Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1857-09-05

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purchased for US as the product of her spinning,
The blessing she had stored for us--the offspring
Of her heart.
What treasure of story fell from those old lips
Of good fairies and evil, of the old times when
she was girl and we wondered if ever-but
then she could not be handsomer or dearer-
but that she ever was "liIle." And then when
we begged her to sing Sing us one of the old
songs YOU used to sing to mother, grandma"
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 tlckcd lower in the cor
ncr, and the fire died down to a glow, like an
old heart that Is neither chilled nor dead, and
giandmoth, sang To he sure, it wouldn't do
for the parlor and the concert room nowadays; /;
but then it was the old kitcheI, and the old
fashioned grandmother, and the old ballad, in
the dear old times and we can hardly see 10 write
for the memory Of them, though it is a hands
breadth to the sunset
WE'LL she sang. Her voice was feeble and
wayering like a fountain just ready to fall, but
then how swcet-toned 1t was; and II became
deeper and stronger but it couldn't grow sweet
er. What 10y Of grief it was to sit there
around the fire. all Of us, except Jane, that clasp
ed prayer 10 her boson and her thoughts We
saw, when the hall-door was opened a moment
by the wind hut 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 Wools = who lay down side by
side IN the great solemn shadows; and how
strangely glad we felt when the robin-rcdbreast
covered them with leaves, and last Of all when
the angels took them out of ,he night into day
everlasting
We NAV think what we will of it now, but
the song and the story. heard around the ktch-
en- fire, have colored the thoughts and lives of
most OF US have given us the germs OF whatever
poetry blesses our hearts; whatever memory
blooms in our yesterdays. Attribute whatever
we may to the school. and the schoolmaster, the
RAYS which make that lutte day we call life. IA
dlatc from the God.swapt circle Of the hearth
stone.
Then she sings an old lullaby she sang to
moiher-her mother sang to her. but she does
not sing it through, and falters ere It's done.
She rests her head upon her hands. and it is ST.
lent In the old kitchen. Something glitters
between her fingers and the freight and it
looks like rain in the soft sunshine. The old
grIndmotner is thinking when she first heard the
song, aad Of the voice that sang it when a light
haired, 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 weave to bring them back again
What words can we unsiy, what deeds undo,
to set back, Just this once, the ancient clock OF
time ?
So all our little hands were forever clinging
to her garments, and >taying here as if from dy-
ing. for long ago she had done living for herself,
and lived alone in US. But the old kitchen
wants a presence to-day, and the rush-bottomed
char Is pnau'ess.
How shr used to welcome us hen we we're
grown, and came back once more IN the home
stead.
We thought we were men and women, but
were children there. The old fashioned grand.
mother was blind in the eyes, but she saw with
her heart. as she always did. We threw our
long shadows through the bpen 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 know, and Lucy 5
voice ! can hear, but whose Is that other. 1t
must be lanc's'-for she had almost forgotten
the folded hands. Oh, no. not Jane for she
let me see-she is waiting for me, isn't she ~
and the old grandmother wandered and wepi
1t is another daughter, grandmother, that
Edward has brought" says some one, for your
blessing"
llds sH" Utut eyes, my son Iut lcf naHu
in ninc for she is my latest born, the child OF
my old age. Shall ] sing you Il song children ?
Her hand is in her pocket as of old she is idly
iumbling for a toy. welcome gift to the chill
dren that have come again.
One of US, men as we thought we were, i:
weeping she hears the hat.snppressed sob she
SAYS, as she extends her feeble hand, " Here, nv
poor child, rest upon Rrandmothers shoulder
she will protect you from all harm. Come
children. sit around the fire again. Shall sing
you song, or tel you story Stir the fire
iur 1t 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 in.
deed sum, the story told, it was bedtime at las,
Good night to thee grandmother The old
fashioned grandmother was no more, and we
miss her forever. But we will set up tablet
in the midst of the memory, in The midst of tho
heart, and write on il only this
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
OF THE
OLD FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER.