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And he observed to a friend who bantered him upon AMI ABILITY.*

being “thrown out," that it was not so; but that he But we have wandered from our two young ladies. found the lady so dexterous in wielding that weapon Annie found herself much happier in her home of re- which he “feared more than sword or fire," that he stricted means, affording but bare gentility, than her made good his retreat, and was happy in doing so. friend was in hers, of affluence and splendor. She had Poor Sarah! this was the revulsion, and not the a sister older than herself. She had not, therefore, so only revulsion of her selfish arrogance. And after she early been solc mistress of the parlor. She had also a got to hear through a friend that her lover's procrastinabrother and two sisters treading pretty closely on her ting diffidence had originated in the malicious represensteps, demanding some sisterly attentions and some sa- | tations of her rejected suitors, she experienced a keen crifices. Although there was no want, and no appre- regret that she had let her habitual impatience overmashension of want, in the family, yet there was a call for ter her propriety. She felt, also, the mortification of economical arrangements which, without anxiety, yet having committed a coarse, unfeminine act, and one demanded sobriety of reflection and of views. And that degraded her in the eyes of a man whom she reall these circumstances, with the iscreet guidance of spected, and could ave loved. She had, her parents, had tended to confirm the character of little reference to her higher responsibilities for all her Annie in humility and gentleness. The two cousins, acts and all her misdeeds. as we have told, were confidential friends. Sarah at She now secluded herself from society, and wept in her first entering society felt as if the whole world were secret, appearing only for such brief intervals as she at her option in a choice for life. It not unfrequently could mask her face in smiles before the public. Her happened that the gentlemen who had been first at- friend, witnessing her extreme distress, would fain have tracted by Sarah's superior traits, finished by becoming negotiated an explanation. But this the fierce pride of the lover of her more gentle friend. And this was Sarah rejected as a concession, as an “avowal,” said commonly acquiesced in by Sarah, from indifference on she, “of a love which has never been solicited.” her own part to the delinquent. Although she was too "If not solicited,' it has been 'sought,'” said Annie. honorable to play the coquette, yet she acquiesced in a The verbal expression is all that has been withheld.” weakness unworthy of her understanding—that is, she Withheld! and shall a gentleman dare to manage was not willing to have it said, in girl's parlance, that in that way with me!” said the exasperated Sarah. “she had no beau.” Reflect how many annoying, vex- “Indeed there was no management' about it,” said atious, and long enduring evils have resulted from this the kind mediatrix; “Edward loved you so well that, very cause. Sarah, from her position, and from other with his timidity of character, he became still more causes, had now suitors, if not lovers. And though irresolute lest by some mistimed declaration he should her manners toward them were scrupulously guarded, | lose you. I know this.” yet she would be seen so frequently attended by the "You knew it, did you, and did not tell me?" and same gentleman that report would imply and would the volume of tears about to deluge her face was arcirculate the news of an engagement where none ex- rested by her anger. She added fiercely, “Why did isted or was intended by the lady. And the proposal you not tell me ?" of the gentleman, which Sarah was wont to declare was “Dear Sarah, my dear Sarah," replied Annie in made “in spite of her teeth,” being rejected, he would humblest tone, "you know I would do much-any take the airs of an injured person, and not always rest thing I could to serve you.” in resentment alone. Sarah, on these occasions, would “But that you could not do,” said Sarah suspiciously. generally observe, “I declare, he does not in reality care “O! O! Sarah, how far am I from duplicity with more for me than I do for him;" adding, “It is only any one! Indeed, I have too much religion to be demy father's property that he looks at in the case.” In-ceitful, or a double dealer; though I have not half as stances of this kind having occurred several times, much as I ought to have.” After the pause of a mothere was a sort of majority against her; and when a ment she added, “ But it is best for me to tell you why gentleman approached in whom she became really in- I did not inform you; and I will, Sarah, if you will forterested, they caballed against her, dissuading him from give me. There was no treachery, no want of friendaddressing her. And notwithstanding his awakened ship, but, on the contrary, I sought your good in the feelings, his want of confidence in her integrity of thing. Will you promise not to be alienated from heart kept him upon the reserve rather longer than she me," said Annie, kissing her, “if I tell you ?" thought respectful toward herself, and she broke forth “Yes, I promise it, dear Annie,” said Sarah, pressing in invective in his presence against “coxcombs and dang- her friend's hand firmly and significantly. Poor girl! lers,” which, though not personally addressed, so effectu- in her distracted state she had no softness and no caally whipped him over the shoulder of another, that resses left, but amidst her wretchedness there arose an his love was instantly sunk in astonishment; and he impulse of principle which she made an effort to refelt a conviction of safety in never having committed tain; and she added, “I believe you, Annie, tell me himself by a proposal to one of so unbridled temper. all.”

