SULLIVAN REPUBLICAN.
W, M. CHENEY, Publisher.
VOL. VIII.
THANKSGIVING.'
Upon the frozen, fruitless ground,
Above a treasure he hail found,
A robin sang; <
Such rapture swelled his tender throat
The dull air quivered with his note;
The silence rang
With melody so high and long
He seemed to be incarnate song;
He seemed to thirst—
So tame he was as I drew near—
That all the heavens and earth should hear
The grateful burst.
No alderman at turtle feast
Nor hungry man o'er smoking beast
Such bliss could know;
No parching traveler on the sand,
Discovering water near at hand,
More joy could show.
No juicy fruit nor dainties ripe
Had thus attuned his little pipo
To thank the Lord;
'Twas but a bunch of withered berries
Or unnutritious, starveling cherries
That spread his board!
That robin's rapturous merriment
Kxposed man's selfish discontent
In itstruo feature;
That day a sermon rare and good
Was preached in aisle of somber wood
By feathered creature.
And often when 1 bow my head
In thankfulness for bounties spread
And look on high,
I walk once more as in my youth
And hoar again in very truth '
That robin's cry.
♦ —lrving Browne.
. THANKSGIVING.
r J ITTLE Knte Weaver
I 1 \ walked wearily
through the rich light
. . of a November sunset
® with a basket of chest -
nuts on ' ierarm '
" If "ijh had been gathering
'< them, with the as
sistance of Dick Burns, the blacksmith's
boy, for the morrow evening, for every
thing eatable or drinkable which was con
sidered "good'' would be pressed into
service through the hours of the Thanks
giving now so near at hand.
Throughout the year the inhabitants
of Rushtop were, as a general thing,
plain livers, but on Thanksgiving Days
they stuffed themselves as they did their
poultry. Anil so Kate Weaver hoped to
«ell her nuts.
At home—her home—there was to be
no Thanksgiving Day kept. That is, re
garding it as a feast. Kate had a vague
hope that if the nuts sold well she would
have ft "cup of tea and some baker's
gingernuts for supper." But, after all,
almost every one had nuts already, so the
sale was slow. A pint to a greedy child
—three cents' worth an old woman, who
lived by herself in almost as poor a little
house as that Kate lived in—and here it
was sunset, and not nuts enough to pay
for the labor yet sold. It would have
been better to have gone out sewing.
Kate was worn and weary and always
timid; she shrank from approaching the
door of the "hotel"—dubbed thus by the
landlord. It was"the tavern" elsewhere.
But the remembrance of her sick sister's
pinched, pale face arose before her. The
tea and the baker's cake and the little
bowl of arrowroot would do her so much
good.
She put her face in at the open door J
and said timidly:
"Chestnuts, sir?"
And a man in a blue jacket, who
stood at the bar, turned.
"Nuts, eh?" he cried. "Well, I'm
your man. How much are they, lass?"
Kate answered the price by the pint.
"Hang pints!" said (he man. "I'll
take the whole mess. Steer this way,
my lass, and pitch your basket full over
board into this handkcrcher, and there's
two dollars for you."
"They are not worth that much, sir,"
said Kate.
"Bother!" said the man. "Why, a
marine wouldn't take change from a lass
like you, Tlianksgivin' eve. Keep it,
Lord love ye. Only I'd like a buss from
them rod lips into the bargain."
Kate retreated hastily. The man was
plainly tipsy, and she was a little afraid.
But she was thankful in spite of all. At
her poor seamstress work she earned so
little the money seemed a great deal. It
was a perfect Godsend to her. She hur
ried along the street to the grocer's and
walked in as a new-made millionaire
might.
"A quarter of green tea and a pound
of sugar," she said with an air, wonder
ing whether a pound of ham would be
an extravagance. "And a paper of ar
rowroot if you please."
