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.

She promised to send a donation. Nothing more was heard from her for a couple of weeks, when one morning the ladies assembled in the vestry-room of the church received a large basket from the elderly maiden lady. On opening it, they found three dozen starched muslin, night-cape, with frills all round them, bows and long strings.

'Did you ever?' asked Miss G–. 'I declare Miss– has set her Caps for the soldiers in earnest this time.

We select the following as the best proposed completion of the unfinished poem by Fitz-James O'Brien, published in our July number:

Detroit, Mich., June 22d, 1862.

Editors of Continental: As you do not give the conclusion of that 'Watching the Stag,' I propose to finish it in this wise:

'Watching my face with half-closed eyes,' As I lean my head on the dappled stag That stiffens beneath a windward crag. His flanks are black with the hardened sweat, And a film has clouded his eye of jet; While a round, red wound that oozes still,' Tells of his fate and my marksman's skill. Oh! the granite crags shall no longer feel His fleet hoofs ringing like steel on steel, And shepherd shall never again espy His antlers painted against the sky! The mountain tarn, so lone and cold, The delicate shadow no more shall hold; The fleetness has died in each rigid limb, And never shall dun hound follow him! Stanch Hela blinks as she half recalls That savage chase through the mountain-walls, And growls as she dreams how her white teeth sank With a thirsty grip in his shuddering flank. Dream on, good dog! through the night so chill, Till sunrise surges over the hill, Till the heather glows and the peaks are gay, And then for our mountain-home hurra!

We are indebted to L. H. Brook, of Cambridge for a version of

MARGARET'S SONG

FROM 'FAUST.'

THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY

The Continental Monthly has passed its experimental ordeal, and stands firmly established in popular regard. It was started at a period when any new literary enterprise was deemed almost foolhardy, but the publisher believed that the time had arrived for just such a Magazine. Fearlessly advocating the doctrine of ultimate and gradual Emancipation, for the sake of the UNION and the WHITE MAN, it has found favor in quarters where censure was expected, and patronage where opposition only was looked for. While holding firmly to its own opinions, it has opened its pages to POLITICAL WRITERS of widely different views, and has made a feature of employing the literary labors of the younger race of American writers. How much has been gained by thus giving, practically, the fullest freedom to the expression of opinion, and by the infusion of fresh blood into literature, has been felt from month to month in its constantly increasing circulation.

The most eminent of our Statesmen have furnished THE CONTINENTAL many of its political articles, and the result is, it has not given labored essays fit only for a place in ponderous encyclopedias, but fresh, vigorous, and practical contributions on men and things as they exist.

It will be our effort to go on in the path we have entered, and as a guarantee of the future, we may point to the array of live and brilliant talent which has brought so many encomiums on our Magazine. The able political articles which have given it so much reputation will be continued in each issue, together with the new Novel by Richard B. Kimball, the eminent author of the 'Under-Currents of Wall-Street,' 'St, Leger,' etc., entitled,

WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?

An account of the Life and Conduct of Hiram Meeker, one of the leading men in the mercantile community, and 'a bright and shining light' in the Church, recounting what he did, and how he made his money. This work excels the previous brilliant productions of this author. In the present number is also commenced a new Serial by the author of 'Among the Pines,' entitled,

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