Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1856-02-02
EV ENING STAR.
OUR OLD GRANDMOTHER

MS infancy; he was retracing the little paths
around II In which he had once walked; and
strange flowers could not efface, and rank
grass could not conceal, and cruel ploughS
could not Obliterate, " shortest footsteps -
and his mothers beside them, measured by
his own"
And who needs to bo told whose footsteps
they were that thus kept time with the feeble
pattcrlng of chlldhOod's little feet A! 1t was
no mother behind whom Ascanius walked
with equal steps in VirgiI's line, but n
strong, stern man, who could have born him
and not been burned folded him in his arms
from all danger and not been wearied every
thing, indeed, he could have done for him
but just what he needed mOst-cOuld not sym-
pathlZe with him; he could not be a child
again. An a rare art is that, for indeed il
Is an art, to set back the great old clock of
time, and be boy once more Mans imag-
lnation can easily see the child a man: but
how hard 1t is for it to see the man a child ::
and he who had learned To glide back into
that rosy time, when he did not know that
thOrns were under the roses, or that clouds
would ever return after the rain when he
tnought tear could stain cheek no more
than drop of rain on a flower; when he fan
cied that life had no disguise and hone no
blight at all, has come as near as any body
can to discovering the northwest passage to
Paradise
And it is perhaps for this reason that it is
SO much easier for mother to enter the king
dom Of heaven than it is for the rest of the
world. She fancies she is leading the chill
dren, when, after all, the children are leading
hor; and they keep her indeed where the
river Is the narrowest and the air is the clear
| est and the beckOning of a radiant hand is
so plainly seen from the other side, that it is
no wonder she so often lets 60 her clasp upon
the little fingers she is holding, and goes over
| to the neighbOrs. and,the children follow like
! I'M his IN h,,E E,Il 81 L
where to be written Where the mother goes
there will the children be also
| But 1t was not of the mother VIC began @
| think, but of tie dear, Old-fashiCned grand
mother, whose thread Of love, spur by
hand on lifc's little wheel. was longer and
stronger than they make it now, was wound
| about and about the children she saw pIlyino
IN the childrons arms, that nothing hut the
shears OF Atropos could sever; for do we not
| recognise the lambs sometimes, when summer
| DAYS are over. and autumn winds are blowing
| a. they come bleating from tho yellow fields
by the crimson thread we wound about their
necks In April or May, and 50 undo the gate
and let the wanderers in ,
| Blessed be the children who havo m old
fashioned grandmother As they hone for
length of days let them love and honor her.
Tor we can tell them they will never find ano-
ther.
There is large old kitchen somewhere in
| the past and old fashioned fire place therein
| with It's smooth old jambs Of stone: smooth
| with many knives that had been sharpeped
| there, smooth with many little fingers that
have clung there. There are andirOns too
| the OLD andIrons, with rings in the top wherein
many temples of flame have been buiIded
| with spires and turrets Of crimson. There is
a broad worn hearth broad enough for three
generations to cluster on; worn by feet that
| have been torn and bleeding by the way, or
| been made beautiful, anu walked upon
floors Of tassollatod gold There are tongs in
| the corner, whercwith we grasp a coal, and
! blowing for little life, lighted our first
candle, there is shovel, wherewith were
draw forth the glowing embers, in which we
| saw our first fancies aud dreamed our first
dreams; the shovel with which we stirred the
sleepy logs, TIL the sparks rushed up the chin
ncy as If forge We're IN blast below, and
wished We had 50 many lsmbs, or so many
| marbles, or so many something's that we COW
eted and 50 1t was we wished our first
| wishes
| There is chair-a low, rush bottomed
| chair there is a little wheel In the corner a
| big wheel III the garret, loom in the cham
| ber. There are chests full Of linen and yarn,
and quilts Of rare pattern, and &" samplers in
! frames
And every where and always the dear old
| wrinkled face Of her whose firm, elastic step
| nocks the feeble saunter of her children
|
! twenty years ago. She, the very Providence
of tho old homestead, she, who loved US all, and
| said she wished there was moro Of Us to love,
| and took all tho school in the Hollow for
| grandchildren beside. A great expansive
| heart was here, beneath that WOODEN gown, or
| that moro stately bOmbazine, or that sole
| hair-lOom Of silken texture.
We can see her to-day, those mild blue
! eyes, with more Of beauty in them than Time
| could touch or death do more than bide--those
| eyes that held both smiles and and tears within
| the faintest call of every of US, and soft
reprcof, that seemed not passion but regret
| A white tress has escaped from beneath her
snowy cap; she has ust restored a wandering
1 lamb to its mother; she lcngtheDed the tether
of a vine that was straying over a window, as
| she came In, and plucked a fOur-leaf clover
| for Ellen She sits down by the little wheel
| "a tress is running through her fingers from
the distaff's diShevellcd head, when a small
| voice cries " Grandma from the old red era
| die, and % Grandma - Tommy shouts from
| the top of the stairs Gently she lets 60 the
| thread, for her patience is almost as beauti-
| full as her charity, and she touches the little
| red bark moment, till the young vOyager is
| in dream again, and then directs Tommy
| unavailng attempts t. harness the cat. The
| tick of the clock runs faint and low, and she
| opens the mysterious door, and proceeds to
| wind it up. We are all on tiptoe, and we beg
| in a breath to be lifted up one by one, and
| look in the hundredth time upon the tin cases
of the weights, and the poor lonely pendulum,
which goes to and fro by its little dim window,
and comes out in the world, and our petitions
are all granted, and we are lifted up, and we
all touch with fisger the wonderful weights,
and the music of the little wheel is resumed
Was Mary to be married, or Jane to be
wrapped in a shroud? So meekly did she
fold the white hands Of the one upon her still
| bosom, that there seemed to be prayer In
them there and so Sweetly did she wreath
the white rose in the hair of the other, that
one would not have wondered had more roses
| budded for company
| How she stood between us and apprehended
| harm: how the rudest Of US sOftened beneath
the gentle pressure Of her faded and tremu-
lous hand : From her capaciOus pocket 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
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