''My veins ran fire. O Heaven! hide the horrors of that plain! We charged upon the rebel ranks and cut them down like grain. One bright-haired man ran on my steel--I pierced him through and through; The blood upspirted from his wound and sprinkled me like dew. 'Twas strange, but as I looked I thought of Cain and him he slew. ''Some impulse moved me to kneel down and touch him where he fell, I turned him o'er--I saw his face--the sight was worse than hell! _There lay my brother_--Curse me not!--pierced by _my_ bayonet!' O Christ! the pathos of that cry I never shall forget-- Men turned away to hide their tears, for every eye was wet. 'And the hard-featured woman-nurse, a sturdy wench was she, Dropped down among us, in a swoon, from very sympathy. 'I saw his face, the same dear face which once (would we had died In those old days of innocence!) was ever by my side, At bed or board, at school or play, so fresh and merry-eyed! ''And now to see it white and set--to know the deed was mine! A madness seized me as I knelt, accursed in God's sunshine. I did not heed the balls which fell around us thick as rain, I did not know my arm was gone; I felt nor wound nor pain, I only stooped and kissed those lips which ne'er would speak again. ''O Louis!' (and the lad looked up and brushed a tear aside,) 'O Louis! brother of my soul! my boyhood's fearless guide! By the bright heaven where thou stand'st--by thy big-hearted faith-- By these the tears our mother sheds--by this my failing breath-- Forgive me for that murd'rous thrust which wounded thee to death. ''Forgive me! I would yield my life to give thee thine, my brother! What's this? Don't shut the sunlight out; I can not see my mother. The air blows sweet from yonder field! Dear Lou, put up your sword. Let's weave a little daisy-chain upon this pleasant sward--' And with a smile upon his mouth, the boy slept in the Lord.' Such are the tragedies of civil war, the fearful probability of such events. But who has not heard of families with sons in either army, especially on the border, in Philadelphia, and Baltimore? We have heard _seven_ such instances enumerated by one lady of the former city. Let us turn from tragedy to comedy: * * * * * CAPPED THE CLIMAX. The ladies of Christopher's Church, Philadelphia, have worked like true-hearted women for the wounded soldiers. Many a poor fellow has blessed them for their contributions to alleviate his pain and make the old hospital comfortable for him. In the congregation, one elderly maiden lady, who had so far given nothing, was called on by one of her energetic sisters in the church, and implored to do something for the poor soldiers. She was told that any thing that would render their sufferings less would be gratefully received.