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We are indebted to R. WOLCOTT for the following sketch of War Life:—­

    ‘TAKEN PRISONER.’

It was a terrible battle.  Amid the rattle of musketry and whistling of bullets, the clashing of sabres, the unearthly cries of wounded horses and the wild shouting of men, the clear voice of Lieutenant Hugh Gregory rang out:  ’Rally! my brave boys, rally, and avenge the Captain’s death!’

    ‘Not quite so fast, sir,’ quietly remarked a rebel officer,
    bringing his sword to a salute; ’you observe that your men are
    retreating and you are my prisoner.’

    Hugh saw that it was so, and with a heavy heart gave himself up.

    ‘Hurrah for the stars and stripes!’ shouted a brave young soldier,
    attempting to raise himself upon his elbow, but falling back,
    exhausted from the loss of blood.

    ‘Damn you, I’ll stripe you!’ exclaimed a brutal fellow, rising in
    his stirrups and aiming a blow at the wounded man.

‘Dare to strike a helpless man!’ shouted his commander; and he warded off the blow with a stroke that sent the fellow’s sabre spinning into the air.  ‘Now dismount, and help him if you can.’  But it was too late; the brave soul had gone out with those last words.

‘Lieutenant,’ said the rebel officer, whom we will know as Captain Dumars, ’I see that you are wounded.  Let me assist you upon this horse, and one of my sergeants will show you the surgeon’s quarters.’  And he bound up the wounded arm as well as he could, helped him upon the horse, and, with a playful Au revoir, rode on.

Hugh’s wound was too painful, and he was too weak and tired, to wonder or to think clearly of anything; he only felt grateful that his captor was a gentleman, and quietly submitted himself to the sergeant’s guidance.

The battle was ended,—­in whose favor it does not matter, so far as this story is concerned,—­and Captain Dumars obtained permission to take Lieutenant Gregory to his mother’s house until he should recover from his wound or be exchanged.

When Hugh found himself established in a pleasant little chamber with windows looking out upon the flower-garden and the woods beyond, fading away into his own loved North land, he thought that, after all, it was not so terrible to be a prisoner of war.  He was decidedly confirmed in this opinion when he occasionally caught a glimpse of the lithe form of Annie Dumars flitting about among the flowers; and being somewhat of a philosopher, in his way, he determined to take it easy.

The presence of one of the ‘Hessians’ at Mrs. Dumars’ house gave it much the same attraction that is attached to a menagerie.  Feminine curiosity is an article that the blockade can not keep out of Dixie, and many were the morning calls that