THANKSGIVING.
Thanksgiving! dear, delightful Thanksgiving! What a happy sound in all
childish ears! What visions of roast turkeys, plum puddings, and pumpkin
pies rise before us at the name! What hosts of rosy cheeks, sparkling
eyes, nicely-combed little heads, and bounding feet; what blazing fires
and warm parlors; what large stuffed rocking-chairs, with
comfortable-looking grandpapas and grandmamas in them; what huge bundles
of flannel, out of which, plump blue-eyed babies roll; what stuffed
hoods and cloaks, from which little boys and girls emerge; and better
than all, what warm hearts brimming with affection; what sweet songs of
joyful praise; what untold depths of "sacred and home-felt delight,"
belong to thee, dear, glad, Thanksgiving-day!
Let us look in at Mrs. Hamilton's on Thanksgiving eve. Every thing in
her little sitting-room is just as clean as it can possibly be; the fire
burns brightly, and the blaze goes dancing and leaping merrily up the
chimney, diffusing throughout the room an aspect of cheerfulness. Henry,
"the student," as John calls him, is at home; for of course it is
vacation in his school; and his mother looks with pride on the manly
form and handsome face of this her favorite boy, who has certainly grown
taller and handsomer since his last visit at home, in her eyes at least;
and who is now entertaining himself by teaching his pet, Emma, (a little
girl of four,) to repeat the Greek alphabet, and whose funny
pronunciation of Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, &c., is received with peals
of laughter by the other children.
"We will make a famous Greek scholar of you yet," said Harry, "who
knows, darling Em, but you may be a great poetess before you die? But
you won't be a blue stocking, I hope!"
"My stockings are _red_," said the unconscious Emma; "mother don't
make me _blue_ stockings," sticking out her little feet by way of
confirming the fact.
Charlie, the baby, as he is called, now almost three years old, has
donned his new red flannel dress, and white apron, in honor of the day.
James is cracking butternuts in one corner, and a well-heaped milk-pan
is the trophy of his persevering toil. Lucy, the eldest sister, has come
home, and she and Mary are deep in some confidential conversation the
opposite side of the room, stopping every now and then to listen, as if
expecting to hear some pleasant sound. Among them all, the mother moves
with a beaming face and quiet step, completing the arrangements of the
table, which is standing at the backside of the room, covered by a snowy
cloth, and decorated with the best plates, and china cups and saucers,
the relics of more prosperous days.
"Hurra, they've come! they've come!" said James, tossing down his
hammer, and bounding over the pan of nuts; "that's our wagon, I know."
All are at the door. 'Tis they! Yes, 'tis John and Arthur, our dear
little Arthur home again! How they all seize upon and kiss him! How the
mother holds him to her heart with tearful eyes! Ah, this is joy; such
joy as can be purchased only by separation and suffering. Who that
looked now on Arthur's beaming eye, and glowing cheek, could dream that
they had been clouded by sorrow, or dimmed by tears?
Of all the happy groups that were assembled in our old Commonwealth that
night, few we think were happier than this. Rover was by no means a
silent witness of the joy. He would not leave Arthur's side a moment,
and constantly sought to attract his notice. Arthur had been always very
fond of Rover, almost more so than the other children, though he was a
great favorite with all, and Rover had missed him since he went away
almost as much as Arthur had missed Rover; so it was a joyful re-union
on both sides. He was a large dog, of the Newfoundland breed, with
shaggy hair. He had beautiful white spots, and long, silky ears, and was
a very good-natured dog. He would let Charlie get on his back, and ride
him all about the yard; and the boys had made a little sled to which
they fastened Rover, and Emma, well wrapped up in her hood and cloak,
with her woolen mittens on, would have quite long rides after him;
sometimes in the yard, and sometimes in the street.
How much the children had to talk about that night; how many stories to
tell Arthur, and questions to ask him in return! Arthur had decided
beforehand not to make any complaint, or to say he was unhappy, or
homesick; and indeed in the pleasure of being at home again, he almost
forgot he had ever been unhappy. He was to stay till Monday morning, and
to him those four days seemed a long period of enjoyment, quite too long
to be saddened yet by the thoughts of separation. The night settled down
on the inmates of the cottage, and sweet sleep sealed up all eyes; even
those of the weary mother. The year had brought many trials, and some
heavy ones, but there was in spite of them all, much to be thankful for,
especially that all her beloved children had been preserved to her, and
were so healthy, so promising, and so likely to prove blessings to her.
Ah, how long afterwards did she recall that merry evening, and those
beaming faces, with a heavy heart!