ONLY ONE WOUNDED."

BY MRS. CAROLINE A. SOULE.

"No letter for you, this mail." The post-master spoke kindly, for he knew she was a soldier's wife, and he knew, too, by the rapid, eager words with which she had addressed him, that her whole heart was on her lips.

She stood for a moment in silence by the window, a great tear-drop settling on each pale cheek.

"Was there any news, last night?" 'Not much-none of any consequence. Some of our Iowa boys have had a little brush with the guerrillas, a few miles from Cape Girardeau come off finely, too captured the whole lot-never lost any on our side-only one wounded.

it was?"

toil to lash away the slow-moving hours. had dropped her head upon the table in a O, God! the agony of suspense! It is dead swoon. worse than the worst reality! The soul accepts the blow when it has fallen cepts it, though it make it reel for a time, well nigh on to the grave-but till it falls, while yet with terror-stricken eyes it sees the uplifted hand, it shrinks, shudders, crouches, sways to this side and to that, its hope but little better than a blank fear, its prayer only a dunb moan.

Through the eager crowd gathered in and about the post-office, the next Monday evening, Mrs. M. made her way with little trouble. They knew she was a soldier's wife; they knew her husband had been in the last skirmish; they knew she had walked three weary miles over the lonely prairie to hear the news.

never

Can I bear to write of what she sufferaced afterward, when they had kindly cared for her and carried her home, and when she had read the letter which her husband had dictated. No, no, no. It curdles my heart only to think of it. That right hand which had touched her so tenderly in the days of courtship, which had held her so firmly in the hour of marriage, which had labored so diligently for her in the eight years of their wedded life! Nevermore would its fingers intertwine with hers in the grasp of love stroke her forehead when the hour of pain was on never write her another long, sweet letter-never. And those four lit tle ones! A father's right hand would never again rest in holy blessing on their heads; and there was the baby, born since he went away! And they were poor, too! a little farm upon the prairie all they had, and that needed the daily la hor of a man's right hand. Would a soldier's bounty, would his monthly pittance compensate for those nerves and sinews that the surgeon had carelessly tossed out of the window.

"Any letter to-night, Mr. S.?" she fa rly shook in her shoes.

"The mail is not distributed yet, but if you will walk into the back room, you may read my 'Register,' till I get through. I'll let you know if there's a letter."

He passed her the newspaper, and one of the men kindly opened the door for her, and the clerk brought her a lamp.

She held the paper nervously, for full five minutes, then tore off the wrapper, and ran her eyes up and down the columns. Nothing on the first page. She opened the sheet.

Further from Cape Girardeau-full particulars of the late skirmish with guerrillas-our troops victorious.'

The large capitals swam before her eyes her eyes so misty with fear. She calmed herself, she hardly knew how, and read one word by word. It was good news all along till the concluding paragraph.

We came off without the loss of a single man, and only one seriously wounded. A private, John M., had his right hand so seriously shattered that amputation was necessary. But he is doing

well."

"A letter to-night, Mrs M.," and the post-master himself came out of the office, and with a pleasant smile on his face, walked towards the table. But no eager hand was outstretched. The soldier's wife

-

Ah, it is only when we pick up the little records of these dreary times, loop together the slender black threads of woe, that we realize what a pall covers our country. All that Mrs. M., my neighbor, suffered through those three long, weary days of suspense, was suffered, was suf fered also, by sixty-five troubled women, for there were that number of married men in Company D., and none knew to what particular private that "only one wounded," had reference; then think of the fathers and mothers, and sisters and brothers, and sweethearts of the young men, for that "only one wounded "might be their son, their brother, their lover. Ah, as I said to a friend, the other day,

we shall never, never know the hundredth part of what this war has cost us. How many ears grow weary listening for footfalls whose tramp was hushed in the gory stream of battle; how many eyes grow dim looking for forms that lie buried in some shallow trench; how many hearts go aching for loved ones who shall never more come back, or if they do, come "maimed for life." A hand, an arm, a foot, a leg, perhaps an eye, the prizes of a battle-field. O, the darkness and the gloom of homes that once were happy! O, the cruel blight of war! that falls not only on the soldier, dead or wounded, but so sadly on his precious household - his wife and little ones!

LIFE.

BY ANNA M. BATES.

Tossed like a rent and rainbow shell,
From Time's upheaving ocean foam,
Forevermore the soul will tell

Of heaven, its native home,
Of brighter lights and softer airs,
· Of feelings that are half divine,
Arising upward in our prayers,
Like incense from a shrine.

This life is an unquiet thing,

We strive, we toil, we struggle on,
We drink at every wayside spring,
Until the last is gone;
Till on the desert hot and bare,
With weak and fainting frame we sigh,
For cool palms waving in the air,
And pleasant fountains nigh.

We walk amid our fellow-men,
Amid them all, and yet apart,
A hidden angel's fluttering wings,
Still stirring in our hearts;
We pause to weave forbidden dreams,
We bow at altars formed of clay.
We radiate with fancy's gleams,
The flowers that decay.

