Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 20, Number 22, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 23 November 1889 — Page 2

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THE TURKEY'S LAST GOBBLE.

Behold me now. A Turkey with a big T! Time, 0 o'clock a. m. 1p.m. .it will I be? A wreck A total wreck A travesty on animated organism A weird, bewildering Entanglement of bones And gravy A hollow mockery With every wad of stuffing Eternally knocked out of itl A ghost. Clothed in the Bony rollcs of its living entity I A ruined destiny Oirml out To Htand a monument To appetite! A gobbler with his gobble (lone to thoMK Who gobbled in another key! A

Bill hold, Till:) i« TlmnkHglving day! ruitH —Washington Post.

TIIR LOST FOUND.

THANKSGIVING STORY, HY AN.NIK WILLIS.

R. WILKINS kissed his wife and children, climbed into his sleigh, tucked the old buffalo robo about him, gathered up the reins and drove off. It was a bright November morn

ing, two days before Thanksgiving, for which great occasion he was going to town, twenty miles away, to "do som« tradin'."

Ho told the children, Bob and Elsie, that ho would come back with lots of things—peantita and raisins, and perhaps some oranges, besides other eatables necessary for the Thanksgiving feast.

How the little ones shouted at the mention of oranges, for you must know that such dainties seldom fell to their share. Haiti work, early and late, on the little farm, only sufficed to keep the family plainly clothed and fed, and they had very few luxuries.

As the sleigh jogged along the man fell to thinking of the dear ones who would watch for his return on the mor* row. "I'll give 'em a good Thanksgivin' 'f I can," he thought. "There ain't no family that deserves it mora. Wisht I pould sell everything I've got with me. Wouldn't I make their eyes open, though! Mebbe I could buy 'em some figs. The Children's never seen any. An' I'd git Mirandy an egg beater. She ain't never had none."

The utiles to town grew less as the ihorse went on, and the influence of the jbrilliant winter day made Mr. Wilkins Aappv, not so much because he was sua* ceptible to nature's beauty, but because ho thought: "If this here weather'll only hold out. I'll be back early ter-morrer."

Mrs. Wilkins spent the day in getting readr for the feast, with such material as she had on hand. She killed the big-

«*st and plumpest chicken in the yard, Rnh lookinc on delightedly at the opera- one of the upper panes, and held her up. 22 ^iThmStL Elsie ran intTtZe sun's shtain' as nice as can be. Win* and nut her fingers Ln her ears, so Thatll melt a 1 the snow soon, and then ^r^T-c^ld^t hSthepoorchk-kie we'll aaa f*f»,-r an old Bess comin' down

i-erke haute

In her coarse brown cloak and blue hood sweeping the doorstep and picking up sticks in the yard for the fire, she said.

So the day wore on, and when the early winter evening closed in upon them, they had their simple supper of bread, mush and milk, and soon the little ones were asleep.

As Mrs. Wilkins sat sewing, she heard the wind rising, and went to the window to look out. The moon was partly covered by threatening clouds. While she watched fcheyi obscured the silver light completely. "It looks mighty threaten!n'," she said to herself. "I should feel real bad if pa couldn't git back for Thanksgivin', for the children has set so much store by what he's goin' to bring 'em. I wouldn't feel right good myself. We've eat our Thanksgivin' dinner together on that day this ten year, an' I've allers been thankful for my ""wan an' children. There ain't many sech."

Thus her homely thoughts ran on until the light began to grow dim for the scarcity of oil in the lamp. Then she prepared for rest, first thanking God for her blessings and asking protection for her husband on his journey and a speedy \'|re'urn

011

t*,e

{Coivrl"ht, 'SAE, by Apuuriaan (V-MM Asoctatfoa] Qtjuds'lbrbbded &ver the house .. inmates, over the

roorfcpw.

