The Exeter Advocate, 1895-11-22, Page 2wriliOrrr Alen .wirinat
1k. OT .ril 120 h w a, s
p known about the
,/.1 little villa, in the
4 neighbourhood cif
Redent's Perk,
when Muriel O'Con-
nor dwelt in the
summer of 18—, It
lay back: hidden
in the trees o. n d
slirubbery of its
well -grown garden,
and behind a Ingle'
wall tie the junctir a
of two pleasant tl' or -
',157,.. oughfares line/'- with
morn prete, ..i ous
--..-7r-- residencese it was at
once seli contained
and inscrutable.
There was no number t: the house;
it had been overlooked be. the author-
ities to this extent; these was no name
either, but that of the tenant, on the
gate -post of the one, modest entrance:
only a tiny brass-Pie:se bearing upon it
the word " O'Connor." The neighbours,
such of them as took any interest in the
matter—a triiVng minority, for this is
not an inquisitive quarter—were unde-
cided as to the precise identity represent-
ed by this.eimple name O'Connor, and,
for lack o' the information, were con-
tent to "place the -worst construction
upon Vr.3 mystery surrounding it. The
servant -girls. a fairly reliable source of
priv ite inquiry, knew nothing about the
" house at the corner," for none of them
hal succeeded. in making the acceertin-
l-ance of the domestics there. The trades-
,. aien called for orders and received ready -
money for all goods delivered; so these
recordingangels had nothing to tell
about their customer, except that he (or
she) had the best of everything, plenty
of it, and "paid regular on the nail."
• No one seemed to have caught so much
as a glimpse of the house or garden. The
supplies were taken in at a wicket in
the solid gate, and the postman popped
a correspondence into the box, rang the
bell, and went on his way as unenlight-
ened as he came. But the postman was
the best -informed person of any, for he
could read the subscription of the letters
he delivered. Some were for "Mrs.
O'Connor," some for "Miss Muriel
O'Connor," and some for " M. O'Connor,
Esq.," so there appeared to be a family
living at the corner -house; but so many
persons passed through the gate in the
wall that. it was impossible to distinguish
those who belonged there from those
who were merely visitors.
It was remarked that, although. the
gate was at some distance from the
house, and those who pulled the loud -
clanging "servants' ball" were always
kept waiting for some minutes before
`their -application was responded. to, those
Who pressed the little electric button,
designed especially for visitors, had the
gate opened for them without an instant's
delay. The visitors, therefore, were sub-
jected to the least possible public scru-
tiny. No sooner did they halt at the
gate than they usually touched the elec-
tric bell, and. the gate spontaneously
opening, they lost no time in stepping
inside.
The gate not being overlooked by the
adjacent houses, this arrangement might
have escaped observation, had not an
impatient butcher -boy, tired of waiting
to deliver a fore -quarter of lamb, ou one
occasion tried to "InuTy them up" by
pressing the visitors' bell with his greasy
finger. The gate promptly opened, and.
he stepped inside. urged by curiosity,
but a good deal awed by the mystery of
the place. But the gate closing auto-
matiaally behind. him, merely shut him
into a little covered porch. where it was
evident that the visitors were accustom-
ed to await the coming of a man -servant,
half -porter, half -gardener, who, now,
finding the butcher -boy squatted upon
a seat devoted to his betters, rated him
soundly for kis impudence, and turned
him and his excellent fore -quarter of
lamb roughly into the street.
But, however jealously guarded the
entrance to this mysterious villa, we, in
our invisible and spiritual quality, may
pass within, and take note of what is
happening under its roof.
There has been a very pleasant little
oInner-party at the house at the corner,
in number five persons—three ladies and
two gentlemen. The latter have just'
sauntered through the conservatory,
which links the dining -room with the
drawing -room, to "join the ladies,"
after the privilege of an extra glass and.
&totem- all by themselves.
Ernest Clavers. Lord Willmore, a
slightly -built but athletic and graceful
young Plan of twenty-six, with dark hair
and eyes, and a email blonde mustache
daintily curled at the ends, has been for
some months a regular caller upon the
lady who in herself represents the whole
family of father, mother, and daughter
pictured by the postman's imagination.
