Grandpa's Glasses.

 Grandpa's Glasses

Author Unknown

My grandpa has to wear glasses,

'Cause his eyesight is not very strong,

And he calls them his "specs," and he's

worn them

For ever and ever so long

And when he gets through with his 

reading

He carefully  puts them away,

And that's why I have to help find them

'Bout twenty-five times a day.

But at night when we sit 'round the 

table,

And papa and mamma are there,

He reads just as long as he's able,

And then falls asleep in his chair.

And he sits there and sleeps in his 

glasses,

And you don't know how funny it

seems;

But he says that he just has to wear them

To see things well in his dreams.

For Grandma

FOR GRANDMA

Grandma's hair is turning white;
Once 'twas long and brown and bright;
But gray hair is sweet and right
For grandma.

Grandma's eyes are getting dim;
Give the light another trim,
Bring her glasses, read the hymn.
For grandma.

Whisper trials in her ear,
She has always time to hear;
Words of wisdom and of cheer
For grandma.

Tell her things that make you glad;
Maybe she is feeling sad;
Lonesome hours are always bad
For grandma.

by Harriet D. Castle. 

Grandpa

GRANDPA

My grandpa says that he was once
A little boy like me.
I s'pose he was; and yet it does
Seem queer to think that he
Could ever get my jacket on,
Or shoes, or like to play
With games and toys, and race with Duke,
As I do every day.

He's come to visit us, you see.
Nurse says I must be good
And mind my manners, as a child
With such a grandpa should.
For grandpapa is straight and tall,
And very dignified;
He knows most all there is to know.
And other things beside.

So though my grandpa knows so much,
I thought that maybe boys
Were things he hadn't studied,
They make such awful noise.
But when I asked at dinner for
Another piece of pie,
I thought I saw a twinkle in
The corner of his eye.

So yesterday when they went out
And left us two alone,
I was not quite so much surprised
To find how nice he'd grown. 
You should have seen us romp and run!
My! now I almost see
That p'r'aps he was, long, long ago,
A little boy like me.

by Gertrude Morton Cannon.
 

Grandmother's Garden

 

Grandmother's Garden
by Marjorie Barrows

Amaryllis and I heard a fairy
In grandmother's garden today,
When the wind in the roses was calling
The birds and the blossoms to play.

Amaryllis stooped down by bluebell
And listened there ever so hard;
But I, in my little white apron,
Caught the rose-fairy's calling card!

A letter about Grandpa's childhood

Dear Children,

       Well, here I am again, writing a letter to Grandpa's Grandchildren. This time I am going to write about horses. Some little girls do not care very much for horses, but all boys love horses and dogs. Long years ago I was a little boy. My Papa had an old-fashioned pair of leather saddlebags. My Father attended to a large herd of cattle, and he salted these cattle every week, and counted them to see if any had got out of the pasture. Sometimes I would ride behind until I would fall asleep, and then he would place me around in front, and hold me on his lap. At one time after he had emptied all the salt out of one side of the saddlebags, he put me in the empty bag and covered me up. Then he rode up in front of our home, and Mother came out to see her little boy; but no little boy could be found. It was a hot summer day, and I began to feel about as warm as a setting hen. Mother was scared; yes, excited at the loss of her first-born little boy. I could see the tears streaming from her eyes, as I peeped through a small crack in the old saddlebags.

