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■Ti* r**~' fal*' • ' ■-Hi HERALD. t “IF FOB THE LIBERTY OF THE WORLD WE CAN DO ANYTHING.” VOL. III. Ereili*. Dim fall* the light o’er ull the dream ing w<mm1i>; Alhivart the dlnhuit western sky are Iflmnis Ofn'Maii.l aiu’ier; [leaily rosoHsIged e: ii'ls, l. K.‘»ine s) (eissing fair, one almost ti'SUIS. 1'i.e iiM'iiing gate of Paradise hath lent 8 .me tinge <>f glory to the dying day; And earln-lmuud souls, with longing, ling'ring gaze, Would fain rise up and m >ve along that way. A still ores sweet and-solemn all around; The s >ng of birds is hushed; there falls no quiver Of rustling leaf, or shak.-n trembling reed, Upon the fair faint brightness of tin- river. The crescent moon gleams coldly, dim ly, forth; And in the deep'nlng blueofheaven, afar, A tender watcher o’er the troubled world, Sbineth one solitary glitt’ringstar. The shadows deepen on the distant hills; The highest peaks but touched with ling’ring tight. And down their purpling sides, soft misty clouds Wrap all the valleys in a dusky night. And faraway the msrmur of tha-seu, And moonlit waves breaking In foamy line. 8o Night—God’s angel, Night—with silvery wings, Fills alF the earth .with loveliness divine. —Chambers’ Journal TUIRTEEN MILLIONS OF FIGHT ERS. What a Biff Army This Caiatrj €•■14 Raise la Case ef Ne cessity. A census office buljptin of special interest now is the one which con tains a table of militia ages, because of the existence pf a condition of af fairs in several States which approach es, if it does net constitute,civil war. The militia age is from eighteen to forty-four years, both inclusive. Be tween these years a man is liable to compulsory military service, i. e., to be drafted or conscripted in theevent of war. This is a big country and a great many people live in it, but we fancy it will surprise most readers to learn that the mules within the militia ages number 13,230,168. Think of itl Thirteen million fight ing menl No nation in ancient or modern times times has ever possess ed such potentiality for war. The vast host with which Xerxes invaded fME IPANDERING JEW. Origli ffftbt Widely Kmwb Legend •f the Thirteenth Century. S legend of the Wandering Jew, ofeVeyerfOtte has heard, but of moat persons know so little, is not found either in the apocryphal evangelists or in the Latin fathers of the Church, says the Glasgow Mail. According to the best authori ties, it origiuated at Constantinople. There are two versions—the Orien tal, in which the Jew is called philus, and that of Europe, in which he is called Ahasuerus. In the Eastern versions he is represented as a porter of Pontius Pilate; in the Western as a cobbler, living on the slope of Mount Calvary, by whose door Christ passed 1 earing His cross to the plact o crucifixion. The Oriental legend attributes to him a wife and five children, derails omitted in that of the Occident The offense committed was the same in both cases, a brutal refusal to per mit the Saviour to enter into the residence of the portor or cobbler—a favor asked by Himself of the 1 to man soldiers who were guarding tlim—accompanied with the sug gestion that He had better walk on. With the greatest gentleness in man ner,, according to the legend, Christ informed the inhuman Jew that as a punishment of his unfcmdness it would be his fate to walk on till the day of judgment, a sentence he has since‘been and is believed by many to be still expiating. In the thirteenth century« knowl edge of the wanderer began to be diffused by means of the bards ramj popular ballads among the people of Europe, but it wi some 200 or 300 years later tt extraordinary tale of his suffa became universally known, and person was made familiar to all by; the accounts of those who bad keen and convened with him. Noone ap pears to have met him until Igte iii the sixteenth century, but after that day he eras often seeu by persons of rank and education in England, Scot land, France, Italy, Hungary,ftwedeu, Persia, Denmark and other tom u tries. In 1575 two ambassadors at the Court of the Spanish monarch met him at Madrid. In 1589 bte was seen at Vienna and in 1601 at Lu- beck. In 1616 many persons saw and talked with him in Lavonia, Gracovia and at Moscow. The Ger man cities were partieularly favored with his flying visits, for be is heard of at Rostock, Weimar, Dantziz and Kouigsberg, at each of which places he was treated with all the hospital!