C&e ILifirarg 
 
 of tf>e 
 
 GJntoergitp of iSorti) Carolina 
 
 The Sylvester Hassell Collection 
 
 FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 Sylvester Hassell, D. D. 
 
 CLASS OF '62 
 
 GIVEN BY HIS CHILDREN 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORT H CAROLINA 
 
 ScKool of Library 
 
 
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" Here is a poor kitten that he has almost killed ; and here is 
 his handkerchief, which I should like to have him come 
 and take."— p. 10. 
 
THE 
 
 MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, AND 
 REVISED BY THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION. 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
 
 NO. 146 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, 
 By P^ul Beck, Jr., Treasurer, 
 in trust for the American Sunday-school Union, in the Clerk's 
 Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsyl- 
 vania. 
 
THE 
 
 MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 I once spent two or three 
 
 years at P , as the teacher 
 
 of a grammar school; and took 
 quite an active interest in the 
 Sunday-school. 
 
 As I was returning one day 
 from a visit to one of the lads in 
 my class, 1 saw a boy throwing 
 oyster-shells at a kitten. He had 
 tied the poor little animal to the 
 fence by his pocket-handker- 
 
 a2 5 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 chief, and had already hit her 
 with the shells, so as to mangle 
 her leg most cruelly. 
 
 I told him to stop ; buT he 
 threw a shell again and again. 
 I went towards him, and he ran, 
 with a shell in his hand. After 
 he had gone a few rods he turned 
 around, and threw the shell at 
 me. 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 7 
 
 As soon as I could get to her, 
 I released the poor little kitten, 
 and found, by the mark on 
 the pocket-handkerchief, that the 
 cruel boy's name was — Jacob 
 Millman. 
 
 I inquired of a group of child- 
 ren near by, if they knew such a 
 boy as Jacob Millman. 
 
 "Yes, sir, yes, sir," cried one 
 and another ; " he lives in that 
 house, with high steps before 
 the door, just beyond that willow 
 tree." 
 
 One of the older boys, who 
 was quite civil and well-behaved, 
 said, he was going that way to 
 
8 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 the Post-office, and would show 
 me the very house. 
 
 As we walked along, I asked 
 my young friend what he knew 
 of Jacob. He said, he had never 
 had much to do with him. He 
 was a bad boy, and every body 
 gave him the name of it. And 
 he thought the less he had to do 
 with such a boy, the better it 
 was for him. 
 
 "Did he ever go to Sunday- 
 school T said I. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; he was in the same 
 class with me, but he only went 
 a few months, and was always 
 late; and never had a lesson, 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 9 
 
 and almost always forgot his 
 library-book." 
 
 When I had come to the 
 house, I found I was followed by 
 several children, who had seen 
 me with a kitten in my hands, 
 and wondered what I was going 
 to do with it. While I was talk- 
 ing with them about the cruel 
 treatment the poor little creature 
 had suffered, and about the sin 
 of using any animal unkindly, 
 Jacob's mother came to the 
 door, and my young friend im- 
 mediately told me, that the woman 
 at the door was Mrs. Millman. 
 
 I saw Jacob within the house, 
 
10 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 just behind his mother ; but the 
 moment he perceived who I was, 
 he skulked away into the yard. 
 I asked his mother if she would 
 call him in, as - I had something 
 I wished to say to him. 
 
 " What has he done, sir 1 Has 
 he injured any body?" asked 
 Mrs. Millman. 
 
 " Why," said I, "he has shown 
 himself to be a very wicked, 
 cruel boy. Here is a poor kitten 
 that he has almost killed; and 
 here is his handkerchief, which 
 I should like to have him come 
 and take. ,?: — [See Frontispiece.] 
 
 "Come here, Jacob," cried 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. H 
 
 * 
 
 Mrs. Millman, opening the door 
 that led into the yard; "come 
 here, I tell you, and 'hear what 
 the gentleman has to say." 
 
 "I ha'nt touched him," mut- 
 tered the boy; "and it's my kitten, 
 and he han't no business with it, 
 nor with me neither." 
 
 " He is a bad boy, sir ; a very 
 bad boy," said his mother ; " and 
 I do not know what will become 
 of him." 
 
 "How old is he?" 
 
 " Ten years old, next month," 
 she replied. 
 
 " How long has his father been 
 dead?" 
 
12 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 " He died when Jacob was a 
 little over a year old." 
 
 "Does he go to Sunday- 
 school r 
 
 "No; he does not like to go 
 to Sunday-school, and never did. 
 He went a while, but the teacher 
 found fault with him for not 
 coming in better season, and he 
 quit the school, and I couldn't 
 get him to go back by all I could 
 say to him." 
 
