THANKSGIVING DAY.

The long-anticipated Harvest Home Festival arrived at last. All Wednesday evening, and far into the night, the boys were busy, under Etta’s directions, in putting up the carefully prepared colored leaf emblems, and arranging the grasses, fruits, and vegetables. Over every pointed window was a garland of variously colored grasses, mixed with bearded golden grain, and between each, one of the leaf emblems was lightly tacked to the wall. From each gas-burner depended a rustic basket, made of twisted sticks dipped in a cheap solution of gilt powder, and filled with purple and white grapes, mixed with scarlet and golden apples. Bouquets of ferns and grasses graced pulpit and baptismal font. Against either end of the communion-table leaned a wonderfully constructed cornucopia, from whose capacious mouth seemed to be pouring out green squashes, yellow pumpkins, red and white beets, brown potatoes, cabbages, cauliflowers, parsnips, and golden ears of corn, packed in with cereals and nuts. On the table itself was a mighty pile of all the fruits attainable so late in the season, and the decorations were completed by a cross nearly six feet in height, composed entirely of white everlasting flowers, placed in the window just above.

It was great fun to arrange all these pretty things, and the fun might have degenerated into irreverence, but for the presence of Mr. Morven, who occasionally said a few words concerning the sacredness of the place, and managed to give the whole affair the appearance of a happy service of the Lord and his church, so that each boy and girl went away with a share of the gladness of those who work for God.

The Thanksgiving congregation was an unusually large one. The mills were closed, of course, and many of the work-people who, perhaps, would have hesitated at the idea of spending their rare holiday time in a church, thought better of it when they remembered that doing so would certainly please their employer. Not a very worthy motive, certainly. But there are many motives which draw people to the house of God, not all of which will bear close inspection. None the less, however, are they thus brought under hallowed influences, and it may be that germinating seed will be thus sown in their hearts, which the wayside birds will not quite carry away.

The Methodists, who usually held Sunday services at the school-house, three miles off, held none on Thanksgiving day, and were glad of a good opportunity to see and attend the pretty new stone church on the hill. Many of the neighboring families in the country round had city visitors come to “spend Thanksgiving.” And more than all, the fame of the harvest decorations had spread far and wide, so that curiosity helped to fill the church to overflowing. Mr. Morven was glad of the opportunity to show how religion claims a place even in our festivities and helps to brighten all our joys. He was especially desirous that the children and young people should never look upon Christ’s service as a thing of gloom. He dwelt upon Thanksgiving day as an essentially national festival, reminding his audience how it had originated when the Pilgrim fathers met at the close of the first year of their hard life among New England rocks to thank the God, in whose name and by whose power they had laid the foundations of the new commonwealth on this side of the sea. Then he told how the observance had gradually spread from State to State; at first being appointed by the State Governor, on such day as seemed to him fittest. Till at last, the wise and lamented President Lincoln sent out a Thanksgiving proclamation, and appointed a uniform day for the whole, great, reunited people.

