Now is the time of
Christmas come, and the voice of the turkey is heard in our land! This is
the period of their annual massacre--a new slaughter of the innocents!
The Norwich coaches are now laden with mortals; that, while alive, shared
with their equally intelligent townsmen, _fruges consumere nati_, the
riches of their agricultural county.
Let others talk as they will about the Greek and the Ottoman!--in cookery,
I abhor Greece, and love Turkey. And yet how inconsistent I am in my
politics! for I sometimes regard the partition of Turkey as a thing well
purchased by the sacrifice of every Ottoman in the world--would they
were all _under my feet_!--especially when I have the gout. I confess,
the dismemberment of Poland did not affect me much. A man who is much
accustomed to dismember fowls, will not care much about that of kingdoms.
Nor be the cod (a blessing on his head--and shoulders!) forgotten.
Beautifully candid, his laminae separate readily before the tranchant
silver, and each flake, covered with a creamy curd, lies ready to
receive the affusion of molten (not oiled) butter, which, with its
floating oyster-islands, seems in impatient agitation for the moment
of overflowing the alluring "white creature," as a modern poet styles it.
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