[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

The house before which our travelers now stood was
a two-story building in front, with a range of low buildings
behind; the whole painted yellow, with white window
sashes and green doors, and everything around
looked snug and finished. The house stood about five
rods from the highway; and this fact deserves to be recorded,
as a genuine, old-school Yankee, living twenty-five
years ago, seldom left so many feet before his habitation.
Indeed, they usually appear to have grudged
every inch of ground devoted merely to ornament; the
mowing lot, cow pasture and corn-field being all the
park and lawn and garden they desired.

A neat railing, formed of slips of pine boards, painted
white, and inserted in cross pieces, which were supported
by wooden posts, ran from the highway to the house, on
each side, and stretched across the front, enclosing an
oblong square, to which was given the name of the
“front door yard.” Around this square were set Lombardy
poplars, an exotic, which was then cherished in
New England, to the exclusion of far more beautiful indigenous
trees, as foreign articles are considered more
valuable in proportion to the distance from whence they
must be imported. It appeared, however, that the Romillys
had discovered their error, and were endeavoring
to correct it. This was evinced by the young elms and
maples planted between the poplars, evidently with the

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

design to have them for the guard and ornament of the
scene, whenever their size would permit their tall,
straight neighbors to be displaced. A graveled walk
led up to the front door steps, which were formed of
hewn granite, and wrought to appear nearly as beautiful
as marble, and much more enduring. Clumps of rose
bushes and lilacs were set around the paling, and, intermingled
with evergreen shrubs, guarded, on each side,
the graveled walk; but the pride of the parterre was
the mountain ash. Several of these beautiful native
trees, throwing up their heads as though proud of their
coral clusters, now looking so bright in the absence of
flowers, were scattered over the ground. It was evident
that the forming hand of taste had been busy in disposing
all to the best advantage; and had it been the season of
sweets, the senses and imagination of even the most
refined might have found full gratification.

On the east side of the railing, a gate opened into the
back yard; and there was a carriage-way to drive round
to the kitchen door, beyond which the barns, sheds, corn
house, and all the various offices of a thriving and industrious
farmer's establishment, were scattered about, like
a young colony rising around a family mansion.

The last gleams of the setting sun yet lingered on the
distant mountains, the village lights were beginning to
appear, and a strong gleam, as of the blaze from a fire,
illuminated the windows of one of the front apartments
in the house of Mr. Romilly.

“What if this worshipful father of yours should not
acknowledge you?” said Frankford. “We seem to be
thrown entirely on his mercy.”

“He will, at least, entertain us for the night,” replied
Sidney, opening the gate and going forward, “as we
have money sufficient to clear our score.”

“Yes,” replied the Englishman, “I have been told a
Yankee will sell any civility for cash; and it is usually
on that alone we must depend for favors in our intercourse
with them.”

The last remark was uttered in a low tone, and did

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

not reach the ear of Sidney, who was just knocking at
the door for admittance. A masculine voice was heard,
bidding him “walk in;” and immediately obeying, they
entered what in Europe is called the hall, here the front
entry. It was about ten feet wide, and ran through the
building, and at its termination was a door leading to
the kitchen. A flight of stairs, painted to imitate marble,
conducted to the chambers; and doors, opening on either
side below, led to apartments called the parlor and
“keeping room.”

As they entered the hall, the door of this keeping
room was thrown open by a little girl, with her knitting
work in her hand, who, in a soft tone, said, “Walk in
here, if you please.”

They followed her, and entered an apartment about
eighteen feet by twenty, and eight feet in height, finished
in the style of the country. The floor was painted yellow;
the wainscoating, reaching to the windows, blue.
Above this and overhead, it was plastered and whitewashed.

There were no paper hangings, nor tapestry, nor pictures;
but some itinerant painter had exerted his skill,
probably to the no small admiration of the wondering
community, to ornament the room, by drawing around
on the plaster wall a grove of green trees, all looking as
uniform in appearance as Quakers at a meeting, or soldiers
on a parade, excepting that here and there one
would tower his head above his fellows like a commander.

