“We thank you for all the fine stories you tell,
  And all the good things you would give;
But think, since we’re out, we shall do very well
  Where nature designed us to live.

“Whene’er you may think of the swift little wings
  On which from your reach we have flown,
No doubt, you’ll beware, and not meddle with things,
  In future, that are not your own.”

=Edward and Charles=.

The brothers went out with the father to ride,
Where they looked for the flowers, that, along the way-side,
  So lately were blooming and fair;
But their delicate heads by the frost had been nipped;
Their stalks by the blast were all twisted and stripped;
  And nothing but ruin was there.

“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.