Hooper,  of  Philadelphia,  who  perhaps,  in  a  few  moments,
will  be  nervously  startled  from  his  seat  by  the  cry,
"  Hooper,  letters !"  He  is  always  the  happy  recipient
of  a  large  mail  from  home,  and,  being  constantly  on
the  qui  vive  for  its  arrival,  our  wags  often  resort  to  a
false  alarm  to  amuse  themselves  by  his  vigorous  antici-
pation of  the  mail.  Lieutenant  Hooper  has  acquired
among  us  an  enviable  reputation  for  firmness  of  cha-
racter, evidenced  by  his  fearless  rebuke  of  a  Federal
ofiicer  who,  the  other  night,  in  the  presence  of  a
Confederate  officer  of  the  post,  reflected  upon  the  Ad-
ministration at  Washington.  The  lieutenant  plainly
told  him  that  he  had  mistaken  his  vocation, — that  he
should  be  "an  officer  in  the  Confederate,  not  the
Federal,  army."  The  sentiments  of  Lieutenant  Hooper
are  to  be  admired,  as  the  expression  of  similar  ones
before  Confederate  officers  has  sent  the  speakers  to
Tuscaloosa  and  New  Orleans.  Lieutenant  Hooper  is
a  warm,  devoted  friend  and  a  gallant  and  accom-
plished soldier.  His  partner.  Lieutenant  Bernard  B.
Vassall,  of  Massachusetts,  is  a  jovial,  hearty  gentleman,
whose  pleasant  manners  add  to  the  sociality  of  our
prison-life.
Over  in  the  corner  sit  a  party  playing  dominoes.  It
is  composed  of  some  of  our  choicest  spirits, — ''  Bar-
nacles" the  sea-dog,  "Wax"  the  dry  and  odd,  "Hodge"
the  steadfast,  and  "  our  Talker," — all  of  whom,  though
occupying  the  position  of  stewards,  add  zest  to  the
evening's  amusements.  Barnacles  is  an  old  quarter-
master in  the  United  States  Navy.     His  rolling  gait


150  PRISON-LIFE   AT   RICHMOND.