Over the mantel-piece, the eagle spread his ample
pinions, his head powdered with stars, his body streaked
with white and red alternately, his crooked talons grasping
an olive branch and a bundle of arrows; thus significantly
declaring, that although he loved peace, he was
prepared for war; and in his beak he held a scroll, inscribed
with the talisman of American liberty and power—
E pluribus unum.

A very long, wide sofa or couch, (in truth, a large,
old-fashioned settle, well stuffed and covered with chintz,)

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

was ranged on one side of the room. A deep writing
desk, that seemed designed for an official bureau—so
multitudinous were its drawers and compartments—was
surmounted by a book-case, whose open door showed it
nearly filled with well-worn volumes. A large cherry
table, a small work table, a wooden clock, and about a
dozen chairs, completed the furniture of the apartment.

There was no candle burning; perhaps the precise
time to light it had not arrived; but a large wood fire
sent forth a bright blaze from the hearth; and before it,
in an arm chair, was seated a serious but happy-looking
man. In one hand he held a newspaper, which he had
probably been perusing; and with the other he was
pressing to his bosom a rosy-cheeked girl of three or four
years, who sat on his knee.

Rising at the approach of the strangers, he set down
his child, and offered them his hand with a “how d'y
do?”—and then bidding Mary set some chairs, he resumed
his own, while his little daughter immediately
regained her station on his knee.

Sidney at once recognized his father, and his heart
beat violently.

“A fine evening for the season!” said Squire Romilly—
as he was always called, contracting his real title. He
was, in fact, “justice of the peace and quorum” for the
county; therefore legally an “esquire;” and I shall so
designate him, to avoid confusion, though I do hate
titles.

“It is quite cold, I think,” replied Frankford, moving
his chair towards the fire.

“You have been riding, I suppose,” returned the
Squire, “and that makes you feel the cold more sensibly.
I have been at work all day, and thought it very moderate.”

While he spoke, he gave the fire a rousing stir, and
threw on some wood that was standing in the corner of
the fire-place. He then looked several times from one to
the other, as if endeavoring to recollect them, and,

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

bidding Mary draw a mug of cider, again addressed himself
to entertain them.

“Do you find the roads pretty good the way you
travel?”

“Not the best,” replied Sidney, who determined to
speak, though the effort was a painful one.

“There ought to be better regulations respecting the
highways, I think,” said the Squire. “Where every
man is permitted to work out his own tax, the public are
but little benefited. I was telling Deacon Jones the
other day—he is our surveyor this year—that I would
take half the money and hire workmen, who should repair
the roads better than they are done by collecting the
whole in the manner it is now managed.”

“Then Deacon Jones is living yet?” said Sidney, glad
to hear a familiar name.

“Yes, he is living,” answered the Squire, surveying
Sidney attentively; “are you acquainted with him?”

“I have seen him many times, but it is now some years
since,” replied Sidney.

“I expect he will call here this evening,” observed the
Squire.

“He would not probably recollect me now,” answered
the other, “yet I have been at his house often.”

“Then you once lived in this neighborhood?”

“I have.”

“And how long since?” said the Squire, whose curiosity
seemed powerfully awakened.

“It is nearly thirteen years,” replied Sidney, raising
his hat from his head and turning his fine eyes full on
his father's face.

The truth flashed on his mind.—“My son!” exclaimed
he, starting from his seat.

“My father!” replied his son, and they were locked
in each others' arms.

Just then Mary entered with her pitcher of cider; she
caught the last words, and, setting down her pitcher,
darted out of the room, and

“Sidney's come! Sidney's come!” resounded through

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

the house in a moment. In the next, the room was
filled. Mother, brothers and sisters crowded around the
long absent but never forgotten Sidney.

Oh! it was a meeting of unalloyed joy—one of those
sunlit points of existence, when the heart lives an age of
rapture in a moment of time.

