The Sun.
London, England, 1860-07-18 00:00:00

_....

one, and has certainly novelty, if nothing else, to re-
commend it, at least as far as hares are concerned

in civilised countries ; it being a common practice
among savages to cook their prey in the skin 'without
opening it. Shakespear must have been unac-
quainted with the Frenchman's mode of cookery
when he wrote—" An old hare is very good meet

in Lent ":
-
" In an old French book on sporting, written by a French
nobleman, the following curious recipe for dressing an old
hare is thus given :—' The dish is one which I invented
after having killed a hare one day in Lent, which hare was
so old and so dry, that it was impossible to separate the
ears with the hand, although we endeavoured to do so
several times. In order to make it tender, the idea struck
me only to paunch it, and immediately afterwards to pat it
on the spit without skinning it, heating two shovels red
hot ; and to economise the bacon, I cut two slices of it as
if for larding, and fastened them with thread to two laths,
passing the thread between the rind and the fat of it, in
order that it should not burn, and when my hare's skin was
dry enough, I set it on fire with a firebrand. The fur being
burnt, I took one of the heated shovels, and put the bacon
against the hare, making it drop upon it, and continued
with the shovels. which were heated one after the other,
till I saw that the skin was separating from the body, and
then I could take it off easily with the tongs, (which may
also be done by the hand,) and after ha ving detached it
I basted it again with the bacon, and afterwards with
strong vinegar, and seeing it roasted enough, I made a
sauce, which may be made sweet or a la poivrade, ac-
cording to taste. This hare, old and hard as it was before
being roasted, was more tender than a leveret kept three
days, from which, on cutting it, gravy ran out as from a
leg of mutton, for being tough and dry are two things
which cause roast hare to be bad. And after being
thoroughly experienced in this cooking the late king,
Louis XIII., ordered me one Twelfth-night at Versailles,
to dress him a hare, which had just been taken, and fit to
make the trial, being very old and very tough. He was
also curious to see it roasted in the kitchen. His Majesty
found if, so tender and excellent, as also did those who had
. .

the honour of dining with him, that nothing remained but
the bones. I give this recipe,' continues the Frenchman,
that sportsmen, when they have taken a hare in the coun-
try, and go for their refreshment to a poor public-house,
where nothing is to be had, may speedily prepare a dinner,
and return immediately to their sport.' "

