ABSTRACT
The Puritan Fathers, self-denying saints though they were, could not hear that invitation to gormandize continually resounding through the woods of the Bay Colony, unmoved. It amounted, in their half-starved condition, to a cruel taunt, and moistened their sympathetic palates with epicurean tears. Yielding to their carnal appetites, they slew and ate, and although the Noble Savage, on discovering their taste for tur key, often lured them into the depths of the forest with imitative “gob bles,” and by that means took many steeple-crowned scalps, the work went bravely on as long as the game lasted. I blame not those solemn gluttons for risking their lives to obtain such delicious fare. Under the same circumstances I should have done likewise.