University of Virginia Library

They came from far, as well as near,
To Captain Young's Thanksgiving;
To fill him with gregarious cheer,
And help absorb his living.
For it was widely understood
That every one must come who could;
Although 'twas thought some would repair
To friends and neighbors otherwhere,
And many lived who had been known
To feast at tables of their own;
But though it was a prosperous year,
And food was neither scarce nor dear,
They came from far, and lingered near
To Captain Young's Thanksgiving.

There was no road, upon that day,
Where any one was living,
That did not somehow stretch away
To Captain Young's Thanksgiving.
From Baker's Plain and Blodgett's Hill,
From all about Van Alstine's Mill,
From Talbot's mimic mountain-top,
From Lone-eyed Peter's blacksmith shop,
From where the foaming billows ride
The Lake of Satan, three miles wide;
From where, unable to agree,
Reside the Dempster Brothers three;
Where Bogus Cave its title earned,
Where once the Crosby School-house burned;
From Basswood Grove to Splintertown,
The hungry guests came thronging down—
All glad that they were living—
By couple, dozen, and by score:
“I never knew,” Young pondered o'er,
“I had so many friends before”;
It was a large Thanksgiving.

Came Parley Barr, and Charley Barr,
And all who of that lineage are;
Came Lemuel Bright, and Samuel Bright,
And all who dwell within their sight;
Came Stingy Jones, and Lazy Jones,
And all the friends that either owns;
Came Tubbs, who made his horses draw
Five daughters and a son-in-law;
Came Mrs. Close, who brought along
Her children, unrestrained and strong;
Came Druggist Jack, who bought a farm,
And did it neither good nor harm;
Came Doctor Bowns, who, rude of skill,
Could both disease and patient kill;
Came Lawyer Huggerboom, whose law
Shed darkness from a lantern jaw;
Came Dodger, seldom found when sought,
Who, if he stole, was never caught;
Came Drover Tom, who drove on gigs,
And bought and sold his neighbors' pigs;
Came Twist, a horse-exchanger lithe,
And Claude Gustave Napoleon Smythe,
Who peddled for a living;
Came some who long obscure had stood,
Because their previous lives were good;
For every one arrived who could,
At Captain Young's Thanksgiving.

He noticed, as he peered around,
A hundred lost relations found,
Of young and old, of high and low:
He pondered deep, “I did not know
I had so many living.”
Some entered with the morning light,
And some got there the previous night;
Some in the town the railroads put,
Some came by horses—some afoot;
From every place that harbors views
That relatives were mere made to use—
From where the Boston bean congeals,
To San Francisco's howling seals;
From Florida's palmetto hosts
To Maine's unnumbered birchen ghosts,
They came, with smiles embroidered o'er,
And consanguinity galore.
Came from the East a spectre gaunt,
His sister's husband's second aunt;
Came from the West, due thanks to give,
Three hundred pounds of relative;
Came from the North a studious dame,
Entirely on her Christian name;
Came from the South a winsome maid,
Of whom the Captain was afraid;
Came relatives from all around,
As if they sprang up from the ground,
To join in glad Thanksgiving.
No larder e'er appeared more full
Of every substance eatable,
The morning of Thanksgiving;
No shelves were ever more in sight
Than those, at ten o'clock that night;
And Destitution's depths were bliss,
Compared to havoc such as this.
If war had vexed the earth and air,
And two great armies battled there,
Then slept upon the field of gore,
And stayed around a week or more,
No worse destruction need be feared
Than on that Thursday night appeared.
And Mother Hubbard's dog, indeed,
Who gained his fame with want of feed,
Had here been noted for the fact,
If he himself escaped intact.
Nought could evade the common fate
That any one might masticate;
And doomed, as well, were tasteless wares:
The children even gnawed the chairs.
Of all the creatures of the farm,
Whose frames enclosed Nutrition's charm,
Of various live-stock, dear and cheap,
Of cattle, poultry, pigs, and sheep,
No odds what titles they might bear,
When Night, most welcome guest, got there,
Not one of them was living;
Zoology, indeed, sustained
Depletions that it ne'er regained,
At Captain Young's Thanksgiving!

They organized a dozen sports,
Of sundry attributes and sorts,
Replete with bold, hilarious joys,
Such as the human race employs
To celebrate Thanksgiving.
Of scrimmages, they raged in all
That could be had with bat and ball;
In “regulation base” the boys
Made daylight hideous with their noise;
Some tried the football frenzy, too,
And kicked each other black and blue;
And some the Captain's nags bestrode,
And raced them up and down the road.
And in the house were flirting maids,
And scrub-dramatics, and charades;
“They do most everything,” said Young,
When first his troubles reached his tongue,
“So far as I can hear and see,
Except to thank the Lord and me:
I'm sorry I am living.”

At five, or five-fifteen, at most,
The guests all gathered round their host.
No crowd e'er had more restless rim:
They fought to get the nearest him.
Young stretched his hand, with cheerful sigh,
Emitting words of glad good-bye,
Which were by kind repulsion met:
Departure had not come there yet.
A silence on the concourse fell,
That could be heard, and seen, as well;
The Captain quailed in nerve and limb,
For every eye was aimed at him;
And in each orb he, with a spasm,
Saw Expectation's hungry chasm.
At last he said, while o'er the crowd
He his bewildered eye allowed
'Neath Poverty's new weight to roam,
“Farewell; Heaven see you safely home!”
“Yes!” spoke a loud “old-soldier” friend,
“But what about the dividend?”
“For what, from where, to whom?” said he.
“It has been advertised,” quoth she,
“By postal billets, far and wide,
That you your fortune would divide
'Mongst all the many friends or few
Who came and spent this day with you.”
“May Heaven,” the Captain yelled, “forgive
(If he sufficient time doth live)
My waggish cousin, who, no doubt,
Has spread this fiendish message out!
But he himself has brought, alas!
His doleful prophecy to pass;
For all I had, at break of day,
Has been divided, anyway,
Among this ill-assorted horde,
Who've thronged and gnawed around my board,
Till life isn't worth the living!”
And as each tumbled into space,
With clenching fist and growling face,
And glared at him with slanted eye,
And took no pains to say good-bye,
And thankless cleaved the homeward track,
And sent uncouth allusions back,
The Captain moaned, in accents drear,
“Ah me! Thanksgiving-day, I fear,
If one the solemn truth must touch,
Is celebrated, not so much
To thank the Lord for blessings o'er,
As for the sake of getting more.
If e'er again my star shall rise
And sail along in better skies,
I will employ another way:
Not only one, but every day,
I'll celebrate Thanksgiving!”