Southern standard. [volume] (Columbus, Miss.) 1851-1856, 1853-10-15
From the Boston Olive Branch.
A Mothers Influence.

and stone and stamp this odious village by heart
as well as | do those stereotyped sermons of Par
son Grey's. He calls me "a scape -grace'-'pity
should have the name without the game, said he
bitterly L haven't room here to run the length
of my chain Ill show him what can do in a
wider field of action
But how did you bring your father over?
ooh, he's very glad to be rid ofme quite dis
gusted because I've no fancy for seeing corn and
oats grow. The truth is, every father knows at
once too much and too little about his own son
the old gentleman never understood me /; he soured
my temper, which was originally none of the best
reused all the worst feelings of my nature, and is
consequently driving from instead otto, the
point he would have me reach
And your mother?'
We'll, there you have me that's the only hui
manized portion ofmy heart-the only soft spot in
it. She came to my bedside last night, after she
thought | was asleep, gently kissed my forehead,
and then knelt BY my bedside. I've been wan
dering round the fields all the morning, to try to
get rid of that prayer. Old Parson Grey might
preach at me till millennium and it wouldn't move
me any more than stone. 1t makes all the diff
ference in the world when you know person feels
what he is praying about. I'm wild and reckless,
and wicked, suppose but shall never be an in
fdel while l can remember my mother. You
should see the way she bears my fathers impetu-
Gus temper that's grace not nature, Harry but
don't let us talk about i'll only wish my parting
with her was well over Good bye; God bless
you Harry you'll hear from me the fishes don't
make supper of me ; and Will left his friend and
entered the cottage
His mother moving nervously and restless
ly about tying up all sorts of mysterious little par
GELS that only mothers think of, in he should
be SICK or in he should be this, that the
other, interrupted occasionally by EXPLANATIONS like
hic tba old nd stuff
over-grown baby-making fool of him-neyer
be out of leading strngs?' then turning short
about and facing viii as he entered, he said
well, sir, look in your seachest, and you'll find
gingerbread and physic darning needles and tracts
"bitters" and Bibles. peppermint and old linen
rags, and opedeldoc. Pshaw | more of
man than you are when l was nine years old.
Your mother always made fool of you, and that
was entirely unnecessary, too, for you always
short of what is called common sense, You needn't
tell the captain you went to sea because you didnt
know enough to be landsman ; or that you never
did anything right in your life, except by accident
\ on as like that FER do well, Jack Halpine,
as two peas. If there is anything in you, [ hope
that salt water will fetch it out. Come, your moth
er has your supper ready, | see
Mrs. Lows hand trembled as she passed her
boys cup. 1t was his last meal under that roof
for many long day. She did not trust herself to
speak-her heart was too full. She had heard all
his father so inudciously said to him, and she
knew too well from former experience the effect it
would have upon his impetuous, fiery spirit She
had only to oppose to it a mothers prayers, and
tears, and all enduring love. She never condemn
ed, in Willis hearing any of his fathers phillippics,
always excusing him with the general remark that
he didn't understand him. Alone. she mourned
over it, and when with her husband, tried to place
matters a better footing for both parties.
Will noticed his mothers swollen eyelids; he
saw his avorite little tea cakes that she had busted
herselfin preparing for him, and he ate and drank
what she gave him, without tasting a morsel he
swallowed, listening for the hundredth time to his
fathers account of what he did when young man.
Just half an hour viii, said his father, before
you start, run up and see If you have forgotten
any of your buds.
1t was the little room he always called his own.
I How many nights he had lain there listening to
the rain pattering on the low roof, how many
mornings awakedned by the chrp of the robin in
the apple tree under the window. There was the
little bed with its snowy covering, and the thou
sand and one little comforts prepared by his moth
er's hand He turned his head-she was at his
side, and her arms about his neck. God keep
my boy was all she could utter. He knelt at
her feet as in the days ofchdhood, and from those
hayward lips came this fearful prayer. ooh Co.,
spare my mother that l may look upon her again
in this world
Oh, in few days when that voice had died
out from under the parental roof, how sacred was
that spot to her who gave him birth There
was hope for the Boy he had recognized his
Mothers God. By that invisible silken cord she
still held the wanderer, though broad seas rolled
between.
Letters came to Moss Glen-at stated intervals,
then more irregularly, picturing only the bright
spot in the sailor life, Cor Will was proud and
they were to be scanned by his fathers eye.) The
usual temptations of sailors life, when in port
were not unknown to him-of every cup the syren
Pleasure held to his lips, he drank to the dregs
but there were moments in his maddest reyes,
when that angel whisper, God keepmy boy, pal
sled his daring hand arrested that half uttered
oath. Disguised with himself, he would turn
aside for an instant, but only to drown again more
recklessly that still small torturing voice.
You're stranger in these parts, said rough
farmer to a sun burnt traveller. Look as though
you had been in foreign parts
Do l I" said Will, slouching his hat over his
eyes. Who lives in that little cottage under the
hill 2
odd Farmer Low-and tough customer he is,
too; it's word and blow with him. The old la
dy has had hard time of it, good she is, to
put up with all his kicks and quirks. She bore it
very well till the lad went away, and then she be-
gan to droop like a willow in a storm and lose all
heart, like Doctor stuff didn't do any good, as
long as she got no news of the boy She's to be
buried this afternoon, SIR