The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1873-08-16
MY GRANDMOTHER'S LEGACY.

M
l shut my eyes-am 1 dreaming? 1
open them again. Oh, no, it Is bright
reality. The close-cut grass stretching
out from my window, down to the
overgrown plantation, is the same
which my ancestors trlpped IN their
high heeled shoes, before the red tide
of the revolution swept them away.
The old stone fountain, with it's broken
Triton and Wondering dolphin, then
threw its silver spray far into the sunny
air; now, a few slow drops trickle
among the MOSES that fringe its edge
Have you ever lived where there was
not something that reminded you of
the dead This is the chair In which
they were sitting, long years before L
was born. Yonder is the couch where
they were lying when death opened for
them the door of life. Their eye saw
what I am seeing; their ears heard the
song of the birds as hear them now
The blue periwinkle stars in the glass
on my table, gathered them this
morning under the oaks III the planta-
ton; and so, hands that have been
dust for ages gathered them on some
sweet spring morning In the past.
| am sitting in the little, dark pan
neled room where, one sunny morning,
my grandmother sat with her child in
her arms, when courier arrived, pant
ing, GREATNESS: 1.-The Queen is gull
lotined - There was no more hope !;
my grandmother must fly. Clasping
her babe to her heart, she arose horses
were saddled rapid flight to the
coast fearful meeting with her hus-
band, disguised as fisherman; trembl-
ing haste a crazy boat on a stormy
sea; a landing on the shore of Scot
land-poor, friendless, with aching
hearts. Such was the story had often
heard from grandmother lips.
Left an orphan in my babyhood, she
was father, mother, all to me- Hour
after hour / have sat at her feet, listen
ing to tales of 6 beautiful France" of
the gay court, the beautiful queen, the
old chateau where her happiest days
were spent. /" You were not born
there, 700uUre petite" she would say,
softly. :" All that was wrong but
you may die there-I think you will.
You will be thankful for that, Mignon 2"
And her eyes would wander over the
bleak Scotch moor, seeing beyond them
the blue sky and flowery fields of her
sunny France. Does she know that
her half prophecy has been in part full
filled Does she know that at last my
feet tread the grass-grown paths in the
quaint old garden that for me the
birds sing and the trees shake out their
tender leaves? A new generation of
leaves, but still the same her eyes saw
and loved. There is little changed.
A friend remembered us the estates
were saved, and inherited them. Not
much money; but tn gray walls, the
around | say, My own" Does she
know all this | believe she does. Her
picture looks down upon me now not
as / remember her, with silvery hair
shading her delicate high-born face,
but young, with laughing eyes, and
ripe lips just parted in joyous smile.
In the long sdlon beyond are rows of
naughty faces, blooming faces, stern,
wicked sanity faces. One after anoth-
er they lifted the burden of life, bore
it awhile, then laying it down crept
away to their long, dreamless sleep,
under the stones in the little chapel.
Now there is only one weak woman's
hand to lift the banner of the name
they bore SO long and nobly. Stretch
ont your shadowy hands that it's trails
fold not in the dust! Strengthen me,
shades of the dead, that / bear it not
unworthily!
The air is still with that stiffness
that speaks of life, not death. Some
where in the distance Jean is drawing
water The creaking of the wheel
becomes musical through faintness. In
the farm yard the busy hens are cack
ling, and one loud-voiced cock is crow
ing Justify. Lisette is gathering about
her kitchen, singing a pla1ntive little
song; the chorus reaches me-" Marie!
Marie ie uous Anne tCHOatrs." L am
idly wondering who was Marie2 And
did the singer love her always?
Presently Lisette's heels click along
the hail. Mademoiselle's keys" she
says, with a fash of her white teeth
Jean has found them among the peri
Wrinkle stars. [ take them from her
slipped off the ring. A little leather
UOA, CiaSptu WIFI iron, SUdIuS before
me on the window seat. A few days
before her death my grandmother gave
1t into my keeping. Take it, mon
enfd1at. it contains the life secrets of |
many Of your race There are stories, |
too. from other lips as they were told |
to me. You may like to read them. |
You will keep it for my sake" My life |
has been busy one, and have never |
opened 1t. Now, as [ fit the key into |
the rusty lock, and raise the lid, a |
cloud of dust salutes me, and a musty, |
moldy smell. The papers are widowed |
with age, the characters almost illegi-
bic. One is tied with black ribbon; |
choosing this, [ unroil the closely-writ
ten sheets. One falls out; it is in my
grandmother clear, firm hand Ali
how long ago was that written The
date is IL.
A strange thing has occurred. I was
Ill-very lila year ago. Dear Henri |
begged the Moorish physician $50 he is
called to see me. He came, tall and
grave. 1 was frightened He was gem
lie to me, and l grew to like him. He
IS always among the poor he will re
ceive nothing from any one. Henri
offered him money He refused. 7
gave him my hand, he touched it with
his lips. No one knows whence he
comes, or who he is. The poor bless
his name. He never smiles. l was sure
lie had some great sorrow.