Muriel O'Connor is addressed. as a
spinster by those who know her well, as
a matron by those whohave but a slight
acquaintance with het, and as a an by
those who only guess at her sex by the
indications of her square handwriting
and the masculine tone of her letters.
There is no "M. O'Connor, Esq.," nor
is there any "Mrs. O'Connor." Muriel
is a single svornan, with apparently a
comfortable independence. She has a .
friend and companion, One Laura Xing -
don, who goes with her everywhere,
frequent the house. The chatellany of
and helps to entertain the guests who
the O'Connor stronghold, however, ap-
pears to rest with a gaunt, square -built
woman of uncertain age and taciturn
manner, who eeldona talks, and usually
disappears directly after dinner, but who
nevettheiess either is, or seems to be, for
propriety's sake, the bead of the O'Con-
nor household. Between this lady. Mrs.
Donovan, and Muriel a sort of under-
standing subsists, by virtue of whieh
the former is uniformly allowed as
hostess. e
When last Lord Willmore made a °all
at the little villa, Muriel received him
alone, and his disappointment was so
perceptible that she laughingly took
pity upon him, and invited hini to ineet
her companion at dinner on the follow-
ing Friday, '
She laughed again at his eager aceept-
once, and remarked ;
"It is plain that, if you are to enjoy
yourself, I shall have a very dull time of
it unless 1 invite other guests, and if I
do that I shall ,poil sport altogether.
Have you no acme particularly agree-
able MOO who is dying to know me,
whose,ea..tety will compensate for the
lose , ours, should you by any chance
be h..e absorbed during the evening?"
Audit happened that Lord Wilbaore
hought at once of his very excellent
guide, philosopher, and friend, the Hon,
Cecil Chester, a rising politician, M. P.
for a Scotch borough, and at this Eine
acting as unpaid private Parliamentary
secretary to the Chief Secretary for Ire-
land, in virtue of which he occupied a
seat in the House immediately behind
the Irish Secretary.
Cecil Chester was Lord Willmore's
senior by fully ten years, but they were
"hums of the closest description, and the
counsel of this oracle was always sought
by the younger man on occasione of
doubt or difficulty.
Doubt and difficulty had now arisen.
Willmore had fallen pretty deeply in
love with the modest companion of the
brilliant and fascinating Muriel O'Con-
nor ; and the man of fashion, who had
entered that house as a heart -whole
idler, returned to it again and again
with awkward affections and honourable
aspirations. Lord Wilhnore \vas not a
bad fellow, judged by the standard of
the jeunesse doree '• but had he been the
worst of his class, his vid.Ous impulses
must have quailed before the indomit-
able innocence of Laura Kingdon. The
radiance of her dark blue eyes spread a
halo of sanctity about her, an adaman-
tine shield from which all evil thoughts
fell shattered. Willipore had sought the
acquaintance of Muriel O'Connor out of
idlest curiosity at the instance of a
friend. He was presented to Laura
Kingdon, and henceforth had no other
dream than to make this girl, whose gaze
was like the deep summer sea,, his wife.
. But Laura Kingdon was of obscure
origin—cleerly, emphatically a daughter
of the people. The contemplated alliance
involved desperate trouble with the Earl
his father and the Countess his mother,
and a huge scandal among all his re-
lations as well as the outrageous busy-
bodies he had to recognize as his friends.
However, as the time went on, and his
passion dominated him more thoroughly,
he thought himself equal to defying them
all if he had but the approval of Cecil
Chester. Chester was no sentimentalist;
Chester was a cold, shrewd man of the
world; Chester was his best friend. and
truest well-wisher; Chester should de-
cide.
And so it happened that Lord Will -
more jumped at this opportunity, and
begged leave to bring the Hon. Cecil
Chester with him to dine on the follow-
ing Friday.
He was a little piqued at the nonchal-
ance with which Muriel consented to
receive his friend.
He did not observe the strange gleam
of satisfaction, one might almost say of
anticipated triumph, that flitted over her
handsome Celtic face.
