\ THE OLD THANKSGIVING DAYS. Sitting silent by the window while the even- ing‘s fading beanr ‘ Turns to' lonely gray the winter’s silvered S y, Not a voice to break the reverie of thought's _too pensive dream. Not a footstep, only memory and I, From the past the veil seems lifted, and I am a child once more. On the hearth again the old time fagots blaze. Ilush! Again I hear the voices of the guests about the door “ In the greetings of the old Thanksgiving days. All the air outside is frosty, and in gusts the blithe winds blow, And I hear the distant sleigh bells faintly ring, And against the rims touched Windows comes the purring, stirring snow,‘ Like the brushing of a passing angel’s wing. But within, oh, see the faces that are smiling round the board! How they shine with love and gratitude and praise! flushed the voices are a moment for the thank- ing of the Lord. In the blessings of the old Thanksgiving days. That was years ago, and curfe'ws for the loved have rung since then. As tonight I watch ’the dawning evening star In my dreams I see the mansions Christ pre- pared in heaven for men. It is there tonight the absent kindred are. It is there their feast is ready, and I hold the fancy dear That they often turn to earth their loving gaze, And perhaps they. too, are dreaming. as they see me sitting here, - Of the sweetness of the old Thanksgiving days.‘ _ -—Philadelph1a Ledger. J EM HASTINGS’ LUCK. The Widow Wilson’s farm had seen better and more prosperous days and now was traveling backward. It began at the top of Brindle hill, where it was bounded by the county road, and strag- gled down to the lake shore, its hun- dred acres or so wandering over hills and dipping into hollows until they. terminated at the bay, with its rim of White and glistening sand. One of the most picturesque spots of earth, and right in the center of it, crowning a rounded knoll, surrounded with squatted the house of its owner. It was always a difficult spot to reach in winter, when the drifting snows piled high their white billows against the low caved structure and hid the windows from the outer world. But in summer it was a delight, this mess brown dwelling beneath the oaks, and at one time had been a home around whose hearthstone had gathered sons and daughters. Now it was desolate. The passing stranger would have but added it to the category of deserted farms. N 0 sign of life was visible this bright Thanksgiv- ing morning. From its wide, paneled chimney no curl of smoke invaded the crisp and frosty air. The light fall of snow that had covered the ground the night before showed no trace of foot- steps leading from the weather beaten door. And yet there was a stir of life in the farmyard, in the hollow among the trees, where the old barn tottered, ready for its fall. There a flock of fowl and turkeys wandered disconsolately about. In the adjacent stall an old horse stamped impatiently for his break- fast and a forlorn cow chafed restlessly at her stanchions. Except for these the old farm was as silent as when its first owner carved it from the virgin wilder- ness. A rustling of the shrubbery that fringed the tall, stifl’ ranked pines on the hill beyond the barn told that avis- itor was coming to Lonely farm. A hu- man head appeared in sight. , It was crowned by a woolen cap, from beneath which peered a pair of black, bright eyes. Their owner took off the cap and mop. ped his brow. He was a rugged country lad of 18, well knit and sturdy, with a pair of ruddy cheeks, white teeth and lips rosy, but with a droop of sadness. New England, always hard to her children, had taken from this boy the home and mother that make Thanks- giving, even as it had taken from the widow all but the wretched framework of what had once been home. “House looks like mother’s used to after she got so she couldn’t get about, ” soliloquized the boy, staring at the' VI . smokeless chimney. “I’ll bet there ain’t been nobody near the widder in a week, and I’ll bet, while I’m a-bettin, that she needs somebody. Guess I’ll find out . what’s the matter. ” He strode down to the house' and- knocked. There was no response. Only the crow in the oak tree was disturbed by the unwonted noise and flew away, with a caw of alarm. A second knock startled the fowl in the barnyard which . greeted himwith a suppressed chuckle, but there was no answer from within. “Guess I might's well go in. ” He pushed open the the crazy door and en- tered the room which served as kitchen and sitting room all in an e. A table stood in the center of it. covered