And this is life! to love, to part,
To go through earth unsatisfied,
To feel the vision that we clasp,

Not that for which we sighed;
To bear with cold neglect and scorn,
To meet a foe where smiled a friend,
To see the loved to silence borne.
O, can this be the end?

Nay; for this life is but a ray

Shed from a fixed and steady star,
Awhile it gleams on life's rough way,
While clouds its splendor mar;
But bursting from the veil of sense,
Beyond the glory light shall fall,
In God's unerring recompense,
Forever on us all!

Torino-Ride about town-Departure by rail to Susa-Tragedy de la capot-Passage of "Mont Cenis," at midnight - An arctic scene-Through Layoyard district-From St. Jean de Maurienne to Geneva by railwayArrival-Out of door life.

Before leaving Turin we took carriage and made a circuit of the city and its environs, which, in the clear, bracing air and bright sunshine, proved a pleasant and invigorating excursion, aside from the many objects of interest, and the fine view which a part of our ride furnished. Turin lies in a green, basin-like vale, formed by the semi-circular sweep of an Alpine chain of mountains, through whose fertile fields the rivers Po and Dora wind their sparkling waters; the scene from a bridge,. spanning the latter, was quite charming, while the drive through the spacious wellbuilt streets of the interior of the town,the sight of its public edifices, and institutions of benevolence and education, gave satisfactory proof of the progress and prosperity of a people far in advance of their southern brethren in intelligence, thrift, and liberality of thought and purpose.

Not remaining to participate in the festivities of the evening, for which such extensive preparations had been made, we left Torino at 6 o'clock, by rail, to Susa, by way of Mont Cenis" pass, expecting to reach Geneva the following evening. At the railway office we encountered an elderly woman who, bidding adieu to her

son, (a young man employed in some mercantile house at Turin,) was starting alone for Paris. Finding that we were going a part of the journey on the same route, she made herself acquainted with Monsieur and Madame, and as there was much that was amusing and unique in this new human subject for study, thus presented to our notice, we soon found ourselves greatly interested in her ladyship.

benevolence was the precious dust offered by the gruff-voiced old lady, to Monsieur and Madame, and what real pity expressed on her face, that the strangers could not enjoy with her, the enlivening comfort of a generous "pinch" every three minutes, which was about the average space be tween these pleasant little operations. Finding that we had neither acquired this common practice, nor a perfect knowledge of her native tongue, naturally enough, the Receiving an addition to our party in old lady began to look upon her two comshape of an honest-faced country girl of panions,-whom Providence had thrown uncertain age, we were soon seated vis-a- in her way, as little more advanced than vis in the railway carriage, waiting for the inexperienced children, in other respects train to move on. A moment before also, and it was intensely amusing to see leaving, however, the old lady started up with what hearty good nature she took in an agony of alarm, crying out like a upon herself the task of endeavoring to child in a fright. What could be the amuse us in every possible way that betrouble? was the woman going mad of nevolence could suggest-with lively ges grief, with parting from her son? Some tures, smiles, nods and such little talk as direful calamity, surely, had surely come she thought suitable to our state of adolesupon her! In another instant our fears cence, se endeavored to beguile the way, were relieved, when with frantic gestures, pointing our attention to every outside obtears and cries, she ejaculated, "Ah! ject, from "le feu" of the engine, which Mon Dieu! Mon Capot! Mon Capot! we were passing, to "les Alpi," whose fancy this descent from high tragic to the white cloud-like outline skirted the evencomic! Country girl, full of sympathy, ing horizon. And all in such a motherly rushes forth from the car, and, in less time way, apparently dictated by a friendly dethan the scene could be described, flies sire to contribute to the happiness of her back holding the missing garment trium-charge over whom she had assumed the phantly in her hand!-back, just as the office of protectress. train commenced moving off, to the intense joy of the owner of the article, who was as profuse of her thanks, tears and gesticulations, as she had previously been of lamentations, when the prospect of crossing "Mont Cenis," without the protection of her weather-worn cloak, filled her soul with such frantic grief.

Then followed such friendly chatting and snuff-taking, between the two, that it was happiness enough for Monsieur and Madame to sit as spectators of the scene, witnessing with no small amusement, the workings of that queer machine, "human nature! We wondered if, in our enlightened America, the like real politeness, ("Benevolence in trifles!") would have been shown upon a similar occasion! Such respect for age, and such sympathy and help for a stranger in trouble? Who can say?

With what an air of grace and friendly

The old lady's costume had evidently not been selected in the vicinity of "Palais Royal," or "Rue de Rivoli," and was intended more for protection than for artistic effect. Such a medley of wrappings, piled one over the other, some of them fastened together, and others in neglige, none but a genuine European could have affected! Taken altogether, with her tall figure, dark complexion, heavy brows, piercing eyes, and gruff, yet kindly voice, our self-constituted protec tress presented quite a striking picture, somewhat, we must confess, after the Hogarth, or Thomas Hood style.

Higher and higher loomed up the long Alpine range, as we neared Susa, in the dusk of evening. It was quite night when we reached that place; the atmos phere had grown colder, indicating the vi cinity of icy summits; but all around was now darkness. After a long delay at the

light up train of sledges consisted of formed anything rather than an agreeable