when served it becomes almost an impossibility." Mr. Laffan notes that, although the ducks of the Chesapeake are the same birds to be seen in Hudson's Bay and on the northern lakes, they are nowhere else as good for the table. "They follow the edge of the winter along the Atlantic coast, and the water they prefer to feed in is that in which the ice is about to form, or from which it has just disappeared." The great vegetable beds of the shallows of Chesapeake Bay, and the abundance of the wild celery in these beds, make this the favorite feedingground of the canvas-back, and give to the ducks killed there a surpassing plumpness and a most delicate flavor. Mr. Laffan describes with great gusto his own adventures on a shooting-trip against the canvas-back, and he incidentally shows us the various methods of attack. The nefarious pot-hunter uses either a "sink-boat" or a "night reflector," both unsportsman like and murderous devices. The "night reflector" is a reflector mounted behind a strong lamp, and fixed into the bow of a row-boat, which is then steered boldly at the huge “beds" of sleeping ducks which seem to be fascinated by the glaring light and fall victims to the huge guns of the pot-hunter. The true sportsman uses "blinds," and delights in "tolling in" the ducks. At four in the morning the seekers after canvas-backs are rowed down to the "blind," which is the name for "any sort of artificial concealment, placed at an advantageous point upon the shore. They generally consist of a seat in a sort of a box or shelter, some four feet deep, and capable of containing three or four persons and a couple of dogs. They are thoroughly covered up with pine branches and young pine-trees, and communicate with the shore by a path similarly shel tered." The decoys are anchored in the shallow water immediately in front of the "blind." The ducks are shot as they swim to the decoys and as they fly away overhead; they are brought in by dogs carefully trained for the work, and doing their duty of their own will, without the need of any special command. "Tolling in "is the luring of the ducks within range by means of the curious antics of a dog of another kind, also carefully trained. The sportsmen hide in a "blind" or behind the tall grass; an assistant, also hidden, throws little chips of wood first to the right and then to the left, and the "tolling" dog out on the beach, in full sight of the "bed" of ducks far out from shore, begins frisking first to the right

and then to the left in playful chase of these chips. The curiosity of the ducks, thus scientifically aroused, brings them slowly and surely in shore and within range. Mr. Laffan tells us that "the canvas-back has the bump of inquisitiveness more largely developed than any other wild variety" of bird, and that "another way of tolling' ducks, said to be very effectual, is with a gorgeous red and yellow bandana handkerchief, waved above the grass and rushes on a stick." This does not speak highly for the intelligence of the canvas-back.

As to the cooking of the canvas-back there are two opinions- or rather there is the greatest possible variety of opinion in regard to the duration of that operation. There are those who declare that the can. vas-back cannot be too little cooked, and that to carry it three times round a hot kitchen is quite sufficient. But these are Radicals. Yet the fact remains that the canvas-back can be and generally is overcooked; and an over-cooked canvas-back is no better than any barnyard duck. Mr. Laffan scarcely overstates the case when he says that, if the canvas-back is allowed to remain in the oven five minutes too long, it is unfit for the table. "A good, quick oven will cook a full-sized duck in twenty-two minutes. It should never remain in over twenty-five. After a duck is picked and drawn, it should be simply wiped dry. Water should never touch it, and it should be fairly seasoned before going to the fire. When done the birds should be placed in pairs in hot, dry dishes. There is no need to prepare a gravy; immediately they are cut they will fill the dish with the richest gravy that ever was tasted." Hominy cakes, fried to a tempting brown, are as indispensable adjuncts to the canvas-back as is the Yorkshire pudding to the roast beef of oid England; they serve the same purpose and they should be served in the same way. In one of the earliest and one of the best American manuals of sport, "The Dog and the Sportsman," by J. S. Skinner (Philadelphia, 1845), there is given a recipe for the cooking of the canvasback, which is copied into "Sport with Gun and Rod," and which it may be well to copy here again :

HOW TO COOK A CANVAS-BACK. Take it down as possible, even while it is yet warm, if as soon after the leaden messenger brings it it can be so, and cook it in a "tin kitchen," turning and basting it frequently with a gravy composed in the bottom of the oven with a little water and a grain of salt and its own

SCENT.

