Indiana American. [volume] (Brookville, Ind.) 1865-1872, 1866-10-19

spinning, tlr blessings shc
1or us-the otfpring Of her
d treasures Of story'isll from those
ps-of good fairies aud OWL; Of the
/iime<when she was a girl; but We won
rcd if oyer-but then sle couldn't be
andsomer or dearer-.she Was ever little.
nd then, when we begged her to sing
ing us one Of the old songs you used TO
hg for mother, grandme
IaChildren, | cant sipk' she always
I'D. and mother used to plways lay her
Hitting softly down, and|he kitten stop
Ia playing with the ya1 on the floor,
nd the clock ticked lowsi IN the correr,
nd the fire died out to lev, like an I'D
cart that is neither child s.or dead, and
kandm other sang, I> s{e, II would
ct do for the psEle. a. ea1{k roorH
q and the old. fashioned grandmother, and
ke old ballad 10 the dear old times, and
can hardly see to write for the memory
benz, though it is 0, hands breadth to
sunset
ell, she sang. Her voice was feeble
savering, like a fountain just ready
|-but then how sweet toned it was,
became deeper and stronger; but
Id not grow sweeter. What 'joy of
it was to sit there around the fire,
us, excepting Jane, and her we
it we saw when the door was opened
ent by the wind; but then We were
i'd for was it not her old snilc she
TO sit there around the fire, and
bver the woes of the babes in the
who laid down side by side in the
olemn shadows; and how strangely
se felt when the robin red breast COW
them with leaves, and last of all when
angel took them out Of night into day
Y,rlasting.
We may think what VIC will Of it now,
ut the song and the story heard around
he kitchen fire have eolored the thoughts
I'd the lives of most of US, have given the
erms of whatever poetry blesses our
carts, whatever ofmemory blooms in our
Attribute hatever we may
, the school and the school l-master, the
lys which make that little day we call
fe, radiate from the God swept circle of
lie hearth stone.
Then she sings an old lullaby she sung
} mother-her mother sang it to her; but
ne does not sing it through, and falters
re it is done. She rests her head upon
er hands, and it is silent in the old kitch-
n. Something glitters down between her
ngers in. the fre-light, aud it looked like
lin in the soft sunshine. The old grand
Iother is thinking when she first heard
ie song, and of the voice that sang it;
hen light-h haired and'light- hearted girl,
ne sung round that mothers chair, nor
Nv the shadows Of tie years to come
Ia! the days that arc ms More! = ilas
ords unsay, what deeds undo, to set back
lst this once the ancient clock of time!
So our little hands were forever cling
~ to her garments and staying her as if
.om dying, for long ago she had done liv-
lg for herself, and lived alone in us. But
le old kitchen wants presence to-day;
nd the rush bottomed chair is tenant
,ss.
How she used to welcome us when We
ere grown, and came back once more to
le homestead
We thought we were men and women,
ut we were children there; the old fash
med grandmother was blind in her eyes,
ut she saw with her heart, as she always
id. We threw our long shadows through
le open door, and she felt them as they
I'll over her form, and she looked dimly
p, and said:
edward | know, and Lucy's voice l
m hear, but whose is that other? 1t
lust be Jane s"-for she has almost for
often the folded hands. "Oh, mol not
ane's, for she-let me see-she is waiting
or me, isn't she?' and the old grandmoth-
r wandered and wept.
at is another daughter, grandmother,
hat Edward has brought for your bless
ng,' says some one.
elias she blue eyes, my son? Put her
and in mine, for she is my late born, the
hid of my old age. Shall sing you a
ong, children?" and she is idly fumbling
Or toy, welcome gift for the children
hat have come again.
One Of us, men as we thought we were,
! weeping; she hears the half suppressed
obs, and she says, as she extends her fee
lie hand, Here, my poor child, rest upon
our grandmother's shoulder she will
rotect you from all harm."
"Come, children, sit around the fire
gain. Shall sing you song, or tell
ou a story2 Stir the fire. for it is cold;
he nights are growing colder"
The clock in the corner struck nine, the
ed time of those old days. The song ol
ife was indeed sung, the story told. Il
ias bed time at last. Good night to thee
The old fashioned grand.
mother was no more, and We miss her for.
yer. Bat we will set up tablet in the
midst of tho heart, and write on it only
his: "Sacred to the memory Of the Ole
fashioned Grandmother. God bless her
Hunting the Ottor.
"Areus with the dogs" was continual,