Original. AMIABILITY.* And he observed to a friend who bantered him upon being "thrown out," that it was not so; but that he found the lady so dexterous in wielding that weapon which he "feared more than sword or fire," that he made good his retreat, and was happy in doing so. Poor Sarah! this was the revulsion, and not the only revulsion of her selfish arrogance. And after she got to hear through a friend that her lover's procrastinating diffidence had originated in the malicious representations of her rejected suitors, she experienced a keen ter her propriety. She felt, also, the mortification of having committed a coarse, unfeminine act, and one that degraded her in the eyes of a man whom she respected, and could have loved. She had, alas! very little reference to her higher responsibilities for all her acts and all her misdeeds. She now secluded herself from society, and wept in secret, appearing only for such brief intervals as she could mask her face in smiles before the public. Her friend, witnessing her extreme distress, would fain have negotiated an explanation. But this the fierce pride of Sarah rejected as a concession, as an "avowal," said she, "of a love which has never been solicited." "If not 'solicited,' it has been 'sought,'" said Annie. "The verbal expression is all that has been withheld." "Withheld! and shall a gentleman dare to manage in that way with me!" said the exasperated Sarah. BUT we have wandered from our two young ladies. Annie found herself much happier in her home of restricted means, affording but bare gentility, than her friend was in hers, of affluence and splendor. She had a sister older than herself. She had not, therefore, so early been sole mistress of the parlor. She had also a brother and two sisters treading pretty closely on her steps, demanding some sisterly attentions and some sacrifices. 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 economical arrangements which, without anxiety, yet demanded sobriety of reflection and of views. And all these circumstances, with the discreet guidance of her parents, had tended to confirm the character of Annie in humility and gentleness. The two cousins, as we have told, were confidential friends. Sarah at her first entering society felt as if the whole world were at her option in a choice for life. It not unfrequently happened that the gentlemen who had been first attracted by Sarah's superior traits, finished by becoming the lover of her more gentle friend. And this was commonly acquiesced in by Sarah, from indifference on her own part to the delinquent. Although she was too honorable to play the coquette, yet she acquiesced in a weakness unworthy of her understanding—that is, she was not willing to have it said, in girl's parlance, that "she had no beau." Reflect how many annoying, vexatious, and long enduring evils have resulted from this very cause. Sarah, from her position, and from other causes, had now suitors, if not lovers. And though her manners toward them were scrupulously guarded, yet she would be seen so frequently attended by the same gentleman that report would imply and would circulate the news of an engagement where none existed or was intended by the lady. And the proposal of the gentleman, which Sarah was wont to declare was made "in spite of her teeth," being rejected, he would take the airs of an injured person, and not always rest in resentment alone. Sarah, on these occasions, would generally observe, "I declare, he does not in reality care more for me than I do for him;" adding, "It is only my father's 's property that he looks at in the case." Instances of this kind having occurred several times, there was a sort of majority against her; and when a gentleman approached in whom she became really interested, they caballed against her, dissuading him from addressing her. And notwithstanding his awakened feelings, his want of confidence in her integrity of heart kept him upon the reserve rather longer than she thought respectful toward herself, and she broke forth in invective in his presence against "coxcombs and danglers," which, though not personally addressed, so effectually whipped him over the shoulder of another, that his love was instantly sunk in astonishment; and he felt a conviction of safety in never having committed himself by a proposal to one of so unbridled temper. * Concluded from page 214. "Indeed there was no 'management' about it," said the kind mediatrix; "Edward loved you so well that, with his timidity of character, he became still more irresolute lest by some mistimed declaration he should lose you. I know this." "You knew it, did you, and did not tell me?" and the volume of tears about to deluge her face was arrested by her anger. She added fiercely, "Why did you not tell me?" "Dear Sarah, my dear Sarah," replied Annie in humblest tone, "you know I would do much-any thing I could to serve you." "But that you could not do," said Sarah suspiciously. "O! O! Sarah, how far am I from duplicity with any one! Indeed, I have too much religion to be deceitful, or a double dealer; though I have not half as much as I ought to have." After the pause of a moment she added, "But it is best for me to tell you why I did not inform you; and I will, Sarah, if you will forgive me. There was no treachery, no want of friendship, but, on the contrary, I sought your good in the thing. Will you promise not to be alienated from me," said Annie, kissing her, "if I tell you?" "Yes, I promise it, dear Annie," said Sarah, pressing her friend's hand firmly and significantly. Poor girl! in her distracted state she had no softness and no caresses left, but amidst her wretchedness there arose an impulse of principle which she made an effort to retain; and she added, "I believe you, Annie, tell me all." "There is not much to tell," said Annie. "It was only that I had a misgiving that you and Edward were not destined, that is to say, not calculated to be happy together; and in a matter which should involve the whole life of both, I feared that I had no