- iff Greece in his attempt to add Europe ty the brief ^ st ^ to bis Asiatic dominion was but a His positively last appearance was at Brussels in 1774. He would probably hare passed by, this city with his usual baste had not the burgesses, attracted by the great venerability of his appearance asked him to stop a moment. He at first replied that he could not stop, but, being urged, paused briefly. Beiug invited into an inn to partake of a pot of Flemish beer he consented to drink the beer, but positively refused to sit down. However, he delayed long enough to toll of the eotire his tory of his sin. and its 1,800 years of expiation. From his personal ex planation it appears that he crossed seas, rivers, rivulets, deserts, moun tains, hills, valleys and plains with the same facility. He passed through fire and water without harm. He had passed among warring hosts in Eu rope and Asia without deviation from bis course, and witnessed many deaths in America and Africa. He Lad neither house uor land, nor any sort of personal property, and his only financial resources were five cents, which, when spent, were con stantly renewed in his pocket was’ handful in comparison, and the great standing armies of modern Europe are as but corporal’s guards. Of these 13,230,168 persons with- iu the militian age 10,423,086 are natives and 2,806,082 are foreign born. The aggregate number of whites within the militis age is 11,- 893,764, and the total colored 1,426,- 405. The latter figures include not only the negroes, but Chinese and all other colored races among us, the Indian Territory not being counted. The foreigu born number 2,806,082, of whom 2,718,898 are white and 88,- 144 colored. The native whites with in the militia ages number 9,086,066, of whom 6,770,265 are s the sons of native parents and 2,311,801 of foreign. Two deductions may prop erly be drawn from these figures. First, that in a contest ou the color line the colored people would be in a hopeless minority, the odds being more than 5 to 1 against them; and secondly m a contest between native and foreign born ciluens the latter wonld be overwhelmed, the odds against them being about 4 to 1. Happily there are no signs of a con test along either of these lines. Why aad Why Nnt. Why (all death the “kingof terrors?” Why not consider it a nat u al transition from life unto an other life? Why think of the deep,cold grave? Why ,not look up iuto that higher circle, where the soul is being wel comed by loved ones gone before? Why live as if this were the only life? Why not prepare to follow that silent, yet potent majority, who are waiting “over there.” by allowing the religion, consentrated in you; to radiate upon all ooming within range of your horosoope, letting it find a reflex in your own home? Why,O Why? It is not the fal • teeth which should ^tootymtable, bat the A Tennessee girl, edacatod in a fashionable female college at’Nash ville, committed suicide the other day, Itecause her father wouldn’t pay his grocery bills. Her high sense of honor refused to allow her to con sume food that bad not been paid for to sustain life, and as she hfld no other means of living she decided to die. If every girl whose father did not pay his grocery bills and news paper subscription should commit ■nioide, there would be more funerals in the country than there has been since the yellow fever epidemic. The weakest living creature,' fcy concentrating his powers on a single object, can accomplish something. The strongest, by dispersing his over many, may fail to accomplish any 1 DARLINGTON, SOUTH CAROLINA, WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1892 . pompous m me Knowledge mat ne, ana he only, was the author of that snblime article, “Whither Are We Drifting?" and their wivea were with them, and the other men who had been invited were there with their wives! It was evidently a Conspiracy to humble and crush and wreck the life at Theophilus Wardwell. For a moment he seemed disposed to slam the door in their facee, but he arrested the motion of his arm. Then it looked as though he wonld turn looee the simoom of his wrath, bnt the words died on his lips, and he ended by invit ing them all to walk In, smiling sar donically, and “every one knew that some one had blundered.” He led the procession iuto the parlor and then call ed his wife, who joined him in a maze of bewilderment. And when the guests were all seated, equally stupefied with wonder, Mr. Wardwell faced them and said, with magnificent sarcasm: “Ah! And so you have come in re sponse to my invitation? 