we are weary and worried, shall w r e write them 
of it? They puffer, too, — having trials that are 
very heavy, they boar them alone, and let us, 
with unselfish hand, crush down our sorrow that 
it sadden not two hearts. Our soldiers bear a 
heavy cross of weariness and pain; let us send 
to them the utterances of cheerful hearts, pleas¬ 
ant memories and hopeful words, that shall be to 
them as crowns of light. Anna Parker. 
of soldiers, stained with their own blood, covered 
the trodden snow. Many of the wounded men 
were groaning in extreme agony. Some settled 
down on the snow, and died insensible; some died 
talking of home or something stirring up as dear 
recollections; others,*springing up with a wild, 
maniac cry, fell back, looking death in the face 
with a ghastly grin. To see a poor, lonely fel¬ 
low dying of wounds, without a father, mother, 
brother, sismr, or friend, near to comfort him, 
would bring tears to the eye3 of many; bat to 
Bee hundreds at once in that wretched condition, 
freezes those tears, and awakens a feeling of 
intense horror. Harrison Ross. 
Orleans Co., N. Y., 1863. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WOUNDED HEARTS. 
THREE WORDS OF STRENGTH. 
A baby was sleeping, 
A mother was weeping, 
Pale vigil was keeping, 
For slumber had fled. 
Had new* from (lie battle, 
"Where death's cannon rattle, 
O news from the battle I 
Its father Was dead. 
The wife still is weeping, 
The baby is sleeping, 
Good angels are keeping 
Watch over iU bed. 
Too young to know sorrow, 
Or life"* woes to borrow, 
Must learn aome to morrow, 
Its father i* dead. [Home Journal. 
Thkrk are three lessons I would write— 
Three words as with a burning pen, 
In tracings of eternal light, 
Upon the hearts of men. 
Have Hope. Though cloudR environ now, 
And gladness hides her face in scorn, 
Put thou the shadow from thy brow— 
No night but hath its morn. 
Have Faith. Where’er thy bark is driven— 
The calm’s disport, the tempest’s mirth_ 
Know this—God rules the hosts of heaven, 
Th" inhabitants of earth. 
Hare Love. Not love alone for one, 
But man, as man, thy brother call, 
And scatter like the circling sun, 
Thy charities on alb 
Thus grave these lessons on thy soul_ 
Hope, Faith, and Love—and thon shalt find 
Strength when life’s surges rudest roll, 
Light when thou else wert blind. 
BY ELLE.Y 0. L. KIJfBEL 
We sing of the hearts whose tides of life 
Flow out on the battle-field. 
Whose pulses Uirob to the passion-strife, 
And “dir, but will never yield;” 
We apeak of the calm, heroic souls 
That march to the beat of drums, 
Or where the thunder of battle rolls, 
Under the enemy’s guns. 
We weep for the sundered thread’of life, 
And mourn o'er the bloody brow, 
Oh ! Is this all of the fearful strife, 
Are not thousands suff’ring now f— 
Now, tho’ the homes that have lost no love 
Deem that the battle is o'er, 
And count not tiie hearts that One above 
Sees wounded to heal no more ? 
Ah, yes, there are homes in the Northern land, 
And under the Southern sun, 
" That lie in the shadow, beneath the ban, 
Watching till the day i* done, 
These heart* are pierced by the shining blade, 
And shattered by leatleu hail, 
And give no sign of the death-wound made, 
Save the mourner’s hopeless wail. 
Held in thy keeping, Father, Goo, 
Are the wounded hearts to-day, 
Under the chastening of sorrow’s rod 
The quivering pulses lay. 
Oh, grant, that within Thy land, at last, 
The palm-branch bo green and fair, 
That all on these altars of suffering cast, 
May the purified garments wear. 
Charlotte Center, N. Y. 
INFLUENCE OF MOTHERS. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
TALES OF THE TYPES. 
“My mother," said Mr. Benton, not long 
before be died, “asked me not to drink liquor, 
and I never did. She desired mo at another 
time to avoid gaming, and I never knew a curd. 
She hoped J would never use tobacco, and it 
never passed my lips.” 
