Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 21, Number 22, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 22 November 1890 — Page 7

OF TURKEY AND FIIIN'S.

WITHOUT THEM WHAT WOULD THANKSGIVING BE?

JL Writer of Mont Blessed Exp?rlersce« Dwell* feelingly and WIiclj tJpos f&e Glorlo* of the Thanksglrlnjj Day of

Olden Time.

Thanksgiving would not be Thanksgiving without its turkey and fixin'a. "Who does not remember who can look back to an old-fashioned Thanksgiving at a New England homestead, with what anxiety he awaited the opening of the great brick oven? Very early in the day a roaring fire of wood was built in the oven. A couple of honra later the em"berg and ashes would be removed and the bottom of the oven carefully swept with a turkey's wing.

Then came the procession of good things, the turkeys, the chicken pies, the apple, mince and pumpkin pies and all the rest, and disappeared in the cavernous depths. Mysterious sounds and fragrant odors came from those same depths ever and anon, as some matron approached and, opening the iron door, peered in for a moment

THE WKLCOIfE DINJtER 1IORH. The boys and girls could scarcely wait for the slow process of baking to be performed properly. Driven at last from the kitchen by their elders, they took refngo in the attic, where they rummaged to their hearts' delight or in the outer air, where they passed the time in playing those time honored games of "twi-old-cat" or "barn tick." They were never too diligently employed at either of these occupations to hear the dinner horn. They responded promptly when its melodious tones burst upon the air but paused decorously at the door of the great kitchen.

What a scene burst upon their eyes and what odors delighted their senses! The long table, formed of all the tables In the house set in a row, was covered with spotless linen. At either end and in tho center a huge turkey thrust his crisped legs appealingly in the air, while midway upon each side reposed a great chicken pie, with a diamond shaped hole cut carefully in tho flaky top. Dishes of •white potatoes, golden squash, pale yellow turnips, fragrant onions and crimson cranberry sance held their appropriate

Slaces,

while bowls of gravy and great ranches of celery filled the intervening spaces.

TH1C gCIliSTIFlO CARVER.

The curved outlines of thoso mammoth gobblers wero soon lost under tho knife of tho carver. In every family there is always one if not more who prides himself upon his skill at carving. "Always insert your fork with tho tines upon either sidoof tho breast bone, and, once inserted, do not remove it until the curving is completed. Remove a leg and a wing first, then carve the breast upon tho same side. Cut long, thin, smooth slices, and do not mangle the flesh. When ono sido is thoroughly carved begin on the other, if the waiting appetites mil allow." These are the in* Strur.tinrw flint- tho oitrvot will always give between the strokes of his keen blade.

After the turkey and "fixin'a" had been disposed of, and everybody helped twice, tho dishes wero removed and the pies brought on.

TUE GLORY OF THE MINCE PIE. Who can fitly describe the glories of tho mince pie of our grandmothers? We never havo such snowstorms nowadays as we used to havo when we were boys the woods are never so brilliant as they wero then tho fish never bite so quickly, and the chestnuts and shagbarks aro nover so fat and luscious as when wo used to find them under the leaves. So, too, the ininco pie of today is thin, £at and insipid and bears fiO resemblance to those which used to come out, smoking and fragrant, from the old brick oven. They needod no brandy "to make them keep." They wero for the present ubo only. Dut it cannot bo denied that tho cider in tho barrel in tha shed was slightly lowered when a batch of pies was made ready, for the baking.

As for tho pumpkin pies, what a rich golden color they had, so different from tliu sickly yellow of the modern marrowfat squash. How those pumpkins used to glow as they lay in the field ripening slowly in the late snnshino and growing sweeter with tho early frosts.

And the apples, too how we watched tliom as they grew wider and redder as the autumn advanced, until they reached just the exact tint of perfection. How we used to climb the tree# and drop them into the blue checked gingham aprons that the girls held stretched below.

After live pies came tho nuts gathered in tho woods and raisins from the grocer's cart. And then came the season of meditation. Somehow it always happened that the boys did not feel just like finishing that game of "two-old-cat" directly after dinner. They climbed to the mow and stretched themselves in the fragrant hay or took a walk in the woods, scaring out a rabbit or a partridge, and coining home with handfuls of checkerberry leaves, or sassafras, or birch bark tx ttis rijuEuairr.

