The Public Platform from Winfield, Kansas • 2

The Wanderer's Thanksgiving, HE WAY WAS long, tho wind was cold, The actor was in firm and old. Bis stubble beard, all grimed now, And hair were a la Bnarleyow; HIb dress was seedy and his form Knew not the lov of arrest coat warm. The last of the "legit" was ho Who thought and talked ot trageay. For, welladay, their date was fled His sock-and buskin mates were dead, And be, neglected and decried, Limped as be walked, and often sighed In muainsr on the ualmv davs THINGS TO llow to Muko tho Uuy That Which It Plioultl lie. To make huppy Thanksgiving wt must remember soma things.

The divine mercies that have been so abundant wo must cherish tho thought of those, lint there are things that we should forget. In the first place, we should forgot our ovll deeds. Dies that ceetn like a slioi-klng pro- Wo mean that, if we havs een forgiven our sins, we do wrong to be coustuntly bearing them in mind. Wo ro not to forget that we were sinners. Hut if Jesus Christ "bore our sins in his body on the treo," thon we are not wl-e, nor are we honoring him, when wo persist In bearing them ourselves.

Go.l fo'-gets our transgressions. He says that he casts thorn behind his back. He removes them as far as tho east is from tho west He "hides" our iniquities and remembers them no more against us. At least he sees them, as Dr. Holland beautifully puts it, "through a blood-illumined gla8." Therefore, let us think of them as beneath the blood of tho everlasting covenaut of his grace To carry our burden of guilt is to make of none effect the work of Christ on Calvary.

It also paralyses effort to serve. The efficient worker must ive "A heart at lelsuro from itself To sooth and sympathize." But wp must forget our good deeds as well. Dr. Joseph Parker of London says: "There are some who remember every good deed that they ever did, and, therefore, they never did anything worth doing. No man has ever done anything for (iod if he has kept account of it.

So long as a man can tell you when he gave pounds and shillings, and when he rendered service, and to what inconvenience he put himself, all that he did is blotted out." That is putting it somewhat Btrongly, but there is much truth in it for us to ponder. Let us be grateful for the pardon ample enough to cover and hide all our evil-doings, and remember that any good we thought we did was in deed good only because we did it for the love of Christ and in his Epworth Herald. Jk Service. jStek chiu When countless thousands brought blm bavs. When gold poured in and wine poured aowu And be was king In every town.

But now no more the doors stood wide To welcome him no more beside The brightest wits at banquet board To sit and sing was his accord; And wistfulness was in his eye When, as he passed, he chanced to spy Through opening door a genial crowd Of reveling rounders gay and loud. "Ah me." he slehed. "forsooth, methinkt I Yon roistering blades are quailing drinks; uooa lack, time was wnen too, scooa I In such like throngs yea, by the rood." i He pushed the door and ventured in, wnen crreeuni rose auovo me uin: smiling tadly as she withdrew her hand, "you must uotglve me too warm a welcome." And now, having exchanged greetings with each member of the family, Prudence again seated herself in the chair at John Ingletield's right hand. She wui naturally a girl of quick and tender sensibilities, gladsome in her general mood, but with a bewitching pathos interfused among her merriest words and deeds. It was remarked of her, too, that she had a faculty, even in childhood, of throwing her own feelings like a spell over her companions Kuch as she had been in the lavs of her innocence, so did she appear this evening.

Hor friends, In tho iurprlso and- bewilderment of her return, slraost forgot that she had ever left them, or that she had forfeited my of her claims to their affection. In the morrlng, perhaps, they might have looked at her witu a'tered eyes, but by tho Thanksgiving fireside they felt only that their own Prudem had jomo back to thorn and were thankful. John Inglefield's rough visage brightened with the glow of his heart as It grew warm and merry within him. Unce or twice ho even laughed till tho room rang i gain, yet seemed startled by the echo of his own mirth. The grave young minister became as frolicsome as a schoolboy.

