Keowee courier. [volume] (Pickens Court House, S.C.) 1849-current, 1858-04-10
Ny Old Grandmother.

III,
for we can tell them they will never find
another
There is largo old kitchen somewhere
IN the past, and an old-E,shioned fire place
therein with its smooth old iambs of stone
smooth with many knives that had been
sharpened there-smooth with many fingers
that have clung there. There are androns,
too-the old andirons, with rings in the
top, wh2rci; i.,&ny temples of flame have
been builded, with spires ana turrcts or
crimson. There is board worn hearth, by
feet that have been torn and bleeding by
the way, or made beautiful" and walked
upon floors of tessclated gold There are
tongs in the corner where we graspcd coaI.
and blowing for little life" lighted out
first candle; there is shovel, whcrowith
were drawn forth the glowing embcrs in
which we saw our first dreams-thc shovel
with which we stirred the sleepy logs till
the sparks rushed up the chimney as if a
forge were in blast below, and wished we
had so many lambs, 50 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 bottom
chair; there is a little wheel in the corner,
big wheel in the garret, a loom in the
chamber. There are chests full of linen
and yarn, and quilts of rare pattern, and
samplers on frame
And everywhere and always the dear old
wrlnkled face of hor, whose firm el,stic
step mocks the feeble saun&er of her chill
dren's children-the old-fashioned grand
mother of twenty years ago. She the very
Providence OF the old homcstcad--she who
loved us all, and said she wished there was
more OF us to love, and took all the school
In the Hollow for grandchildren besides.
"A great expansive heart was hers beneath
that woolen gown, or that more stately bonn
bazinc, or that sole heirloom of silken tex
turc
We can see her to-day, those mild blue
eyes withmore of beauty in them than time
could touch, or death do more than hide
those eyes that held both smiles and tears
within the faintcst call of every one of us,
and soft rcproof, that seemed not passion,
but regret. A white tress has escaped
from beneath her snowy cap she has lust
restored wandering lnmb to it's nnothog
she heightened the tether of a vine that
was straying over window, as she came
IN, and plucked fourleated clover for Ell
len. She sits down by the little whcel-a
tress running through her fingers from the
dlstatf disheYced head, when small voice
cries Grandma" from the old red cradle,
and GrandmaH Tommy shouts from the
top of the stairs. Gently she let's 90 the
thread, for her patience is almost as bcauti.
ful as her charity and she touches the little
red bark in moment, till the voyager is
in dream again, and then directs Tommys
unavalling attempts to harness the cat The
tick OF the clock runs faint and low, and
she opens the mysterious door, and proceeds
to wind up. We are all on tip toe, and we
beg in breath to be lifted up one by one,
and look in the hundredth time upon the
TIN cases OF the weights, andthc poor lonely
pendulum, which goes to and fro by its
little dim window and never comes out in
the world and our petitions are all granted,
and we are lifted up, and we all touch with
finger the wonderful weights, and the
music is resumed.
Was Mary to be married, or Jane to be
wrapped in n smoud So mcekly did she
fold the white hands of the one upon her
still bosom, that there seemed to be prayer
i'll them there and so sweetly did she
wreathe 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 apprc-
hcnded harm; the rudest of us softcned
beneath thesgentle pressure of her faded
and tremulous 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, che little egg she had found,
the "turn-ovcr" she had baked the truket
she had 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 all from those old
| lips: of good fairies and evil, of the old
times when she was girl; and we won
dercd if ever-but then she couldn't be
handsomer or dearer--but that she ever
| was "little" And then, when we begged
her to sing! "Sng US one of the old songs
you used to sing mother, grandma"
"Childrcn, | 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
ticklcd lower in the corner, and the fire
died down to glow, like an old heart that
is neither chilled nor dead, and grandmoth-
cr saag. To be sure, ii wouldn't do for
the parlor and the concort room noy-a-iays,
bat grandmother, and the old ballad, in thei
dear old times ond VIC can hardly sic to
write for the memory Of them, though it is
a hand breadth to the sunset
Well she sang. Her voice was feeble
and waverine ike a fountain lust ready to