4

I WAS sitting by a window in the second story of one of the large boarding-houses at Saratoga Springs, thinking of absent friends, when I heard shouts of children from the piazza beneath

me.

"O yes; that's capital! so we will! Come on now! there's William Hale! Come on, William, we're going to have a ride on the Circular Railway. Come with us?"

"Yes, if my mother is willing. I will run and ask her," replied William.

"O, O! so you must run and ask your ma? Great baby, run along to your ma! Aint you ashamed? I did'nt ask my mother." "Nor I," "Nor I," added half a dozen voices.

"Be a man, William," cried the first voice; "come along with us, if you don't want to be called a coward as long as you live. Don't you see we 're all waiting?"

I leaned forward to catch a view of the children, and saw William standing with one foot advanced, and his hand firmly clenched in the midst of the group. He was a fine subject for a painter at that moment. His flushed brow, flashing eye, compressed lip, and changing cheek, all told how the word coward was rankling in his breast. "Will he prove himself indeed one by yielding to them?" thought I. It was with breathless interest I listened for his answer, for I feared that the evil principle in his heart would be stronger than the good. But no.

"I will not go without I ask my mother!" said the noble boy, his voice trembling with emotion; "and I am no coward either. I promised her I would not go from the house without permission, and I should be a base coward, if I were to tell her a wicked lie."

I saw him in the evening amid the gathered multitude in the parlor. He was walking by his mother's side, a stately matron, clad in widow's weeds. Her gentle and polished manners, and the rich, full tones of her sweet voice betrayed a Southern birth. It was with evident pride she looked on her graceful boy, whose face was one of the finest I ever saw, fairly radiant with animation and intelligence. Well might she be proud of such a son,

one who could dare to do right, when all were tempting to the wrong. I shall probably never see the brave, beautiful boy again; but my heart breathed a prayer that that spirit, now so strong in its integrity, might never be sullied by worldliness and sin; never, in coming years, be tempted by the multitude to evil. Then will he be indeed a boy to the widow's heart, a pride and an ornament to his native land. Our country needs such stout, brave hearts, that can stand fast when the whirlwind of temptation gathers thick and strong around them; she needs men, who, from infancy upward have scorned to be false and recreant to duty.

Would you, little boy, be a brave man, and a blessing to your country, be truthful now. Never, never tell a lie, or deceive in any manner; and then, if God spares your life, you will be a stout-hearted man, a strong and fearless champion of the truth. -Youth's Companion.

DOMESTIC LOVE.

DOMESTIC love! not in proud palace halls
Is often seen thy beauty to abide ;
Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls,

That in the thickets of the woodbine hide;
With hum of bees around, and from the side

Of woody hills some little bubbling spring,
Shining along through banks with harebells dyed;
And many a bird to warble on the wing,

When morn her saffron robe o'er heaven and earth doth fling.

O! love of loves; to thy white hand is given
Of earthly happiness the golden key;
Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even,
When the babes cling around the father's knee;
And thine the voice, that on the midnight sea,
Melts the rude mariner with thoughts of home,
Peopling the gloom with all he longs to see.

Spirit! I've built a shrine, and thou hast come
And on its altar closed, forever closed, thy plume.

finds not here an end. Were this frail world our on - ly life is not a breath; Nor life's affections tran-sient

THE

YOUNG LADY'S FRIEND.

Written for the Young Lady's Friend.

ELLEN LESLIE.

BY MISS ELIZA PAINE.

THE subject of my simple sketch was a maiden of humble lot and youthful years. Possessed of no uncommon beauty of features or of form, this false criterion of real worth gained not for her, her friends and her admirers; and yet she had them. Wealth had not lavished upon her the costly ornament of show, to charm the eye of its gay votaries; and yet the pearl of greatest price was hers; nor did it, while it charmed, cease to gain the admiration, and perhaps almost the envy too, of each discerning eye. Superior advantages for education in etiquette or literature, did not secure for her the formal friendship of the fashionable and accomplished, and yet none knew her but to love her, and to speak her worth. A sweet and happy influence seemed to emanate from her presence in every circle; but I have said that it was not beauty, wealth, or fame which threw this spell around her; and yet there was in the sweet smile which lighted up her countenance when all around were happy; in the sympathizing tear, when it fell to mingle with the woes of fellow mortals; in her deep, dark eye, speaking kindness and love at every glance; in the bent form, as it stood by the couch of suf fering to bathe the burning brow, and smooth the aching pillow,there was, to me, in all these, a real beauty, a

"Loveliness

Which needeth not the foreign aid of ornament,

But is when unadorned, adorned the most."

Hers was a devoted, generous heart; a soul intent on doing good; a mind of fixed and noble principles, which would not

swerve from duty's path, enabling her to pursue the even tenor of her way, loving and beloved, the light and joy of the domestic hearth, and the social circle; a blessing to society, the church, and the world.

Such is a brief outline of my friend's character; but one or two of the many incidents which marked her worthy career, may not only be interesting, but will serve to show in a measure, the amount of good, which one individual may accomplish, and that individual, too, a young lady.

I know that much has been said of the responsibility of those who are entrusted with public authority, and holding stations of honor and respect; and that very much has been said of the influence of woman, too; of woman particularly in the capacities of wife and mother. But I would call the attention of the young lady, while as yet she is not required to fill these important stations, to the responsibilities which devolve upon her, as the sister, the daughter, and the companion. I would not have her consider herself, as a mere candidate for some sphere of usefulness at a future period, when the graces of youth will unconsciously ripen into the virtues of womanhood. Nor would I have her regard herself, as she is too often regarded, but never by the wise and sensible, as but a toy, possessed of a mind capable only of the most trifling pursuits and enjoyments, the willing victim of of reigning fashion and deluded folly. I would have her regard hers as a noble calling; involving great and moral duties, which her Creator has specially designed her to fulfil, and embracing that solid satisfaction, that real enjoyment, that permanent good to herself, which no worldly distinctions or advantages can insure. My beloved companions, then, in the humble walks of life, be encouraged. We were not made to linger out existence here, unnoticed and unknown; for though we move in a narrow sphere, there are a thousand ways in which our influence may be exerted, in restraining from folly and vice, while it will uphold and strengthen whatever is lovely, virtuous, and pure.

"For this, no noisy honors, fame will give;
In your own breasts your gentle virtues live;
No sounding numbers will your names reveal,
But your own hearts, the rich reward will feel."