with asnowy cloth and set as if for supper. A tall clock ticked in the corner under the stairs, but its rhythmic beats only seem- ed to make the silence audible. “It seems kinder creepy, that’s a fact. Hope there ain’t nothin happened to her. Wonder where she is? P’rhaps she’s asleepl” - He rapped loudly, and then put his ear down to the keyhole, listening in- tently. At first there was no response. Then he thought he heard afaint, qua- vering voice. “It’s me—Jem Hastings. to see if you need anybody. ” “Come in.” The feeble voice strug- gled with a cough. Then: “Yes, I’m so glad you’ve come. I was taken faint yesterday and had just strength enough to crawl to bed. Perhaps.”— “What, an you ain’t had nothin to eat!” . “No, ” with a feeble smile. “Well, if you’ll let me try, I’ll make a cup of tea. ” Jem closed the door, set his gun in a corner and looked around for the place in which the widow kept her stores. The dressers ranged against the wall were bright with old fashioned pewter . platters and china. Here he found a caddy of tea’and then set about making I’ve come stalwart oaks and butternuts,. ' been tuurncd to such bright sunshine 3lattice work covering, and here the T l by the time another year had rolled an- a fire. A huge fireplace yawned at one side of the room, hung with a black iron crane from which was suspended a tek- kettle. The woodpile was outside, near the back door, and brushing of]? the snow Jem soon had some dry wood, with which he made a roaring blaze. It was not long before he had the satisfaction of seeing the kettle send forth avolume of steam, and a few minutes later he tap- ped again at the bedroom door with a tray, on it a tempting cup of tea and two well buttered slices of bread. Wrapped in a shawl of Canton silk, the heirloom of a grandmother whose father once sailed from Salem t0 the Indies, the widow sank back into her comfortable armchair with a. deep sigh of content. She closed her eyes from sheer weakness, while Jem tiptoed about the room, “setting things to rights” and preparing the table for a prospective meal. To be sure there was very little in sight, but he bad faith that there might be something in the cellar and in the cupboards, for the widow was known in the township to have been a “good pervider” in her days of affluence. .\ “You’ve made me very happy, Jem—— very thankful. ” “Well, ma’am, I’m glad of it. Thanksgivin. ” “What! Really Thanksgiving day? It’s the first time I’ve forgotten it— ever. I must be growing old. ” J em grew bolder. “There’s a. turkey out in the barn- yard. He ain’t very fat, but if you say so I’ll help you fix a turkey dinner.” The widow urged no objection, and both fascinated at the prospect of a Thanksgiving dinner, with themselves as host and hostess, the boy trudged out to the barn. Some sticks of hard wood were soon piled on the fire, and by the time Sir Turkey was ready for the oven the widow had peeled the vegetables and dropped them into the mysterious depths of the steaming kettles, Jem looking on with glowing but bashful appreciation. A snowy cloth over a round table, with two seats opposite each other, is always an inspiriting sight, and when topped by a steaming brown turkey, with all the “fixings” of a turkey din- ner, the feast is one to melt hearts harder than that of the lonely widow and the homesick New England lad. “It is the happiest Thanksgiving din-_ ner I have had in many a year, my It’s boy,”she said to him as he cleared away the dishes and brought out they dessert of fragrant quince preserves. “May God bless you! And to think how the dreadful, gloomy morning has by your coming!” Jem turned to the window to hide some tears that would persist in squeez- ing themselves out of his eyes. “I wish she wouldn’t be so sentimental,” said he to himself quite wrathfully. But to the widow he said: “Why, ma’am, I ain’t done nothin great—no more’n you’d have done for me, I’ll bet. I ain’t enjoyed a dinner so myself sence I can remember. I wish I could jest stay here all the time.” A new light came into the woman’s faded gray eyes born of a thought that had been struggling for expressio’n fer an hour or more. “And why can’t you stay, Jem?” “I could, ma’am, if I could Come as ——as partners. ” It was out at last, the boy’s yearning for sometlu'ug as his own and the chance he saw upon the widow’s farm. “I could fix things up, ” he went on eager- ly, “and make the chickens lay eggs and the cow give milk and—and”— J em stopped, but the widow’s respect- ful attention led him on. “I could cam my board