Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, 1852-12-02
MISCELLANY Y.
THANKSGIVING DAY:
A sKETCH FROM REAL LIFE
BY F. A. DURIVAGE.


holiday made any change in his hours. Yet
he no longer sprang from his bed with the alac-
eity which changed duty intu pleasure he rose
because imperious duty commanded it. There
were the cattle to be fed and watered, and the
poultry to receive the same attention, and there
was, moreover, fire to be made in the old
kitchen fireplace.
For the deacon had now no servant or help
er, and in the grey winter of his life, the whole
burthen of managing his place had fallen upon
his shoulders. Fortunately they were broad
and strong fortunately his constitution was
good, his spirits elastic, and his piety sincere,
for his burthens and trials were indeed weighty.
He had been comparatively rich-he was now
in embarrassed circumstances. He had looked
forward to the time when son should relieve
him of the most laborious of his tolls, while a
daughter performed the same kind office for his
wife. Both had been disappointed now
she old couple were the solitary tenants of that
lone New England farmhouse.
The deacon went mechanically about his
morang labors; he drove the cattle to the
water-tank; he supplied them fresh fodder, and
after seeing that they we're comfortable, he re-
turned to the old kitchen. BY this time the
good wife had prepared breakfast, and ge-
nial fire of walnut was difnsing its heat through
the apartment.
Well,' said she, with sigh, this is
Thanksgiving day. 1t doesn't seem like old
times at all. We used to have a house full of
company, frolicsome young folks and cheer
ful old people-and now we are all alone
aiooe.'
Last Thanksgiving said the old man,
there was one with us, who seemed, to my old
eyes, like aa angel Of light; with her fairy
golden hair floating like glory on her shoulders,
and her little foot making music as she moved
about the old house. But even then there was
hectic flush on her cheek, like the red upon
the maple leaf in autumn. When the January
snow lay deep upon the hills, and in the hollows,
we carried her TO her last home-but Gods
will be done.'
you forget we have another child alive
,erly. There is one living somewhere, who
has brought disgrace upon our name-who
has forgotten his parents and his God who
has drunk deep of the cup of iniquity, and who
has brought ruin and woe upon his name and
family
Do not speak SO harshly of poor William
pleaded the mother.
'Why should l mott Was he not insensible
t5 kindness-steeled against affection9 Did
he not scatter my hard earnings to the wind
is it not 10 him owe the prospect of beggary
and destitution1 Remember the first OF Febru-
ary. That is the last day of grace. If the
money comes not then-and God knows whence
it is to come, we are driven from beneath this
rooftree-a pair of houseless beggars. Who
will care for us then1'
God will care for u.s. answered the old
woman, raising her eyes reverently towards
heaven.
The old man made no reply, for his utter
ance was choked. At that moment the old
clock that stood ticking silently in the corner,
struck the hour of nine. The deacon rose.
1t is time to harness up old Dobbiu,' said
he, for we have a long way TO ride TO meeting,
and the roads are in bad condition.
Their preparations were soon made, and the
old couple, poorly but decently attired, sailed
forth to their public devotion. The services
ended, the deacon and his wife, as they issued
from the porch, were kindly greeted by many
old friends and neighbors, more than one of
whom pressed them to come and partake of
their Thanksgiving cheer. But the deacon
shook his head.
Many thanks, my friends said he, but
ever since have been householder have
kept my Thanksgiving at home, and shall
continue TO do so as long as have house over
my head
So they rode home together. While the
deacon drove up to the barn to put up his horse,
the old lady opened the back door, which was
always on the latch, and entered the kitchen.
As she did so she started back. A stranger
was seated by the kitchen fire, who rose on her
entrance. He was tall, stalwart man, dressed
La rough suit, with a broad-leafed hat, his
countenance embrowned by exposure to the
sun and wind, and his upper lip almost con-
cealed by heavy and uxuriant black NOUS
tache.
Good morning, ma am he said with some
embarrassment. Finding no one answered my
knocks, took the liberty of walking in. be-
lieve | owe you no apology, for have officia-
ted as turnspit, and saved your Thanksgiving
turkey from burning
Il am very much obliged 10 you, I'm sure
answered the old lady, pulling off her nit
tens. But did you want TO see me or the
deacon!'
Both of you; answered the stranger
'You have son, believe
Yes replied Mrs. Wilson, with hesitation
and casting down her eyes.
have seen him lately.'
'Where!' inquired the mother. with in
creasing agitation.
In California
Was he doing well q
Admirably. Mother mother y he added
impetuously throwing back his hat, don
you know NEEDN'T you know your Will
liam 2 ...-.. -. ....
He rushed into his mothers arms, and wa
4 II Il