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

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 ticked lower
in the corner, and the fire died down
to glow, like On old heart that is
neither chilled nor dead, and grand
mother sang. To be sure 1t would not
do for the parlor and concert room
nowadays; 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 is hands breadth to the sunset.
Well, she sang. Her voice was feeble
and wavering, like fountain just ready
to fail but then how sweet toned 1t
was, and it became deeper and stronger
but it could not grow sweeter. What
"joy of grief " it was to sit there around
the fire all of us, except Jane, and her
we thought we saw when the door was
opened moment by the wind i; but
then we were not afraid, for was not it
her old smile she wore2 To sit there
around the fire, and weep over the
woes of the babes in the woods, who
LAID down side by side in the great SOL
emn shadows and how strangely glad
we felt when the robin red-br cov-
cred them with leaves, and last of all,
when the angel took them out of night
into day everlasting.
We may think what we will of it now,
but the song and the story heard around
the kitchen fire have colored the
thoughts and the lives of most of us,
have given the germs of whatever
poetry blesses our hearts, whatever of
memory blooms in our yesterdays.
Attribute whatever we may to the school
and the school, the rays which
make that little day we call life, radate
from the God-swept circle of the hearth
stone.
Then she sings an old lullaby, the
song of her mother-her mother sang
it to her; but she does not sing it
through, and falters ere it is done. She
rests her head upon her hand, and is
silent in the old kitchen. Something
glitters down between her fingers in the
freight, and it looks like rain in the
soft sunshine. The old grandmother is
thinking when she first heard the song,
and the voices that sang it, when,
light haired and light hearted girl, she
hung around that mothers chair, now
the shadow of years to come. Oh, the
days that are no more What words
unsay, what deeds undo, to set back
just this once the ancient clock of time
So our little hands were forever cling
ing to her garments, ana staying her as
if from dying, for long ago she had
done living for herself, and lived alone
in US. But the old kitchen wants
presence today; and the rush-bottom
chair is tenantless.
How she used to welcome us when |
we were grown, and came back once
more to the homestead
We thought we were men and women,
but we were children there the old
fashioned grandmother was blind in
her eyes, but she saw with her heart, as
she always did. We threw out long
shadows through the open door, and
she felt them as they fell over her form,
and she looked dimly up, and said:
edward l know, and Lucy's voice
l can hear, but whose is that other? 1t
must be James," for she had almost for
gotten the folded hands. "Oh, no
not James, for she-let me see-she is
waiting for me, isn't she2" and the old
grandmother wandered and wept.
It's another daughter, grandmother
that Edward has brought" says some
one, d" for your blessing"
"Has she blue eyes, my SOM Put
her hands in mine, for she is my late
born, the child of my old age. Shall
sing you song, chlldren7" and she
S idly fumbling for a toy-a welcome
gift for the children that have come
again.
One of US, men as we were, is weep
ng ; she hears the half-suppressed sobs,
and says, as she extends her feeble
land:
"Here, my poor child, rest upon
your grandmother's shoulder; she will
protect you from all harm. Come, my
sit around the fire again. Shall
sing you song or tell you a story?
Stir the fire, for it is cold; the nights
ire growing colder"
The clock in the corner struck nine,
he bedtime of those old days. The
ong of life was indeed sung, the story
old. 1t was bedtime at last. Good
hight to the grandmother. The old
ashioned grandmother was no more,
md we miss her forever. But we will
ct up tablet in the midst of the heart,
nd write on it only this: Ii
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
Of tile I
iooD OLD FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER.
God bless her foreverI
.