Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1851-01-03
Iron the Olive Branch.
THANKSGIVING DAY:
A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.
BY z. A. puR1YAGE.

BY F. A.
At five o'clock on Thanksgiving NOR
ming, deacon Wilson arose, as was his
wont. No holiday made any change in
his hours. Yet now he no longer sprang
from his bed with the alacrity which
changed duty into pleasure he rose be-
cause imperious necessity commanded it.
There were the cattle to be fed and wa
tered, and the poultry to receive the
same attention, and there was, moreover,
a fire to be made in the huge old kitch-
en- fireplace. For the deacon had now
no servant or helper, and in the grey
winter Of his life, the whole burthen of
managing his place had fallen on his
shoulders. Fortunately they were broad
and sirong-fortunately his constitution
was good, his spirits elastic, and his piety
sincere, for his burthens and trials were
indeed weighty. He had been compar-
atively rich-he was now in embarras-
sed circumstances. He had looked for
ward TO the time when a son should re-
lieve him of the most laborious of his tolls,
while a daughter performed the same
kind office for his wife. Both had been
disappointed-and now the old couple
were the solitary tenants of that lone
New England farmhouse.
The deacon went mechanically about
his morning labors he drove the cattle
TO the water-tank he supplied them with
fresh fodder, and after seeing that they
were comfortable, returned TO the old
kitchen. Ry this time the good wife had
prepared a breakfast, and a genial fire of
walnut was diffusing its heat through the
apartment.
The old couple sat down to breakfast,
after a blessing by the farmer, but the
meal passed in silence. 1t was followed
by a %fervent prayer ant the reading of a
portion ofthe Scripture. After this, they
adjourned to the sitting-room, where a
good fire was burning, and where the old
dame assumed her knitting, one Of those
incomprehensible pieces of female indus.
try which seem to have neither beginning
nor end.
"Well." said she, with a sigh, this is
Thanksgiving day. 1t doesn't seem like
old times at all. We used to have a house
full of company, f~roIicksome young folk;
and cheerful old people-and now we
are all alone-alone."
"Last Thanksgiving" said the old
man, 'fthere was one with US, who seem
ed, to my old eyes, like an angel oflight
with her fairy golden hair floating like q
glory on her shoulders, and her little foo
making music as she moved about the
old house. But even then there was {
hectic flush on her cheek. like the rec
; upon the maple leaf in autum. When tht
January 10Y lay deep upon the hills
and in the hollows, we carried her to he
last home-but Gods will be DONE"
r "You forget we have another child a
i've"
t "No, ! do not forget it." said the OF
t man bitterly. There is n Twin
t somewhere, who has brought disgrac
1 upon our name-who has forgotten hi
parents and his God who has drum
deep of the cup of %iniquity, and who hs
e brought ruin and woe upon his name an
e family"
IS do not speak so harshly of pot
d William" pleaded the mother.
"Why should | not? Was he not il
sensible TO kindness-steeled against a
le lection ? Did he not scatter my hai
earnings to the wind Is it not TO hi
that | ONE the prospect Of beggary al