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Manassas, indites a letter from Charleston to New York, in which he complains that the prisoners were not properly treated in Richmond: that they were subjected to the idle and offensive curiosity of spectators; that they had no opportunities of air and exercise, and, finally, what Col. Corcoran evidently considers the climax of cruelty, that no one offered them any ‘"spiritual consolation."’ We confess ourselves deeply pained by these prison revelations of Col. Corcoran. That an officer of his rare merits and a gentleman of his high social position should be treated with such indignities is a scandal to the Nineteenth Century. Well may he gibe at ‘"Virginia hospitality,"’ which has so signally failed to know a ‘"true Prince by instinct,"’ and permitted a peerless scion of British peerage, and blooming flower of Federal chivalry, to pine and almost perish for the want of ‘"air, exercise and spiritual consolation."’ It is an ancient saying, ‘"Put a beggar on horseback, and he'll ride to the devil,"’ and a more illustrious example of the truth of the problem was never seen or heard of than this same Corcoran. Who is the man? Who is this fellow that gives himself more airs than Prince Albert, (whom Corcoran refused to honor by calling out his regiment when the Prince visited New York?) Tell it not in Gath — he is an ex-policemen of Ireland, the lowest and most servile tool that the British Government employs for its meanest work in that or any other of its dominions. He came to New York, and improved his condition by setting up a dram-shop, which was liberally patronized by the neighborhood politicians.--This is the fellow who now figures as Colonel, and who makes more noise in the papers than any and all of the gentlemen of the regular service who have been taken prisoners. It must be the most mortifying circumstance in the captivity of those officers that they have to herd with such loafers and humbugs as Corcoran, and to be represented in the press and public estimation by such a miserable counterfeit of an officer and a gentleman. We really feel ashamed to waste so many words on a man who, in his own country, would never have presumed to stand with his hat on in the presence of the humblest of the neighboring gentry, but his taunt about ‘"Virginia hospitality"’ seems to demand some comment. It is a great want of humanity that, when people are here who proclaimed in advance their intention to ravage the whole land, defile its hearth stones, and exterminate the whole race, we do not board them at the Exchange, feed them on oysters and champagne, and give them the freedom of the city ! We acknowledge our shortcomings with all humility. We have failed most egregiously in the only kind of hospitality that such wretches demand or could appreciate, and that was, as we could not afford to furnish them with all the comforts due their exalted worth and character, to send them to a world where they would be sure of receiving their reward. If Gov. Wise had hung old John Brown on sight, it would have saved a good deal of bother afterwards; and if the South, invaded by an army which brought with it handcuffs and halters, and threatened rebels, from the President down, with the gallows, had treated the prisoners of that army with a taste of their own medicine, the war would be now approaching its end. As to Corcoran's lament about ‘"spiritual"’ consolation, if he does not mean ‘"spirituous,"’ he manufactures sheer falsehood when he says that nothing of the kind was offered till he reached Charleston. The pions and exemplary Bishop of his church in this Diocese, with a zeal which acts upon the presumption that every human form has a soul in it, visited Corcoran in prison, and was anxious to rescue him as a brand from the burning. But he was met with such a torrent of abuse of the South, its cause, and its people, and such an evident determination to convert a visit of a purely spiritual character into an occasion of political objurgation and vituperation, that he was forced to shake the dust of the prison from his feet. If Bishop Lynch has met with any better success, of which we have no proof but Corcoran's word, it shows that captivity is gradually bringing him to his senses. But we advise Bishop Lynch not to be too sanguine of the new penitent. An old sinner like Corcoran, an ex-Queen's policeman in Ireland, and a veteran bar-keeper for Tammany Hall in New York, must be, morally speaking, an Augean stable, and cannot be cleaned out in a day. He is one of those ‘"lewd fellows of the baser sort,"’ graphically described in the sacred records, who need to be burned to a red heat, like a foul tobacco pipe, in the hottest fires of penance, before any cleanly and honest man can admit them to his company.
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