 " Did his teacher never come 
 to inquire after him T 
 
 " I never heard of the teacher 
 after the boy left ; and I did not 
 care to see him, for I don't think 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 13 
 
 he treated the child as he would 
 like to have his own boy treated." 
 
 " Can he read ?" 
 
 " He could if he would, but he 
 is all the time out." 
 
 " Do you keep him at home in 
 the evening '?' 
 
 " I do, sometimes ; but he con- 
 trives to slip out almost every 
 night without my knowing it, and 
 gets with other boys ; and if you 
 know any thing about this neigh- 
 bourhood, you know there are a 
 plenty such boys, and bad enough 
 they are too." 
 
 "My good woman," said I, 
 "there's reason to believe, that if 
 
14 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 you both live, that boy will cost 
 you a great many tears. I see 
 you have no control over him. 
 You cannot even make him 
 come to me to get his hand- 
 kerchief. Now I warn you, that 
 he will grow worse and worse 
 as he grows older. And, lightly 
 as you may think of it, I 
 
 should not be at all surprised if 
 he should bring down your gray 
 hairs in sorrow to the grave. 
 You are not acting the part of a 
 kind and faithful mother to him, 
 in letting him have his own way ; 
 and I fear you will see the time 
 when you will mourn that you 
 
THE MURDERER MOTHER. 15 
 
 did not restrain and correct him 
 in the days of his wildness and 
 folly." 
 
 She seemed to take what I 
 said, rather unkindly. When I 
 proposed to get him a good place 
 in the Sunday-school, she said, 
 she had no very good opinion of 
 Sunday-schools, since she knew 
 more about them, and how her 
 boy was treated at one of them. 
 I then proposed to bring him an 
 interesting book; but she said, 
 "he had more books now than 
 he was willing to read ; and she 
 did not know whether it was a 
 good plan to be tying children 
 
16 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 to books all their days." I gave 
 her the handkerchief, and put the 
 kitten upon the floor, and went 
 on my way. 
 
 Soon after this, I left the town, 
 and passed through a course of 
 study for the ministry. After I 
 had preached a few years, my 
 health failed me, and I was 
 obliged to travel. My course 
 
 led me through P , where I 
 
 spent the. Sabbath. The place 
 had been much changed during 
 my absence. New houses had 
 been built, and old ones repaired 
 and painted. Old trees had been 
 cut or blown down, and new 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 17 
 
 ones set out. Many of the old 
 men and women had gone down 
 to the grave, and their sons and 
 daughters had come up into their 
 places 
 
 The pastor was absent, and I 
 consented to preach one part of 
 the day, though I was in feeble 
 health. 
 
 Public prayers were requested 
 in behalf of a woman who was 
 supposed to be just closing life. 
 And 1 found, upon inquiry, after 
 service, it was the same Mrs. 
 Millraan, whose boy I had fol- 
 lowed home some years before. 
 
 A few circumstances were 
 
 b2 
 
18 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 mentioned, which called back to 
 my recollection all the scenes I 
 have related about the boy and 
 the kitten ; and at the earnest 
 request of the neighbours, I went 
 to see the sick woman, in the 
 afternoon, although she now lived 
 at a distance from town. 
 
 I found she was, indeed, a 
 poor, miserable, dying creature. 
 The house and furniture were 
 very mean and comfortless; 
 though there was an air of neat- 
 ness about her bed and her dress 
 that told of the kind offices of a 
 neighbour. 
 
 Soon after I began to con- > 
 
TIE MURDERED MOTHER. 19 
 
 verse with her, I told her who I 
 was, and reminded her of my 
 former acquaintance with her, 
 and of the incident about the 
 kitten ; and asked her if the boy 
 was living. 
 
 " O, sir," said she, covering 
 her face with the bed-clothes, 
 
 ' THAT BOY HAS KILLED ME." 
 
 She soon composed herself, 
 
20 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 and collecting what little strength 
 she had, raised herself partly up, 
 and spoke as follows : — 
 
 " About three years, — per- 
 haps it was four or five years — 
 after you left this town, a pre- 
 cious minister of the gospel 
 came here. There was a great 
 change in the minds and ways 
 of people, and my neighbour, 
 here, Mrs. Prince, (looking to- 
 wards the good woman who was 
 kindly nursing her,) would have 
 me go and hear him. God had 
 patience with me to let me live 
 till that time. Then he showed 
 mercy to my soul, by leading me 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 21 
 
 to a place of prayer, where I 
 heard the blessed news, that 
 Jesus Christ had come into the 
 world to save sinners, and where 
 my eyes were opened to see 
 what my true state was. I hope 
 I there found a Saviour. I think 
 that he has been near and pre- 
 cious to me ever since ; and I 
 am sure he is nearer and more 
 precious to me now than ever 
 before. And for all this, I do 
 bless and praise his great and 
 holy name. But that boy — O, 
 that boy, — if I had followed 
 him to the grave that day you 
 followed him home — but it is 
 well—" 
 
