I believe there is a power and solemnity in the near approach of death
which often makes itself felt even before it invades a household; and
something of this kind was experienced by the change which came over
Grandma Adams about this time. It would have been difficult for her
dearest friends to have explained in what the change consisted; but a
change there certainly was which impressed all who saw her. She still
sat in her arm-chair, she suffered no pain, and her countenance was
cheerful and happy, and her intellect seemed unusually strong and clear;
but to the eye of experience it was evident that this aged pilgrim, who
for more than eighty years had trod the uneven and often toilsome
journey of life, would soon be forever at rest. The Widow Green remarked
to my aunt one day in a mysterious whisper, "that she was sure grandma
was drawing near the brink of the dark river, and the bright expression
of her countenance was but a reflection of the happiness in store for
her on the other side." Strong and self-reliant as was my aunt, the
death of her mother was something of which she could not bear to speak,
and the widow was one who so often talked of dreams and mysterious
warnings, that my aunt usually paid little heed to her remarks in this
respect. But she could not reason away the change in her mother's
appearance. Her mother had been so long spared to her that she had
almost forgotten that it could not always be thus, and the All-wise
Father, who sees the end from the beginning, willed it that the sudden
death of her aged and pious mother should in a great measure be the
means of preventing her from placing her affections too much on the
perishable things of earth. One evening, when I closed the Bible after
spending the usual time in reading to grandma, she said: "If you are not
tired, Walter, read for me once more my favorite psalm." I read the
psalm from the beginning in a clear distinct voice as I knew pleased her
best, and when I had finished she said: "You have often, dear Walter,
during the two past years forsaken your books or your play to read to
me, and you have been to me a great blessing, and you will be rewarded
for it, for respect and veneration from youth toward age and
helplessness is a noble virtue, and the youth who pays respect to the
aged will be prospered in his ways." There was something in the look and
manner of my aged relative which affected me strangely. Her countenance
looked unusually bright and happy, and her words had an earnestness of
expression which I had never noticed before. At the time I knew but
little of the different ways in which death approaches, and was not
aware that with the very aged the lamp of life often burns with renewed
brightness just before it goes out forever. After a short silence,
grandma spoke again, saying, "Have you ever read Bunyan's Pilgrim's
Progress, Walter?" I replied that I had, and she continued: "You may
remember that when an order was sent for one of the pilgrims to make
ready to cross the 'dark river', the messenger gave him this token that
he brought a true message, 'I have broken thy golden bowl and loosed thy
silver cord.' I think I have the same token, Walter. I feel that the
golden bowl is well-nigh shattered, and the silver cord of my life is
loosening, and soon the last strand will be severed, and to me it is
rather a matter of joy than of sorrow. I know in whom I have believed,
and all is peace. Continue, my child, as you have begun in life, and
should you be spared to old age you will never regret following my
advice. And now I must go to rest, for I am weary, and would sleep." Her
words awed me deeply; but surely, thought I, grandma cannot die while
she seems so well and so like herself. The words she had spoken so
agitated my mind that it was long after I retired to rest, before I
slept, and when at length slumber stole over my senses, I dreamed that
a being beautiful and bright stood at my bedside, who was like Grandma
Adams, only decrepitude and age had all disappeared, and a beauty and
brightness, such as I am unable to describe, had taken their place. A
smile rested upon her countenance, as she seemed in my dream, for a
moment, to raise her hands above my head in blessing, when she
disappeared from my view, and I awoke. But even while I dreamed, the
angel of death came with noiseless step, and severed the last strand in
the cord of grandma's life, and who shall say that her spirit was not
permitted to hover for a moment, in blessing, over the youth so dear
to her, before taking its final leave of earth.
Upon going to her mother's room the next morning, my aunt found that
she had passed from the sleep of repose to the deeper sleep of death.
Thinking that possibly life still lingered, they immediately summoned
the physician, but after one glance at the still features, he addressed
my aunt, saying, "Your mother has been a long time spared to you, but
she has gone to her rest." Even death dealt gently with the aged one
whom every one loved. There was no sign of suffering visible, for as she
sank to sleep, even so she died without a struggle, and a smile still
seemed to linger upon her aged but serene countenance. I believe there
are few who have not at some period of their life been called to notice
the change which a few short hours will bring over a household. A family
may have lived on for years with no break in the home circle, and every
thing connected with them have moved on with the regularity of clockwork,
when some sudden and unlooked-for event will all at once change the very
atmosphere of their home. Owing to her advanced age, Grandma Adams' death
could hardly be supposed to have been unlooked for, yet so it was.
For so many years had she occupied her accustomed place in the family
circle with health seemingly unimpaired, that her children had almost
forgotten to realize that a day _must_ come when she would be removed
from their midst, and the place which then knew her would know her no
more forever. Very silent and gloomy was the old farm-house, during the
days Grandma Adams lay shrouded for the grave. A hush seemed to have
fallen over the darkened rooms, and the soft footsteps of friends and
neighbors as they quietly passed in and out, all told the story of death
and bereavement. Funeral preparations were something for which the Widow
Green seemed peculiarly adapted, and her presence was ever sought in the
house of mourning. She was a very worthy woman, and much respected by
the people of Fulton, among whom she had resided for many years; but
along with many estimable qualities she had also her failings and weak
points; she had an undue zest for whatever partook of the marvellous or
mysterious, her education was extremely limited, and her method of
reasoning was not always most clear and logical. She was a firm believer
in signs and omens, as warnings of death and other misfortunes, and very
few events of this kind took place in the vicinity of which the Widow
Green, according to her own statement, was not favored with a warning.
But some of the neighbors were often heard to assert that many of her
warnings were never spoken of till after the event happened. But setting
aside this weakness, and the Widow Green was a kind and useful woman in
the vicinity where she resided.