Grandma's Hygiene

Grandma's Hygiene

My Mamma says that little girls
Should eat what makes them strong;
That when I eat what injures me,
I'm doing very wrong.

She says that pies and cakes and such,
Are far too rich for me,
And if I hope to sturdy grow,
I'll have to let them he.

But Grandma says to Mamma, "Fie!
Let her eat what she craves;
These squeamish notions going 'round
Are making people slaves."

Don't think about yourself at all,
If you would healthy be.
I always eat just what I want
And nothing e'er ails me."

I don't know which of them is right.
But this I truly know;
When Grandma writes, "Come spend a week,"
I'm always glad to go.

Grandma's Young Days

Grandma's Young Days

Once Grandma was a young lady, she says.
It's hard to believe, but it's true.
She showed me a gown she used to wear then,
All soft, and all lace-y and blue.

She showed me the fan she carried, which she
Coquettishly swung to and fro.
I'd like to have seen her smiles and her frowns
At Grandpa, who then was her beau.

She showed me her slippers, spangly and white.
(So tiny and cute were her feet.)
I'd like to have seen her glide through a dance.
Her steps so precise and so neat.

She showed me the ring Grandpa gave to her
One evening of love and of bliss.
I'd like to have seen her young lover plant
On her brow his chaste, proper kiss.

She showed me the locket which she used to wear.
His picture and hers, both inside.
Were taken, she says, upon the glad day
She became my Grandpa's young bride.

Oh, Grandma! you then were so sweet and so fair
Of lip, and of cheek and of brow.
I'd like to have seen you, far different then,
But not a bit sweeter than now!

Counting the Baby's Toes

Counting the Baby's Toes

"Inkum, blinkum, winkum, niddle and nod,
Every one sweet as a rose."
Dear Grandmother croons this sleepy-time song,
Counting the little toes.

"Lively, frolic, kick-y, upum and go,
How much fun no-body knows!"
Dear Grandmother chants this waking-up lay,
Counting the little toes.

When Grandma Was a Little Girl

When Grandma Was a Little Girl 

When Grandma was a little girl
Her dresses came 'most to the floor
And over them she used to wear
A pretty ruffled pinafore.
Her bonnets, though, were very plain.
She carried a small reticule
And wore a little shoulder cape
Of mornings, when she went to school.

My Grandma always was most neat,
Obedient, and good, and true;
It was a pleasure, so she says,
To do as she was told to do.
And when she sewed she always set
Her stitches firm and neat and fine;
That sampler on the parlor wall
She worked: "Cordelia, aged nine."

She pieced a quilt 'fore she was eight,
'Twas made of white and gay maroon.
She'd sit most patiently each day
And stitch the whole long afternoon.
Her stockings, too, she always knit.
And turned with skill the heel and toe.
She darned and patched - such useful things
She says, each young girl ought to know. 

When Grandma was a little girl
She was, I think, so very dear.
Such eyes! Such smiles! Such lovely hair
This is her picture hanging here.
I'd like to look as she did then,
(Such praise, I know, her beauty got)
But as for doing as she did,
I really think I'd rather not!

The Old and the New

The Old and the New

My sister had her picture taken
To-day. It's cute as cute can be.
Her hair is bobbed, her dress correct.
It's not in inch below her knee.

She slipped the picture in the album.
It happened then that right beside.
There was a photo of our Grandma.
Taken the day she was a bride.

And Grandma's dress was in the fashion:
That is, 'twas stylish for her day.
Though, could she step now in our ball-room,
Sue says, she'd be thought "quite passe."

Her waist was small; she wore a bustle;
A tiny little fan she bore;
Her dress was widened out by hoop-skirts.
And barely it escaped the floor.

A cute and dainty little ringlet
So jauntily hung o'er her ear.
She looked so odd, and quaint and funny.
But 'spite of that so very dear.

They say that girls to-day are silly;
The way they dress is most unwise.
Sue's picture looks as well; is Grandma's:
At least it seems to in my eyes.

Sue says she feels so free, unhampered,

And has no bother with her clothes.
How in the world dear Grandma managed.
Why surely only goodness knows!

The Way Out

The Way Out

At home my Mamma says: "Oh, shame!
You are by far too big
To gobble: 'sides you'll get too fat.
Now, don't eat like a pig."

At Grandma's, Grandma always says;
"You are so small, I know
You'd ought to try out eating more,
I'd like to see you grow."

Now maybe both are half way wrong.
To Grandma I'll indite
A note: "Please keep me half the time,'
Then I will grow just right!

