LOOK TO THE END.

THE circumstance to which I alluded at the conclusion of the former chapter, was the arrival of a new companion, who was, like myself, the daughter of a clergyman, and whose parents were slightly acquainted with mine.

Nothing unites school girls more closely, especially on first leaving home, than the knowledge that their mutual friends are not wholly unknown to each other. It was this sentiment that led to the sudden intimacy which was formed between Louisa Campbell and myself. My new friend was in her fifteenth year, and had been some time a pupil of Miss Percy. It was, therefore, in her power to have been of great use to me, strange and lonely as I felt myself in the little world around me. But, unhappily, it never entered Louisa's mind to be of use to any one. Volatile, and wanting fixed principle, she sought only to amuse herself; and provided she attained her end, was not scrupulous as to the means.

One Saturday afternoon, shortly after this young lady's arrival, we were surprised by my godmother's entrance into our school room. I say surprised, for it was a holiday, and Miss Percy's visits were generally confined to school hours. In her hand she held a pile of small books, which proved to be copies of Dr. Watts's Catechism. These she distributed amongst the junior pupils, directing us to learn the first three pages, which she said she would hear us repeat before Divine service the following morning.

After her departure, no teacher being present, we began to march round the long table in the centre of the room, as we were occasionally allowed to do when learning our lessons. For some time tolerable order was observed, but chancing to meet Louisa, I seized her arm, and after making a few turns, "Pray hear me my lesson?" I said.

"Oh! you don't know it yet; it is impossible." She replied, "Try me," I rejoined.

She took the proffered book, and asked the first question. "Dear child, do you know what you are?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, making a low courtsey, "I am Caroline Wilmot, a very amiable, clever girl; and pray what are you?"

Louisa burst into a loud laugh

“Just listen, girls, how correctly Caroline can repeat her catechism."

Again she asked the question, and I replied as before. Many of the girls laughed, but one or two remonstrated.

'Fie, Miss Caroline," they said, "you surely ought to know your duty better. Does your papa teach you to ridicule serious things?"

"Dear me," I cried, "what have I done amiss? Louisa asked me a question, and I gave her an answer. Surely there is no harm in that!"

"Don't waste time in talking to her, she knows she is wrong," observed one of the elder girls.

This was the truth; but pride, and a love of mischief, urged me on. I became boisterous, running round the table, playing with the younger children, and courtseying low to the elder girls, until, with the help of Louisa, who enjoyed the sport, we succeeded in raising such an uproar, that Miss Charlotte had entered unobserved, her light, quick footstep, which was usually the signal for real or pretended attention to duty, being now unheard.

"Very pretty, indeed, young ladies!" were her first words, which acting as a charm, transfixed each individual to the spot on which she stood, whilst a perfect silence succeeded to the uproar.

"So it is Miss Wilmot-the sensitive, quiet, little Carolinewho is the ringleader of all this disturbance," continued she in an ironical tone.

"Quiet, indeed!" repeated the young lady who had reproved me, “she is very impertinent, and has been turning the catechism into ridicule."

"Oh, you are showing your true character, I presume," resumed Miss Charlotte, pushing me before her. "I shall inform your godmother, that she is greatly mistaken in you, with your pretended goodness, and crocodile's tears."

"I never did pretend to be good," I cried indignantly, "and my tears were not crocodile's tears. As to telling my godmother, I will save you the trouble, for I shall tell her myself." So saying, I turned a deaf ear to the commands of Miss Charlotte,

and hastened, heated with passion, to the sitting room generally occupied by Miss Percy. She was not there. I inquired from one of the servants, and learned that she was gone out. Mortified and disappointed, I stole softly up stairs, and sitting down in a corner of my bed-room, gave vent to my vexation, in renewed lamentations concerning my home; for it was on such occasions as these, when smarting under the consciousness of having done wrong, and painfully alive to every little act of injustice towards myself, that I loved to indulge my selfish regrets. At length I heard a footstep approaching, and looking up, I saw Louisa.

"Miss Charlotte has sent me to search for you," she said, "you had better come down; she is very angry indeed."

"I don't care for her anger," I replied, whilst my sobs plainly evinced that I did not speak the truth. "What business has she to sneer at me, and to call my tears, crocodile's tears? I will complain to Miss Percy, I am determined."

