Sl)c irarmcr'0 iHontl)lt) bifiitov. 



171 



kennel as usual, the new inhabitant seized her 

 by the throat, and killed her." 



For the Farmer's Monllily Visitor. 

 Thanksgiving;. 



A FAMILY MEETING, WHEREIN MY UNCLE JACOB 

 APPEARS FOR THE LAST TIME, MAKES HIS 

 BOW AND RETIRES. 



Retmniiig from a visit willi iny wife from the 

 residence of Fanner Thrifty, my uncle, who had 

 been looking for ns, as he s;iid, hamled Pegsy 

 from the carriage; "and how is yonr motlier?" 

 "Sick, sick," slje answered, "and lam sick at 

 heart also. But liere is a note for yon, nncle, 

 which has been iheie for a week, and is from 

 my aunt Mary." " Oh, let me see — Jacob — 'tis 

 her hand, and to me." My nncle read the note, 

 and it sectned as it' a spirit of abstraction had 

 seized u|)on him, in which mood we left him; 

 Margaret to lier room |irfi|>aiatory to milking, 

 and I to the care of the animrds. This was in 

 tlie month of October, and it was one of the 

 ]ileasantest evenings of that preferred season of 

 the year. 



When every thing had been attended to and 

 the candles had been liiilitcd, and we were drawn 

 round the hearth on wliicli a ciackling faggot 

 blazed and diffused its cheerful light, my nncle 

 said — "They are coming — yonr aunt has written 

 a pinnjise herself I have been comparing the 

 writing with a letter of more than forty-five 

 years ago; it is the same hand, but how different 

 - the state of mind !" 



"I did not kuosv, nncle, tli;it you (lossesscd a 

 letter fi-om her; you never mcniioned it to me." 



"No, my child, I had no njoiive for doing so: 

 besides, that was a letter for my eye alone, and 

 I am not aware that any one ever .saw it, nor 

 now ever will ; it is in ashes," added he, pointing 

 with his finger to the curled form of a sheet of 

 paper between the andirons; "I have kept it too 

 iong,and have now used tlie means which should 

 have l)een resorted to forty years ago to fbiget it. 

 My wisdom comes late: it is not good to cherish 

 sorrow or regret for things that are beyond om- 

 control or redress. But here, Peggy, here is her 

 note. 1 have turned over a new leaf^here read 

 it:" 



" October 5, 1843. 



"Valued Friend: — My daughter Mary coin- 

 inuiiicated thy « ish that we would take "dinner 

 with yon on thanksgiving day. We will do so 

 if we can, and your brother, my husl)and, is 

 well pleased with the prospect of going. From 

 me he never knew ot om- love, and has often 

 expressed his anxiety to know the cause why 

 you have avoided him. When 1 sav> Mary with 

 the gohl chain that was my niothor's, that you 

 had given her, my heart w.as broken. I had for- 

 gotten it; but the scissors — a new pair was in 

 their place. Attectionatelv liuewell, 



"MARY ** * *." 



" P. S. — We shall not be able to attend your 

 meeting, as we imist hear the anthem at our 

 own, where Mary is accounted the best singer; 

 hence we shall not arrive until about four o'- 

 clock." 



"Uncle," said Peggy, "what means all this? 

 Here ni^ aunt discdoses news, and it seems that 

 Jiiore than forty years ago." 



"Yes, yes, we were, njy children, as we are to 

 meet once again, and in yonr presence, it is right 

 and fit th.it jou should know it ; we were attach- 

 ed, and that most pleasing hope of life was ours. 

 I went as iriany now do to find in the distant 

 West a better home ; her scissors and chain 

 she gave me at our parting. 1 wrote to her, and 

 at the end of two years, when I returned, she 

 .had married to my brother. Bob, you saw how 

 her daughier moved me ; and slie now wears 

 the chain that was her mother's ;— all now is 

 right, and you know ;dl." 



" I have heard my aunt say," I remarked, " that 

 <-he often thought yoH a strange sort of a man ; 

 that in your yonili you went away tor the Ohio, 

 and nothing was heard from .\ou" until your re- 

 turn, which occasioned great imeasiuessto yoin- 

 friei]<Is." 



"Then she was right," said my nncle; "time 

 flies, and they ought not to wait fin-ever.'" 



After supper Margaret took her knitting ; my 

 uncle took his pipe, and I was about to proceed 

 with "Belind.a, by Miss Edgeworth," with which 

 my wife was so well pleased that sh.e asked for 



a .second reading, and which those who possess 

 a similar taste will find worthy of perusal. 



