The Weber Literary Journal An Old Album By Helen Wilson HAVE often wondered what makes an old album such a treasure, and why so many people have one. A few days ago, more to satisfy my curiosity than for any other reason, I picked up our old album and began idly to turn the pages in search of something interesting. On the front page is a large picture of Grandma and Grandpa on their wedding day. How queer they look! Grandpa's hair, even in the picture, reeks with hair oil, and Grandma's is mountainous with the immense rolls and puffs favored in her day. And their clothes! Grandpa's new clothes are wrinkle-less unto cardboard stiffness, while Grandma, who is seated, seems plumped in an ocean of frilled, beruffled muslin. His hand is placed on her shoulder in a proprietary way, while the curve of his jaw bespeaks "to have and to hold". How the situation is reversed today! Grandad's face now wears that timid, half-apologetic look so common to his kind. His hair has that comfortable look of having been recently rumpled by baby hands, and his clothes are never pressed; but then, one can always sit on his lap. Grandma's immense puffs have deteriorated into a conservative knot on the back of her head, while her white apron has that homey look connected with raisin pie and cookies. Oh grandparents, what blessings you are! What will we ever do without you when you have to go? From sad musings over grandparents my mind reverted to mirth on glimpsing the next picture. Can this be my father? Why, he is what we call "cute" today. With a flower in his button-hole and a lady-killing air, he certainly must have just about broken my mother's heart. The picture below that one another of father is still more laughable. It was taken while he was on his mission to Germany. It shows him with a small baby in his right arm and a large milk bottle in the opposite hand. Both missionary and baby are evidently enjoying the situation; my father's face looks pleasant and mischievous, and 12 The Weber Literary Journal the baby looks equally contented. I wonder if he felt so happy when I came along to disturb his night's rest. The midnight parades to which I forced him probably weren't very pleasant to either one of us. If a kodak could have caught us then, I doubt not that it would be amusing to note the contrast in expressions. A picture of my great-aunt follows. This is a snap taken after a runaway accident in which both her arms had been broken. She is sitting in a chair with a board across the front so as to rest her arms. I remember how the doctor condoled with her after the accident, and how she said, "Oh well it isn't so bad, I might'a had my neck broke." Aunt Ann always was a cheerful, kindly soul, and she was never lacking in tenderness and love for everyone. When I had my arm broken it was she who arranged me in the most comfortable positions, and her custards and pies were all that made life worth living. Next to Aunt Ann is the picture of an open-mouthed, bald-headed, cherubic faced youngster my fashionable cousin that has just now graduated from college. Goodness, you never can tell what innocent babies will grow into, can you? Opposite is the picture of two more of my foppish cousins. One has a pointed lace collar over his coat, and both wear ties as big as their respective heads. I'd like to show this picture to Harry and Dick. Their fastidiously-tied cravats would blush at a mere glimpse of the striped monstrosities in the picture. Next in the album is a tintype of Mother standing at a rustic gate. She looks very cool and sweet, dangling her leghorn hat. She looks as if she had gone for the cows, and pausing to think some romantic thought, (about father, probably) had forgotten her charges, and left them to come home alone. That isn't the way with me, I can tell you. When I go for the cows I don't have time to dangle my hat and lean on rustic gates. It's a long scratchy run after them, and I'm not cool and sweet when I finally get them, either. I turned the leaf. There smiling up at me is a naked baby lying on a sheepskin. How parents can ever think children look pretty with nothing on them is more than I can understand. It took a long look to convince me that it was my own 13