The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1891-11-22

guest, lifted the American flag, a treasure
l always carried with me in foreign lands,
and with which / had draped the table,
and with a 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, q sole I think,
was served with shrimp sauce; the pota-
toes, caulifower and boiled onions were
good. Then appeared the mysterious eov-
cred dish, at which Arty glanced askance.
/ proceeded to uncover it. 'Hold on a
moment, Harriet" he said, 'it's beans
this is solemn and to be drunk standing
hereby / toast our American Republic
long may she wavel'' AS a response to
the toast, with a flourish I 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 a quart of hot grease as a
few lonely beans manfully struggled to
hide under it! Forlorn hopes of my antic-
i~pations boiled down in fat! dared not
look at Arty. 1t was a 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 ~summarily re-
moved and / uncovered the tomatoes
(Arty's favorite). Lo and behold! to my
discontinue the red beauties, instead of
being stewed and uhickened 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. / 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, f1anked by the regulation
crackers and cheese. To my disnay l
noticed it had an upper crust, and, think
ing the maid had stupidity made a mistake,
l said to her, Bring the American pie"
''There it is, marm," she answered with a
look of offended dignity. l had not the
courage to look at Arty as in my despera-
ton / stabbed the crust and sawed through
the pie. In curiosity l lifted a bit of the
crust, and to be sure there was the pump
kin, cut in slices, sugared and cinnamoned,
blanketed and steam smotAered between
two crusts! What an Gliding of my
Thanksgiving dinner! Chagrined and dis
consulate, / turned nay face to the window
and unused on the ugly Londo fog. Arty
walked up and down the room waving the
American flag as he screamed: "Hurrah
for the great American doodle! wish 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
''walr' table. With this siSp of distress
ended our American dinner Snat 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 I'll write it up for
Punch" On our way to the theater, as we
drove through the Haymarket, Arty, in a
spirit of fun, would occasionally take off
his hat bowling to the people, q la the 'con-
quering hero" 1t is well enough to add
that it was night and we were unobserved.
AS we left the carriage, near the door OF
the theater, an imported organ grinder
las Arty expressed it-with a 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
1 noticed the CLEAN of a gold piece as he
put his hand in the organ grinders hat.
Alas! it was our farewell Thanksgiving!
Our beloved cousin, the genial, kind
hearted "'Arty," died a few months after
ward.
HARRIET MAxwELL-CoNvERsE.