The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1871-11-30

u graphic and beautiful article on the
origin Of this time.honored custom, from
which we make the following extract;
Two hundred and thirty-four years ago,
young Edward Winslow, who married
the mother of New highlands tirst-bon
son, was writing letter to his dear old
home.
After the harvest had been gathered,
wrote WinslOw, that sterling man, Gov,
William Bradford, dispatched company
for game, that they might have luxuries
for a feast, and rejoice together after the
fruits Of their labor were garnered. $50,
as the record runs, "they got their game
and cooked 1t, and they ate of it, and they
ieasted Massasoit and ninety Of his In
dians, and they thanked God with all
their hearts for the good world and good
things in it. And so they kept their first
Thanksgiving"
A quarter OF a century elapsed, when
Governor Bradford declared that, since
that day no man had wanted food.
Such is the soon told story OF Thanks
giving Day, sunny thought, SC me Pilgrim
heart thrObbed out, and sent rejoicing,
sparkling, down the gray NOvembcrs oil
all times to como.
The scene to-day will be worth
an angels looking on; throughout the al
most continental area of thirty.seven
sovereign States, IN hundred thousand
tables will DO laden, u million hearts be
glad. Perhaps, where rolls the Oregon,
where red Missouri clasps Iowa, where
the green Multnomah wanders, here,
under the sunset; there, where day be.
gins; in valley and forest; on prairie and
mountain; in the cabin, and in the camp;
in the mansion and the mart; in the hovel
and the hall-ThanksgiVing
: And how the iron arteries, meandering
the Union, pulsatc to-day, with the living
tide. Thousands Of children and grand.
children going home 10 thank God and
take courage; back among the old orch
ards on the hillsides; back TO the moss
covered roofs in the valleys; back to "the
old folks ut hOmei" back where tho graves
are drilted.
Round the old.fashiOned fire they have
crept to; round the broad old table they
have played under the old clock where
ii used TO be; the old arm chair in the
corner, and the old mother within it; and
the old farmer as frank and frosty Us q
bright October morning. Such welcom'
ingS, and joyful trembling, and pleasant
laughter, and glittering tears, MS there
will be. Such ramblings through the
homestead; such pilgrlmages to the room
where they were born; To the room where
Jenny died, and Mary was married.
Such rumaging Of the faded chest Ct
drawers, and the precious "tilP In the
top, where alOretime the trinkels Of men,
DRY and affection were kept.
Such a greeting Of young wives come
home for blessing, such unrOlling Of
white flannel TO exhibit the new baby
within it, And then the table-won't Il
he as broad and as bountlful as the open
palm of a very ProvidCnCeS What treas.
ures the hands Of love, old and witherCd
though they arc, can furnish forth from
the pantry with the high latch, that fore.
finger could just reach and vainly "click,"
for entrance. And the pumpkin vine, that
run bravely about among the corn last
June, with its yellow blooms, pays It's
tribute to Thanksgiving, rs round and
golden as q rising moon In halv.st An !
the orchard, whose trees were named !"
for one and another Of them all, who are
home today, has been getting
ready ever since It's sweet drifl of bios
SONS, for the snow and glow Of Novem.
Der.
The bells have rung from belfry and
Lowerall over the land; n psalm has been
read, and ,"Old Hundred" "MCar,"
'COrinth" and Coronation have been
Iloatcd over all the land Of the Pilgrims.
And they are gathered around the Ia.
bic at last each In his old familiar places
but even Thanksgiving has It's vacant
chair. Ono sailed round Cape Horn, and
was never heard Of more; one lies among
The drifts in the graveyard; one wandered
away to the West, years and years ago;
IcIl father and mother md CleavGd unto
her husband. And does she remember
them there, beneath the root under whose
caves Is carCCned the old red cradle, the
barquc wherein she rocked the hither
shore OF time, with the clear heaven Of q
eye shining ovCrheadp As a
Lruo and loving girl rs she hopes for
Cngth Of days, her heart Is full beyond
The power OF telling
Memories will DO frightened, hearts
will bo sOllCned, prOdigals will return,
md smiles will break through the tears
IF a thousand RaChels.
How young, stern, bearded men will
grow, and blooming matrOns turn to girls,
ms II rose should shut and be a bud
again" How like the sweetest music OF
| laltering tune, those words tiny son."
will strike on manhoOd's eur. All, the
wings of Time will hang waveless above
zen thousand homes today!
And how the moon has been growing,
and how the snow has been falling, oil
Tor tonight We hear the Ginning
1f the bells, along the valley, and over the
hills and through the wood, and the crisp
Of the snow, and the glad laugh
oi girls from the dear little horizons of the
quilted and downy hoods. We SEQ the
FURNISHED with the evening fires,
md through the envious curtain, the one
2oncentric circle Of life, and hope, and
owe swept by the sacred Geometry Of
God.
And, as we look and listen, the evening
bells of other days steal softly on the soul,
md tones we never can forget, and "house.
hold words" unheard these weary years,
md 10 the Past, like some soft April
lay, stands close beside our chair. How
wide the lallow field of God Is growing
How like a dancing star Thanksgiving
Day will shine through tho cleft clouds Of
gloomy times like these!
The very trees would clap their leaiess
hands Tor Joy should men be dumb to.
lay.
Let him who Is clinging to Fortunes
wreck, take heart, for what would triumph
De, with "no such word as failr'
Let the mother, above whose sleeping
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