As night drew on a formal sapper was dispensed with. Doughnuts and cheese and pies would be spread upon the table for those who wished. But they were sot in great demand. A little later the ftunily were all assembled in the parlor, and there were charades and character sketches and songs by the young folks, while their elders sat around the great ftn? upon the hearth.—Bo^ion Record.

T**o llMWl Ss«»d.

-What kmd of bread do you like iKKlf* a kind hearted lady who *as getting something f« tramp's •Thai^irtogv "Hie bread of idle&M* oium. change.

Ttw ra*tfcNrt»r

*»It terms da* &&»£*** mighty ticolar alxmt loeJdn* up d«4r olebeocoop* when Tanlagirin* emm Howdodey y** aoin* to cet a aLuwsr, w* «T-Ulfc

*.'.•

w- v.. '...?

i*~-1_J1

A THANKSGIVING, SKETCH.

Wliat Mr*. Frank I*!ie Ha* to Say ofthe Vattooat Feast. (Copyright fey American Press Aasociatloo.]

Not so many years ago we ail felt that Thanksgiving ivas a purely New England festival, anA I am afraid some of us vaguely associated it with baked beans and pork or salt codfish, those traditional dainties of the northeastern states, as cabbage is of New York, "hog and hominy" of the west and pone, chicken and gumbo of the south.

Bnt the spirit of union and true fraternity are actively at work in our great nation, and year by year some little prejudice or some traditional landmark is removed, and United Statesians are less mid less sectional and more and more national. One symptom of this growing unity is the growing observance of Thanksgiving day in the middle, western and southern states.

Its appointment year by year from the White House, instead of each state selecting its own day, is a great step, and another is the ever increasing facilities of travel which carry eastern people west and south to perpetuate their beloved Feast, or on the other hand, makes it quite possible for the scattered children to come home from California or Oregon or Florida in five or six days, eat some of "mother's plum pudding and fhince pies," and return to business before they have had time to grow cold.

Of course to many of us Christmas is a dearer and more important day, and one devoted to family reunions long before the pilgrims saw Plymouth or the Cavaliers landed at Jamestown but usage is stronger than reason in many minds, and in some of the states Christmas was for at least two centuries almost a forgotten feast, and in New York its place was usurped by New Year's day, as in New England by Thanksgiving.

The Dutch had suffered so cruelly at the hands of Spain, the stronghold of Roman Catholicism, that their Reformed Church, the church of early Manhattan, abhorred the observances of Rome quite as much as they abhorred the devil, and were in their way quite as ultra-Protest-ant as the Puritans of New England in theirs.

These latter were so direful to avoid .correspondence with Papistical usages that their day of fasting, of prayer meetings and of all penitential observances was Thursday, which in the Roman church is next to Sunday as a gala day, while Friday was with the Puritans the usual day for any sort of merry making.

The oddest of all these transpositions, however, was removing the weekly fish dinner from Friday to Saturday, on which latter day every well regulated New England family sat down to what was called a "salt fish dinner," which seems, according to tradition, to have been a very elaborate affair, for the fish must be of the quality known as "dun," and to be perfectly cooked must be packed' between two white fish, the. whole being laid without, bending in a copper fish kettle and steeped, but not boiled. The outer flab were then taken nflP «nfl thrown ownjr. tho o»o was served whole with white sauce, pork scraps, young beets, parsnips and potatoes. This was the traditional "salt fish dinner" of olden times in Massachusetts, and the "survival of the fittest" is seen in the fish balls that still grace every Sunday morning breakfast table in New England,

Of courso we all know that the Thanksgiving feast was established in the first years of their pilgrimage by the Puritans as a real and personal thanksgiving to God for the harvest which came to the starving emigrants, and the game and fish that swarmed in the autumn upon their shores.

It used to be almost a matter of conscience to pile the board with a part of everything grown on the farm—beef, pork and poultry, with specimens of all the vegetables and dainties compounded as far as possible of native products.

But nowadays so many of us lire in cities and towns that if we feasted only npon the products of our own labor and our own hands the majority of us would fast, and both the means and the spirit of personal thanksgiving have so gone out of fashion that probably few people realize the meaning of the word or their own obligations in regard to it.