       Mother was crying and, at the same time, telling Father that he was cruel to punish her in that way. I couldn't stand it a minute longer; young as I was, I felt that a little fellow like me could have no better friend than Mother. Papa saw that I had poked my head out of the bag and was turning the horse around, so Mother could not see me; but the old Dollie mare seemed to almost understand the trick, and in turning around, made more of a turn than Papa expected, and I was brought squarely around in full view, and there I was right in full sight of Mama, sitting down in the old saddlebags, with my little black head just above the cover. Papa lifted me up, and I didn't wait to be helped any farther, but just jumped into Mother's arms. The next day Father was mowing the yard, and I was wearing my first pants. Down at the back end of the yard was a small pond of water, with a mud bottom. My Papa waded into it to show me that the water was not deep, and in this way got me to try my new breeches. I waded out and back again a few times until the water became very muddy. Finally, I fell down in the middle of the pond, and went clear under, and how much farther, I could not tell. I was not old enough to swim, but I was a wriggler, and I wriggled out, but Oh! such a sight. I was the color of mud, and my new pants! Both Father and Mother gathered me up, and I was put through some kind of a fresh-water scrubbing, and that night Mother sat up until a late hour, making me a new pair of pantaloons. I started out in this letter to write you something about horses, but I got to thinking of some things that happened to me when I was a little boy.

       I believe I am getting to be like some preachers, who always take a text, but never preach from it.

Love, Grandpa.

Disc and The Cats Now Eat Together!

Dear Children,

       Just as I expected, little Disc has had trouble with the kittens. We undertook to feed Disc and the cats from the same dish. The cats did not like the looks of Disc. Now, Disc does not look like a cat, still he has four legs and four feet, two eyes, and one tail just like a cat; but he looks more like a little baby cub bear. Well, Disc went to helping himself, and in his great hurry picked out the biggest piece of meat on the plate. The old mother cat lifted her paw and gave the dog a slap on his ear; but Disc paid no attention to the lick as his coat of hair is very thick, pussy did not hurt him. Then she bowed her back and arched her tail, and said something that all the rest of the cats understood, and then about three stuck their claws into him at once. Disc saw at once that there were too many cats for one little dog, and as there were no other little dogs near, he got close to the floor, turned his head away from the cats, and put his paws up over his ears, as if to say, come on, and thus ended the first fight. When dinner came, Disc was on hand. The food was emptied in a large dish, but neither dog nor cats seemed hungry. Disc looked at the dish and made a move as if to help himself, when old puss raised her paw as if to strike; then Disc raised his paw and ducked his head; puss made a lick at him and he dodged it; then the old mother cat gave a scream, and all at once every cat looked like a fighter. Disc growled, and every cat bent their backs almost double. Old puss then said something, and all at once every cat jumped at the little bear dog. Disc snapped and snarled ; he just bit right and left; every cat was doing their very best to whip poor little Disc. He turned and twisted, sometimes on his back and then on his stomach. Sometimes he had his head in front and sometimes his tail. Disc got hold of one of the best fighters that old pussy had, and the cat cried like a little whipped boy. Some of the cats kept up their spite and spit. Cat fur and dog hair lay around in patches. Disc was fighting for his dinner and would not give up. The cats now saw that this was a lost cause, and left in a hurry, and now Disc and the cats eat out of the same dish, but Disc eats first.

Love, Grandpa.

Puppies feed together at a pinwheel feeding dish.

The donkey and the dog pull a cart...

Dear Children,

       There was a letter in the mail today from your Mama, in which she said the church was getting ready for "Children's Day." You just tell your Mama that the church ought to be ready all the time. When you get older, I want you to read that story in the Bible where five people started out in the dark, without any coal oil in their lamps. And then there is another story that ought to have been in the Good Book; it tells about a man with a lantern looking all around for an honest man.

