A tough chicken is an inconvenience. A tough turkey is a serious annoyance. When a goose is tough the infliction casts inconvenience and annoyance into the shade. And he toughens at such an inconceivably early period of his mortal career ! By the time he is six months old he is a doubtful character. At twelve months he is "impossible" from the market point of view. He is never quite patrician, although tolerated in our best circles when at his best (tenderest) estate. In middle life and in his declining months he is hopelessly plebeian. When cooked at that age the most attractive thing about him is the savory odor that arises while the process is going on.

"And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelled the goose and known it for their own," moves the initiated reader to compassionate forebodings of the awakening that might be in store for the revelers-expectant. There is relief in the sigh of satisfaction with which we see, on turning the page,

"There never was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size, and cheapness were the themes of universal admiration."

That was an English Christmas and the Cratchits were an exceptional family. For the sake of such and for less uncommon folk, with whom size and smell go far in a Christmas dinner, it behooves us to make the goose of every age as masticable as is practicable by kindly and cunning devices.