CHAPTER II.
THE ADVICE OF A FRIEND.
"The ladies are doubtless in the gar-
den," said Lord Willmore as he entered
the drawing -room, followed by his
friend; "shall we join them there ? "
But Chestendid not seem to be so dis-
posed. He deliberately deposited him-
self upon a lounge near the openFrench
window, and began to trifle moodily with
a dagger of curious Oriental workman-
ship that hung in its sheath against the
wall. This ordinarily light-hearted and
vivacious man of society seemed to have
something weighing upon his mind.
Willmore paused under the verandah
and came back to him.
"What's the matter, Cecil? What's
up, man? You've become very silent
during the last half-hour. I've been
running on, and didn't notice you.
Dinner disagreed?"
" Devilish good dinner. I came pre-
pared to beenade ill but that's all right.
First-rate cook—can't be Irish."
"There's something you want to say
to me—something unpleasant, I can see.
Out with it, old. chap ! You don't like
her, eh ? "
" Who could help liking her?"
There was an evaeiveness in the reply
which dikl not satisfy a lover's craving
for unqualified approval. Willnaore drew
a chair close to his mentor, and, seating
himself, said :
"Tell me frankly your impression."
Chester ceased playing with the dag-
ger, andlooked his yo -ung friend straight
in the face.
"Let's get away as 80011 128 we decently
can," said he. •
Wihnore stared. at him.
"Get away?" he muttered.
" Yes," replied the other decisively,
adding, "and never come back."
Willraore's face expressed the utmost
bewilderment
"You cannot mean that you distrust
her 1" he gasped..
Chester replied with some reluctance:
It is hardly generous to say 59, after
taking salt together, brit as friend to
friend I must own that I think her •a
dangerous woman."
"Dangerous? Ah, yea 1 to one's peace
of 'mind, of course. She's more—she's
fatal" •
• "Fatal is the word,"
Chester drew the Japanese dagger
again from its sheath, and felt its razor -
like edge with his thumb.
"But that is her beauty," pursued
Willenore anxionsly.; "You don't tnean
a word against*"
His friend interrupted him by letem.
ming an air suffieiently familiar :
" I know a maiden fair to see—
Take care 1
She he& sweet esres and wonderful hair—
Beware 1
"I/pen my soul " cried Willmore,
"I was not prepared to hear you draw
unfavourable deductions from her eyes
—such a heavenly blue—"
" Are they blue?'
" Are they bine 1 If you had looked
into them as passionately as I have done,
you, would. linger they are most wonder-
fnl eyes,"
'Wonderful eyes, but not blue."
"Not blue? 'What are they, then?
" bet you ten to four they're yel-
low."
You must be mad, Cecil ?" cried the
lover indignantly, "12 you. are as mis-
taken about her character as yeti are
about the colour of her eyes, I can't rely
much upon your opinion."
"Pardon me, I have said nothing about
her charaoter."
" You call her dangerous.' "
'And yon call her ' beautiful.' Come,
Ernest, be sensible, axed admit Walther°
is something too, much of the enchant -
men spell about this how,— and at least
one of its occupants,"
"Indeed, I see nothing here but ele-
gance without pretentiousness, an un-
affected, generous, and graceful hospi-
tality, a ceuple of ladies who have all tho.
charm of good breeding and cultivation
combined with a most refreshing Bohena-
ianism,"
Cecil Chester nodded, and replaced the
dagger on the wall. .
"My dear boy," said he, "you might
run on in that strain for hours, and I
should not have the heart to disagree
with you. Thank your stars if I have so
far retained the use of my brains as to
sound the alarm and. pass the word to
retreat in good order."
