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have you select the one you love; the one who would strive to let his and your light shine to the glory of God, and devote the lives God has given you, to his service. Remember, my daughter, that upon your present choice depends, in a great degree, your earthly happiness, your eternal destiny. You decide not only for to-day, but for life."

66 "O, mother, when I think of these considerations, I know to whom I turn. But I think of my father and Edward." "Your father, my dear, wishes you to do as God would have you do; and your brother's preference in a friend, should be no motive against your own happiness.”

"Go now, my daughter, with me, to walk in the garden, and strive to forget, while viewing the works of God, the names of Edgar and Albert; and when your excited thoughts are calmed, go to your chamber and seek wisdom from the oracles of God, and guidance from his Spirit." In about half an hour Mrs. Stanley and Inez returned to the house; each retired to her chamber, for each bore a burdened heart; one to ask God's blessing on her dearly loved and only daughter, that she might be led in useful paths, and be rendered a blessing to herself, and to those connected with her. The other to follow her mother's advice, and, in communion with her heavenly Father, to seek his guidance and blessing. Long and earnestly did the mother wrestle with God, that her beloved Inez might decide aright; that the feelings of her heart might be directed by the influences of the Holy Spirit. She arose with a calm and trusting heart, firm in the anticipation of the Spirit's answer, and taking the word of God, she perused its sacred pages, and found his word as a "lamp unto her feet, and a light unto her path." Inez invoked God's blessing upon herself, and the aid of his Spirit to assist her in understanding the precious book she was about to read. She had ever loved to peruse the writings of Paul, especially when sad at heart, and at this hour she turned almost instinctively to his second epistle to the Corinthians. She read the first chapter, and there found God to be her comfort. In the second, she saw the power and success of the word of his grace. She continued reading, until she reached the 14th verse of the 6th chapter. "Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers." She paused, and said to herself, " am I a follower of Christ, and a believer in his name? Yes, I profess to be; I am." "And what concord hath Christ with Belial? Or what part hath he

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A TEMPERANCE GIRL.

that believeth with an infidel?" This was enough. She closed the book, and sat with upraised eyes and clasped hands. "O how estranged has my heart been from the Creator of all good, that I should doubt the dictation of his Spirit. My selfish, worldly considerations have passed, and God has heard my prayer. I have sinned, but God in mercy has overlooked my transgressions, and will lead me aright." With these thoughts and feelings, she passed to her mother's room, but found it empty. She then entered the sitting parlor, and resuming her needlework, awaited her mother's entrance. Soon her footsteps were hailed with delight by Inez, and rising to meet her parent, she placed her own hand within that of her mother's, and pressed it to her lips. Mrs. Stanley drew her to her bosom, and affectionately embraced and kissed her. "I think the struggle in my Inez's heart has passed," said her mother, "for the light of her eye tells me of peace within, and her wonted, happy countenance, speaks to me of joy ""Mother, God has decided for me," said Inez, "pointing to the passages which had, like the voice of God, so impressed her spirit. My life is his, and it shall be devoted to his cause. If I am a temple for the indwelling of God's Spirit, I will not unite my interests with the followers of mammon, but God shall be my father, and I will be his child."

66

My dear child, God is a hearer of prayer. Give him the praise."

Years have rolled on in their course, and Inez, the gentle Inez, is the wife of Edgar Washburn. The mother, whose counsels had ever blessed the footsteps of her children, now lies sleeping in the grave; but, although dead, she often speaks to their hearts; her examples have been followed, her pious influences have been blest. Inez and Edgar often refer to the hour, and bless its memory, too, when a mother's hand directed, and a heavenly Father's voice, decided in the choice. Boston, August, 1843.

A TEMPERANCE GIRL.-A few weeks since a young lady, with a horse and wagon, was driving from Norwalk to Westport, Ct. She overtook a young man going the same way, and, as her horse became rather unmanageable, she requested him to jump in and drive for her. As he was getting into the wagon, "My," said she, "you have been drinking rum!" and pushing him, she put whip to the horse, and dashed off. The young man afterward declared that she must be one of the Smelling Committee, for it had been an hour since he had drank anything.-Organ.

EVENING THOUGHTS.

[Written for the Young Lady's Friend.]

EVENING THOUGHTS.

BY MISS H. J. WOODMAN.

The long day's toil is done,

And now thy wearied child, Almighty Sire,

Would close with prayer, the day with prayer begun,
And feel anew devotion's warming fire!

Grief mingles with her prayer,

At the remembrance of her hours mispent,
And the vain burden of misguided care
To which the spirit in its toils hath bent!