Mary, too, the rosebud, forgot that her twin blossom had ever been torn from the stem and trampled in the dust. And as for Robert Moore, he gazed at Prudenco with the bashful earnestness of love new born, while Bhe, with swiet maiden coquetry, half smi.ed upon and half discouraged him. 1 a short, it was one of those intervals when sorrow vanishes in its own depth of shadow and joy starts forth in transitory brightness. When the clock struck 8, Prudence poured out her father's customary draught of herb tea, which she had been steeping by the fireside ever since twilight "God bless you, child!" said John Inglefield, as he took the cup from her hand; "you have made your old father happy again. But we miss your mother sadly, Prudence, sadly.

It seems as if she ought to be here now." "Xow father, or never," replied Prudence. It was now the hour for domestic worship, but while the family were making preparations for their duty, they suddenly perceived that Prudence had put on her cloak and hood and was lifting tho latch of the door. "Prudence, Prudence, where are you going?" cried they all with one voice. As Prudence passed out of the door she turned toward them and flung back her hand with a gesture of farewell, but her face was so changed that they hardly recognized it. Sin and evil passions glowed through its comeliness and wrought a horrible deformitj a smile beamed in her eyes as a triumphant mockery at their surprise and grief.

"Daughter," cried John Inglefield, between wrath and sorrow, "stay and be your father's blessing, or take his curse with you!" For an instant Prudence lingered and looked back into the fire-lighted room, while her countenance wore almost the expression as if she was struggling with a fiend, who had power to his victim even within the hallowed precincts of her father hearth. The fiend prevailed and Prudence vanished into the outer darkness. When the family rushed to the door they could see nothing, but heard the sound of wheels rattling over tho froen ground. That same night, among the painted beauties of the theater of a neighboring was one whose dissolute mirth seemed inconsistent with any "See where it comes!" "Hello:" "What news;" And "Say, old top, let's see your shoes." The ribald youngsters gathered 'round And in the way-worn actor found Subject for witticisms keen With roars of laughter loud between His tattered trousers, soleless shoes (Alack! such things dislike my muse) And each sad detail of his dress Inspired them to mirthfulness. "I say, old chap," at last one sail, "You want a drink, I'll bet my bead.

Now here's a scheme: If vou'll recite Contingent Gratitude. We'll set 'em up. What (ay! All right?" The aged actor bowea ms dead And. in a voice Brown buskv, said (Maybap sprites touched bim with their wands) I used to know 'The And in the silence that tefe'l Tbe weary pilgrim wove a spell That held the noisy crowd in thrall And at each slight sound, "Hush!" said all A gentle vagabond was he, With art's great cloak for panoply, Telling the story, sweet, sublime, Of vagabondage strung in rhyme. A moment's pause that awkward grew Followed its close.

Tbe barkeep blew His nose aud said: "This one's on me. What is it, pard! Tbanksgivin'. See!" i'be weary Thespian drank, and then The others made him drink again And yet a parting drink, they swore, He must have with them so one more. And when at last he shivering went Into the night's chill banishment The revelers gay could not again Get back into the roistering vein. Their thoughts were with the actor old.

Who muttered as ho braved the cold: "If I can only work that gag On one more joint I'll bava a jag." Kiuke La Shells. Chloe Look yeah, whar yo' goin' widdat bag, you 'Rastus I 'm jes a-goin' over to brudder Jones' hen tcr see wed-der we've any cause fur t'anksgivin. A FAMILY PICTURE. Being the Climax of the (iieat Feast of Coming again in tho long procession ot days is the good, glad, old, ever-welcome Thanksgiving day! The turkey roasting, llio ran berry sauce her. He advanced and held out hi hand affectionately, as a brother should, yet not entirely like a brothe for with all his kindness, he was still a clergyman and speaking to a child of sin." "Sister Prudence," siid heearnestly 'I rejoice that merciful Providence hath turned your steps homeward in time for me to bid you a last farewell.

