Her own
daughter was the viper which had stung her bosom. Her own child was
the wretch who was filling her heart with sorrow.
And while I now write, this guilty daughter is occupying the gloomy
cell of the prison, and this widowed mother is in her silent
dwelling, in loneliness and grief! Oh, could the child who reads
these pages, see that mother and that daughter now, you might form
some feeble idea of the consequences of disobedience; you might see
how unutterable the sorrow a wicked child may bring upon herself and
upon her parents. It is not easy, in this case, to judge which is the
most unhappy, the mother or the child. The mother is broken-hearted
at home. She is alone and friendless. All her hopes are most cruelly
destroyed. She loved her daughter, and hoped that she would live to
be her friend and comfort. But instead of that, she became her curse,
and is bringing her mother's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. And
then look at the daughter--guilty and abandoned--Oh, who can tell how
miserable she must be!
Such is the grief which children may bring upon themselves and their
parents. You probably have never thought of this very much I write
this book that you may think of it, and that you may, by obedience
and affection, make your parents happy, and be happy yourselves.
This wicked girl was once a playful child, innocent and happy. Her
mother looked upon her with most ardent love, and hoped that her dear
daughter would live to be her companion and friend.
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