The daily morning journal and courier., 1898-11-24

in the long ago. How true it is that with advancing years our pleasures are more largely lyretrospectlve as well as in- irrespective!
 Through the dim mists of years Thanksgiving remembrances come back to me and I seem to see, as if it were but yesterday, joyous young girl go- ing home on her first vacation from school. How happy she was as she sat by the side of her dear splendid father, behind pair of finely matched, cream colored horses, her tongue keeping pace with their flying feet! Undismayed by the frequent corrections which her un- grammatical English called forth from her highly critical father, the irrepres- sihle tongue rattled unceaslngly on. In all her young life she had never been absent from home for so long a period, and there were thousand questions to ask and answer in the same breath. Those horses were not half broken to harness, and they pranced and curvet- ed along, pricking up their ears at un- familiar objects in a manner truly dis concertnG. But there was a eady hand at the lines and deep. command ing voice, which they well knew, which helped to control the liveliEeEs of their dispositions. They never thought of fear, those two Had they not petted those beauties from colthood up? And as for the girl did she not love every curve of their glossy necks, and every hair of their silvery names and long, flowing tails? Their frolicsome antics gave her the keenest delight.
 Presently tha ISn6conne hsOap +,> grow familiar, and friendly faces ap- peared at door or window, drawn thth- CT by the sound of approaching wheels, as mile after mile flew by.
 Shall I ever forget that glorious Ind- an summers day, I wonder? The air was soft and balmy, with just touch of crispness in it, which makes that season of the year so peculiarly enioya- ble, and purplish haze clothed the dis tant mountains as with gauzy veil. It had been most prolific year. Kind ly nature had bestowed her choicest gifts on her children-the' tillers of the soil-and the harvests were abundant. There were whole fields of corn yet un- gathered, for the granaries were al- ready full, and there were golden pumpkins everywhere. Huge stacks of hay dotted the meadows, for there was no space in the overhowing barns.
 The bell of the little white church in the valley was ringing for the Thanks giving service as they drew near. It's loud changing tones seemed a joyful welcome to the girl. A few struggling groups of people were walking leisurely toward the church, and one or two WE errro with worshippers. The good deacon was standing on the steps, his rotundity of figure rendering him conspicuous anywhere, and the minister was at his side He would preach to many an empty seat that day he well knew, for dinners must be served.
 At last the dear old nome appears to view; a goodly farm house shining Whitely in the sun; it's wide-spreading lawn in front dotted with gra ceful elms, which stretched away to the road; and it's magnificent naples that grew on either side of the front door where they had stood, like sentinels on duty, for a hundred years or more; and there was the tender mother waiting for her youngest born. A flying leap from the wagon, and the homesick girl was fold ed in the loving arms.
 The table was spread in the long din- ing-room that day to accommodate the numerous family. From it's southern windows one could look out on grow ng orchards and thrifty farm buildings ga lore. A wood fire blazed in the ample fireplace with great good cheer. It is use'ess to attempt descript on of that feast. Suficait tosay the table was we'll filled with all the ediblea and var ous condiments which were considered ne- cessary for the occasion, It was an un- broken family group that gathered around that table. How simply our father asked Gods blessing on our food, and what perfect trust he hadl
 After dinner, at our mothers request we all stood in line before her, accord ing to our ages, her seven sturdy sons and daughters. It was pleasant to note her proud satisfaction as we thus stood before her. Then we sang song after song, to the accompaniment of the or gan, our mothers high sweet ''coun- ter' blending tremendously with the fathers deep, sonorous bass. And our partial mother declared that there was no music on earth so sweet to her ears as the united voices of her children.
 And now, through all the changing years, at each recurring Thanksgivlng that scene stands out clear, vivid and distinct above all others.
 RACHEL ROGERS