The Shasta courier., 1867-03-16
A Vain Wish.

The following account was written by a
lady manv years after her mothers death,
when on a visit to her grave:
1t was thirteen years since my mother S
death, when, after long absence from nv
native village | stood beside the sacred
mound beneath which | had seen her buried
Since that mournful period a 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 thought
less, happy creature, whose cheeks she so
often kissed in the excess of tenderness
But the varied events of thirteen wears had
not effaced that mothers smile. 1t seems as
if it had been but yesterday-as the blessed
sound of her well-remembered voice was in
my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and
childhood were brought back so distinctly to
mind that, had it not been for one bitter re.
collection. the tears | shed would have been
gentle and refreshing. The circumstance
may seem 1t trihing one, but the thought Of
it now pains 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
became 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; but when. day after
day, | returned from school and found her
the same, began to think she would Away S
be spared to me. But they told me she
would die.
One day, when had lost my place in the
class, and had done my work wrong side
outward, l came home discouraged and
fretful. | went to my mothers chamber
She was paer than usual. but she met me
with the same affectionate smile that always
welcomed my return Alas when | look
back through the lapse of thirteen years. l
think my heart must have been stone not to
have melted by it. She requested me 60 down
stairs and bring her glass of water.
uettishly asked why she did not call a
domestic to do it. With look of mild re
proach, which shall never forget If should
live to be a hundred years old, she said -
And will not my daughter bring glass
OF water for her poor sick mother?"
went and brought her the water but
did not do it kindly Instead of smiling and
kissing her, as | was wont to do. | set the
glass down very quickly and left the ROOM
After playing about a short time went t.
bed without bidding my mother good night
and in silence, / rememb bered how pale she
looked. and how her voice trembled wher
she said Will not my daughter bring
glass of water for her poor sick mother ?'-
| could not sleep; | stole into her chamber
to ask forgiveness. She had sunk into al
easy slumber. and they told me | must no
wake her. | did not tell ary one wha
troubled me. but stole back to my bed, re
solved 20 rise early and tell her how sorry
was for my conduct.
The sun was shining brightly when
awoke and hurryng on my Clothes has
tened to my mothers chamber She wa
dead She never spoke more--never smile'
upon me again-and when | touched tn
hand that used to rest upon my head il
blessing, it was so cold it made me start.
bowed my head by her side and sobbed il
the bitterness of my heart. | thought the
that ! might wish to die and be buried wit
her, and, old as | am, | would give worlds
were they mine to give, could my mothe
have but lived to tell me that she forgave m
my childish ingratitude. But | cannot cal
her back and when | stand bv her grave
and when | think of her manifold kindness
the memory of that reproachful look sh
gave me will bite like serpent and stInI
like an adder.
And when your mother dies, dear child
do you not think-do you not know, ina
every act or word Of thine that wounds ne
heart will bite thee like serpent and stun
like an adder? Then, while they are VIII
Us. let us treat our parents with ali respec
and reverence.