Mr. Wilkins' little houae caruo in for a share of the drifts. Is was low and white and square. Like many houses in rural New England, its rear door opened into a shed, behind whioh were the barn and outhouses, so that in case of storms the live stock could be easily reached. The snow played very queer pranks witli the house that night. It left the roof almost bare, while it piled adrift in front which hid all but one corner of the window. It drifted against the barn door and hid the shed completely. Fortunately the well was under the shed roof and the chickcn house could be reached without going out.

When Mrs. Wilkins awoke, h#"flrst thought was of the night before and her forebodings of a storm. She tried to look out, but the snow covered everything. Much frightened, she climbed to the loft of the one story house. Looking from the window, she perceived that not a person could be seen. The roads were piled with great white drifts, and the only house in sight, also a low one, was partially covered. Over all the sun was shining brightly. She saw at a glance that a sit igh could not get through the roads on that day and possibly not on the next. Then she went down and awoke the children. "What's the matter, mother?" said Boh. "Matter enough," replied Mrs. Wilkins. "We are snowed in, and father can't get home today."

At this little Elsie showed signs of crying, and her mother hastened to say, "But we'll have a Thanksgivin* when he does come, Elsie. Fr'aps hell come tomorrer. Sea,**

She got up, took the child to the window where the world was visible from

Tb» therod. ihltio-goodthtagB.-a kind of "plain This diverted Elsie, and she chattered

S2 the be* they ever had. 1«* mother drwaed hsr. aluo dried apples and pump- Bob rr climbed up and looked out 2STto setin £ofthe p«p hole left by tbe snow. Ikli

pies to bake, the house^ Ser SE the chickens to^ Nine-ear-old Bob and ^yea^l-*^ leaser to "help mother," and while the SSL fed old Red Top, the rooster, and

"There aint any f«vpk passing by. mother," he ..::aouncecL "No. nrr -voat be, she replied, "not till the st r's mehed pretty considtrahle."

Saturday

"What will we have to eat, he inquired. "There's plenty o' things in she said. "We sha'n't starve. be afraid o' that, Bob."

After their breakfast of frie johnny cake she went to feed ens. The children followed seemed "kind o' lonesome," No cue passed all day. The out warm and bright, and, could not perceive it, was but surely its goo4 work for looked out of the one pan long that he was tired. An wonder, for he had to stand the window sill to see out at

So the day wore on. Whe dren fretted their good mot about what father would brin sure she was that he would next day—the day of their itself. She wasn't at all sure first said so, but this was keeping her own hopes up, an ceeded so well that she almost they would see old Bess and th Thanksgiving morning

0?er the house and its little village near whiol

they lived and over the tavern where the Ifather lay, twenty miles away. But not for long. The rising winds, which had made themselves heard fitfully, now .grew furious. They reveled in the open stretch of country around the Wilkins farm, which stood on the edge of the village, and chased each other across meadows whose crusted snow gleamed when the clouds were blown for a moment from the face of the moon. Soon more flakes began to fall, and, what with the wind and the smooth surface of the snow already fallen, were blown and whirled violently about until they threatened to hide some landmarks completely.

alked dhow on the i, feast en she way of

lieved

Wednesday had Wilkins in th£. dinj he was fa»yirj£ home early on th the hangers on about tile all sorts of evil results to his "foolhardy notion" of trying to get through such a snow, but he persisted in going. "Seems es if I must," he told them. I

It was hard work—harder than he had expected, but old Bess was a strong horse, and he himself used to rough weather.

