A new edition of "Sketches of the War," by Charles C. Nott, is published by A. D. F. Randolph, for the exclusive benefit of disabled soldiers, in the expectation of opening for them a profitable field of employment. The volume was originally written in the form of letters to the pupils of one of the public schools in this city, but the spirited and attractive character of its contents, as well as fidelity of its descriptions, have recommended it to a far wider circle of readers, and given it an extensive popularity. The new edition will be eagerly welcomed, both for its own merits and the benevolent purpose to which it is devoted. The following interesting letter is from Colonel George E. Waring, of this city, late commander of the Fourth Missouri Cavalry: STAMFORD, CONN., Feb. 23, 1865. MY DEAR HANSON:--I send you with this a copy of "War Sketches," which were written by Colonel Nott, who was Captain in our regiment before your time, and with the tradition of whose good qualities you are familiar. It will be especially interesting to you, as recalling the scenes of our jolly rough-riding in Western Kentucky and Tennessee. Do you remember (when we took our brigade from Clinton, and started on that wild-goose chase after Faulkner) how we went into camp on the west fork of Clark's River, with our head-quarters in a retired nook in the bush, only large enough to hold our little party? and, how there came to us there, a Mr. Wade, a Mr. Chunn, and a Mr. Magness, whose statements, that they were Unionists, we doubted, until they told us of their assistance to Captain Nott? how we trusted them then; and how faithful we found them? All of this pleasant summer campaign comes back to me--as it will to you--in reading the "Sketches." And your mind will run on, as mine does, to our entrance into Murray, the next day, and the Sunday dinner with the good old fox-hunting Mr. Guthrie; (the rebels burnt his house down for that hospitality;) and our "secesh" visitors in the camp below Conyersville, with their peach-brandy and honey; and the preparation for a night attack on the enemy at Paris; and how that promising scheme was knocked on the head by a stupid order from our nervous old general, (a hundred miles away,) to turn immediately back, and leave our ripe fruit unplucked; how Faulkner took courage from our movement, and broke up our game of corn-poker on the Buffalo robe, in the next camp on the back track; and how we mounted and scoured the country, and couldn't find the party which had attacked us--only heard of them going toward Paris again?