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Entrees

Though entrees are, as a rule, served before joints, we have gone briefly through the general principles to be observed in cooking joints before those to be considered in reference to entrees. It should be remembered, however, that cooks must learn simple things before they attempt difficult ones. Too often it will be found that cooks have what may be termed a few specialities--i.e. they have a few savoury dishes for which they are famed, but at the same time invariably fail to send up the joint and vegetables correctly. That cook is the most valuable who has the most all-round ability. Amateur cooks are very prone to fall into the fault of wishing to begin at the higher branches of the science--for such it deserves to be called--of cooking. Young ladies in households often like to "assist" (as they call it) on certain occasions; but if the truth were known, they probably hinder rather than help the cook, who frequently has to leave off her own duties to wait upon the amateurs, who generally choose jellies or a trifle as the dish with which to commence their experimental cooking. Cooking, as we have said, is a science; and persons who think they can begin at the wrong end will find, in point of fact, that they fail signally.

To give any general principles with regard to such an enormous variety of dishes as is comprehended in the word entree is somewhat difficult. Some few general explanations, however, can be given of certain classes of entrees. As one very common specimen we would mention kromeskies, taking them as a specimen of that large and usually very nice class of entrees which may generally be described as a hot entree, in which the inside is soft and moist, enclosed in a hard, thin cover. The cover is composed either of egg and bread-crumbs or batter, the inside of which may be termed generally as croquettes, which we have elsewhere described as a savoury mince moistened with sauce, if necessary bound together with yolk of egg, dipped in beaten egg, rolled in bread-crumbs, and fried crisp.

Now it will be, I think, universally admitted that these croquettes and kromeskies are far nicer when the inside is pappy instead of hard. We will now imagine an inexperienced cook with the following difficulty:--She is aware that the croquettes are far nicer when moist, but then how is she to egg and bread-crumb that which is so moist as to be almost a liquid? We will suppose the case of some croquettes made from the remains of a cold fowl. The meat has been cut off the bone, and minced with the lean ham, mushrooms, etc. Now, the bones should have been put on the fire, to assist in making the sauce that will moisten the mince. This sauce, with the bones in it, should be boiled away--i.e. reduced by allowing the steam to escape, till only sufficient to moisten the mince is left. If this is done properly, when cold the sauce will be a hard jelly; consequently, the mince when hot will be quite moist, and almost liquid, but when cold will be quite hard. Now, this moist mince should be allowed to get cold, and then shaped into little pieces, either square for kromeskies, or into pieces like oval picnic biscuits, to look like cutlets. None of the trimmings in so shaping them need be lost, as they can easily be dissolved by heat and allowed to get cold again, which they will soon do on a small plate or dish. Now, it is evident that these hard pieces when cold can be readily egged over and bread-crumbed. Great care should, however, be taken in so doing, as should there be a flaw in the covering of egg, when fried the inside will run out. Careful attention should therefore be given to the following remarks. Suppose the inside mince is very savoury--perhaps flavoured with truffle, or composed of those delicious delicacies, oysters. Having egged and bread-crumbed the cold piece of mince, which the jelly will have rendered firm, let it get dry, which it will soon do if left in a cool place. Re-dip it just as it is into freshly beaten-up egg, and shake some more fine dry bread-crumbs over it. By this means you have a double coat, so to speak, round your mince. Next, to cook them. We will suppose a small, deep stewpan half full of boiling fat or lard. The croquettes are carefully but suddenly plunged in. What is the effect? The heat, of course, attacks the outside first; consequently, the egg covering coagulates directly, before the inside melts; when the inside melts it is surrounded with a thin film which keeps it together. Great care, of course, must be exercised in draining such moist croquettes and in serving them; but when the little cutlet or ball reaches the plate without accident, and that delicious gush of inside pours on to the plate, owing to the fork of the eater being inserted into it, how far preferable are such croquettes to those that have almost to be cut! Indeed, anyone can make the latter; but when a good judge gets one of the former, or moist ones, he knows that in proportion to the moisture is the skill of the cook. Should, indeed, the inside be very moist and almost liquid, he may smack his lips and mentally ejaculate, "Ah, an artiste!" Recollect, however, in making croquettes of which the insides are moist that there must be a limit to size. If very moist, they must be small; indeed, a middling-sized walnut should be the limit, for it is evident that the strength of material of a thin film composed of coagulated egg would not alone be sufficient to overcome the force of gravity of a moist mass, the tendency of which is, of course, to become level. The best form, indeed, to make these croquettes is cutlet-shape, or, as we have before described, the shape of an oval picnic biscuit. My own experience is that this shape is less liable to break than any other, besides which, when arranged round on a dish with plenty of fried parsley, by placing a tiny claw of a crab or lobster--one of the small ends of the lesser legs, not the pincers--a very ornamental red handle can be made to the cutlet to represent the bone. While we are speaking generally on the subject of entrees, we would wish to comprise under that heading savoury dishes in general; and just as in soups and gravies we called attention to the importance of having brown roux or brown thickening constantly at hand, so, too, in any establishment where savoury dishes are liked would we call attention to the importance of the cook always having ready to hand, for seasoning, a small bottle of what are usually called aromatic spices. The advantage of having these spices ready is that an enormous amount of trouble is saved by having them at hand, and as they will keep for years, and a small bottle lasts a very long time indeed, a little exertion on the part of the cook on some day when she has little to do will have the very beneficial result of improving the cookery of the house for years afterwards.