Twelve miles were traveled without incident or accident. The restr of the way was lonely enough, some of it skirting woods and leading through glens. It was a wild, beautiful drive In summer, but desolate in winter. As Mr. Wilkins drove on, thoughts of an event of which he had heard in town recurred to his mind: "Judge Garter's little girl was lost missing since Tuesday servant took her to walk neither of than seen since a thousand dollars cjjrardl" These had made little impressio^on the busy man at the time, but now, 'in the quiet of that lonely drive, thejj came back in fragments. He thought of his own little ones and of the awful weather that had prevailed since Tuesday, the day he had left homely

He was startled from his reverie by the sharp barking of a dog. It seemed to come from an old building off from the road, which, situated near a pond, had once been usod as an ice house. He listened. Yes, that was the place from which the noise came, and the barking sounded as if something unusual had happen**]. The ice house was deeply

THK UBOOTL

filled with drifts, which lay thick between it and the road. He couldn't get through easily. It would hinder him in his journey, too. Perhaps be wouldn't see home that night, he said to himself. So be drove on.

What made him connect that dog's with the story of the lost child? He couldn't seem to get rid of that. He stopped, and again measured the distance and the height of the drifts, decided that it wasn't worth while to get through them "jist fur a dog," as be tried to make himself believe, aad again started. "What if it was your chfldT The thought stung him. "Well, here goes!" he said, and suited the actios to the word by covering fate

evening mah.

horae with the sleigh robe and striking out for the house. It was a struggle even for theiuirdy farmer. 'As he neared .the place the barking grew louder. The door an the side toward him was almost covered, so he made for the rear. That bad been sheltered from drifts by the building, and a small door was accessible there. Ais' heopened it a handsome Newfoundland dog rushed out, jumping on him and whining for joy. Mr. Wilkins' eyes, dazzled by the snow, could at first see nothing, but the dog pulled him toward the most sheltered corner of the place, where a four-year-old girl lay, white and motionless.

Mr. Wilkins dropped down beside her and felt her hands, head, and finally her heart. The little one was not dead, as he first thought, and his chief care was to revive her. Being utterly exhausted, all he could do at first was to fold her in his arms under his overcoat Presently he started for the sleigh, followed by the faithful dog whose devotion had perhaps saved the child's life. He was anxious to reach the sleigh, for he had bethought himself of a bottle of milk which his host had put up with a lunch for him. That and the air seemed to revive the child. She 2lung to him. crying, until the dog poked his nose into her hand as he sat beside them on the sleigh seat. Then she smiled and tried to pat *him, calling him "Nelo." her word for "Nero," which was the name on his collar. As soon as she had recovered sufficiently to sit up, Mr. Wilkins drove on towards home, planning to send word by the next person that passed his house bound townward, for he felt sure this was Judge Carter's lost daughter.

His work was not over when he reached home, and saw the little group waiting in the window for him. It was necessary to shovel his way in. His wife threw a rope to him frock the loft window, attaching a shovel on the other end so that he could haul it out. When the way was clear he brought the now sleeping child in, and told how he had found her and the ftory he had heard.

Then what a talking and running to and fro commenced! The baby must be petted and fed and put to sleep, and the handsome dog must receive some attention.

THE DELIGHTS OF HOME

Will you tell us your name, dear?" said Mrs. Wilkins to the child, as she her in her arms. ame, Nellie," saidjshe, and, sure gh, her golcLpin was so engraved.

Mary," "ride," "doggy" and "big man," were all she could say plainly about where she liad been. Perhaps no one could understand her sweet prattle but her mother. At the thought of that sorrowing woman, Mrs. Wilkins said with tears in her eyes: "O Samuel, I'm just grieved thinkin' about this baby's mother. When can we send word?" "Likes not some one'll be goin' to town in the mornin', Mirandy," he replied.

After drinking a cup of tea which 1& wife had prepared while he worked, Mr. Wilkins started out to get his horse and sleigh under cover. This done, he prepared for a pleasant evening with h.^ family. After the hildren had asked questions to their heart's content about his adventure, the talk drifted around to themselves. "We haven't had any Thanksgiving, father," said Elsie, as she sat on his knee. "I think we have, child," said Mrs. Wilkins. "Isn't it Thanksgivin' enough to see father back safe? That's better than all the dinners we could eat." "Never mind, Elsie we'll keep Thanksgivin' to-morrer," said her father. "I don't know's it makes much difference when wo keep it es long es we're thankful enough." "An' have lotB to eat," put in Bob. "What did you bring us, father?" "You jest wait till morning an' see. Bob," said Mrs. Wilkins.

