The Dear, Worn Hand

1895

Few things are capable of touching one with a deeper sense of pathos than the shrunken, blue veined hand of one who is near and dear. Nothing brings a sharper pang of foreboding and a harder lump in the throat than the first time it strikes us that the gentle hand that soothed our childish pains and griefs and has gladly worn away its softness and beauty in our service is thin and withered, with purple veins that stand out like whipcords when it lies at rest. Such a hand ought to look more beautiful to those for whom it has toiled, whose suffering it has charmed away, than the fairest hand ever modeled by a sculptor. — Philadelphia Press.


She Felt Hurt.

Mrs. Wibble — I found my cook in the kitchen today crying because she had broken one of my choicest pitchers.
Mrs. Wabble — Was she so sorry?
Mrs. Wibble — Oh, yes! It fell on her foot. — New York Sun.

Daughter Can Save Mother

1915

There Are Many Little Pleasures Girl Can Give Her Parents — Don't Talk Disrespectfully

There is so much a daughter can do for her mother that it is hard to know where to begin. Remember, girls, that all your lives your mothers have been sacrificing themselves for you. Now you have a chance to reverse things.

Your shoulders are young and strong; help lift the burden a little from the tired shoulders that have borne it so long. Let mother see that you appreciate all that she has done for you. Take the heaviest part of the housework off her hands. Make her stay in bed in the morning while you get the breakfast. Send her out to enjoy herself while you look after the children.

Of course you cannot do this every day, but you can do your share of it.

If you are a business girl you cannot do much of this sort of thing, but there are many little pleasures you can give her.

Something pretty to wear will please her. She likes pretty things as well as you do. Confide in her and tell her your hopes and ambitions. She is better than all the girl friends in the world and will never tell your secrets.

The trouble about mothers is, that we get so used to them that we don't half appreciate them until we lose them. Then quickly enough we realize what all that divine care and tenderness meant. No matter how much you do, you can't begin to return all they have done for you, but do the best you can. A little love and petting is always appreciated by mothers; try it with yours and see if she does not thrive under it.

As for the girls who talk and act disrespectfully toward their mothers, for them no criticism is too harsh. If only they knew what outsiders think of it I believe they would stop it.

The prettiest girl in the world is absolutely devoid of charm if she is impertinent to her mother.

Begin today, girls, and save your mothers all the worries you can; show them all the consideration you can, and give them all the love you can. — Selected.

The Lullaby Song Mother Used To Sing

1911

The Lullaby Song

Some time ago a western contemporary gave utterance to this practical, prosaic and unemotional declaration: "Another very pretty sentiment that should be exploded is the lullaby song. Did your mother rock you to sleep and sing while doing it, and you recall the song? As a rule, a woman has so many children they are hustled off to bed without being rocked, and what mother ever knew a lullaby from start to finish?"

There are some things that are too sacred for alleged humor or wit and the above is an instance in point, as there are many who will not accept it as either, for as observed by an exchange there are those whose years have exiled them to dreamland, who can call up tender recollections of childhood and remember the songs that mother used to sing.

There are plenty of old men living who had mothers who could sing in low, tender, though uncultivated, tones the lullaby song, and its melody is still enshrined in the heart and thrills in memory. The old man of German stock especially can remember the simple folk song of the Fatherland that his mother sang above his cradle. Long ago its music came from over the sea, and at last has incorporated in the runic rhymes the old colored nurse crooned or warbled to woo sleep to infantile eyelids.

It may be that in later years we have been privileged to hear the great voices of the day. But all their grand arias never so touched our hearts as when in an encore they gave us a melody that had been dedicated to babyland and which thousands of mothers had sung to the cradle's rocker beating time.

It is strange what a hold these simple melodies of childhood retain in a life, however long, however filled with changes and vicissitude. There is something in their joys though they be ever so fleeting, that remains indelible. Every now and then, in quiet hours, the heart will hark back over the intervening years and remember it with reverence. And who will say that we are not better men and women for such moments of reflection, even though they do bring back the sound of voices that have long been silent, and the touch of hands that are dust?

And can you recall the song? Of course! You hear the familiar notes again in the midst of other surroundings, and instantly the scene is changed about you. You are a child again, just for a moment, and you look up, as you did in days gone by, into a face you love — oh, it may be aged and wrinkled and homely now, but it's still to you the sweetest face in the world.