He rose and stood by the window, gaz-
ing into the garden brilliant with June
blossoms ; the flower -beds were well
tended, but apparently without design,
their gaiety having the same natural'
grace as that of the presiding genius of
the paradise. Willmore rose also and
followed his friend, linking his arm in
Chester's and speaking in lower tones:
"I told you candidly, Cecil, when I
proposed to you to come here with me,
that there was a .certain dubiousness
about this house and the lady who was
to be virtually your hostess, for, of
course, the old she -dragon is only a
chaperon. There was a mysteryhere
which I could not fathom. My original
opinion has been modified by the dis-
covery under this roof, in permanent as-
sociation with Muriel O'Connor, of so
unmistakably pure and high-minded a
woman as Laura Kingdon. I perceive
that you, haying no such bias, are in-
clined to think we are in the domain of a
Circe. Assuming that to be the case, I
am the more bent upon rescuing Laura
from a compromising connectiou which
must have come auout from circum-
stances beyond her control, You would
not venture to inched.° Laura Kingdon
in your suspicions ? "
"1 have uot thought about her," was
Chester's reply.
Willmore seemed taken aback.
"Not thought about her? Why, man,
that was the very object of your visit!
Not thought about her? Whom have we
been speaking about, then, all this
while '? "
"Muriel O'Connor. I bet you ten to
four that she has yellow eyes."
"They may be any colour, for all I
care. I wanted your opinion of Laura.
I am in love—I own it. That being the
case. I mistrust my own judgment and
want yours, you cool-headed, unimpres-
sionable devotee of books and politics."
"Unimpressionable !" Cecil Chester
stroked his close -clipped golden beard,
and a soft light shone in his dark
eyes, different from any expression Will -
more had seen there before. " Unim-
pressiona,ble ? Let me tell you,
Ernest,
in the strictest conild.ence, that host-
ess has made a stronger impression upon
me than any woman lever yet saw in all
my life."
"But Laura Kingdon ? " urged the
Other, too much absorbed in his own in-
terests to weigh heedfully this confession
of his frien.d.
Chester shook his head.
"1 am awfully sorry, my dear fellow,
but I was so attracted, so allured, that
—that I fear I have neglected my duty
as your special privy councillor sadly:
I will observe her more closely now."
"But surt the must have made some
impression ueon you?"
"She seemed very quiet."
"Altogether different from my Lady
O'Connor, eh.? Quiet beyond all mis-
giving—you admit that '? "
"Indeed, I ad,uait nothing of the kind,
I counsel you to run away. The very
fact of her being here in close compan-
ionship with a—with such a lady as
Muriel O'Connor is—"
Nothing, my dear Cecil 1 nothing in
the world! She will explain all to me in
due course. It is such a delicate matter
to question her upon. It is not as if the
shallowness of the O'Connor were an ad-
mitted thing; for all you and I know,
she may be the most respectable of
ladies."
"She may," commented Chester dryly.
"Laura and 1," continued Willmore,
"have never had a chance of a private
confab. The O'Connor, in the absence
, of the dragon, has always played pro-
priety in the strictest fashion. If she
has a fellow -feeling, it has not made her
initial:tent to her companion. Indeed,
her care of this girl has gone far to as-
sure me of her own strict propriety and
virtue; but it may be jealousy. mere
jealousy, after all."
" It may," said Chester cynically, as
before.
At this moment the two ladies whom
they had been so freely discussing
emerged from a shrubbery on the left
of the broad lawn, now dappled with
evening shadows.
"There they both are now," Lord
Willmore exclaimed; "let us go and
meet them. They have seen us. Now
I will take charge of the O'Connor, and
hand Laura over to you. As an old
friend, I beg of you to prepare a sound
report of her. Remember my life's hap-
piness may depend upon your advice."
"My advice is given," said Chester in
an undertone, as they crossed the lawn
together. "Praise the flowers and the
fine evening, plead an engagement, cut
away, a,nd never come back any more."
CHATTER III,
XIS.TUDGED,
Scarcely had the friends left the draw-
ing -room when the door opened, and a
short, thick -set man, -with a black beard
and unmistakably Hibernian cast of
countenance, swung boldly into the
room. He wore a dark tweed suit, and
at his throat gleamed a cravat of livid
green. In his hand he carried a.dtab-
celoured slouch hat. He showed lainieeH
at the window for an instant, and then
began to pace to and fro on the rich
carpet with a familiar air, which ira-
pli.ea. that he was an accustomed visitor,
and at the present moment an excited
and irepatient one. He had scarcely
taken a half,a,dozen tutus when Iquriel
O'Connor entered to him by the window.