And each ungracious word,

And wish unhallowed by a thought of Thee,
And the world's voices in my spirit heard—
All come unbidden and refuse to flee.

Sadly in memory's train

Such thoughts are blended, till her eyes are dim,
And the heart sinks with weariness and pain,
While hope seems breathing her funereal hymn!

But haste, look up, my soul!

The cloud is scattered-faith's white wing appears,
And love bends o'er thee with her soft control,
To calm thy sorrows and dispel thy fears!

Thy voice, Almighty Friend!

Heard where the wildest billows madly roll,

Bids light unshadowed on my path descend,

And strength from Heaven my weakness to control!

No weariness or pain—

No dark ingratitude, or deep despair,

Can bid thy goodness all its love retain,
Or shut from Heaven the penitential prayer!

Boston, Mass., Aug., 1843.

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A SMILE. Who can tell the value of a smile? It costs the giver nothing, but is beyond price to the erring and relenting, the sad and cheerless, the lost and forsaken. It disarms malice-subdues temper; turns hatred to love-revenge to kindness, and paves the darkest paths with gems of sunlight. A smile on the brow betrays a kind heart, a pleasant friend, an affectionate brother, a dutiful son, and a happy husband. It adds charm to beauty, decorates the face of the deformed, and makes lovely woman resemble the angel of Paradise. Who will refuse to smile?

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PRAIRIE FLOWERS.

PRAIRIE FLOWERS.

The vegetable kingdom in the West, appears to differ from that of the timber, almost as much as that of the animal race. Each variation of soil has its own species of grass and herbs, although some are common over the whole region.

From May until late in the Fall, the prairie is one vast bed of flowers; which, enjoying so much sun, are painted in the brightest colors. In the sea of green verdure, those of every hue of the rainbow, sparkle like so many gems. In the midst of all this variety, however, each floral period, which lasts about a month, has its own favorite and reigning flower, though thousands of others are interspersed in small quantities. No sooner does one species begin to fade, than another commences to unfold its fresh and radiant glories. And thus does every moon, during the long flowering season, shine upon a different succession of these verdant beauties.

The whole vegetable kingdom here, like the race of animals, is of a very innocent character. You may wade up to your shoulders in grass for a week, and you will not encounter a burr. No scent, either fetid or odorous, ever salutes the nostrils. There are no bitter or nauseous herbs which the cattle refuse to eat. Amid all the endless variety of vegetables, I question whether there is a single poisonous herb. Thus, the peaceful tribes of these abodes enjoy all the sweets of vegetation without any of its alloy, and all its beauties without any mixture of deformity. And it is the perfect innocence of their inhabitation, I conjecture, that renders them innocent too. No dizzy heights or yawning depths ever affright them; no rough crags or frowning precipices habituate their eyes to the sight of blood and suffering, or their ears to the terrifying but intoxicating draughts of screams and moans or pains; no rough or uneven breaks in the ground around them, ever mingle with their perceptions of the beauties of nature, but they are as ignorant of all these things as they are of language or thought. Born in the season of flowers, and cradled in the softest lap of nature, their fiercest propensities are early soothed by the circumstances which surround them. During their whole existence their skies are the brightest—their suns the most gorgeous. The surface over which they move is as regular and unbroken as if levelled by the roller; and the morning opens to them a firmament above,

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and a kingdom below, upon which spring yearly lavishes his most charming embellishments, and autumn, from his golden horn, ushers a profusion of sweets.

In such an element of things, how could any creature be vicious, unless its nature were totally so? How could darkness dwell under so much light; or an evil disposition under so much loveliness and joy?

BIRDS.

BY MARY HOWITT.

O, the sunny summer time!
O, the leafy summer time!
Merry is the bird's life,

When the year is in its prime!
Birds are by the water-falls,
Dashing in the rainbow spray;
Every where, every where,
Light and lovely there are they!
Birds are in the forest old,
Building in each hoary tree ;
Birds are on the green hills;
Birds are by the sea!

On the moor and in the fen,
'Mong the whortleberries green;
In the yellow furze-bush,

Where the sparkling waters chime;
In the heather, on the hill;

All among the mountain thyme;
By the little brook-sides,

Where the sparkling waters chime;
In the crag; and on the peak,
Splintered, savage, wild, and bare,
There the bird with wild wing,
Wheeleth through the air.

Wheeleth through the breezy air,
Singing, screaming, in his flight,
Calling to his bird-mate,

In a troubleless delight;

In the green and leafy wood,

Where the branching ferns up-curl,

Soon as is the dawning,

Wakes the mavis and the merle;

Wakes the cuckoo on the bough;

Wakes the jay with ruddy breast;
Wakes the mother ring-dove,
Brooding on her nest!

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