Mr. Frankford, who often described the scene thus far,
always declared it would be in vain for him to attempt
more. And I must follow his example, leaving it to the
reader's imagination, and those who have the best hearts
will best portray it.

When the first burst of affectionate exclamations and
interrogatories was over, Sidney introduced Mr. Frankford,
as an Englishman, and his particular friend, with
whom he had traveled from the south, and made a tour
to Saratoga Springs, and north as far as Montreal. At
the latter place, Mr. Frankford had been confined nearly
three months, with the typhus fever, from which he was
now recovering, and Sidney wished them to consider him
with particular attention.

Mr. Frankford had hitherto sat entirely unnoticed,
though not unnoticing; for he there learned a lesson
from the exhibition of natural feelings, which made him
ever after disgusted with the heartlessness and frivolity
of the fashionable world. And whenever he wished to
dwell on a holy and touching picture of nature, he always
recalled that scene to his remembrance.

He was not, however, suffered to be any longer a
stranger or a spectator. The friend of Sidney was the
friend of the family, and every one seemed anxious to
render him attentions. Mr. Romilly immediately resigned
his arm-chair, in which one of the little girls officiously
placed a cushion; and having persuaded Frankford
to seat himself in it, Mrs. Romilly brought from her
closet a cordial of her own preparation, which she recommended
as “the best thing in the world to prevent a cold
after riding;” and bidding the girls hasten supper, she
told him that before going to bed he must bathe his feet
in warm water, and then a good night's rest would restore

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

his spirits at once; adding, “you must, sir, endeavor to
be at home and enjoy yourself, for I cannot bear to think
any one is sad while I am so happy.”

She was a goodly looking woman of five-and forty,
perhaps dressed as if she had been engaged in domestic
affairs, but still neatly. She had on a black flannel gown,
a silk handkerchief pinned carefully over her bosom, and
a very white muslin cap, trimmed with black ribbon—
her mother had been dead more than a year, but she still
wore her mourning. Her apron she would doubtless
have thrown off before entering the room, had she thought
of anything save her son; for when she returned, after
leaving the apartment to assist her daughters in their
culinary preparations, it was laid aside.

The dress of the daughters, which their mother observed
was “according to their work,” it may perhaps be
interesting to describe, and then, a century hence, when
our country boasts its tens of millions of inhabitants, all
ladies and gentlemen arrayed in satins and silk velvets,
muslins and Mecklin laces, chains of gold and combs of
pearl, this unpretending book may be a reference, describing
faithfully the age when to be industrious was to
be respectable, and to be neatly dressed, fashionable.

Both sisters, who were of the ages of seventeen and
fifteen, were habited precisely alike, in dresses of American
calico, in which deep blue was the prevailing color.
The frocks were fitted closely to the form, fastened behind
with blue buttons, and displaying the finely rounded
symmetry of the shape to the greatest advantage. The
frocks were cut high in front, concealing all the bosom
but the white neck, which was uncovered and ornamented—
when does a girl forget her ornaments?—with
several strings of braided beads, to imitate a chain; and
no eye that rested on those lovely necks would deem they
needed richer adornments. The only difference in their
costume was in the manner they dressed their hair. Sophia,
the eldest and tallest, confined hers on the top of
the head with a comb, and Lucy let hers flow in curls
around the neck. Both fashions were graceful and

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

becoming, as not a lock on either head seemed displaced;
both were combed till the dark hair resembled fine glossy
silk. Around their foreheads the curls clustered lovingly,
and those who gazed on their sweet faces, glowing
with health and happiness, where the soul seemed beaming
forth its innocence and intelligence, and the smile of
serenity playing on lips that had never spoken, save in
accents of gladness and love, would feel no regret that
they were uninitiated in the fashionable mysteries of the
toilet.

Mr. Frankford often declared he never, before seeing
them, felt the justness of Thompson's assertion, that


—“Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorned, adorned the most.”
They were, indeed, beautiful girls—the Romillys were a
comely race—and every fair reader who honors these
pages with a perusal, and does not think them, at least,
as handsome as herself, may be certain she possesses
either a vain head or an envious heart.