"Nevermind the bonk now, Robert; I am 

 thinking of what Uncle Jacob has just told us, 

 and that they are to be here ; these meetings 

 have an excellent intiuence ujion people; they 

 reconcile diftiirences, and explain the causes of 

 misunderstanding; (or the heart that beats in 

 gratitude for the hiessings of the season towanls 

 the Great Giver of all good, cannot be other than 

 kind at the same time. How did thanksgiving 

 originate, nncle .' ] never heard or read of it in 

 any other country hut this." 



"There has been some surmises about it," he 

 replied; "some have supposed that the I'ilgrims 

 at riymontb first ordained it, lor their preserva- 

 tion fi-om the Indians during the first year of 

 their residence ; others that it was an acknowl- 

 edgement of their gratitude tor the harvest that 

 they had gathered ; hut these, I tl]iid<, aie errors. 

 I believe the first thanksgiving was proclaimed 

 in Massachusetts in 1749, moie than one hundred 

 years after the landing at Plymouth, and has con- 

 tinued from that time each year to this. 'J'he 

 day originated in feelings of deep and fervent 

 gratitude. 'Never,' says one of the records, 

 ' was there such drought in New England, up to 

 the early part of July ; the streiuns cease<l, the 

 springs failed, the forests jippeared like autmiin, 

 and the pastures were so dry that they took fire." 



"In the midst of the drought, when it appear- 

 ed as if the earth was about to withhold her in- 

 crease, and the labm- of the husbandman fail, a 

 day of tasting and prayer was proclaimed, and 

 the hearts of the people as one man went up for 

 rain. This was 1 believe in June, 1749. The 

 rains soon came, and the remainder of the sea- 

 son was very favorable, resulting in a good har- 

 vest. When this had been gathered, a sense of 

 gratitude so generally prevailed that in Novem- 

 ber a day was set apart for the expression of 

 this feeling; and this was, and ever should be, 

 thanksgiving. Custom and long usage have as- 

 sociated with it other fl-elings, otiier practices. 

 Parents and children, biothers and sister.s, meet 

 at the same board, and circle around tlie same 

 fireside. Those that are flu- away in distant 

 States, or foreign lands, if they ku'ow the day, 

 go home in imagination, and in spirit are there, 

 although their seats be vacant, and 



'• ■ l^emerabr.uice, (hitliful to lier trust, 

 Restores the lost ones Ironi the dust.''' 



"This imperfect i|notation," said my Uncle 

 Jacob, " has bjought to my mind something by 

 the same author upon this veiy sulijsct. Peg^y, 

 hand to Robert from the shelf'there, the volume 

 of American Poetry, that he may read to us the 

 lines of Spjagne, who, with Drake, ;md Bryant, 

 are good enough for me, and founded upon our 

 own scenery, institutions and habits." 



My tmcle re-lighted his pipe, and whifiedaway 

 with his eyes shut. Margaret stayed her busy 

 fingers; while I read as well as I could the; fol- 

 lowing, under the head of 



THE FAMILY MEETIAG. 



\Vc are all here \ 



Father, mother, 



Sisler, [jroUier, 

 All who hold e;ich oilier dear. 

 Each chair is till'd — were all at homo ; 

 To-iiight let no f:oicl strani^er come : 

 It is not olten thus around 

 Our old lamiliar hearth we're found : 

 Bless, then, the meeting, and the spot ; 

 For once be every care I'or^ot ; 

 Let eentle Peace assert her power, 

 .•\nd kind Aft'ection rule llie hour ; 



We're all— all here. 



We're net all here ! 

 Some are away — the dead ones dear 

 Who throng'd with u-s this ancient hearth, 

 And gave the hour to guiltless mirth. 

 Fate, wilh a stern, relentless hand, 

 Look'd in and thinn'd our little hand: 

 Some like a night-Hash pass'd nway,- 

 .\nd some saidi, lingeiinir, day by day ; 

 The quiet (jrave-yard — some lie there — 

 And cruel Ocean lias Ins shares- 



We're uol all here. 



We are all here ! 

 Even they — the dead — though dead, so dear ; 

 Fond Memory, to her duty true. 

 Brings back their faded forms to view. 

 I^ow life-like through the mist of years. 

 I'^ach welt-remember'd face appears ! 