1 regret to say that yon have come too late to partake of my tnrkey or pie, but you have come in time to teach' me a valuable lesson. After this, when 1 want my friends to call on me on New Year’s, 111 ask them to come on Christmas; if I desire to see them on the Fourth of July, I’ll ask them to visit me on Faeter Sunday, and when I want a gathering on Thanksgiv ing day I’ll specify George Washing ton's birthday as the date for the aesem- blage. “This is Thursday, ladies and gentle men. Well, last Friday Mrs. Wardwell and 1 had a somewhat wholesome repast prepared for yon all, and we waited and waited for your coming until our hearts ached with disappointment, but we should have been patient, I see; we were altogether too hasty. If we had only waited six days longer, you w-Mild have been with ns. A trifle like sir days wonld have caused us no iucor-^uieuce whatever, but we were so thoughtless." Mr. Wardwell paused for breath, and the professor took advantage of the lull to say: “There is some gross misunderstand ing here. You invited us to ret Thanks giving dinner with you, and here we are. But as for me, I did not come to be insulted.” “You are correct in saying that I in vited you to come on Thanksgiving day. Then why, may 1 ask, didn't you come on Thanksgiving day?” ‘Why," responded the professor, in a dazed way, “this is Thanksgiving day!" “Certainly it is,” chorused the doctor, and the editor, and the musician; “this is Thursday, Nov. 26.” “No one questions that,” cried Mr. Wardwell, with bitter irony, “and to morrow is Friday, the 27th, and I have excellent reason to believe that the fol lowing day will be Saturday, the 28th— . ~ _ labooMnl b.surprisedif-Sun- day turned out to be the 29fh. But how do you make out that this is Thanks giving day? Here is The Gazette, with the governor’s proclamation in cold type, and it reads ‘Nov. 20.' Does the govern or’s proclamation count for anything, or is it merely a vain ceremony—an empty formality?” Before any one could speak a hollow groan was heard. It came in all its intensity from the lips of the editor of The Gazette. He was reclining upon a lounge, breathing with difficulty. The doctor rushed to his rescue with a case of surgical instruments, but the editor waved him away and moaned: ‘Oh, what a misfortune! A malison upon that bilious, blear eyed foreman of mine! To think that all this should come of allowing him to read a proof! Mr. Wardwell, and all of you,” he said, rising to his feet, “we are the victims of a scrawny printer whom I intrusted with the governor’s proclamation and the reading of the proof. He placed the figures ‘20' where ‘26’ should have been. Mr. Wardwell made all the prepara tions on the 20th, and we, who probably never read the proclamation, arranged to visit him on the 26th. I can only say that as the editor of The Gazette I will discharge the printer without a recom mendation, and that as a man who has blood in his veins 111 either punch his head or perish in the attempt” When the editor’s explanation was concluded there was an era of silence. Then Mr. Wardwell tnmed to his wife with a ghastly smile and said: “Rachel, Is there anything to eat in the honee?” “Scarcely a thing.” “Ladies and gentlemen, will you as sist me in devouring such remnants of groceries as Mrs. Wardwell can consoli date into a dinner?” "Mr. Wardwell,” said the doctor, with emotion, “a bowl of water, with a crust of bread, would be a feast in your home. The flow of intellect, sir—the flow of reason, as it were, Mr. Wardwell—the intercourse of kindred minds—atone for all deficiencies in the material—aw—er— in short, Mr. Wardwell, anything will do for a dinner, and we’ll be doubly thank ful today that the slight cloud which darkened the horizon as we came in has given-place to the sunshine of—er— to the sunshine, Mr. Wardwell.” NO. 12. wmen is now or worm wide Ceieonty; and the professor discoursed so admira bly of the foibles and idiosyncrasies of the second Ramesis that he was voted the most interesting speaker who ever enlivened a Thanksgiving party; and the editor of The Gazette recited his famous article with unusual fervor, so that some of the ladies wept again. The dinner lasted two hours, and when it was over there was heard a ring at the doorbell, and who