The grocer took the small order with
a nod and answered: "In a minute,"
and Kate looked about her. The shop
glistened with its Thanksgiving dressing
up. The tea-caddies, with their gilt j
mandarines, the Chinese ladies, were i
splendid objects. The gas was turned |
on in every burner. Pyramids'of apples,
clusters of raisins and piles of almonds I
decked the window, and for the first ,
time in a long while she was absolutely i
to have a share in the good tilings on ex
hibition.
She felt almost happy. Who knew
but a "streak of luck" might come, and
she should be rich some day.
The clerk was ready for her now. He
put her tea in white paper, her sugar in
brown and dabbed the paper of arrow
root on the counter with a "there you
are."
"Anything more, miss?" he asked, and
Kate, growing quite extravagant, said:
" 'Yes, a candle and two of these large ,
apples.'"
Then she proffered her two dollar bill.
The young fellow looked at it and
whistled.
"This is your little game, eh?" he
said. •' 'Twon't do with us. If you i
warn't a gal, I'd call the police. Don't j
try it agin, I warn you?"
"Try what—what is it?" asked Kate, j
trembling.
•'As if you didn't know it was coun- !
tcrfeit," cried the man. "Come, don't I
play innocent. There's the door. Why,!
a blind man couldn't be took in by that 1
thing."
He tossed the bill, all crumpled up, to- |
ward her and took away her purchases.
Kate understood what was the matter.
"I did not know it was bad. It was
given to me in payment for some nuts,"
said Kate. "The man will change it, I 1
am sure." |
"You'd better try," said the clerk, j
sneeringly, and Kate ran out of the store
and btick to the tavern, but the man was
gone. Only the landlord was there. He
sympathized.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I'd had
a look at it. Poor thing. It's too bad.
He's a regular rascal, I've no doubt.
You ought to be careful about bills.
There's a lot of bad ones going."
And with this end to her day's work and
evening's work, Kate crept bark to her
sick sister and the wretched meal of dry
bread.
"Not even Thanksgiving could bring any
good to her," she thought, and she could
not sleep, but sat with her face pressed
against the glass, thinking of the past
and of the future. The last was dark,
but she had been happy once—very hap
py. They had had a home and she had
been its pet, its best beloved. She had
worn pretty dresses, and had never
known the want of any luxury. And
then, too, in those bright days of her
seventeenth year, she had had a lover.
Still, through all her poverty she had
kept his ring on her finger, and his mem
ory at her heart. Poor Charlie Nichols!
He was drowned at sea on that first voy
age—for the ship was never heard of
from the time it left the dock. • He was
dead, and so were all the rest—mother
and father, and boy brother—only her
sick sister and herself were left upon the
earth.
The tears fell fast upon her clasped
hands. "Thanksgiving! How could
they give thanks?"
She was only twenty now, yet life was
quite over. Nothing could Over come to
her but woe. Even the humble feast she.
had hoped for so, little as it was, had
been snatched from their lips. Oh, the
cruel man! the cruel man! did he know
bow poor they were? And at last, ill
with weeping, she crept into the wretched
bed and slept.
And, perhaps because she was hungry,
she dreamt all night of Thanksvivintr
LAPORTE, PA., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1889.
feasts and merry-making, ami music and
dancing, and smiling faces ;u.d love
greetings.
And out of it she awoke to the cou
ciousness of her misery.
"Thanksgiving Day. Oh, Carrie,
what have we to be thankful for?" she
asked.
But the sick girl answered, humbly: |
"A great deal, if we will only try to
think so. God is good to us all. How
many are worse off than we?"
Kate shook her head. She could not
feel that this was so. And she heard
the church bells ring, with thoughts
she would not have put into words for
the world—despairing, wretched, almost >
wicked thoughts. Why should God give
all good to others and so much woe to
them?
♦ ****♦
At the same hour a sailor tumbled out
of his berth on board the steamship
Rising Wave, and rolled into the Cap
tain's presence as speedily as possible.
"I'd like togo ashore this morning,
Cappen," he said.
i "You were ashore," said the Captain,
> "yesterday."
"I know it," said the sailor, "But,
ye see, I cheated a girl out of $2, and I
ain't easy in my mind. That is how
j 'twas, Cappen. I'd been drinking too
much—"
"Leave you alone for that," said the
i
I Captain.
