Southport telegraph. [volume] (Southport, W.T. [i.e. Kenosha, Wis.]) 1840-1850, 1840-08-04
MY SISTER.

Our young readers may learn from the
following affecting story the Importance OF
being kind at all times 10 their brothers
and sisters, and indeed to all around them.
Let them remember too, that their own
lives are uncertain, and that they ought to
live every day as though it should be their
last, We know not what day may
bring forth
One morning in my early life, remem-
Der to have been playing with young SIS
ter, not then three years old. 1t was one
of those bright mornings, that bring Joy
arr life to the heart, and difiuse gIadness
and animation through all the tribes OF Ii
wing creatures. Our feelings were in per-
feet harmony with the universal gladness
of nature. Even now seem to hear the
merry laugh of my little sister, as she fol-
lowed me through the winding alleys of
the garden, her check suifused with the
glow of health and animation, and her wa
wing hair floating in the wind. She was
an only sister, the sole companion of all
my childish sport. We were constantly
together; ana my young heart went out 10
hers, with all the affection, all the fond
ness, of which childhood is capable. No
thing afforded me enjoyment in which she
did not participates; no amusement was
sought in which we could not share togeth
er.
That morning we had prolonged our play
till near the hour of breakfast, with undi-
minished ardor, when at some slight pro-
vocation, my impetuous nature broke forth,
and in my anger, struck my sister a blow
with my hand. She turned to me with an
appealing look and the large tears came
into her eyes. Her heart was too full TO
allow her to speak, and shamod me to ST.
Ience. At that moment the breakfast bell
summoned US away, and we returned to the
house without exchanging q word. The
excitement Of play was over, and she sat
beside my mother at breakfast, perceived
by occasional chances at her that she was
pale and sad. A tear seemed ready to
start in her eye, which her little self pos
session could scarcely repress. 1t was
only when my mother inquired if she was
i'll, that she drank her coffee and endeav-
ored to cat. | was ashamed and grieved,
and inwardIy resolved to embrace the first
opportunity when we were alone, tothrow
my arms round her neck and ask her for
giveness.
When breakfast was ended, my mother
retired with her into her own room, and
directing me in the meantime to sit down
to my lesson. | seated myself by the win
dow, and ran over my lesson, but did not
learn it. My thoughts were perpetually
recurring to the scene in the garden and
at table. Ii was long before niy mother
returned, and when she did it was with an
ogitated look and hurried step, to tell me
thai my poor Ellen was very i'll. asked
eagerly if might go to her, but was not
permitted, lest [ 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, con-
stantly increased in violence, and she be-
came deiirious. 1t was not until evening
that was permitted TO sec her, and was
soon taken out Of the room. During that
night, and the day following, she contn-
ucd TO grow worse. | saw her several
times, but she was insensiblo of my pre-
senco. Once indeed she showed some
signs Of consciousness, and asked for me,
but relasped into her former state.
On the morning of the third day, arose
at an early hour, and repaired 10 the sick
room. My mother was sitting by the bed
As | entered she drew me to her, and foi
some time was silent, while tears flowed
fast down her face. | first learned that
my sweet sister was dead as my mother
drew aside the curtain tina: concealed hei
from me, felt as though my heart would
break. The remembrance of her affec
ton for me, and my last unkind deed, re-
/ viyod in my mind; and burying my face
in the folds of the curtain wept long anC
bitterly.
saw her laid in the coffin, and lowered
into the grave. | almost wished TO lie
down there with her, if so | might once
more see her smile, and hear my forgive
ness pronounced in her sweet voice.
Years have passed away, and am now
a man-but never does the recollection o
this incident of my early life fail to awaken
bitter feelings of grief and remorse. AnC
never do see my young friends exchange
ing looks or words of anger, without think
ing OF my last pastime with my own love-
! Ellen. II.
From the Farmers Monthly Visitor
BOSTON.