When morning came they found the oranges and raisins and all the good things, even to the figs, and to tell of what a feast they had, and how jolly they were, and how the little stranger enjoyed it with them, would be a long story.

It was not hard to interest their nearest neighbor in the lost child, and, as he had kept Thanksgiving on the right day, he volunteered to go at once to town. It was found that a servant had gone to walk with little Nellie and Nero, the dog, a little distance up the road, she had said. They had not returned, but the girl was last seen riding with a stranger whose slouched hat prevented his being recognized. Nothing definite was ever found out, but it was conjectured that she, wanting to be rid of the child and dog without going home, had left them in the old ice house, supposing that the dog's barking would attract attention from pmers-by.

The grateful parent* insisted on doubling the reward when they learned how much Mr. Wilkins bad done to find little Nellie. The ram seemed like a fortune to the poor farmer. He bought more land with it, and very good land it proved to be, so good that it made life leas hard for the Wilkins family. Utile luxuries, hitherto unknown, became possible, and there never was a time when, from a pecuniary as well as a moral point of view, Mr. Wilkins was not glad be had fought his way through the drifts into the icehouse at the call of the dog and so saved the little one that was ieat.v" ,»

MEl EAGRIS GALLOPAVO.

Which Is the 'Botanical Name" of the Patriotic Thanksgiving Bird.

If the fathers, of the republic had been granted the right and power to create a truly patriotic and native American bird especially for Thanksgiving, and exactly suited for it, they could not possibly have done better than nature had already done. The turkey fills the bill. He is toothsome, he is gamey, he is wholesome, nourishing, and does not cloy. He is bora at the right season, "comes in" just at the right time, is better by nature than by cultivation, and he is exclusively American. No other land has such a fowl. He is not only American, he is (an-American—that is. pan-North American. From the woods of the upper Sagtieriav to the forests of Florida, to speak scientifically, ineleagris gallopavo is indigenous—in other words, the wild turkey was found native to the woods.

His intellect also is peculiarly American. He is a wily bird and does not give himself away without sufficient cause, lie is ardent in love and savage in war. like other Americans. Like them, too, his ardor has often been the death of him. for it is only by "calling" —that is. imitating the voice of his mate —that the hunter can lure the wild turkey towards him. The practice was condemned by true sportsmen, for it was only practicable during the season when the turkey is not at his best. It is a curious fact, and known to but few in these wild turkeyless times, that the bird himself furnished the bone which served to "call" him to destruction. A single bone, about as long as one's forefinger, in each male turkey is hollow and of just the right shape for piping. With a little practice any ono with an average ear can eject the breath through it iu a way to make an exact imitation of the female turkey's love notes. At any rate, it is exact enough to deceive the male.

Dr. Franklin may have been joking when he suggested the turkey as the emblem of the United States instead of the eagle, but his suggestion had much to support it. The bird, as aforesaid, is native, exclusively American, wily and warlike. He is also in his native state a traveler and explorer. To the ordinary rivers the wild turkey paid little heed. The St. Lawrence and the Mississippi often baffled him, for it is rare, indeed, for a wild turkey to fly a mile. Even at his best estate he relies more on running than flying. From marked and tagged specimens turned loose after capture it has been shown that the turkey travels far. The great plains of the west barred his progress, however, as he insists on an abundance of clean running water.

