The Turkey Ovation.—Never, we suppose, since the day the Romans overran the world, has there been such terrible bloodshed and sanguinary goings on, as was consequent upon Graham’s royal edict about Turkey. The crimson dye was streaming about all the editorial sanctums on Christmas Eve. Graham had issued orders to bring up the culprits for execution, and at about ten o’clock, at a given signal, twelve hundred of the inhabitants of Turkeydom were marched out, and had their throats cut without mercy. The bloody-minded issuer of this sanguinary decree still lives and glories in the deed; and strange to say—his men back him up with fixed bayonets. If these things are allowed to proceed, people will not be able to sleep quietly in their beds, but a terror will go forth over the land, and neighbors will have to keep watch and ward over each other—turkeys will be, nowhere—editors will grow fat, on the fat of the land, and will soon have the hardihood to ask their subscribers to pay for the papers they read, with the same promptitude with which they expect them delivered.
This sort of thing will go on. A revolution in newspaper presses will be the consequence, and quiet, sedate people, who read over the paper, and complain of the type—of the quality of the paper—of the long editorials—of the short editorials—of the light reading—of the heavy reading—of the political matter—of the want of political news and facts—of the poetry—of the advertisements—of the mails—of the carrier—of the publisher, the editor, and the “devil”—will be shocked at having a bill to pay. Turkey must be paid for, as well as slaughtered. There is no community of goods in Turkey. Every landholder expects the pay for corn that feeds and fattens turkey—and subscribers must expect to—“PAY UP.” Graham will get the blame—but the revolution will go on! People who grumble—and, some of them—swear! about their papers, must pay for the luxury. No man has a right to be stupid—nor can expect editors to eat turkeys and publish newspapers on air.
“Mr. ——, do you know that your subscription is overdue to The ——?”
“No?”
“We thought so. Well, take Graham’s advice, and take $2, ‘pay up,’ and take a receipt at once. You have no idea how it will clear your conscience, and your eye-sight, too, as to the merits of the paper.”
Snow-Balling in the South.—Our Southern friends seem to have been taken by surprise by Jack Frost, and to have had some difficulty in acknowledging his acquaintance. At New Orleans we see, that Sambo was out early in the morning, and came rushing back to his master exclaiming—“Oh, Monsieur! regardez donc! la cour est pleine de sucre blanc!” “Oh, sir, look: the yard is full of white sugar!” “The oldest inhabitants,” says the Delta, “stared with amazement. It snowed all night, and in the morning the earth was entirely invisible; a white carpet, to the depth of eight inches, covered its entire surface. Our population were all agog, and snow-balls flew as thick and as fast as bullets at Buena Vista. The hats of peaceable citizens were knocked into corners; eyes and mouths were filled with conglomerated masses of snow, and ears were stopped.” In Florida, according to the News, “There was no record nor tradition of such an event in the history of East Florida. Some of the oldest inhabitants recollect, on one or two occasions, having seen a slight sprinkle of snow, but not enough to whiten the ground, and it passed off like a dream. But on this occasion we had an opportunity of enjoying the delightful amusement of “snow-balling;” and ladies, as fair as the snow itself, joined heartily in an amusement, the opportunity for which presents itself only once in a century.” Mrs. Neal, in her very sprightly and delightful letters from Charleston, S. C., gives an animated picture of the scene in Palmettodom: “Even in Philadelphia, where snow is by no means an every day affair, you cannot credit the excitement it gave rise to. The children, many of whom had never seen ‘the white rain,’ clapped their hands as the roofs and the ground were covered with the pure mantle—and when evening came, and the strange visitor seemed to like its Southern quarters, and resolved to settle for the night, men and boys went forth to the novel enjoyment of snow-balling, and some even attempted a sleigh-ride. Grave, grown up men were startled into an involuntary participation of the sport, and I was told, and it is too good a story not to be true, that one gentleman was seen indulging in the unusual pastime accompanied by a negro carrying his ‘spare balls’—all ready moulded in a box! Snow-balling under circumstances of ‘elegant leisure.’
“The next morning’s sun seemed to have little effect upon it, the cold still continuing intense; and about the middle of the day a party, a regular duel it seemed, ascended to the top of the Charleston hotel and the Hague street stores, pelting each other with great vigor, the plazza upon which we stood affording a fine view of the sport. The children were for the first time indulged with snow-building, and many a youthful Powers made his first effort at sculpture on the frozen countenance of a ‘snow-man.’ It was more curious still that they considered it in the light of a confection, and ate it with salt, as they would a hard boiled egg, esteeming it much nicer than any candy. ‘It was fun to them—but death to the servants’—to borrow from the fable of the boys and the frogs. The poor negroes, wilted and shriveled up into ‘dumb waiters’—burning over the fire, with a deprecating glance at the snow covered ground that was really piteous, but every consideration was paid to them, and as little out-door work as possible assigned.”
We cannot refrain from adding the following delicious little bit of character-painting, from the same pen, though not germaine to the theme: “If there is one thing that distinguishes the Southern negro above all others, it is deliberation. We had a fair example of this the morning of our arrival. There was not a soul on the wharf to take the rope of the steamer which some thoughtful person had thrown on shore without looking to see what was to be done with it. There were the passengers with eager, expectant faces, grouped upon the deck, baggage already looked over, and piled up for the carriages—every thing ready to land, and we just so far from the shore that a plank could not be thrown across. Presently a negro appeared on the next wharf, walking toward us with the utmost calmness. In vain were the calls of the Northern gentlemen in tartan shawls, or the impatient gestures of one of the officers of the boat. A New York wharf lounger would have had the rope secured in the time this venerable Ned took to put one foot before the other. And when he finally arrived amid the cheers of the passengers, who by this time thought it as well to laugh as fret, one of them called out as he bent over to the rope thrown once more—‘Uncle—I say—hadn’t you better wipe it first?’—a finale which could not have been more deliberate than his previous movements.”