Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1871-07-27
The Grandmother.

Grsnamamma is so old, she has so
many wrinkles, and her hair is quite
white; but her eyes shine like two stars.
Yea, they are much more beautiful, they
are so mild. so blessed to look into. And
she can tell the most delightful stories,
and she has a dress of thick silk that
rustles; it is covered with large flowers.
Graudmamma knows so much, for she
lived long before papa and mamma. that
is certain. Grandmamma has a psalm
book with thick silver clasps, and she
reads in it often in it there lies rose !;
it is quite pressed and dry; it is not so
fine as The roses she has in the vase; and
yet she always smiles so kindly at it !;
there even come tears in her eyes. How
can it be that grandmamma looks SO fond
ly upon the withered rose in the old
book Do you know? Each time that
Grandmamma's tears fall upon the flower
its color revives, it freshens again, and
the whole room is filled with the scent of
it. The walls disappear as if they were
only fog, and all around is the green, beau.
tifnl wood, with the sun shining through
the leaves, and grandmamma-yes, she is
quite young She is beautiful girl with
golden locks and blooming cheeks, en-
gaging and lovely no rose is more fresh ];
yet the eyes, the mild, blessed eyes, they
are still hers. BY her side is seated q
youth-so young, handsome and strong :!
He offers her the rose, and she smiles
but not thus smiles grandmamma! Yes,
the smile comes. He is gone many
thoughts and many forms pass blythe
handsome youth is gone, the rose lies in
the psalm, and grandmamma-yes, there
she sits again, as an old lady, gazing at
the rose that lies in the book.
Now grandmamma is dead. She sat in
the easy chair, and told a long, long de-
lightful story. "And now it is over" she
said, "and l am quite weary; let me
sleep little" Then she lay back, drew
heavy sigh, and slept; but it became
more and more still, and her face was so
full of peace and joy, it was as if the sun
shined upon it; then they said she was
dead.
She was laid in the black coffin, en-
~hrouded in pure linen; she looked so
beautiful, and yet her eyes were closed.
smile played on her mouth; her hair
was 50 silver-white, so honorable, no one
could be afraid to look at her it was still
the same benign, kind grandmamma.
Aud the psalm book was laid under her
head, as she herself had desired, and the
rose lay in the old book, and so they
buried her.
On her grave, close under the church
wall, they planted rose-tree, and it
stood full of blossoms ; the nightingales
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 shone 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 il dead knows more than all
we living know; the dead know the
dread we should feel at anything so
strange as that they should come to us !;
the dead are better than we all, and so
they do not come. There Is earth over the
coffin, there il earth in it. The psalm
book with its leaves is dust, the rose with
all ita associations has crumbled into dust;
but above, fresh roses bloom-above, the
the nightingale sings and the organ plays
one thinks Of the old grandmother, with
the mild eyes, ever young.
Eyes can mover die Ours shall one
day see her, young and beautiful as when,
for he first time, she kissed the fresh red
rose that licth now dust in the grave.