       There was a funny thing happened today, in the street, right in front of our house. Some boys hitched up a dog and a goat to a little wagon. Now, this kind of a team did not match. That is one did not look very much like the other. I think the goat was older than the dog, because of his beard. They had harness and bridles and lines on them. The boys had a whip, but they didn't need a whip. The team did not seem to know what was said to them. The dog's name was Tray, and the goat didn't have any name at all, and if he ever had a name, he didn't want anybody to know it, for he had been caught in bad company. The dog went entirely too fast for the goat. The dog was a loper, and the Billy Goat was a pacer. The dog barked, but I could not hear what the goat did say about it ; almost sounded like swearing. The dog was going too fast for Billy; so when they came to the street corner, the dog tried to turn alright but Billy tried his best to go straight on, and this didn't last long. The wagon smashed into a gate that was hanging open on the sidewalk, and here the driver was thrown out; but it never hurt him until he struck the ground. Billy had gotten himself turned around in the harness, and seemed as if he wanted to go somewhere, and the dog appeared as if he intended going somewhere else. Just at this time three more dogs came along, and Billy did not seem to be in a very good humor about something, so he reared and plunged, and finally broke his bridle, and started pell-mell down the street; sometimes the goat was ahead, and sometimes the dog. The goat got behind, but some way caught up. On turning the next corner, the wagon upset, and who do you think was coming up the sidewalk, just at this time? Well, it was Grandma, and, among other things, she had a basket of apples carrying along at arms length, and as the dog and goat passed her, the wagon was still coming on, and when it passed her the basket of apples was in the way, and now I am sure she won't ask me to go to prayer meeting with her again for at least two weeks.

Love, Grandpa.

Dixie, a professional cart goat.

A letter from Grandpa about Easter eggs and ducks

Then one little fellow said, "Mister, will you sell me a hen; maybe she will lay us some red eggs.‚"

Dear Children:

       I am going to write something about Easter eggs and ducks. Two little boys came into our house this morning and wanted to buy some Easter eggs - the kind that their Grandma bought of us last week; but we did not have the kind that suited. They wanted blue eggs and red eggs, and all kinds of colored eggs. They said that Grandma told them that our hens laid all kinds of colored eggs. Their sadness at the thought of getting no blue and red eggs was so great that I thought their little hearts would break and bleed. I would have given a dollar apiece for just two colored eggs, rather than to have looked into their little faces and said no. Then one little fellow said, "Mister, will you sell me a hen; maybe she will lay us some red eggs.‚" I took these little men to a corner grocery and bought each of them the biggest stick of red-striped candy I could find.

       I drove to the country yesterday. I wish every little boy and girl could live in the country. There are so many things to see. Everything we eat and wear grows in the country. Nearly all of the hen's nests are in the country, and nearly all the bird's nests are there. Nearly all the good apples grow in the country, and it beats all how much home-made fun a boy can have at his Grandpa's home on a farm. Where do all the cows come from, and the little bossies? They all grow up in the country; and oh, so many flowers! I tell you children, Easter only comes once a year; but flowers last all Summer, and just keep on coming. Yesterday, we stopped at a farm house to keep out of the rain. Mrs. Nelson had an old mother duck, and ten little ducks; and she declared they would drown if they stayed out in the rain. So, out she went hunting for the ducks, and after hunting an hour she found old mother duck and her little ducks swimming in a big pond of water in a pasture near the house. The feathers are so thick and close on a duck that they can stay in the water all day and not get wet, and their feet are so wide that they can push themselves along through the water like so many little boats.

Love, Grandpa.

 

Chickens that lay Easter eggs? 

 

 Now you can see what the goose and the rooster saw in the barnyard by connecting the dots...

Connect the dots by counting 1, 2, 3...44.

Easter Index/ Previous Page/ Next Page

"The Doll Party" letter from grandpa

Dear Children,

       Papa's letter came this morning. I was disappointed in his dog story. I don't suppose  he had a dog when he was a boy, as he had nothing to say about ever having been rabbit hunting when he was young; he surely was a boy, even if it was a long time ago.

       If he ever went rabbit hunting he ought to remember all about it. Your Papa could not have been a very big boy or very old when he was born, else he would know more about dogs, or perhaps, he lived in one of the big towns, about which I am going to write you, sometime, where dogs were not allowed to stay.

       Now, there are about as many little girls in the world as there are little boys, at any rate a good little girl is better than a half dozen bad boys. I am going to write something about dolls. I do not know how many little dollies there are in the world, but there are a great many. I don't know all about how dolls are made, still I do know that they are made, and made mostly for children. Of course, I mean little girls, and I have never met a little girl in all this great big round world but who at some time or other had a little dolly. I wish I could tell you about all the different kind of dolls I have seen, and there are so many pretty names for dolls. Little girls have about as many names for dollies as boys have names for their dogs. You should never give a doll more than one name. Dolls do not know much about names, anyhow, even a short name will in most cases last as long as a dolly does.

