South-eastern Independent. (McConnelsville, Ohio) 1871-1871, 1871-07-28
The grandmother.

GRANDMAODIA is so old, she has so many
wrinkles, and her hair is quite white. but
her eyes shine like two stars. Yea. thew
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 cover
ed with large flowers.
Grandmsmma knows so much, for she
lived long befC re papa and mamma, that
is certain. Grandmamma has a psalm
book, with thick silver clasps, and she
reads In 1t 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 most kindly at it; there
even comes tears in her eyes. How can it
be that grandmamma looks always so fond
ly upon the withered rose in the old booke
Do you know? Each time that grand
mama's tears fall upon the flower, its color
reViVes, 1t treshens again, and the whole
room is filed with the scent of it; the
walls disappear as though they were only
fog, and all around is the green, beautiful
wood, with the sun shining through the
leaves, and grandmamma-ye she Is quite
youngl She is 8 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
grandmamma's. By her side is seated 6
yOuth-so young, handsome and strongl
He offers her the rose, and she smiles-but
not thus smiles grandmammal Yesi-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 grandmamma-yes, there she
sits again, as an old lady; gazing at the
witheTed rose that lies in the book
Now grandmamma is dead. She sat in
the easy chair, and told a long, long, de-
ightful story. And now it is over" she
said, "and l am quite weary; let me sleep
a 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 shone upon
it; then they said she was dead.
She was laid il ablack coffiL enshroud-
ed in pure white linen; she looked so
beautiful, and yet her eyes were closed.
But all the wrinkles were gone; q sweet
smile played on her mouth her hair was
so silver while, so honorable, no one could
be afraid to look at her; it was still the
same kind, benign grandmamma. And
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.
OA4 AO4 6AdNCY CAOSC GuuCL tic ClQICn
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 head.
And the moon shone right down upon
the grave; but the dead one was not there;
every child could fearlessly go there sr
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 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 is earth in it. The psalm book with
its leaves is dust, the rose with all its as
sociations has crumbled into dust; but
above, fresh roses bloom-above the
sings, and the organ plays;
Dne thinks of old grand mother, with the
mild eyes, ever young.
Eyes can never diel Ours shall one day
zee her, young and beautiful as when, for
he first time, she kissed the fresh red rose
hat heth now dust in the grave.-Hans
andersen.