she was pale and sad. A tear seemed ready to start in her eye, which all her little self-possession could scarcely repress. It was only when my mother inquired if she was ill, that she drank her coffee, and endeavored to cat. I was ashamed and grieved; and inwardly resolved to embrace the first opportunity when we were alone, to throw my arms around her neck, and entreat her forgiveness. When breakfast was ended, my mother retired with her into her own room, directing me in the mean time to sit down to my lesson. I seated myself by the window, and ran over my lesson, but did not learn it. My thoughts were perpetually recurring to the scene in the garden, and at table. It was long before my mother returned, and when she did, it was with an agitated look, and hurried step, to tell me that my poor Ellen was very ill. I asked eagerly if I might go to her, but was not permitted, lest I should disturb her. A physician was called, and every means used for her recovery, but to no purpose. The disease, which was in her head, constantly increased in violence, and she became delirious. It was not until evening that I was permitted to see her. She was a little recov ered from the severity of her pain, and lay with her eyes closed, and her little hand resting on the pillow, beneath her head, How I longed to tell her the sorrow I felt for my unkindness to her in the morning, and how much I had suffered for it during the day. But I was forbidden to speak to her, and was soon taken out of the room. During that night, and the day following, she continued to grow worse. I saw her several times, but she was always insensible of my presence. Once indeed, she showed some signs of consciousness, and asked for me, but immediately relapsed into her former state. On the morning of the third day, I rose at an early hour, and repaired to the sick room. My mother was sitting by the bed. As I entered, she drew me to Her, and for some time was silent, while the tears flowed fast down her face. I first learned that my sweet sister was dead, as my mother drew aside the curtain that concealed her from me. felt as though my heart would break. The remembrance of her affection for me, and my last unkind deed, revived in my mind; and burying my face in the folds of the curtain, I wept long and bitterly. I I saw her laid in the coffin, and lowered into the grave. I almost wished to lie down there with her, if so I might see once more, her smile, and hear my forgiveness pronounced in her sweet voice. Years have passed away, and I am now a man - but never does the recollection of this incident of my early life fail to awaken bitter feelings of grief and remorse. And never do I see my young friends exchanging looks, or words of anger, without thinking of my last pastime with my own loved Ellen. H THE FIREside. THE WILD GIRL. The lively girl, the rude girl, the wild girl, are three distinct varieties of characters. The wild girl is a compound of the other two. In the city, where the forms of society impose more external restraints, the characteristics of the lively girl predominate; in the country, where there is more freedom, those of the rude girl. Full of health and spirits, the wild girl engages with her whole soul, in all the active amusements of girls. She is often very near the boundary line of propriety, and sometimes steps over it. She looks with deep interest on the rough sports of boys. She would not care to engage in wrestling, or a game of football, but if she had a few companions, of tastes similar to her own, she would delight to trundle the hoop, to fly the kite, or to join the merry ring of swift skaters. At home, she is good-natured, active, quick to understand, capable. Her vivacity might make her the life of the household her intelligence and the readiness with which she acquires a knowledge of domestic concerns, would make her invaluable to her mother, but she is so inconsiderate, so heedless, that no dependence can be placed upon her. Frankness is often a characteristic of the wild girl, but her mother is sometimes more imperfectly acquainted with her daughter's real character than her neighbors. She cannot, to 509 be sure, feel much confidence in In the street, the character of - enjoyment; and her buoyant spirits lead, not only to acts of doubtful propriety, but to absolute rudeness. resolving that her daughters, if it can be avoided, shall never be exposed to her influence. In the country, the character of the wild girl is essentially the same. You will find her snowballing, climbing stone walls, hunting birds' nests, scaling the haystack: even the ridge-pole of the barn is not beyond her reach, and she is emulous to equal, if not to excel, the feats of her As she has not yet attained a sufficient number of years, constantly to receive the appellation of young lady, you do not meet her often in company. But, if there, you need not be long at a loss to single her out. Restraint may be so powerful as to conceal for a time the most objectionable brothers, whatever they may traits of her character, but so be. She is familiarly called a strong is her love for fun and romp. frolic, that very soon, her restlessness will betray her, unless she can find some subject of merriment. And if she does that, most assuredly she will not remain unknown. Others are made the subjects of remark. The rules of polite society will be transgressed. Her gaiety and frankness seem sometimes to atone for it, but not always. The feelings of some sensitive timid girl have been deeply wounded by the doubtful smile, the low whisper, or the meaning look, which seem to have been called forth by some peculiarity in herself; or, perhaps, she has been dragged forward to some conspicuous place, by her volatile acquaintance, and there left with crimsoned cheek to find her way back again. The indignation of some prim lady, whose ideas of what a young lady should be, were formed from what a grandmother's were, is strongly excited by the pert forwardness of the wild girl; and the refined and intelligent mother looks upon her with pity mingled with disgust, In school, she might take the precedence of all her schoolfellows. Her abilities are good. One day her lessons are all thoroughly prepared;-her conduct for an hour