A Pertinent Question

A Pertinent Question

When I contradict my mamma,
She always says just so:
"I'm older far than yon, my dear,
Don't yon think I'd ought to know?"

But whenever mamma spanks me,
My Grandma shakes her head,
And says, "No, no, a gentler way;
Just you love her hard instead."

And mamma always says to that:
"Indeed! you'd spoil her, though."
Now Grandma's very, very old,
Don't you think she'd ought to know

When Grandma Tucks Me In...

When Grandma Tucks Me In

Mamma puts me to bed o' nights,
And after I have said my prayers.
She sits and talks awhile before
She leaves me and goes back down stairs.

And when I am about asleep,
I hear a whisper, "Little Min!"
And slipping softly to my bed,
My Grandma comes and tucks me in.

I'm glad for Mamma's thoughtful care,
Her talks of goodness and of sin -
Please don't tell her I could not sleep
'Thout Grandma came and tucked me in.

The Old Sampler

The Old Sampler

I found it in the attic,
All covered o'er with grime.
Scarce could I read it's letters,
So faded now by time.
A queer, old-fashioned sampler,
My tears bedew each line.
Grandmother set these stitches.
When she was "aged nine."

I seem to see her working
If I but close my eyes,
Dear wee one, bravely tackling
Her stent. So great it's size!
With patience rare she wove them,
These gaudy stitches fine.
How I love each straggling one!
"Cordelia, aged nine."

The sampler is an heir-loom
We'll always hold most dear.
It sets for us the lesson
That we should persevere.
Your patience made you saintly,
Your memory we'll enshrine,
Your virtues try to copy,
"Cordelia, aged nine."

Two Proverbs

Two Proverbs

My Mamma always says to us -
To me and Tom and Kate -
"Oh, hurry, hurry, hurry now!
To school you will he late!

You've heard it often. I am sure
The proverb you should know
About the tortoise, and the hare
Who lost, 'cause he was slow."

But Grandma always says to us.
"Now why this anxious haste?
Try to be calm and cool, my dears.
Remember, 'haste makes waste.' "

I am not wise enough to know
Which way I should prefer
For living by, but I am sure
Grandma's is pleasanter!

I'll Be Your Valentine

I'll Be Your Valentine

I took some paper, pen and ink,
And tried so hard to make
A pretty one and write on it
"For your own dear, sweet sake."
But soon I found that drawing things
Is clearly not my line,
But if you think I'll do for one
I'll be your valentine.

Perhaps I should have bought you one
But cents I had but few,
And really nothing they would get
Was good enough for yon.
I asked Mamma. "Why send such things
She said : "They are love's sign."
So, if I can mean that to you,
I'll be your valentine.

Of course you may get heaps of 'em:
I fear, tho', 'cause you're old,
That folks will think you know their love
Without a-being told.
So to make sure you will get one
That's extra nice and fine,
Why Grandma, if I'll fill the bill,
I'll be your valentine.

Contrast

Contrast

'Tis queer to think of our Grandmas,
That once they were but little girls,
And wore their hair in long pigtails,
Or else in funny, bobbing curls.

'Tis queer to think they ran and played,
And laughed and romped in childish glee.
I wonder if they ever tired,
And rested on their Mother's knee.

But sad to think they had to work,
And learn to sweep, and bake, and mend.
'Tis painful how they had to sit
And stitch those long seams without end.

There's much to envy 'bout those days,
And much looks most unpleasant, too.
I think I'd rather live to-day,
Because there is much less to do!

G-R-A-N-D-M-A

G-R-A-N-D-M-A

I'm four years old and can't know much.
I'm proud, though, that I write and spell
A great big word, and Mamma says
I really do it very well.

Course Mamma showed me how to print
This word - it's letters slow I'll say.
Can you pronounce it when I've done?
It's G-r-a-n-d-m-a.

When Grandma Loses Her Spec's

When Grandma Loses Her Spec's

Sometimes when Grandma's sewing,
She'll stop and say, "Dear me !
I had them just a while ago,
Where can my glasses be?"
I say, "I'll find them, Grandma,"
Then I look everywhere;
But wouldn't for the world she'd guess
I know just where they are.

I hunt around until I am
So tired I'm almost dead:
Then laugh and say, "Why Grandma dear.
They're right there on your head!"
What d'ye 'spose she tells me then?
It drives me almost wild, -
"I do declare! just every day 

I grow more like a child!"

A Tea Party

A Tea Party

Sometimes I get so awful cross,
When it's a rainy day,
And not a thing I want to do,
And nothing I can play.