From The Spectator.

The American cook has learned wisdom within the last forty years, and Mr. Laf fan's advice in regard to time and the use of water strikes us as sounder than Mr. Skinner's. Mr. Laffan gives us also excellent suggestions as to the carving of the properly cooked canvas back — advice much needed, we fear, by those who have never tasted the duck on his native shore. "Slicing the bird is unheard of. The two-pronged fork is inserted diagonally astride the breast-bone, and the knife lays half of the bird on each side, leaving the "carcass" on the fork between. The triangle of meat an inch thick comprised between the leg and the wing, with its apex at the back and its base at the breast, is considered the most delicious morsel of meat that exists." As this is the only way of carving the canvas-back to advantage, it follows that the proper allowance of ducks for a dinner is one to every two guests, that each guest may have a breast. Of course if the dinner is very simple and brief, and especially if the diners are mostly of the sterner sex, this allowance may be doubled, and every man may have a bird of his own. There is a host in New York who is fond of the national game of the United States poker and who gives little poker parties preceded by an appropriate dinner. As it happens, poker can best be played by either six or five whence its occasional nickname, "five-handed whist." The host seats his five guests about a round table. Before every man is a plate with a dozen oysters. Behind every man is an ice-packed bottle of the dry champagne he affects. The oysters are succeeded by terrapin. Then a canvas-back is put before every guest, and one or two more are held in reserve for any man with an appetite. Afterward comes a mayon naise of celery; then the sable waiter serves a little fruit and a cheese; finally, there is a cup of coffee, after which the table is cleared for action, and the search for four aces follows the tasting of terrapin and the carving of canvas backs. To an American of proper views nothing could be better than the entertainment here of fered; terrapin, canvas-backs, and poker, these are the highest of sublunary delights. We recommend them to Mr. Walter Besant.

THIS is the time of year most perfect on the Riviera; the sky is serenely blue, the sea rolls lazily as if overburdened with warmth, the scent of the orange-blossom still lingers undisturbed by wind upon terraced hills, the air is gently bracing, and every one is in a good humor. It is a curious fact, however, that there are few who do not complain of the monotony of a prolonged residence, and long to feel at liberty once more, to breathe the fresher air beyond the mountains; yet, no sooner does a northern winter finally set in, than the thoughts fly back to the winding coastline of the sunny sea, the mistral is forgotten amid the fog, or rain, or cold at home, the dream of an ideal life returns, and the charm is irresistible again.

With the advent of the new year, the wild flowers begin to bloom, violets coming first in great abundance, soon followed by hyacinths, bluebells, narcissus, and all their sister train of light and color; but in February the aspect is changed, the mistral sweeps along the land, curling over the olive-leaves, till the country becomes silver grey instead of sombre green, driving clouds of dust before it, and penetrating everywhere like a thorough scavenger. A period of restlessness then commences; the invalid loses ground, and is weary of the proximity of the sea, from which there is only one escape, to a quiet, old-fashioned Provençal town called Grasse, lying under the shelter of the Basses Alps, with fresh, invigorating air, and having for its chief attraction the important business of manufacturing scent. The position is very pleasant, at an elevation of eleven hundred feet on the side of a mountain guarding off the north, and about ten miles by rail behind Cannes, so that there is a full southern aspect which tempers the atmosphere, and renders possible a great cultivation of flowers. Owing to the height, the wild flowers are a little later than those of the true Riviera; but acres of violets are privately grown, with innumerable beds of hyacinths, jonquils, and narcissus; while long before it is necessary to leave, the may blooms upon the hedges, and the tender star of Bethlehem brightly gleams everywhere, in pleasant contrast to the green of spring. During this season the factories work to their full extent, though the treatment is so slow, and in some instances requires such constant repetition, that flowers are only received twice a week. If, how

ever, one should happen to visit a factory on a receiving-day, one will find the floors of the reception-rooms covered, perhaps, with a mass of violets, upon which probably recline two or three young ladies, enjoying the perfume and delighting in the reality of an imaginative dream. Every flower, before arriving at the perfumery, is removed from its stem, when, according to its nature, it undergoes one of three processes, distillation, submersion in hot grease, or absorption by cold grease, all utensils used in the manufacture being made of copper.

