Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1856-11-06
B. R. COWEN EDITOR & PROPRIETOR

1
ses budded for company. How she sioo
between US and apprehended harm, bow tn
rudesr of US softened beneath the gentl
pressure of her faded and tremulous hand
From her capacious pocket that hand wa
ever withdrawn closed only to be opened II
our own, with the nuts she had gathered
| with the cherries she had plucked, the littl
egg she had found, the "turD-over" she hat
baked the trinket she had purchased for u
as the product OF her spinning, the blessing
she had stored us-ihe offspring OF he
| heart.
What treasures of story fell from thOs'
old lips OF good fairies and evil; or the ol,
| times when she was girl; but we won
dered if ever; bat then she couldn't bt
! handsomer or dearer-she was very little
And then when we begged her to sing
"Sing US one Of the old songs yeu used to
sing to mother. Grandma"
Children, | can't sing, she always said
| aud mother used 10 always lay her knitting
softly down, and kitten stopped playing with
the yarn on the floor. and the clock ticked
lower ID the-corner and the fire died down to q
glow, like an cid heart that is neither chill
ed nor dead, and grandmother sang. To be
sure it would not do for the parlor and the
concert room nowadays; but then it was
the kitchen and the old-fashioned grand
mother, and the old ballad, in the dear old
times, and we can hardly see to write for
the memory OF them, though it is hand
breadth TO the sunset.
Well, she sang. Her voice was feeble
and wavering, like fountain that is Just
ready to fail; but then how sweet toned it
was, and it became deeper and stronger;
but it could not grow sweeter. What "Joy
of grier' it was to sit around the fire, ii OF
US, excepting Jane, and we thought we saw
her when the door opened moment by the
wind; but then we were not afraid, tor was
it not her old smile she wore! To sit there
around the fire, and weep over the woes OF
The babes in the woods, who laid down side
by side in the great solemn shadows; and
how strangely glad we felt when the robin
red-breast covered them with leaves, and
last Of all when the angel took them out of
the night into dav 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 most of US; have gi-en US the germs
of whatever poetry blesseS our hearts; what
ever of memory blooms in our yesterdays.
Attribute whatever we may to the school
and the schoolmoster, the rays which make
the little day we call lie. radiate from tie
God-swept circle of the hearth-stone.
Then she sings an old lullaby she sang
to mother mother sang it 10 her-but
she does not sing it through, and faiters ere
il ia done. She rests her head upon her
hands, and it is silert in the old kltcken.-
Something glitters down between her finger
in the freight, and it looked like rain in
the soft sunshine. The old grandmother is
thinking when she first heard the song, and
of the voice that sang il; when light-baired
and lght-hearted girl, she hung around that
mothers chair, nor saw the shadows OF the
wears to come. Oh the days that are no
more Whist words unsay, what deeds undo,
TO set back the ancient clock Of time.
So our little hands were forever clinging
to her garments. and staying her as if from
diving, for long ago she had done living for
herself, and lived alone in Us. But the Old
kitchen wants presence to-day, and the
rush bottoIned chair is tenantiess.
How she used TO welcome US when we
were grown and came once more to the
homestead.
we thought we were men and women,
but we were children there; the Old fash
ioned grandmother was blind IN the eyes,
but she saw her heart as she aiwsys did
We threw our long shadows through the
open door, and she fel; then as they fell
over her form, and she looked dim|y up and
said:
Edward know, and Lucy's voice | can
hear, but whose is that other! 1t mus. be
James, Cor she had almost forgotten The
folded hands. Oh, no I! lot James. for she
Jet me see--she is waiting FOX me, isn't
she. And the old grandmother wondered
and wept.
1t is another daughter, grandmother, that
Edward has brough, for your blessing.
Has she blue eyes, my son! Put her hand
in mine, for she is my late born, the child
of my old age. Shall sing you song,
children, And she is lilly fumbling for a
toy, welcome gift for the children that
have come again.
One OF us, men as we thought we were,
is weeping; she hears the half suppressed
sobs, and she says, as she extends her feeble
hand, "Here my child, rest upon ysur grand
mothers shoulder; she will protect you from
all HARM"
Come, children, sit around the Ere again.
Sball | sing you song, or tell you story!
Stir the FIRE, for it is cold; the nights are
growing colder.
The clock in the corner struck nine, the
bed time Of those old days. The song of
life was indeed sung, the story told. 1t
was bed time at last. Good night to the
grandmother. The old-fashicned grand
mother was no more, and we miss her for
ever. But We will set up tablet in the
midst Of the heart, and write on it only this:
Sacred to the memory of the old-fashiOned
grandmother: God bless her foreyer.n