The gas was still burning brightly. Mr. BOB PETERS had caught sight of his watch as it was reflected in the mirror, with the hands pointing to a quarter past Twelve. With great rapidity he grasped the repeater, stabbed it into his fob, crushed his demoralized hat upon his head, looked regretfully about the room, turned off the gas, and in another moment was stealthily groping his way down stairs, toward the front door. The door yielded to his hand, but no JOCKO was there. "I suppose," murmured Mr. PETERS to himself, "I suppose the faithful fellow is praying for me somewhere in the kitchen, with his hands resting on a jar of sweetmeats. Ah! I ought to be a better man than I am." With this excellent moral reflection, Mr. BOB PETERS stepped into the street and faced boldly for the path to freedom; but at the very first corner his road was barred by two individuals in military caps and the first stage of intoxication. "Aryupeters--eters!" said one, who was evidently desirous of having but a single word with him. "With a BOB," replied the fugitive sententiously. "Aw' ri', then," observed the two in chorus, and Mr. PETERS quickly found himself attended on either side by guardians whose affectionate manner of monopolizing his arms suggested a civil process of the most uncivil sort. "Treachery!" he exclaimed, struggling fiercely. The twain held him tightly, however, with the strength of tight-uns, and his exertion only caused them to venture divers pleasant oaths concerning the destiny of his eyes. Onward they dragged him, down Broad street and up half a dozen other streets, until a certain rebel institution was gained. "In with'm," said one of his captors; and they hurried him past a sentry and through a hall into a long, low room, where half a dozen miserable candles stuck up against the walls revealed a dismal company of over a hundred--some stretched upon the floor, some standing about, and others clustered around what appeared to be a cot in one corner. "Is this the Confederate Congress?" asked the astonished BOB, as his captors left him, turning the key and adjusting various bolts as they went out. "It's LIBBY'S pork-packing-house," answered the prisoner nearest him, "and you're jugged, I suppose, as a spy." "Pork-packing!" ejaculated the bewildered BOB. "Why, this is treating me like a hog." Several prisoners at once gave in their adhesion to this logical premise. "Here's a case of betrayed innocence!" soliloquized Mr. BOB PETERS, bitterly, "I've trusted to LIBBY, and Libby's taken me in."-- "I'm going to be exchanged, I tell you!"