The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1877-03-16
The Old-FashiOned Grandmother.

There is an old kitchen somewhere in
the past, an old-fashioned fireplace
therein, with its smooth old jambs of
stone; smooth with many knives that
have been sharpened there, smooth with
many little fingers that have chung there.
There are andirons with rings in the top,
wherein many temples of flame have
been builded with spires and turrets of
crimson. There is broad, warm hearth !;
broad enough for three generations to
cluster on; worn by feet that have been
torn and bleeding by the way, or been
made beautiful" and walked upon
floors of tessellated gold. There are
tongs in the corner, wherewith We
prasped coal, and "blowing for little
life," lighted our first candle; there is a
shovel wherewith were drawn forth the
glowing embers, in which we saw our
first fancies and dreamed our first dreams
the shovel with which We stirred the
logs until the sparks rushed up the
chimney as if forge were in blast be-
low, and wished we had so many lambs,
or so many marbles, or so many some
things that we coveted; and so it was
that we wished our first wishes.
There is a chair-a low, rush. bOttomed
chair: there is little wheel in the cor
ner, big wheel in the garnet, loom in
the chamber. There are chestfulls of
linen and yarn, and quilts of rare pat
terms and samples in frames.
And everywhere and always the dear
old wrinkled face of her whose firm,
elastic step mocks the feeble saunter of
her children's children-the old-fash-
toned grandmother of forty years ago.
She, the very providence of the old home
stead; she who loved us all, and said
she wished there were more of US to
love, and took all the school in the hol-
low for grandchildren besides. A great
expansive heart was hers, beneath the
wooden gown, or that more stately bonn
bazine. or that sole heirloom of silken
texture. We can see her to-day, those
mild blue eyes, with more Of beauty in
them than time could touch, or death
could do more than hide-those eyes
that held both smiles and tears within
the faintest call of every one of us, and
soft reproof-that seemed not passion
but regret. A white tress has escaped
from beneath her snowy cap; she length
ened the tether Of vine that was stray
ing over window. as she came In, and
plucked four-leaved clover for Ellen.
She sits down by the little Wheels tress
is running through her fingers from the
distaffs dishevelled head, when small
voice cries "Grandma," from the old red
cradle, and "Grandma," Tommy shouts
from the top of the stairs. Gently she
lets 60 the thread, for her patience is al
most as beautiful as her charity, and she
touches the title red bark moment
till the young voyager is in dream again,
and then directs Tommy's unavailing at
tempts to harness the cat.
What treasures of story fell from those
old lips; of good fairies and evil; of the
old times when she was girl; but We
wondered if ever she was little-but
then she couldn't be handsomer or dearer.
And then, when we begged her to sing
ssSing us one of the old songs you used
to sing for mother. grandma" "Children.
/ can't sing" she always said, and
mother used TO always lay her knitting
softly down, and the kitten stopped
playing with the yarn on the floor, and
the clock licked lower in the corner,
and the fire died down to q glow, like an
old heart that is neither chilled nor dead,
and grandmother sang. To be sure it
would not do for the parlor and concert
room now a-days; but then it was the
old kitchen, and the old-fashioned grand
mother, and the old ballad, in the dear
old times, and we can hardly see to
write for the memory of them, though it
A. . hands breath to the sunset.
How she used to welcome Us when We
were grown, and came back once more
% the homestead!