The brothers went out with their father to ride,
Where they looked for the flowers, that, along the way-side,
So lately were blooming and fair;
But their delicate heads by the frost had been nipped;
Their stalks by the blast were all twisted and stripped;
And nothing but ruin was there.
“Oh! how the rude autumn has spoiled the green hills!”
Exclaimed little Charles, “and has choked the bright rills
With leaves that are faded and dead!
The few on the trees are fast losing their hold,
And leaving the branches so naked and cold,
That the beautiful birds have all fled.”
“I know,” replied Edward, “the country has lost
A great many charms by the touch of the frost,
Which used to appear to the eye;
But then, it has opened the chestnut-burr too,
The walnut released from the case where it grew;
And now is our Thanksgiving nigh!
“Oh! what do you think we shall do on that day?”
“I guess,” answered Charles, “we shall all go away
To Grandpa’s; and there find enough
Of turkeys, plum-puddings, and pies by the dozens,
For Grandpa’ and Grandma’, aunts, uncles and cousins;
And at night we ’ll all play blind-man’s-buff.
“Perhaps we ’ll get Grandpa’ to tell us some stories
About the old times, with their Wigs and their Tories;
And what sort of men they could be;
When some spread their tables without any cloth,
With basins and spoons, and the fuming bean-broth
Which they took for their coffee and tea.
“They ’d queer kind of sights, I have heard Grandma’ say,
About in their streets; for, if not every day,
At least it was nothing uncommon,
To see them pile on the poor back of one horse
A saddle and pillion; and what was still worse,
Up mounted a man and a woman!
“The lady held on by the driver; and so,
Away about town at full trot would they go;
Or perhaps to a great country marriage—
To Thanksgiving-supper—to husking, or ball;
Or quilting; for thus did they take nearly all
Their rides, on an animal carriage.
“I know not what huskings and quiltings may be;
But Grandma’ will tell; and perhaps let us see
Some things, she has, long laid away:—
That stiff damask gown, with its sharp-pointed waist,
The hoop, the craped-cushion, and buckles of paste,
Which they wore in her grandparents’ day.
“She says they had buttons as large as our dollars,
To wear on their coats with their square, standing collars:
And then, there ’s a droll sort, of hat,
Which Mary once fixed me one like, out of paper,
And said she believed ’t was called, three-cornered scraper;
Perhaps, too, she ’ll let us see that.
“Oh! a glorious time we shall have! If they knew
At the South, what it is, I guess they ’d have one too;
But I have heard somebody say,
That, there, they call all the New England folks Bumpkins,
Because we eat puddings, and pies made of pumpkins
And have our good Thanksgiving-day.”