right to aid or to abet, as I promise you that I never lifted a finger or breathed a syllable to hinder or divide you." Annie had made more effort than usual; and now, in her sympathy, as she finished, she looked very pale, and appeared somewhat spent. After a moment she gathered her voice, and added, "It was my religious belief, Sarah, that the matter ought to be left to take its own natural course, and that that course would be best for all parties." Sarah, for one instant, had cast a bitter and derisive look upon her; but as she proceeded, her fine sense of truth constrained her, and after she had finished, she turned full upon her, and said calmly and distinctly, "You did right, Annie! It is best." She then burst into tears, and wept irrepressibly and sadly for a great many minutes. After sometime Annie said, "But, Sarah, after I saw how deeply unhappy you were, I would have brought you and Edward together again, thinking that your uncommon regard would incite you to compliance and conformity. And this must convince you how much I have considered you throughout." only-and O may God take the better part of my being, and yet restore me and save me for ever!" The anguish of her mind, with alternations of deep melancholy, affected her health. Yet it was not so much disappointed regard as it was self-abasement, and a lothing of all she had ever cared for. And she said to her friend, "I once thought this world was made for me; for all the world seemed at my command. But now I have nothing, at least nothing in the world, that I care for-nothing but your regard," said she, smiling pensively. "That," said Annie, "is because you are capable of enjoying a better world than this; and your enthusiasm hindered you from seeing any other than that which you had in possession." It was a few months after this that she one day said abruptly to her friend, "Annie, why should you not marry Edward? I think you are well suited to each other." "I did not know," said Annie, "that you knew he had proposed for me." Sarah was startled and fluttered. "I did not intend you ever should know it," continued Annie; "I refused him!" Sarah made a strong effort, the strongest of her life, and said, "Hear me, Annie. I did not know that he had proposed, but thought it probable that he would. I solemnly declare that nothing on earth should tempt me to marry him, should he propose it. It took no time to wean him from me, which shows at once the want of congeniality betwixt us. I was to blame, and not he, in the rupture which divided us; and I already excellent one, that I should continue to admire before all others. Yet I have the greatest esteem for him-so great, that I sincerely and heartily plead his cause with my dear Annie," said she, kissing her affectionately. Annie certainly looked the more interested of the two, and Sarah continued, "How kind it was of you, and how disinterested, to act thus; for I know you refused Edward on my account; and I know you could like him, for you are just alike." "Thank you," said Annie, smiling. Poor, petted, humored Sarah! this was a revulsion indeed! Had there been any thing in the indulgence of her infancy, or of her childhood, or of her whole life put together, that could compensate her present suffering, had the choice been her own, she would have rejected the condition and the compact with scorn that 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 possibility of happiness in other years, at that date of life when the passions have developed themselves, and rendered self-control, so essential to respectability and to peace, impossible, if abetted by the opposite habit of the whole by-gone life. Sarah wept by turns until exhausted, and then hushed rather than soothed; and then, deeply humbled, she sat revolving that she was indeed unsuited to Edward-unfit to be the companion of a pious and amiable man; and if not of an amiable, conciliating one, still less might she agree with one of harsh, imperious temper, like her own! And interrupting her friend's endeavor at consolation, she said, "It is all up, and for ever. I must live my life alone! I am unfit to marry any one! But what I am, that I have been made by those who reared me, and taught me, heart, and mind, and body, and soul, and disposition, to believe that every thing must bend before, and be submitted to my will. Yet they loved me! O, that they had hated me! Yes, they loved me, but they loved not God, nor his precept! Neither have I loved God; for there is a golden rule of obedience in the child as well as of faithfulness in the parent. Obedience!" said she, after a moment's reflection, "I never disobeyed my parents; for no obedience was ever prescribed to me. But it is God that I have offended. I have now arrived at years to know it. All my earthly ties have crumbled into dust of the earth-for they were of that "But how," said Sarah, "could your parents consent that you should forego so excellent an offer-so rich, too, as Mr. C. is—and you unprovided for?" "I was determined," said Annie, "not to afflict you any more in the affair, and I did not let my parents know of the proposal, lest it should occasion them regret." “Noble Annie!” said Sarah, “I could not have acted half as well; but I think you have no right longer to refuse. I think these matters should take their own natural course, and it will turn out best for all parties;' and it is my religious belief,' that you have no right to reject the good which Providence throws in your way." | "Nor will I refuse it any longer," said Annie," since I believe you are perfectly in earnest in all that you say." From this date Sarah, with characteristic strength of mind, passed an act of oblivion over all the passages of her life wherein Edward and she had been associa HYMN. 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 tending 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. Off 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!" "O, no!" said Annie, "not ill-natured, though a little petulant, and not envious, for her heart is truly great." "O, 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." "O, 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.