A LESSON FOR MOTHERS by Belle V. Chisholm

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Dec 8, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 47.

A LESSON FOR MOTHERS.

By Belle V. Chisholm

Mrs. Hubbard is the wife of a poor mechanic, who occupies one of the little cottages built for working-men in a growing manufacturing town. She is a thrifty housewife, striving hard to keep her home bright and cheery, and her children becomingly dressed; but with all her good qualities she possesses a hasty temper, which she has not yet learned to keep in subjection. It was on a bright Sunday afternoon, not many weeks ago, that she dressed her two little children, Mary and Willie, for an excursion. Willie wore a white suit, which his mamma had just finished, and of which he was very proud. Just as he was leaving the house his mamma discovered a dark spot on the dazzling white dress.

"What is that, Willie?" she asked sharply, pointing to the discolored speck.

"Only a dease spot, mamma, only a wee little dease spot," answered the child in a pleading voice.

"I'll make a grease spot out of you, sir!" she exclaimed in anger, as she raised her hand to strike him.

The little fellow dodged to avoid the well-aimed blow, but in his fright he struck his head against the sharp corner of the table, and when his mamma picked him up he was unconscious. When the doctor came the child was delirious, and the old man shook his head gravely when asked if there was danger. Brain fever set in at once, and in a day or two it had finished its cruel work, leaving little Willie so cold and still.

A few hours later, in a darkened room, the heart-broken mother sat by the coffin that contained all that was left of her precious boy. While she sat there, weeping bitter tears over the wreck which her passion had caused, her little daughter, Mary, crept softly into the room, and stealing close up to her mother's side, whispered, "Mamma, darling, is Willie a dease spot now?"

"Oh, Willie, Willie! how can I bear it?" cried the distracted woman, falling on her knees beside the tiny coffin.

Poor Mary was too young to understand the cause of her mother's grief, and slipped quietly out of the door, too much frightened to ask why her question was only answered by a storm of sobs and tears.

What a life-time of pain and anguish are in store for that desolate mother! In time the troubled spirit may find peace, and come forth from the fiery furnace of affliction, chastened, refined, purified; but just now remorse, that bitterest of all passions, has almost dethroned reason itself.

Oh! tired and weary mothers, be patient with the little ones that now make discord as well as music in your homes. Not long will the tramp of baby feet disturb your slumbers, or weary you in your waking moments. Soon these little restless beings will be grown up and gone from your sheltering love; or, perchance, as in the case of Willie's mother, you may be called upon to weep bitter tears over tiny hillocks that hide the precious darlings from your sight. No matter if Susie's dress has not as many ruffles and tucks as the little girl's over the way, if, instead, home is made happy by a mother's smile and blessing. Better keep yourself sweet than wear out your temper working by lamp-light that Freddie's jacket may compare favorably with that of your neighbor's boy. There is something besides houses, and lands, and money, and fine clothes, to lay up for your children. See to it now, that for yourselves you lay not up treasures of remorse, heartaches, and desolate homes.—Belle V. Chisholm, in Lutheran Observer.