I have learned not to carry silver toilet articles in a traveling bag. I have a set of light weight celluloid ones which go with me on all journeys, thereby making my bag much lighter. E.S.
And think of all the polishing you won't have to do.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Scary old household hint. Using gasoline to clean YIKES!!!!
Don't try this at home!!! To be done with the accompanying song, "Stairway to Heaven"
Three gallons of gasoline at seventeen cents a gallon, in my washing machine, cleaned perfectly three entire costumes and two waists for which the cleaner would have charged 1.50 each. The washer was manipulated in the usual way, and the garments run through the wringer, thus doing no injury to the hands, my chief objection to the use of gasoline. L.B.W.
All she was worried about was injury to her hands?????
Three gallons of gasoline at seventeen cents a gallon, in my washing machine, cleaned perfectly three entire costumes and two waists for which the cleaner would have charged 1.50 each. The washer was manipulated in the usual way, and the garments run through the wringer, thus doing no injury to the hands, my chief objection to the use of gasoline. L.B.W.
All she was worried about was injury to her hands?????
Peter Pringle Emma C. Dowd
Peter Pringle cannot read,
Peter Pringle cannot write;
But Peter Pringle he can eat.
And that is Peter's chief delight.
For breakfast he has mush and milk,
With apples, maybe, on the sly;
His luncheon it is just the same,
With odds and ends of cake and pie.
Peter Pringle plays no games
Peter Pringle has no toys,
Peter Pringle cannot toak;
But he can make a lot of noise,
Peter Pringle cannot read,
But Peter doesn't care a fig
As long a she can eat and eat,
For Peter Pringle is a pig.
Peter Pringle cannot write;
But Peter Pringle he can eat.
And that is Peter's chief delight.
For breakfast he has mush and milk,
With apples, maybe, on the sly;
His luncheon it is just the same,
With odds and ends of cake and pie.
Peter Pringle plays no games
Peter Pringle has no toys,
Peter Pringle cannot toak;
But he can make a lot of noise,
Peter Pringle cannot read,
But Peter doesn't care a fig
As long a she can eat and eat,
For Peter Pringle is a pig.
Lines Alice O. Cobb
Oh, for that charity,
That in humanity
Sees God in every face,
Though bare of any grace.
Oh, for that gentleness
Which still in tenderness
Knows that though sometimes wrong
All souls to God belong
Give me an humble maind.
Help me, O Lord, to find
They work in all mankind,
Loving and true.
Give me that gentleness
Which still in tenderness
Seeks for the lovliness
Hidden from view.
That in humanity
Sees God in every face,
Though bare of any grace.
Oh, for that gentleness
Which still in tenderness
Knows that though sometimes wrong
All souls to God belong
Give me an humble maind.
Help me, O Lord, to find
They work in all mankind,
Loving and true.
Give me that gentleness
Which still in tenderness
Seeks for the lovliness
Hidden from view.
A Troublesom Doll-Doris Webb
Dolly's lost her arms and legs--
Careless thing to do!
Dolly's gone and lost her head,
Lost her body, too.
Nothing but her wig is left
On the nursery shelf,
Oh, but I've told her lots of times
Not to lose herself!
Dolly never, never, does
Anything she's told;
Have to scold her--when I find
Anything to scold!
Careless thing to do!
Dolly's gone and lost her head,
Lost her body, too.
Nothing but her wig is left
On the nursery shelf,
Oh, but I've told her lots of times
Not to lose herself!
Dolly never, never, does
Anything she's told;
Have to scold her--when I find
Anything to scold!
Moonlight--Edith Livingston Smith
Wonderful Mon! could I put into words
what you say to my heart from the
sky,
I would spell out God's name and the
strength of Man's flame in the
light of Eternity;
The silence of flowers, dew-drenched in
the thicket, peace of the green
trees above--
Moon of night's history, tell me the mys-
tory of the heart's yearning for
love.
Mystical Moon, could I sing into song
what you breathe to my soul from the sky,
Life had the pow'r of each unknown
hour God means us to live by
and by.
what you say to my heart from the
sky,
I would spell out God's name and the
strength of Man's flame in the
light of Eternity;
The silence of flowers, dew-drenched in
the thicket, peace of the green
trees above--
Moon of night's history, tell me the mys-
tory of the heart's yearning for
love.
Mystical Moon, could I sing into song
what you breathe to my soul from the sky,
Life had the pow'r of each unknown
hour God means us to live by
and by.
The Babe at Arms-F. Virtine Frost
A gallant soldier four years old
Was longing for the fray,
And yet the cruel hand of fate
Seemed always in the way.
He longed to mount a foaming steed
And gallop off to war.
To slaughter foemen with his sword--
Pray, what are tin swords for?
His mother said, and smiled,
"Why, what a notion, child!?
His mother never seemed to see
How old her boy had grown,
Although she left him in the dark
To go to sleep alone;
All wide awake he used to lie
And think, and think indeed,
About a surging battleline,
About a gallant steed.
His mother bent down near,
"Now go to sleep, my dear".
All staring wide awake he lay
And watched for his steed to com;
He strained his ears for the cannon peel,
The best of the sturdy drum;
He rode away on his rocking-horse,
Away-away-away-
He left his mother far behind.
This soldier brave and gay.
His mother took a peep:
"The baby's fast asleep!"
Was longing for the fray,
And yet the cruel hand of fate
Seemed always in the way.
He longed to mount a foaming steed
And gallop off to war.
To slaughter foemen with his sword--
Pray, what are tin swords for?
His mother said, and smiled,
"Why, what a notion, child!?
