The daily intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Territory [i.e. Wash.]) 1876-1881, 1878-11-28

BY BENJAMIN r. TAYLOR,

To-day is Thanksgiving Day.
Come to think there was on necessity
of telling it. There is no school, so
the children all know it; the Govern
or has proclaimed it, and every body
knows it. Some people have visions
of turkeys about these days. don't.
Some people have turkeys; l haven't.
But no matter for that; l love Thanks
giving Day for the mdmerics it brings
with it. Do tell me. if you can. what
has become Of those old days, and why
don't they make them SO now. Has
the clerk of the weather lost
the receipt, or what, in the
namc of scythes and iorelocks, is
the matter 1t used to be that Thanks
giving wasn't Monday. or Tuesday. or
Wednesday, or any other day of the
seven. bot day by itself. pnt in by
'special act to make people happy and
friendly, and human. and ell that but
some how or other, it has changed.
Aimsnacs have changed, or me have,
and greatly do l fear that it Is 'we.'
Kind reader, never saw you, don't
know you. but h. res my hand. and
there's chair; and now for a tete-a-
tete about d times. The last time you
were at home Thanksgiving Day-do
you remember! When the boys came
home from college. or somewhere. AID
the N .rried sister, Ann. or Jane, or
something else, came too. as proud of
the little white flannel bundle, Nth
blue eyes. that made uncle. aunt. grand.
iathcr and randmoiher with its first
glance. a. proud a. ever queen was of
her crown! And WAS it yru or me
that rnmmsged the garret for the old
red cradle they lullcd us in. when, st
to the strong mooings OF q mothers
love. we rocked on the hither shore of
time! Aud who brought down the
high chair that in turn, had been the
throne for half dozen Of us; more or
less. in turn, as We grew Urge enough
to WELD the weapors of taole warfare?
And who doesn't remember where the
chair was tucked away in the garret
aforesaid? Over behind the little
wheel. that used to hun to the sweet
song mother sang. years and years
ago. And there's the distsff now. in
the chink OF rafter. Do You remem-
ber the fine morning we went to the
woods after it. and big, black-eyed
boy, just turned of four, went too Z
There he sits now on the opposite side
of the table, in the old place. with
whiskers and beard, and voice that
would mock a nor 'westcr That song
How we tried to get mother to sing
that old song we loved so we'll.
Boys, cant sing. says the old lady
! my singing days are over Bat she
was over persuaded, as she always was,
for to which OF us did she ever refuse
. boon? and how still it was when
she began! Her voice &as like q fast
failing fountain. She faltered as the
old memories came thronging back
upon her. aud seine how her glasses
were n little dim. aud she took them off
to wipe them. and some how all of our
eyes were little dim. God bless the
oli-fashioned mothers forever! Who
of us didn't say it then? Who Of us
does not breath it nowY
Well, then came the dinncr-tbe
Thanksgiving Dinner How the pantry
aud the poulty had suffered TO furnish
forththat mar risge table-thc marriage
Of the presant and the past. 1t was
the old table with the fall leaves, that
had succeeded the little predecessor.
when there were only father. mother.
and one baby. The old strife. to set
chairs up,' is renewed. We are oil
seated every chair is filled, Filled?
Ecery chirs Ali but one, two or three.
God grant it be but one! God grant il
l,e not one! That one vacant place |!
All see it, all remember. There is a
pause; thou ht and q sigh for the
absent, ard battle begins. How old
"reminiscences are revived and we all
get years nearer the purer realm of
ch,ldho'd aud heaven.
The afternoon wears away. Apples
from the trees that were planted when
each of Us was born. are brought from
the cellar, that aforetime Was the ver,
blue closet of unimsRiuable ter
rors to the timid of us. And among
them is an apple from Fred's tres. aud
Fred is-Nobody caL say it, so
every body is ilort.
One look ct the rooms the north
room. and tie south room.' and the
'east room.' Here are so-and.so's in
itisis ON the window casiug. They
are dim. but maybe the dimness is
nearer the eyes, after all.
The sleigh-bells (thcre used to be
snow in oll-fashioned Tbanksgivings.l
chime impatient ct the door. Such
buniling. and mnfiling. aud good.by-
ing-the old lady urging us. every one
in turn. TO keep warm. and tying our
.comforters'- that's the word-over
again. aud all that. Away we 60 one
after another. aud the old homestead
is quiet again. The branches Of the
old oak rustic audibly over the root, in
the November wind, and family is
again scattered over the world.
Maybe now, sosas mighty man. like
thoss Of old. who has put away childish
things, and has forgotten be was ever
born. may deem this pnerilc. Well.
WE'LL have M more to say than this: we