Not long ago, the Rev. Dr. Mills, in one of his 
powerful appeals to mothers to consecrate their 
children to the ministry of the Gospel, said“ A 
youth, alter great deliberation, and with the 
knowledge that his mother desired him to be a 
clergymau. decided at last to become a lawyer; 
and, soon after, his mother inquired of him, in a 
tone of deep and tender interest, ‘My son, what 
have you decided to do?’ ‘To study law, 
mother.’ She only replied, ‘I had hoped other¬ 
wise;’ and her convulsive sobbing told the depth I 
of her disappointment. ‘ Do you think, ’ said he, 
‘I could go into the law over my mother's tears?’ 
He considered the case, and has long been an 
able and eflicieut clergyman. 
All that. Leigh Richmond was, he attributed to 
the simplicity and propriety with which bis 
mother endeavored to win his attention, and 
store his memory with religious truths, when yet 
almost an infant. 
Oh! if Christian mothers would but wake up 
to the use of their powers and their Influences, 
a Samuel might rise out of every family, arid 
Leigh Richmonds be numbered by thousands.— 
Hull's Journal of Health. 
My dear reader, did 
you ever stand by a case 
of type in some newspaper office and watch the 
little, tell-tale pieces ol metal that “click, click,” 
under the compositor’s hand ? Very curious 
little messengers arc they, and how many differ¬ 
ent tales they tell. One day it is a pleasant one, 
full ol the sunshine and song of life, and their 
faces seem to wear a smile, and sometimes even 
a broad laugh; another day the tale is a sad one, 
and the smile has given place to a tear. 
One day they spell “Married,” and we see a 
vision of bridal wreaths, sunshine, and happy 
gatherings, and almost fancy we hear tho solemn 
Vi hat Goo hath joined together let not man put 
asunder,’ and then the merry music. It is really 
a pleasant tale, and a pleasant vision. 
Another day they show forth the more solemn 
word “Died,’ and there seems to be a tear on 
every letter. “Died!” Who died ? Perhaps 
some one that yon and I knew—perhaps some 
Tijk cold ha? gone from the sunny nooks, 
The frost is no more in the gleu; 
And the pleasant sound of the running brooks 
Make glad the hearts of men. 
The snow-bird leaves for his northern haunt, 
The swallow has sought the eaves. 
And the trees that stood so hare and gaunt 
Now flutter their opening leaves. 
From crowns of green on the woodland heights, 
To tho sweets of the sheltered plain,— 
The earth is thrilled with new delights, 
That banish th® winter pain. 
O, dear is the sotlg of the happy bird 
That sings at my chamber door 1 
But a dearer song inj ears have heard, 
Which they will hear no tmore. 
There's a season for gladness, in the grove, 
And a time when the birds sing clear; 
But the heart that loses its early love, 
Keeps winter all the year. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
DOING GOOD. 
If there were but one human being on earth, 
and not a breathing thing to whom we could 
impart joy or aid, there would be some excuse 
for saying we could do no good. But now, as 
mi rely as there is one who needs to be benefited, 
or one whose heart can bo lightened by human 
sympathy, so surely do we possess this power. 
There are a thousand ways in which we can 
exert a good influence; for no ono is solitary 
even the severest monk necessarily has some' 
communion with bis fellows. There have been 
some who affect to be misanthropists, and, seek¬ 
ing their dwelliug amid rocks and caves, studi¬ 
ously avoid communion with man. But they 
usually tire of their resolves, and return to 
society, glad to endure its evils for the sake of 
the good. Light though our influence may be, 
yet usually it is much greater than we suppose. 
Every little word or act. every glance or gesture, 
nay, the slightest tone has a bearing; some one 
observes, some one is affected by it. Some one 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN. 
Hohenlindkn is the name of a small collec¬ 
tion of wood-cutter’s huts, situated amidst a for¬ 
est, vast and gloomy, abounding in wild ravines 
and tangled undergrowth. Two roads, of con¬ 
siderable width, have been cut through this wild, 
and here and there crossing each other, and 
winding in every direction, are tho paths of the 
hardy wood-cutters. Near this forest, on one 
side, flows the river Inn, on the other, tho dark 
waters of the Iser. 
It was the year 1800. Austria was in a dilem¬ 
ma. Embarrassed by loans and treaties with 
Great Britain, she was compelled to declare war 
with France, Seventy thousand men were 
assembled on the banks ol the Iser, to co-operate 
with England for a French invasion the coming 
spring, it being then the fall of the year. Napo¬ 
leon saw tliis immense army, like some ominous 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SPRING ON THE FARM. 
