to womanhood, who, strong in the purity of her soul, is striving to be a star in the kingdom of heaven, by doing gentle deeds on earth! How many such have I seen within a few years past. How innumerable the phalanx which the world has taken no note of, who, in their quiet retreats, away from the noise of the world, and the din of its wildness and prodigality, have been a blessing to the circle in which they moved; meliorating the condition of the sick, relieving the wants of the poor, teaching a class in Sabbath school, guiding the tottering steps of the little one over the village green, teaching its lisping tongue to frame words of joy; or by her solace, firmness and kindness, lifting a mother's heart from the dust, where sorrow has abased it; guiding the faltering steps of a father from intemperance to the pledge, singing the praises of God in the church on the Sabbath, and performing the countless acts of kindness which the heart dictates. How lovely are these exhibitions; how preservative of the noble feelings of the heart; how elevated and superior to the grovelling pleasures of dress and a life of frivolity, into which another class of our maidens fall! The world is made better by every act of goodness. How contented and happy should they be who thus bless their sex and the world.

Amid the many lovely exhibitions which I have seen of female purity and usefulness in youth, one rests upon my mind as vividly as though it were but yesterday it passed before

me.

There came to our quiet town, a maiden of surpassing loveliness of person. The eyes of all were fascinated. She was about seventeen, and as artless as a child. As her acquaintance was made, it was soon shown that her person was but the beautiful casket of a mind and soul attuned by the sweetest sympathies of heaven. She was a poor girl, in the world's estimation of poverty, but rich, indeed, in the sight of the good, when compared with many, who were deemed the great and powerful of earth. She was an orphan. How elevated were the sympathies which the helplessness of our visiter drew out. Her living was to be earned by her needle. She fell easily and naturally into the most useful society about her; and, as accu

rately as the law of gravitation draws falling bodies to the earth, so did her purity, and desire to do good, draw her toward that class of our people. Was there a kind act to be done? The thought turned to her as its executor. Often on the winter night, while the merry sleigh-bells were ringing in the clear cold air, as the gay parties were driving to the village ball, was our orphan girl watching at the bedside of the sick, or arranging garments to protect the poor from the stinging cold. How brightly shines a good deed in this naughty world,' sang a great bard. How brightly shone the thousand good deeds of this humble girl, heaven will reveal, in their true splendor. On earth, they often drew tears of gratitude from their recipients.

Thus, for two years, passed our pleasant acquaintance. The memory of those two years, which have long since passed away, linger about my heart, like a pleasant dream, in which the pure pleasures of a holier atmosphere flit over the visions of the soul.

In the midst of this scene of quiet usefulness, which was operating as an ever-living example to the misses and young women of our town, she fell sick. was engaged in her avocations, and that a long life was not before her? on her cheek; the buoyant, innocent language of the soul shone

Yesterday, as it were, she who would have predicted The hue of health played

in her speaking eye. To-day, she lies in the extremity of death! What a lesson the death of the young reads to the survivors. As you view them, rich in health and hope, you judge, if any might escape the universal ravager for long years, they would. But, as though to illustrate, by the most extreme cases, that 'all flesh is grass,' God suffers them occasionally to fall by the hand of death. Then it was, that the estimate was passed upon her worth. It was, as though a great calamity was about to befall the village. I have seen the rich, the great, the honored, pass away. The muffled drum, the arms reversed, the mournful music, have spoken out at their sepulture. This was public mourning. The great heart of the people was not affected. But when this maiden lay sick, every countenance, belonging to the wide circle of her acquaintance, indicated a calamity which could not be contemplated without deep sorrow.

But a little

From that sudden illness the orphan never rose. time intervened after the hue of health had vanished from her cheek, before the marble polish of death crowned her brow! She died! At the early age of nineteen years she fell asleep. The dreamy reality of many years have passed my vision since, but that day stands out from all these. The testimony of the estimation in which her worth was held, now needed no subduing. It flowed out from weeping hearts. She was arrayed for the grave in spotless white, with a heavenly smile (which death could not dispel) chiseled on her rigid features, by that inimitable sculptor, a heavenly spirit. Hundreds came to kiss her pallid brow, to weep over her gloomy coffin!

