Smyrna times., 1878-11-27
Thanksgiving.
By BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Come to think" |
there was no necessity in telling 1t. There Is no
school, the children all know it; no paper, the
editors and devils all know it, the Governor has pro
claimed it. and euCrg body knows ii. Some people
have visions of turkeys about these days don't
Some people have turkeys; haven't. But no matter
for that; love Thanksgiving Day for the memories
brings with it.. DO tell me. if you can; what has
become of those old days, and why don't they make
them now? Has the clerk of the weather lost the
recipe what in the name of scythes and forelockS,
the matter? 1t used to be that Thanksgiving wasn't
Monday, or Tuesday. or Wednesday or any other day
of the Scven but day by itself, put i'll by special
act to make people happy and friendly and human,
and all that but some how other, it has changed.
Amanacs have changed, or lce have, and greatly do
We fear that it is the we"
Kind reader never saw you, don know you. but
here's my hand and there's a chair: and now for Il
tceG-te about old times The last time you were at
home Thanksgiving Day-dO you remember? When
the boys came home from college, or somewhere. and
the married sister, Ann, or Jane or something else,
came too as proud of the little whitetannel bundle
'cHh blue eyes, that made uncles, auntS grandfather
and grandmother with its first glance, proud as ever
novelty i'll the old homestead? And was it you or me
that rummaged the garret for the old red cradle they
lulled us in when, fast to the strong moorngs of
mothers love, we rocked on the hher shore of time?
Anu who brought down the high chair" that, in
turn, had been the throne for half dozen of us;
more or less i'll turn, we grew large enough to
WELD the weapons of table warfare? And who doesn't
remember where that chair was tucked away in the
garrct aforesaid? Over behind the little wheel that
used To hum to the sweet song mother sang years and
years ago And there's the distaH now in the chink
of u rattcr DO YOU remember the fine morning we
went to the woods after it, and bright, backcycd
boy just turned of four went too? 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 Wester That song! How we tried to get
| mother to sing the old song we loved 50 well!
"BOys, can't sing, says the old lady; my singing
! days are over But she was overpGrsuaded 4s She
Ulu0yS was.-or to which of us Gid she refuse
| boon and how still il was when she began Her
voice was III iastniling fountain; she faltered S
| the memories came thronging back upon her, and
some how her glasses were little dim, and She took
! them OIL to wipe them and some how dH our eyes
were little dim. God bless the old fashioned moth
ers forever? Who of didn't say it then? Who Of us
| does not breathe it now?
Well, then came the dinner-the Thanksgiving
Dlnner; How ne pantry and the poultry had sui
marriage Of the present and the past Ii was the old
table with the fall leaves that had succeeded the
little predecessor when therewere only father, moth
cr, and one baby. The old strife to set the chairs
up" is renewed We are all Seated-every chair is
filled Filled? Er0y chair? All! but one, two or
one! That one vacant place. All see it. all remember
| There is pause: thought and sigh torthe absent
| and the battle begins How old "reminiscences are
revived and we all get years nearer the puer realm
of childhood and heaven.
The afternoon wears away. Apples from the tree,
that We're planted when each of us was born, arr
brought from the cellar that aforetme the yer!
blue closet" of unimaginable tcrrors TO the timd o.
us Aud among them is an apple from treds tree
and Fred is - Nobody can say it, so everybody Il
silent
one look at the rooms the north ROOM" and tn,
south ROOM and the east ROOM Here are SO-and
SOS initials on the window-casing. They look dim
but maybe the dmnCSs is nearer the eyes, after all.
The sleigh bells there used to be Sl0io in Old-faSh
| ioncd ThankSgving,) chime impatient at the door
such bundling ana mufIling and good -bying-th
old lady urging us, every in turn, to keep warm
and tying our "ComforterS "-ttGfS the wOrd-ove
again, and all that. Away We go, one after another
and the Old homestead is quiet again. The branch
eS of the old oak rustic audibly over the roo
i'll the November wind, and a family is again scat
tered over the world
Maybe now, some mighty man, like those of ole
who has put away childish things" and has fOrgottc
he ever born, may deem this pucre. Well, wei
| have no more to say than this we can all do muc
5 | worse than to be children again. for
>, "Of such as thfY is the kingdom of Heaven"