“There is not much to tell,” said Annie. “It was * Concluded from page 214.

only that I had a misgiving that you and Edward were

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not destined, that is to say, not calculated to be happy || only—and O may God take the better part of my betogether; and in a matter which should involve the ing, and yet restore me and save me for ever!" whole life of both, I feared that I had no right to aid or The anguish of her mind, with alternations of deep to abet, as I promise you that I never lifted a finger or| melancholy, affected her health. Yet it was not so breathed a syllable to hinder or divide you."

much disappointed regard as it was self-abasement, and Annie had made more effort than usual; and now,|| a lothing of all she had ever cared for. And she said in her sympathy, as she finished, she looked very pale, to her friend, “I once thought this world was made for and appeared somewhat spent. After a moment she me; for all the world seemed at my command. But gathered her voice, and added, "It was my religious now I have nothing, at least nothing in the world, that belief, Sarah, that the matter ought to be left to take its I care for-nothing but your regard,” said she, smiling own natural course, and that that course would be best pensively. for all parties.”

“'That,” said Annie, wis because you are capable of Sarah, for one instant, had cast a bitter and derisive enjoying a better world than this; and your enthusiasm look upon her; but as she proceeded, her fine sense of hindered you from seeing any other than that which truth constrained her, and after she had finished, she you had in possession.” turned full upon her, and said calmly and distinctly, It was a few months after this that she one day said “You did right, Annie! It is best.” She then burst abruptly to her friend, “ Annie, why should you not into tears, and wept irrepressibly and sadly for a great marry Edward? I think you are well suited to each

other." After sometime Annie said, “But, Sarah, after I saw “I did not know," said Annie, “that you knew he how deeply unhappy you were, I would have brought had proposed for me.” Sarah was startled and flutyou and Edward together again, thinking that your un-tered. “I did not intend you ever should know it," common regard would incite you to compliance and continued Annie; “I refused him!” conformity. And this must convince you how much I Sarah made a strong effort, the strongest of her life, have considered you throughout."

