_From the Philadelphia Press, Nov. 27, 1884, (Thanksgiving number)_
_Scene_.--A large family supper party, a night or two ago, with voices
and laughter of the young, mellow faces of the old, and a by-and-by
pause in the general joviality. "Now, Mr. Whitman," spoke up one of the
girls, "what have you to say about Thanksgiving? Won't you give us a
sermon in advance, to sober us down?" The sage nodded smilingly, look'd
a moment at the blaze of the great wood fire, ran his forefinger right
and left through the heavy white mustache that might have otherwise
impeded his voice, and began: "Thanksgiving goes probably far deeper
than you folks suppose. I am not sure but it is the source of the
highest poetry--as in parts of the Bible. Ruskin, indeed, makes the
central source of all great art to be praise (gratitude) to the Almighty
for life, and the universe with its objects and play of action.
"We Americans devote an official day to it every year; yet I sometimes
fear the real article is almost dead or dying in our self-sufficient,
independent Republic. Gratitude, anyhow, has never been made half enough
of by the moralists; it is indispensable to a complete character, man's
or woman's--the disposition to be appreciative, thankful. That is the
main matter, the element, inclination--what geologists call the _trend_.
Of my own life and writings I estimate the giving thanks part, with what
it infers, as essentially the best item. I should say the quality of
gratitude rounds the whole emotional nature; I should say love and faith
would quite lack vitality without it. There are people--shall I call
them even religious people, as things go?--who have no such trend to
their disposition."