His mother never seemed to see
How old her boy had grown,
Although she left him in the dark
To go to sleep alone;
All wide awake he used to lie
And think, and think indeed,
About a surging battleline,
About a gallant steed.
His mother bent down near,
"Now go to sleep, my dear".
All staring wide awake he lay
And watched for his steed to com;
He strained his ears for the cannon peel,
The best of the sturdy drum;
He rode away on his rocking-horse,
Away-away-away-
He left his mother far behind.
This soldier brave and gay.
His mother took a peep:
"The baby's fast asleep!"
The Wigwam, by Nellie W. Hale
This one will remind you of days gone by, for those of us who played outdoors and spontaneously without "play dates"
There was a fascinating tent
Where children loved to play
At "Indians" and other things
Most every sunny day.
There were two busy little "squaws"
That in the tent would stay
While all the painted "warrior"
Were fighting far away.
And sometimes there would pass a band
Of hostile Indians by,
Then down the flapping sides would come
As in the tent they'd fly.
And dollies, kitties, puppies, all
Must keep so very still
Until the frightful "enemy"
Had swiftly crossed the hill.
These squaws had a "divining stick"
To throw up on the air;
Whichever way it pointed quick
The warriors were there.
And plainly could they bear them talk
By "wireless telegraph."
And when they learned that they were well,
These merry squaws would laugh.
Now, if you ever pass that way,
Be sure to stop and look
For "Temmymund" and "Watawa"
And little "Chuckskook."
There was a fascinating tent
Where children loved to play
At "Indians" and other things
Most every sunny day.
There were two busy little "squaws"
That in the tent would stay
While all the painted "warrior"
Were fighting far away.
And sometimes there would pass a band
Of hostile Indians by,
Then down the flapping sides would come
As in the tent they'd fly.
And dollies, kitties, puppies, all
Must keep so very still
Until the frightful "enemy"
Had swiftly crossed the hill.
These squaws had a "divining stick"
To throw up on the air;
Whichever way it pointed quick
The warriors were there.
And plainly could they bear them talk
By "wireless telegraph."
And when they learned that they were well,
These merry squaws would laugh.
Now, if you ever pass that way,
Be sure to stop and look
For "Temmymund" and "Watawa"
And little "Chuckskook."
Dorothea
Again from Good Housekeeping:
Dorothea
Weave her cradle, make it fair,
When from realms of upper air
Angels wing their way to bring her;
Make it meet and fair to swing her.
Laid with breath of violet
And with odored mignonoette,
Be the linen to enfold her
When our raptured arms shall hold her.
Fine as web o fgossamer
That the lightest breath might stir,
Be her robings when we christen
While the angels bend to listen.
When the fringed eyelids press,
O'er the twin stars' lovliness.
Be the pillow for her dreaming
Soft as floated silkweed seeming.
As her dowry from above,
She will bring us joy and love,
And will find her portion after,
Waiting here, of tears an laughter.
Dorothea
Weave her cradle, make it fair,
When from realms of upper air
Angels wing their way to bring her;
Make it meet and fair to swing her.
Laid with breath of violet
And with odored mignonoette,
Be the linen to enfold her
When our raptured arms shall hold her.
Fine as web o fgossamer
That the lightest breath might stir,
Be her robings when we christen
While the angels bend to listen.
When the fringed eyelids press,
O'er the twin stars' lovliness.
Be the pillow for her dreaming
Soft as floated silkweed seeming.
As her dowry from above,
She will bring us joy and love,
And will find her portion after,
Waiting here, of tears an laughter.
Aboard with Lavinia
Is this the Bride? Nay, say not so!
It was-but that was years ago--
At least 'twas two,
And that will do
To place her in the matron list,
Persuasively she doth insist.
And who would dare
Deny so fair
An advocate of woman's rights,
Whose gentle rule her home delights?
And now that home is left behind,
Oh Father Neptune, pray be kind!
No mal de mer,
We beg, for her.
All wonderful is all she sees--
The golf on deck, the steward's fees,
The captain's post
As social host,
The luxury on every side--
No jot escapes our matron-bride.
the voyage is o'er and Naples lies
To be explored with wondering eyes.
Oh classic ground,
To so impound
So much of smell her alien nose
Perforce turns up as forth she goes!
Oh classic land,
On every hand
To careless shock, without offense,
Her every neat, housewifely sense!
Her glass of goat's milk at the door
From nature's font is drawn, and o'er
The way there swings
In festooned strings,
No family wash hung out to dry
But macaroni, dust and fly.
And in the street
Doth gossip greet
At every turn, and laugh and fest,
For thus does Naples greet her guest.
It was-but that was years ago--
At least 'twas two,
And that will do
To place her in the matron list,
Persuasively she doth insist.
And who would dare
Deny so fair
An advocate of woman's rights,
Whose gentle rule her home delights?
And now that home is left behind,
Oh Father Neptune, pray be kind!
No mal de mer,
We beg, for her.
All wonderful is all she sees--
The golf on deck, the steward's fees,
The captain's post
As social host,
The luxury on every side--
No jot escapes our matron-bride.
the voyage is o'er and Naples lies
To be explored with wondering eyes.
Oh classic ground,
To so impound
So much of smell her alien nose
Perforce turns up as forth she goes!
Oh classic land,
On every hand
To careless shock, without offense,
Her every neat, housewifely sense!
Her glass of goat's milk at the door
From nature's font is drawn, and o'er
The way there swings
In festooned strings,
No family wash hung out to dry
But macaroni, dust and fly.
And in the street
Doth gossip greet
At every turn, and laugh and fest,
For thus does Naples greet her guest.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)