GRANDMOTHER. 127

 

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Grandmother looking at the withered Flower.

and she smiles; Grandmother cannot smile thus now !—yes, now
she smiles! But now he has passed away, and many thoughts
and many forms of the past; and the handsome young man is
gone, and the rose lies in the hymn-book, and Grandmother sits
there again, an old woman, and glances down at the withered rose
that lies in the book.

Now Grandmother is dead. She had been sitting in her arm-
chair, and telling a long, long, capital tale; and she said the tale
was told now, and she was tired; and she leaned her head back
to sleep awhile. One could hear her breathing as she slept;
but it became quieter and more quiet, and her countenance was