in saving things that‘s goin ,to waste. When I come through your wood lot this morn-I in, I noticed cords an cords of dead trees that ought to be cut an made firewood of. An as for timber, there’s more’n $100 wuth there that’ll be spiled if it ain’t cut an sold pretty soon. ” The boy hesitated, amazed at his au- dacity, but the widow nodded her head and smiled approval. ‘ ‘That’s true, Jem. The farm is running down for the lack of some one to oversee out of doors. So, then, it is a bargain. ” And so this strange partnership be- gan. ' The first winter Jem spent in thinning out the superfiuOus wood in the neglected lots, stacking up behind the house enough fuel to satisfy even the cravings of that yawning fireplace for years to come and selling to the sawmill on the pond timber for ship- ment that came to quite $500. As the’ spring opened he was soon afield, continuing the good work of im- provement, and “planting time” found the farm with more and earlier labor performed than it had ever before ex- perienced. In front of the western door he threw out a platform, protected by a widow passed all the spare time she could snatch from her indoor duties. It. had never occurred to any one before that farm work might be made attract- ive. The widow had only looked upon the beauties of her farm around her through the kitchen window or during a'hasty trip to the well or farmyard. The latticed porch was a revelation to her, and a haven of rest where she sat and mused during the long twilight of summer. “I never thought I should take such comfort here,” she said. “Before you came I was more than willing to give up the farm and go away. But now, Jem, I want to live here .the rest of my life. I would not leave it for the world. ” “That’s so, ma’am. It would have been a great mistake to leave the old place. Why, there ain’t a. prettier view in all the world than this from your front door. If there is, then it is right there, down in the woods, where the great trees meet overhead, the brook sings a soft song of rest and the fern covered banks stretch down to the pond. I never traveled any yet, but I don’t want to. This suits me.” And he re- turned to his work with a cheery whis- tle that sent a thrill of satisfaction through the widow’s heart. A wonderful change, had been efiected Hn‘svnx other Thanksgiving into the calendar. The roof of the old house no longer ileaked. The barn had been raised from its attitude of deep dejection, and its mows were crowded to bursting with hay and grain. The old horse spent his days chiefly in the pasture, while a younger and more vigorous animal did the work, assisted by a yoke of big and handsome oxen. The solitary cow now had plenty of company, and frisky calves gamboled about her in the summer time. There was no longer any doubt as to the availability of any of the fat gob- - blers for a Thanksgiving dinner. Thus the seasons succeeded one an- other with their measure of content. Each found the widow more and more dependent upon her stalwart helper. She clung to him as she might have clung to the son of whom she had been deprived in the springtime of her wife- hood. As her tottering footsteps were supported down the aisle of the village church on a Sunday few of the congre- gation knew that the handsome young man who watched over her so assidu- ously was not in fact her own son. Those who were cognizant of the rela- tions between the two shook their heads knowingly, saying to themselves and to each other: “Lucky boy that! Step- ped right into the farm just as the old lady was about to leave it. He knows the side of his bread that has the butter on it. ” \ But it is doubtful if Jem had ever given that a thought; so happy and content was he that the merely material conditions of his life had never troubled his consciousness. Only one thing trou- bled his thoughts of late. He was deep- ly stirred by the soft, brown eyes of pretty Susie Jones, a chorister in the church—Susie, who lived, as he had done, with friends for board and keep-— another of New England’s orphans. He never mentioned this daring spec- ulation, not even to the widow. But her eyes, though growing dim, were acute enough to penetrate his honest soul. His whole life lay centered in the farm, which had become as essential to it al- most as the air he breathed. But now there must be young life there. A pair of brown eyes persisted in dancing be- fore his face, in wood pile, in field, in garden. _ And so it came to pass that there was a wedding next Thanksgiving in the little cottage, now