 We see them as in times long past; 

 From each to each kind looks are cast ; 

 We hear their words, their smiles behold -, 



They're round us as they were of old — 

 We are all here. 



We are all here ! 



t'ather, mother, 



.Sister, brother. 

 Vou that 1 love with love so dear. 

 This may not long of us be said ; 

 Soon must we join the gather'd dead ; 

 And by the hearth we now sit round, 

 Some other circle will he found. 

 O ! then, that wisdfiin may we know, 

 Which }ields a life of peace below! 

 So, in the world to follow this, 

 Alay each repeat, in words ol bliss, 



We re all — all here. 



" Read it agtiin, Bob," said my uncle ; " it will 

 bear repetition, and you will give the meaning 

 of the author better, fiom a more perfect com- 

 prehension. Ne,\t to good writing is good read- 

 ing: the liitter perhaps the most rare of the 

 two." 



" These meetings," said my nncle when J had 

 done, "are rather in sadness than in mirth; but 

 like the house of mourning rather than feasting, 

 the heart is made better. At each renewal of 

 the practice, when another year litis been added 

 to the never-fiiiling jippetite of 'J'ime, new fiices 

 ajipear, and old ones are missing. Well, it is a 

 long time since I have filled a place in the ring, 

 and now it is to be at my own house, ^o it goes 

 — my singidarities are leaving me, and my kin- 

 dred are taking their places. I shall look foruard 

 to the day with more ih.in usual anxiety, and to- 

 morrow, Bob, if fiiir, I will visit the pasture lot 

 and see how the stock comes on. It ttdtes a tur- 

 key some time to fatten, and I will get font-, I 

 think, f'loni Mr. Staples, the tenant, and attend to 

 them myself.'' 



" You must call and see your favorite on your 

 way back, nncle." 



"The very thought was in my iriind," replied 

 he; "she is the bemi ideal of [lerfectinn with 

 me ; and I would not miss her or her voice (<n- .i 

 trifle." 



" And 1.9 her voice so much better than mine ?' 



" No. Maggy, no; but only two voices ever 

 filled my ear, and she has one of them." 



" Her motlK'i's, then, is the other ?" 



" Yoti have it, my child, and 1 long to hear it 

 once more. It is said that .-i vvonian never for- 

 gets her first love, and I am sure some men do 

 not. Now for my caudle, Peggy, and good 

 night." 



The employments in which we feel nn inter- 

 est are constant sotnces of happiness. The 

 farmer who prepares and works upon a jiriine 

 crop ; the wile who hibors for the premium but- 

 tei-, iiud the young woman who plies her needle 

 for the promised wedding day — how cheerful 

 are their hours; but farmei's wife or maiilen 

 were not more constaiil or happy than appeared 

 my uncle in fixing his coop.s, feeding liis poultry, 

 and shaping every thing for the appointed time. 



" Yon keep the windows so bright iiiid clear," 

 said he one day to my wile, " that I must get 

 some paint and give the jiarlor a new brushing 

 up." 



Things went on in this niauner i:iilil the day 

 u hen my nncle should see, and did see, his kin- 

 dred cii-cling his fire-side. On our little farm 

 every thing too was in order, for we were ;is de- 

 sirous that things slioidd ajipear as well out of 

 doors as within. Even the horses were l)rnslied 

 up a little more than common, which maintained 

 our reputaiioii of having as gond tis any in tlio 

 neiglilioihood. 



The time that el.ipsed hrtween the reccijit of 

 the letter and the .-isseiiiblagt^ of liie comp.-uiy on 

 the appointed time at our residi-nce was a period 

 of happiness, .\ large portion of the happiness 

 of company is often found in the piepnration to 

 i-eceive them. It was lo be the first visit of our 

 lelations generally, and niy wifi! mtinilested a 

 constant solicitude to have every thing tibonl the 

 house in the best order. Nothing 1 believe could 

 have pleased my uncle better: alwavs steady, in- 

 dustrious and honest, he acquired and nniiutain- 

 ed the character of a disci-eet, thriving and sen- 

 sible man ; but he was a bachelor, and of conse- 

 quence was a stranger lo those social relaiion.? 

 which spring f'rom fiimily connections. But the 

 latent feelings were in him; the soil was propi- 

 tious, and fiom the recent upiiuning, iliey burst 

 forth to meet the genial sunsiiine. 



With his bi'othir Robert, uho is my own fii- 

 ther, my uncle had ever been on good but r.-iihcr 



