front, are now afforded an upper tunity of displaying their boasted chivalry-with the mist perfect safety to themselves. We can see these gallant fellows, with their cocked muskets in their hands, stealthily walking their beats, and glancing wistfully up at our windows in the hope if "getting a shot," as if they were only festive sportsmen, and we but so many squirrels.

Now and then the report of a gun proves that these vigilant sportsmen are not idle. But a few hours ago, one of them was guilty of the most cowardly and cold-blooded attempt at assassination which can be conceived if. Lieut. Hammond, a cavalry officer, one if our number, was standing in one of the boarded enclosures used as a sink, when he was fired at from the pavement below by a dastardly coward in the shape of a Rebel sentinel. The ball grazed Lieut. Hammond's cheek, cut a piece out of his ear, and pierced the rim of his hat. There had been no violation of orders on the prisoner's part-there was no window there-lie was not even looking out. The scoundrel who fired at him had been overheard by some if the prisoners to say that he was "bound to shoot one of those d-d Yankees" before he left his beat.

We learned afterwards that the sentinel had been put under arrest.

There is great joy in the prison. We have just heard that forty-eight of our number are to be sent to city Point to-morrow on our way to the North. Those whose confidence in the ability of Major-General Butler to effect an exchange had remained unshaken, have not been disappointed. Who are to go ? This is the question on the lips of every one.

There are moments in our lives the recollection of which possesses all the unsubstantial qualities of a dream.

The first days of liberation after a protracted captivity are veiled in the misty atmosphere of unreality.

I hear around me the convivial jingling of glasses, the unnatural laughter of familiar prison voices ; before me on a spotless table-cloth are an odorous sirloin steak, and a glittering decanter of sherry.

Am I to awake presently, and find myself in my blankets in the cold, hard floor if the Libby, with a bayonet over my head and a voice shouting in harsh confederate accents : " Get up, here, fir roll-call !"

Am I really at "Murphy's"-in Annapolis-under the shadow of the glorious old flag Even so-it must be true. There is no wild phantasy about this redolent steak-this wine is palpable and warming-there is the unmistakable ring of liberty about the mirthful voices around me.

The happy voyage down the James river to City Point-the first glimpse for so many long, weary months, of the dear old flag flying from the truce boat-the loud cheers for it-the comfortable cabin, made more delightful for us by the courteous empressement of Major Mulford, and the cordial sympathy of good Miss Dig-the hearty rounds of cheers from the blockading squadron-Old Point Comfort and Point Lookout-our glorious trip up Chesapeake Bay-our stepping once more upon loyal soil-a delicious bath-clean, new clothing-the sense of regained freedom-an appetizing dinner at genialhearted Murphy's-all these, pass like the vapory shadows of a vision through my brain, which whirls and reels with delight (it is not the wine) as I begin at last to be convinced that I am not dreaming, but that I am once more substantially and positively FREE !