The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1882-08-31
PULASKI TENN, THURSDAY, AUGUST 81. 1885,

| themselves, 1nQ6eO U0ab twas q
phantom only. The difference be-
tween these and this mother was
that she accepted the truth, and
neither. tried to deceive herself OF
others.
As she neared the home of her
brother-in-law her resolve was taken.
When she entered his house she was
outwardly calm, and could talk of
her loss and her intentions, with
even tones and quiet air.
After arranging with him to dis
pose of her COW and chickens, she
took the cars to the next town, and
began to search for employment.
Mamma was visiting friends in
tRt town at the time, and is one
who usually follows the leadings of
her own instinct; and always regrets
when she fails to do so. She was
in Mrs. Ludlow's sitting room when
Mrs. Alpen applied for position
as general assistant, asking only for
kind treatment and small wages.
Mrs. Ludlow had no place for her,
but mamma felt assured that here
was a treasure for some one, and
forthwith proposed that if Mrs. AL
pen would go with her to her home,
two days journey by rail, she would
give her suitable employment at fair
wages.
Mamma shortened her visit in
order to bring Arnty Alpen home,
and she has remained a most valu-
able hel per ever since.
For years we knew nothing of her
personal history beyond the fact
that she had married children settled
IN distant places, from whom, at
long and irregular intervals, she re
ceived letters.
One day it CHANGED that, as NAM
ma read paragraph from a news
paper, she smiled and called Aunty
Alpen's attention to it.
at is your name," said mamma.
"Rowena Alpen. l wish it were
your land also. 1t would make you
Independent indeed"
at is my land" said Mrs. Alpen,
quietly. "But L am independent
without it,
And she bursted into tears and
sank into a chair at mammals side.
We left them alone-mamma and
our poor friend in her grief.
1t was then that she confided to
mamma her story that she said
was too pitifully sorrowful to be
told.
She had been with us seven years.
In all these years never once had
her daughters invited her to their
homes. They had been glad she
had employment and were satisfied
with her position. They had even
asked her if it was convenient to
have a visit from one or more of the
children in their summer vacations.
But they had never expressed any
regret at the separation, or any de
sire to have her become a member
of their families, until now.
The lot on which her b ONE stood
had suddenly become valuable. A
coal vein ran beneath it. The mine
was working. The owners of the
shaft wished to purchase, and offered
price that astonished those who
knew nothing of the real values.
Both daughters at once remembered
their filial obligations, and at once
each offered a home with her family
"God pity me if 1 am unlike what
mother should be-" she said. 81
loved my children only for loves
sake. 1 hoped that thus my chill
dren would love me. Love, love was
all 1 asked or craved. Land can
not buy love or happiness. All that
1 have is theirs. They shall have
no temptation to become impatient
for their mothers death. Twill give
them all now. For myself, when I
can no longer work, there remains
the poor house. L will go thither."
Is her story too strangely sad to
have been told? 1 know of other
mothers no less keenly stung by that
sharper than a serpent's TOOTH"
filial ingratitude and neglect.
1 have but lately been the con
fidant of tale as strangely sad from
a gray haired mother of children in
far higher social scale than Aunty
Alpen's, yet not one whit above
them in filial duty. 1 know of an
other mother this hour, snubbed,
grudged her attic room and her poor
bite and sup, and forced to do her
own laundry work in her daughters
house, where rooms, and food, and
servants are plenty.
Why do tell of such shame?
Why, indeed, unless in the hope
that some who have eyes to see, may
see, and who have ears to hear may
hear and understand? For these
stung hearts of sorrowing mothers
are remembered by One who in the
day of his power Is mighty to avenge.