22 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 After a short pause, she con- 
 tinued :— 
 
 " I was going to tell you, sir, 
 Jacob got to be so unsteady and 
 mischievous that, at last, I was 
 persuaded by the neighbours to 
 put him in the House of Refuge, 
 
 in . I had often heard that 
 
 this was a good place, and that 
 many boys had been made bet- 
 ter by being there ; and though 
 it was a hard trial, I consented 
 to his being put there. He was in 
 the House of Refuge better than 
 thirteen months. I was very far 
 from feeling easy about him, and 
 I finally persuaded some of my 
 friends to get him out. He had 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 23 
 
 behaved himself, generally, very 
 well; and upon my earnest de- 
 sire that he might be returned to 
 me, and upon his solemn and 
 repeated promises that he would 
 not go back to his old ways, he 
 was sent home. 
 
 "I persuaded my neighbour, 
 Mr. Drummond, to take him, and 
 teach him the trade of a wheel- 
 wright. He liked ]\Jr. Drummond, 
 and liked the trade very well, 
 but in spite of all I could do or 
 say, he would not be bound. I 
 told him how much safer he 
 would be, how much temptation 
 he might avoid, and how much 
 more likely he would be to be 
 
24 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 steady, if he was bound ; but he 
 said, " he would not be bound to 
 anybody. He was not made to 
 be bound." He was willing to 
 stay with Mr. Drummond, as 
 long as they could both agree ; 
 but "he would be no man's slave." 
 " About three months after he 
 went to his trade, there was a 
 military parade near by, and 
 Jacob wanted to go ; but there 
 was some pressing work in the 
 shop, which Mr. Drummond was 
 very anxious to have done, and 
 he refused to let him go. That 
 night he ran away; and I did 
 not see him for almost a month. 
 It was during this time that the 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 25 
 
 Lord had mercy on my soul, and 
 
 brought me to feel the worth of 
 
 a Saviour. When he came 
 
 back, I had a long conversation 
 
 with him, in which he seemed 
 
 willing to tell me about all his 
 
 evil ways. I found he had made 
 
 some very bad acquaintances 
 
 before he went to the House of 
 
 Refuge ; and that every day he 
 
 was in the company of profane, 
 
 idle, and Sabbath-breaking boys. 
 
 In the evening he would pretend 
 
 he had to go to one place and 
 
 another, yet he never would tell 
 
 me where he had been, or what 
 
 he had been doings I have no 
 
 doubt that he was then in the 
 c 
 
26 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 way of going to taverns, and 
 other drinking places. Weeks 
 and months passed in this way, 
 and no tongue can tell what I 
 suffered in that time. I walked 
 my chamber many nights — the 
 whole live-long night — waiting 
 for that boy to come home, and 
 thinking what would become of 
 him if he was not checked in 
 his downward way. I prayed 
 that God would forgive all his 
 mother's negligence and impro- 
 per indulgence of him, and save 
 the boy from the dreadful power 
 of the wicked one. I tried — O, 
 how often — to persuade him to 
 do better. 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 27 
 
 " One morning in particular, I 
 remember I went to him, and 
 my tears fell upon his clothes, as 
 I stood over him, and besought 
 him to forsake his evil compa- 
 nions. He wiped my tears away 
 carelessly; turned from me, and 
 went away, muttering some bad* 
 words, of which I heard enough 
 to make my heart ache. Surely, 
 I thought, ' a foolish son is the 
 heaviness of his mother? 
 
 " By the kindness of some of 
 my neighbours, Jacob got em- 
 ployment in the grocery store, 
 next below the school-house. 
 One morning, Mr. Wilkins, the 
 grocer, sent him to the bank 
 
28 
 
 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 with some money. On his way, 
 he met with an old acquaintance, 
 who persuaded him to make off 
 with what he had got. He did 
 so ; but was taken up that very 
 night, and brought back, and 
 nearly all the money found in 
 his possession. The officer was 
 kind enough to bring him home, 
 that he might see me. It was 
 late in the evening. 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 29 
 
 " He fell on his knees, and 
 begged me to save him, and pro- 
 mised every thing good. He 
 said, if I would only let him stay 
 that night, he would give himself 
 up the next morning. I told him 
 it was too late for me to help 
 him ; and that I could only pray 
 for him, and I would do that 
 night and day, as long as I had 
 breath. As he was leaving the 
 door, I said to him, ' Jacob, 
 when I hear where you are, I 
 will send you some comfortable 
 clothes, poor as I am; and if 
 you are sick, I will come and see 
 you. But you are in God's 
 hands, my poor child, and my 
 
 c2 
 
30 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 last nope is, that God will, for 
 Christ's sake, yet have mercy 
 upon your soul.' 
 
