THE COOKERY OF THE PHEASANT 237 



promiscuously among the grubs and the worms. But 

 like the Alsatian geese, to which the author of the 

 Almanack des Gourmands sophistically attributes con- 

 solatory visions of the glorious destinies awaiting them, 

 when they are condemned to pass on their liver com- 

 plaints to the purveyors of Strasburg/fl/,?j-, the pheasant 

 seems to feed himself philanthropically, in considera- 

 tion of the palates of the gourmets. It is all very well, 

 the communicating artificial flavour, by the introduc- 

 tion of a stuffing or the invention of a sauce. The real 

 secret is to select the birds or the beasts, which have 

 unconsciously been flavouring themselves through a 

 short but well-spent existence. So the Southdown is 

 worth nothing, in the second summer or so, when he has 

 been sent away from the thyme-scented pastures which 

 are salted by the fresh sea breeze ; and the f re-sale 

 saddle of the Parisian restaurants, although possibly 

 the pedigree of the mutton may be pure enough, is for 

 the most part a shameful imposture. 



The wild pheasant frequents the spinneys and the 

 hedgerows, not only from his naturally shy instincts, 

 but because they offer him an eternally varying diet. 

 He would be safer and less disturbed in the thick 

 undergrowth of our extensive woodlands. But he 

 loves the tender shoots of the hedge timber, and revels 

 fastidiously on seeds and hips-and-haws, and more 