"That's the truth," said the sailor,
"and I was in a tavern along with Sam
I and Bill, and two more mates, when in
: came a gal with nuts. 1 bought 'em,
1 and by accident, Cappen, I gave her a
bad bill. Where 1 board they gave it
to me, and won't take it back. I found j
j out arter I was aboard that I'd give it to
the gal, and 1 can't sail leaving a thief's
name ashore."
The Captain smiled and gave Tom
leave to go.
And so it chanced that, as people were
J going home to dinner from church, and
I Kate was billing her head beside the
I empty hearth, a knock came at the door,
and opening it, she saw a sailor.
''You're the lass!" he cried. "Yes.
: your the lass. I asked for ye at the
tavern, and they sent me here. I didn't
mean to cheat ye. I hope you and the
other young women know that. Here's
i a good bill, and I'll burn the other to
j save mistakes, for there's gettin' it
| off on them that gave it."
Then he stared at the empty lire-place.
' "This ain't Tlianksgivin' lixin's," he
| said to himself. "I'm afraid they're in
want."
And then his eye went roving around
| the room and lit upon a tiny daguerreo
type upon a shclf
"ls that one of you, miss?" he asked.
"Yes, 1 see it is—and might I be bold
! enough to ask your name? 'Tain't im
| pudence—l've a reason."
Kate gave her name.
"It's the same," said the man. "Sec
| here, miss, do you know Captain Nichols
| —Captain Charles Nichols—that went to
1 sea before the mast four years ago?"
Kate screamed and clasped her hands.
"I see you do," he said, "and I've got
news to tell him that'll make his heart
j glad. He's been searching for you for
months. In every town we've been in,
! lie's looked for you up and down, and
high and low, and I've helped him, and
only yesterday he says to me •
J O
" 'Tom, it's no use. 111 never find
her. She's dead or married—and lost to
' me forever.'
"And the tears were in the Cappen's t
eyes when he said so. Don't keel over,
miss. Have a drop out o' my flask. I
say, young lady in the arm-chair, what
shall 1 do with her?"
And Tom was iu a dilemma, for Kato
had fainted.
But it was joy and not grief that over
came her, for she knew that her Thanks
giving Day had dawned at last.
And before the actual day was over
Kate was clasped in her lover's arms,and
Carrie had felt a brother's kiss upon her
lips, and rot only had the greatest grief
and trial of Kate's life happiness ended
4vith, her lover's return, but want and
poverty were over for them forever.
And in the care and comfort of her
sister's married home, roses returned to
Carrie's cheeks, and two happier women
arc not to be found under the sun.
Suggestions for Thanksgiving Day.
Remember that as your thankfulness is
largely measured by the quantities of
Thanksgiving fare you consume, you
should
Eat heartily of turkey
And much appetite evince
When you tackle chestnut stuffing
And the pie that's inado of mince.
As all the houses of worship will be
open upon this day of gratitude, it is
well to note that
It isn't right to leave the
Gentle clergy in the lurch;
So have your wife and children
Represent you in the church.
And while they are there see to it that
they show that, you do not forget the
poor. To accomplish this you must take
care
That wlieu they start for service
They are furnished well with tin
So that when the plate is passed them
They may drop a nickel iu.
In the midst of your pleasures do not
entirely forget business. Remember that
this is the time of the year to buy your
wiuter's coal, and
W hen you go about it, see
You surely lay enough in,
For if you don't you'll suffer liko
The shivering ragamuffin.
And while your mind is on business
bent, do not forget that Christmas comes
around almost on the heels of Thanksgiv
ing, and that, as the father of a family
it behooveth you
To rake and scrape your dividends
And place them under lock,
So that you'll have the wherewithal
To fill the baby's sock.
i In conclusion we have only to say that
that there can be no reason for doubt
That wise ami reasonable men
Will find it safe to bet,
If they but follow out our hints,
That they'll be happy yet.
