Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1880-11-19
THANKSGIVING Memories.

| Inc 1OllOwlnS article, which APP
peared several years ago in these
columns, may not be new to our
readers, but it draws such Il charm
ing picture of an oldiashioncd
Thanksgiving, that we cannot resist
the temptation of again placing it
before the public, at time when
the odor of roast turkey and mince-
pies are SO hear.
Kind reader, we probably never
saw you, don't know you, but here $
our hand and there's chair; and
now for ttc-u trtc about old times.
The last time you were ut home
Thanksgiving Day-do you remem-
Der? When the boys" CANE home
and the married sister, Ann, or Jane,
or something else came too, az
proud of the little wiliic-hannel bun
die, with blue eyes, rs queen of her
diadem? And wasn't that baby
novelty i'll the Old homestead /?
And was it not you that rummayed
the garnet for the old red cradle
they lulle1 us in when, fast to the
moorinSs Of mothers love, we
rocked ON the hi,h"l shore of time?
Aud who bIouuh Gown the high
chair that, IA ,urn, had been the
throne of haf-a.duzen of us, as
we grew old enough to WELD the
weapons of table warfare? And
who does not remember where that
chair was tucked away? Over be-
hind the spinning-wheel that used
to accompany the sweet song that
mother sang, years and years ago.
And there's the distitf now, in the
chink of u rafter. Do you remember
the fine morning we went to the
woods after it, and q bright black
eyed boy 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 norwester!
That song! How we tried to get
mother to sing the old song we
loved SO we'll! Boys, can't sing"
said the old lady, "my singing
days are over" But she was over
persuaded, rs she Arrays was-for
to which of us did she crer refuse IL
boon ?-and how still it was when
she began! Her voice was like
fust-failing fountain. She faltered
as the old memories came thronsing
back upon her, and somehow her
glasses were little dim. God bless
the old-fashioned mothers forever!
Who of rs didn't say it then? Who
of us does not breathe it now?
Well, then came the dinner--the
Thanksgiving Dinner. How the
pantry and poultry had suffered to
furnish that marriage table-the
marriage of the Present and the
Past. It 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 the chairs up"
is renewed. We are all seated
every chair is filled. Filled? Erery
chair? All but one, two or three.
God grant it be bit one God grant
it he not one! That one vacant
place! All see it, all remember.
There is pause; n thought and
Sigh for the absent, and the battle
lcgins. How old "reminiscences are
vived over the steaming turkey
md homemade mince pies! and we
!. II get years nearer the purer realm
- childhood and heaven.
The afternoon wears away. APP.
pies from the trees that were planted
when each of us was born, We're
brought from the cellar. And
among them is an apple from Fred's
tree, and Fred is-Nobody can say
it, 50 everybody is silent. One look
at the rooms; the north room, the
south room and the east room.
Here are So-and-sos initials on
the window casing They look dim,
but maybe the dimness is nearer the
eyes, after all.
The sleish-bells (there used to lie
sno,r in old-fashioned ThanksSivings)
chime lmpatiently Mt the door. Such
bundlinS and muflling and good-by-
|