In a few weeks, sister, I am to sail as a missionary to the far islands of tljjj I'acitic. There is not one of these beloved faces that I shall ever hope to behold again on this earth. Oh, may I see all of them yours and all beyond the grave A shadow flitted across the girl's countenance. The gravo is very dark, brother," answered she, withdrawing her hand somewhat hastily from his gra-p. "You may look your last at me by the light of this fire." While this was passing the twin-girl the rosebud that had grown on the same stem with the castaway stood HISTORY OF 1 HANKSG1VING.

stewing, a chicken pie ba dug. Then HANKS GIVING! 'Tis Thanksgiving! To church with all the town! Let each give thanks for blessings The year has there are the vegetables, ad libitum (let that Latin alone critic and compositor); pumpkin pie, mince pie, plum pudding (no brandy sauce, re S4 Vi may i1 surn member), nuts and rait-ins! and oh! the kitchen what a laborato 'y it is jnst before Thanksgiving day! Now Originated with Moses When lie Reached the Promised Land. Thanksgiving day was a long time in getting itself established! It is not an exclusively American affair, and was not generally observed in the west and south till after the war; but in the east it may be said to date from the seventeenth century. Over 3,001) years ago Moses instructed the Israelites to keep a feast after they got established in the holy land. They called it the feast of the tabernacles, and for eight days following the close of harvest they dwelt in booths made bedrooms are made ready for tho boys who are coming home with their wives and children! 10, whom nobody could look at without thinking of a rosebud almost blossoming.

The only other person at the fireside was Robert Moore, formerly an apprentice of the blacksmith, but now his journeymen, and who seemed more like an own son of John Ingle? field than did the pale and slender student. Only these four had kept New England's festival beneath that roof. The vacant chair at John Ingletield's right hand was in memory of his wife, whom death had snatched from hiin since the previous Thanksgiving. With a feeling that few would have looked for in his rough nature the bereaved husband had himself set the chair in its place next his own, and often did his eye glance thitherward as if he deemed it possible that the cold grave might send back its tenant to the cheerful fireside, at least for that one evening. Thus did he cherish the grief that was dear to him.

lint there was another grief which he would fain have torn from his heart; or, since that could never be, have buried it too deep for others to behold or for his own remembrance. Within the past year another member ot his household had gone from him, but not to the grave. Yet they kept no vacant chair for her. While John Inglefield and his family were sitting around the hearth, with the shadows dancing behind them on the wall, the outer door was opened and a light footstep came along the passage. The latch of the inner dor was lifted by sime familiar hand, and a young girl came in, wearing a cloak and hood, which she took off and laid on the table beneath the looking-glass.

Then after gazing a moment at the fireside circle, she approached and took the seat at John Inglefield's right hand, as if it had been reserved on purpose for her. "Here I am at last, father," said she. "You ate your Thanksgiving dinner without me, but I have come And the parlor put it at its best! And the big sittinc room put plenty of chairs in it and take away the summer decorations that cumber and conceal the big fireplace! Take away the i chiefly of green boughs, and feasted fire board! Mow polish the andirons and put in the back log and pile in the other logs and poke in the kind ling and get ready for a Thanksgiving blaze! What is 'lhanksgiving day without a fire a regular radiant, roaring, old-fashioned tire symbol of life, good cheer, love, welcome and gratitude to God. Let it blaze and leap heavenwara while the sparks fly and the transfig gaxing at her sister, longing to fling herself upon her bosom, so that the tendrils of their heart might intertwine again. At first she was restrained by mingled grief and shame, and by a dread that Prudence was too much changed to respond to her affection, or that her own purity would bo felt as a reproach by the lost one But, as she listened to the familiar voice, while the face grew more and more familiar, she forgot everything save that Prudence had come back.

Springing forward, she would have clasped her in a close embrace. At that very instant, however, Prudence started from her chair and held out both hands with a warning gesture. "No, Mary; no, my sister." cried she; "do not touch me. Your bosom must not be pressed to mine." Mary shuddered and stood still, for she felt that something darker than the crave was between Prudence and herself, though they seemed so nea each other in the light of their father's hearth, where they had grown up together. Meanwhile Prudence threw her eyes around the room in search of Forget that graves are gaping Ard soon shall swallow all The thankless and the thankful, The mighty and the small.

