Monmouth weekly herald. [volume] (Freehold, N.J.) 1854-1860, 1854-11-29
skettBts from Gife,
MY STSTER.

- F@df5s2A hPts5 ~ NY Willy AiAOi 4 iCiutul
Der to- Ilaye hs:en playing with my young
sister, ont 1llen three years old. It wal
one OF those bright mornings in spring
that bring JOY and life to tlse heart, and
diffuse gIadness and animation through
all the tribes of living creatures. Oul
feelings were in perfect harmony with the
universal gladness of nature. Even now
| seem to hear the merry laugh of my lit
tie sister as she followed me through the
winding alleys Of the garden, her cheek
suffused With the glow Of health and ami
nation, and her waving hair floating in
the wind
She was an only sister, the sole com
panion ofmy childish sports. We were
constantly together, and my young heart
went out to her, with all the affection, all
the fondness, of which childhood is capa-
BILE. Nothing afforded me enjoyment, In
which she did not participate; no amusc
ment wassought, which we could not share
together.
That morning we had prolonged our
play til near the hour of breakfast, with
undininished ardor, when, at some slight
provocation, my impetuous nature broke
forth, and, iISiny anger, struck my little
sister.a blow with my hand. She turned
to me with an appalling look, and the
large tears came into her eyes. Her
heart was too full to allow her to speak,
and shame made me silent. At that mo-
ment the breakfast bell summoned US away
and we, returned to the house without ex-
changing word. The excitement of play
was over and as she sat by my mother at
breakfast, | perceived, by occasional CLAN
ces at her, that she was pale and sad. A
tear seemed ready to start in her eye,
which her little selfpossession could
scarcely repress. 1t was only when my
mother inquired if she was ill, that she
drank her coffee and endeayored to eat I
was ashamed and grieved, and inwardly re-
solved to embrace the first opportunity,
when we were alone, to throw my arms
around her neck, and entreat her forgive
ness.
When breakfast was ended, my mother
retired with her into her own room, d.
recting me, in the mean time, 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. 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 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
hand, constantly increased in violence,
and she became delirious. 1t was not I'M
til evening that | was permitted to see
her. She was little recovered from the
severity of her pain, and lay with her
eyes closed, and her little hand resting
on, the pillow, beneath her head. How |
longed to tell her the sorrow j felt my un.
kindness to her in the morning, and how
much had suffered for it during the day!
But | was forbidden to speak to her, and
was soon taken out of the room. During
that night and the following day she con-
tinued to grow worse. 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 entered she drew me to her, and
was for some time silent, while the tears
flowed fast down her face. / first learn
ed that my sweet sister was dead, as my
mother drew aside the curtain that con-
cealed her from me. | felt as though my
heart would break. The remembrance
IF her affection for me, and my last un.
kind deed, revived in my mind; and, bu-
-ying my face in the folds of the curtain,
wept long and bitterly.
| saw her laid in the coffin, and lower
ID into the grave. I almost wished to lie
Town there with her, if so / might see
,nce more her smile, and hear my forgive
less pronounced in her sweet voice.
Years have passed away, and am now
! man but never does the recollection
# this incident of my early life fail to
waken feelings Of grief and remorse.-
Ind never do see my young friends ex-
hanging words or looks of anger, with
tut thinking of my last pastime with my
'wn loved Ellen.
TERRIBLE REVENGE.
A late Partisan newspaper tells the fol-