An interesting work might be written on the female warriors of all nations, including the standing army of the King of Dahomey. In every country and in every age there have been men who, in point of valour, were women; and women who, in point of valour, were men. The Amazons of antiquity, the _vivandières_ of France, and the camp followers of the British army, would all be entitled to some passing notice; but more attractive still would be the personal history of those women who, instigated by the promptings of valour or love, have entered the army and served for years without their sex being discovered. The wives of soldiers who have followed their husbands to the field, sharing their dangers and ministering to the wants of the wounded, might also find place in such a work, to which we willingly present the following contribution. Towards the close of last century, a stalwart, buxom Scottish lass became the wife of a private in the 42nd Highlanders, and was permitted to accompany the regiment when it embarked, in 1795, to take part in the expedition to the West Indies. She soon learned to share in all the hardships and dangers of a soldier’s life, was frequently under fire, and became as skilful in dressing wounds as the most experienced surgeon. She was known to every one in the regiment, and was equally a favourite with officers and men. She was present at, and took part in, the attack on the island of St. Vincent, then occupied by the French and the insurgent natives. In one of the skirmishes between the 42nd and the enemy, Lieutenant-Colonel Graham was severely wounded, and left insensible on the field. After a time his own men returned and, believing him to be dead, dragged his body across the rough channel of the river to the sea-beach. The motion elicited some signs of life, and they hastened in search of a surgeon; meanwhile the body was borne along in a blanket for about four miles till they reached a post occupied by the 42nd. Colonel Graham still continued insensible, and no surgeon could be found to dress his wounds or restore him to consciousness. It was plain then, unless something were done at once he could not long survive, as a bullet had entered his side, come out beneath his breast, and shattered two of his fingers. He was already exhausted with the loss of blood. Fortunately for him our Highland Amazon was at this post, and at once proceeded to act the part of the good Samaritan. She washed his wounds, and bound them up with such skill that the surgeons, on their arrival, did not find it necessary to unloose the dressing. The colonel remained in a dangerous state for three weeks, when he was removed to England, where he gradually recovered and rose to the rank of Lieutenant-General and Governor of Stirling Castle. It is to be hoped that he did not forget the kind-hearted woman to whom he owed his life.