Thanksgiving 'Tis Thanksgiving Let merry bells declare The joy that dwells within us, The exile of despair. Forget that graves are gaping, That darkness stands beside To cover each man over And will not be denied. Thanksgiving 'Tis Thanksgiving Let maid and matron sing; Let bass and tenor, chording, Give thanks unto the King. Forget that graves are gaping And endless silence soon Bhall still both choir and orjan And drown the joyful tune. Thanksgiving 'Tis Thanksgiving Back, care But welcome, mirth! To-day to you is sacred, And all the men on earth Forget that graves are gaping.

That mirth with care shall be Together, undistinguished Throughout eternity. Thanksgiving 'Tis Thanksgiving Give thanks, then, oh, give thanks! This life has many prizes And few of us draw blanks. Forget that graves are gaping, And they who win shall rest Beside the luckless losers In one oblivion drest. Thanksgiving 1 'TU Thanksgiving Fill full the flowing bowl The past was good be careless Of what may come, my soul. Forget that graves are gaping; This life is very sweet.

Dum vlvimus, vivamus" Come, friends, give thanks and eat! Barrett Eastman. on corn, wine, u.i uuu iruibs. 111 tuu course of time a splendid ritual for this feast was developed, including much singing in responsive choruses. Somewhat later the Greeks held a nine-days' feast of similar character, in which slaves were allowed to take part, and all criminals except murderers. The Romans had similar feasts in honor of Ceres, goddess of grain.

The Saxcns had a "Harvest Home," and after them the English, which festival was observed in a sort of way in some of the American colonies. In the year 1G21 the Pilgrim fathers tried to celebrate it, but it was rather a gloomy affair. In 1023 a ship loaded with" provisions failed to arrive, and Gov. Bradford appointed a day of humiliation, fasting, and prayer, but the expected ship arrived, and so they made it a clay of thanksgiving. Ninetv Indians, headed by Chief ured logs shine and crackle as if in sympathy with the household joy.

What a day ol laugnier ana gooa FOB AN 1XSTA5T PRUDENCE LINGERED. sympathy for pure affections, and for will it is this Thanksgiving day! What deep and quiet happiness beams in tne wnite, caim lace oi grand the joys and griefs which are hallowed by them. Yet this was Prudence Inglefield. Her visit to the Thanksgiving fireside was the realization of mother! And grandfather allows the muscles that make laughter to contract "the sweet contraction" that one of those waning a ream in wnicn the guiity soul will sometimes stray quaint old Sir Thomas Brown wrote about so long ago. There are the "big boys" who are boys no longer, except to the two old folks, and there the back to its innocence.

But Sin, alas, is careful of her bond slaves; they hear her voice, perhaps at the holiest moment and are constrained to go whither she summons them. The "little fellows" the wee boys of the "bicbovs." What sport they have in the old homestead, what rambles and rollickings in yard, garden and cellar! What rummaging in attic ana oia back to spend the evening with vou." Yes, it was Prudence Inglefield. She wore the same neat and maidenly attire which she had been accustomed to put on when the household work was over for the day, and her hair was parted from her brow in the simple and modest fashion that became her best of all. If her cheeK might otherwise have been pale, yet the glow of the fire suffused it with a healthful bloom. If she had spent the many months of her absence in guilt and infamy, yet they seemed to have left no traces on her gentle aspect.

She trunk-room! And now that faces are washed and one who had not yet bidden ner welcome. He had withdrawn from his seat by the fireside and was standing near. the door, wiih his face averted, so that his features could be discerned only by the flickering shadow of the profile upon the wall. But Prudence called to him in a cheerful and kindly tone: I "Come, Robert," said "won't vnn e1tatfAlinni1llwH.il vnur ftlrt friAnd?" same dark power that drew Prudence Inglefield from her father's hearth the same in its nature, though heightened then to a dread necessity would snatch a guilty soul from the gate of heaven and make its sin and its punishment alike eternal. A Mothodlat on Thanksgiving.

Let Thanksgiving day be a thanksgiving day. A good many people seem hair brushed, a big circle forms around the blazing fire for a five or ten minutes' old-time family prayer before the Thanksgiving dinner bell rings! The big bible blessed old book! The voice of oraise. as they all sing old JOHN'S THANKSGIVING. and young, with cracked voices and clear, in tune and out "Praise God BT NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. from whom all blessings now." ligious Exchange.

