Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1871-08-23

are much more beautiful they are so mild,
so blessed to look into. And she can tell
the most delightful stories, and she has
dress of thick silk thai rustles; it Is co
cred with large flowers.
Grandmamma knows so much, for she
lived long before papa and mamma, that
is certain Gradinamma has psalm-booE.
with silver clasps, and she reads in 1t often
in it there lies a rose; 1t Is quite pressed
and dry it is not "a fine as the roses she
has in the vase, and yet she always smiles
most kindly at it there even come tears
into her eyes. How can it be that grand
mamma always looks so iondly upon the
wretched old rose IN the book Do you
know Each time that grandmamma's
tears fall upon the flower, its color revives,
If freeshens again, and the whole room Is
filed with the scent of it; the walls disap-
pear as though they were only fog, and all
around is the green beautiful wood, with
the sun shining through the leaves, aud
grandmamma-yes, she Is quite young
She is a beautiful girl with golden locks
and blooming checks, engaging and lovely /;
no rose is more fresh; yet the eyes, the
mild blessed eyes they are still grand
m8mma's BY her side IS seated youth,
so young, handsome aud strong lie of
ters her the rose and she smiles-but not
thus smiles grandma! Yes the smile
comes He Is gone many thoughts and
many forms pass by; the handsome youth
is gone the rose lies in the psalm-book,
and erandmamma-yes, there she sits
again, as an old lady, gazing at the with
cred rose that lies in tue book.
Now grandmamma IS dead. She sat in
the easy chair and told long, long, de
lightfui story. And now it Is over she
said, and | am quite weary let me sleep
a little. Then she lay back. drew a heavy
81 Oh and slept; but ii became more and
more still, and her lace was so full of
peace and Joy, and it was as if the sun
shone on it then they said she was dead.
She was laid in black coffin, ensbroud-
ed in pure white linen she looked so beau
titul, and yet her eyes were closed. But
all the wrinkles were gone; a sweet smile
played around her mouth her hair was
so silver white so honorable, no one could
be afraid to look at her; it was still the
benign, kind grandmamma. And the
psalm-book was laid under her head, as
She herself had desired. and the rose lay
in the old book and 50 they buried her.
On her grave, close under the church
wall. they planted a rose tree, and it stood
full OF blossoms the nightingale sang over
it. and from within the church the organ
played the most beautiful psalms in the
book that lay under her head. And the
moon shoue right down upon the grave
but the dead one was not there: every
child could fsarIessly 20 there at night,
and pluck a rose there by the church-yard
wall.
One that Is dead knows more than all
we living know the dead know he dread
we should feel at anything so strange as
that they should come TO as, the dead are
better than We an, and Sc they DO not
come There is earth over the coffin,
there is earth in H. The p,aim-book, with
its leaves, is dust. the rose with all Its
associations has crumb.ei into dust; but
above. fresh roses h.oom-ahoye, the night
ingale sings, and the organ plays, one
thinks of the old grandmother, with mild
eyes ever young.
Eyes can never die! Ours SHALL one
day See her young and beautiful as when,
for the first time, she kissed tine fresh red
rose that Ecia now dust in the grave
From tie Dqqi-b az Haas Ceris,i1as In
derSeH.