8 THE ACORN The Thanksgiving feasting was accordingly continued another day. By daybreak the fires were again set going, and the work of roasting, broiling and boiling was resumed. This time venison was added to the menu, and the Pilgrims grew complacent over the savory food. During the preparations of the banquet the forrest warriors performed their dances, startling the women and children, and affecting even the men with their wild yells and and fierce gestures. When they rested, the Puritans returned compliments by calling out their military force, in full uniform, which, under Miles Standish, went through its drill, ending with the discharge of a volley from the muskets and a salute from a large cannon on the hill-top and, the small cannon in front of the governor's door. The crash of the musketry and the roar of the heavy ordnance terrified the red men, and they knelt before the "great captain," begging him that he would not thunder lest he should kill them all. On the third day the feasting was resumed, making one of the largest thanksgivings in our history. The Indian warriors went out before daybreak, and returned early with sufficient game for the day's supply of food. As the twilight settled down over the hamlet, the sea and the forest, Massasoit with great ceremony, took leave of the governor, of his friend, the great captain, ani the other chief men of the colony, and departed. Thus, with prayers and feasting, with godly psalms and wild wood dances, with roaring cannon, and English shouts mingling cheerily with Indian whoops, was celebrated the first Thanksgiving on our shores; and, as the long evening closed in and the Pilgrims seated themselves around their respective firesides, how must their thoughts have returned to the homes they had left! Again they must have trod in fancy the green lanes of Yorkshire or the busy streets of Leyden. In this new land, while the embers burned low on the broad stone hearth, and the leafless boughs outside tossed and wailed in the wind over the thatched roofs of their humble homes, they sang the psalms and song? that had been sung around their English firesides, and mingled memories of the past with thankfulness for the present and hope for the future. THE ACORN 9 DESPONDENCY. The night was dark the wind blew chill, And deep despair my soul did fill; And I though young at once seemed old; For all was empty, sear and cold. I wandered slowly to my room, And there wrapped in the cold grey gloom, I took my paper and my pen, And thus this dreary verse began. Thou maker of the worst of woes, Thou thief of joys and hopes divine, Things black as night dost thou compose, That we on earth dread to define. Thy home should be in darker climes, In lands where grief and sorrow grow. Where weeping willows, sighing winds, And cries of helpless, all decree To make a home so fit for thee. Thou maker of the worst of woes, The night, the gloomy night, is thine; Then, fall thy shadows; and they close Around the slaves of mourning's mind; Then, suffering, here on earth abounds, And through the labyrinthian hall Of troubled thought, this cry resounds: "All life is empty, dull and drear, And thou hast naught to thee that's dear." Thou maker of the worst of woes, Hide thy visage so grim and worn; Take from this world thy venomed throes, And all that we from thee have borne. Yet, thou must stay; thy work prolong To be the Night to all our souls, Because 'tis dark, we love the dawn We love all joy because of thee Thou dismal dark Despondency. Edwin Peterson, '06