Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1881-11-23
Written for Vermont Watch
Bismarck.
A THANKSGIVING STORY.

chancellor, you know, but still perhaps not
lesser hero in my way. l am only turkey,
to be sure, but still as fine young turkey
as you often see, though say it myself. If
aturkey hasn't any respect for himself, pray,
who will have any for him
have been through really dreadful ex-
perience within the last few months, but as
[ have lived safely through it all, will now
relate the story to you, as it is universally
conceded by all the turkeys and other fowls
of my acquaintance that have wondrous
talent for composition, quite equal, II not
superior to Dickens and Thackeray among
men. But then never did fancy Dicken
much myself. OF course he has a degree of
talent, but his style is not pleasing to refined
minds-at least not to turkey minds.
But I was to tell you the tale of my suffer-
ing, and will proce ed with it at once. was
watched one lonely day last spring. My
home was beautiful farm on the shores of
the Merrimac river, and my life was a sum-
mer dream for many months. My owners
treated me with the greatest kindness, (alas,
it was not long before learned the fatal
meaning of that kindness y From morning
till night l had nothing to do but strut
around in the sun enjoying myself, and eat
The nice corn and meal which the farmer
aud his wife fed us, and the beautiful worms
that we scratched out of the garden. All
day long I gobbled in happy contentment.
But change came DER the spirit of my
dreams. In one sad moment all my joy was
turned into desoation One day in the lat
Ter part Of October, when the farmer was
throwing corn to us from two quart meas
ure, and l was busy picking up the kernels
just as fast as could move, my attention was
iuddenly arrested by hearing him say If
that turkey keeps on, he will be fat enough
to kill for Thanksgiving. And his wife re-
piled,
"What. Bismarck? Yes, have been
thinking so. He eats twice as much as any
Of the other turkeys, and he is really so
nice and fat that he will do very well for
our Thanksgiving dinner, and we will give
Speckletop to poor Widow JONES'"
Fancy my feelings My heart actually
stood still from terror. Perhaps you never
knew that turkeys had hearts before, but
that only shows that the wisest of us may
live aud learn. My appetite was so affected
by this fell sentence that could only
pick up kernel or two of corn, here and
there, almost unconsciously, as it were.
mad heard Of Thanksgiving before. Some
Of the old turkeys, who had escaped the fate
OF their former companions, had told us all
bout it. A horrible feast of men, for
which they slaughtered thousands upon
thousands of harmless, innocent turkeys,
chickens and geese, and then ate them for
their dinner like cannibals. I have heard
of the massacre of st. Bartholomew, but l
am sure it could not have been any more
barbarous than this atrocious, wholesale
murder of poor unoffsnding turkeys.
How felt when thought of what fate
vas in store for me in few short weeks,
you may imagine. And thought of it all
the time. 1t fairly haunted me. Day and
hight pondered over means of escape
and found none. knew my life hung by
thread, and l wandered around disconsolate.
What should do? Nobody could tell me.
My companions told me that was actually
growing thin, and piuing away through sor-
row and despair.
Thin! The word electrified mo. If l |
vas growing thin they wouldn't want to eat
me for their Thanksgiving dinner. This
thought made me 80 happy that immedi- /
ately began to grow ia. again, and was soon
in danger of being as plump as ever. To
be sure, suppose l might have lost a esh
by not eating much, but surely I had trouble |
enough in my life without being deprived of
my good breakfasts and dinners. Besides,
for that matter, one might as well be killed
and eaten as TO starve to death. besought
some Of the older fowls in the barnyard to
tell me the most frightful ghost and murder
stories that they could remember or invent,
in the hope that might be frightened out
Of few weeks growth, but, alas am not
superstitious. Naturally, am of a prac-
teal, common sense turn of mind, and really
some Of the tales told by those geese were so
ridiculous that laughed and laughed until
grew fattsr and fatter.
Nothing seemed to have any beneficial
effect on me. On the contrary, everything
seemed to conspire to render me still more
plump. November had come and l was
told that in two little weeks my death was
inevitable. But you see, of course, they |
were mistaken, or / should not be here tell |
ing you this story now. All was dark and |
there seemed no way of escape; but way
opened at last.
One day as l was stepping dolefully |
around the dooryard, rejecting as usual |
upon my hard fate, and on the lookout for
any unwary worm who might chance to be
out of his hole, man drove up to the door,
and, after some little conversation with my
master, remarked: "That's fine looking
turkey" Now this compliment, as you may
suppose, gave me no pleasure, for l had no
vanity, absolutely none, and only lamented
my plump condition. If he had said was
miserable, emaciated looking specimen Of
turkey, should have been filled with de-