 " As he went away from the 
 house, I was sitting by that win- 
 dow," said she, pointing to an 
 open window on the other side 
 of the room, " and I could not 
 but say, within myself, ' Is it pos- 
 sible that a child of mine, and a 
 child too that I loved as I did 
 that boy, is in the hands of an 
 officer, on his way to jail !' 
 
 " When he came to be tried 
 before the court, he sent for me 
 to come and help him ; but I 
 could not go ; and I knew I 
 could do him no good if I did 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 31 
 
 go. He was sent to prison for 
 eighteen months, and his time 
 will be out next spring. But I 
 cannot tell you all. O, sir, it is — 
 it is, indeed, a bitter thing to a 
 mother to have a thoughtless, 
 wicked child. It has weighed 
 me down night and day; and 
 now, I think what will become 
 of him when he comes out of 
 prison. But I shall not be here. 
 I know the Judge of all the earth 
 will do right : the blood of Christ 
 cleanses from all sin. I am 
 willing to give him up to the will 
 of Him who does all things 
 well." 
 This was the substance of the 
 
32 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 dying woman's story. She was 
 often interrupted by a gush of 
 tears, and several times her 
 strength almost failed her. 
 
 I thought it would be cruel to 
 remind her of the words I had 
 spoken to her many years be- 
 fore, when I followed this same 
 child home from his cruel sport. 
 I prayed with her, and for her, 
 and for her profligate child ; and 
 in less than a week, as I after- 
 wards learned, the good woman 
 was taken from this valley of 
 tears, and admitted, I trust, to a 
 better and brighter world. 
 
 O, if children could but know 
 what sorrows they heap upon a 
 
I 
 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 33 
 
 mother's heart, when they are 
 pursuing their wicked courses, 
 they would shudder at their own 
 guilt. They would as soon think 
 of lifting their hands to shed a 
 mother's blood, as of piercing her 
 heart through and through with 
 such bitter sorrows. They drink 
 wine ; they laugh and sing ; they 
 forget and forsake home, and 
 wander away with the thought- 
 less and profane ; while the mo- 
 ther that brought them into be- 
 ing, and fed, and nursed, and 
 watched over them in helpless 
 infancy, and took care of them 
 in sickness and in health, by 
 night and by day, is at home, 
 
34 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 perhaps, in some lonely chamber, 
 mourning over their folly, and 
 pouring out tears and prayers 
 before God on their account. 
 What a picture of ingratitude 
 and sin is seen in a thoughtless, 
 thankless, rebellious child! 
 
 Jacob was discharged from 
 prison at the end of eighteen 
 months ; but before he had been 
 out a week, he was tempted to 
 go to the theatre, where he stole 
 a pocket-book from a country- 
 man's pocket. He was suspect- 
 ed, and pursued. When the 
 officer came up to arrest him, he 
 seized a stick of wood, and struck 
 him so severely that he died that 
 
THE MURDERED MOTHER. 35 
 
 same night. The wretched young 
 man was thrown back again into 
 a gloomy prison ; was afterwards 
 tried, and found guilty of murder ; 
 and is now passing his silent, 
 lonely life in one of our peniten- 
 tiaries. 
 
 It is not long since I saw him 
 in his solitary dwelling-place. 
 After an hour's conversation with 
 him on a variety of subjects, I 
 said to him, "Well, Millman, I 
 suppose you sometimes think of 
 your mother, and your treatment 
 of her ?" 
 
 " Ah! that I do," said the un- 
 happy young man. " Yes, sir, I 
 do, indeed. Often have I started 
 
36 THE MURDERED MOTHER. 
 
 up from that narrow bed of mine, 
 (pointing to an iron framed bed- 
 stead that was turned up against 
 the wall, in one corner of his cell,) 
 often have I started up from that 
 bed, in the darkness of the night, 
 and thrown the clothes off from 
 me, while my hair stood up stiff 
 upon my head, and a cold shiver- 
 ing crept over my body ; and I 
 have opened my mouth to cry — 
 MY MOTHER! MY MUR- 
 DERED MOTHER! Bad as 
 I am, my lips have quivered when 
 I have laid me down again, and 
 my tears have come as a little 
 child's, until I could not find a dry 
 place to lay my cheek upon"