Meleagris gallopavo is gone, practically extinct in most of the country, but he :e tolerably well represented by Meleagris Americana—the common farmyard fowl—and in Europe the descendants of those turkeys which William Strickland, lieutenant to Sebastian Cabot, carried to England, are numbered by millions and are classified in several species and varieties. From the cradle to the grave the domestic turkey is interesting. First are the delicately tinted and lovely speckled eggs, and in caring for them the female almost resumes her wild nature. She conceals her nest with rare talent, rarely approaches it twice by the same route, and always makes a wide circuit in leaving it for the barnyard, coming in from some other direction with an innocent air that is amusing. The young are almost as tender as babies it is in August that the growing bird begins to show what is in him. As the fruitful autumn advances he takes on the high and glossy shades of adult life, and in November is in just the right stage to be sacrificed, and most generally is. Peace to his hashes!

A Natural Presumption

"Great heavens!" said the barnyard rooster, as he watched the feeble fluttering of a poor turkey, after the ax came down, "I wonder what the matter is with his nibs, the gobbler?" "Well, judging from his actions," replied a facetious little bantam, "I should say that he had lost his head."

Thank*elvinc Thought*.

Be thankful that no speculator has thought to corner the cranberry crop or the turkey product of the land.

Rejoice that the spirit of progress that sneers at the doings of our fathers has not yet been able to affect the mine# pie of our mothers.—Harper's Bazar.

•, .p

Had BNI Fired.

8*id the turkey in tbearea, v-*'

the beat began to barn:

•**Yai. Tve severed my cooneeUon With the head at my concern." ~'f

An Old Faaiitoned Tbankaffivlng Dtaaar.

Pot-aa-fen. SOHJ9B. 1||'

Beef, Tomato Saaefer®®

8tew«d Com. Boiled Potatoea. WO UK.

Turtay. Cranberry Sauce. I/sttuce Salad.

Ok! ftufefcxied Bread Pudding. Mixed Fruit.

Of Coarse He

WM.

THANKSGIVING PIE.

rln

^'1

-How

First Boarding House Turkeyare you feeling? Second Boarding House Turkey Itaffc.

At UM THwlmlftof XMaser. wB," said MssUv Tork,

Loomed op in tbe repeat, nugr be rigtil» bat seems to me rm kmtcm fieab too freC."

used to

R. JINKIN8 used mention dear, devoteemate (How the pie his mother made

Mm vaa the beet he ever ate,

And as hnw, at gay Thanksgiving, in the merry days «one by.

Tbe delight of his young bosom was his mother's luscious pie

Mrs. Jinkina tried to please him. and all sorts of pains did take, But her pie was not as tempting a» his mother used to make.

And he only minced and nibbled, while in vain his wife did try To eoococt as good a pastry as hta mother's famous pie.

just to eat a piece of pie with aii the long remembered charm, He returned, one bright Thanksgiving, la the old

New England farm.

And his heart was filled with rapture, and his spirits mounted high As he puckered up his visage for hlM boyhood's f- famous pl«t,

Hut he found lilitiHalf unable hla'l'hauluigtvfiiK to enjoy With the sam« decided relish that tie uued to when •a boy,

And he left the feast half eafon, and admitted, with a sigh, That the change WM in hi* appetite, and wasn't in the pie.

lie discovered that the pleasure of the great Thanksgiving fete Didn't hinge, tbe way It used 16, upon the thiags ho ate, And he couldn't leave the table with the name contented sigh. With his spirit full of rapture and his atomach full of pie.

J. RmLicVi

Feeling Bad.

AS on the table in pieces It lay, Bald tho pumpkin pic. "My cup Is about as full as can bo today— -v

fact, I am all cut up."

Adapted to Thanksgiving. At midnight in bis fastened coop The Turk was dreaming of the min'it Of joy at festal board when

Bed be there, but not be in lr..

Thanksgiving comes to crown a bounteona year Let's eat our fill of turkey while it's here.

Thanksgiving at a Colored Awarding House.

Mr. Nowsome (tbe carver)—Miss Clufley, would you hab some ob de fowl?

Miss Clufley (thickly, as the bird slides c0 the dish)—Thanks, Mistah Newsome, but I's would radder hab er little at er time.—-Texas Siftings.

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