The Thanksgiving Storybook: 60+ Holiday Tales & Poems. Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

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The Thanksgiving Storybook: 60+ Holiday Tales & Poems - Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

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me than the melancholy Dane, I dare say.

      I'm disgusted with this letter; for I always begin trying to be proper and neat; but my pen will not keep in order, and ink has a tendency to splash when used copiously and with rapidity. I have to be so moral and so dignified nowadays that the jocosity of my nature will gush out when it gets a chance, and the consequences are, as you see, rubbish. But you like it; so let's be merry while we may, for to-morrow is Monday, and the weekly grind begins again.

      CHAPTER VI.

       THE YEAR OF GOOD LUCK

       Table of Contents

      THE CHILDREN'S SONG.

      Tune. – "Wait for the Wagon."

      The world lies fair about us, and a friendly sky above;

       Our lives are full of sunshine, our homes are full of love;

       Few cares or sorrows sadden the beauty of our day;

       We gather simple pleasures like daisies by the way.

      Chorus. – Oh! sing with cheery voices, Like robins on the tree; For little lads and lasses As blithe of heart should be.

      The village is our fairyland: its good men are our kings;

       And wandering through its by-ways our busy minds find wings.

       The school-room is our garden, and we the flowers there,

       And kind hands tend and water us that we may blossom fair.

      Chorus. – Oh! dance in airy circles, Like fairies on the lee; For little lads and lasses As light of foot should be.

      There's the Shepherd of the sheepfold; the Father of the vines;

       The Hermit of blue Walden; the Poet of the pines;

       And a Friend who comes among us, with counsels wise and mild

       With snow upon his forehead, yet at heart a very child.

      Chorus. – Oh! smile as smiles the river, Slow rippling to the sea; For little lads and lasses As full of peace should be.

      There's not a cloud in heaven but drops its silent dew;

       No violet in the meadow but blesses with its blue;

       No happy child in Concord who may not do its part

       To make the great world better by innocence of heart.

      Chorus. – Oh! blossom in the sunshine Beneath the village tree; For little lads and lasses Are the fairest flowers we see.

      AFTER such long and hard struggles, it is pleasant to find the diary for 1860 headed "A Year of Good Luck." The appointment of Mr. Alcott as Superintendent of Schools in Concord was a great happiness to the family. It was a recognition of his character and ability, and gave him congenial occupation and some small pecuniary compensation.

      Louisa was writing for the "Atlantic," and receiving better pay for her work; Anna was happy; and May absorbed in her art.

      In the summer Miss Alcott had an experience in caring for a young friend during a temporary fit of insanity, which she has partially reproduced in the touching picture of Helen in the story of "Work." It is a powerful lesson; but it is almost cruelly enforced, and is an artistic blemish in the book. While the great problem of heredity should be studied and its lessons enforced, it is yet a mystery, whose laws are not understood; and it is not wise to paint its possible effects in the lurid light of excited imagination, which may too often bring about the very evils which a wise and temperate caution might prevent. For the physician and teacher such investigations are important; but they are dangerous to the young and sensitive.

      The following unusually long letter gives a pleasing picture of the family life at this time: –

      To Mrs. Bond.

      Apple Slump, Sept. 17, 1860.

      Dear Auntie, – I consider this a practical illustration of one of Mother's naughty amended sayings, "Cast your bread upon the waters, and after many days it will return buttered;" and this "rule of three" don't "puzzle me," as the other did; for my venerable raiment went away with one if not two feet in the grave, and came back in the guise of three stout angels, having been resurrectionized by the spirit who lives on the other side of a Charles River Jordan. Thank you very much, and be sure the dreams I dream in them will be pleasant ones; for, whether you sewed them or not, I know they bring some of the Auntie influence in their strength, softness, and warmth; and, though a Vandal, I think any prayers I may say in them will be the better for the affectionate recollections that will clothe me with the putting on of these friendly gowns, while my belief in both heavenly and earthly providences will be amazingly strengthened by the knowledge of some lives here, whose beauty renders it impossible to doubt the existence of the life hereafter.

      We were very glad to hear that the Papa was better; for when paternal "Richards" ain't "themselves," everybody knows the anxious state of the domestic realms.

      I hope Georgie (last name disremembered) has recovered from the anguish of discontented teeth and berry-seeds, and that "the Mama" was as much benefited by the trip as the other parties were, barring the horse perhaps.

      This amiable town is convulsed just now with a gymnastic fever, which shows itself with great violence in all the schools, and young societies generally. Dr. Lewis has "inoculated us for the disease," and it has "taken finely;" for every one has become a perambulating windmill, with all its four sails going as if a wind had set in; and the most virulent cases present the phenomena of black eyes and excoriation of the knobby parts of the frame, to say nothing of sprains and breakage of vessels looming in the future.

      The City Fathers approve of it; and the city sons and daughters intend to show that Concord has as much muscle as brain, and be ready for another Concord fight, if Louis Napoleon sees fit to covet this famous land of Emerson, Hawthorne, Thoreau, Alcott, & Co. Abby and I are among the pioneers; and the delicate vegetable productions clash their cymbals in private, when the beef-eating young ladies faint away and become superfluous dumb belles.

      Saturday we had J. G. Whittier, Charlotte Cushman, Miss Stebbins the sculptress, and Mr. Stuart, conductor of the underground railroad of this charming free country. So you see our humble place of abode is perking up; and when the "great authoress and artist" are fairly out of the shell, we shall be an honor to our country and terror to the foe, – provided good fortune don't addle or bad fortune smash us.

      Father continues to stir up the schools like a mild pudding-stick, Mother to sing Hebron among her pots and pans, Anna and the Prince Consort to bill and coo in the little dove-cot, Oranthy Bluggage to launch chips on the Atlantic and make a gigantic blot of herself in working the vessel, Abby to teach the fine arts and play propriety for the family, and the old house to put its best foot foremost and hoot at the idea of ever returning to the chaos from which it came.

      This is a condensed history of "the pathetic family," which is also a "happy family," owing to the prevalence of friends and lots of kindness in the original packages, "which are always arriving" when the "Widow Cruise's oil-bottle" begins to give out.

      You

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