Litchfield enquirer., 1860-11-29
"The Day we Celebrate.n

 ENQUIRER reaches the majority of our readers, they will have already invoked and partaken of the tutelar turkey, and will have enjoyed the crust of the crisp chieken-pie, not to speak of other innumerabe pastrys from the well-sweet- ened mince to the thankless tart, of which, we believe, the orthodox custom obtains in all we'll. regulated households of eating, on this day at least, positive portion of each. In this year ofgrace too; when apples" are so abundant as to be givon away for song or Q speech, and cider flows 50 freely from every cider press, the good old usage of bringing out the stout earthen pitcher-and celebrating the feast of Pomona will be observed tonight about many sparkling hearthstone in the habitations of our Connecticut readers.
 How many a, hearty hoard of mirth and rejoic- ing will arise from those home-altars tonight :! What songs of thankfalness and sincere sxpres- sions of tuHasss and gratefulness will be raised in many homes! The elders will join the children in their merry sports, and laughing fa- ces and hearty shouts of glee shall mingle their music with the graver memories on this most glsdsome night of the year throughout New England!
 Great is Thanksgiving. Esto perpetua! We cannot do better than give the following lines from an esteemed friend, which expresses the whole idea of the Festival much more grace fully and poetically than we could venture to hope to doit
 A CALL TO THANKSGIVING. Come home to THANKSGIVING dear children, r come home! @f~ From the North and the South, from the
 West and the East, Where'er ye are resting, wherever ye roam, Come back to this sacred and annual feast, What though the wild wind of November dosh
 roar,
 Like a trumpetblast loud OCT the eosutry so
 drear,
 And the cold rain of Autumn unceasinplv uo.r In this cloudiest, gloomiest month of the wear We heed not, nor hear it, with fires burning bright
 On the ample old hearths where ye sported O
 yore, Ye will know the glad faces revealed by thei
 light, H' And fond hearts will welcome you, e 'en at tn,
 door.
 Yonr father is here, and your mother, whose love Though homely and plain, Is more precious
 than gold; And your shy little sister, with eyes like dove And your brother so tall and so sturdy an
 bold
 And when you shall miss from our circle, fac Which for many year was like light to ou
 view,
 Do not mourn for the aged! for oh in he
 place A glorifed angel is waiting for you. Come home to Thanksgiving! we pray 70
 come home,
 From the North and the South, from the Wes
 and the East,
 Whereer ye are resting, wherever ye roam, Come back to our sacred and annual feast. Our ripe fruits are gathered, our corn in tn
 barn,
 All ready for " "huskings' and brisk a anpl,
 bees''
 And Mary is knitting her snowiest yarn Into mittens, for fear that your fingers shout
 freeze.
 The chesnuts; alas are all gone from the lea But our walnuts and butternuts always ar
 me; They were carefully culled from each favorit
 tree; And our cider (speak softly ;s sparkling , The turkies, entirely resigned to their fate, Stalk quietly around, with gobble or SO And the chickens their doomsday in slens await, :, Asking nothing but plenty to eat ere the
 go;
 Our pumpkins are golden, as golden can be, N All ready to melt into delicate pic. With a tempting ernst, white as the foam os LII
 sea,
 And light as the snowy flake wandering by. Come home to Thanksgiving But oh if 70
 come,
 Bring back the warm heart of your earlie
 youth;
 Let 1t shed it's old light on the altar of home, Gntsinted in feeling-undimmed in its truth