corned beef had been got up from "the cask" below, and was now wabbling and steaming, with its dozen of dough-nuts bumping against the lid of the iron pot on the hob, and the corn-cakes baking in the oven, and the huge bowl of curdswhite and cold-looking as marble-standing on the dresser.

Why all this preparation for feasting in a house where the ordinary food was almost as frugal as a hermit's fare?

The Franklin family knew but one holiday in the course of the year-the anniversary of the father's safe landing in America in 1685, which the pious Josiah had made a family "Thanksgiving Day." To commemorate this event, the younger girls (those who had not yet finished their schooling) came home from their maiden aunts, Hannah and Patience Folger, who kept a day-school at Sherbourne, in Nantucket; while the boys who were out in the world, serving their apprenticeship, got leave to quit their master's house for the day, to take part in the family festival; and the grown-up sons, who were in business for themselves, gave over their work, or shut up their stores, and came with their wives and little ones to join in the rejoicing.

So sacred a duty, indeed, did all the Franklins regard it, to assemble once a year under the paternal roof, that none but the most cogent excuse for absence was ever urged or received, so that even those who were away in distant lands strove to return in time for the general meeting.

The morning was not far advanced, and Josiah

present for hundreds of miles. A canvas-back duck, indeed, is reckoned one of the greatest dainties in the States, being more delicate in flavor than a wild duck, though considerably larger. The Americans eat it with currant jelly, as if it were venison.

had hardly done putting up the shutters of his store, as was his wont on this day precisely at ten in the forenoon, before the boys and the girls, and the grown-up young men and women of the family, began to swarm in like so many bees at the sound of a gong.

First came Jabez and Nehemiah-two stout, strapping lads, carpenter's and mason's apprentices (the one had called for the other on his road), dressed in their Sunday three-cornered hats and bright yellow leather breeches, and with their thick shoes brown with the earth of the plowed fields they had trudged over, and carrying in their hands the new walking-sticks they had cut from the copse as they came along.

Then young Esther and Martha made their appearance, wrapped in their warm scarlet cloaks, and looking like a pair of "little Red RidingHoods"-for they had come from school at Nantucket, and had been brought to the door by the mate of the New York sloop that plied between Long Island and Boston, touching at the intervening islands on the way once a month in those days. Under their cloaks they carried a bundle containing the long worsted mittens they had knitted for the mother, and the warm patchwork quilt they had made for the father, together with the highly-prized samplers of that time, the latter of which had been done expressly to be framed for the keeping-room.

After these walked in John Franklin, the tallow-chandler (who was just about to set up in Rhode Island), with his young Quakeress wife on his arm; and then followed the married daughter, Abiah, and her husband, the trader in furs and beaver-skins, who had always an inexhaustible stock of stories to tell the children about the Choctaw and Chickasaw Indians, including wild

tales of the chiefs "Blue Snake" or "Big Bear," or even Nekig the "Little Otter."

Nor did Zachary, the ship-builder (he who had sent the ducks from the Potomac River), absent himself, even though he had to come all the way from Annapolis for the gathering; and he brought with him his motherless little boy, for his young wife had died of the fever since the last family meeting.

There was Ebenezer, too, the bachelor farmer; and the swarthy and stalwart Thomas, the firstborn and hereditary smith of the family; and Ruth, with her half dozen little ones toddling close after her, like a hen with her brood of chicks; and Samuel Franklin, Uncle Benjamin's son from London, who had recently set up as a cutler in Boston city; and, indeed, every one of the Franklins that could by any means manage to reach the house at the time.

Only three out of the multitudinous family were absent: James, the printer, who had gone to London to purchase a stock of types-Josiah, the outcast-and Benjamin, the little runaway.

The absence of the elder brothers created no astonishment; for Josiah had not sat at that board for years-many of the young children, indeed, had never set eyes on his countenance-while all had heard of James's trip to the mother country. But where was Ben? where was Ben? was the general cry, as the family came streaming in, one after another.

Jabez and Nehemiah ran all over the house, shouting after the little fellow. Esther and Martha, too, kept teasing Deborah all the morning to tell them where he had got to, for they fancied he was hiding from them in play, and they were itching to show him the little sailor's Guernsey frock they had knitted for him at school. John

wished to hear how the lad got on at candlemaking, and whether he could manage the dips yet, and Zachary to see what new toy-ship he had got on the stocks-and, indeed, every one to say something to him; for he was a general favorite, not only because he was the youngest of the boys, but because he was the cleverest and best-natured of them all.

The news that Ben was "in disgrace" made all as sad as death for a time; but every one had a kind word to say for him to the father. The younger ones begged hard for him; the elder ones pleaded well for him; so that Josiah had not fortitude enough to hold out against such a friendly siege, and was obliged to promise he would let the boy off as lightly as possible; though, true to his principles, the would-be disciplinarian vowed that the next time "he'd-he'd-but they should see.'

Mistress Franklin (as the sons and daughters came pouring in one after another, till the house was so full of boys and girls-children and grandchildren-that it was almost impossible, as has been well said, to shut the doors for them) had enough to do between preparing the dinner and tidying the young ones for the occasion; though it almost broke her housewife's heart to find how buttonless and stringless, and even ragged, their clothes had become during their long absence.

Scarcely had she kissed the boys before she twisted them round by the shoulders, as she eyed them from top to toe, and commenced pouring down upon their unlucky heads a heavy shower of motherly reproofs, while the lads, who were thinking only of the feast, kept worrying her as to what she was going to give them for dinner. "Dear heart!" she would begin to one, “why

don't you wash up at the roots of your hair, boy?" or else she would exclaim, as she threw up her hands and eyebrows, "Is that your best coat? Why, you've only had it a year, and it's not fit to be seen. Where you fancy the clothes come from, lad, is more than I can tell."

The boy, however, would merely reply, "What pie have you made this year, mother? I hope it's a big 'un! Let's have a peep in the ovenyou might as well."

Then to another she would cry, as she seized him by his leg like a sheep, "Why, I declare, there's a large hole in the heel of your stocking, boy, big enough for a rat to get through; and if you were a sweep's child, I'm sure your linen couldn't well be blacker."

But this one paid no more heed than the other to the dame's observations; for the only answer he made was, "Got any honey, mother, for after dinner? Don't the ducks smell jolly, Jabethat's all! I say, mother, give us a sop in the pan."

Nor did the girls undergo a less minute scrutiny. "Why didn't a big child like Esther write home and say she wanted new flannels, for those she'd on were enough to perish her. She never saw children grow so in all her life."

"Come here, girl; whatever is the matter with your mouth?" next she would shriek, as she caught hold of Martha and dragged her to the light; "you want a good dosing of nettle-tea to sweeten your blood-that you do." Whereupon, heaving a deep sigh, she would add, "Hah! you must all of you, children, have a spoonful or two of nice brimstone and treacle before you leave home again."

Then, as soon as the dame caught sight of Ruth, she began to question her about poor little Ben,