Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1855-06-23

pale.
"Tf you torch me LII kick you" said
|, in a terrible rage.
" Will you 60, Alfredo"
"No." replied, but quailed beneath
her eyes.
"Then follow me, said she, as she
grasped my arm firmly.
| raised my foot %, my son, hear
me raised my foot and kicked her
my sainted mother! How my head
reels as the torrent of memory rushes
over me. She staggered back a few
steps, and saw her heart beat against
her breast.
90, Heaven" she cried, "forgiye
him, for he knows not what be does 81
The gardener just then passed the
door, and seeing my mother pale and
almost unable to support herself, be
stopped: she beckoned him in.
" Take this boy up stairs, and lock
him in his room," said she.
Looking back, as she was entering her
room, such look-it will forever follow
me. 1t was the last unutterable pang
from heart that was broken.
In moment found myself prisoner
in my room. L thought for moment [
could dash my brains out, but felt afraid
70 Tie. L was not penitent at times
my heart was subdued, but my stubborn
pride rose In an instant, and babe me
not to yield. The pale face of my mother
haunted me. | flung myself on the bed,
and fell alseep. L awoke at midnigh.,
stiffened by the night air and terrifed
with fear; but my door was fast. With
The daylight my fears were diSGipated,
and L became bold in resisting all im-
pulses The servant brought my meals,
bCt | did not taste them. / thought the
day would never end. Just a. twilight
| heard a foot approach the door; i. was
my sister, who called by my name.
What may | tell mother from you?"
she asked.
NOTHING" | replied.
go, Alfred, for my sake, for all our
Sskes, say that you are sorry. She longs
to forgive you"
''I wont be driven to school against
my will" said [.
But you will 60 if she wishes it, dear
Alfred, said my sister, pleadingly.
No, L won't" said L, "aad you
needn' t say any more about H."
''Oh, brother, you will kill her You
will kill her, and then you will never
have happy moment ~
made no reply to this. Ny feelings
were touched, but still resisted their
influence. Ny sister called me, but 1
would not answer. / heard her foot
steps retreating, and again I flung N.Y.
self on the bed, to pass another wretch
ed and fearful night. D God, how
wretched how fearful did not know.
Another f0otstep, slower and feebler
than my sisters disturbed me. A
voice called me by name. 1t was my
mothers.
"Alfred, my son, shall | come Are
you sorry for what you have done 2" she
asked
l cannot think what influence, opcr-
atlng at that moment, made me speak
adverse 20 my feelings. The gentle voice
OF my mother, that thrilled through me,
melted the ice Of that obdurate heart, and
| longed to throw myself on her neck,
but did not.
But the words gave the lie to my
heart, when | said / was not sorry. [
heard her withdraw; / heard her groan.
| longed to call her back, but yet l did
not.
was awakened from an uneasy slum-
Der by hearing my name called loudly,
and my sister by my bedside.
Get up, Alfred. o, don't wait a mo-
ment. Get up and come with me. Mother
is dyingw
thought that ! was dreaming, but |
got up, melancholy, and followed my
sister. On the bed, pale and cold as
marble, lay my mother. She had not
uudreSSed. She had thrown herself on
the bed to rest; arising 70 20 again to
me, she was seized with the palpitation
OF the heart, and borne Senseless 10 her
room.
| cannot tell you my agony as I look
ed upon her. My remorse was tenfold
more bitter at the thought she would
never know it. believed myself to be
murderer. | fell on the bed beside
her. could not weep. My heart burnt
in my bosom; my brain was all on fire.
Ay sister threw her arms around me,
and wept in silence. Suddenly we saw
a slight motion Of mothers hand-her
eyes unclosed. She had recovered con-
sciousness, but not speech. She looked
at me and moved her lips. 1 could not
understand her words. Mother, moth
er," l shrieked, ''say only that you for
give me-"
She could not say it with her lips, but
her hands pressed mine. She smiled
upon me; and lifted her thin white hands
and clasped my own within and cast her
eyes upward. She moved her lips in
prayer, and thus died. I remained still
kneeling beside that dear form till my
gentle sister removed me. She comfort
ed ME, for she knew the heavy load of
sorrow at my heart-heavier than grief
at the loss of mother, for it was a load
of sorrow for sin. The joy of youth had
left me forever.
My son, the suferings such memories
wake must continue as long as life. God