Image provided by: Washington County Cooperative Library Service; Hillsboro, OR
About Washington County hatchet and Forest Grove times. (Forest Grove, Or.) 1896-1897 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 26, 1896)
W A S H IN G T O N COUNTY H A TC H E T T H A N K S G IV IN G AT H O M E. All hall! all ball! Oh. rare and antique bird That lately ou the venerable tree. ¡Colled In u bull o f (deep, the chill winds hoard Moaning In mournful gaits thlno elegy! No m oi“ the sun will gild they red cravat, Or ripple ou 'thv wing; For time hath caught thee, even ns the cat 1 Catches the gray and agile whiskered Tat; And now thy praise we sing. Gathered upon the board, serene and gay. A l'pou Thanksgiving Day. % il/V O, It’s early in the mornln’ that a feller must be rlsln,' Thanksglvln' Day. like Christmas time, It comes but wuast a year. The birds are stuffed an' roastin’ with an odor a p p rizin ', The ppmpkln pies are bakin’ an' the elder flowin’ freer. There’ s piles an’ piles o’ cookies, an* there’s doughnuts till you're dizzy. There’s mounds an* mounds o f Jelly, un’ there’s biscuits browned an’ light. A ll the n.ornln’ In the kitchen mother’s been most awful busy, O, you bet I ’ m mighty thankful that I own an appetite. Tw o lonely, solemn turkeys, sole survivors o f the flock, Are n-struttln’ round tho yard with a kind o’ anxious air. The sort o’ sudden absence o f their friends Is quite a shock. An’ they're searchlu’ fe r their late lament ed rrojib-s everywhere. W ith spreadln’ tails and feathers fluffed their quest they keep pursuin'; They don’ t suspect their fate will be the others' gloomy lot. They notice how we’ re fusslu’ an’ they won der what we’ re doin'. O, you bet I ’ m mighty thankful that a tur key I am not. The folks they keep arrivin’ brlmmln’ o’er with fun an’ laughter. Bluff uncles shake my hand until the bones begin to crack. Girl cousins shyly kiss me—Jes’ exactly what I*in a ft e r - An’ with promptitude quite lightning-like I gayly kiss ’em back. But one o f them, the fairest maid o f all my fnir relations. To steal my heart by wltchln’ art* soroe- . bow she does contrive, W hile In her eyes I read a tale beyond my expectations. O. you bet I’ m mighty thankful—mighty thankful—I'rrt alive. THANKSGIVING Ho was not a bad man at heart. But . the very qualities which moved some peo ple to call him a “ jolly good fellow ” were identical with ’ those which made other 'people consider him a bad citizen, and, with the usual emphasis o f people who take , the, downward view, a very bad * citizen. I When his w ife died he seemed to.awake f with a sudden shock to the issues o f life ft and the fact of death. H e had loved her S, with nil that marvelous depth o f tendeiS ■» uess, l hat inconsistent fervor which some- ^ times underlies the weakest natures. In ike newness o f his grief he foreswore his old ways aqd habits. l i e knew him self ti> bq weak, H e fancied the way to strength o f resistance lay along the road o f seif-exile to strange scenes and; un familiar faces—that road well worn by the restless feet of those who fly from the battle within to wage art unequal struggle with tho allies without. T lo left his little son, made doubly dear to him by the sense o f loss, with his w ife’ s cousin, gave to her what modey he could spare for the child’s support, promised to send more at regular iutervals, aud de parted westward. More than a year later he roused him self as if the linger o f fate had touched him. l i e remembered, with an anguished regret, that he had failed again; that for months he had drifted from place to place, lie himself scarcely knew where or how. He remembered’ that his promised remittances for the boy had ceased, lie V saw himself broken in strength, in health, 'A in spirit. He felt suddenly overpowered n, with the consciousness o f his own \Veak- • I ness, and, as a drowning man’s anhs / reach wildly out toward any illusion of help, his thought went out toward his - child. It seemed to him that the love o f his hoy could save him. The miracle o f sal vation became to him possible, wherein a little child, strong in lo^o and innocence j ami faith, should lift th*» fainting, failiug jj manhood of the mnn. V A passionate yearning seized him to fold again to his lienrt *he little form, to feel anoiit his nock the clinging arms, to 7 hear again tho lisping words which came ' to his weakened memory like distant echoes in a dream. And then lie remem bered the day when first the child was laid in his arms; he remembered the thrill, the wonder, the first pride o f fath erhood. Then, in brok »n glimpses, as a fnir landscape is seen between blurs of mist, there