and said, "Hear me, Annie. I did not know that he Poor, petted, humored Sarah! this was a revulsion had proposed, but thought it probable that he would. indeed! Had there been any thing in the indulgence I solemnly declare that nothing on earth should tempt of her infancy, or of her childhood, or of her whole me to marry him, should he propose it. It took no life put together, that could compensate her present suf. time to wean him from me, which shows at once the fering, had the choice been her own, she would have want of congeniality betwixt us. I was to blame, and rejected the condition and the compact with scorn that not he, in the rupture which divided us; and I already would have fed the humors of her childhood at the ex- perceive that he is not the sort of character, though an pense of betraying her power of resistance and her pos- excellent one, that I should continue to admire before sibility of happiness in other years, at that date of life all others. Yet I have the greatest esteem for him--so when the passions have developed themselves, and ren- great, that I sincerely and heartily plead his cause with dered self-control, so essential to respectability and to my dear Annie,” said she, kissing her affectionately. peace, impossible, if abetted by the opposite habit of Annie certainly looked the more interested of the the whole by-gone life. Sarah wept by turns until ex-two, and Sarah continued, “How kind it was of you, hausted, and then hushed rather than soothed; and and how disinterested, to act thus; for I know you rethen, deeply humbled, she sat revolving that she was fused Edward on my account; and I know you could indeed unsuited to Edward-unfit to be the companion like him, for you are just alike.” of a pious and amiable man; and if not of an amiable, “Thank you,” said Annie, smiling. conciliating one, still less might she agree with one of “But how," said Sarah, “could your parents consent harsh, imperious temper, like her own! And inter- that you should forego so excellent an offer-so rich, rupting her friend's endeavor at consolation, she said, too, as Mr. C. is--and you unprovided for ?" “It is all up, and for ever. I must live my life alone! “I was determined,” said Annie, “not to affict you I am unfit to marry any one! But what I am, that I any more in the affair, and I did not let my parents have been made by those who reared me, and taught know of the proposal, lest it should occasion them reme, heart, and mind, and body, and soul, and disposi- gret.” tion, to believe that every thing must bend before, and “Noble Annie!" said Sarah, “I could not have acted be submitted to my will. Yet they loved me! O, half as well; but I think you have no right longer to that they had hated me! Yes, they loved me, but they refuse. I think these matters should take their own loved not God, nor his precept! Neither have I loved natural course, and it will turn out best for all parties;”. God; for there is a golden rule of obedience in the child and “it is my religious belief,' that you have no right to as well as of faithfulness in the parent. Obedience!" reject the good which Providence throws in your way." said she, after a moment's reflection, “I never disobeyed “Nor will I refuse it any longer,” said Annie, “since I my parents; for no obedience was ever prescribed to me. believe you are perfectly in earnest in all that you say." But it is God that I have offended. I have now arrived From this date Sarah, with characteristic strength at years to know it. All my earthly ties have crum- of mind, passed an act of oblivion over all the passages bled into dust of the earth—for they were of that of her life wherein Edward and she had been associa

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HYMN.
Why those fears? behold, 'tis Jesus

Holds the helm and guides the shipSpread the sails, and catch the breezes Sent to waft us thro' the deep,

To the regions
Where the mourners cease to weep.

Though the shore we hope to land on,

Only by report is known,
Yet we freely all abandon,
Led by that report alone;

And with Jesus
Through the trackless deep move on.

Render'd safe by his protection,

We shall pass the wat’ry waste Trusting to his wise direction, We shall gain the port at last!

And with wonder Think on toils and dangers past.

0! what pleasures there await us!

There the tempests cease to roar; There it is that those who hate us Can molest our peace no more.

Trouble ceases
On that tranquil, happy shore.

ted. And at the wedding of her friend, she appeared with so free and unconstrained a satisfaction, that others forgot it also.

They have now been married more than half a dozen years. Sarah herself will probably never marry, though she has long ago ceased to regret the specific instance which so shocked and interrupted her at the time of its occurrence; for Time, though he wrests much away from us, yet has “healing in his wings.” And her sensibilities, which had been laid waste, are beginning to garner themselves in, and a deep-seated philosophy, with a strong spice of romance, added to her natural goodness of heart, which is also recovering itself, and her intellectuality, altogether render her a far more interesting as well as valuable character than she ever was before in her life.

But what of that! is she not an old maid, her bloom somewhat impaired, and arrived at the age of nearly thirty years ? My young female friends do nothing but pity her, whilst those of the other sex allow her no quarter. Edward himself has hardly got to rights with her; yet notwithstanding he does not distrust her friendship for him or his, but he can't always understand her, they are so different; but Annie knows her thoroughly, and always defends her.

She still has her little humors. It was only the other day, when Edward brought in some lozenges and sirups for his children, that Sarah laughed out and said, “I declare, you remind me of a couple of young birds ending a family-first one flutters away hither and thither, till he fetches a grub in his mouth for one of the young ones; and then, may be, he watches the nest whilst the hen-bird is off. Of for a short time, and here she comes with another grub in her mouth for another of the young ones, and so on to the end of the chapter,” said she, laughing with a half sad, half splenetic mirthfulness.