It’s a busy time with us now; so much to do 
wo have hardly time even to read the Rural. 
We hope none of our city cousins will come 
along just now, for what should we do with 
them? The boys have no time for horseback 
rides on these busy days—couldn't think of the 
thing; and I’ve no time to sit down and be 
entertaining. 
There are flowers to be transplanted, seeds to 
be sown, roses to be trained over frames—how I 
love the roses. I love them all, but most, the 
dark, rich, velvctty maroon, and the “Queen of 
the Prairie.” But I feel no particular affection 
for the bugs and worms that of late years seem 
to think roses only grow for them to feed upon. 
I teach them better, however, by cutting oil'every 
leaf on which a hug or worm shows itself. I’ve 
tried many other ways, recommended in the 
papers, to rid the bushes of these pests, but with 
little or no benefit. Some would object to this 
method as taking too much time—but not so 
much as you think, for I find if 1 commence in 
time, they seldom get higher than a few ol the 
lower branches. 
But I'm digressing, for 1 commenced telling 
how busy we are and must be, on these sun¬ 
shiny fiprlng days. There are a hundred things 
to do. First of all, there must he something 
nice and wholesome for the boys when they 
come to dinner—for marvellous appetitos they 
have now-a-days. Besides, it’s houBe-cleaning 
time, and I know all the “farmers’ girls” will 
WOMEN AND CHILDREN. 
I have seen scores and scores of women leave 
school, leave their piano, and drawing and fancy 
work, and all manner of pretty and pleasant 
things, and marry and bury themselves. You 
hear of them about six times in ten years, and 
there is a baby each lime. They crawl out of 
the further end of the ten years sallow, and wrink¬ 
led, and lank—teeth gone, hair gone, roses gone, 
plumpness gone; freshness, and vivacity, and 
sparkle, everything that is dewy, and springing, 
and spontaneous, gone, gone, gone forever. This 
our Tract Society books put very prettily. She 
wraps herself In the robes of infantile simplicity 
and buries hew womanly nature in the tomb of 
childhood, patiently awaits the sure coming res¬ 
urrection in the form of a noble, high-minded, 
world-stirring son, or a virtuous, lovely daughter' 
The nursery is the mother’s chrysalis. Let her 
abide for a little season and she shall emerge tri¬ 
umphantly, with ethereal wings and happy (light. 
But the nursery has no business to be the 
mother’s chrysalis. God never intended her to 
wind herself up into a cocoon. If He had, He 
would have made her a caterpillar. She has no 
right to bury her womanly nature in the tomb o 
childhood. It will surely be required at her 
hands. It was given her to sun itself in t)„. 
“ Where arc wandering ever the Blest!” 
And of late the types have grown terribly 
frequent in the repetition of a tale sadder even 
than the one just mentioned—“ Killed !” Only 
a few quick moves of the printer’s hand, with (lie 
neiyous ‘ click, click,” and the tale is soon told. 
“ Killed 1” And some poor heart buries its dead 
hope down in the avenues of its “Greenwood;” 
for you know every heart has its “ Greenwood ” 
where it buries its dead hopes out of sight. 
Killed ! 1 “ Killed in battle,” and the poor heart 
sets up a little monument of love and memoiy 
over the buried hope, and often goes down the 
avenues and weaves over it the laurel wreath of 
affection, and waters with its tears tho willow 
ever mournfully sighing its dirge there. 
■And another tale there is, one of wearisome 
longings and watchings, of sad and sorrowful 
disappointments. “Missing.”. We do not heed 
it much, for our home-chains are complete, there 
are no loved ones missing from our hearthstones, 
aud we have become very indifferent to these oft 
repeated tales; and yet-for some hearts the term 
Missing contains au immeasurable amount ol 
sorrow. In vain will they watch for the coming 
of that loved one that went out from them iu all 
the strength and beauty of youth; in vain will 
they listen for the sound of that voice whose last 
music for them was the sad cadence—“good-bye.” 
The anxious eyes that so often gaze down the old 
road will not be gladdened by the sight of that 
dear form; and the harmony of the home-music 
will ever he broken, for that voice will always be 
wanting. A . A . c . * 
PcnflcM, N. Y., 1863. 
tile heart, who would not hush or soothe the 
spirit? \\hen the dark and turbulent passions 
are ragjjg, when the eye flashes lire and the lips 
pour fourth fierce and angry words, is there none 
who will hush the storm? 
