THE _Steuben Courier_ says that a man walked forty miles to claim exemption from the war-draft, on the ground of inability to stand long marches and the hardships of camp life.--A man named Jefferson Davis was drafted in New Bedford on Tuesday last. We hope that he may be able to go, and be in at the death of his illustrious rebel namesake.--Seven of the waiters in one of the popular hotels of Boston were the victims of the draft, but the next morning after their names had been drawn from the wheel of the Provost-Marshal, they had all skedaddled to parts unknown, and have not been heard of since.--There were two Mike Sullivans, the _Boston Herald_ says, living at Fort Hill, and neither had any other distinction. One of them was drafted, but which of them neither could tell, nor any one else. One of them was called upon by a friend, who inquired if he was the Michael Sullivan who had been drafted. "Yes," said Mike, "I suppose I am." "Are you sure of that, now?" exclaimed Mike's friend. "How the divil do you know but you axe the other Mike Sullivan?"--A laughable circumstance took place in the Fourteenth Ward, Philadelphia, during the drafting. Everything was going on quietly, and good humour appeared to be depicted upon every countenance. Among the many hundreds that were there was a pale-faced son of the Emerald Isle, gazing on the wheel, and at every revolution gasping for breath. Of a sudden, losing all control of himself, he burst out: "Wherl it round! wherl it round!--rouse it, will ye!" "What's the matter with you?" said the Provost-Marshal. "Oh, be jabers, turn it round a dozen times, for that man you drawed last is my next door neighbour." GREAT SCARCITY.--369. Speaking of the great scarcity of provisions down South, a Northern paper says--"Tea is so scarce in the South that they haven't even drawings of it, and there are no grounds for supposing that they have any coffee." THE CAPTAIN'S PUDDING.--370.