Friday, July 31, 2015

A Bachelor’s Thanksgiving



I sit with pipe and uncut book
     Before the glowing fire;
I cannot read, and so I puff,
     And rings mound high and higher.
I see within them old time scenes,
     A mother singing gay;
A turkey, stuffed, upon the shelf
     Before Thanksgiving day.

And I behold a peerless face,
     A maid of seven years;
Who used to walk with me to school,
     Who shared my smiles and tears.
And pictures crowd my vision fast,
     Of home, and far away;
Of her – of lonely hotel fares
     On this Thanksgiving day.

I will not dine, but dream of her,
     Of things that ought to be;
And try to picture through the smoke
     Her deep in cookery.
And here I swear, by all that’s great,
     Life shall not course this way;
I’ll carve a turkey stuffed by her
     On next Thanksgiving day!



July 31, 1900

'uncut book' - The pages are "connected" in older books and periodicals because larger sheets were folded before binding (generally into 8 parts) to make a book of the size we're used to.  That's why these are called "octavo" editions.  So-called "quarto" editions are larger and the pages were only folded into four quarters before binding.
When purchasing a new book in the 19th century and before, you would indeed need a book knife (or any sharp-edged object) to "cut" the pages to read the "uncut" book.  You will still find references to pages being uncut in antiquarian book catalogs.


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