Again, man is so constituted that society is 
essential both to his existence and happiness. 
That Gon has made him thus, and implanted in 
him tliis yearning for sympathy and communion 
with man, is a strong proof that He Intended wo 
should be social, and society cannot exist unless 
its members seek not, only the good of themselves 
hut of others. And should we not be willing to 
lighten another* burden, even though our own 
hearts were thereby mode heavy? Yet such is 
not the reward of Him who offers the assisting 
hand and sympathizing heart, and it needs but 
the trial to lead all to excluim, 
“ A brother to relive, how exquisite the bliss. ” 
Sheridan, N, Y., 1863. Maggik M. Kktciicii. 
trians at all hazards. The French experienced 
great fatigue on that march; as the mud lay 
deep, and the chill November winds swept the 
plains from the snow-capped mountains. 
It was the night of tho third of December, 
cold, dark, and stormy, Gen. Moreau, with his 
60,000 men, entered tho forest ol' Hohenlinden 
by its numerous paths, expecting to surprise the 
enemy on the other side. At tho 
same time 
the Austrians, led by the Archduke John, 
brother of the Emperor Francis, entered the 
other side with the same expectations. But they 
were both surprised. The armies, widely ex¬ 
tended. inolin that dismal wild midway. It was a 
meeting announced by the roll of drums, bugle 
blasts, and peal after peal of tho heavy artillery. 
The scene which followed baffles descrintion. 
STEWARDSHIP. 
goods lie has entrusted us with. Every man is 
only a steward. No man cun say that aught ho 
has is his own, absolutely. We are really not 
the proprietors, but stewards. The “ goods” com¬ 
mitted to us are blessings temporal and spiritual. 
Time is a talent; money is a talent, and influence 
is a talent; education and grace are talents, in 
respect to all these we are stewards. 
1’aul says, “ Moreover it is required of stewards 
that a man be found faithful.” It has been the 
sad lament of many at death, when it was too late 
to amend the life or refuse its influences, that 
they have lost many a precious opportunity to 
do good to others. It was but a few days ago 
that we were in the sick room of a young man in 
which followed baffles description. 
Eoliis seemed to have loosened the chains of his 
subjects; with wild, unearthly shrieks, the winds 
rushed through the dark tree-tops, driving before 
them sharp, sleety flakes of snow, blinding the 
eyes of the soldiery, and making night hideous. 
There were sharp, quick flashes of fire, followed 
by the rattling of musketry along the ranks ol" 
both armies. There were big, red flashes pierc¬ 
ing deep into the darkness, followed by the roar 
of artillery. The battle commenced in earnest, 
und with the battle— death. As far as man can 
be a demon, was that demoniac quality then 
> ou will lind me soporific and lugubrious, my 
dear L., but I have just been siqfc, am now hav¬ 
ing a headache, and—it rains. I am aloue in my 
hotel bed-room, and leel my isolation all the more 
from the joyous holiday noises which come borne 
on the wind outside. Moreover, 1 am morally 
and physically tired of “/a vie tie carpet-bag,” 
which I have been leading lor eight months past. 
Nobody can give seven concerts a week, month 
in and month out, without hjs intelligence (be 
the same more or less) finally taking it in high 
dudgeon. Certain naturalists pretend that in- 
SAVE THE MOTHERS 
ittixisTKATiVK ol evil, is tin- principle that a 
woman can benefit her children by sacrificing 
herself. It teaches that pale, thin faces and 
feeble steps are excellent things in young 
mothers,-provided they are gained by mater¬ 
nal duties. We infer that it is meet, right, and 
the bounden duty of such to give up society 
in a dose strug¬ 
gle, when steel clanged to steel, many a soldier 
received his death-blow from tho hand of his 
f children. It is all comrade. This drendlul combat was kept up 
It is wrong morally; daybreak, and then did it cease? On the 
contrary, at sight of the blood-stained snow, cov¬ 
ered with the dead and dying, the soldiery fought 
more furious than before. At length the Aus- 
it, | Irian center was pierced by the continued efforts 
of the French; the wings were broken with less 
never aubordi-1 difficulty. With a loss of 25.000 men, one hun¬ 
dred pieces of artillery, and an immense number 
of baggage wagons, the Austrians fled in confu¬ 
sion 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WRITING TO SOLDIERS. 