As she parted the .drooping branchea
of stephanotis, the ted rays of the
setting sun flooded the piled -up masses
of her bright hair, the seemed alinciSt a
divinity; and in the soft twilight that
bathed her graciOus form as she stepped
TO BE CONTINUED.
A THANKSWINO FEAST.
E two are the last, niy
Toctelitg tilteltNable for
two,
Where once we had,
\"1 plates for twenty,
V\ Is tao lonesome thing
Bat my boys and girls
are seettered,
To the Fast and. the. West Oar,
And he who was dearer than ehildren
Has passed through the gates ajar.
I'm wanting nay bairns for Thanksgiving.
I thought lest night, as I lay
Awake in my bed and, watching
For the breaking of the day,
How me- heart would leap in gladness
If a letter should come this morn
To say that they could not leave; us here
To keep the feast forlorn.
•
Sainuel, my son in Alberta,
Is a rioli man, as I hear,
And he'll never let want approach us,
Save the wanting of him near;
While jack is in Manitoba,
And Edward over the sea,
And only my little Jessie
Is biding at home with me.
And 1 feel like poor Naomi
When baele to her own she went,
And they said, "Is this Naomi?"
She well knew what they meant.
I've staid, and the lads have wondered,
Ancl the time that was swift to go
When I was brisk and busy
Is laggard and dull and slow.
Ohl the happy time fora mother
Is when her bairns are small,
And into the. nursery beds at night
She gathers her darlings all;
When the wee ones are about her,
With gleeful noise and cry,
And she hushees the tumult with a smile,
Her brood beneath her eye.
But a mother musttear her burden
lAThen her babes are bealoded men,
On 'change and. -in the army,
Or scratching away with a pen
In some banker's dusty office,
As Martin is, rio doub:—
A mother must bear her burden,
And learn tool° without.
I know the Scripture teaching,
To keep the halt and blind,
And the homesick and the desolate,
At the festal hour in mind.
Of the fat and the sweet a portion
ru send to the poor man's door,
But I'm wearyiag for my children
To sit at my board. once more.
I tell you, Jessie, my darling,
This living for money and pelf,
It takes the heart from, life, dear;,
It robs a man of himself.
This old bleak hill -side hamlet,
That sends its boys away,
Has a right to claim them back, deer,
On the fair Thankagiving day.
Shame on my foolish fretting!
Here are letters, a perfect sheaf;
Open them quickly, dearest!
Ah me, 'tis beyond belief!
By ship and train they're hasting,
Rushing along on the way.
Tell the neighbors all my children
Will be here Thanksgiving day.
BE THANKFUL
For the Things That Money Cannot Huy.
A group of friends sat chatting as friends
do who meet infrequently. There was the
gray-haired mother and widow, the lively
society girl, the ambitious wife, and the
serene young mother—a curious yet inter-
esting quartette, whose interests were
varied, and whose lives were as different as
they were separate.
At length the talk took on a sordid
worldly turn. The elder woman proudly
dwelt on the business success and shrewd-
ness of some of her acquaintances, and the
young girl dilated on her latest social ad-
vancement, and on her gowns and sur-
roundings. Thus stimulated, the ambitious'
woman graphically pictured her aims, and
told what her money had brought and
should bring her to give that flavor to all
her plans and hopes without which every-
thing would be flat and void. Quietly the
young mother spoke, half unconsciously,
as if to herself: "I am thankful for the
things money cannot buy. There is a
chance for me to have some of them. Bet-
ter yet, there is a chance for every one to
have them." •
How much the happiness of individual
lives is made up of priceless things, un-
saleable in the coln. of the land, yet found
quickly when the heart of th.e searcher
honestly desires them! Many of these
real treasures are qualities that simply
diffuse themselves through the moral and
mental atmosphere, aud are sometimes lit-
tle valued, because they seem too vaporous
and too illusive to be practically grasped;
but they are genuine possessions, and won
by heart service.
