The Night Before Thanksgiving

The Night Before Thanksgiving
By Eva Lovett Carson

'Twas the night before Thanksgiving,
And the turkeys that were living
Sat a-mourning in the hen-house for the turkeys that lay dead;
For the dawning of the morrow,
That to them brought only sorrow,
To the inmates of the farm-house brought a jolly time instead.

There was Billy and his brother,
His four sisters and his mother,
And his father, who's the master, although we place him last;
And his aunts, and all his cousins,
By the dozens and the dozens,
Come to eat Thanksgiving dinner, as they'd come Thanksgivings
past.

There was running to and fro, then,
All the folks were on the go, then,
And they turned out cakes and puddings, and pies, too, by the
score;
For when uncles, aunts and cousins,
By the dozens and the dozens,
Come to dine, you always find you wish you'd made a little more.

While Thanksgiving Eve was dying,
While the turkeys sat a-crying,
Little Billy stole through pantries to gaze at goodies rare;
Where the rows of tempting dishes,
Made to suit all kinds of wishes,
And the sauces, jams and jellies gave a fragrance to the air.

Billy stood with mouth wide open,
Though a word he had not spoken,
But his sighs of satisfaction were as eloquent as speech;
And he crept a little nearer,
As to see a little clearer,
And with grimy finger lifted he began to sample each.

Jam, cakes and pies he rifled;
With the jellies, too, he trifled;
Of the custards and the sauces he took such a taste to try,
But a sudden stopped, espying,
On the shelf above him lying,
A larger dish, close covered against his prying eye.

'Twas the queen of all the dinner!
Billy wished that he felt thinner,
As he gazed on the plum pudding, in its beauty and its pride.
And he whispered, "Now, I wonder,
If a little bit from under
Would be ever missed - a tiny bit from off the under side!"

But one piece led to another,
It was strange he didn't smother,
As he filled himself with pudding in a most amazing way;
Till he feebly muttered: "Dear me!
It's queer they didn't hear me;
But I think perhaps I've had enough - until Thanksgiving Day!"

But, alas! when dawn was breaking,
Little Billy lay a-quaking,
For the jams, and cakes, and jellies had been haunting him in
dreams;
And the pudding had been dancing,
And retreating and advancing,
In a way that isn't nearly half so funny as it seems! 

Well, to make the story shorter,
When his mother brought cold water,
And bathed her darling's face and hands, and gave him bitter stuff,
He said, weeping, "Ah, I see how
Much better it would be, now,
When you're eating pudding, not to try to eat more than enough."

And when all the aunts and cousins,
By the dozens and the dozens,
Met to eat Thanksgiving dinner, little Billy lay abed -
Lay and thought, in -bitter sorrow,
That the dawning of this morrow,
That should bring a glorious dinner, brought a dose of oil instead.

And while Billy lay a-groaning,
All the turkeys stopped their moaning,
For they said, "This gleam of comfort has come to soothe our
moans.
That detestible young Billy,
Who has chased us, called us silly,
Will never get a chance to gloat o'er our relations' bones!"