in affairs of the table—they do not stand
first-rate as gastrosophs. The alliance will
probably enlarge their views and improve
their faculties in that important respect.
Hitherto, the British palate has not been apt
to appreciate the perfection and delicacy of
dishes finished off with the height of artistic
excellence. The infatuation of eating underdone
meat has rendered it insensible to the
sublimities of gourmandise. But truffles are
beginning to make their way.

Toulouse, from its position, has excellent
truffles, which are more studiously manipulated
than in many other parts of France.
Toulouse has no truffle-merchants, properly
so called; the preparation of the article is in
the hands of persons, who make it up in
pâtés, in terrines, or earthen pans covered
with grease, in pots, and in tin-cases with
fowl or game. In listening to the language
and the Garonienne assurance of these gentry,
you would believe them to be in possession of
the most advanced secrets of the gastronomic
art. They fix the price current, and despatch
their circulars to every great person in the
four quarters of the world. In all the towns
and villages of Perigord, truffles are employed
as at Toulouse, with the exception of a
few slight differences. Fowls and game
are manipulated "aux truffes," after a
preliminary cooking in boiling fat, a seasoning,
and a spicing. But in Perigord the atrocity
is committed of peeling the truffles and
pounding the rind to enter into the
composition of stuffings—a villanous piece of roguery,
seeing that the asperities of the tuber do not
contain an atom of its perfume. A great
number of small towns, all situated in this
part of France, have an enormous renown for
the preparation of truffles in the above-
mentioned forms, and also in galantines, or boned
fowls. Some of the principal are—Ruffec,
Périgeux, Barbézieux, Angoulême (where
naughty men steep truffles in water, to make
them weigh heavier), Limoges, Brives, Sarlat,
Souillac, Bergérac, and Nérac; but at the
last place, they are apt to be too heavy-
handed with bacon and spices. Cunning
virtuosi hereabouts hold to the doctrine that
to make a perfect truffled turkey, the truffles
ought to be introduced immediately after the
bird is killed and plucked.

The Alsacians, and notably the people of
Strasbourg, have the merit of rendering due
justice to truffles. Pastrycooks mostly rule
the culinary art. Some half a score of these
personages in Strasbourg are the sole makers
of the immense number of truffled goose-liver
pies which are spread throughout the face of
the globe. Some of them are extremely rich,
and consider themselves of no little importance,
in consequence of their frequent
intercourse with nobles and millioimaires. A
singular adventure happened to one of
them. A distinguished person from Germany
gave this pastrycook an order for a truffled
goose-liver pâté of enorormous dimensions,
which were indicated by making a circle
with the finger on an unusually large dining-
table. If historians do not err, six hundred
francs was the price agreed on. Four-and-
twenty hours were allowed for its delivery,
a handsome sum on account was paid, and a
penalty in case of failure was fixed, more to
insure exactitude than as any indemnity to
the illustrious personage. The artist was by
no means surprised at receiving such a
commission, because he was aware that the
Germans are fond of setting large joints upon
their table. It is not rare to see a whole
roebuck figuring in the midst of a substantial
dinner.

Our pâté-maker, overjoyed beyond
measure at the order he had received,
immediately went to work, suspended his other
labours, slaughtered hecatombs of geese,
procured the required supply of livers, recruited
several supernumerary assistants, kneaded
the paste, and began by laying the foundation
of the pâté, which promised to assume the
proportions of a brewer's mash-tub. That
done, and the circumferential wall of crust
built round it, he filled his pâté, trimmed it,
affixed the decorative architecture, put the
top on, and added the glazing. It was
already a charming edifice, highly finished in
the composite order. Night was far advanced
when the exploit was completed. It was the
proudest day of his life. He marched in
ecstacy round his marvellous work. He
regaled his aides-de-camp with bumpers of
Rhine wine. One thing alone annoyed him;
—that there would not be time to carry this
master-piece in triumph through every street
of the town. In short, after a few moments'
delay, naturally enough, spent in copious
libations, the oven was heated, its temperature
tested, and at last the pâté, borne by four
of the most eminent disciples, presented
itself at the oven-door. But,—overwhelming
sorrow,—he abruptly retreated three paces
backwards, smitten with sudden stupefaction.
The oven-door was too narrow—too narrow
by half! "Malediction, rage, despair," they
shouted. "We are lost—undone!" "The
reputation of my old-established house is
destroyed," said the chief. "Kill me, my
friends. I cannot survive the blow."
They tried in vain, in all directions, to get
the pâté in cornerwise or anyhow. The time
was spent in useless lamentations, until the
moment of delivery arrived. "If I lose the
pâté, I had better not lose my customer;" a
reflection which helped to calm his agitation.
He resigned himself to fate, waited on his
patron, and cotton nightcap in hand, stated
the unfortunate disappointment with the
humblest expressions of penitent affliction.
The great man only laughed, like an apathetic
German as he was, gave up the instalment
already paid, and dismissed him with the
consolatory advice, "Mein Herr, de next time
you make a grand pâté, you vill take your
timensions petter!"