After describing most of the birds to be found. in
Europe, giving instructions to young sportsmen, and
railing with all the vindictiveness of an old sports-
man at the tame and butcherly practice of modern
would be sportsmen, with a servant to load their
second guns in well-stocked covers, the author
brings his amusing narrative to a conclusion with
some clever remarks on hawking, a pastime of '
our forefathers, which he hopes to see revived.
Many of our readers have doubtless read of Mous-
tache, the celebrated French poodle, who accom-
panies the army of Italy—distinguished himself at
the Battle of Marengo—was present at Austerlitz,.
and fell gallantly at the Siege of Badajoz. The
author gives his biography as follows:
"Addison says that the dog has been the companion of
man 6,000 years, and has only learned one of his vices ; that
is. to worry his species when he finds him in trouble. Tie
a saueepan to a dog's tail, and another dog will fall on
him. Put a man in prison for debt and another will lodge
a detainer against him.
"The French poodle is a quiet and sagacious creature.
The life and adventures of thefoilowing arehighly interest-
ing. Moustache was born at Calais, 1799. At the tender
age of six months he was disposed of to an eminent grocer
at Caen, who treated him in the kindest manner. But,
strolling about the town one day not long after his arrival,
Moustache happened to come upon a parade of grenadiers.
They were brilliantly equipped. Their spirits were high, and
their drums loud. Moustache, instantly smitten with
their fine appearance, cut the grocer for ever, slunk out
of the town, and joined the grenadiers. He was dirty and
tolerably ugly, but there was an intelligence, a sparkle,
a brightness about his eye that could not be overlooked.
We have not a single dog in the regiment,' said the petit
tambour, and at any rate this one looks clever enough to
forage, for himself.' The drum-major assented, and
Moustache attached himself to the band, and was soon.
found to possess considerable tact and talent. He had
already learnt to carry admirably, and ere three weeks
were over he could stand with as erect a back as any private
in the regiment, act sentinel, and keep time in the march.
Soldier-like, he lived from paw to mouth. He endured the
fatigues of Mont St. Bernard with as good a grace as any
veteran in the army. , They were soon near the enemy, and
Moustache, having become familiar with the sound of mus-
ketry as well as of drums, seemed to be inspired with new
ardour as he approached the scene of action. The first
occasion on which he distinguished himself was this. His
regiment being encamped on the height above Alexandria,
a aetachment of Austrians from the Vale of Balboo at-
tempted a surprise during the night. The weather was
stormy, and the French had no notion that the Austrians
were advancing so close. The camp was in danger, but
Moustache was on the alert, walking his rounds as usual,
with his nose in the air. He soon detected the Germans.
He gave the alarm, and the Austrians rapidly retreated.
Next morning it was resolved that Moustache should
thenceforth receive the ration of a grenadier. He was noW
cropped a la militai7e, a collar with the name of the regi-
ment was hung round his neck, and the barber was ordered
to comb and shave him once a week. In a skirmish which
occurred, Moustache received a bayonet wound in his left
shoulder. He was not perfectly recovered from this acci-
dent when the great battle of Marengo took place. Lame
as he was, he oould not keep away from so grand a scene.
He kept close to the banner, which he had learned to recog-
nise among a hundred, and never gave over barking until
the evening closed upon the combatants. The sun of
Austerlitz found him with his chasseurs. In the heat of
the action he perceived the ensign, who bore the colours of
his regiment, surrounded by a detachment of the enemy.
He flew to his rescue, barked with all his might, did all he
could, but in vain. The ensign fell covered with wounds
but not before, feeling himself about to fall, he hal
wrapped his body in the folds of his standard. Five or Si%
Austrian soldiers still remained by the ensign to obtain
possession of the colteirs he had so nobly defended;
Moustache having thrown himself on the colours was on.
the point of being pierced with bayonets, when a timely
discharge of grapeshot swept the Austrians into oblivion.
The moment that Moustache perceived that he was de-
livered from his assailants, he took the staff of the French
banner in his teeth, and strenuously endeavoured to disen-
gage it, but ineffectually. He succeeded, however, in tear-
ing away the silk, and with this glorious trophy returned
to the camp limping and bleeding. One day a chasseur,
mistaking the dog,' hit him a mice blow with the flat
side of his sabre. Moustache, piqued to the heart, de-
serted from his regiment, attached himself to some dra-
, goons, and followed them into Spain. On the 11th March,
1811, he was killed by a cannon ball at the taking of Bads-
' joz. He was buried on the scene of his last glories, collar,
medal, and all. A plain stone, with the simple inscriptions
' Ci-git le brave Moustache,' was placed over his grave;
; but the Spaniards afterwards broke the stone, and the
bones of the poor animal were burnt by order of the Inqul"
sition."

Thus his enemies did him honour, dog though he
was, for were not his remains treated as those of
great men have been, by cowards who sought to
revenge themselves on the dead. The exulting
Royalists exhumed brave Oliver Cromwell. The
Republicans of France dug up the body of De Le,
Roche Jacqueline, and the bigoted Inquisition of
Spain burned the bones of poor Moustache.

tire's Dictionary of Arts, Manufactures, and Mines.
Lou gman.
The History of Iron is concluded, and this num-
ber is devoted principally to Lead, Leather, and
Linen. Under the head of Lucifer Matches we
find a computation of the number of matches manu-
factured in the United Kingdom and France.
It has been estimated," he says, " that the English and,
French manufacturers of phosphorus are now producing at
the rate of 300,000 lbs. of common phosphorus per annuref
nearly the whole of which is consumed in making lucifer
matches. In compounding the emulsion for tipping the f
I
matches, the German manufacturers make three pounds
phosphorus suffice for five or six millions of matches. f
we suppose only one-half of the French and English aw
mial product of phosphorus to be employed in making
matches, this will give us 250,000,0.00,000 of matches as the
annual product consequent on the consumption of one-half
of the French and English phosphorus. We need not sup'
pose this to be an exaggerated statement, when we consider
the daily product of some of our match manufactories.
lately had occasion to describe the process of a London fce'
tory, which produces 2,500,000 matches daily. For this
purpose, 14 3-inch planks are cut up ; each plank produces
30 blocks; each block, of the dimensions of 11 inches long,
inches wide, and 3 inches thick, produces 100 slices, each
slice 31 splints, each splint 2 matches : thus we have-14
30 x 100 x3l x = 2,604,000 matches as the day's work
of a single factory in London. At Messrs. Dixon's factor,'
near Mannester, from 6,000,000 to 9,000,000 of matches
are produced daily."—Tomlinson.
According to Dr. R. Beettger, the best composition
for lucifer matches is—phosphorus, 4 parts ; nitre,
10 ; fine glue, 6 ; red ochre or red lead, 5 ; and
malt, 2.