The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1888-09-01
THE OLD FASHIONED
GRANDMOTHER.

There is an old kitchen somewhere
in the past, and an. fashioned fire
place therein, with its smooth old lambs
of stone; smooth with many knive:
that have been sharpened there, smooth
with many little fingers that have clurg
there. There are andlrons with rings
in the top wherein many temples o
fame have been bullded with splre:
and turrets of crimson. There is E
broad, warm hearth, broad enough fol-
three generations to cluster on; worr
by fee: that have been torn and bleed.
ing by the way, or been made "beau,
tiful," and walked upon floors of tes-
sellated gold. There are tongs in the
corner, wherewith we grasped coal
and "blowing for little life," lighted
our first cardle there is a shovel where.
with were drawn forth the glowing en-
bers, in which we saw our first fancles
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 below, and
wished We had so many marbles, or SO
many something's that we coveted and
so it was that we wished our first
wishes.
There is chair-a low, rush-bot
toned char there is a little wheel in
the corner, big wheel in the garret, a
loom in the chamber. There are chest
tuls of linen and yarn, and quilts of rare
patterns 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-
ioned grandmother of forty years ago.
She, the very Providence of the old
homestead she who loved US all, and
said she wished there were more of us
to love, and took all the school in the
hollow for grandchildren besides. A
great expansive heart was hers, beneath
the woolen gown, or that more stately
bombazine or that sole heirloom of
silken texture.
We can see her o-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
taintest 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
heightened the tether of vine that was
straying over window, as she came in,
and plucked four -leaved clover for
Ellen. She sits down by the little
wheel-a tress is running through her
fingers from the distaff's dishevelled
head, when small voice cries "Grand-
no." from the old red cradle, and
"Grandma," Tommy shouts from the
top of the stairs. Gently she lets 90
the thread, for her patience is almost
as beautiful as her charity, and she
touches the little red bark a moment,
till the young voyager is in a dream
again, and then directs Tommy's un-
availing attempts to harness the cat.
The tick of the clock runs fast and
low, and she opens the mysterious door
and proceeds to wind it up. We are
all on tip-toe, and we beg, in a breath,
to be lifted up one by one and look in
the hundredth time upon the tin cases
of the weights, and the poor lonely
pendulum, which goes to and fro by
its little dim windows; and our petl-
tions are all granted, and we are all
lifted up, and we all touch with the fin
ger the wonderful weights, and the
music of the wheel is resumed.
Was Mary to be married, or lane to |
be wrapped in shroud1 So meekly |
did she fold the white hands of the one
upon her still bosom, that there seemed
to be prayer in them there; and so
sweetly did she wreathe the white rose
in the halr of the other, that one would
not have wondered had more roses
budded for company. How she stood
between us and apprehended harm
how the rudest of US softened beneath
the gentle pressure of her faded and
.remulous hand From her capaclous
pocket that hand was ever withdrawn
closed, only to be opened in our own
with the nuts she had gathered, with
The cherries she had plucked, the little
egg she had found, the turnover" she
had baked, the trinket she had pur-
chased for US as the product OF her
spinning, the blessings she had stored
ior us-the offspring of her heart.
What treasures of story fell from those
Did lips OF good fairies and evil of
he old times when she was a girl but
We wondered if ever she was little
out then she couldn't be handsomer or
1earer. And then, when we begged
,er to sing :-"Sing us one of the old
ongs you used to sing for mother,