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Saturday, Feb. 3d. This morning have talked with Laura again, and am completely discouraged. I have tried every argument, and appealed to every motive that I can think of, and with but partial success. The only thing which seemed to move her at all was, that I did not want to punish her, but that I could not let her do many things to-day to make her happy; when she went to Exhibition, I could not let Sophia talk with her, and could not let her go to the party, because only good girls went. But these were direct appeals to selfishness, and they were all that touched her. I do not know what to do, and never felt time need of counsel more. As I had exhausted every argument, I thought I would try the effect of a lesson in Geography; so taught her something about the produce of different countries of Europe, and of their manufactures. She was very quiet during this, and also a writing lesson which followed. The regular lesson for the last hour's school would have been the reading of a story, and I thought best to omit it. At dinner, she seemed to be very well satisfied with herself. When it was time to go into the school-room for the exhibition, she said, "I think I had better not go." I merely said, "It is time," and took her hand to lead her. During the exhibition she said, "Is Sophia here?" I told her she was in her desk, in the school-room. "I am very happy," was the only reply. This was a spirit of defiance in Laura that I had never seen before. A few moments after, she attempted to kiss me, thinking she could take the advantage of the presence of company. She was very willing to answer her questions, and willing to do what I wished her to do. At seven, I told her she could go to bed, and she went, without any objection, but still with the same expression of countenance.

Sunday, Feb. 4th. As Laura proposed that she should sit alone to-day, I left her this forenoon in the basement, where she had seated herself. When I returned from church, she did not appear to be troubled at all. I led her to dinner, and then of her own accord she returned to the same place. At tea-time, she seemed much more sad, and after tea I sat down by her to try what effect I could produce then. I could now perceive a great difference, and after I had told her how wrong it was that she did not feel more sad for doing wrong, she said, "I do feel very sad now -- I was said and cried this afternoon, and I thought that I was very wrong, and I asked God to forgive me, and send me good thoughts, and to love me." She then asked the old question -- "What shall I ask God first, when I ask Him to give me good thoughts? Must I say, Lord, Father, my Heavenly?" I answered her, that she could say just what she thought first, and that satisfied for. I told her that I was glad that she felt better now, and that I would forgive her, and I hoped she would never he angry again. She said, "I think I never shall do so again. Why do I feel so very sad after I ask God to forgive me, and when you forgive me?" I told her it was because she felt sorry that she had done wrong at all.

Every reflecting person must see and lament the error of treatment, but the best might have fallen into it. It may be good, it may be necessary, "to break the will of a child," but never unless we have vainly tried to make it break its own will.

How many softening hearts do we harden by our own sternness; how often are rising sobs suppressed by harsh reproofs; how many by their Gorgon aspect turn the just forming tear of contrition into stony hardness, and leave it the nucleus of selfishness and rage! And if these things are done even by parents, who would "coin their hearts, and drop their blood for drachmas" to promote the real good of those whom they punish, how much oftener are they done by teachers who, when roused by opposition, forget that there may be great selfishness in their determination to carry their point. Even those who strive to govern their tempers, sometimes fail because their fathers "ate the sour grapes, and set their teeth on edge." Laura has not escaped all such untoward influences; there are persons who have had much influence over her education, who have labored most diligently, and displayed great tact and ingenuity in developing her intellect, but who have never succeeded in inspiring that perfect love which casteth out fear; there are others with far less intellect and acquirement, who have gained more complete dominion over her affections, and whose will and pleasure is her delightful law.

We sometimes attribute the misconduct of children to perverseness and ill-temper, when it is really occasioned by causes over which they have no control, such as indigestion, derangement of some of the bodily functions augmented by particular state of the atmosphere, and other things. In such conditions they feel unpleasantly, and having but imperfect development of the moral character, and little self control, they are unamiable and cross. With adults we follow Shakespere's advice, that such "little faults proceeding from distemper should be winked at," but children are noticed instead of being left unobserved, and perhaps punished instead of being pitied or reasoned with, and they become sullen and sour.