The Shasta courier., 1866-01-20
COU RIER.
Our Old Grandmother.
BY DUMAS.

TYeueration is most beautifully manifest
ed in the following life ike description
Everybody has, or ought TO have, a grand.
mother and how good grandmothers are
worshpped Reader, read the following and
weep-it will do you no harm to yield to
weakness SO amiable, so tender. But read
it, and say if it is not beautiful.
| There is an old kitchen somewhere in the
past, and an old-fashioned fire place therein,
with its smooth old iambs of stone smooth
with many knives that have been sharpened
there, smooth with many little fingers that
| have clung there. There are audiroas with
rings in the top, wherein many temples Of
flame have been bullded with spires and
turrets Of crimson. There is broad worn
hearth-broad enough for three generations
to cluster on worn by feet that have been
torn and bleeding by the way, " been
made . beautiful" and walked upon floors
Of tesselated gold. There are tongs in the
corner, wherewith we grasp coal, and,
d" blowing for Il little life lighted our first
candle; there is shovel, wherewith were
drawn forth the glowing embers in which we
saw our first fancies and dreamed our first
dreams; the shovel with which we stirred
the logs until the sparks rushed up the
chimney as if a forge was in blast below.
and wished we had SO many lambs, or 50
many something's that we coveted and so it
was that we wished our first wishes.
There is a cha "a low, rush-bottomed
chair; there is little wheel in the corner
big wheel in the garret, loom in the
chamber There are chestfuls Of linen and
and quilts of rare patterns and samples in
frames.
And everywhere and always the dear old
wrinkled face Of her whose firm, elastic step
mocks the feeble saunter of her children's
chlldren-the old fashioned grandmother Of
twenty years ago. She. the very Providence
of the old homestead she who loved US all.
and said she wished there were more Of Us
70 love. and took all the school in the hollow
for grandchildren besides great expan.
sive heart was hers, beneath that wuolen
gown, or that more stately bombazine, or
that sole heir loom of siIken texture
We can see her to day. those mild, blue
eyes with more Of beauty in them than time
could touch, or death could do no more than
h de-those eyes that held both smiles and
tears within tue faiutest call Of every one e.
as, and soit repr, of that seemed not passion
but regret. A white tress has escaped from
beneath her snowy cap; she heightened the
tetber of vine that was stIaving over q
n
leaved clover for Ellen. She sits down bv
tie little wheel-a tress is running through
her fingers from the distaii's dishe elled
head. when a small voice cries, = Grandma" "
from the old red cradle and ''Grandma."
Tommy shouts from the top Of the stairs
Gently she lets 60 the thread. for her pa
tience is almost as beautiful as her charity,
and she touches the little red bark a mo-
-
again, and then directs Tommy's unavailiug
attempt to harness the cat
The tick Of the clock runs faint and low.
and she opens the mysterious door and pro
ceeds to wind it 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, and the poor
lonely pendulum. which goes to and fro by
its little dim v nlndows and our petitions
were all granted, and we are all lifted M.
and we all touch with the finger the wonder
full weights, and the music of the wheel is re
sumed.
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 a PRAYER
in them there; and so sweetly did She
wreathe the white rose in the bair Of the
other, that enc would not have wondered
had more roses budded for company. How
she stood between US and appi ehended harm:
how the rudest Of US softened beneath the
gentle pressure of her faded and tremuous
hand From her capaciaus pocket that
haGd was ever Withdrawn closed, only to be
opened in our own with the nuts she bad
gathered, with the cherries she had plucked.
the little egg she bad found, the turn
overI she had baked, the trinket she had
purchased for US as the product Of her spin
ming. the blessings she had stored for us
the offspring Of her heart
What treasures Of story fell from those old
lps-of good fairies and evil of the old
times when she was girl; but we wonder
ed if ever-but then she c0uldn'5 be hand
somer or dearer.-she was ever little. And
then. when we begged her to sing Sing
us one Of the Old songs you used to sing for
mother, grandma.
Children. | can't sing" she always
said. and mother used to always lay her
knitting softly down. and the kitten stopped
PLAYING with the yarn on the floor, and the
clock tcked lower in the corner. and the
fire died down to a glow. like an old heart that
j. neither. chilled nor dead, and grandmother
SANG TO be sure, it would not do for the
parl0F ana ctuceEL-Eutiili INV Il taN> HUt
then il was the old kitchen and the old
fashioned grandmother, and the old ballad.
in the dear old times. and we can hardly
see to write for the memory Of them, though
it is a hands breadth to the sunset.
Well, she sang. Her voice was feeble and
waveriug. like a f,untain just ready to fail
but then now sweet-toned it was, and it be-
came deeper and stronger; but it could not
grow sweeter. What 'joy Of grief it was
to sit there around the fire, all Of US except.
ing Jane, and her we thought we saw when
the door was opened a moment by the wind
but then we were not afraid. far was not
it her old smile she wore? To sit there
around the fire. and weep over the woes Of
the babes in the woods, who laid down
side by side in the great solemn shadows
and bow strangely glad We FELT when the
robin redbreast covered them with leaves.
nf oil x~bo ba ,o1-