The fond young mother smiled; but the father did not like her wit, even upon his happiness; and when next alone with Annie, he said, “Did you mark that? how ill-natured, and how envious!” “0, no!" said Annie, “not ill-natured, though a little petulant, and not envious, for her heart is truly great."

“0, nobody like her, Annie, with her birds and her grubs.' For my part, I was a good mind to tell her that whilst we are associated in the humanities of life, in our covered and sheltered 'nest,' as she calls it, rearing our children, what is she?-I had a good mind to tell her that she was like some lone bird of the ocean, blown about by every wind, and continually finding the wave she lights on shifting from under her feet; yet on it goes, screeching to the storm, wending its way to more utter loneliness, seeking for rest, and finding none."

“0, Edward! Edward! I am glad you didn't tell her; for though--poor thing!-though she laughs often, yet she is just like that.” And the fond mother, ministering to husband and to children, amidst her cares and her joys, yet found a moment to drop a gentle tear to the fate of her less happy friend. My story’s told. It cannot fail to point its moral.

Vol. III.-31

A FATHER'S GRAVE. Not all the charms by kindly nature spread,

The bird's sweet carol, yellow harvest's pride, Can draw me from the narrow turf-crown'd bed

Which serves a father's lov'd remains to hide.

Unheeded glide the silent hours away,

Unseen each stranger gazing passes by; Day's monarch disappears, and ev’ning gray

Comes, and proclaims eternity more nigh.

Blest shade! thy earth-bound child still hover near,

Teach her, like thce, in virtue's paths to tread; Till she (no more a weary wand'rer here)

Who living mourns thee now, shall join thee dead.

A PIOUS WISH. When opening day salutes my eyes,

O may my thoughts ascend above; Thy favors may I always prize,

And still devoutly seek thy love.

As day prolongs the welcome light,

Or hastens onward to a close; So may my soul increase in might,

And only in her God repose.

So when the night of death draws near,

And life is but a glimm'ring ray; Great helper of my soul, appear,

And bless me with eternal day.

242

THE REST OF THE GRAVE.

Original.

sainted one, till " the voice of the archangel and the THE REST OF THE GRAVE. trump of God” shall re-animate thy slumbering dust! “Then that sleep in Jesus!” How pleasing this Such may not be my lot. I may fall in a distant description of the rest of the saints after death! Our land. The forsaken quarters of the garrison may be needful slumbers are often broken by pain of body, or my dying chamber. My few associates in labor may mental anguish, delayed by the calls of duty, or inter- deposit my remains hard by the spot where the rudest rupted by noise and tumult. In the grave disease shall paling marks the place of “the soldiers' graves," or in afflict the righteous no more--grief shall no more sit the unbroken depths of the forest, disturbed only by brooding upon the care-worn visage—laborious toil the tread of the red man, who, as he passes along the shall no more summon us from needful repose-noise bank of the river of the southwest, may point to "the and tumult shall be hushed for ever in the stillness of white man's grave.” The voice may slowly re-echo the tomb—“they rest from their labors."