should have done the ringing bnt the foreman of The Gazette, whose doom had been pronounced! He had come to call the editor away on important business, and it was quite affecting to see that able man embrace hie subordinate and say: “Your wages are raised two dollars a week. By one of your blunders you caused Mr. Wardwell’e dinner to be a misfit, bnt there never was a nobler dinner than I have had today.” Hard Thinking. irt S-w Wife—1 don’t think much of this mince pie, do you? Husband—Not now, bnt I expect to all the rest of the night. A MISFIT THANKSGIVING. BY WALT MASON. (Copyright, 1SK, by A mericau PrciS Associa tion.) CHAPTER I. TJIS GOYERSOn’S PROCLAMATION ' “Jim,” said the editor of The Gazette to the blond foremen, “here’s the gov ernor’s Thanksgiving proclamation. Can you run it in today?” “I reckon," “All right; 1 don’t know of anything that would be more interesting reading to me. A nd why? Because 1 understand Mr. Wardwell will invite some ■friends' to dimiejc oiv-Tlianlcsgiying, and 1 tell you, James, there’s no man now living can arrange sueli‘a repast as the urbane, genial and accomplished Theophilus Wardwell; hi* dinners are songs with out words; they b$gt the dreams of pro fessional lotus eal^rs. $>d Bis Tiants- giving dinner will be a revelation i:. roast turkey and a symphony in pump kin pie.” "I s’pose you’ll be there?” “If I’m not it’ll be because this poor, lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave. He always invites the same people, and 1 am one of them. ’ Whan he reads the-govenmr’eprqalamation he will sit down andVrite IjivitatiouB to his chosen. frienA,_,an<ft the chosen friends will look forward to the day With leaping.” •’ > “Do you want to read the'p-cof when this is in type?” "i’ll wait just ten minutes longer.” “It’a horridly, shamefully awful," moaned Mrs. Wardwell. ‘Til never smile again.” "I wish you would never groan again. Things are bad enough without your lamentations. Let us fall to; let ns be as grateful as we may under the circum stances. The time is up.” And so that sorrowful pair sat down in gloomy grandeur and ate as best they could, but it was a mirthless banquet and soon over. The absence of Mr. Ward well’s friends was the most inexplicable thing to the world. He was renowned as the most graceful of hoetej Ips tinners were poems; his wife wafebarngtog; hfodiame was a marvel of comfort' and conven- that his descriptions of the manners and ience. When the goveruor’aprdclamation customs of the Hindoos and Bedouins appeared ia The Gazette, announcing i and Malays were singularly true to life languishing supgs ot me musician, ana the brilliant sentences of the editor. The«e gentlemen who have been enu merated had been expected with their .wivM. and Several other gentlemen IhiHrwRtehad-Weti «xt)e6fed,‘»utf sequently it was no wonder that The ophilus and Rachel Wardwell were plunged in bitterness when they were obliged to eat alone. “It is the most humiliating day of my life," said Mr. Wardwell. “I can only think of one thing for which 1 should be thankful, and that is that my busi ness does not take me ont of the house. I would be ashamed to. look a human being in the face if 1 had to go on the street. Crying won’t do any good, Rachel—‘weep no more, my lady, weep no more today.’ Give the servants In structions to dispose of these viands in any way they choose, and then let us try to forget this appalling occasion.” And Mr. Wardwell went bravely to his library and endeavored to bury his sorrow by studying “quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore.” „ CHAPTER ID. THE COMING OF THE GUESTS. For several days following that mem orable fiasco of a dinner Mr. Wardwell led the life of a recluse. He was a regu lar contributor to a great magazine, and his articles all treated of travels in for eign and unheard of countries. The fact Thankagivlng In India. The native servants of India are said to be courteous in the extreme, and when they learn of any particular festival which their masters desire to observe they always make it a point to offer their congratulations, accompanied by presents of flowers, fruits and sweets tastefully arranged in fantastic baskets. They know all about Christmas and New Year, but it was the United States consul at Calcutta who first enlightened them regarding Thanksgiving. There after the diplomat and his successors as well have been appropriately honored on the “Yankee