Who does not rejoice to have an honor-
able name—not neeessarily a distinguished
name, but a clean one? Truly, pride in
such an inheritance, velaich cannot be
bought, is justifiable if with it there are
mingled a feeling of humility and. a desire
to do one's OW11 part to transmit the name
as unsullied as it has been bestowed.
What makes home love dearer and sweeter
than all else, and treasured while life lasts?
Not the tables and chairs, not the delicacy
of porcelain, or the msthetic beauty which
the loom achieves. ThAe minister to the
comfort, taste, and artistic nature; but
beyond these there is something which
ministers to the heart and soul, glorifying
plain surroundings and homely details—
something illusive to measure or weight,
yet potent to guide, to comfort, and to
help. What is this but the syrapathy, the
trust, the spirit of sacrifice, the gentleness,
the faith, the readiness to do and to bear
which, blended together, make the chain
that binds us to our homes?
What beauteous prospect, what luxuri-
otis surroundings, what wonders of nature
or art but lose their mysterious charm
when viewed by eyes that seeing see not,
or when shared with a cold thankless
heart? The power to enjoy, the power to
appreciate, these are what render pleasures
real and bring the joy into them. This
thankful receiving of pleasures great or
small, and extraelling tho honey of enjoy-
ment frora them, is not to be found at any
store, yet it is another and large factor in
true happiness.
Contentment, too, that balm against the
ravages of worldly unrest, where can it be
found, and what is its price? Not silver or
gold, but patient striving with a thankful
heart will bring it to the soul who desires
it, and in its possession lurks the charm to
ehase away unhappy visions, to still unwise
longings, and to open the inner Vision to
the peaceful delights of the home, the
him's, the advantages vehieh may be ours,
And so through all the phases of human
happiness we may go, finding always that
its true essence is something that must be
gained Without Money and without price,
Adents B Outisenn,
A WOMAN'S FEST WM—
Ilamitsgiving :Der One Feteiilariy or
iteme 801)11(1,111g.
It may not be generally recognized, but
it 112 1203(0 the less Arne, that Thanksgiving
is peculiarly a woinan'e festival,
ln the first place, unlike our other chief
national festival, the First of July --for
Christmas and, New Year's have never been
made the subject of national enactment or
praelamation by the heads of: the Govern-
inent—Thanksgiving is a day celebrated
within the walle of home ; for even the
church sez•viee in the morning, when one is
attend.ecl, is a part of the home surround-
ings, the various members of the family
gathering in the pew as in another sort of
home, and all the rest of the day is a ele-
!nation of the idea of home and its environ -
merit. It is towards..home that every one
who is sway from it looks on the approach
of the day ; 12 is home to which every one
comes who has any home to come to. It
is home and, the things of home that are
remembered afterward in recalling the way
the day was passed. And home is the
woman's throne—a platitude very possibly,
but one nevertheless of deep significance.
Whatever other sphere she fills abroad and
in the world, still, as where Macgregor sat
was the head of the table, wherever woman
is is the fireside and the altar; she is the
peculiar genius of home, and the festival of
Thanksgiving is the festival of the home—
is the festival of woman.
It is women, too, wile have the most to
do with the preparation and ceremonial of
the festival, • When they do none of the
actual laborious work themselves they yet
direct it and attend to its performance.
But in the great majority of our homes it
is they who do all the work, both directing
and preparing; it is th.ey who dress the
great turkey, and brown bis breast to a
turn; who baste the savory ducks; who
build the walls of the chicken pastry after
long -descended rules of many grand-
mothers; who set themoulds of quivering
crimson jelley; bake the mince pie, with
eras cosmos of richness,the golden squash
• pie, the cross -barred cranberry tarts; wash
the crisp ivory -stemmed celery; spice the
sweet pickles; can the tomatoes; make the
catsups; crack the nuts; bring out the lay-
ers of raisins and the golden winter pears;
and since that modern accompaniment has
been added to so many occasions, turn the
freezer for the domestic ice cream. It is
the women, of course, who lay the table,
crimp the napkins, brighten the silver,
think of the flowers, and make everything
as fresh and attTaetive in the house for the
resident and for the arriving as the family
means allow: It is true that the men of
these homes usually provide the sinews of
war; but it is equally true that the battle
is fought by the women in the manner we
have described, if it is within the bounds
of possibility so to style any such labors of
love; for while the man, having done his
part, strolls about with pipe or cigar, or
lounges with his newspaper, the woman is
attending to the duties whieh have been
made hers, without a thought in another
direction.