The death of that maiden, the love and feeling drawn out by that event, showed the most gay of our female associates, that it was in the power of an humble girl, lowly in life, poor in this world's goods, and a stranger in the land, to bless a community in her life, and to sadden the hearts of all in her death! This universal tribute, of high and low, to the virtues of this youthful philanthropist, was a lovely sight.

The day of burial came. It was a bland, sweet afternoon. The heavens were radiant with beauty and sublimity. The prize of an immortal spirit lost to earth, seemed to have been welcomed there, and while those on our little spot of earth wept, the heavens were wreathed in smiles. It was on the Sabbath day. In neat attire, youth and age of both sexes came forth, and, after the afternoon service, as is customary in New England, the funeral occurred. There was not a dry eye in the house where the corpse lay, when the prayer was uttered. It was sorrow for the living, because of their great loss, which drew tears from many eyes. The procession moved toward the resting-place for the dead. In our place, that sacred spot is on the margin of a hill, a little way from the heart of the town. is a quiet retreat. Ambition and strife for wealth, and superiority and power, all lay on one level together there, an emblem of the frailty of human life. Hither was borne the orphan, and there may be seen the hillock which rises over her coffin. Long years have passed since, and newer graves and costly head-stones have, in a measure, concealed her humble

It

bed; but, in the genial season of the year, yet, a wanderer may be occasionally seen lingering about the spot-some youthful companion or friend, who has not schooled her heart to forget the scenes of her youth. Once it was, when hundreds made their short pilgrimage to that grave. But time has thinned their ranks, and some of them have lain down upon the bosom of their mother earth, near the bed of one they loved, to rest, after the turmoils of life are over.

What a lesson in goodness do these simple incidents read to the young ladies of our country. The delusive and tedious round of pleasure and dress, will not appease the desires of the immortal mind. How much it is wronged when habits of this kind are formed. The quiet, peaceful, faithful performance of duty, (which is the highest pleasure,) in the most humble and retiring — how it will bless them! Its manifestations may not be so apparent in life, but let the 'golden bowl be broken,' and the true estimate will then be given of their worth, which the dullest cannot mistake. It is a lesson, I would all the maidens of this happy country would learn, that the deepest, truest pleasure lies, not in the giddy round of exhilaration, dress and show, but in the simple path of duty. That they themselves are not a bubble on the vast sea of time, flashing in the sun for a moment and then disappearing into their native element, but rather that they have the high privilege and pleasure before them, of being beloved and venerated for their virtues. How necessary it is, that these things be impressed upon the minds of that lovely class, the maidens of our land! Some one should speak to them. I have ventured, without method, to do so. If they are blessed, in their kind labors of love and usefulness, as the promise is, and as all examples prove, how happy must be their lot. With such bright resolves in their hearts, and promises before them, how soon they will see, that 'there's not a wind that blows but bears with it some rainbow promise,' which will be fulfilled; and thus seeing, rejoice in sight of a boundless happiness hereafter, if this duty be. but done, though

'Not a moment flies,

But puts its sickle in the fields of life,

And mows its thousands, with their joys and cares.'

[Written for the Young Lady's Friend.]

то THE FOUNTAIN IN THE PARK.

BY HORTENSE.

BEAUTIFUL stranger! Whence art thou,
With thy snowy form and thy starry brow?
Comest thou not from a purer sphere,
Bearing some holy embassy here?
Here, in the busy and bustling mart,
Where reign the pomp and pride of art;
Where passeth the gay and brilliant throng,
And the care-worn presseth heavily on-
Where the splendid show, and the curious sight,
Or the promise of pleasure, all eyes invite.
Here dost thou sparkle, and leap, and play,
And scatter thy gems in the face of day.
Thy aim ever upward, noble thy mien,
A lonely thing, 'mid the crowded scene;
Each movement, each grace, to nature true,
And borrowing nothing from fashions new.
Thy snowy robe, of ethereal white,

The envy of princesses might invite,

While the circlet of gems thou dost always wear,
Would grace the brow of an empress fair.

Yet all untrammeled by fashion and art,
Thou dancest on in thy joy of heart;

True to thy nature, ever at ease,

Thou hast power the gay or the sad to please.
O, speakest thou not to each passer-by,
In the name of Nature and purity;
Bidding him cease from factitious life,

With its hollow forms and unceasing strife;
And seek no longer the world to please,
By formal seeming and studied ease;
But endeavor his social sphere to bless,
By the simple charm of truthfulness?