holiday.” OU, Wkat Dlffitrmm la th« Mornlug! I “DO YOU WANT TO READ THE PROOF?” "I gness not, Jim; look It over your self." And it was by this delegation of one Of his important functions to a subordi nate, that the editor of The Gazette filled one home with woe and created the chaos which made this narrati re possible. CHAPTER H. A BANQUET HALL DESERTED. The stateliest turkey .that ever in- the pure air of freedom was ready for the teeth of the hungry. The noblest pumpkin that ever grew on a vine under a benevolently smiling sun had been re duced to pies, and was also ready for the famished, and the board fairly groaned with the other sundries which constitute • thoroughly appropriate Thanksgiving dinner, but the host, the master of all the splendor, the designer of the elaborate feast, was not happy. There was sorrow to the heart of Theophilus ‘Wardwell. Sorrow and anxiety and wonder had absolute con trol of him; and his wife was weeping to the shadows, and the dining room was filled with gloom. The dinner hour had passed and the invited guests had not arrived. The reihorseleee clock on the wUl kept measuring off seconds With inexorable regularity, and still there came no ring at the doorbell. “Baohal,” said Mr. Wardwell to his l webbing wife, “111 wait just ten minutes ^ l-fonger, Md tlteu if our friends (to not cOme well eat all we can and give the balance afthis feeri to the poor or send ItitotfceweMhen. Atis a sorrowful old Thanksgiving day for ns v We expected a (east of reason a flow Of soul, and ito.of loneliness and woe. idB." that the 20th of November would be ob served as Thanksgiving day, Mr. Ward- Well. after due consultation with his wife, wrote beautifully worded letters to his friends asking them to take din ner with *hua on the eventful day—to use his own modest words, “Join me to a Thanksgiving.lunch in my home.” That abieihaq, the editor of The Ga zette, was invited. Who has not heard of .the editor of The Gazette? He it was who wrote the stirring article entitled ‘‘Whither Are We Drifting?” which cre ated consternation from ocean to ocean, and placed the writer upon the pinnacle of fame at the early age of forty. It was customary with Mr. Johns, the ed itor,, to repeat the famous editorial from memory at dinner parties, and in his re ply to Mr. Wardwell’s invitation he had explicitly stated that he would deliver it, word for word, as it was originally writ ten, immediately after the dinner. Mr. Stiver, the musician, had also been invited. You all know about the illustrious Mr. Stiver, who composed so many delightful songs and sang them so irresistibly to enchanted audiences. His picture was printed in the local papers, and it is altogether unreasonable to sap- pose that yon have not seeu it. When ever Mr. Stiver ate dinner at Mr. Ward- Well’s he invariably rendered several of his most charming selections, and he had written Theophilus that nothing short of an epidemic would keep him away on Thanksgiving day. Dr. Shadley had also received an in vitation, and had answered that he wonld do himself the honor to be at the appointed place promptly, adding face tiously that his appetite would be con cealed about his person. The doctor was the moot interesting and amusing story teller in the civilized world. It was qnite impossible to listen to one of his anecdotes without being convulsed with laughter, and since he had made the Wardwell home echo with merri ment time and time again his absence on this occasion was beyond all human understanding. Professor Snell, pf the university, had been invited as well and had remained away, as hud the others. The professor made Mr. Wardwell’* house almost his home. It was in the little blue room overlooking the garden that he made tbpso admirable translations of Horace which iiuve astonished the biters tews of two hemispheres. His “radition was a beautiful clement of n Wardwell din ner; it furnished a hoImT * ac It ground for the frothy mi rib of the d >*tor. and the is all the more remarkable because he had never been away from his native village, and a month or two after the date of this story he received a personal letter from the editor of the magazine complimenting him upon his realistic description of the burning and eating of a European traveler by a cannibal. He Vrote this story daring the sad days fol lowing the wrecked dinner. WE ARE THE VICTIMS OF A SCRAWNY PRINTER.” Mrs. Ward well was inconsolable. Poor