Part 1

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VOL. III.--NO. 108. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, November 22, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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ELSIE'S THANKSGIVING.

BY MRS. MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

Dolly, it's almost Thanksgiving. Do you know what I mean, my dear? No? Well, I couldn't expect it: you haven't been with us a year. And you came with my auntie from Paris, far over the wide blue sea, And you'll keep your first Thanksgiving, my beautiful Dolly, with me.

I'll tell you about it, my darling, for grandma's explained it all, So that _I_ understand why Thanksgiving always comes late in the fall, When the nuts and the apples are gathered, and the work in the fields is done, And the fields, all reaped and silent, are asleep in the autumn sun.

It is then that we praise our Father, who sends the rain and the dew, Whose wonderful loving-kindness is every morning new; Unless we'd be heathen, Dolly, or worse, we must sing and pray, And think about good things, Dolly, when we keep Thanksgiving-day.

But I like it very much better when from church we all go home, And the married brothers and sisters, and the troops of cousins come, And we're ever so long at the table, and dance and shout and play, In the merry evening, Dolly, that ends Thanksgiving-day.

Now let me whisper a secret: I've had a trouble to bear; It has made me feel quite old, dear, and perfectly crushed with care; 'Twas about my prettiest kitten, the white one with spots of black-- I loved her devotedly, Dolly: I've been _awfully angry with Jack_;

So mad that I couldn't forgive him; and I wouldn't kiss him good-night, For he lost my Kitty on purpose, shut up in a bag so tight; He carried her miles and miles, dear, and dropped her down in the dark; I would not wonder a bit, dear, if he took her to Central Park.

And then he came home to supper, as proud as a boy could be. I wonder, Dolly, this minute how he dared to be looking at me, When I called my Kitty and called her, and of course she didn't come, And Jack pored over his Latin as if he were deaf and dumb.

When I found out what he had done, dear, it was just like lead in my heart, Though mamma is as kind as an angel, I knew she would take his part. Suppose Kitty _did_ chase the chickens?--they might have kept out of her way. I've been so sorrowful, Dolly, I've dreaded Thanksgiving-day.

For I'll never pretend to be good, dear, when I feel all wrong in my mind; And as for giving up Kitty, I'm not in the least resigned. And I've known with deep grief, Dolly--known it a long time back-- That I couldn't keep Thanksgiving while I hated my brother Jack.

For you can not love God and praise Him when you're cherishing anger this way. I've tried hard to conquer it, Dolly--I gave Jack two pears to-day; I've mended his mittens for him.--Why, who is this creeping in? Why, it's surely my own white kitten, so tired and grimed and thin!

And now we _will_ keep Thanksgiving, Dolly and Kitty and I; I'll go to church in the morning. I'm so glad, I'm afraid I'll cry. Oh, Kitty! my lost, lost treasure, you have found your own way back, And now I'll forget my troubles, and be friends again with Jack.

PERILS AND PRIVATIONS.

BY JAMES PAYN.

I.--THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."

On the 4th of August, "being Sunday, 1782," the _Grosvenor_, East Indiaman, homeward-bound, was scudding, under little canvas, before a northwest gale. She had left Madagascar to the northeast some days ago, and was supposed by her Captain (Captain Coxon) to be at least a hundred leagues from the nearest land. Before daylight John Hynes, a seaman, with one Lewis and others, were aloft striking the foretop-gallant-mast, when Hynes asked Lewis if he did not think certain breakers ahead indicated land. The latter answering in the affirmative, they hastened to inform the third mate, Mr. Beal, who had the watch. Mr. Beal "only laughed at them," but in a few minutes the _Grosvenor_'s keel struck, and "as she beat very hard, every soul on board instantly ran on deck."

