ted.]

'Good again. Well, then, you must admit that to judge by
statistics there is an isothermal line of unchastity, or "what
gods call gallantry," and further north, one of drunkenness? How
much morality is there in a tropical climate? How many temperate
men to the dozen in Scandinavia or Russia?'

My isothermalist attempted a weak parry, but failed. When he
recovers I will inform you.

YOURS TRULY.

P.S. I am preparing a series of tables by which I hope to prove
the existence of the following isothermalities:

A Lager-beer line.
A Tobacco-chewing line.
A reading of TUPPER and COVENTRY PATMORE line.
A CREAM CHEESE line.
A Doughface line.
And a Clothes line.

* * * * *

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 clea