A well-made bread-sauce, an accessory which we owe to England, always accords with quail and grouse, and is not amiss with prairie-chicken, even if they are already well moistened with the sauce of cooking them with pork and basting with bouillon. Francatelli's delicious sauce, Number 65, the recipe for which has been presented in a previous chapter, will need no recommendation as an adjunct for venison and mutton where it has once been enjoyed. Apple-sauce is indispensable with the domestic duck, and boiled onions should not be omitted by way of a vegetable accompaniment. _Canard saignant_ is reprehensible, and equally so is the overdone bird. A wildling should be fresh and sweet, and "passed through the kitchen" not "once," but thrice; the domestic fowl will, of course, be allowed more time on the range to plume himself for the table. The celery-fed bird (_O avis jucundissima!_) calls for no other sauce than his own, but with some species a stuffing of olives and an olive sauce are excellent additions. Then, if your bins of _têtes de cuvée_ of the Vosne be not lacking, you may hear your whistler simply praying to be engulfed in Richebourg or Romanée. The wild turkey, the "spruce-partridge," and the "cottontail" will prove more desirable subjects for the seasonings and provocative sauces of the French cookery books than their more princely companions. The wild turkey, notably, despite his splendid wattles and emerald plumage, it must be conceded cannot compare with the tamer fowl in edible qualities; and it were well, where a stately gobbler has been sent as the result of the prowess of a friend, to dispense at once with his drumsticks, which, owing to his roving habits and wide ranging, have become tougher than the ham-strings of a patriarchal sage-cock.