Woman is, then, entirely the priestess of
this altar; and it is an altar, this Thanks-
giving one, to which Delphos could have
offered but a feeble rivalry. For the keep-
ing of Thanksgiving Day intends not only
the offering of thanks to heaven for all
blessings received, all misfortunes with-
held, but it is with all that a celebration of
the fact and. existence of home. And who
so fit and natural to make that celebration,
to officiate as priestess at that shrine, as
women are? Long, long ago, in. profane
records, we have the thanksgiving before
meat, and far back in sacred records the
thanksgiving was made before the bread
was broken; but never till in these times of
ours and of our grandmothers has an entire
day of thanksgiving been organized in
which women were the chief actors, as cir-
cumstances have made them in the celebra-
tion of our Thanksgiving Day, and. in
which women, owing to that fact alone,
can join with more heartiness than in any
other. The red Indian has his wigwam,
the rude savage his but or cave, sometimes
his associated hut or cave; and the woman
of that -wigwam or that hut or cave has a
vast journey to make before she reanhes
the eminence of the simplest woman
in our homes where Thanksgiving day is
kept. It is this home and. its opportun-
ities and possibilities, which has separated
from the associated hut, improved on the
wigwam, differentiated at last from a place
where a slave served into a place .where a
woman rules supreme in affection—it is
this home, we say, which has given woman
much of the enlightenment and uplifting
she has reeeived, and which continues to
help her by means of advantages increas-
ing from generation to generation.
It becomes women, then, to keep this
festival of Thanksgiving as something pe-
culiarly their own; to spare themselves no
pains in'the preparation of the feast, and
to =tail no pleasere that can belong to it
or be added. to it, to make a point of mak-
ing it desirable to those who are away to
come back to the central hearth, and of
giving great cheer to th.oee that are al
hand, recognizing that while the custom
of Thanksgiving pays reverence to the
Dispensing Powers and Heavenly Bounty,
it also acknowledges the value of home
and the sovereignty of WOMen at the fuet
side.
Toughening for Thanksgiving^.
vs
F -710g
tv-='
Turkey --Hit harder, boys ; remember
I'm going to a boarding-house.—Life.
At a recent wedding in South America
there was a gorgeous rug spread in front
of the ohancel. It resembled a superb
piece of tapestry, but the whole design
was worked out In natural flowers. There
were sacred emblems of the church
wrought in the center of this wonderfrd
ereatlon, the petals of a thousand flowers
contributing their gorgeous colors, The
yellow rose and chromatella formed a her,
den with great clusters of violete, and. al-
ternates of purple wisteria and the flowers
of the Holy Ghost, all outlineel on a fringe
of Grenada, grass, It gave forth a subtle
perfume and was %vendee elly beautiful.
Jtisb now is the time when the iambs
will require close attention, They should.
bo pushed, but not unduly. Light feeding
with a little crushed oats or some bran, a
very little corn, if any, while finishing the
season's pastures, which shoeld be thei
very best, will bring them into the winter
etrong and healthy, A weak Animal may
be kept alive maybe until the spring, but
then it will be worth little, and its oast is
apt to be a total loss as soon as the Bret
warm days occur, Sheep are far more
easily kept up than 6N:eight up.
TRULY THANKFUL.
Just Try to Feet Like Brother
Hood and You'll 13e
Happy.
I always liked Thanksgiving clay. Qom -
Mg, as it does, at such an appropriate
season, just before the long, hard winter,
I am in better shape, so to speak, to have
a soul fillecl with gratitude than I would,
be along about, say, February, when the
buckwheat flour is running low and the
groeer doesn't wait upon me with the same
"DON'T YOU GIVE ME OREDIT FOR HONESTY?"
alacrity that he did when I first opened the
account with him early in the season.