came to him mem<»cics in swift succession, of the growth, the incidents of the child’ s few years. “ I must go to him,” whispered the man w with a gasp, as he lifted his head from , his hands. His face was flushed, tears \ stood in his eyes. His resolution was ■C carried out with feverish haste, and he / turned his face to the East. His w ife’ s relative had little excuse for him. She had long mnsjdered him a hopeless vagabond. So when he appeared suddenly, ms from the possible, and, ill her opinion, better, dead, she was not pre pared to receive him with especial cordial ity. The story was soon told. The boy had died months before. He slept by his mother. No one had known where to ad dress 'he father, who was supposed to have forgotten he had l son. She was really not much surprised *t the apathy with which the father listened. It was consistent with her estimate o f his char acter. She had no means o f knowing that his faculties were stunned. But she was astonished beyond measure when, in n mechanical way, he insisted upon giving her money for the expense of earing for anil burying the boy. “ la diat quite all?” he kept asking. And then, abruptly but quickly, he said: “ Good-by, Fin going ba< k.” He knew that his hope was dead; he felt the certainty o f fall now that nothing rquiaiped to him to lean upon. Hut he thought o f other things. • A sleety mist filled the air. sparkling in rtie street lights like a maty shower of brilliants. The particles stung his face like elfin arrows. His features were tense an^l rigid. His eyes were hot aud dry and his head ached with u dull, in sistent. maddening pain He passed the Colored globes o f ft dr ug store and s opped. Red, violet, and green fhe shafts o f light pierced the dark. The people ubout him seemed shadows, the sound of their voices leagues away. Dimly he remembered a prescription for an opiate he had used for headaches like that. Fumbling in his pockets he found the paper and entered the store. “ Make twice the number of powders,” he said to the clerk. “ I don’ t want to bother getting the stuff so often.” The clerk hesitated. “ Nonsense,” said the man. “ I ’m per fectly familiar with the use o f it. G ive me one o f thetu now with a glass o f water.” Then he went into thp street again with the packet of powders in his pocket, and already the mere taking o f the drug had somewhat soothed him. He felt hushed; his mind seemed to clear and lift itself Into a curious*, impersonal attitude. As he walked he found himself quite willing to contemplate calmly the sodden pain at his heart, the utter hopelessness aud use- o f bread aud butter. T H A N K S G IV IN G S O N N E T* To God give thanks! From every,fciU and plain Thefruitsofautum n «Town.the dying year The ghost o f flowery summer hovers near A h If regretful for her shortened reign. The harvest o f the year revplvea again-“ The wine o f life Is In the atmosohere For those to whom heqlth holds lien ehrtllee “ ¡ear. And healing comes from. breath o f "ripened grain. Now o'er the gayly decorated land The granaries are tilled fi^m bn*e to brim; The frosj-sword strews the leaves on every hand In combat with the sunbeams’ rapler»t jlltn.; Aud heard throughout earth’s scenes’ of beauty grand * /. ' . The grateful toilers chant their harvest hymn. * • * bills he knew was there. He remembered approxim ately the amount: Brushing past the pleading child at his feet, he went abruptly into.the restaurant. After a brief interview wita the manager he re turned to the door. . “ W ho Wants a Thanksgiving dinner?” he osketk. T w o or1 three vriiees sflid "M e !” explosively-’ but for the rest an incredu lous stftr.e nlope responded» Until; one. hoy said, slowly and 1 reproachfully: "*Ah-h, g’ way! You’re givin‘ ns guff!” 1. J yf vl “ Ah-K, pickles! repented the children. “ And-pie-- shall it be mince pie or apple Thou’ rt nobler than the eunrashack or gm>ae.‘^ ,|' pieV” he asked. ¡ordly shanghai or the ortolan. This question requir'd pondering, and Or L’tie any other minstrel that Is loose ^ a youthful Alexander «-lit the Gordian I ri'in Tuscaloosa to C ap « Mary Ann. CompHied with thee the woodcock Is n mere knot by saying: “ Le*a have b o f e . ” ' Delusion- all In all; “ Jlwtv here.” said the man to a boy The upland plover ne'er can be thy peer, who scrambled for the «»at at his right Livable thee to the epicure and s<er tf hand. “ When there's only one lady in The prairie hen is small; the company the seat, of honor should be Thou art the bird o f freedom, anyway. long to her,” T h e man touched her hand reassuringly and turned to his left, where sat the little newsboy. Ivong and steadily he looked into the child’s