The first is the costly but ordinary method of the retort, placed over a small furnace, carrying the vapor as it condenses into a receiver, with glass tubes on the outside to catch the essential oil. Verbena, geranium, and lavender are treated in this way. The second is very curious, and, seemingly, ought to be disastrous. Flowers in certain proportions are flung into good-sized kettles of hot pork and beef-grease, kept warm by placing the vessels in boiling water; they are well stirred together, and left still hot for twelve hours, after which the mixture is heavily pressed. The flowers are then thrown away, and the operation is repeated with fresh ones, until the liquid grease is sufficiently charged with odor, when it is placed in a cold receiver half-full of spirits of wine, which in a few days becomes impregnated with the perfume, and is drawn off for sale. If the grease is not subjected to the spirits of wine on the premises, it is sold in its congealed state to the London scent-makers, who treat it at their leisure. Roses, orange-blossoms, and violets are some of those requiring this method. The third, to the eyes of a novice, does not appear so hopelessly destructive or so wilfully barbarous; yet the sacrifice of beauty is the same. A layer of olive-oil or cold grease, carefully pre pared, is placed upon a frame, the flowers being dotted over it face downward, and remaining for twenty-four or thirty hours. The process is very tedious, requiring to be repeated with the same grease many times, after which the perfume is ab. sorbed by spirits of wine, as in the previous manner. The delicate scents can only be caught in this way, will only give out, so to speak, their exact selves according to nature. It is no extraction, but literal absorption, the catching of sweetness freely imparted to the fresh air of native hillsides. Jessamine, tuberose, jonquil, and others not of tough formation, must be submitted to this treatment.

The industry is of great value; there are upwards of fifty perfumeries; and though the London market is the best outlet, yet their products are being gradually shipped to almost all parts of the world. There is no toil about the work, no grinding poverty, no din or rattle of machinery, no emaciated children, everything is quiet and peaceful; in fact, if it would not be a paradox, one might call life in these facto ries the Nirvana of labor. The manufacture being a very profitable one, the perfumers are naturally the men of the place, and besides possessing good means are large owners of property at Cannes and Nice, as well as at Grasse.

The situation of the little town is extremely good, being built upon a hillside, like all others along the coast, probably for greater protection against the early marauders; the houses climbing up in clusters to the top, on which rises the church and the inevitable watch-tower. It boasts of some antiquity, dating as far back as the seventh century, and is supposed to derive its name from a colony of Jews, who having found grâce in the eyes of the then ruling powers of Provence, were allowed to live and build themselves a home. It suffered many trials in the early wars, and according to the local chronicle, was ravaged by the Saracens, but surviving all its troubles, attained a certain amount of prosperity during the Middle Ages, finally vanishing from all claim to historical interest, since Napoleon passed through on the way to Paris, after his escape from Elba. Beyond all ordinary attractions, however, Grasse has now the pre-eminent advantage of being the only place in the south where the pleasures of the country can be easily obtained. The views are very fine; a wide valley lies beneath the town, covered with olives, studded with cottages, and overlooked by a superb level departmental road, commanding a long line of country; the village of Mongin nestling among the hills which shelter Cannes. To the left, but at some distance, are the Maritime Alps, occasionally crowned with snow; while to the right is the Estérel Range, with here and there the smoke of the charcoal burners curling upward, and ever wrapped in that "clear obscure" which softens the outline and clearly marks the deep valleys by contrast with shade, the Gulf of Napoule lying at its base. The excursions are all of a more interesting character than those of the other parts of the coast, that to St. Vallier having the additional attraction of Roman remains; while the peasant wom