Year: 1871

GRANDMAsrsfA Is 90 old, she has SO MANY
wrinkles, and her hair is quite white; but
her eyes shine like two stars. Yea, they
are much more beautiful they are so mild,
so blessed to look into. End she can tell
the most delightful stories, and she has a
dress of thick silk that rustles; it is cover
ed with large flowers.


Grandmamma knows so much, for she
lived long before papa and mamma, that
Is certain. Grandmamma has psalm
book, with thick silver clasps, and she
reads in it often; in it 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 comes tears in her eyes. How can it
be that grandmamma looks always so fond
ly upon the withered rose in the old bookf
Do you known Each time that grand
mama's tears fall upon the flower, its color
revives, it freshens again, and the whole
room is filled with the scent of it; the
walls disappear as though they were only
fog, and all around is the green, beautiful
wood, with the sun shining through the
leaves, and grandmamma-yes she is quite
youngl She is a beautiful girl with golden
locks and blooming cheeks, engaging and
lovely; no rose is more fresh; yet the
eyes, the mild, blessed eyes, they are still
grandmamma's. BY her side is seated
youth-so young, handsome and strongi
He offers her the rose, and she smiles-but
not thus smiles grandmammal Yesi-the
smile comes. He is gone; many thoughts
and many forms pass by; the handsome
youth is gone, the rose lies in the psalm
book, and grsndmamma-yes, there she
sits again, as an old lady; gazing at the
withered rose that lies in the book.
Now grandmamma is dead. She sat in
ha nhatr o,,l told 1o-o do
lightful story. "And now it is over" she
said, land am quite weary; let me sleep
a little" Then she lay back, drew heavy
sigh, and slept; but it became more and
| more still, and her face was so full of peace
and joy, it was as if the sun shone upon
it; then they said she was dead


She was laid in black coffin, enshroud-
ed in pure white linen; she looked so
beautiful, and yet her eyes were closed.
But all the wrinkles were gone; sweet
smile played on her mouth her hair was
so silver while, SO honorable, no one could
be afraid to look at her; it was still the
same kind, benign grandmamma. And
the psalm-book was laid under her head,
as she herself had desired, and the rose
lay in the old book and SO they buried
her.


On her grave, close under the church
wall, they planted rose-tree and it stood
full of blossoms; the nightingale sang
over it, and from within the church the
organ played the most beautiful psalms
in the book that lay. under head.
And the moon shone right down upon
the grave; but the dead one was not there ;
every child could fearlessly go there at
night and pluck a 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 at anything SO strange as
that they should come to US; the dead are
better than we all, and so they do not
come There is earth over the coffin,
there is earth in it. The psalm-book with
its leaves is dust, the rose with all its as
socistions has crumbled into dust; but
above, fresh roses bloom-above the
nightingale sings, and the organ plays
one thinks of old grand mother, with the
mild eyes, ever young.


Eyes can never diei Ours shall one day
see her, young and beautiful as when, for
the first time, she kissed the fresh red rose
that lieth now dust in the graye.-Han.
| Christian Andersen