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    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving
    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving
    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving
    Ebook72 pages40 minutes

    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving

    By Horatio Alger, Jr.

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    About this ebook

    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving is a collection of his writings, most of which had previously been published earlier in various periodicals. Several, such as “Carving a Name,” “Where is My Boy Tonight?”, “Last Words,” “Song of the Croaker,” and others, achieved considerable vogue and were reprinted in school readers and also in the 'reciters' that were popular for home entertainment during Alger's time. “John Maynard,” a ballad of a heroic sailor that first appeared in the January, 1868 issue of “Student and Schoolmate,” was tremendously popular and quickly became a standard presentation at scholastic oratory contests.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOtbebookpublishing
    Release dateJun 20, 2017
    ISBN9783958643406
    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving
    Author

    Horatio Alger, Jr.

    Horatio Alger Jr. ; January 13, 1832 – July 18, 1899) was a prolific 19th-century American writer, best known for his many young adult novels about impoverished boys and their rise from humble backgrounds to lives of middle-class security and comfort through hard work, determination, courage, and honesty. (Excerpt from Wikipedia)

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      Book preview

      Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving - Horatio Alger, Jr.

      GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING

      UNDERNEATH protected branches, from the highway just aloof;

      Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof.

      Square of shape and solid-timbered, it was standing, I have heard,

      In the days of Whig and Tory, under royal George the Third.

      Many a time, I well remember, I have gazed with Childish awe

      At the bullet-hole remaining in the sturdy oaken door,

      Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled)

      Of the lurking, savage foeman from whose musket it was sped..

      Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn's harvest spoils,

      Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies—the guerdon of his toils;

      Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green,

      While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet, drowsy mien.

      Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold;

      Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled.

      Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost chill,

      There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard the hill.

      Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace,

      As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase.

      Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays,

      One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways.

      Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone,

      the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone.

      Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled)

      Of the lurking savage foeman from whose musket it was sped.

      Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn harvest spoils,

      Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies—the guerdon of his toils;

      Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green,

      While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet drowsy mien.

      Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold;

      Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled.

      Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost and chill,

      There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard on the hill.

      Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace,

      As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase.

      Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays,

      One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways.

      Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone,

      By the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone.

      Yet once within the twelvemonth, when the days are short and drear,

      And chill winds chant the requiem of the slowly fading year,

      When the autumn work is over, and the harvest gathered in,

      Once again the old house echoes to a long unwonted din.

      Logs of hickory blaze and crackle in the fireplace huge anti high,

      Curling wreaths of smoke mount upward to the gray November sky.

      Ruddy lads and smiling lasses, just let loose from schooldom's cares,

      Patter, patter, race and clatter, up and down the great hall stairs.

      All the boys shall hold high revel; all the girls shall have their way,—

      That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanksgiving Day.

      From from the parlor's sacred precincts, hark! a madder uproar yet;

      Roguish Charlie's playing stage-coach, and the stage-coach has upset!

      Joe, black-eyed and laughter-loving, Grand'ther's specs his nose

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