You look again into eyes that are eloquent with a mother's unspeakable love — the purest, sweetest, holiest feeling the human heart may know. You feel again the comforting presence of her who guided your first uncertain footsteps, who heard you lisp your first little words, and whose tender solicitude for you has never ceased in all these years.

Can you recall the song? A generation may have passed since you heard it. Perhaps, in the corner of some quiet churchyard the singer lies asleep. Years and experience may have come upon you since you heard it last from her dear lips. Scenes may have changed, and your feet have wandered far since then; but never, never have you forgotten.

Life has brought you discords, but they can't erase it. After it may have come the other songs of other days. but the echo of those earlier ones is with you always. Childhood can never die.

No, do not tell us that the lullabies have gone out of fashion, after all these ages in which they have been sung over cradle and couch, in hovel and palace, and been remembered by millions in whose hearts remained an echo and a light of other days. The childhood that never heard a mother's lullaby is not apt to have a manhood of wholesome sentiment or that reverence for womankind which ennobles the heart and uplifts the soul.

—The Mansfield News, Mansfield, Ohio, Feb. 28, 1911, p. 6.

Mother Love (poetry)

1888

Mother Love

Ah, babe, with feet so soft and pink,
How oft does mother sadly think
That you will walk, perchance may fall
On life's rough path, and to your call
Among the crowd — but mother's hand
Will raise you, soothe and help you stand.

Those baby feet, those little toes,
To tread a path that no one knows;
If mother only could — and knew,
She'd tread the path ahead of you,
And smooth it to the very end,
Till Heav'n and earth together blend.

Ah, babe, with feet now held and press'd,
To think that you have never guessed
That when your feet are aching sore,
A mother's heart is hurt much more,
And when the path's so rough to trod,
A mother knows they lead to God.

Ah, babe, with feet now soft and warm,
Full soon to meet life's calm and storm,
And 'mid the struggle not to know
That mother never'll let you go
From out her heart — until the call,
Then yields to God her child — her all.

—Alice S. Webber, in Good Housekeeping.

Grandmas

1920

Little boys and girls know that grandmas have the most comfortable laps of all the women in the world. And it is sad to think that some little boys and girls have never known what it means to "go down to grandma's house."

Grandma's house, sitting way-back in the yard, with the old-fashioned flower garden of hollyhocks and lavender, sweet peas and forget-me-nots, geraniums, pink and red, and the sweet-scented verbenas and sweet Williams, all so carefully tended. Grandma's house, where the cookie crock was never empty, where the attic was full of old books, old clothes and mystery. Grandma's house, where the yard was overgrown with untrimmed trees and lilac bushes, in which redbirds nested in the summer and jaybirds fought in the winter. Grandma and grandma's home are great institutions.

Grandma, thin and smiling, or jolly and fat, it was all the same. At the door to greet one when he arrived; there to bid him come again when he left, loaded down with childish treasures. When grandma laughed she shook, and so others laughed with her, too. What a wonderful, peaceful face, what beautiful, tapering fingers, grandma had!

—Appleton Post-Crescent, Appleton, Wisconsin, Feb. 9, 1920, p. 4.

Note: "Tapering fingers" is "taping fingers" in the original article. I can't find a definition for "taping" that would seem to fit. But peaceful and tapering sounds like the delicate, gentle image the author was going for there at the end.

What is Expected of a Mother?

1919--

WHAT IS EXPECTED OF A MOTHER

In thinking over what is expected of the average woman who becomes a housekeeper, wife, and mother, it occurs to a recent writer that she must be master of all the arts and sciences in order to properly fit her position. Her education, to be complete, must be perfect along many lines.

She must be entertaining and accomplished, to charm her husband and her husband's friends; she must be a well-rounded housekeeper, understand cooking thoroughly, else how can she direct the energies of her domestic in that line?

She must be well acquainted with the sanitary code, to see that her house is well ventilated, properly heated, and the plumbing in good condition; must know how to attend to the marketing and general buying, so that sufficient economy may be practiced; must make all her own calls, and her husband's as well, to keep in touch with her social duties; her knowledge of sewing must be such as to keep the family mending done, if not to fashion the clothes; then, when the children come, she must be a trained kindergartner, and then, later on, she must remember all she ever learned at school or college, so as not to be put to shame by the girl or boy of the twentieth century, while at the same time she must be young again to enter into their joys and sentiments, and see that their companions are what they should be, and when sickness comes a mother is expected to be a trained nurse, ready to be up day and night, taking the temperature, giving the medicine.

--Ironwood Daily Globe, Ironwood, Michigan, November 20, 1919, page 10.