Some of us also have but little heart for the giving of thanks or for rejoicing when we look back at those who have helped us to rejoice, and for whom we now sorrow in lonely desolation. But although we no longer care for the national feast of delicate food and generous wines because we shrink from the Thanksgiving toast of "Absent Friends** as from a blow, we may yet make the day a joyous one by giving of our abundance in material goods to those of our brethren who have nothing.

For several years I myself, instead of mourning beside a desolate hearthstone, have been privileged to go on Thanksgiving day to help a friend well known in philanthropic circles who gives a really good dinner to some hundreds of the starving poor of our metropolis.

It is no

play-work

sasiaiif

bat dressed in the

plainest garb we work as hard as waiters in a fifth rate restaurant, and by the time apronfols of apples and oranges are distribute*! to the ©ntpouring guests we are ready to drop with fatigue, bnt warmed to the heart with true and deep thanksgiving that we have been aide to shed a little gleam of pleasure into lives barren and joyless as these.

This Is only owe way of keeping the day, and the circamstanoes and position akf each reader wit! suggest setae other equally good, but there Is one thing qnite certain—that matter how d**»late one's hearth or however lonely one* heart, ve all cm and should keep Thanksgiving, if not for oerselres fat otfcesrs* and in so doing we will find wpfr""1* &ing f*r. far tper Item the gay laag**^ and tbou^utksa merrymaking :Jy

pemihU

for those who

1 few wsd&emuiM and wlio tare* feat

-fr

FROM TWO STANDPOINTS.

rCopjnght by American Press Association.] HANK SGI VINO'S Why

My ininoBt soul, And plead a dole From out the pan. No turkey can Now kindle fires Of fond desires For 'stuffing spiced Or white meat sliced.

I reverenced then The fowl, not men. The order veers With changing years. And now I find That in my mind

a***

The honor place Is for the face Of bim, the wan Undaunted Puritan.

The difference lies Somewhat thiswise: I then was nine, And now my line Of days baa spun Piwt thirty-one.

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EviflNG A TT^'^

And whertforel Have knowledgep.. o£ knowing lore,

The story grand— The Puritan band. The self denial In days af trial, The praises gireo Unto high hearen When closed the tale Of woe and waD When hand in hand Throughout the land Bed foes and wan* Stalked grim and gaunt No more, and strife For food and life.

Found end and dawn In victory won. These things I wot, But I know not

iSS

The joys of yore. 1 hare more lore But less of taste. I do not haste As once I did, A guest unbid, To aid the cook Take frequent look Upon the bird Whose fragrance stirred

Faro A Dattok.

Only a Question of Time,

Mr. Bingo (viewing the table)—3Iy dear, where did you get all these fine things for Thanksgiving?

Mrs. Bingo—Youll know when the bills come in.

Struck the

Landlady—How Is the turfcpy, sir? Or jxslisps y*$u are not a good jndg& New Boarder—I ongbt to be, madam Iamin theksther

IN THE NEW YORK MARKETS.

ruHtey, the Sovereign Bird, Receives the Homage of the Metropolis. The few days that immediately precede Thanksgiving ore great days in the New York markets, and the day before Thanksgiving is something enormous. If living turkeys could only foresee the homage that would be paid them on this day they would no doubt run to the headsman's block without urging, and stretch their necks for the ax.

For in truth the honors paid to this kingly bird at t$is season are amazing. AH day a great crowd throngs Washington and Pulton markets, the principal mausoleums of the honored fowL At nightfall Yesey street is almost impassable, and the neighborhood of West and Washington streets is packed with people carrying baskets, bags and even portmanteaus.

Around on all sides, glorified by the golden gaslight, hang the shapely turkeys, with crimson rosettes, like stars of the Legion of Honor, pinned on their exuberant breasts. Sacredly guarding the dead stand the undertakers, commonly known as poultry dealers stout, rubicund, argumentative, loud voiced, and, strange to say, jolly. Why strange? of course they are jolly, and so would the turkeys be if they were alive! For all the men, women and children in the crowd are intensely jolly, and rightly consider that they have not come to witness a burial, but an apotheosis of turfieys.