prc-ity with vines and cheery within. Susie was glad of so pleasant a place for the troth which she was to plight \- .th Jem, while'he, lucky fellow thouga he was, could not take time to travel to Susie’s home, far away over the rough, hilly roads. “A wife’s a good thing,” he remarked to the widow the evening before his mar- riage, “but there’s cows to be looked after and hens to be fed—more’n you could ’tend to alone.” “That’s so, Jem,” said the widow, smiling brightly, “and thanks to you for it all.” Under branches of autumn leaves from the last reddening trees Jem and Susie promised all the things of the sim- ple marriage service. Then _ came the country wedding supper. When the last guest had gone, driven away in the farm wagons that had clus. tered around the door all afternoon, the widow turned to Jem and Susie, sitting bashfully in the firelight. “You’re my children, now, both of you,” she said. “Call me mother just once, Jem and Susie.” “Mother!” cried Jem, taking the feeble hands together and kissing them tenderly. “My darling mother, dearest friend I ever had!” She returned his loving glance linger- ingly, gratefully, as they led her to the door of her room. Next morning Jem knocked again at the Widow Wilson’s door just as he had done on that lonely Thanksgiving day four years ago. This time not even a feeble voice answered his repeated calls. Three days later, as the neighbors struggled back from the little cemetery on the hill, Squire Lothrop drew Jem apart, “I s’pose you know the widder’s left the farm to you? No? Sho! It’s mighty strange she didn’t tell you. She made her will more’n a year ago, and you’re her only heir. She seemed to set a lot by you, the widder did, and”—looking around approvingly over the snow cov- ered fields—“I d’no’s I blame her. The last four years hev been the peacefulest of her life, and she’s left her peace with you, for sure!”—Cleveland Plain Dealer. Dr. Talmage Likes Turkey. “I am cosmopolitan in my likes, ” said the doctor, ‘ ‘because I have traveled so much. Therefore pardon me when I say that I want my turkey stuffed with little English oysters and trimmed with French fried potatoes. Each year there is a little wi'cket fence of the brown potato strips placed around the turkey, and when he is brought in he looks like a picture in a child’s story book. ‘And can’t the poor turkey get out of that fence?’ asked , my little granddaughter once. ’ ’eExchange. - Serve Dinner at Midday. An old fashioned Thanksgiving de- mands a midday dinner. What-ever fash- ion may dictate on other .days she-should not be listened to on this one, 'particu- larly when there are children to be con- sidered. —Exchange. Thoughts ‘For Thanksgiving. When you awake on Thanksgiving morn, you will doubtless feel a.cynical questioning as to whether youhave any cause for gratitude or not. You un- doubtedly have. You should be thank- ful that convention does'not require you to be publicly grateful but once a year; Be thankful that nearly a month in- tervenes between the'Thanksgiving tur- key and the Christmas goose and that you have time to recover from the eflects of one before attacking the other. Think over the gifts you have to buy before Christmas and be grateful With your whole soul . because the custom of making Thanksgiving presents does not prevail also. o-New York World. ING GAZETTE, John Walker Wheeler and Miss Julie Partree Staples were married. in Bridge- port last evening by Rev. W. HILewis rector of St. John’s church. Now that the holiday season is ap- proaching just bear in mind the fact that it pays to trade at home. It is like cast-ing your bread upon the waters. 'l'wo chair caners, John Smith and Milburu Armstrong, have been arres- teJ on the charge of having committed the burglu-v at the Glenbrook depoz Friday night. ' Great Tri nmph, Instant relief and a permanent cure by the great remedy, Otto’s Cure for Lung and Throat diseases. Why will you irri- tate your throat and lungs with a terrible hacking cough when Edward” P. Weed, Norwalk, or George C. Stillson, South Norwalk, sole agents will furnish, you with a free sample bottle of this guaran- teed remedy? Its' success is simply won- derful, as your druggist will tell you. Sample free. Large bottles 50c and 25c. The job of replacing the water main on Wilton avenne'has been com- pleted and a thoroughly good job it is. Next. 1)" Every Jloflaez: Knew Iler Li'tle Ones Would be Saved. BRIDGEPORT, Conn, May 3, ’95.