face. “ He, too, had blue eyej.” he murmured, with a catch of the breath as for a brief instant* his own eyelids closed and he bit his lip. ' 1 * ' A t last, when each child had eaten two pieces of pie, even to the last crumb, the tnan "ose to his feet, clutching at his chair for support, -fyle brushed his hand across his eyes. Strange lights danced before him, c^upsop and golej; The ,uir was popu- ‘JPus \fcith uuknpwu ^shapes, weaving in slow mazes; soft melodics sang in his enrs as*from infinite distnuce3, thrilling, uncer- -----1 t * T/: I lessness of his life. W ith a mocking per sistence the many resolves he hud mude to himself, the efforts to change, the ever- succeeding failure surged up before him. and his lip curled in contemptuous scorn of himself. Never did a man hold himself up to more merciless s-rutiny, more in tolerant judgment. In his abstraction he nearly fell upon a group o f wretched children of the street who stood clustered ubout a restaurant window. And such a window I The light of mel low globes tt«Hided it. It was decked with holiday greens. In the »enter, on a plat ter sprigged with parsley, reposed brown and crisp, a roasted pig, with the reddest o f apples in its mouth. On each side a fair, fat turkey, dressed for the oven, lay in state. lobsters, in their scarlet coats, brown quail with heuds tucked under their wings to swell out the pitiful little breasts, and divers other resources aud accessories of the culinary art lent color and suggestiveness to the tableau. The man stopped. A tiny fellow, about as large as his own boy would have been, but ragged and dirty and shivering, as by God’ s mercy his own never would be. lift ed a newspaper up to him and piped in a shrill little voice: “ Buy a paper, mister, to help me git a T ’ anksgivin’ dinner! “ Is this Thanksgiving?” asked the man with k dull surprise. “ Sure!” said the boy. “ Don’t y ’ see dat lay-out in de winder?" The man looked at *he window. He had not noticed it before. H e stared at the children. H e put his hand in his trousers pocket sad felt the small roll of For answer the man opened the door, and the children, without, more ado, clum sily shuttled past him. All save one. a girl with an accordion slung from her shoulder and the black locks o f Italy straying from under the red kerchief on her head. She paused with a look o f in quiry. “ Does de girl come?” asked a boy. “ She’s a purty good feller—for a girl.” “ Yes, come along,” said the man, with an affectation o f cheerfulness. “ In a time ‘ike this female suffrage goes.” They were led by a grinning waiter to a private dining-room where a long table st<Hid shrouded as with new-fallen snow; and whi e the children were taken to wash their hands aud faces, the man, whose head tnrobbed afresh as he came in from the outer air. took in a glass of brandy two o f the powders from the package in his pocket. “ Bring U9 a real old Thanksgiving din ner,” he said to the waiter, “ anil plenty of it. without too many frills. Some soup and- some turkey---- ” He paused and looked archly at the children, who caught the spirit o f his glance and shouted: “ Yes, yes!” “ Yes, some turkey with cranberry sauce-----” The I my newsboy hugged himself and murmured: “ Gramb’ ry sauce!” “ And some scalloped oysters.” contin ued the man, stopping after the mention o f ea-’ h delicacy to w a’ ch the children, who shivered with eagerness and punctu ated each pause with approving nods and m arm tiring echoes, “ and some sweet po- With Jt.y we so»1 thee lying on thy back, Thy chaste, lush drumsticks sticking In the uir; Thy wings in sweet peace folded, and, alnck, The Incense of tliy stutllng. pungent, rare. Filling our souls with heavenly melody. The while with fork and knife Thv dark meat and thy white meat fondly we Suffuse with gravy In our revelry. . And then, with pleasure rife, l'\ Fa eh dainty morsel neatly tuck away * t'pon Thanksgiving Day. ¡,VJ, tain, rising and falling as with the swell o f an invisible sea. “ Ohildren,” his own voice sounded re mote and dissevered from his, “ good night. Have you had a go«n! dinner?” The vociferous assent recalled his stray ing fancies. H e saw his guests multi plied as in a room wailed with mirrors. Being of unceremonious habit, they stood not upon the ord^r o f their going and st hid were gone. As the little news boy slid down from his chair the man laid a hand o*i the child’ s tangled head and gazed in his face with a look of yearning tenderness. The boy h,«k*d startled anJ hurried awry. " I t naa a grpat success." said the man to the waiter as he laid a bill on the cash ier s tray. H e uttered his words with hes- itating precision. Raketl