The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1851-11-12
MY MOTHERS A

1t was thirteen years since my moihers
death, when after IA long absence from my
native village. stood beside the sacred
mound, beneath which ! had seen her
buried. Since that mourniul period. great
change had come over me. My childish
years had passed away. and with them
my youthful character. The world was
altered too; and as stood at my mothers
grave. | could hardly realize that was
the same thoughtless, happy creature,
whose checks she had so often kissed in
an excess OF tenderness. But the varied
events of thirteen years had not etlaced
the remembrance Of that mothers smile.
1t seemed as if had seen her yesterday;
as if the blessed sound OF her voice was
then in my enr. The gay dreams of my
infancy and childhood were brought back
so distinctly to my mind. that had ii not
been for one bitter recollection. The tears
shed would have been gentle and refresh.
ing. The circumstances may seem Il
trihing one-but the thought OF 1t even
now agonizes my heart-and ! relate it
that children who have parents may love
them as they ought.
Nv mother had been i'll a long time; and
had become so much accustomed to her
pale face and weak voice. that was not
frightened at them AS children usually are.
Al first. il is true. | sobbed violenily-for
they told me she would die; but when day
after day returned from school. and
found her the same. | began to believe she
would always b. spared to me.
One day when | had lost my place in
the class, and done my work wrong side
outward, | came home discouraged and
tret,ul. went into my mothers cham
Der. She was paler than usual, but she
met me with the same aflrctiona'c smile
that had always welcomed my return.
Alas! when | look back through the lapse
Of Thirteen years, | think my heart must
have been stone, not 10 have been melted
by it. She requested me 10 90 down
stairs. and bring her a glass Of water~-l
pc,lishlv asked why she did not call ii do.
nestle 10 do il. With L look Of mild re-
proach, which shall never forget, il live
to he a hundred years old. she said. AN"
will not my daughter bring Il glass o! Wa
ter for her poor sick mnlher!"
went and brought her tn" water. though
| did not do it kindly. Instead Of smiling
aud kissing her. as was wont To do. sci
the glass down very quick and left the
room. After playing II short time. wenl
to bed without bidding my mother good
night but. when alone in my room. III
darkness and silence. remembered how
male she looked, and how her voice trem'
bled when she said. "Wil not my daughter
bring a glass OF water for her poor sick
mother!" | could not sleep-and | stole
into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She
had sunk into al uneasy slumber, and
they told me must not waken her. | do
not tell any one what troubled me. bu
stole back to my bed. resolved to rise ear
" in the morning and tell her how sorry
was for my conduct.
The sun was shining brightly when
awoke, and. hurrying on my clothes,
FASTENED to my mothers room. She ws'
dead!-she never spoke to me more-nev
er smiled upon me again; and when
touched the hand thar used 10 rest upor
my head in blessing, it was so cold that
made me start. bowed down by he
side. and sobbed in the bitterness Of m,
heart. then wished | could die. and b.
buried with her; and old as | now am.
would give worlds. were they mine 10 give
could my mother but have lived to tell M
she forgave my childish ingratitude. Blu
cannot call her back, and when | stant
by her grave, and whenever think of he
manifold kindness. the memory OF that re
proachtul look she gave me. will bite lik'
"a serpent and sting like an adder"