Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1861-02-06
The Mothers Grave.

1t was thirteen years since my mothers
death, when after a long absence from my
native village, / stood beside the sacred
mound, beneath which Ihad seen her buried.
Since that mournful period, great changes
had come over me. NY 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 thought
less, happy creature, whose checks she had
so often kissed in a excess OF tenderness
But the varied events of thirteen years had
not effaced the memory of that mothers
smile. 1t seems as If | had seen her ycster-
day-as if the blessed sound of her voice
was in my year. The gay dreams of my in
fancy and childhood were brought back so
distinctly to nay mind that had it not been
for one bitter recollection, the tears shed
| would have been gentle and refreshing -
The circumstance may seem a trifiing one
but the thought of it even now agonizes my
heart-and | relate it that children who have
parents, may love them as they ought.
My mother bad 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.
At first it is true, | sobbed violently-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 be spared to me
One day when I had lost my place in the
class, and done my work wrong side out
ward, ! came home discouraged and iretfui.
| went into my mothers chamber. She was
paler than usual, but she met IA e with the same
affectionate smile that always welcomed my
1 raf..rn A1oo I ryhon 1ooIy Hoalr %b.o1 tho
lapse of thirteen years, l think my heart
must have been stone, not to have been mel.
ted by it. She requested me to 90 down
stairs, and bring her a glass of water-I pet
tishly asked wE she did not call a domestic
to do it. With a look OF mild reproach,
which | shall never forget, if live to be a
hundred years old, "nnd viii. not my daagh-
ter bring q glass Of water for her poor sick
mother p
] went and brought her the water, but
did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling an6
kissing her, as | was wonttod do, | sat the gias
down very quickly and left the room. Aftel
playing a short time, / went to bed withou,
bidding my mother good night but whel
alone in my room, in darkness and silence.
remembered how pale she looked, and how
her voice trembled when she said, will no
my daughter bring a glass of water to he
poor sick mother 2" | could not sleep-an,
l stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness
She had sunk into an uneasy slumber, an
they told me | must not waken her. | di
not tell any one what troubled me, but stol
back to my bed, resolved to rise early in th
morning and tell her how sorry | was for m
conduct.
The sun was shining brightly when
awoke, and, hurrying on my clothes, | hat
tened to my mothers room. She was dead
she never spoke to me more-never smile
on me again and when | touched the han
that used to rest upon my head in blessin
it was so cold that it made me start. 1 bow
down by her side, and sobbed in bitterne
of heart / then wished | could die, al
oe buried with her; and old as l now am,
would give worlds, were they mine to Civ
/ could my mother but have lived to tell 1
she forgave my childish ingratitude. B
!, | cannot call her back, and when | stand
, her grave, and whenever [ think other MI
: fold kindnesses, the memory of that
5 proachful look she gave me, will ''bite like
3 serpent and sling like an adder"