I once intended giving my patronage to
a certain grocer. I went to him, in per-
fectly good faith, and, as is usual with me,
asked for a likle time.
He coughed about thrice in a peculiar
way, to start of prepare me far the worst,
and said:
"Eh—well, you see, 141r. Hood, we
couldn't do it. • Have to draw a line some-
where, you know."
I was mad in a minnte, You know how
the Hoods are, fly off the handle in a jiffy
and say things they're likoly to be sorry
for afterwards. I blurted at indignantly:
"Don't you give me credit for honesty?"
"Why, certainly, Hood.," he said, "but
—eh—couldn't for anything else, you
know."
Still that Is alien to my subject. Thanks-
givings in general, and. Thanksgiving din-
ners in particular, will always touch a re-
• sponsive chord when the button is pressed
in my vicinity.
We are such good eaters, we Hoods.
There are so few things that we don't like.
Light meat or dark meat, it's all the same
to us. .A. little of the lamest the neck, a
drum stick or the wishbone will do us nice-
ly, thank you, did if they ale all gone we
can get along beautifully with the gizzard
and plenty of gravy and stuffing.
It is very seldom that you hear a Hood
say: "I never eat that, thank you," or
"None of the so-and-so for me, please."
We are not gormandizers, but what
other people eat and like, yea, verily, can
we also.
And that's one of the things that Charles
Newton Hood, familiarly, "Newt" Hood,
has to be thankful for to day—his appetite.
Rising at a moment's notice to pate de foi
gras, quail on toast and blue points, or
happy with stewed grocery -store codfish
and boiled potatoes.
If I don't particularly like a viand, I just
eVihlittle more to make up.
Why, if I should happen along in an
African forest upon a pleasant party of
cannibals enjoying a Thanksgiving , dinner
of stalled missionary and. contentment
therewith, and I was hungry, and they
should ask me to sit by and take pot luck
with them, it wouldhe just like ine to squat
right down on the log nearest the barbecue,
and, send my order up for more spareribs
as did the big chief with a ring in his nose.
Why should we blame the poor, hungry
cannibal for loving his fellow man, even if
"WHY SHOULD WE IILA31711, THE GtINNHIALS?"
he prefers him "well done?"
It is right that we ehould be thankful
and eat much turkey on Thanksgiving
day, for yea, that ;which we do not eat
will be waemed over for us the rest of the
week.
We have much to be thankful for. The
World's Fair is bound to be held some-
time, new States have been added to us,
and baby's teeth have come through well.
Next year we *ill have politics.. Let us be
thankful that it is nob this year.
If we are sons and daughters who have
fled. or been kicked from our father's home
In days gone by, let us remember that.
Thanksgiving clay is the dandy time to
waltz home and have all forgiven unless
the standard Thank:sgiving day forgiven,
is
wrong.
If we are rich, let ns be thankful that we
knew not the pangs of poverty, and if we
are poor, let us be thankful that we do not
have the care and responsibility of great
tvealth.
Let us be thankful anyway.
OHAntas NEWTON HOOD,
For Thanksgiving :Dinner.
Aunt Martha—I &Ennio what we're goin'
to do abont a Thanksgitin' dinner, Abner.
Our old gobbler must be as tough as sixty,
and the neighbors have sold all their'n to
the Toronto market men.
Uncle Abner—We want something bet-
ter't these common country turkeys. r11
get one in the city; I'm goin' daown ter -
morrow ter York.
Elide Abner (back from the city)—Here's
your turkey, Martha.
Aunt Maetha—Why, you everlasting ole
goose! It won' begin to go in the oven of
our stove,
The rirsii Thanksgiving.
2hi3 firat observance of a day of thanks-
giving, formally toconnuencled by the civil
authovities, occulted in Leyden, Holland,
October 8, 1575,, it being the first anniver-
sary of the deliverance of that eity from,
siege. Ie. February, MI, the colony at
Charlestown was to the very paint of star