       I must tell you about a doll party that your Mama gave when she was a little girl. A great many invitations were sent out; in fact, every little girl in the village was invited, and every little girl came bringing with her one or more dolls. A doll supper was prepared, and, although nearly every dolly came with a new bib or apron of some kind on, not a dolly opened its mouth, and I am going to let you guess who ate the nuts and figs and raisins and other good things. At this doll party, there were many little childish games played, and after supper the dolls were arranged for some kind of services, so they finally agreed to have a doll meeting, and the dollies were seated in chairs, a pulpit was put in shape, made up of some paper boxes; but who would preach? It did not seem well to have a lady doll for a preacher, so a little boy who chanced to happen in, bethought himself that he could supply the needed minister. So, he presented the party the use of his Jumping Jack. "This," said one little girl, "will be just the thing," and they all shouted, "That's all right;" but the Jumping Jack would neither stand up nor lay down, would not sit cross-legged nor look sad; so after several vain efforts on the part of the children to have a church meeting for their dolls, one little girl thoughtfully said: "Girls, this awkward Jack will not do for a preacher for our little dollies, but I‚'ll tell you what we can do - we can make an Evangelist out of him."

       I don't know yet what I am going to write about next time, as much will depend on how Grandma's corns are getting along, and whether she has good luck with her mince pies.

Love, Grandpa.

How to make a jumping jack doll with your grandchild...

A letter about a new dog

Dear Children,

       I am going to tell you something about our new dog. We call him new, because he is not old. I expect forty days would cover all the time he has lived. So far he has had no birthday. I once heard of a great dog party in a great city. There were one hundred and twenty dogs present, and the dinner cost somebody four dollars for each little doggie, and while this dinner was going on on the inside there was a number of Grandchildren in the street crying for bread.

       I don't know much about dog parties, still I remember when your Mama lived at home, she never gave any more birthday parties after she was twenty-six years old.

       You know, Children, that dogs, like people, are not all alike. They are not all the same size or same shape or same color.

       Our dog looks like a little bear, only he is not a bear. He is about the color of a ginger cake, but he is not a ginger cake; in the face he has fur that is a bit darker.

       Our dog is about four inches long, six inches wide; his tail is fully seven inches long and leans over against his back.

       Our dog is a good little boy when allowed to do as he pleases, except when he is shut up in the dog house, and then he talks all kinds of dog talk; but I don't understand a word he says. When he barks I think he is laughing, and when he wags his tail, then he is trying to tell that he is hungry.

       I know some Grandchildren that always cry when they want something to eat. Our dog is not as large as a lion, still, he is bigger than a small cat. We call him all kinds of pet names; so one day Grandma said we must call him some real sure name, and she named him Disc. At first I did not like the name; but she said she got the record from our new graphophone, and, I suppose, now, that Disc will be in tune as long as the Record lasts. Mr. Benson says Disc is one-half Shepherd, but could not say what the other half was, so I just made up my mind that the other half was dog.

       Our dog came sixty miles in a car; was in the express office all night without a bite of anything to eat, not even a drink of cold water. The express man said the dog cried all night, and while little doggie was crying, the man was acting doggedly mean, as he was still growling the next morning.

       I asked him how he would like to be shut up in an empty box all night, and nothing to eat or drink. I hope every good little boy in the world has a good dog. I would rather all my Grandchildren would play with good dogs than bad boys.

       Now, when your Papa writes, have him tell all about your dog, as I am writing letters to a great many Grandchildren, and I want to tell them all about your dog.

Love, Grandpa.

Grandma and Grandpa named their new dog, "Disc" after their new graphophone.

Tea at Grandma's

Tea at Grandma's

When I go to my Grandma's house, she plays I'm

company,

And takes my wraps with such an air and says:

"You'll stay to tea?"

