"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 'twas 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."
"I think, brother Charles," returned Edward "at least,
That they might go to church, if they don't like the feast;
For to me it is much the best part,
To hear the sweet anthems of praise, that we give
To Him, on whose bounty we constantly live:--
It is feasting the ear and the heart.
"From Him, who has brought us another year round,
Who gives every blessing, wherewith we are crowned,
Their gratitude who can withhold?
And now how I wish I could know all the poor
Their Thanksgiving-stores had already secure,
Their fuel, and clothes for the cold!"
"I'm glad," said their father, "to hear such a wish;
But wishes alone, can fill nobody's dish,
Or clothe them, or build them a fire.
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