A sad eyed little widow, leading a school girl by the band, is struck with the delicate beauty of along necked bird, and offers to see that it is buried with the proper ceremonies, but the undertaker says such a luxury will cost her at the rate of, say, eighteen cents a pound. With a sigh she drops the beautiful fowl and takes another less stately and satisfactory, for which she pays sixteen cents a pound. The eighteen cents a pound bird is snapped up by a plethoric, red faced old gentleman, who wears false teeth and a single eyeglass. After him comes a newly married couple, linked arm in arm and carrying two huge baskets. The husband is tall, angular and ngly the bride small, sweet and seductive. She yearns for a five dollar bird, whereas he thinks |3.50 will be enough, and that the rest of the money can be spent on groceries. But she makes the turkey's merits so evident to her spouse that he finally hands over a crisp, new five dollar bill, tucks the bird under his arm and strides off to a vegetable stall, where he pays out $1.25 for celery, sage, cranberries and cauliflowers.

Two young girls who keep house for themselves debate for a quarter of an hour as to whether they shall buy a lean turkey or a fat chicken, and finally buy the chicken. A fractions old gentleman who hears this conversation eschews turkey also, and satisfies himself with a fine looking duck. His wife, a handsome woman, with a red rose in her bonnet, spends nearly half an hour searching for green peas.

A handsome woman, wearing a long sealskin and a queer arrangement of black velvet and crimson ribbon on her head, pays little attention to the turkeys and very much to the crowd. As she stands beside a vegetable stall, under the flaring gaslight, her gorgeous headdress and pale, statuesque face form a striking contrast to the forest of green behind her, and a painter who could utilize the scene ought to make a small fortune out of-t.

Busy as the markets are during the day, they are ten times more busy during the evening. Along the gaslit aisles of Washington market passes a great throng of men and women, their eyes fixed on the long lines of decorated turkeys, chickens, ducks and geese, and their ears apparently deaf to the honeyed invitations of the blue shirted plethoric dealers, who are never tired of expatiating on the succulence, freshness and general beanty of their goods. Now and then a woman will stop, lay down her basket, feel the breast of a turkey with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, inquire its price, expostulate at the dearness, hesitate a moment or two and then draw out her purse and march homeward with the coveted fowl in her possession. Men buy too, and so do not a few young girls and boys.

All seem to get just what they want, and not many discontented or dissatisfied faces are to be seen at any time at any of tho markets.

What right has any one who Is discontented or who hasn't the wherewithal to buy a turkey in the big markets on Thanksgiving eve? They are not wanted here, and the plenty that is so free to the more fortunate would simply make them more discontented.

It is late, very late, when the crowd of buyers begins to grow less, and it is much later when the last cash transaction has been xqade. How many of the buyers have thought as they provided for their own Thanksgiving cheer of the thousands who will eat no turkey cot the morrow?

No one can answer this question, bnt we know that some have we know that many baskets hare been carried away from the great markets laden with good Uiings for others than the purchasers', we know that white the ostensible spirit of thankfulaesii has been quite smothered in many a breast by the spirit of selfish anticipation of good things to eat on the morrow, many a table scantily spread on roost days will then groan under good tilings thoughtfully and unobtrusively provided by geaerous tuuads and hearts and purses.

And there Is no better time, well led reader, whether yon live ha town or connti7, for you to mingle generosity to year kiss fortunate friends with thankfulness for your own material prosperity than this Thanlagiving «»Kra.? ,•

Thanksgiving really the at devotion, the truest mart: of the true Quristiatt. It conaist**, moreover, not of speech only, but actloa, of thank offering as well as thanksgiving. So this present great ansnal national day of thanfcigrrtag onght to bring forth Ataadwt txettKa* from thews oa

iflgHBK

VERSES OF THE SEASON. 'i c.

Loaded down with tidbits sweet, Loaded down with turkey fat. Delicacies and all that-

Happy, happy man!

AFTER THE THANKSGIVING DINNER. Aching, aching man! Skulking sadly'long the street,

Loaded down with tidbits sweet, With stuffed turkey, rich and fat. Delicacies and all that-

Aching, aching man! —Unidentified.

Little Honora Mnllally.

Poor little llonora Mulially, At the close of the Thanksgiving day, Was standing in front of her alley,

A-watching some children at play, Her gown was a wonderful garment. All patches from shoulder to hem, And her hat and her shoes—well, I beg you'll excuse

Any further remark about them.

But poor little Honora Mulially Had a face Just as bright as could be, And no flower in meadow or valley

Was ever as pretty as she, And so thought an old woman who, passing,

Stopped a moment to smilingly Bay, "Why, bless your dear heart, I am sure you have bad

A very good dinner today."

