But how inadequate is any material representative of his value to us.
Indeed, it is next to impossible to conceive of the niceties involved in
this question of how much we owe the turkey. For him the country air has
been sweetened; the rain has fallen that he might thrive; the wheat and
barley sprouted that he might be fed. A shade more of leanness in the
legs, one jot less of rotundity in the breast--what misery might not
these seemingly trivial incidents have created? A failure in the supply
of turkeys?--it would have been a national calamity! What were life,
indeed, without the turkey?

As for Thanksgiving, the turkey he is it. _Paris, c'est la France!_
Remove the turkey, and you undermine Thanksgiving. How could a
conscientious man go to church on Thanksgiving morning, knowing within
himself that he shall return to beef, or mutton, or veal for his dinner,
as on work-days? I tell you, religion would disappear with the turkey.

Toward the close of Thanksgiving, how manifest becomes the influence of
this feathered sovereign. Observe yonder jaundiced youth pacing the
street moodily, his lips set in a cynic sneer. His turkey was lean. I
know it. He cannot hide that turkey. The gaunt fowl obtrudes himself
from every part. On the other hand, none but the primest of prime
turkeys could have set in motion this brisk old gentleman with the ruddy
check and hale, clear eye, whom we next pass. A most stanch and royal
turkey lurks behind that portly front--a sound and fresh animal, with
plenty of cranberries to boot.--What are these soldiers? Carpet-knights
who have united their thanks over a grand regimental banquet. What
frisky gobblers they have shared in, to be sure! They prance and amble
over the pavements as if they had absorbed the very soul of Chanticleer,
and fancied themselves once more princes of the barnyard. The most