The weekly Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1854-1861, 1857-08-27
The Old Grandmother.

for we can tell them they will never find an
other.
There is large old kitchen somewhere in
the past, and an old fashioned fire place there
; in, with its smooth old jambs of fstone-smnoth.
with many knives that have been sharpened
there-smooth with many little fingers that
have cluDg there. There are the 0ndirons,
, too-the old andirons, with rings in the top,
wherein many temples of fame have been
bulded, with spires and turrets OF crimson.
There is broad worn hearth, by feet that
have been torn and bleeding by the way, or
been made Beautiful" and walked on floors
of tesseated gold. There are tongs in the
corner, wherewith we grasped coal, and
"blowng for little lfe," lighted our first
candle; there is shovel, wherewth were
draw forth the glowing embers in which we
saw our first fancies and dreamed our first
dreams--the shovel with which we stirred
the sleepy logs till the sparks rushed up the
chimney as il a forge were in blast below,
and wished we had SO many lambs, SO many
marbles, or SO many something's that we
coveted; and so it was we wished our first
wishes.
There is a chair--a low, rush.bottomed
chair; there is little wheel in the corner, a
big wheel in the garret, loom in the cham
Der. There are chests full of linen and
yarn, and quilts ofrare patterns, and samplers
in frames.
And everywhere and always the dear old
wrinkled face of her whose firm, elastic step
mocks the feeble saunter of her chldren's
children--the old fashioned grandmother OF
twenty years Ego. She, the very providence
of the old homestead--she who loved us all
love, and took all the school in the Hollow
for grandchildren beside. 4 great, expansive
heart was hers, beneath that woolcn gown,
or that more stately bombazine, or that sole
heir. loom of silken texture.
We Can see her to day-whose mild blue
eyes with more of beauty in them thqn time
7 coudtouch or death do more than hide--those
eyes that held both smiles and tears within
the faiDest call of every one ofus, and soft
reproof, that seemed not passion but regret.
A white ueas has escaped from beneath her
sncwy cap; she has just restored wander.
ing lamb 10 his 4nother; she lenghened the
tether of vine that was straying over win.
| dow, as she came in. and lacked four leaf
ed clover for Ellen. Sac sits down by the
little Wheei-o tress isruaning through her
fingers from the distat's dsheveed head,
when small voice cries, "Grandma" from
the old red cradle, and "Grandma!" Tommy
Shouts from the top of the stairs. Gently
she let's 90 of the thread, for her patience is
| almost rs beautiful as her charity, and she
| touches the little rcd bark in moment till
! tie young vUyager is in dream again, and
then directs Tommy's unavailing attempts
to harness the cat. The tick of the clock
runs faint and low, and she opens the mys-
terious door, and proceeds to wind it up
We are aIloD tptoe, and we beg in a breath
to be lifted up, one by one, and look for the
hundredth time upon the tin cases OF the
weights, and the poor lonely pendulum,
which goes to and iro by its little dim win.
dow, and never comes out in the world; and
our petitions are granted, and we are lifted
up, and we all touch with fnger the won
derlul 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 her still /
bosom, that there seemed to be prayer in |
them there; and SO sweetly did she wreatke
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 ua and apprehend-
ed harm! How the rudest of US softened be-
meath the gentle pressure of her faded and
tremulous hand! From her capacions 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 "turn over"
she had baked, the trinket she had pnrchas.
ed 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
taries and evil, ofthe old times
when she was girl: and we wondered if
ever--bGt then she couldn'tbe handsomer or
dearer-but that she ever was"little." And
then when we begged of her to sing! "Sng
US one Of the old song you used to sing to
mother, grandma /
"Childfen, can't sing" she always said;
and mother used to lay her knitting softly
down, and the kitten stopped playing with
yarn upon the floor, end the clock ticked low.
er in the corner, and the fire died down to
glow, Like an old heart, that is neither chill
ed nor dead-and grandmother sang. To be
sure, itwouldn't do for the parlor and con
cert room now-a-days; but then it was the
old kitchen and the old fashioned grand.
mother and the old ballad, in the dear old
times; and we can hardly see to write for
Inc memory OF them, though it Is hands {
breadth to the sunset. i +,
Well, she sang. Her voice was feeble
and wavering. like a fountain just ready to
'all, but then how sweet toned il was; and