back, over mountain, and hill, and dale, “He is no But what is it that gives its chief interest and charm more.” I, too, if faithful unto death, shall “sleep in to the above description of the state of separate spirits ? Jesus." The precious assurances of the word of God Is it mere rest—a mere freedom from labor, pain, and tell me that I shall. The blessed Spirit that, in hours tumultuous excitement—an idle repose ? This were of solitude and reflection, is present with me, and, unonly negative. The mind revolts at the idea, horror- worthy as I am, attests my pardon and acceptancestricken. Then there are other and pleasing associa- repeats and strengthens the assurance. And some of tions brought to the mind by the words of the apostle. i the incipient triumphs of a victory already partially All shall slumber in the grave, but the Christian only won, through faith in the atonement, fully confirm and shall sleep “in Jesus." O, how delightful to dwell perfect the assurance. With niy friend I shall “sleep," upon the expression, “In Jesus!" To be “ in Christ” and with him shall “ rise again;" "for if we believe that is descriptive of the Christian's highest attainable felic-Christ died and rose again, even so also them that sleep ity in the present world. But the union here is marred in Jesus shall God bring with him." by natural frailty, and interrupted by a thousand exter It is often the lot of merit to be unknown and unnal circumstances. What, then, shall be the felicity prized. True worth is modest and retiring. And esof the child of God when frailty, infirmity, and exter- pecially is this so when connected in the same person nal hindrances shall be done away, and that union shall with a feeble constitution, which disqualifies the posbecome perfect and eternal ? Shall we desire any other sessor for acting a prominent part upon the great stage passage to the land of our final rest than through the of life. In such cases merit is to be sought out; but gates of the tomb? Shall we desire to enter heaven by when sought and found, it shines with double lustre, any other way? No! the thought of the grave is sweet! from the circumstances in which it appears. There are “Since Jesus has lain there, I dread not its gloom.”

those moving through the streets of our cities, unseen, The lot of Enoch or Elijah is not to be envied. unknown, or living in the sequestered parts of our land, " Where should the dying members rest,

unprized, unvalued, whose mental powers and varied But with their dying head ?”

acquirements would command universal respect--whose “0, 'tis a glorious boon to die!" Death loses his 'piety would shed a brilliant lustre, as “a city set upon a sting—mortality its terrors—the last enemy is “de- hill," and whose courteous deportment, and manly, dig. stroyed "_"swallowed up in victory,” and a smile is nified bearing, would grace any circle of society. enkindled upon the very "aspect of woe.”

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene, Hark! the death-knell sounds. It echoes among

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, the mountains and vales. Though almost a thousand

And waste its sweetness in the desert air." miles twice told are in the distance, still its solemn

Such was my friend, the report of whose decease peals fall loudly on my ear. My friend has fallen- has given rise to these reflections, and to whose memloved-valued-he whose warm grasp was among the last I felt in the land of my home-sinking, even then, tribute. He was known to a few, and by that few

ory, remote as I am, I cannot forbear this passing beneath the invasions of disease, but with a visage loved and honored; and he has gone to that land where lighted up with the calm cheerfulness of aroused victory. merit will be fully appreciated—intention taken for acYes, he has fallen. His erect and manly presence has tion, and the benevolence of the heart for operative faded away. That intellectual and speaking counte

charity--where unexecuted purposes of good, preventnance no longer attracts the notice of the minister of ed by the providence of God, will meet the “ the sanctuary, marking a deep interest in the teachings done!" of the Judgeof God's house. That calm and cheerful voice no more

“Where all arrears of labor shall be paidshall greet the bereaved members of that family circle. But "he sleeps in Jesus.” Friends have consigned

W. H. G. him to the narrow house, and wept over his grave. Fort Coffee, Choctaw Nation, June 3, 1843, His remains repose near those of other friends, dear and valued, in that sequestered spot where the gently flowing stream traces its winding course through the If reproof is intended to have any effect, it must be vale. They, too, “sleep in Jesus.” Sleep on, thou ll accompanied with the indications of a friendly mind.

"well

Each well meant toil rewarded."

PARENTAL TRAVAIL FOR SOULS.

243

PARENTAL TRAVAIL FOR SOULS. of thought quite contrary to the object we have in view,

