Wilmington journal., 1871-08-04
The Grandmother.

Grandmamma is so old. She has so
many wrinkles, and her hair is quite white;
but her eyes shice like two stars. Yea,
they are much more beautiful; they are so
mild g. BILE ssed TO look into. Aud she can
tel the most delightful stories, and she
has a dress of silk that rustles; it is cover
ed with large flowers:
Grandmamma knows so much, for she
lived long before papa aud mamma, that
ia certain. Grandmamma has psalm
book, WITH thick silver clasps, and she
re DIS it often; in 1t 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
come tears in her eyes. How can it be
that grandmamma looks always SO fOndIy
upon the withered rose in the old book?-
Do you know? Each time that grind
mammals tears fall upon the flower, its
color revives, it freshens again, aud 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, beau
tifui wood, with the sun shining through
the leaves, and grandmamma-yes she Is
quite young she is beautiful girl with
golden locks aud blooming cheeks, engag-
ing and lovely; no arose is more fresh
yet the eyes, the mild, blessed eyes, they
are still grandmsmmas By her side is
seated a youth-so young. handsome and
strong! He offers her a rose, and she
smiles; but not thus smiles grandmamma !!
Yes the smile comes. He is gone; mapy
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 Withered rcss
that lies in the book
Now grandmamma is dead. She sat in
tie easy chair and told Il long, delightful
story. And now it Is over" she said,
'and | am quite weary let me sleep q
little" Then she lay back, drew @ heavy
sigh, AID ept bat it became moro and
more STILL and her face was so full of peace
aud Joy, it was as if the sun shone upon
it then they said that she was dead.
She was laid in black coffin, enshroude d
in pure white linen ; she locked 50 besu-
tlfu1, and yet her eyes were closed. But
all the wrinkles were gone a sweet tmiie
playc cd on her mouth &; her hair va, so
silver white, 81 honorabla, no one could
be afraid to look at her; il was still tie
same, benign, kind gradmamma. And
the psalm book was laid under her head,
she herself had desired, aud the rose lay
III the book and so they buried her.
On her grave, close under the church
wall, they planted a rose tree, and it stood
full of blossoms; the nightiu gale Gang over
1t, ard from within the church the organ
play ed the most beautiful psalms ia tao
book that lay under her head. Aud the
moon shone right down upon the grave !;
but the dead 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 than all We
living know the dead know the dread We
should feel al anything SO strange as that
they should come to US the dead are bet
ter than we all, and SO they do not come.
There is earth over the cofia, there is
earth in it. The psal book with its leaves
Is dust, the rose with all its associations
has crumbled into dust bu2 above, fresh
roses bloom above the nightingale sings,
aud the organ pays; one thinks Of the old
grandmother, with the mild eyes, ever
young.
Eyes can never die Ours shall one day
see her. young and beautiful as when, for
the fist time. she kissed the fresh red
rose that heth now dust in the grave
From he Danish Of Hans Christian Ande,'.