These souls, predoomed to destruction, were very many--nearly two hundred, including, alas! both women and children and sick. If the position of those who are well and strong in such circumstances is pitiable, what must be that of the weak? The Captain endeavored in vain to mitigate the universal panic; for though no water could be detected in the vessel by the pumps, it was well understood there was a hole in her; and since the wind was off the land, which could now be discerned a hundred yards away, it was feared she would be driven to sea, and founder. The gunner was ordered to fire signals of distress; but on going to the powder-room he found it full of water. The mainmast was cut away, then the foremast, but without easing the doomed ship, against which the waves beat with impatient fury, as though greedy for their prey.

To those who have only seen the summer sea at play upon our shores, it is difficult to picture the force with which in storm every wave strikes a vessel in this position. She shudders at every blow, and groans and shrieks like any living creature. To the ignorant and timid, who feel the hull quivering under them, it seems as if she were going to pieces at every stroke. "At all hazards," they say to themselves, "let us get out of this to land;" but when they look upon the boiling waves, that seethe as in some bottomless caldron between themselves and the wished-for shore, even the frail planks on which they stand seem by comparison security. Even when a boat has perhaps with infinite difficulty been lowered, and they see it thrown hither and thither like a ball beneath them, and only kept from instant destruction against the ship's side by boat-hooks, they shrink from such a means of escape, and leave it to bolder spirits. In the case of the _Grosvenor_, the yawl and jolly-boat, which had been hoisted out, were dashed to pieces as soon as they touched the water. An Italian and two seamen, however, swam to land with the deep-sea line, by help of which a stronger rope was conveyed ashore, and then a hawser.

By this time a great crowd of natives had collected on the beach, who helped to fasten the hawser to the rocks, and the other end of the rope being made fast to the capstan on deck, it was hauled tight. Communication was thus established between the ship and the land; a perilous mode of safety, however, that could only be used by the most agile seamen, of whom no less than fifteen out of twenty attempting to pursue it dropped into the sea, and were drowned before the eyes of their companions.

The people on the wreck now busied themselves in constructing a raft, the only means of escape that was apparently left them, and it was launched overboard, and guided to the ship's stern, so that the women and children might be dropped into it from the quarter gallery. But hardly had it reached the waves when it was torn asunder, "the great ropes that bound it together parting like pack-thread," and the men in charge of it perished. Picture to yourself, reader, how each of these successive events must have affected the survivors, who beheld them all, and felt them to be so many preludes to their own destruction. In despair they all huddled together on the poop awaiting death, while with a crash that made itself heard above the tempest, the great ship clove asunder.

And here, as we shall find often happens in these narratives of disaster, what would seem to have been their certain doom proved for a time their preservation; for the wind suddenly veered round, and blowing directly to the land, carried the starboard quarter on which they stood into shallow water, and the whole company reached the shore.

By this time the night was falling; but the natives, who had retired with the setting sun, had left the embers of a fire, by which means three others were lighted, and some hogs and poultry being driven ashore, the poor creatures made a good repast--which was their last one. They soon learned from their companions on shore that it was from no motives of humanity that the inhabitants had offered them assistance, nor indeed, beyond fastening the hawser, had they given any help, but occupied themselves in seizing whatever came to land, especially anything in the shape of iron.

Among most savage nations iron holds the place which gold fills among those more civilized, and a few horse-shoes or rusty nails are valued more highly by them than pearls or diamonds. To any one who has seen the weapons or instruments in use among the South-sea Islanders, and the curious devices by which horn and bone and wood are made to supply the place of the coveted metal, this will not appear strange; and as the desire for gold too often hardens the heart among our own people, so that for iron makes that of the savage as the nether millstone, or as iron itself.

With the next morning a host of natives thronged the beach, to the great terror of the castaways, who had no weapons of any kind. The former took not the slightest notice of the new arrivals, but, knowing that they could turn their attention to them at any time, busied themselves exclusively with plunder. Next to positive ill-treatment, the poor _Grosvenor_ people felt that nothing could augur worse for them than this total indifference to their wretched condition.

