The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1881-05-05

Art hath naught of tone or cadence
That can work with such spell
In the souls mysterious fountains,
Whence the tears of rapture well,
AS that melody of nature,
That subdued, subduing strain,
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.
THE TIMELY WARNING.
ATHRILLNG STORY.
NV father, after an absence Of three years
returned to the house so dear to him.
He had made his last voyage, and rejoiced
I to have reached a haven of rest from the
perils of the sea. During his absence i
had grown from child and baby Of my
mothers I was her youngese-into 8
rough, careless, and head strong boy.
Her gentle voice no longer restrained
me. I was often wilful, and sometimes
sdsobedient. Thought it indicated manly
superiority to be: independent OF 8
woman's influence. My fathers return
was fortunate circumstance for me-.
I He.soon perceived the: spirit of insubor.
dination stirring within me-. I saw by
his manner that it displeased him., al
though for few days he said nothing TO-
me about It, =. :
It.was an AFTERNOON in October, bright
and golden, that my father told me to
get my hat and take 8 walk with him:
We turned downa narrow lane into g fine
open field-a faYorite playground for:
the children in; the neigh hborh0od. After
talking cheerfnlly on different .topicsifor
while, my father asked meif ] observed
: that huge shadow thrown by q mass of
rocks that stood in the middle Of the
field. / replied that I did,. T.
s. ssMy father owned this land said yhe.
: .i.sIt was my play.g ground when a boy.
That rock stood there then. To me it is
8 beacon, and whenever Hook at it: J
recall dark spot in my life-an event
so painful to dwell upon,if it, were not.
asa warning to you, / should not speak
Of it. Listen then, my dear boy, and;
learn wisdom from your fathers errors.
My father died when I was mere
child. / was the only son. My mother
was q gentle, loving woman, devoted
to her children and beloved by. every.
body. I remember her pale, beautiful
face, her sweet, affect smile, her kind.
and tender voice. In my childhood loved
her intensely. was never. happy apart
from her; and she, fearing was becom.
ing too much of a baby, sent me to the
high school in the village. After associ-
ating for time with rude, rough boys,
lost, in q measure, my fondness TOR
home and my reverence foc my mother;
and it became more and more difficult
for her-to restrain my impetuous nature.
IthougIt indicated awant of manliness
to yield to her authority or to appear
penitent, although / knew that my COM
duct pained her. The epithet I most
dreaded was girl boy. I could not bear
to hear it said by my companions that l
was tied to my mothers apron strings.
From quiet, home:l loving child, I soon
became q wild, boisterous boy. My Jear
mother used every persuasion to induce
me toseek happiness within the precincts
of home. She e1erted herself to make
our freside attractive andsmy sister, fol.
lowing her sacrificing example, soughtto
entice me by planning games and diver.
sions for my entertainment. saw all
this, but did not heed it.
1t was one afternoon like this that !
was about leaving the dining table, to
spend the intermission between morning
and evening school, in the streets as
usual, my mother laid her hand on my
shoulder, and said mildly, "My son, /
wish you to come with me-" I would
have rebelled, but something in her man
ner awed me. She put on her bonnet,
and said to me, "We will take q little
walk together" I followed herin silence;
asI was passing out of the door, / OBJ
served one of my rude companions
skulking about the house, and I knew
he was waiting for me. He sneered as I
went past him. My pride was wounded
to the quick. He was a bad boy, but
being some years older than myself he
exercised great influence over me. /
followed my mother sulkily, till We
reached the spot where we now stand,
beneath the shadow of this huge rock.
o, my boy! could that hour be blotted
from my memory which has cast shad-
ow over my whole life, gladly would I
exchange all that the world can offer
me for the quiet peace of mind I should
enjoy. But no like this huge, unsig ght-
ly pile, stands the monument of my guilt
forever.
MY mother, being feeble in health, sat
down and beckoned me beside her. Her
look, SO full of sorrow, is present to me
now. would not sit, but continued
standing sullenly beside her.
"Alfred, my dear son." said she, "haye
You lost all love for your mother% I
did not reply. II fear you have" she
continued "and may God help you to see
your own heart, and me to do my duty"
She then talked to me of my misdeeds-
ofthe dreadful consequences of the course
was pursuing. By tears, and entreaties,
and prayers, she tried to make an impress
sion ON me. She placed before me the
lives and examples of great and good
men: she sought to stimulate my ambi-
ton. I was moved, but too proud to
show it, and remained standing in degged
silence beside her. I thought, "What
will my companions say, if, after all my
boasting, should yield at last, and sub
NIT to be led by woman7"
What agony vas visible on my mothers
face when she saw that all she said and
suffered failed to move me. She rose to
go home, and 1 followed at distance.
She spoke no more to me till we
reached our own door.
''It ia school-time now," said she.
go, my son, and once more let me be-
seech you to think upon what have
said"
"I shan't go to school," said I.
She looked astonished at my boldness,
but replied firmly, Certainly you will
go, Alfred /; I command you"
"Iwill not" said I, with tone of de.
fance.
Zone of the two things you must do,
Alfred, either 60 to school this moment,
=. - IL