lit u a * i G lace» and "B o u n k in 1 le a I ’ A m e r i c a l n e .” A few years ago one o f the diplomatic corps, in I'aris complimented some Am er ican visitors by giving a Thanksgiving dinner. He made some elaborate re searches regarding our national customs us applied to the day and with help o f his chef offered among other things baked beans, well thlnped with custard and frozen. The crowning glory o f the feast was a pumpkin pie. Its crust was shing ly puff paste fully an inch thick. The pumpkin was Merely a filmy glaze upon the paste, with a taffy-like consistency that made if cling to the eater’ s teeth. The chef must have imparted the secret to the national pie, at least in part, to others of his craft, for a little later a well-known restaurateur announced on a little placard at his establishment: “ Bounkin Fie a la Am éricaine.” In Berlin the traveler will find, if he is there in November, an addition -to the menu o f some places of refreshment. The addition is a flourishing announcement to Americans that Indian puddings, bean paddings, puntpkin tarts, and other delica cies, which the waiter will affably say are for the American “ Danksgiving,” hut which only resemble the originals they imitate as the mist resembles the rain. Foreign restaurants pride themselves upon catering to American ‘ciistomers’ tastes, but their translations are striking and worked out laboriously from the dic tionary. One Berlin hotel proudly put upon the menu, “ False hair stewed Am er ican fashion.” It requires some penetra tion to discover that a dish o f smothered beef known to us as mock rabbit is meant. A Russian o f wealth and position hav ing gathered accurate knowledge o f In dian corn and the ways it should be serv ed some years ago, invited some English and American friends to dinner and, after a little preliminary boast o f the success his gardner had made in cultivating the vegetable, presented his guests with tiny immature cobs an inch and a half long, boiled till tender and served like aspara gus tips with a rich cream dressing. An American present found it difficult to maintain a circumspect gravity when the hostess asked him if it was true that in America this corn was always eaten with the fingers, for in view o f the dripping oars she was daintily lifting, one at a time, upon her fork, ho had to assure her that she was eating it in tho only proper manner. T h o C r o w n in g o f th o Y e a r . This is the festival which the Pilgrim fathers inaugurated, which N ew England has annually celebrated for two centuries, and which the nation lias adopted and I sanctioned as a day of public thanksgiv ing to God. It exalts tho home and strengthens its sacred and tender ties. It brightens the shadows w’ liich have gathered over it. I t dignifies prosperity. It prompts men to reach out helpful hands to their leas fortunate neighbors. It reminds us afresh from whence every good gift comes. I f it seemed good to our fathers in the midst o f the hardships of this new world to give public thanks to God for blessings, how much more reason have we to follow their example? > Abundance o f food and clothing, happy f homes, a free country at peace with a im nations and extending its influen^** ^ throughout the world, with marvelously multiplied appliances for use and pleas ure which surpass the wildest dreams of those who first were moved to set apart a day o f public thanksgiving and praise, are ours. W h at shall I render un to the Lord for all H is benefits toward me? I will take the cup o f salvation, and// call upon the name o f the I^jrd. T ic k le t o o t h P u d d in g . “ It - - is — the — oniy- pood—thing—I — “ Tickletooth pudding” was the name of erer— lid—in—my—life.- and then he the Thanksgiving pudding o f old colonial laughed aloud. 'lh e waiter smiled oompiaisant!y; the tip days. It was only a memory o f the great was large enough to cover many ecen- progenitor o f that name which the pil grims had left at home in old England. tricities. There were no ten pounds o f solid fruit, Nearly an hour later he cautiously open no twenty luscious eggs, rich beef suet, ed the door and peepe-l in. nor was it dampened with choice brandy "D id you rine . sir?" he asked diplomat- and home-brewed ale. But it waa prob ically. There was no response, and h*. ably more easily digested. E very Day. Every day is a day o f thanksgiving for Christians. They do n et wait until the crops have been gathered before returning thanks, for they are thankful for every ‘lay s blessing. Still It is a commendable custom for a nation to officially recognize man’s dependence, and to ask its people to unite in a common thanksgiving.