Litchfield enquirer., 1860-11-29
THANKSGIVING CHIPS.


 We are certain that B. F. Taylor of tn
 Chicago Jourgml is Q son of New England for not otherwise could he have received tn inspiration to speak in such syllables o
 truth and beauty as these of our own oil hallowed Holiday, the bright Thanksgivinl of the past and present. It was writte on the eve preceding Thanksgiving in Hi nois l'S ''sA7a sv- It was a sunny thought, if it did breal into some granite, Puritanic heart, one day that in this world, full of clods and cloud as it is, there is enough left, to make us thankful, and hopeful and courageous. r.s
 Fasting and signing are excellent things to deplete the spirit, but to let in upon ths soul little blue heaven, there is nothing like hearty old-fashioned Thanksgiving. A cheerful fire does not warm one SC much, as it does to be grateful and glad One Jeremiah is enough for all time, but we want another book of Isaiah s' As we cannot have that, somebody has inserted a uew day in the calendar-s day that was not in the old Julian year, and SC Christmas, Now Years, Fourth of July and Thanksgiving compose tho brightest seg ment in the circlet of Time white days every one, to be dated from and hoped from the days we waited for, when VIC used to wonder why Saturday afternoon could not just as well begin in the morning. We suspect man who does not respect them and whose eye does not brighten at the thought of their marvellous beauty the mau, who mutters like thunderstorm when his children make tue frosty doors oi tue old homestead play like the valves of q loving heart, as the twinkling morning ail r:ugs with their "Merry Christmas"
 What can we do to him, that was not done to the witches of Salem. who never smiles back anybcdy's" Happy New Year P Or to him who hates the Fourth of July because it breaks in thunder around the ho rizon or to him, who has no heart to loos GU the girdIe he Lad frightened for life's race, and sit down with tho world, to breathe, and give thanks.
 When the hslo of our Vigilian story went forth from the flames of Troy, he neither forgot the old grandfather nor tho house. hold gods. We wave our hands in honor to him, through the mists of two thousand years for that. And when We see later pilgrims turn their faces toward the setting sun, and go on their way, as Jacob did, We do not wonder so much. if the angels of God will meet them, as whether they have brought forth their past aud their white days with them Aud wheu in some far valley of the West, we find group of For tunc's exiles, who have brought with them out of the East, tie dear old year of child hood, the scripture-mcasure year, pressed down and running over with it's three hun dred and sixty-nins days who remember the greeting and tue wish they learned to lisp, when the sun went down in their faith CTS woods who have not forgotten the faint hurrah they raised, when all along the morning, streamsd the stripes and stars; we think that those wlio are faithful to Yes terday, will ever be true To-Day. And to- morrow, with such as they, will be Thanks giving Day. May it be as beautiful as the Sun, that, break his morning where it will, gIaddeus and shines around the World
 How like a dancing star, Thanksgiving day will shine, through the cleft clouds of gloomy times like these. The very trees would clap their leafess hands for joy, should men Ie dumb tomorrow.
 x L~t him who is clinging to fortuie's wreck take heart for what would triumph be, with 10 such word as fail Let the moth CT, above whose sleeping child, the first drift lies white and cold, to-day, be grateful for : another leit.' None?' Then thank God al! the more, for blest is she who claims child in Paradise Let him who does an- other wrong, forgive the iujsred. So may he be glad Let him that rejoices, he glad for answering smiles, and bim that mourns, breathe gratitude for tears.
 The scene tomorrow will be worth all Angels looking on throughout the almost continental area of twenty-three sovereign States, all hundred thousand tables will be adened million hearts be glad. Per haps, where rolls the Oregon where red Missouri clasps Iowa where the green wanders here, under the sun Set there, where day begins in valley and forest; on prairie and mountain in the cabin and the camp in the mansion and the mart l; in the hovel and the hall 
 And how the iron arteries meandering New. England, pulsate to-day, with the ive'iest tide Twenty-Five thousand chil- dren and grandchildren, going home to thank God and take courage back among the old orchards on the hill-sides back to the moss-covercd roofs in the valleys back to the old folks at home back where the old graves are driftcd.
 Round the old fashioned fire, they have crept to round the broad old table they have played under the old clock where it used to be the old armchair in the cor ner, and the old mother within it the old father frank and frosty as bright October morning. Such welcomings, and joyful trembliDgs, aud pleasant laughter, and gilt teripg tears, as there will be. Such ram blings through the old homestead sucn pilgrimages to the room where Jenny a'eu. '. and Mary was married. Such r1n,"as,ns of the faded chest of drawers, anu the p,e- cious [" till" in the top, where aiore'llhe lhe tr;nLle,s of memory and affection were Kept.
 Sucb a erecting of young wives come h.n,a for a blessing such unrolllng of .rn;.o nJ aanpel to exhibit the new baby with Mn' ~, ;. And then the table won't it be as .n .,,aad ,s and as bountiful as the open palm of o'o rarv Providence ? What treasures the %on1s of love, old and withered though they arc % can furnish forth from the pantry with % .he high latch, that small fore6ngers could inst reach and vainly "click," for entrance.
 A nd the pumpkin vine. that ran bravely about among the corn last June, with its yellow blossoms, pays its tribute to Thanks. .~aa and otolden as a riSilg