Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1856-02-02

in the corner, and the hro died down 20
glow, like an old heart that is neither chilled
nor dead, and grandmother sang. To be sure
1t wouldn't do for the parlOr and concert room
nova days, but then, it was the old kitchen
ana the old-fashioned grandmother, and the
Gld ballad, in the dear old times, and we can
nardly see TO write for the memory Of them.
'n1rgn 1t is hands breadth 20 the sunset
"eli' sae sang. Her voice was feeble and
hd'efihS, like fountain just ready 10 fall,
oul lhen how sweet-toned il was, aud il be-
o"Ie e ueeper ana stronger, but IL couldn't
sIo" s"eeter' What " joy If grief IL wa
70 st there around the fre, ali Of Ms. eroert
ydhe' lhat clasped prayer TO her bosom. and
her we thought VIC saw, when ths b,T A.,
was opened a moment by the wind; but then
we were not afraid, for wasn't Il her old smiIa
she wore to sit there around the Gre. and
weep over the woes Of the Babes in tha
Woods, who laid down side by side IN the
great solemn shadows; and how strsposIv
glad we felt when the robin red breast COW
cred them with leaves, and last 70 all when
the angels took them out Of 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 most of US; have given Us the germs
of whatever poetry blesSes ou- hearts what
ever Of memory blooms in our yesterdays
Attribute whatever We may 10 the school and
tue schooimaster, the rays which make that
little day We call life, radiate from the God
swept circle of the hearth-stone
There she sings an old lullaby she sang to
mother-her mother sang to her; but she does
not sing 1t thro' and falterS ere tbs done. She
rests her head upon her hands, and il l.
silent in the old kitchen. Something glitters
down between her fingers IN the lire-hght. and
1t looks like rain in the soft sunshine The
old grand mother is thinking when she first
heard the song, and of the voice that sangit:
when liSh haired and light hearted girl, she
hung around that mothers chair, nor saw the
shadows of years to come. o! the dsys 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 timel
80 all oUT little hands were forever clinging
10 her garments and staying her, as If from
dying, for long ago she has done living for
berself, and lived alone in us But the Old
kitchen wants a presence to-day, and the rush
bottOmed chair is tenantleSs
How he used 10 welcome Us when we were
grown, and came back once moro 10 the home
stead.
We h0Wgjtt we were men and woman, but
we were children there. The old fashioned
grandmother was blind in the eyes. hat she
saw with her beart, as she always did We
tulCh VUI IoLS slldNoNS through lne open door,
and she felt them, as they fell over her form.
and she looked dimly up, and saw tall shapes
IN the door way, and she says Edward I
know, and Lucy voice L can hear, but whose
is that 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. ism she2 and the old grandmother
wandered and wept.
Ii is another daughter, grandmother, that
Edward has brought says some one, for
your blessing
Has she blue eyes, my SON. Put her hand
in mine, for she Is my latest born. the child of
my old age. Shall / sing you song, children
Her hand is in her pocket a. of old; she Is
idly fumbllng for her toy, welcome gift for
the children that have come again.
One Of US, men as we thought we were, il
weeping; she hears the half suppressed sobs,
she says, she extends her feeble hand,
- Here, my poor child, rest upon your grand
mothers shoulder; she will protect you from
all harm
Come, children, sit round the fire again
Shall [ sing you a song or tell you a story
Stir the fire for it l. 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 it was bed
time at last. Good night 10 thee, grand
mother The old-fashiOned grandmother was
no more, and we miss her forever. But We
will set up a tablet in the midst of the mem-
ory, in the midst Of the heart, and write GA il
only this:
SACRED To TIRE MEMORY
OF THE