"Caroline," said Louisa gravely, "you are acting very foolishly. As to complaining to Miss Percy, that will answer no good purpose. I would advise you to keep friends with Miss Charlotte, if you wish for any comfort here."

"Why so?" I asked, "she is not the governess."

"No, but she has more to do with us than Miss Percy; and then, she contrives to make us all feel, that it is in her power to render us miserable if we vex her."

"Louisa," said I, fixing my eyes upon her, "tell me candidly, does she not make favorites ?"

"Neither am I, yet I try not to quarrel with her; and let me tell you, Caroline, she will not soon forget, or forgive your rudeness, in threatening her before the young ladies; she will make you suffer for it."

"How?" I inquired.

"Oh, there are many ways-for instance doubling your lessons, or

"But," said I, interrupting Louisa, "I will say them quite perfectly."

"No matter how perfectly you may say them, if she like to

turn you back, she will, and punish you every day, and all day long; but come down stairs, I dare not remain with you any longer. Come."

"Nay, answer me one question, dear Louisa, what had I better do?"

Apologize to Miss Charlotte, and be very penitent, and humble, and all that."

"But if I do not feel penitent and humble ?"

"My dear, there is not the least occasion for feeling, you need only seem so."

"Oh, Louisa, that would be very deceitful, and worse even than trifling with the catechism, though I know that was wrong."

"You are an odd girl, Caroline," observed Louisa, "Did you never hear the saying, 'When we are at Rome, we must do as Rome does.""

"But, if Rome does wrong, Louisa?"

"Come along, child, you are a little novice," said she, taking me by the hand.

We entered the school-room together. As we approached our seats, Louisa gave me a slight push, glancing at the same time, towards Miss Charlotte, I understood that she wished me to make an apology.

For an instant I stood irresolute.

'Well, Miss Wilmot, have you informed your godmamma, that I dared to take the liberty of reproving a person of your consequence?" inquired Miss Charlotte.

Several of the girls laughed. My decision was made. With heightened color, I resumed my seat, and addressed one of my companions on some trifling subject. I opened a book and seemed to read. accustomed to approach our teachers good night, leaving the room in the was one of the last.

She dared not reply, so Bed time came : we were separately, and bid them order in which we sat—I

“Now, Caroline, is your time,” said Louisa, as she passed me, "You will not have many spectators, go and ask pardon."

“I never will,” I answered, “—never!” and mixing with the crowd at the door, left the room, hoping my omission was unnoticed.

Louisa was right: this incident produced a feeling of displeasure on one side, and of rebellion on the other, which was the cause of discomfort during the greater part of the time I remained at school, and which from its continued indulgence, strewed my way with thorns. Well would it have been for me, had I possessed a better counsellor than Louisa; one who would have pointed out the nature of my faults, and shown me the sin of trifling with religious subjects, as well as of insolence and insubordination. Alas, this was not the case, and forgetting my late good resolutions, I tried to think myself right, because I had not yielded to Louisa's suggestion, of adding hypocrisy to my other sins; not considering that my proud and rebellious spirit was as displeasing in the sight of God, as the fault I gloried in not having committed: so truly is it said, “The heart is deceitful above all things, who can know it?" Yet there were times, when the voice of conscience would be heard-when the thoughts and memories of home, brought back better feelings; but I had unfortunately learned to call pride, resentment, and rebellion, by the name of "spirit;" without reflecting that such a spirit was the opposite of His, "who spake as never man spake," who said to his disciples, "Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart; and again, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

With these texts I was well acquainted, at the period to which I allude; but it is one thing to know the words of Scripture, and even to comprehend its true meaning, and another to apply it to the heart and conduct. The former may be acquired by careful training, such as that my dear parents had given me; but the latter is the work of the Holy Spirit, whose gracious strivings with my unsubdued will, were at this period so constantly resisted by me. I may mention in proof of this, that although at a distance from my friends, home influences were kept alive by a regular correspondence; and the solicitude of my father for my spiritual welfare, was never more strongly evidenced, than by the tone of his letters, and the affectionate earnestness with which he endeavored to strengthen my religious impressions and feelings. Being fully aware of the faults to which I was most prone, he often took occasion to remind me of the lovely dispositions, which should grace the deportment of young people influenced