The Georgetown news., 1856-05-22

thread, for her patience is almost as beauti-
ful as her charity, and she touches the little
red bark moment till the young voyager
is in dream again, and then directs Tom
my's unavailing attempts to harness the cat.
The tick of the clock runs faint and low,
and she opens the mysterious door and pro-
ceeds to wind it up. We are all on tip-toe,
and we beg in breath to be lifted up, one
by one, and look in the hundredth time up
on the tin cases of the weights, and the poor
and lonely pendulum, which goes to and
fro by its little dim window, and never
comes out in the world; and our petitions
are all granted, and we are lifted up, and
we all touch with finger the wonderful
weights, and the music of the little wheel is
resumed.
Was Mary to be married, or Jane to be
wrapped in shroud? So meekly did she
fold the white hands of the one upon :.
still bosom, that there seemed to be prs
in them there; and so sweetly didshe wrea&
the white rose in the hair of the other, that
one would not have wondered had more ro-
ses budded for company.
How she stood between US and apprehen-
ded harm; how the rudest of us softened
beneath the gentle pressure of the faded and
tremulous hand! From her capacious pock-
ct that hand was ever withdrawn closed,
only to be opened in our own with the nuts
she had gathered, the cherries she had
plucked, the little egg she had found, the
turnover" she had baked, the trinket she
had purchased for US as the product Of her
spinning, the blessing she had stored for US
the offspring Of her heart.
What treasures of story fell from those
old lips-of good fairies and evil-of the old
times when she was girl; and we wonder
ed if ever-but then she couldn't be hand
somer or dearer-but that she ever was
"little." And then, when we begged her
to sing. "Sing US one of those good old
songs you used to sing to mother, grand
ma"
"Children, can't sing" she always said;
and mother used to lay her knitting softly
down, and the kitten stopped playing with
the yarn upon the floor, and the clock tick
ed lower III the corner, and the fire died
down to glow, like an old heart that is
neither chilled nor dead, and grandmother
sang. To be sure, it wouldn't do for the
parlor and the concert-room nowadays: but
then it was the old kitchen, and the old
fashioned grandmother, and the old ballad,
in the dear old times, and we can hardly see
to write for the memory of them, though it
is hands breadth to the sunset.
Well, she sang. Her voice was feeble
and wavering, like fountain just ready to
fall: but then how sweet-tonad it was; ard
it became deeper and stronger, but it
couldn't grow sweeter. What "joy of
grief" it was to sit there around the fire,
all of US except Jane; that clasped prayer
to her bosom, and her we thought we saw
when the hall door was opened moment by
the wind; but then we were not afraid, for
wasn't it her old smile she wore?-to sit
there around the fire; and weep over the
woes of the "Babes in the Woods" who lay
down side by side in the great solemn shad-
ows; and how strangely glad we felt when
the robin redbreast covered them with
leaves, and last of all when the angels took
them out of the night into day everlasting.
We may think what we will of it now,
but the song and the story heard around the
kitchen fire have colored the thoughts and
lives of the most of us-haye given US the
germ of whatever poetry blesses our hearts
whatever of memory blooms in our yester-
days. Attribute what we may to the school
and schoolmaster, the rays which make that
little day we call life radiate from the God
swept circle of the hearthstone
Then she sings an old lullaby she sang to
mother-her mother sang to her; but she
does not sing it through, and falters ere tis
done. She rests her head upon her hands,
and it is silent in the cd kitchen. Some
thing glitters down between her fingers in
the fire-light, and it looks like rain in the
soft sunshine. The old grandmother is
thinking when she first heard the song, and
OF the voice that sang it; when, light
haired and light hearted girl, she hung
around that mothers chair, nor saw the
shadows Of the years to come. Oh! the
days that are no more! What spell can we
weave to bring them back again? What
words unsay, what deeds undo, to set back,
just this once, the ancient clock of time?
so all our little hands were forever cling
ing to her garments and staying her, as if
from dying, for long ago she had done liv-
ing for herself, and lived alone in us. But
the old kitchen wants a presence to-day,
and the rush-bottom chair is tenantless.
How she used to welcome US when we
were grown, and came back once more to
the homestead.
We thought we were men and women,
but we were children there. The old fash
Toned grandmother was blind in the eyes,
but she saw with her heart as she always
did. We threw our long shadows through
the door, and she felt them as they fell over
her form, and she looked dimly up and saw
tall shapes in the doorway, and She says:
Edward know, and Lucy's voice can
hear, but who is the other? 1t must be
James" for she had almost forgotten the
folded hands. ooh, no, not Jane, for She
let me see-she is waiting for me, isn't she?'
and the old nrandrn nthnr wandnrnd and