—-Dr. Hand—Ivar Sin—“I have used Dr. lIan vs ’1. . thing Lotion and found it all it i~ repre ruled. I have bad no trouble at .. l with naby during his teething; it has'belped him so much, he teases to have 1!. used on his gums. If every mother would use it. they would save the little Ones a great deal of suffering. Yours respectfully, Mrs. Harry Browne, 614 State stn et ” Dr. Hand‘s Teething Lotion sold by all druggists, 2-50. The New York Tribune will issue with every copy of its Sunday paper, a eerie—comic supplement in several calors. ‘ Baby’s Best Friend-filothcr._l\’ext Dr, . .. Hand‘s Colic Cure. HARTFORD, CONN., Oct. 26, ’95—The Hand Medicine Co.—“By request of my wife the undersigned writes you ‘that baby’s best friend is her mother,’ and next best is Dr. Hand’s Colic Cure. Used same for past months. It is impossible to write our appreciation of your prepa- ration and do most cheerfully request all mothers to use same for their little ones. Our baby is now teething. W. Lincoln Barnard.” Sold by all druggists, 25c. A tea store in Danbury conducted by Augustus Beebe was burglarized Sat- urday night and about $30 worth of goods stolen. Cure for Head‘ache. As a remedy for all forms of headache Electric Bitters has proved to be the very best. It efiects a permanent cure and the most dreaded habitual sick headaches yield to its influence. We urge all who are afflicted to procure a bottle, and give this remedy a fair trial. In cases of habitual constipation Electric Bitters cures by givir g the needed tone to the bowels, and few cases long resist the use of this medicine Try it once, large bottle only 50c and $1.00 at E. P. VVeed’s drug store, Norwalk, and Monroe’s New Ca- naan. Twenty-one transients were provided with lodgings at the Hotel Howard on Smith street last night. The Discovery Saved His Life. Mr. G. Cailouette, Druggist, Beavers- ville, 111., says : “To, Dr. King’s New Discovery I owe my life. Was taken with La Grippe and tried all the physicians for miles aoout, but of no avail and was giv- en up and told I could not live. Having Dr. King’s New Discovery in my store, I sent for a bottle and began its use and from the first dose began to get better, and after using three bottles was up and about again. It is worth its weight in gold. \Ve won’t keep store or house without it. ” Get a free trial at E, P, Weed's Drug Store, Norwalk, and Mon- roe’s, New Case: n. The firm of Harris Frank 8; Son, New Haven grocers, made an assign- ment yesterday. Belief in Sta: flours. ‘ Distressing Kidney and Bladder dis eases relieved in siz hours by the “New GREAT SOUTH AMERICAN KIDNEY CURE. ” This new remedy is a great sur- prise on account of its exceeding prompt, ness in relieving pain in the bladder kidneys, back and every part of the urin- ary passages in male or female. It re- lieves retention of water and pain in pass- ing it almost immediately. If you want quick relief and cure this is your remedy. gold by E. P. Weed, Druggist. N orwalk, onn. . Samuel Lowe is illsflt his home on the Westport road threatened with pneumonia. ’ Bucklln’s Arnlca Salve. _ The Best Salvein the world for Cute Bruises, Sores, Ulcers. Salt Rheum Fever Sores 'l‘etter, Chapped Hands Jhilblaius, Oorns and all Skin Erup ions, and positivelycures Piles. or no Payrequired. It is guaranteed to give perf ectsatisfaution,or money refunded Price25 cents per box. For Sale by E-P. Weed, Norwalk and Monroe, New Canaan. The County Commilssoners met in Dlnbury yesterday and granted eight licenses. There are sixty—eight appli- cations with remonstrauces against only one of them. The Best for Children. “I believe Chamberlain’s Cough Remedy is: the best for children I ever used. For croup it is unequalled. It is a splendid seller with us.—T. M. ECKLES, Ph. G., Manager Wampum Pharmacy, Wampum, Pa.” When used as soon as the first symptoms appear, that is as soon as the child! becomes hoarse or even after the croupy cough has appeared, it willrprevent the attack. The mothers of croupy children should bear this in mind and always .keep-the remedy at hand. It is alsothe best remedy in the world for colds and-whooping cough. For sale at 25 aud'50. cents per bottle by E. P. Weed, Druggist. - ~ . Newis # 1. ime - ‘ To Send in Your Advertisements W/ or, all llade ——_— THE ‘ ' ' EVENING MET TE EIS THE RIGHT HEOIOH THHOIIOH WHIOH - . l TO HEIOH THE HEAOIHO POBLIO. The Only Eight-Page One-Cent Paper in the‘Norwalks. vv vv— The Value 0 anAljlqlhepenl OEPEHOS OH THE POOKETS OF THE PEOPLE WHO HEM! IT. AOVEHTISEHEHTS IH . ' in: mum sum: ins? am av moss wno HAVE mom TO Y I CENT. OFFICE OPEN EVENINGS.
Norwalk Chronicler