“For what we are to give thanks, in addition to our great public blessings,” continued the preacher, “each one of us must look into his individual life and surroundings to discover. These beautiful decorations remind us of our indebtedness as a people for an abundant harvest, not only of the grains and cereals which support our lives, but also of the delicacies which make that life one of rich enjoyment. But, my friends, this is Cain’s sacrifice. Let us beware lest, as in his case, it take the place of Abel’s, and we learn to care more for the things of our perishing life than for those eternal glories to which the great sacrifice of which Abel’s was typical is our only title. For myself, as pastor of this church, I find special occasion for thanksgiving in the large number who have, during the past year, publicly given themselves to Christ, nearly all of whom, as I have every reason to hope, have set out in earnest upon their heavenward pilgrimage. These souls are a seal to my ministry among you, and for them I gladly to-day render unto the Lord thanksgiving. An added cause of thanksgiving to me personally is the able and earnest corps of assistants who are here holding up my hands. Surrounded by mill-owners whose first object is not so much money-making as the elevation of the men, women, and children in their employ; with Eunices and Louises, who labor with me for the upbuilding of Christ’s kingdom in young human hearts, and with a society of little folks whose purpose is to follow their Great Master by going about to do good, I feel myself well sustained in my responsible position; and, as I look forward to the cares and duties of another year, I ‘thank God and take courage.’ And no doubt, as you look down into your own hearts and back on the events of the past year, you also see much cause for thanksgiving. Some of you remember how, when you tossed on beds of fever, God’s presence rebuked the death-angel and you came back to a new and, as we trust, a better life. Many of you know how, while the pestilence raged around you, both you and your loved ones were safe from his fiery breath. Others of you can recall how, when the swift punishment that sometimes visits those who do not like to retain God in their knowledge and seek their own pleasure rather than his service came among us, it was not your boy, your brother, your dear one who met with a fearful and sudden death. Even such of you as have been called to suffer during the year that is gone by, to resist temptation, to conquer sin, to mourn over loved ones, or to meet poverty and distress, know that, having received help of the Lord, you continue unto this day. His strength has assured the hard-won victory, his presence has lightened the gloom, his hand wiped away the tear, his bounty fed the hungry. In all things he has more than kept his promises, and I call upon you this day to

“‘Render unto the Lord thanksgiving.’”

The afternoon was devoted to the Harvest Home Festival, and a very pretty and successful service it was.

Long before three o’clock the main body of the church was filled with parents, friends, and anxious spectators, many of whom had never been inside of a church before. The front seats had been reserved for the Sunday-school, whose members marched in singing as a processional:

“Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of Harvest Home,”

at the close of which the whole congregation rose and sang:

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.”

A brief opening service followed, the infant class chanting the Lord’s prayer, the verses of Psalm lxv being read alternately by boys and girls, after which Psalm cxxi

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills”

was sung by the whole school.

The infant class then came forward, and standing in a group before the desk recited each a text, which the superintendent called:

“Autumn Leaves from the Tree of Life.”

The verses were selected with great taste and care, and the little ones did their part well. The following are some of those selected:

Exodus xxvi, 16. Leviticus xxii, 10. Psalms l, 19; cxlv, 14; cxxxvi, 1, 25. Isaiah lv, 10. 1 Corinthians x, 26. Hebrews xiii, 2. Revelations xix, 5.

The very little folks here closed their part of the performance with a “Harvest Song,” in which they had been well drilled.

Then the older classes arose and recited selected portions of Scripture in unison, class by class.

Eunice Mountjoy’s class gave “The harvest feast.” Deut. xvi, 13-15.

Etta Mountjoy’s class: “The harvest fruits are the gift of God.” Psalms cxv, 10-15.

James Mountjoy’s boys: “Trust in the giver of the harvest.” Luke xii, 22-28.

Another boys’ class: “The harvest of the world.” Rev. xiv, 13-17.

Still another: “The harvest of the tares.” Matthew xiii, 37-43.

And then the whole school sang:

“What shall the harvest be?”

Then the recitations commenced again.

First class: “Men compared to fruit-trees.” Matt, vii, 16-20.

Second class: “Different kinds of fruit.” Gal. vi, 1-10.

Third class: “The curse of unfruitfulness.” Matt, xxi, 18-20.

Fourth class: “Danger of setting the heart upon earthly fruits.”
Luke xii, 15-21.

Fifth class: “Necessity of labor in harvesting.” Prov. x, 3-5.

Sixth class: “Now, the harvest time.” John iv, 35-38.

Whole school in unison: Psalm cl, entire.

The festival was closed by the singing of the hymn:

“Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days,”

as the children marched back to the schoolroom.

The whole performance was considered a great success. The superintendent and his young assistants received many congratulations, and the parents carried their little ones home well satisfied with their share in the exercises.