—Xew York Sun.
The Day After Thanksgiving.
Mrs. Gobbler—"These look like the
remains of my old man."
How the Day Was Established.
Mrs' Sarah J. Hale, who was for many
years editor of (forte;/x I/idies? Book, is
credited with the establishment of the
; National Thanksgiving day. She began
I as far back as 1811, writing to the Gover
nors of the States, urging them to issue
Thanksgiving proclamations, until in
1859 the day was observed in all the
States but two. President Lincolu is
sued the first National Thanksgiving pro
clamation after the of Vieksburg, the
day set apart being August 0, 1863.
Since that time the Presidents have ap
pointed the last Thursday of November
as the National Thanksgiving Day.
An Informal Repast.
"I suppose," said Mrs. Brown, "you
vould like me to wear a new dress at this
Thanksgiving dinner you are going to
five?"
"Can't afford it," growled old Brown,
j 'As long as you have flu? turkey well
1 Iressed you will pass muster."
I * _____
I Dou't count your turkey before it is
j carved, for it may go back on you.
Terms—sl.2s in Advance; $1.50 after Three Months.
THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY.
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my
childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to
view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled
wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy
knew;
The hay rack, the plow and the old fashioned
cutter;
The lambs that were full of their frolic anil
glee;
The warm flowing milk and the good broad
and butter;
And e'en the fat turkey that sat iu the
tree;
The young, tender turkey, the good, fat j
turkey,
The Thanksgiving turkey that sat in the
tree.
That Thanksgiving turkey I hailed as a trea
sure,
For always in fall when returned from the
school,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
All roasted and seasoned, of stuffing so
full.
How gladly I saw it with eyes that were
glowing!
How pleasant at homo on the farm then to j
be I
To feast on the coek that in summer was I
crowing,
And e'en the fat turkey that sat in the
tree;
The young, tender turkey, the good, fat
turkey.
The Thanksgiving turkey that sat in the
tree.
How sweet at the family board to receive it,
When words of good cheer aud affection
were said,
Not a feast with a monarch could tempt mo
to leave it.
The grandest that riches aud fashion can
spread.
And now, far removed from that loved habi
tation
A feeling of sadness arises in me.
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the turkey that sat in the
tree,
The young, tender turkey, the good, fat
turkey.
The Thanksgiving turkey that sat in the
tree.
CHARITY'S THANKS.
LL the wiseacres said
4 after Charity Chipman's
father died that she
would have to hire a
"imiidL mau to run the farm
t h° u ßht differently,
% # and having taken
*' ll •> charge of everything
herself, found at the
end of a year a nice
little profit to her account in the bank.
The day before Thanksgiving she was
driving into town with a load of turkeys
and pumpkins and new-laid eggs, to sup
ply her regular customers for the great
yearly feast-day. She was thinking, a
the cart jogged along, that she would
have to eat her turkey alone on the mor
row, and somehow the thought was not
a pleasant one. Her reflections were
broken by the sight of a lonely woman
trudging along the road just ahead of
her. "Going to Hartsdale?" she asked,
as she came up. "I'll give you a ride
if you're bound that way." "Oh,
thank you," said the stranger, who was
young and pretty-looking. "I had
walked Ave miles, and was beginning to
get tired."
"Going to town to spend Thanks
giving!" asked Miss Charity, helping the
young woman iu the cart.
"I am going there to look for work.
I have no friends to spend Thanksgiving
with," said the other, sadly.
"That's too bad," exclaimed Miss Char
ity—then—"Just hold the pony a min
ute while I deliver this stuff to my cus
tomer."
And so Miss Charity bobbed in and
I out, stopping for a little to talk with this
j or that matron, pulling a bunch of gaudy
! chrysanthemums from under the wagon
j seat for a little lame child ill a tenement
; house and slyly leaving a plump chicken
j for the. consumptive seamstress, who
! could not afford to order one, until the
! golden-haired girl alighted at the street
'
! corner.