But soon there cames a gentle rap,
Right by me on the wall;
And Grandma says, "How do you do?
I thought I'd come to call.

How are you, Mrs. Wilson, now?
Are all the children well?
This is a welcome rain we have.
And breaks a long dry spell."

And then I offer her a chair.
With just my nicest smile;
And say, "I'm glad to see you, ma'am,
I hope you'll stay awhile."

And Grandma laughs, "Ah-ha ! I guessed
That I would welcome be;
If this is not too broad a hint,
I thought I'd stay for tea."

And then we have the mostest fun,
And not a thing to eat;
But Grandma plays the game so well,
You'd think we had a treat.

She says: "These rolls are very fine,
Why, yes, I'll take some jell.
Fried chicken! and so nice and brown,
'Twill suit me more than well.

And cake! I never knew before
How light a cake could be!"
And "Thank you, yes ma'am, if you please
Another cup of tea."

And then she says: "Why bless my heart,
If there is not the sun!
I've had a lovely time, my dear,
And now I home must run."

Grandma's Stories

Grandma's Stories

At evening by the fire-light
We gather 'round her knee.
There's John and Sam and Jennie.
And 'course there's always me.
She tells the finest stories
A body ever heard.
We sit so interested
And never say a word!

There's one about Queen Esther
Of course that Jennie likes.
While John's and Sammle's fancy
The "Lions' Den" just strikes.
But I - I pick young David
Pastin' G'liath with a sling.
How could he kill a giunt
With such a little thing?

Mother tells us dainty tales
'Bout fairies and all such.
Daddy tells us hunting ones;
We like them very much.
But Grandma's kind of stories.
Why,, they help us to be good.
So always we prefer them,
And don't you think we should?

What Kind of Grandma Do You Like?

What Kind of Grandma Do You Like?

What kind of Grandma do you like?
Mine has soft, silv'ry hair.
And eyes that twinkle kindly.
And a brow that's soft and fair.
She smiles a sort of crinkly smile
At me when I am good.
It always makes me try my best,
And don't you think it would?

What kind of Grandma do you like?
Mine gives me sweets and toys.
And never, never scowls at me
Or says. "Now hush that noise !"
What kind of Grandma you may have.
Or what your choice might be,
I do not know, but I am sure
Mine is the one for me !

A Fellow Feeling

A Fellow Feeling

Once when I was a little tot
I was naughty as I could be.
(I'm 'shamed to tell how bad I was,)
And my Mamma punished me.

She set me down upon a chair
With a frown so cross at me
And said, "Now, missy, you stay there,
And you don't get any tea."

Soon Grandma came and sat down near,
And she looked so very sad
I wondered what on earth it meant,
Had my Grandma, too, been bad?

And then I said, "Why, Grandma, dear,
Now whatever did you do?
I think things are at pretty pass
If my Mamma's punished you."

My Grandma's Getting Old, They Say

My Grandma's Getting Old, They Say

My Grandma's getting old, they say.
Her hair is white, her step is slow.
She never goes a-pleasuring,
She'd rather sit and knit, or sew.
Her shoulders stoop and 'thout her specs
She'd find it hard, indeed, to see.
My Grandma's getting old, they say.
But, oh ! She is not old to me.

My Grandma's getting old they say,
But, oh ! She is not old to me.
A finer pal than Grandma is
I don't believe you'd ever see.
She mends my toys, and when I like
She'll play "make calls," or "drinking tea.'
My Grandma's getting old they say.
But NEVER will be old to me,

Out at Grandma's

Out at Grandma's

They is roses out at Grandma's,
Growin' low an' growin' high.
I can pick jist all I want to,
Ner don't have to on the sly.

They's a well, too, out at Grandma's,
With a bucket to let down.
Water's cold enough to freeze you.
'Taint like what you get in town.

An' they's green grass out at Grandma's,
Plenty, growin' all around,
S' thick that when you waller in it,
You don't know you're on the ground.

They is fruit trees out at Grandma's,
Fruit, too,, on 'em, hangin' thick.
Grandma says: "Jist help your-self, dear,
I don't care how much you pick."

They's a garden out at Grandma's.
In it's all good things to eat.
Posies, too, in beds a-growin',
Edged with cockle shells so neat.

They is bees, too, out at Grandma's,
Bees a-buzzin'. Hear 'em hum !
Biscuits hot with honey on 'em !
Ain't they good ? Oh, yum, yum, yum !

When I'm big I'm goin' to have me
A nice home like Grandma's is.
An' my kids will get to live there.
Won't they have the fun? Gee whiz!