She gets out her best silver, then-great-Grandma

Winslow's plate-

And all her pretty china, and we eat in grandest

state.

But when I'm done, although she's made for me

all that to-do,

She says: "There childie, run along, so Big Dark

won't catch you."

Cuddle Time

Cuddle Time

Each morning, soon as I'm awake,

Before my prayer is said,

Or 'fore I'm ever dressed at all,

I climb in Grandma's bed.

I put my arms about her neck,

She puts her arms 'round me;

And I just lie so comfy there,

While Grandma cuddles me.

She talks to me so soft and low,

About this "clean, new day";

And what I'd ought to put in it.

Of study, work and play.

It really is the queerest thing,

But true as true can be;

It's easy to be good all day,

'Cause Grandma cuddled me.

Grandma's Aprons

Grandma's Aprons

Of mornings, till her work is clone,

She wears a great big gingham one.

It covers her from waist to shoe,

And if she ever had to do

Without it, 'xpect she'd sigh and say,

"I really cannot work to-day."

But after-noons, when work is done,

She wears a nice white starchy one,

With cunning little bows in place,

Or maybe it's all trimmed in lace.

She looks so sweet in this, I say,

"My ! but you're all fixed up to-day."

I wonder, when I look at her,

Which of the aprons I prefer.

The white one is so nice and neat.

The gingham means good things to eat.

But ask me, and I'd likely say,

"I love her most dressed either way."

When Grandma Sews

When Grandma Sews

My Grandma sews so very well;

She makes her stitches small and straight.

While mine look most like

turkey-tracks

(But then,, of course, I'm

only eight).

My Grandma's thread don't crinkle up;

It's always smooth and nice like this-----------

She often has to help

with mine,

But makes me pay

her with a kiss.

My Grandma keeps her

pretty box

So neat it's ever a de-

light,

While things in mine get

tossed about

Until it is a perfect

sight.

My Grandma sews with glasses on;

I manage well enough without.

If seeing were the whole of it,

I'd learn to sew with ease, no doubt.

When Grandma sews her

patch-work blocks,

She fits her pieces neat

and true,

But let me try howe'er so

hard,

This is the best that I

can do.

But Grandma pats me on the cheek,

And tries to cheer me all she can,

And says, "My dear, how well you sew

I'm really proud of little Nan."

Retrospect

Retrospect

It's a long, well-beaten track
That she traces - looking back.
Thorns and stones beset the way;
Clouds obscured each sunny day;
Toil was hers, and stern affray,
Looking back!

Pain she sees, and sorrow's rack
Through a tear-mist - looking back.
Joy, she says, was there as well;
Peace beyond what tongue can tell
Love thanksgivings must impel,
Looking back !

Not a moment did she lack,
Testifies she - looking back,
Grace to meet her every need;
Manna rich her soul to feed,
Far, she says, beyond her meed,
Looking back !

Peace, we know, she'll never lack,
As we watch her looking back.
Peace that glorifies her brow,
Hovers o'er her dear lips now,
Till we wonder why and how,
Looking back!

The Old Willow Basket

The Old Willow Basket

O, poets have sung of the old oaken bucket.
Like-wise of the bootjack that hung on the wall.
My lyre I'm attuning to sing of a treasure
To my humble notion surpassing them all.
I speak of the basket my Grandmother cherished.
And gladly I offer this tribute of praise
To the dear willow basket, quaint willow basket.
The old willow basket of Grandmother's days.

At home it held proudly her mending and knitting.
Her great balls of worsted and gay colored yarns.
Her needles and thread, and her latest quilt piecing.
And even the stockings awaiting her darns.
In short, a receptacle, useful and handy,
Revealing her neat and industrious ways,
Was that blessed old basket, that queer old basket.
That old willow basket of Grandmother's days.

When calling she came how we hurried to meet her !
With whoops of delight the old basket we'd hail.
We knew that a store there of lovely surprises
Its uplifted lid would reveal without fail,
O, still I can smell the rare odors that greeted
Our senses from sweet-meats and apples in store
In that old willow basket, rare willow basket.
Entrancing old basket that Grandmother bore.

