Idaho County free press. [volume] (Grangeville, Idaho Territory) 1886-current, 1889-12-13
THANKSGIVING.

The day was perfect the air was
crisp and clear; the sky was that
greyish blue which in New England
betokens an old fashioned snow
storm; the ground was frozen stiff
and smooth: the snowbir,is were
chirping merrily. all nature seemed
bursting forth in Thanksgiving to
its Maker, on Thursday, November
"a, 1856. The sleigh was at our
door promptly ut ten o. clock to take
us to service in the old tumble down
church on the hill, where. in the earlv
settlement, watch was always kent
In order ii possible to be prepared
for any attack from the Indians. The
horses were fresh, and as we flew
along we could not but Join in with
the general air OF happiness which
pervaded everything.
The building was in itself an inter.
esting study. The tower, if such it
could be called, was very short; the
clock was cracked with are.
the hands were clogged with
snow; but, Notwithstanding, Mt very
uneven intervals the sound of the
bell, tolling at some hour, was borne
along on the frosty mir; the windows
We're stained very "mixed" color.
by enc rains and SHOWS of nearly n
century. The seats were those nm
clent boX-pews, with backs so hirh
and straight as almost to make the
SIGHT of your next neighbor an i'm
possibility; the pulpit was n ''tower of
strength" in wood, and was reached
by the longest, narrowest, steepest
flight OF steps which it was possible
Tor the pilgrim fathers to imagine
and execute in timber.
While we havo been noticing our
surroundings the singing master has
been trying his tuning-fork as ~
signal Tor quietude. Our very
breath is hushed as from the study
at the left of the pulpit comes the
venerable pastor, whose flowing
beard and dignified car
rage give him the appearance of an
aged patriarch, about to pronounce
his blessing. The sermon was a very
prosalc discourse, given in the dear
old saints pathetic voice. and in
such a monotone as to send some of
the old farmers on Il Journey to Sand |
mans land.
Alter the pronunciation of the ben
ediction voice of wonderful power
ana compass rose and fell upon the 1
quiet air. The sweet singer was IN
seen, but the music went with lis all
the day, and sometimes, even now.
strain Is waited over the walls of
memory, and in Imagination we are
carried back to those happy DAVIS
We afterward learned that She was
the granddaughter of the minister
ana 1t was her custom to sing Mt the
close OF the Thanksgiving service,
much to the enjoyment of the people
Our spirits were subdued but han
Ply, as we were once more on our way.
TINS time to grandma's. where we
we're to assemble tor the Thanksoiy-
ng dinner. In order that YOU NAV
nave some idea as to the old home.
stead, we will give you n short de-
of it. 1t was n RAMBLING
Did. one-storied brick mansion. buiIt
n the latter part of the seventeenth
century by one of our ancestors
I'm immense attic was II great at
traction to the children, for here they
'omped from early morning until
he shadows began to lengthen and
he wltchlng hour was near when the {
collins carried off any naughty chill
lren that they happened to find ,
We nave not time to tell OF all I
ne rooms in the old house; of ,
low Benedict Arnold stayed over S
light; OF how our cousin was hidden 1
rom the sharp eyes the British; of /
ow grandma's mother hid oil her sill. {
err nor onehali Of the deepiy-inter- I