-31 241 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; Blest shade! thy earth-bound child still hover near, A PIOUS WISH. And still devoutly seek thy love. So when the night of death draws near, 242 Original. THE REST OF THE GRAVE. THE REST OF THE GRAVE. "THEM that sleep in Jesus!" How pleasing this description of the rest of the saints after death! Our needful slumbers are often broken by pain of body, or mental anguish, delayed by the calls of duty, or interrupted by noise and tumult. In the grave disease shall afflict the righteous no more-grief shall no more sit brooding upon the care-worn visage-laborious toil shall no more summon us from needful repose-noise and tumult shall be hushed for ever in the stillness of the tomb-"they rest from their labors." And some of sainted one, till "the voice of the archangel and the trump of God" shall re-animate thy slumbering dust! Such may not be my lot. I may fall in a distant land. The forsaken quarters of the garrison may be my dying chamber. My few associates in labor may deposit my remains hard by the spot where the rudest paling marks the place of "the soldiers' graves," or in the unbroken depths of the forest, disturbed only by the tread of the red man, who, as he passes along the bank of the river of the southwest, may point to "the white man's grave." The voice may slowly re-echo 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 acceptance— stricken. Then there are other and pleasing associa- repeats and strengthens the assurance. tions brought to the mind by the words of the apostle. All shall slumber in the grave, but the Christian only shall sleep "in Jesus." O, how delightful to dwell upon the expression, "In Jesus!" To be "in Christ" is descriptive of the Christian's highest attainable felicity in the present world. But the union here is marred 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, 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 "O, '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, digstroyed"-"swallowed up in victory," and a smile is nified bearing, would grace any circle of society. any enkindled upon the very "aspect of woe." Hark! the death-knell sounds. It echoes among the mountains and vales. Though almost a thousand miles twice told are in the distance, still its solemn peals fall loudly on my ear. My friend has fallen loved-valued-he whose warm grasp was among the last I felt in the land of my home-sinking, even then, beneath the invasions of disease, but with a visage lighted up with the calm cheerfulness of aroused victory. Yes, he has fallen. His erect and manly presence has faded away. That intellectual and speaking countenance no longer attracts the notice of the minister of the sanctuary, marking a deep interest in the teachings of God's house. That calm and cheerful voice no more shall greet the bereaved members of that family circle. But he sleeps in Jesus." Friends have consigned him to the narrow house, and wept over his grave. 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 vale. They, too, "sleep in Jesus." Sleep on, thou the incipient triumphs of a victory already partially won, through faith in the atonement, fully confirm and perfect the assurance. With my friend I shall "sleep," and with him shall "rise again;" "for if we believe that Christ died and rose again, even so also them that sleep in Jesus shall God bring with him." "Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Such was my friend, the report of whose decease has given rise to these reflections, and to whose memory, remote as I am, I cannot forbear this passing tribute. He was known to a few, and by that few loved and honored; and he has gone to that land where merit will be fully appreciated-intention taken for action, and the benevolence of the heart for operative charity—where unexecuted purposes of good, prevented by the providence of God, will meet the "well done!" of the Judge— "Where all arrears of labor shall be paid- W. H. G. Fort Coffee, Choctaw Nation, June 3, 1843. Ir reproof is intended to have any effect, it must be accompanied with the indications of a friendly mind. PARENTAL TRAVAIL FOR SOULS. 243 of thought quite contrary to the object we have in view, namely, the spiritual worship of God. We retire to the secret place for prayer, and expect to enjoy a season of close communion with the Father of our spirits; and while there, without any external object to embarrass us, some point in relation to our worldly business comes up before our minds, which disturbs our communion with God. PARENTAL TRAVAIL FOR SOULS. How seldom do we rise up to that degree of earnestness in prayer for our children which is contemplated in the promises of God! There it is described as travailing in birth for them-as groanings which cannot be uttered. And who ever heard of such a spirit of prayer being exercised by parents in behalf of their children, without their prayers being answered? Who 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 now be the crisis with some of them, and you not know it? The case of this man's son was decided then-he surrendered himself to God, and consecrated himself to his service, and he is now a devoted minister of Jesus Christ, and president of one of our colleges.-Mother's Magazine. suffering our minds to become still farther disquieted and disheartened on account of them. Let the thought come, and let it go, and our great object be still pursued. Let us never be disheartened, while resolutely and steadily aiming at the glory of God, whatever impediments we may find or think we find in the way.— Guide to Christian Perfection. 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 consis tent 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. 'Here his presence lingers still. Lo, an humble heart is mine; Grant thy servant but a sign?" Opened while he waited yet, "God! I thank thee," said the prophet, |