woman, she couldn’t find relief by writ ing articles about people she had never heard of, and she began to grow pale and was filled with a nervous horror of meeting anybody, and she imagined that she wrj the laughing stock of the town. Nearly a week had elapsed, and her sorrow was as heavy if not so hysteric as ever, when one day there waa an en thusiastic ring at the doorbell. There wasn’t a sefvant in the house; she most either open the door herself or have her husband do it, or leave it unopened. She decided to adopt the husband plan. She wouldn’t ha\e opened it herself, for she was morally certain that she would be confronted by some heartless mocker who wonld shriek with laughter over her disastrous dinner, and so sbs called her husband. That brave man with a severe face went to the dc r and opened tt, and fairly shook with rage and won der. What manner of refined insult was this? Standing before him, smiling ae bland ly as though they had never grievonsly and wautyuly wounded him to the quick, were the‘teen'and women he had In vited to his Thanksgiving dinnerl There was the- doctor, fairly babbling over with mirth and good hnmor; and the sweet singer, with a roll of music under his arm; and the editor of The Gazette. CHAPTER IV. THE DINNER. They do say that th< re never was snch a Thanksgiving dinner in all the coun try as the one enjoyed by the gnests of Mr. Wardwell. There was no tnrkey, nor was there a pum; kin pie, and con- seqnently the bill of fare wouldn’t in terest yon. Bnt the lonely dinner of nearly n week before became a topic of mirth and reminded the doctor of abont a dozen of the fnnniest stories imagi- “TOUR W sOES ARK RAISED TWO DOLLARS A WEEK.” nable, so that the ladies laughed until they cried. And the musician fairly surpassed himself in singing that touch- it-.g ballad of his own composition, “When Mnry to tfee Dentist.Qom,? He—Do yon remember ever skating on Thanksgiving day? She—No, indeed. I haven't had a skate on for a long time. He—I wish I could say the same thing. I had one on only last night. Thaakialvlng Glvn Joy and Comfort. Some beautiful thoughts regarding Thanksgiving are embodied in the fol lowing paragraph published by Harper’s Bazar some time ago: “When the heart is sorest, grief the bitterest, loss the most extreme, the giv ing of thanks brings a relief to the spirit like that of rain to the thirsty earth. To give thanks to heaven that we have had the loet to love, that they are ours, since we love them still and we cannot love what U not; to give thanks that they ever ex isted, that we knew them and had to do with them, that we had pride and joy in them—to do this is to put ourselves into snch close conuection and conversation with the all giving power as to receive a new joy almost as precious as the old. It is like the breaking of sacramental bread still with the beloved; it is shar ing with heaven still their possession. It is lifting the whole being to the spir- itnal plane where the beloved are. It is without meaning it, without knowing It, saying ‘Thy will be done.’ It is en tering into the close intimacy of that power dark with excessive brightness. It makes heavenly joys real, and all but renews and revivifies the earthly.” Quinine by Proxy. Not long since, said the drummer, I was down in one of the ague districts of Indiana, and in front of my customer’s store I saw a native sitting on the horse block. He seemed to be suffering and I went to him. “What’s the matter?” I inquired. “Nothin much, mister,” he replied with a wan smile. “I’m jest a settiu here in the sun sbakin.” "Got the chills?” “That's what, mister." “Why don't you take something for them?” ‘I do, mister. That is, Sary does. She takes all the qninine for the family. Sary’s my wife.” That was a new form of wound’s de votion, and I was somewhat surp at its discovery, ‘Thnnderation, man,” I exclaimed, “that lyon’t help you any.” “I guess you’re mistaken, mister,” he said, with stolid confidence. "I’ve had the chills fer twtenty-five years an they ain't killed me yit.”—Detroit Free Press. What Did Sha Mean? He—Did you see me on the street yes terday? She—Yes. | He—Have you quit speaking to your friends? ■ 1 She—Oh, no.