Heart to Heart. Massasoit, took part. In 1631 the Puritans ran out of provisions, and February 9 was named as a day of fasting and prayer. As in the other case, the ship arrived, and they had a feast instead. June 15, 1637, there was a general service in all the churches to give thanks lor the great Pequots, and on the 12th of October following a general service and feast, in honor of peace and the settling of some religious differences.

Forty years later Oov. Andros' ordered the people to givt thanks on the first day of December; hut they hated Andros and did not thank worth a cent. Several persons were arrested for treating the proclamation with contempt, but this struck the home authorities as rather ludicrous, and his conduct was disapproved. Thereafter Thanks g'ivinp was pretty generally observed in all the states, the governor naming the day. George Washington recommended to congress the naming of a national day in 179 for the adoption of the constitution; it was done, and the day was generally observed.

In 1795 the proceeding was repeated. James Madison appears to have issued the first Presidential proclamation on the subject in 1815, in honor of the return of peace. Forty-eight years passed before President Lincoln issued the second one in 1863. Since then every President has followed the custom, and the day is nationally observed at last Full of Sober. Contributor Here is a manuscript I wish to submit Editor (waving his hand) I'm sorrv: we are full just now.

THE EVENING Thanksgiving day John Ingle-field, the black smith, sat in his elbow chair among those who had been keeping festival at his board. Being the central figure of the domestic circle, the fire threw its strongest light disposed to make it a day for putting on sackcloth and ashes. We go to church to hear about national badness and national dangers; to read from the Lamentations and sing in a minor strain. That is not well. It is all right to be reminded of our nation's sins and perils.

We should face these problems often and earnestly study methods of reform. -But a Thanksgiving service is hardly the place to do it. Let us rather spend the hour in recounting God's multiplied essings to us. The President's proclamation is a model document and strikes a key upon which we may sing a hundred songs of heartfelt praise. For national peace and general health; for golden harvests and overflowing granaries; for liberty in state and church; for marvelous growth in material substance; for sure advancement in social and moral reform; for churchly victories upon a thousand hotly contested battlefields, let us render thanks to God.

We fear not because some dark clouds appear upon our national horizon. God reigns. "The Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge." "Enter inti his gates with thanksgiving and into his courts with praise." Rev. Havens in Epworth League. i could not have looked less altered had she merely stepped away from her father's fireside for half an hour and returned while the blaze was quivering upward from the same brands that were burning at her departure.

And to John Inglefield she was the very image of his buried wife, such ub he remembered her on the first Thanksgiving which they had passed under their own roof. Therefore, though naturally a stern and rugged man, he could not speak unkindly to his sinful child, nor yet could he take her to his bosom. "You are welcome home, Prudence," said he, glancing sideways at her, and his voice faltered. "Your mother would have rejoiced to see you, but she has been gone from us these four months. "I know it, father, I know it," replied Prudence, quickly.

"And yet, when I first came in, my eyes were so dazed by the firelight that she seemed to be sitting in this very chair." By this time the other members of the family had begun to recover from their surprise and became sensible that it was no ghost from the grave nor vision of their vivid recollections, but Prudence her own sell Her brother was the next that greeted TURKEY CRIED, ad sweet my nil Our soiil's shall min 2 gleever. Not e'en the mighty powers above Our fond young hearts can sever.3 When cruel fate their on his massive and sturdy frame, render if his rough visage so that it looked like the head of an iron statue, all a-glo from his own forge, and with its features rudely fashioned on his own anvil. At John Inglefleld's right hand was an empty chair. The other places round the hearth were filled by the members of the family, who all tat quietly, while, with a semblance of fantastic merriment, their shadows danced on the wall behind them. One of group was John Inglefleld'B son, who had been bred at college and was now a student of theology at An-dover.

There was also a daughter of "won't you shake hands with an old FRIEND0" Robert held back for a moment, but affection struggled powerfully and overcame his pride and resentment. He rushed toward Prudejce, seized her hand and pressed it to his bosom. "There, there, Robert," sL lives did part The fact there's no repressing It was his giblets, not his heart, Met hen within the dressing. Bit Brown. Contributor (blandly) Very well, I will call again when some of you are i sober..