But now she is gone, as an heir-loom it's left us,
A cherished reminder of old-fashioned days.
O me! while we praise, admire and adore them,
I fear we've not copied her dear, thrifty ways.
But close in our memory fore'er we'll enshrine it,
Our voices forever in homage we'll raise
To that dear willow basket, precious old basket
That hallowed old basket of Grandmother's days.

Grandma's Lullaby

Grandma's Lullaby

Bright-eyed stars are peeping
'Tween the cloudlets white;
Calling to the sleepy earth,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!
Tired little flowers
Nod their drowsy heads,
Chicky-bids and birdies, too,
Long since sought their beds.
All the world is sleepy,
Swathed in moonlight white;
Winds are crooning soft and low,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!

Sweetly sleep, my dear one,
Watched by angels bright;
Fear shall not disturb thy rest,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!
Darkness hovers o'er thee,
Soon will come the light;
Breezes waft sweet dreams to thee,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!

When Grandma Punished Me

When Grandma Punished Me

One time out at my Grandma's house
I got a naughty spell.
And Grandma looked so kind o' s'prised,
And said: '"Louise! well! well!
That doesn't seem like you at all.
Whatever shall I do?
So bad you've been I really think
I'll have to punish you.

Now just you stand behind that door
Till you can better be."
"It tires me so to stand," I said.
"And hurts me in the knee." 

"Try sitting then. Right here's a place.
Beside that window there.
Where you can have the morning sun.
And plenty of good air."

"I hate to sit schrunched up." I cried.
"Why, Grandma, now you know
That every single time I sit.
It always cramps me so!"
"What then," she frowned, "for well you know
That spanking I won't try:
I don't believe in it at all."
"No, ma'am," I said, "nor I."

"Dear me! Dear me!" poor Grandma sighed.
"That there should come to me
So sad a time as this when I
My duty cannot see!"
I hugged her hard. "Poor thing," I cried,
"I truly pity you.
I mustn't worry you like this:
I'll tell you what to do!

Just put me out there 'neath the tree,
Upon that grassy spot;
With cookies three, and make me eat.
If I want them or not."
And grandma laughed and looked relieved,
And brought the cooky pan.
And said: "I'm glad you thought of that,
It is the very plan!"

Loneliness

Loneliness

Grandma's gone a-visitin',
And O, my dearie me!
I never really knew before,
How lonesome I could be.

I mope and mope around the house,
And do not care to play;
And nothing seems to be just right,
Since Grandma's gone away.

I miss her apron from it's nail
Her bible from the shelf;
But most of all I think I miss,
Just dear Grandma herself.

Grandma's Prayer

Grandma's Prayer

Each evening when I say my prayer,
I kneel at Grandma's knee;
And Grandma always bows her head,
And folds her hands like me.
I thank Him for his loving care,
As all dear children should:
And ask Him for His tender grace,
To help me to be good.
And Oh. He hears my prayer I know.
And keeps from me each harmful foe.

Then Grandma says a little prayer,
As soon as I am through;
I fold my hands and bow my head,
And try to join in too.
And Oh, the words seem brimming full
Of faith and love most sweet,
Although it is a simple prayer.
And easy to repeat.
Just: "Father, guard me through the nigh'
And keep me safe 'till morning light."

Now Grandma prays, I'm very sure,
A dozen times a day;
I often linger near her door.
To hear what she might say.
She asks Him for enough of strength
To help her bear her load:
And pleads that He will hold her hand,
As she toils on the road.
And that He hears and gives her grace,
We know it by her peaceful face.

But Oh, I think the sweetest prayer
I ever heard her pray.
Is that brief one she says with me.
At closing of the day.
It seems to me 'tis good enough
To whisper when you die;
And all the angels bright would bend
To listen from the sky,
To "Father guard me through the night,
And keep me safe 'till morning light."