The supper was now in active preparation. The large
table was set forth, and covered with a cloth as white as
snow. Lucy placed all in order, while Sophia assisted
her mother to bring in the various dishes. No domestics
appeared, and none seemed necessary. Love, warm
hearted love, supplied the place of cold duty; and the
labor of preparing the entertainment was, to Mrs. Romilly,
a pleasure which she would not have relinquished
to have been made an empress, so proud was she to show
Sidney her cookery; and she tried to recollect the savory
dishes he used to like, and had prepared them now in
the same manner. At length all was pronounced ready,
and after Squire Romilly had fervently besought a blessing,
they took their seats.

The supper consisted of every luxury the season afforded.
First came fried chicken, floating in gravy;
then broiled ham, wheat bread, as white as snow, and
butter so yellow and sweet, that it drew encomiums from

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

the Englishman, till Mrs. Romilly colored with pleasure
while she told him she made it herself. Two or three
kinds of pies, all excellent, as many kinds of cake, with
pickles and preserves, and cranberry sauce—the last particularly
for Sidney—furnished forth the feast. The best
of young hyson, with cream and loaf sugar, was dispensed
around by the fair hand of Sophia, who presided
over the department of the tea pot; her mother being
fully employed in helping her guests to the viands, and
urging them to eat and make out a supper, if they
could.

Sidney's feelings were too much occupied to allow any
great appetite for mere corporeal food. He wanted every
moment to gaze on the loved faces smiling around him,
or listen to voices whose soft tones, when calling him
son or brother, made every fibre of his heart thrill with
rapture.

But Frankford was as hungry as fasting and fever
could make him. He was just in that stage of convalescence
when the appetite demands its arrearages with such
imperious calls, that the whole mind is absorbed in the
desire of satisfying its cravings. He did honor to every
dish on the table; till Sidney, fearing he would injure
himself by eating to excess, was obliged to beg he would
defer finishing his meal till the next morning; “for you
know, Mr. Frankford,” added he, laughing, “the physician
forbade your making a full meal till you could walk
a mile before taking it.”

“If that be the case,” said Squire Romilly, “I hope
you will exert yourself to-morrow. It is our Thanksgiving,
and I should be loath to have the dinner of any
one at my table abridged. It will, indeed, be a day of
joy to us, and Sidney could not have come home at a
more welcome season.”

While he spoke, he directed a glance towards Silas,
whose cheeks, fresh as they were, showed a heightened
color, and his black eyes were involuntarily cast down.
Sidney observed it, and asked his father if there was
to be any peculiarity in the approaching festival.

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

“Do you,” said he, “still have your plum-pudding
and pumpkin-pies, as in former times?”

“O yes,” replied his father, “our dinner will be the
same; but our evening's entertainment will be different.”

A wink from Mrs. Romilly, who evidently pitied the
embarrassment of Silas, prevented further inquiries or
explanations, and they soon obeyed her example of rising
from the table.

Mr. Frankford, who they feared would exert himself
too much, was now installed on the wide sofa, (or settle)
drawn up to the fire, and all the pillows to be found in
the house, as he thought, were gathered for him to nestle
in. When he was fairly arranged, like a Turk on his
divan, half sitting, half reclining, he addressed Squire
Romilly, and inquired the cause of the Thanksgiving he
had heard mentioned.

“Is it a festival of your church?” said he.

“No; it is a festival of the people, and appointed by
the Governor of the State.”

“But there is some reason for the custom—is there
not?” inquired the Englishman.

“Certainly; our Yankees seldom do what they cannot
justify by reasons of some sort,” replied the Squire.
“This custom of a public Thanksgiving is, however,
said to have originated in a providential manner.”

Mr. Frankford smiled rather incredulously.

The Squire saw the smile, but took no heed, while he
went on.

