The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1871-10-19
The Grandmother.
from tho Danish Of Hans Christian Andcr.
sen.l

l-Iulu tho buhiou Va Asho ShiAs' --''-
6en.l
Grandmamma is 80 old, she has 80
many wrinkles, and her hair ~ quite
white but her eyes shine like two
stars. Yea, they are much more beau
tiful; they are so mild, 80 blessed to
look into. And she can tell the most
delightful stories, and she has dress
of thick silk that rustles 1t Is covered
with large flowers.
Grandmamma knows go, much for
she lived long before papa and man.
ma, that il certain. Grandmamma has
book, with thick silver clasps,
and she reads in it often in 1t there lies
u rose; it is quite pressed and dry 4; 1t
is not so fine as the roses she has in
the vase, and yet she aiVays smiles
most kindly at 1t; there even come
tears in her eyes. How can it be that
Grandmamma looks always 30 fOndly
upon the wretched rose in the old
book? Do you know9 Each time
that grandmamma's tears fall upon
the flower, its color revives, 1t freshens
again, and the whole room Is filled
with the scent Of it; the walls dlsap.
pear as though they were only fog, and
all around is the green, beautiful wood,
with the sun shining through the
leaves, and grandmamma--yes, she 10
quite young! she Is beautiful girl
with golden locks and blooming
cheeks, engaging and lovely no rose
is more fresh yet the eyes, the mild,
blessed eyes, they are still grand
mammals. BY her side Is seated
youth - 30 young, handsome, and
strong! He offers her the rose, and
she smles-but not thus smiles grand.
mamma! Yes the smile comes.
III. is gone many thoughts and many
forms pass by; the handsome youth
is gone, the rose lies In the psalm
book, and grandmamma-yes, there
she sits again, as an old lacy, gazing
at the withered rose that lies In the
book.
Now grandmamma is dead. She
sat in the easy-chair, and told a long,
long delightful story. And now IL
is over,' she said, "and I am quite
weary; let me sleep . little" Then
she lay back, drew heavy sigh, and
slept but 10 became more and more
still, and her face was 80 full of peace
and joy, and it was as II the sun shone
it it p; then they said she was dead.
She was laid in black coffin,
cnshrouded in pure white linen she
looked so bi autifuI, and yet her eyes
were closed. But all the wrinkles were
gone; sweet smile played on her
mouth; her hair was 80 silvery white,
SO honorable, no one ould be afraid to
look at her il was still the same, be-
uign, kind grandmamma. And the
psalm-book was laid under her head,
n she herself had desired, aud the
rose lay in the old book and so they
b4ried her
On her grave, close under the
cburch.wall, they planted II rose-tree,
and 1t stood fall Of blossoms; the
nightingale sang over it, and from
within the church the organ played
he most beautiful psalms 10 the BOOB
hat lav under her. Aud the moon
shown right down upon the grave
but the dead one was not there; every
child could fearlessly go there at night
and pluck rose, there by the church,
yard wall.
One that is dead knows more thar
all we living know: the dead knows
, the dread we should feel at anything
SO strange AZ that they should come tC
us: the dead are better than we all
and so they do not come. There is
earth over the coffin, there is earth
in it. The psaImbOok with leaves il
dust the rose with all its associations
has crumbled into dust; but above,
fresh roses bloom-above the nightin-
gale sings, and the organ plays; one
thinks OF the old grandmother, with
the mild eyes, ever young.
Eyes eau never die Ours shall one
Jay see her, young and beautiful, as
when, for the first time, she kissed
the fresh red rose that lieth now dust
in the grave.