d still have a
substitute provided for yonder cock. I would set up the Strasburg
goose. Is he not our emblem, and is not our commerce swollen by the
inflation of the _foie gras_? In one compartment I would show him fed
with sulphur-water to increase his biliary secretion; another might
represent his cage, so narrow that the pampered creature cannot even
turn round on his stomach for exercise; another division might be
anatomical, and present the martyr opening his breast, like some
tortured saint, to display his liver, enlarged to the weight of three
pounds; while the apex might be occupied by the glorified, gander in
person, extending his neck and commenting on the sins of the Strasburg
pastry-cooks with a cutting and sardonic hiss."

You have not forgotten, reader, the legend of the old clock?

Many years ago there lived here an aged and experienced mechanic.
Buried in his arts, he forgot the ways of the world, and promised his
daughter to his gallant young apprentice, instead of to the hideous
old magistrate who approached the maiden with offers of gold and
dignity. One day the youth and damsel found the unworldly artist
weeping for joy before his completed clock, the wonder of the earth.
Everybody came to see it, and the corporation bought it for the
cathedral. The city of Basel bespoke another just like it. This
order aroused the jealousy of the authorities, who tried to make
the mechanic promise that he would never repeat his masterpiece
for another town. "Heaven gave me not my talents to feed your vain
ambition," said the man of craft: "the men of Basel were quicker to
recognize my skill than you were. I will make no such promise." Upon
that the rejected suitor, who was among the magistrates, persuaded his
colleagues to put out the artist's eyes. The old man heard his fate
with lofty fortitude, and only asked that he might suffer the sentence
in the presence of his darling work, to which he wished to give a
few final strokes. His request was granted, and he gazed long at the
splendid clock, setting its wonders in motion to count off the last
remaining moments of his sight. "Come, laggard," said the persecuting
magistrate, who had brought a crowd of spectators, "you are taxing the
patience of this kind audience." "But one touch remains," said the old
mechanic, "to complete my work;" and he busied himself a moment among
the wheels. While he suffered the agonies of his torture a fearful
whir was heard from the clo