"There's an intelligence office near
here, ma'am." said she, "where I may be
! able to hear of work. 1 am much obliged
j to you for the ride."
And she dropped an artless little cour
| tesy and went her way. Miss Charity
looked after her.
"I like that little daisy-like face," said
j she. "If I'd known who she was and
i been quite certain that she wasn't a
I tramp I should have been almost tempted
Ito ask her to come and live with me! I
j need some one, young and active, about
' the place, and -. Hut here's Mrs. Tilli
l drum's where the barrel of apples is or
. dered for."
Mrs. Tillidrum proffered a ten-dollar
NO. 7.
bill in payment for the apples; Miss
Charity Chipmim put. her hand in her
pocket to make change.
"Why, it's gone!" she ejaculated.
"What's gone?" said Mrs. Tillidrum.
"My pocketbook!" screamed Miss
Charity. "And that ungrateful tramp
has rewarded iny kindness by robbing
me! I might ha' known just how it
would be!"
She went straight to the intelligence
office. The girl whom she had described
had been there, but was gone, leaving no
address.
"It's like looking for a needle in a
b 'llie of hay," said Miss Charity. And
she left the description at the police sta
tion and went home in great disgust.
"My old red leather pocketbook, that
was father's," said Miss Charity Chip
i man, with tears in her eyef, "and twenty
: live dollars and sixty cents in it, in good
j hard money—it's enough to put one out
of all conceit with human nature! And
I slio with such an innocent little face, too,
and eyes as blue as a baby's! Well, I
never shall believe in what the pliysiog-
I nomists say again!"
It was Thanksgiving Eve, and Miss
Charity Chipman was sitting dejectedly
; before the fire of blazing pine logs medi
| tating upon her loss. Neither intelli
! gence office nor police station had been
! able to render any account of the old red
1 pocketbook and its contents.
"I declare," said Miss Charity, "it
just spoils my Thanksgiving!"
AVhen all of a sudden, there came a
knock at the door and there, wrapped in a
faded brown shawl, with her golden hair
j blown all about her face, stood the girl
with the blue eyes who had ridden at
Miss Charity's side during the frosty
November sunrise.
| "Bless my soul!" cried Miss Charity,
I recoiling.
"Yes," said the girl, smiling, "it is I.
; And I've brought back your pocketbook.
I found it lying on the curbstone oppo
site that house where you stopped with
the bunch of flowers. I was returning
from the intelligence office when I saw it
lying among the dead leaves and 1 knew
you must have dropped it when you
jumped out. And I've been inquiring
everywhere for you and have only just
found you. Here's the pocketbook, and
if you'll please count the money, I think
you'll find it all right."
Mechanically Miss Charity Chipman
numbered over the contents of the old
1 receptacle. Not a copper cent was gone.
"Vis," said she, "it's all right. Stop
a minute, child—where are you going?"
"Back to tlm city, ma'am," said the
gill, wrapping the faded shawl closer
| around her, for the twilight blast was
keen.
"Have you got a place!"
I "Not yet, ma'am, but there's a cheap
lodging house for working women, where
1 can get a very good bed and bowl of
sou]) for flftceu cents, and"
i "You can't go there," said Miss
I Charity.
"Ma'am?" said the startled girl,
j "Look here, child," said Miss Charity,
"You're all alone in the world. So am
I. Stay here with me. I'll .give you
good wages and a comfortable home.
For there's something in your face that 1
like."
"Do you really mean it. ma'am?" said
the girl, looking around in a fluttered
manner at the bright fire and the cheerful
rug carpet, with it" stripes ol' red and
blue, and the rows of glistening crockery
! on the shelf.
By way of answer Miss Charity drew
her trendy iu, closed the door and kissed
her cheek.
"Two lone women together," said she.
"Surely we can manage to get along!"
And Miss Charity Chipman ate her
Thanksgiving dinner on the morrow with
the blue eyed stranger sitting opposite
tile blue-eyed stranger who lived with
: her and was a comfort to her until the
<lay of her death!
j And both of them kept Thanksgiving
iu their hearts!