Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1859-10-12

1t was thirteen years since my mothers
death, when after long absence from nv
native village | stood beside the sacred
mound, beneath which had seen her bur
led. Since that mournful period, great
change had come over me. NV childish
years had passed away and with them my
youthful character. The world was alter
ed too; and as / stood at my mothers
grave, could hardly realize that was the
same thoughtless, happy creature, whose.
cheeks she had so often kissed 10 an excess
of tenderness. But the varied events of
thirteen years had not effaced the remem-
brance of that mothers smile. 1t seemed
as if | had seen her yesterdays if the
blessed sound of her voice, was then in my
ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and
childhood were brought back so distinctly.
to my mind, that had it not been for one
| bitter recollection, the tears | shed woald
have been gentle and refreshing. The cir
cumstance may seem trifing onc-but
the thought of it even now agonizes my
heart-and relate it that those children
who have parents to love them, may learn
to value them as they ought.
My mother had been i'll 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. At first it is true, sebbed violently,
for they told me she would die; bat when
I found ner ene ssme, ss..-s~ --eLe-.l snd
would always be spared to me.
One day when had lost my place in the
class and done my work wrong side out
ward, l came home discouraged and fretful.
| went into my mothers chamber. She was
paler than usual, but she met me with the
same afectiouate smile that always well
coined my return. Alas! when look back
through the lapse of thirteen years, think
my heart must have been stone, not to have
been melted by it. She requested me to go
down stairs, and bring her glass of water
ii pettishly asked why she did not call a
domestic to do it. With look of mild
reproach which shall never forget if / live
to be hundred years old, she said, aAnd
will not my daughter bring glass of water
for her poor sick mother %
Invent and brought her the water, but ]
did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling
and kissing her, as | was wont to do, / sa
the glass down very quickly, and left tht
room. After playing short time, / went
to bed without bidding my mother " goot
t night" but when alone in my room, il
darkness ndsience, Remembered how pal
:, she looked, and how her lowyoice trembled
: when she said, @Will not my daughte
\ bring glass Of water for her poor sic
. mother o. / could not sleep-and stol
Z Into her chamber, to ask forgiveness. Sh
e had sunk into an uneasy slumber and the
! teld me must not waken her. / did nc
:. tell any one what troubled me, but stol
!. back to my bed, resolved to rise early
II the morning, and tell her how sorry W.
a for my conduct.
a The sun was shining bright when
- awoke, and hurrying on my clothea-lha'
= tensd- to seE spoRe ro me more-neyer smi
OF al .r.n me again, and when touched th
y hand that used to rest upon my head
le blessing, it was so cold that it made m
* * start. / bowed down ly her side, and sol
y bed in the bitterness of my heart
10 thought then I wished could die, and
:, buried with her; and, old as | now am,
. would give worlds, were they mineto Civ
- could my mother have lived to tellme st
forgave my childish ingratitude. But
gel cannot cali her back and when | star
ur by her grave, and whenever | think
= her manifold kindness, the memory of th
he reproachful look she gave me, will s'bi
ut, like serpent, and sting like an adder"
4 q