A cask of beef, a barrel of flour, and a puncheon of rum they managed to secure for themselves, and with a couple of sails they contrived two tents for the ladies and children. This was all the provision they had, though they were a hundred and thirty-five in number, and even the puncheon of rum the Captain gave orders to be staved, "lest the natives should become dangerous by getting intoxicated."

Then he called the people together, and in a pathetic speech informed them that to the best of his belief they were on the coast of Caffraria, and that it might be possible in sixteen or seventeen days to reach on foot some of the Dutch settlements. As the ship was wrecked, he informed them that his authority was at an end, but if it was their wish he would resume it, as without discipline the difficulties of travel would be greatly increased. Then they all answered that "he should still be their Captain, by all means."

One man named O'Brien had a swelled knee, and elected to remain with the natives, whom he thought he might conciliate by making them little trinkets out of the lead and pewter cast ashore, and having recovered from his ailment, and learned their language, might better be able to get away. Him therefore they left (little knowing the tender mercies of those to whom he so pitifully intrusted himself), "but Mr. Logie, the chief mate, being ill, was carried by two men in a hammock slung upon a pole."

The whole company then began to move westward, followed by many of the natives, "who took whatever they chose from them, and occasionally threw stones." Presently they met thirty Caffres whose hair, instead of being crisp and curly like the rest, was made up in the shape of a sugar-loaf, and whose faces were painted red. Among them was a Dutchman called Trout, who spoke English. They offered him an immense sum if he would conduct them to the Cape, but he replied that it was impossible. He had murdered several of his own countrymen, and therefore could not venture among them again; besides, having a wife and children among the Caffres, to whom he had fled for refuge, he was averse to leave them, even if the tribe would have let him go, which he was well assured they would not. As to the journey, he informed them (as it turned out only too truly) that it would be attended with unspeakable difficulties, arising from the cruel nations through which they would have to pass, desert lands, and wild beasts.

Greatly depressed, the party moved on, every day harassed by the natives, who when the sun went down invariably retired. The poor unarmed Englishmen could do little against men armed with lances and protected by targets made of elephant's hide, and in the end they had always to sue for peace, cutting the buttons from their coats, and offering such trinkets as they possessed, to buy off their assailants. One day they plundered the gentlemen of their watches, and the ladies of some diamonds they had concealed in their hair; on another they took from them what was far more valuable, their one tinder-box, flint, and steel.

After this loss every one travelled with a fire-brand in his hand to guard against the wild beasts at night. Fresh-water they generally found by digging in the sand, but their provisions were now nearly all expended, and dissension for the first time appeared among the unhappy band. "The fatigue of travelling with the women and children being very great, the sailors began to murmur."

We should pause before condemning these men, though they may deserve condemnation, to consider what some of us at least might have done in their case. It was morally certain that to advance as they were at present doing, by slow degrees, was to perish. Some hoped, no doubt, that by making quicker progress they might get help, and return for the rest, as indeed some did. Moreover, the same chivalry is hardly to be expected (though in these narratives it will be seen that it was often found) among uneducated persons as in those of gentler mould; it may even be added--to be quite fair--that when it is exhibited they do not get the same credit for it. For an officer to run away in battle is actually more difficult, because it is more disgraceful, than for a common soldier. In this case almost all the officers, including the Captain, remained with the ladies and children, and "many of the sailors, induced by the great promises made by Colonel James and others, were prevailed to stay with them, to carry what little provision was left, and the blankets with which they covered themselves in the night." A Captain Talbot, three of the ship's mates, one or two gentlemen and their servants, with the remainder of the seamen, among whom was John Hynes, "being in all forty-three," made up the forward party.