I have been reading the last Rural and 
thinking of soldiers’ letters. What can we do 
for the absent friend or brother? We can love 
him, and our hearts will ache for his presence; 
we can pray for him. and Con will heed our 
prayers; we cau write to him, and brave, true 
words from home and friends will lighten lus 
ui i’louuu.-. Ji it a uiunaer as well as a crime, 
for it .works woe. It is a wrong means to 
accomplish the end, after all, hut demolishes 
On the contrary, the duty and dignity of a 
mother require t hat she should never aubordi- difficulty. With a loss of 25,000 men, one bun- the railroad. The most pitiable of isolations is 
nate herself to her children. When she does so dred pieces of artillery, and an immense number ex I )<31 ’i < -’hCed by the curious beast shut up in a 
she does It to their manifest injury and her own. of baggage wagons, the Austrians fled in confu- ca 2 e and exposed to the gaze of a crowd. It is 
Of course, if illness or accident demands unusual eion down the valley of the Danube. Moreau mine * ^'ever to be anything but a kind of ab- 
eare, she does well to grow thin and pale, in followed with the utmost vigor, continually liar- faction; to be an artist, and not a person; bav- 
bestowiug unusual care. But when a mother in raising the retreating ranks with storms of shot u0 to divert any of the sympathy 
tho ordinary routine of life grows thin and pale, uiul shell, until he had arrived within thirty accorded to the pianist into tho channel of the 
gives up riding, reading, and the amusements miles of Vienna, when the Emperor sent a flae maQ i forever imprisoned within the merciless 
and occupations ot life, there is a wrong some- of truce imploring peace. “It is tor that alone limits of the “ paid for;” unable to conquer those 
where and her children shall reap the fruits of diat we ore lighting,” replied Moreau; and intimate affections which are independent of the 
it. I he father and the mother are the head of without the concurrence of England, Austria P rt * s % p conferred by celebrity (deserved or 
the family, the most comely and the most honor- was compelled to sign the terms, called the n °t;) to belong to all, yet to bo nobody's. Such, 
able part. They cannot benefit their children by Treaty of Luneville. Sir Walter Scott says: “7 deal ‘ friend, is the other side of that bril- 
descendinglrom their Heaven-appointed places, — <f Tho moderation of the First Consul indicated ^ a nt (?) career to which I am condemed.— 
and becoming perpetual and exclusive l'eet and once his desire for peace upon the Continent, Gottschalk. 
hands. This is the great fault of American and considerable respect for the strength and 
mothers. They swamp themselves in a slough courage of Austria. “Peace is all 1 desire,” 
ot eelf-sacriiiee. They are smothered iu their eaid Nafolkon. “I am not fighting for arnbi- 
owu sweetness. They dash into domesticity tion or conquest!” 
with an impetus and abandonment that annihi- Tho battle-field of Hohenlinden presented a 
at lemselves. They sink into their families scene alter the struggle which cannot be de- 
LSmST *" eilin - sc . ribc ? to b ”" bl “ ™»“§ b to «»I~» 
A Cheerful Spirit. 
Cheerfulness fills the 
soul with harmony: it composes music for church¬ 
es and hearts; it makes glorification of God ; it 
produces thankfulness and serves the cud of char¬ 
ity; and, when the oil of gladness runs over, it 
makes bright and tall emissions of light and 
holy fires, reaching up to a cloud, and making 
joy round about. Therefore, since it is innocent, 
und may be so pious and full of holy advantage, 
whatsoever can innocently minister to this holy 
joy does set forward the work of religion and 
charity. And, indeed, charity itself, which is the 
vertical top of all religion, is nothing else but a 
union of joys concentrated in the heart, and re¬ 
flected from all the angles of our life and inter¬ 
course. It is a rejoicing in God, a gladness in 
our neighbor’s good, a pleasure in doing good, a 
rejoicing with him; and without love we cannot 
have any joy at all. 
He can hardly be prepared to enter the world 
of spirits who trembles at the thought of encoun¬ 
tering a solitary ghost 
Thinking and Writing.—W e doubt whether 
a man ever brings his faculties to bear with their 
whole force upon a subject until he has written 
upon it for the instruction or gratification of 
others. 
Credulity has as many ears as rumor has 
tongues—and of similar length. 