Thanksgiving Chimes. Thanks to our God we pay, Thanks for the year

Of love and cheer, Of daily food, Of constant good,

Tlianks to our God this day.

Thanks to our God wo pay For morning light, For noontide's sheen,

For quiet e'en, For peaceful night, Thanks to our God this day. Thanks to our God we pay

For winter's snow, For spring's soft flow. For summer's glow, For autumn's show, Thanks to our God this day

Thanks tt our God we pay For smile and tear, For grief and cheer.

For gain, for loss. For crown, for cross, Thanks to our God this day. —R. M. Offord in New York Observer.

The Thanksgiving Turkey. As Thanksgiving day walks down this way The strutting turkey Is ill at esse Tn poor as the turkey of Job," says he "Tough and unlit to eat, you see 1 gobble no more of my pedigree, Lest some poor fellow should gobble me: And a turkey buzzard I think I'll be,

For the present, if you please." —BJnghamton Republican.

SOME OLD TIME FIGURES.

A Yankee Thanksgiving Ninety eight Years Ago.

The following is taken from The Norwich (Conn.) Weekly Register of November, 1792, published by Messrs. Bushnell & Hubbard:

Thanksgiving day may be a good institution, but it is more like the day of destruction than any other day. It may not be unamusing to take a peep at the transactions and expense of the whole week, and see what real good we derive from this day, and it requires no uncommon intellects to ken the deeds done by 685,000 people, for the samo tragicomical scenes are acting in every family in this state (Connecticut). Rhode Island and Massachusetts.

Monday was washing day. Tuesday aday of darkness and despair among pigs, turkeys, geese, hens, ducks and pigeons. Today is a day of eating and drinking. True it is, a few attend divine service, bnt just enough, however, to say we—the principal business of the day being to gormandise. Every son and daughter, and son-in-law and daughter* in-law, with the whole litter of grandchildren, this day make the annual visit tb the old cupboard. To-morrow is a day for apprentices and servants—a day "of freedom and merriment to every bondman and every bondwoman. Saturday comes the physician's day, and tartar emetic by wholesale and retail. And as 'tis gjood practice to settle every Saturday night, we may as well close the account with the week.

Allowing eight person to a family, there are in state [Connecticut], Rhode Island and Massachusetts 85,6W families: consequently, npon moderate calculation, these three states must

Thanksgiving day Dr to about

«tr«» ptam uxrtaejrserffean tauwi Star »)(.!« tnlsoed

jm. lExts*.

«4!« mk t*«V SSV»B r£»or JWHKO fife* A iltMlim

besides wine, nuts and qpffc*. The exnet amount of tho w!»oJ*ii««iier calcnlatad by a married mm than by yoor servant, a bachelor.

^y^rr.t 1

.v:v\r -i

Ww Whitman's Thanks.

Thanks In old thanks ere I go, For health, tho middajr sun, the impalpable air— for Ufe, n*ere life, For precious ever lingering memories (of you, my mother, dear—you, father—you, brothers, sisters, friends),

For all iny days—not those o* peace alone—the days of war the same, For gentle words, caresses. Rifts from foreign lands. For shelter, wine and meac—for sweet appreciation, (Ton distant, dim unknown—or young, or old— countless, unspecified, beloved. We never met, ami ne'er shall meet—and yet our souls embrace, long, close and long For beings, groups, love, deeds, words, books— for colors, forms. For all the brave, strong men—devoted, hardy m^ti—who've forward sprung In freedom's help, all years, all lands, For braver, stronger, more devoted men—(a special laurel ere I go to life's war's chosen ones, The cannoneers of song and thought—the great artillerymen—the foremost leaders, cap tains of the soul Ax soldier from an ended war return'd—As traveler out of myriads, to the long procession retrospective, Tlianks—joyful thanks!—a soldier's, traveler's thanks. —Walt Whitman in New York World

Tho Amerleau Feast.

BEFORE THE THANKPjJtYINQ DINNER. Happy, happy man! Tripping gayly 'long the street,

"Yis, indade," said Honora Mulially, "I did, for my frlnd Mrs. Down Had a hope of sweet taters that Sallie,

Her sister, baked lovely and brown, Wid—oh, ma'am, if you could but havo seen it!— The fattest and foinest of hins, And they glv' mo the gizzard and neck of that hin.

And all of the sweet tater skins." —Harper's Young People

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