A scattered few lay here and there on the utmost verge of the field, killed by cannon shot, and so mangled, that in some instances, it was hard to tell who they were. As we advanced, they lay thicker and thicker. Some, not quite dead, were constantly crying, "Water! water! -- Oh! for God's sake, a little water!" -- Others lay quite dead, but still their lifeless visages retained the dark frowns of war. There, on the side of the enemy's breast-work, lay the brave ensign Boushe, covering with his dead body, the very spot where he had fixed the American standard. His face was pale and cold as the earth he pressed, but still it spoke the fierce determined air of one whose last sentiment towards those degenerate Britons was, "There d--n you! look at the stripes of liberty." Close by ensign Boushe, lay that elegant young man, Alexander Hume, Esq. with his sword still grasped in his stiffened fingers. My heart bled within me, when I looked on young Hume, where he lay in all the pale beauties of death. He was to have been married the week following, to a charming woman; but such was his zeal to serve his country, that he came a volunteer to our camp, and met his death the next morning after he joined us. Gifted with a pretty taste for painting, he had tried his skill, and very successfully too, in sketching the likeness of his lovely mistress. For on opening his bosom, was found, suspended by a blue ribband, (the happy lover's color) a fine likeness of the beautiful Miss ----: the back of the portrait was stained with his blood; but unconscious of her lover's fate, she still wore the enchanting smile with which yielding beauty views the youth she loves. We then proceeded to bury our dead; which was done by digging large pits, sufficient to contain about a hundred corpses. Then taking off their clothes, with heavy hearts, we threw them into the pits, with very little regard to order, and covered them over with earth. "Poor brothers, farewell! the storm of your last battle has long ago ceased on the field, and no trace now remains on earth that you ever lived. The worms have devoured your flesh; and the mounds raised over your dust, are sunk back to the common level with the plain. But ah! could your mournful story be read, the youth of America would listen to the last words of Washington, and `study the art of war,' that their countrymen might no more be murdered by military quacks.