A young boy, Master Law, a passenger, between seven and eight years old, crying after one of these, a passenger, and having no surviving relatives of his own, was taken with them, it being agreed that they should carry him by turns whenever he should be unable to walk. It is not to be supposed that this separation of the two parties took place in anger or bad feeling on either side. Indeed, the next day, when those who had left the Captain's company, having had to wait all night beside a river for the ebb tide, were overtaken by the rest, the meeting between them was most affecting, and once more they all travelled on as before. Nay, all the shell-fish, oysters, mussels, and limpets they could find on the sea-shore, although their other provisions were now quite expended, were that day, we are told, reserved solely for the women and children. Arriving at a Caffre village, where the Dutchman Trout lived, they were wickedly ill-treated by the inhabitants; and by his advice, since in smaller numbers they would be less likely to arouse the jealousy of the natives, they once more separated, "never to meet again". From this moment, unless from hearsay, we have only the record of what may be called the sailors' party, narrated by John Hynes.

They kept along the coast-line as well as they could, but the frequent rivers, too deep and swift to be crossed by those who could not swim well, often compelled them to journey inland. Here we see how, not only in time of shipwreck, but afterward, the art of swimming, so easily acquired in youth, is so valuable. If it had not been for these diversions from their course more lives would certainly have been saved, as they had to take to the woods, where sorrel "and such wild berries as they observed the birds to peck at," and which they therefore knew were not poisonous, were their only food, and where wild beasts devoured them at night. When the rivers grew somewhat narrower, they lashed together all the dry wood they could collect with woodbines and their handkerchiefs, and on the raft thus formed they set the little boy and those who could not swim, while the others pushed it over. In this way they sometimes crossed rivers two miles broad.

The country now grew mountainous, and much more difficult to traverse. They saw no paths but such as were made by lions and tigers, against which they had to make up huge fires at night; yet even these were preferable to such fellow-creatures as were to be found in that inhospitable land. Every morning, while their strength lasted, one of their number climbed a tree to examine the direction of the coast-line, to which they kept as close as was possible. They presently became too weak to gather fuel for more than one fire, into which they put the few oysters and mussels they could collect, as they had no other means (having been long ago plundered of their knives) to open them. Their watches, as I have said, were gone, and the sun was their only time-piece. At first with a nail fashioned into a knife they cut notches in a stick for week-days, and one across for Sundays; but they lost the stick in crossing a river, after which "days, weeks, and months" went by without record. One day they found a dead whale upon the shore, a sight which filled them with ecstasy. As they had no means of cutting it up, they made a fire upon it, after which they cut out the parts thus grilled with oyster shells.

The sight of a fine level country now led them to hope that they had got beyond Caffraria, and reached the Dutch settlements. This caused them to strike inland, but they had soon to return to the coast again for food.

The strength of the whole party now began to fail. Captain Talbot sat down several times to rest himself, and the rest did the same; "but the Captain repeating this too often through weariness," they presently went on and left him. His faithful servant, however, observing his master in that condition, went back, and was observed to sit down by him. "Neither of the two was ever more seen or heard of."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

"GRANDPA, YOU DO LOOK SWEET."

BY M. E.

Just think of it, dear Grandpapa, This day belongs to me; My birthday 'tis--I'm four years old-- Last time I was but three. And six small girls and five small boys Are coming here to tea, And you must be as beautiful As ever you can be.

Teresa Grover's grandpapa Has got no hair at all; His head shines--though he's very nice-- Just like an iv'ry ball. And I guess she'll be awful s'prised, And all those other girls, And small boys too, when they see you With lots of pretty curls.

For to my party you must come, And help us play and laugh; I wouldn't have a birthday, dear, Unless I gave you half. And you shall have the very best Of everything to eat. And now your hair is done, and, oh, Grandpa, you _do_ look sweet!

THE LAME TURKEY.

A Story of Thanksgiving-Time.

BY RUTH HALL.

"Childern, childern, come here quick. That 'ere lame turkey's out ag'in."

So called Mrs. Amasa Andrews, in the kitchen doorway, and two shrill trebles answered her from the pumpkin patch.

"Oh, Aunt Polly, where's it gone to? Out in the orchard, or across the fields?"