or two unexceptionable. Her teacher is again encouraged to hope there is to be a reformation in that pupil who has been the object of unceasing care, sometimes delighting him by her rapid progress, and then paining him to the heart by her heedlessness and folly. Perhaps some misconduct calls for the frown or stern reproof. A fellow pupil's head is filled with quills, or the hair of one is braided with that of another-they, closely engaged in study, are unconscious of it at the time: or, it may be, that the work of hours is destroyed by this thoughtless girl, giving an unexpected motion to the arm of her neighbor. Her society is rather shunned than sought, by the gentle and the good. In the family she could accomplish much, and excel in whatever she undertakes, but no confidence can be placed in her. She has little good influence there. Her parents hope that years will bring sobriety and stability of character. Often, the wild girl alone is a different being from the wild girl in company. Peep with me into her room. She has an affectionate heart, ready to see and acknowledge her faults, but not quite so ready to make constant effort to correct them. There she sits in the corner on a trunk. Her head is leaning against the wall. She is weep ing bitterly. A note is lying in her lap, wet with tears. It is from a friend whom she loves, two years older than herself,— telling her of some improprieties of conduct, and affectionately urging her to be more watchful over her exuberant sprits, or she will lose all her friends. This brings to remembrance the many admonitions of her mother, and the kind counsels of her father, and her heart is filled with sorrow, as she looks back upon the past. She resolves she will no more give pain to those whom she loves, by her misconduct; she will not wound the feelings of others, for the sake of a laugh; - she will not allow herself to do anything which a delicate sense of propriety would condemn. But will she keep her resolutions? No; she will yield to the slightest temptation, unless she has sincerely asked assistance from above, to enable her to watch over her heart andconduct. She will need assistance. WHO NOW PRAYS AS DID How many are there at the present day, who are named by the name of Christ, who hail the return of the hour of prayer with sorrow! How many who are obliged to drag the unwilling mind to the closet, and when there, while away in utter listlessness of spirit the time consecrated to the most sacred purpose! How many more who confine their prayers to a few minutes of each day, which will best suit their convenience! How many who cannot forego a meal or a few hours' sleep and others who cannot forego amusements and recreations, for the sake of calling on the name of the Lord! How many who do pray, confine their petitions to themselves or their friends! How few have that intense, earnest longing for the salvation of souls where, nor by whom, nor who receives human applause for the instrumentality, only that the kingdom of Christ may come, and his will be done on earth as in heaven -as will lead them with a holy energy and unbroken constancy, to plead with a prayerhearing God! How few mingle with the overflowings of a burdened soul, the tear of sorrows that such multitudes will continue the servants of sin-defiling God's beautiful heritage, and wronging their own souls, no matter * We are indebted for this article to a foreign missionary, now at his work in the East Indies where the communication was penned. Eds. and adding to the cup of misery that he of Gethsemane drank! It was not so with him who felt almost consumed by his zeal for the house of God. We have but to open the gospels to find that "while as God, he was prayed to, as man he prayed." Indeed, his was a life of prayer. He remembered that the promise was, "ask of me and I will give thee the heathen for thine inheritance." He did ask. Morning, noon and evening, it was all one with him. The eager multitude could not detain him from the solitary desert! Popular applause could not keep him from the lonely mountain's top. Tempest and darkness had no power to deter him from the place of retirement. While others were still locked in slumber, he arose a great while before day, like a genuine son of David, seeking God early, and directing his prayers unto him in the morning. And often, as, at the close of the day, he sought a solitary place to disburden his heart before God, did midnight draw around him its veil of darkness, and when the dawning day dispelled its shade, he was still there, in the intensity of his desires, unwilling to let the angel go, and unmindful that the hour had past in which wearied nature seeks repose. When our Saviour did approach the throne of grace, under the influence of intense longing for a world lying in sin, his soul poured itself out with an eloquence which showed that its whole powers were enlisted in the attainment of the object; and with an agony which showed that he wrestled as one determined not to let the angel go without a blessing. If ever there was one of whom it could be said that he travailed in birth for souls, it was the Lord Jesus Christ in his human nature. But it was not merely for self he prayed. He had no good to crave, no sins to wash away. It was -"for others' guilt, The man of sorrows weeps in blood." Nor was it friends alone for whom he plead. He could well pious psalmist, " for my love they assume the language of the are my adversaries, but 1 give myself to prayer." Nor were his intercessions bounded by his earthly existence. "He now before his Father God, There have been some, in all ages of the church, who, like the Lord Jesus, have proved the omnipotence of prayer; and by it have shaken the powers of this world, and made the arch enemy yield his ground, and caused the old kingdom of Satan to totter on its foundation. David, Daniel, and Elijah proved its power. In answer to prayer Peter was delivered, Paul was sustained. By it in our own day, pagan altars have been demolished; the darkness of heathenism dissipated; and souls flock to Christ, like doves before an impending storm to their windows, and like clouds before a driving tempest. Those who have fought the battles of the Lord, have remembered, as did |