In the slow march of
ages we shall perhaps develop our as yet crude and imperfect religions
into an exalted worship of the Turkey. Then shall the symbolic bird,
trussed as for Thanksgiving, be enshrined in all our temples, and the
multitudes making pilgrimage from afar to such sanctuaries shall be
greeted by an inscription over the temple-gate of BRILLAT SAVARIN'S
axiom:--
"Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are."
* * * * *
BOOTS.
MR. PUNCHINELLO:--Breaking in a young span of boots is ecstasy, or would
be, if fitting bootmakers could be found; but there's the pinch, though
they do give you fits sometimes.
Getting tailored to suit me, the next thing was to get booted, I
succeeded. It cost me nineteen dollars.
I'd willingly return the compliment for nothing.
At last my boots were finished, and I went into them right and left; at
least, I tried so to do.
With every nerve flashing lightning, I pulled and tugged most
thrillingly, but in vain.
"There's no putting my foot in it," says I.
"Give one more try," says he.
Although almost tried out, I generously gave one more.
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