Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 December 1893 — TURKEY WITH SAUCE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

TURKEY WITH SAUCE.

fHERE was once a turkey who was a cripple. When his brethre n scratched and scrambled for seats at the first table, he was rudely pushed aside and left behind. This gave him much time for meditation, so he stood by the pump and reflected upon tho folly of too ardent oating. “These fowls,”

thpught he, “think only of the pleasure of the moment,” for though he was yet young he observed that the plump, self-indulgent among his kind were earliest invited to ride in the market “death-cart,” or pitilessly dispatched upon the farmer’s own private guillotine. He grew old and waxed wise. He could have challenged the calendar in knowledge of Xmas and Thanksgiving days. Choice might have made him a sybarite, necessity made him a philosopher,' and he learned to be thankful in a grim, hungry sort of way for the infirmity that kept him out of danger. A great pity filled his soul. Was it not his duty, nay his highest privilege, to teach his fellow turkeys this doctrine of abstinence unfolded to him by his affliction? He was a modest turkey, sensitive to a degree, but conscientious. He was not a bird to shirk j duty, so lifting up his voice he gobbled unto all that feathered throng. He gobbled from his heart. What stories he told of countless bloody deeds! There was not a dry eye in the audience. He told of the near approach of Thanksgiving Day. All were impressed, attentive, subdued. [They had just demolished a huge dish of corn.] There was, for a time, profound silence over all the barnyard. But the doctrine of abstinence is never a popular one, and long before the farmer’s wife again threw out the food a frisky young turkey strutted over to tho pump and publicly invited the philosopher to hear his side of the story. A great flapping of wings greeted his audacity, for “cheek” is a talent oven in turkeydom. Clouds of dust announced that the meeting was to he a crowded one. Big chicks, little chicks, geese, ganders, even goslings elbowed pardon, winged—with the turkeys to hear what this young fellow could say on this, the burning question of the hour. With so many quills present it is monstrous that there should be no verbatim report of the masterly oration. It was a strong rendering of the well-beloved old text, “eat, drink and be merry. ” The speaker gave a graphic description of the happy lot of his hearers, showing them how rarely fortunate they were in that their greatest pleasure was at the same time their highest duty. He gobbled with burning satire upon his “learned friend" who would have them live for this life alone. He asked his audience if it were creditable that in this nineteenth century a turkey so well posted as his “esteemed adversary” had not heard of the doctrine of evolution. Here he painted in scholarly language the slow transition from turkeydom to humanity by the Darwinian route. His audience was depressed—it seemed such hopeless waiting—that long, slow, infinitesimal changing. Then, in that moment of inner anguish, he burst upon them this climax: “And yours, yours, my winged brethren, is the power to "leap across this multitude of intermediate stages, this frightful chasm of time, to become in a few brief hours a part of man, a living factor in the noblest work of nature. You have only to be young and plump and tender to be with one blow, and a little dressing, translated to the realms of your highest dreams. ” Such cackling! Such crowing! Such quacking! Suoh gobbling! It woke the farmer’s man to a remembrance of unfulfilled instructions and the orator turkey turned pale as he felt that firm, relentless clutch upon his long red neck. There were many deaths that day, but the philosopher stood by the pump unharmed. He, of oourse, saw the fallacy of his late friend’s reasoning, but as deceased was no longer his rival he called him a “promising young turkey” and was even tolerant of those gobblers who shook their wicked old heads and said, “of a truth the good die young.” The orator turkey was buried on Thanksgiving day, in the Smith family. No flowers. After-din-ner speeches of a rare order were delivered, however.