What sort of a waist has the grandmother who comes in from the
country to take care of you through a typhoid fever?
When nine o'clock comes, she drives the young ladies off to bed. She
may not speak it out, but she thinks, "trash! trash! Oh, do get out
of my way, and lie down carefully on a soft couch, where you can
rest, or I shall soon have you too on my hands."
Has she one of these wasp-waists? No indeed; hers is a jolly one!
Who ever saw a happy, helpful grandmother with an hour-glass waist?
Is a grandmother full of tickle? Can she join with the young people
in laughter and sports? Can she? Then I know, without seeing her,
the style of her form.
You see all the tickle comes from that part of the body.
The conditions of the organs within that part of the body known as
the waist, decide whether you shall be happy or unhappy; jolly or
blue. One condition, and the most important one, is that those vital
organs shall have room to work in. If you squeeze them, you squeeze
and strangle all the jolly in you.
Tie a cord about a child's arms and legs, and then say, "Now, my
dear, you may run and play."
Ah, I used to know a grandmother, and, although she has been among
the angels thirty years or more, I can't think of her even now,
without a sigh of regret that she could not have lived forever in
this world, she was such a joy to us all.
She is happier in heaven, I suppose, but I don't see how she could
be happier anywhere, than she used to be here.
When her loving, laughing face appeared at the door, how we small
chaps did tickle and squirm all over. But I must stop writing of
her, or I shall have to lay down my pen. Never have I seen a girl of
eighteen who was half so lovely.
But let me think; why did I bring forward this treasure of my heart?
Oh, I remember; it was to speak of her waist. How we used to laugh
at her shape. We insisted that she was bigger around the waist than
anywhere else.
"Well, perhaps so, boys, but there is where all my jolly comes from.
Look at your little slender things, they aint jolly; they can't
laugh; they only give little giggles."
Ah, the dear, beautiful, blessed soul! What a jolly angel she must
make. Oh, I do hope, if I ever reach there, I may be a little angel,
so that she can take me into her arms, and press me into her warm,
loving bosom just as she used to. When I hear her laugh I am sure I
shall feel at home, no matter how grand and dazzling the great White
Throne may be.