How seldom do we rise up to that degree of earnest- namely, the spiritual worship of God. We retire to ness in prayer for our children which is contemplated the secret place for prayer, and expect to enjoy a season in the promises of God! There it is described as tra- of close communion with the Father of our spirits; and vailing in birth for them-as groanings which cannot while there, without any external object to embarrass be uttered. And who ever heard of such a spirit of us, some point in relation to our worldly business comes prayer being exercised by parents in behalf of their up before our minds, which disturbs our communion children, without their prayers being answered? Who with God. ever went to Jesus with the spirit of the Syrophenician Since universal experience corroborates this fact in woman, with a request in behalf of the soul of son or relation to the mind, that our thoughts are not wholly daughter, and that request was not granted? There is subject to our control, it becomes our duty to inquire, not an interesting passage in the life of the late venerable how we shall alter the structure of our minds, but how Dr. Griffin, which very strikingly and forcibly illus- we shall prevent unnecessary distractions, and how contrates this subject. He says he lay for several succes- duct ourselves when they unavoidably occur. There sive nights deprived of sleep, in the utmost mental an- is one great centre to which the sanctified heart invariguish in behalf of his two daughters, neither of whom ably turns, true as the needle to the pole, namely, to was known to feel any religious anxiety. But, one God. If its attention is necessarily called away, it morning, after the night of the severest struggles of soon gets back again to God; there is its home, its soul with him, they both came to him in the deepest rest. Nevertheless, even such a heart is liable to disconcern for their souls; and soon they were both rejoic-tractions. To avoid these, we must watch the entrance ing in hope. I have recently, also, learned a similar of wandering thoughts into our minds; be careful what fact respecting a distinguished living minister. He was thoughts we suffer to lodge there; what trains of in the place where his son was at college, when there thought we pursue and follow out. We must watch was a revival there. He came one morning into the and pray against wandering thoughts, and endeavor to room where several clergymen were assembled, with bring every thought into captivity, into subjection to the deepest anxiety depicted in his countenance, and Christ. No doubt if we would pray in faith each day with great earnestness entreated them to pray for his to have our hearts and minds kept through Christ Jeson, for he believed him to be in such a state of mind sus, we should find ourselves in a great measure prethat the case must then be decided with him. Awful served from painful distractions. Still, when these disthought! Christian parent, when will the eternal des- tractions do occur, we must not increase the evil by tiny of your children be decided ? May it not even suffering our minds to become still farther disquieted now be the crisis with some of them, and you not and disheartened on account of them. Let the thought know it? The case of this man's son was decided come, and let it go, and our great object be still purthen-he surrendered himself to God, and consecrated sued. Let us never be disheartened, while resolutely himself to his service, and he is now a devoted minis- | and steadily aiming at the glory of God, whatever imter of Jesus Christ, and president of one of our col- pediments we may find or think we find in the way.leges.- Mother's Mugazine.

Guide to Christian Perfection.

66

WANDERING THOUGHTS. He who has entered upon a holy life, and is fixed in his purpose to live to God, is scrupulous in the examination of all his thoughts, as well as all his ways. Indeed, it is to the interior of the soul his attention is first directed. And while he finds there a consciousness that his heart is wholly given up to God, and all his delight in his will, he is pained to find at times a wandering mind, an inability to control perfectly his thoughts. This at first view seems to him inconsistent with the demands of God upon him, and he is in danger of becoming discouraged on this account, and of giving over the struggle to be holy. It is desirable, therefore, in a calm hour to take a rational and consistent view of our mental structure, and to know what is and what is not possible for us in this respect. Such, I apprehend, is the nature of our minds, that it is not possible for us to control perfectly our thoughts, and subject them to rule. For instance: we go to church to worship God; on our way thither, or while there, we see some individual who awakens in our mind a train

THE SIGN.
Worn and footsore was the prophet

When he reached the holy hill;
“God has left the earth,” he murmured,

Here his presence lingers still.
Hear me, guider of my fathers,

Lo, an humble heart is mine;
By thy mercy I beseech thee,

Grant thy servant but a sign ?"
Bowing then his head he listened

For an answer to his prayer;
No loud burst of thunder followed,

Not a murmur stirred the air.
But the tuft of moss before him,

Opened while he waited yet,
And from out the rock's hard bosom

Sprang a tender violet.
“God! I thank thee,” said the prophet,

“Hard of heart and blind was I,
Looking to the holy mountain
For the gift of prophecy."

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