"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 our _Thanksgiving_ is 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 _Whigs_ 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_ maybe;
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 grandparent's day.
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