"Under the hill, down by Uncle Jake's old place," waving away the panting figures who rushed into view from behind the corn-house. "You'd better hurry up, or he'll get clean away this time."

George and Patty needed no second warning. In the missing turkey were bound up delightful visions of "white meat," "wish-bones," and "stuffing," on which they had been dwelling for two months past, and which they had no idea of losing at this late day, only one little week before Thanksgiving. So they tore like small whirlwinds across the kitchen yard, squeezed under the fence, and slid down the steep hill, never stopping to take breath until they had lost sight of home, and had "Uncle Jake's old place" in view.

"Oh, George!" gasped little Patty then, "what if we didn't find it?--what ever would we do?"

"Wouldn't have no Thanksgivin'," replied George, stolidly.

"Oh, but I just couldn't bear that. I couldn't, truly. It is such a awful long time since we had a taste o' turkey, George."

"Not since last Christmas, before we ever thought o' comin' here to live," her brother mused, as he trimmed a switch with dexterous fingers. "Pa 'n' ma was alive then, 'n' little sister, 'n'-- There's that gobbler now!"

They were close to the house, which had long been vacant, but now showed signs of life in open door and windows, and a faint curl of pale blue smoke from the tumble-down chimney. In the tiny door-yard stood the runaway, calmly picking at a few potato-skins in a rusty old tin pan.

The children crept softly up behind a brush heap, intending to rush from thence and surprise him, and were about to carry their scheme into effect, when George laid a detaining hand upon his sister's arm.

"Hush!" he whispered. "What's that comin'?"

"Oh, Sally," called a thin voice from the door of the little house, "come and see what's here. A turkey, Sally--a real turkey, sure's you live!"

"But it ain't for us," said another voice. Evidently Sally had come. "It belongs to some 'un, 'Melia, 'n' they'll come after it. That means a Thanksgivin' dinner for somebody"--with a heavy sigh.

"Oh dear!" went on the younger voice, "don't you wish 'twas ours, Sally? I never tasted turkey 'n all my life, an' I _do_ hate corn meal so!"

"Turkey's for them that has fathers to buy 'em," replied Sally, with a sob in her voice; and then some one called shrilly from an inner room:

"Come, girls, Miss Watson's washin's ready;" and the little forms, at which our Patty and George had been furtively "peeking," disappeared.

It was the work of a few moments to catch the lame turkey, and to start him homeward at the point of George's switch; but someway neither child looked happy over the achievement.

"George," finally began Patty's pleading little voice.

"Well, what d'ye want?" in his gruffest manner.

"They hain't got no father, Georgie."

"No more ha' we, nor mother neither. We're orphans."

"Oh, George! when we've got such a good Aunt Polly, 'n' such a Uncle Amasa. An' _corn meal_, George."

Now Patty's brother "hated corn meal so" too, as his crafty sister knew. There was a little pause.

"Well, what shell we do?" he inquired, finally. "Tell Aunt Polly, 'n' get her to send 'em something down?"

"We couldn't do that," small Patty answered, decidedly. "They can't afford to do much extra, I'm afraid, Georgie. You know we're quite expensive, our keepin'; I heard old Miss Crandall tell Mike so."

"Miss Crandall's a gossip, Uncle Amasa says."

"But I know we _are_," poor Patty went on. "Aunt Polly ain't had no fall bunnit, you know, an' she does her own washin' since we come. I'm afraid we cost 'em quite a deal."

"Well, what _shell_ we do?" George cried, desperately, and giving the lame turkey a savage cut over his saucy tail.

"I don't know what you'll do," was Polly's calm response, "but I shell give that 'Melia every smitch o' my turkey next Thursday. So there!"

There was another pause, and then George remarked, with a great showing of coolness: "Well, all right. An' I'll take Sally my turkey an' _all_ my pumpkin pie!"

"Oh, you dear George!" began his sister, and then broke down and cried.

"What air you childern whisperin' about?" queried Aunt Polly, coming upon the two, sitting side by side on the wood-pile, later in the day.