The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970, 1891-11-27

guest, lifted the American flag, o treasure
always carried with me in foreign lands
and with which l had draped the table,
and with wish Of good will for our dear
ones on the "other side," we began the
feast. At first all went promising. The
soup was passable; the fish, a sole think,
was served with shrimp sauce; the pota-
toes, caulifower and boiled onions were
good. Then appeared the mysterious COW
cred dish, at which Arty glanced askance.
I proceeded to uncover it. "Hold on a
moment, Harriet" he said, ''it's beans
this is solemn and to be drunk standing
hereby I toast our American Republic
long may she wavep' AS a response to
the toast, with flourish removed the
cover of the aforesaid dish and-what?
pork and beansl Yes, but the pork was
floating round and round in the dish, COM
placent in about quart of hot grease as a
few lonely beans manfully struggled to
hide under it'll Forlorn hopes of my antic-
ipations boiled down in fail dared not
look at Arty. It was serious moment;
words were inadequate, and as silence pre-
vailed poor Arty Rugged the decanter
which stood beside his plate. Yet l did
not utterly despair.
The national dish was summary re.
moved and uncovered the tomatoes
(Arty's favorite( Lo and behold to my
discontinue the red beauties, instead of
being stewed and thickened with bread
crumbs, had been boiled with skins ON
whole. like potatoes, and there they were,
slumped down in quivering heaps, half
drowned in water. I was homesick There
were no remarks, yet a threatening hush
ensued-I was thinking of the pumpkin
pie and the possibilities of its failure. Soon
it appeared, fanked by the regulation
crackers and cheese. To my dismay l
noticed it had an upper crust, and, think
ing the maid had stupidity made mistake,
said to her, Bring the American pie"
"There it is, marm," she answered with
look of offended dignity. had not the
courage to look at Arty as in my despera-
ton stabbed the crust and sawed through
the pie. In curiosity lifted bit of the
crust, and to be sure there was the pump
kin, cut in slices, sugared and cinnamoned,
blanketed and steam smothered between
two crusts What an ending of my
Thanksgiving dinnerl Chagrined and dis
consulate, turned my face to the window
and unused on the ugly London fog. Arty
walked up and down the room waving the
American flag as he screamed: "Hurrah
for the great American doodlel Iwish my
dear old Yankee mother could have seen
this Thanksgiving dinner;" then, seriously
to me, Harriet, you might have been born
smart, but you've lost it." To this my
husband answered not a word.
We were compelled to go "outside' and
take an English dinner that day. As we
were leaving the room poor Arty reversed
my flag, union down, and hung it above
the dish of beans still standing on the
wall" table. With this sign of distress
ended our American dinner that day.
"We will go to the Princess theater to-
night" said Arty; "a black and tan darby
barber from Philadelphia will play Othello;
it will be funny and Pll write it up for
Punch" On our way to the theater, as we
drove through the Haymarket, Arty, in
spirit of fun, would occasionally take off |
bis hat bowling to the people, a la the "con- |
quering hero" 1t is well enough to add |
that it was night and we were unobserved.
Az we left the carriage, near the door OF
the theater, an imported organ grinder"
-as Arty expressed it-with vicious look
ing monkey, was grinding out "Home.
Sweet Home" At the sound of this plain
tive tune, that is the same everywhere, |
there were signs Of tears in Arty's eyes. and