—Detroit Free Press. , A RURAL THANKSGIVING. , V “The past rises before me like a dream,” as Bob Ingersoll said. We are back in the good old times before the war, in the middle section of the Wa bash valley. The glorious, mellow, yel low, late autumnal days have come. In dian summer is past, it is true, hut its j aroma still lingers on the brown mead ows and in the gloriously varicolored woods. At least one year in three we have “late springs and late falls,” as the farmers say, and this is one of the years. The frost is on the pumpkin, but lightly as yet, and the fodder is in the shock, though the cattle still browse a little and are fattening in the stalk fields, from which the yellow corn has just been gathered. “This is the time of year when every thing tastes good,” the boys say. “This is the season when the game is at its best,” say the hunters. “And this is the season when onr bones hurt us the least," the old folks say. The milk is cool and rich. All the vegetables are at their best, perfectly ripe, but not yet withered V £9. "TT 1 '-i ^ ‘ THE UNSUSPECTING GOBBLER, by weeks of lying in the cellar. And the small boy—how he does enjoy this season! These are the days when he “slips off at afternoon recess,” gives the school house the “cold shake” and hur ries to the south woods, there to gather the big green walnuts in piles; pounds the soft hulls off and picks out the nuts, pausing occasionally to crush one with a convenient stone for immediate con sumption. His lips are stained; his hands are dyed and dull brown; he knows “it will never come off till it wears off,” and that the chances are even that he will get whaled, but still he does it as he did it last year, and as he will do it again. We all did iL It is the day before Thanksgiving—a glorious, golden, sunshiny and stimulat ing day—and the old farmyard is full of life. Red Pete, as we call last year's gobbler, is strutting about in the glory of freshly attained adult gobblerhood, as proud and important aa if ho were directing the proceedings. He is in a sense, thongh he little imagines the sense. “Onr riot dooms him to bleed to day,” as Pope says, but not having our reason he can look on in the happiness of ignorance. The chopping block, staked fast for the convenience of cut ting kindling, is before his eyes, and just beyond the ax is on the grindstone, but he little imagines that it all has any ref erence to him; that he is the central figure in the coming proceedings. He is lovely in life, and in death he will be divided, the preacher and the poor get ting their share. The wife and mother takes stock of dneks and chickens, bnt talks of the so cial features. Will the boys get borne from Asbury university? They will, for the "spondulix," as college boys in those days called the remittance, was sent in time, and even now the younger brother has gone to the country depot to fetch them home in the old farm wagon. Thanksgiving morning—the light break fast is soon dispatched, for that is a small affair on such a day. There is a general brushing up, and all are off to the country church. The preacher and his wife return with the family, and about 1 o’clock the great event of tha day is on. All are there—the two Doys from college, the hired man and one or two cousins, the oldest girl of the family and the rosy cheeked farmer she married a ( ear or so before. The baby is laid on the bed in the nearest room, and there is always at least one little girl so fond of children that she volunteers to watch him. The happy group is seated, the preacher has ins devotional say and ac tual business begins. Red Pete shines once more, in culinary beauty this time, but it is positively his last appearance on these shores. And then the long after noon of social chat and innocent merri ment, and the evening in which the young people take possession of the house! Such was Thanksgiving in the good old times, such for the most part it still is, and such may it long continue to be. Vigo. Before the Dinner. The Earliest Lighthouses. Fire towers at the entrances to ports were established in the earliest historic Bonfire* were built on top oti fttnJfht,—WMbingtonSUr, I Major Pikestaff (at the Thanksgiving reunion)—Well, my little man, do yon know what yon have to be thankful for? The Little Man—Yes, indeed, sir. 1 am thankful that there is some Jamaica ginger in the house. How One Know.. A wedding came off at Tyrone at the unusual hour of 6:45 in the morning. It is unnecessary to add that this was the wedding of a railroad man. Any other kind of a man selecting the same time wonld have been married at a quarter of 7 o'clock—Fbpittjelplkl# Inquirer.