“Soon after the settlement of Boston, the colony was
reduced to a state of destitution, and nearly without food.
In this strait the pious leaders of the pilgrim band appointed
a solemn and general fast.”

“If they had no food they must have fasted without
that formality,” said Frankford.

“True; but to convert the necessity into a voluntary
and religious act of homage to the Supreme Ruler they
worshiped and trusted, shows their sagacity as well as
piety. The faith that could thus turn to God in the extremity
of physical want, must have been of the most

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

glowing kind, and such enthusiasm actually sustains
nature. It is the hidden manna.”

“I hope it strengthened them: pray, how long did
the fast continue?”

“It never began.”

“Indeed! Why not?”

“On the very morning of the appointed day, a vessel
from London arrived laden with provisions, and so the
fast was changed into a Thanksgiving.”

“Well, that was wise; and so the festival has been
continued to the present day?”

“Not with any purpose of celebrating that event,”
replied the Squire. “It is considered as an appropriate
tribute of gratitude to God to set apart one day of
Thanksgiving in each year; and autumn is the time
when the overflowing garners of America call for this
expression of joyful gratitude.”

“Is Thanksgiving Day universally observed in America?”
inquired Mr. Frankford.

“Not yet; but I trust it will become so. We have
too few holidays. Thanksgiving, like the Fourth of
July, should be considered a national festival, and observed
by all our people.”

“I see no particular reason for such an observance,”
remarked Frankford.

“I do,” returned the Squire. “We want it as the
exponent of our Republican institutions, which are based
on the acknowledgment that God is our Lord, and that,
as a nation, we derive our privileges and blessings from
Him. You will hear this doctrine set forth in the sermon
to-morrow.”

“I thought you had no national religion.”

“No established religion, you mean. Our people do
not need compulsion to support the gospel. But to return
to our Thanksgiving festival. When it shall be
observed, on the same day, throughout all the states and
territories, it will be a grand spectacle of moral power
and human happiness, such as the world has never yet
witnessed.”

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

Here Mrs. Romilly interrupted her husband, to ask, in
a whisper, which was rather loud,—

“Was that basket of things carried to old Mrs. Long?”

“She will have a good Thansgiving then; for Mrs.
Jones has sent her a pair of chickens and a loaf of
cake,” said Lucy.

“Every one ought to have a good dinner to-morrow,”
said Sophia.

“Is the day one of good gifts as well as good dinners?”
inquired Mr. Frankford.

“So far as food is concerned,” replied the Squire.
“Everybody in our State will be provided with the
means of enjoying a good dinner to-morrow: paupers,
prisoners, all, will be feasted.”

Mr. Frankford now confessing he felt wearied, was
persuaded to retire, Mrs. Romilly all the time lamenting
he had not reached Northwood before his sickness, and
repeatedly saying, “If you and Sidney had only come
here instead of going on to Montreal, how much better
it would have been! I would have nursed you, and we
have the best doctor in the country. I don't believe you
would have been half as sick here.”

“Nor do I,” replied he, gratefully smiling. “And to
have been a witness and partaker of so much goodness
and benevolence, would have made disease not only tolerable,
but pleasant; the sympathy and interest I should
have awakened in such a kind heart as yours, would
have more than indemnified me for my sufferings.”

Squire Romilly attended him to his chamber. It was
directly over the sitting-room, and finished nearly in the
same style. The ornament of the eagle, however, was
wanting; but its place over the mantel-piece was supplied,
and, in Frankford's estimation, its beauty excelled, by a
“Family Record,” painted and lettered by Sophia Romilly.

There was an excellent looking bed in the chamber,
with white curtains and counterpane; a mahogany bureau,
half a dozen handsome chairs, a mirror, and a

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

dressing-table, covered with white muslin and ornamented
with fringe and balls. Everything was arranged with
perfect neatness, order and taste—yes, taste; nor let the
fashionable belle flatter herself that she monopolizes the
sentiment. The mind of a rural lass may be possessed
of as just conceptions of the sublime and beautiful, and
less trammeled by fashion; she consults nature in selecting
the appropriate, which is sure to please all who have
good sense, whatever may be their refinement or station.

