Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1890-11-28
THE oLD RED SETTLE BY THE FIRE.
AThnuksRivinR story.


OF Francis Drake and his golden ship;
OF Captain Kidd and his bloody whip;
And Mrs. Dunstan's awful fate;
| And Peter Rugg. and Nix s mate;
OF the Judges Cave; Of the witches that flew
Through the hole in the sky where the rain came
through.
would not be so scared again
For all the apples they roasted there,
| or all the logs that used to flare
| On the drying pumpkins and peppers red
| And the Almanac OF fate that said
| Twould surely snow in March aud blow
| How could Poor Richard" such wise things
| know.
The waves were blue on Dorchester Bay;
| The birds, the flowers, the shells, were blue:
| Blue lay the grapes upon the walls;
Bue smoked the chimneys on the Charles:
And when the still nights longer grew,
| The fire upon the hearth burned blue.
| Then on the settle we all would sit,
! With Grandma In her gown Of gray,
| And gaze on Grandpa's silhouette,
! The mourning piece, and sampler gay:
Rare works Of art, they said, were they
| And there, while Grandmas eyes grew wet,
| Il wish they'd all come back. said she,
| And pass one hour again with me,
| And be just as they used to be.
Ruth sleeps beneath the sod and Ben"
| We never spoke Of Ben, for he
! Was the one black sheep Of the family.
| He owed note that he could not pay,
And they sued him, and he ran away
| And went to sea, and wicked arts
| He learned, no doubt, in foreign parts
| So Grandpa wied his lands to the others:
And they met each year, four prosperous brothers.
And the family legends proudly told
| On the old red settle by the fire
In the old Thanksgiving Days.
/ Ben's parrot was there an awful bird
| Hey, Betty Martin" in meeting he sung,
| To the shame and scandal Of all who heard
And the children laughed, because they were
young;
And Grandma. speaking not word,
| Poor Polly hid in the gay valance
| That Ben had brought from the port of Nantes
| She knew that the bird was true to Ben,
And that only one other heart was true,
And her love for the bird with her sad years grew
| And they both wished the boy would come home
again.
A wonder came town-meeting day,
| In the great March storm, and the Federals won 2
| Men went to the fOlkmOte in the Sleigh
And Grandpa went in his dashaway;
And Lieutenant Governor they made Of John
He was Grandpa Jarvis's likeliest SON
oh, then the old man powdered his wig
And shOd his cane-there were grand times then
And he rode to town in his Sunday gig
on a Monday morning, and said. with delight,
To all that he met, TO the left aud right,
That John had atoned for the shame Of Ben.
A grand Thanksgiving they planned that year,
And John. in the turnpike coach, came down
From the General Court in Boston town.
What times were those Nou should have seen
The roasted pig and the basted geese,
The succOtash and pumpkin bread,
The great clam chowder with pepper red,
The appledumplngs, bOunteous ones,
With potato crusts, the pies, the buns,
The cranberry tarts and gingerbread,
The quartered ounce the pickles green
They herring -boned the chamber hoors,
And open set the parlor doors
/ never knew year like that.
The harvest air was full of jays,
The red woodpecker went rat-a-tat,
And the Quaker smiled meath his Sunday hat.
And tieY set the settle by the fire.
oh, those good Thanksgiving Days.
What know the birds, cannot tell
They once were augurs thought TO be
The prophets of the air and sea.
Nor when that fall the neaptides fell.
And scollops came, and the airs were mild.
Polly would scream the name of Ben
Then listen strangely like a child.
Was Ben's ship coming home again:
Thanksgiving came-a perfect day
ON Milton Hills and Dorchester Bay.
The chimneys smoked that morning brown.
The tables smoked that afternoon.
And after church the sun went down,
And rose above the sea the moon.
The mighty meal was brought, and there
Grandpa arose with silver hair,
And spread his hands to offer prayer.
Fodr brothers knet there in a row,
Grandchildren eight, and uncles three.
The backlog set the room aglow,
And all was still the clock licked slow.
God of all mercies Thee we praise
So, in deep voice, Grandpa spoke.
The sea upon the shingle broke
And made us think Of other days
| Thou makest Thy sun TO rise on all;
ON all Thou makest the rain to fall.
our mercies fail; Thine faileth not
None Of Thy children are forgot.
heard a step, the gate latch fell,
Inc bucket fatleu al the well;
Then some one passed the lattced pane,
Then to the lattice came again,
And listened to the rolling prayer
! saw the parrot shake and stare.
1t seemed a spirit haunted place.
The face close to the window drew.
The birds neck long and longer grew,
And burned her eyes: and then-Oh. then
Who could of such wonder dream
She three times tlapped her wings and screamed:
Hey, Betty Martin, tiptoe fine,
HO, Dandy Jm o. Caroline,
HO! hOl high-O lis BEN tits Rem
Grandma, Grandma, 'tis Ben. 'tis Ben"
Who ever saw scene like that;
Right in the prayer scene like that
Grandpa forgot and shouted, Scat
And Deacon Brown, who'd come from town,
Rolled up his eyes in pious wonder;
And John said, 'Hippographs and thunder"
And the children hid the table under,
Rut Grandma softly rose, and took
The cage into the porch. And there
There came another mystery
A dark man met her from the sea.
DO you know Benz he whispered low.
He was my boy; and who are your"
wi mere er the winds for me may blow,
My heart is to my mother true,
And will always pray for you:
Take that and pay Ben's debts" said he,
MY boat is waiting ON the shore
God bless you all for evermore
I've longed that sight once more TO see
I'll go away, and thankful be
You've such happy family
Ask father TO give thanks for me-"
Then he was gone, and Grandma old
Came in, and brought purse of gold
Lord, how we stared The cat was scared.
And ran and hid. And Grandpa said
Where is that birds" They searched the shed
They searched the wood-house, searched the
green.
The wen, the barn, the orchard ways
But Polly nevermore was seen.
Than Grandma rose-her face was calm;
Her look uplifted was psalm
And said, with quivering lip and chin
And one hand lifted, white and thin:
80 near the grave we all are living,
SO near Gods DOORS let is be fOrgiyiDg
The best Of all our days of praise,
God knows, are our forgiving days"
Twas strange, but Grandpa said, "Amenr'
And Silas the bass-vOl strung
And gave twang, and then we sung
As If the gabled roof TO raise:
Sweet is the work, my God, my King
To praise Thy name, give thanks, and sing
. may my heart in tune be found
Like David's harp of solemn sound
And these last lines dozen times
We turned around and turned around.
Sweet are all homes where love has been,
And only good lips utter praise
But such psalm never knew
In all the homes of Milton blue,
When mid the frosts the gentians grew,
And set the settle by the fire,
In the old Thanksgiving Days.
On Dorchester Bay the hills are blue.
But the purple swallows come no more
10 haunt the house that once | knew;
The mossy grave stones on the shore,
That sink into the yioets' floor,
Are all that's left Of that old home
Whose virtues found so much TO praise
There Grandma sleeps beneath the yeWs;
Ben sleeps afar in BarhadOes
Yet Milton's hills are fair to see:
And Grandma's plea for charity
Brings back life's sweetest thoughts to me.
That come as came the gentians blue
10 frosty meadows by the bays
When stood the settle by the fire
SO near Gods open doors we're living.
So near the heartaChe for forgiving
We oher up our best thanksgiving,
And gain from Heaven our best desire
ON our Forgiving Days.
He-ekiah Buttercort, in Hdrpei's Bazar.