A glowing fire on the hearth, and a large deeply-cushioned
rocking-chair (Mrs. Romilly's own chair) drawn
up before the fire, looked as if inviting the stranger; a
foot-bath and plenty of warm water was near; on a small
table was a pitcher of hot chamomile tea, (a favorite
specific with Mrs. Romilly in diseases of all kinds), and
also a small bottle of cordial.

Squire Romilly set down the light, and was about
leaving the chamber, when Mr. Frankford, laying his
hand on the door, remarked there was no lock nor fastening.

“We don't make use of any,” said the Squire. “I
never in my life fastened a door or window; you will be
perfectly safe, sir.”

“Why, have you no rogues in this country?” asked
Frankford.

“None here that will enter your dwelling in the night
with felonious intentions,” replied the other. “I suppose
you might find some in the cities, but they are mostly
imported ones,” he added, smiling.

“And can you really retire to rest,” reiterated Frankford,
with a look of incredulity, “and sleep soundly and
securely with your doors unbarred?”

“I tell you, sir,” replied the Squire, “I have lived
here twenty-five years, and never had a fastening on a
door or window, and never was my sleep disturbed except
when some neighbor was sick and needed assistance.”

“And what makes your community so honestly disposed?”
asked Frankford.

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

“The fear of God,” returned the Squire, “and the
pride of character infused by our education and cherished
by our free institutions.”

“But I should think there might be some strolling vagrants,”
said Frankford, “against whom it might be prudence
to guard.”

“We seldom think of a shield when we never hear of
an enemy,” answered the Squire. “However, if you feel
insecure, I will tell Sidney—he will sleep in this chamber,”
pointing to the open door of a small bed-room adjoining—
“I will tell Sidney to place his knife or some
fastening over the door, before going to bed.”

“I hope,” said Sidney to his mother, after his father
and the Englishman had withdrawn, “that Mr. Frankford
will have a good bed. He complains bitterly of his lodgings
since he came to America.”

The matron drew herself up with a look of exultation.

“He will find no fault here, I'll warrant him,” said she.
“My beds are as soft as down; indeed, those two in the
chamber where you and he will sleep, are nearly all
down. I made them for the girls, though I keep them
now for spare beds; and I told your father I could afford
to give each of the girls a down bed when they were
married, as I have always had such capital luck with my
geese.”

Sidney bestowed a kiss on the blushing cheeks of each
of his fair sisters, telling his mother he thought it much
easier to provide beds for such sweet girls, than find husbands
worthy to share them.

The idea of matrimony, however, awakened a desire
in Mrs. Romilly's mind to communicate the intelligence
her significant looks had prevented her husband from relating
while at supper. With true feminine delicacy, she
did not wish to have Sidney first apprised of it in the
presence of Silas; nor did she feel willing a stranger
should hear the remarks and interrogations which Sidney
might make. These objections were now removed, as
Silas had gone out and Mr. Frankford retired to bed; and
so she ventured to say that “to-morrow evening Silas

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

is to be married to Priscilla Jones; and,” said she, “it is
an excellent match for him. Deacon Jones is very rich,
and has only three daughters; the other two have already
married and moved away, and so your brother will go
there to live and have the homestead.”

Squire Romilly now returning to the room, they drew
their chairs around the fire and entered into a confidential
family conversation. And the conversaziones of Italy
offer no entertainment like that which the Romillys enjoyed—
the interchange of reciprocal and holy affection.
A thousand mutual inquiries were made, and Sidney listened,
delighted, to many an anecdote of his boyish
acquaintance, or the history of many an improvement in
his native village. The clock struck twelve before they
thought the evening half spent, and then, after a most
fervent prayer from the father-priest, so full of gratitude
and joy that all were melted to tears of thankfulness,
Sidney was suffered to retire and dream over the scene
he had just enjoyed.