Before explaining how these herbs are made, I would mention a few of their, if not every-day, at any rate weekly uses. Take the very common case of a rump-steak pie, or that exceedingly nice, and when larks are cheap by no means expensive, dish--lark pudding. Now, the addition of a very small pinch of these flavouring herbs makes a difference in the flavour of the pie or pudding in question that is almost incredible; and yet when the herbs have been mixed this improvement is gained at a cost so small as to be scarcely appreciable. The flavour thus given to the lark pudding is particularly marked, bringing out a gamy taste, which, considering the exceedingly small quantity put in, will give the cook a very good notion of the power these spices possess. Again, they are of the greatest value in making various kinds of forcemeats for preserving game, such as hare or grouse. These herbs are best made as follows:--Take half an ounce of mace, half an ounce of nutmeg, one ounce of white peppercorns, and one ounce of cloves; half an ounce each of marjoram, thyme, and basil, and a quarter of an ounce of bay-leaves. Have all these herbs and spices thoroughly dried, wrapping them up in several sheets of paper, one over the other, in order to prevent the goodness evaporating, and then have them thoroughly pounded as quickly as possible, and sifted through a fine sieve, and put in a glass-stoppered bottle for use. These herbs can be used for a variety of purposes, and, as I have already said, are particularly useful in flavouring all kinds of forcemeats--especially when such forcemeat is made from calf's liver or calf's udder.

I would here remind you that in all cases where calf's liver is used for forcemeat for dishes in which any kind of game is introduced, the addition of the liver of the game itself makes a vast improvement in the flavour. When game is plentiful there is never any difficulty in obtaining livers from the poulterers, who are obliged to throw away a considerable quantity every day, as the liver is apt to get high long before the rest of the bird. It is in the preparation of entrees more than any other class of dishes that the really experienced cook will best exercise that primary principle of cookery--economy.

It may seem a somewhat strong statement, but I really believe it to be true, that the materials out of which some of the most delicious Parisienne entrees are made are in English hotels and private houses either given to (and often refused by) an over-fed dog, or are allowed to get putrid and breed fevers by being thrown into the dust-bin. There is an old picture--of which, probably, Englishmen are proud--contrasting the English hog and the French hog, the difference being as striking as that between the fat and lean kine seen in the vision of the Eastern king of old. Alas, that we should feel proud of this striking contrast! It is but too often the case that our glory is in our shame. I fear that the contents of our English pig-tubs are a national disgrace. I have seen large pieces of bread, whole legs of fowl, etc., floating in what might be called greasy stock, thrown to the pigs. The pig-tub is too often the constant resource of idle and extravagant cooks, whose one idea of household management is to get rid of the odds and ends. Now a great variety of nice entrees can be made out of the cold remains of any of the different joints. For instance, take the cold remains of a calf's head that has been sent to table with tongue, brains, etc., and a white sauce flavoured with marjoram, which, when cold, will be a jelly. Cut up the remains into small pieces. Take a little of the tongue, brains, and jelly, and make them adhere to a piece of what is called the horn part of the calf's head; see that the whole is nicely trimmed, slightly flour each piece thus composed, dip it into batter, and fry in some boiling fat till it is of a beautiful golden colour. Of course the batter, when it is properly made, will harden before part of the inside dissolves; this entree, therefore, has the advantage of coming to table a light-looking fritter, which when opened presents a moist inside. It is, however, essential that the fat be boiling, as otherwise the inside will melt, and break through the fritter skin. Care also should be taken in making batter for entrees of this description that the batter be sufficiently thick. The best method of preparing batter is as follows. Take half a pint of milk, and mix it up thoroughly with the yolk of an egg, adding a pinch of salt, then gradually add sufficient flour till the whole has become of a consistency rather thicker than double cream. This batter should be mixed in a large basin, and worked perfectly smooth with a wooden spoon. We have before remarked on the importance of making entrees the means of using up the materials that have been left from the previous day. One very useful form is that of salmi of game. Too often the remains of game are sent up, almost as they are, cold for breakfast, the result being that a large portion is wasted, the bones being generally left half picked on the plates, while the gravy that was on the dish with the hot game the day before, and into which what may be termed almost the essence of the bird has run, is very probably wasted altogether. Suppose, therefore, some remains of pheasants, partridges, or indeed any other kind of game, are sent down from dinner, a most delicious entree can be made in the following manner. Cut off all the best parts of the meat, such as the wings, legs, breast, etc., and trim them neatly. Should it be found that there is not quite sufficient, the addition of a single bird more, which can be roasted on purpose, might complete the dish. Next take all the remains--the carcases, trimmings, etc.--and put them on to boil gently in the remains of the gravy that was served with the game the day before. After these bones have boiled so that they come out perfectly dry, send the gravy and the small pieces of game that have fallen in it from the bones through a wire sieve--this will have the effect of thickening the gravy, and also of imparting to it a decidedly "gamy" flavour. Add to this sauce--we suppose it to be half a pint in quantity, or a little more--about a wine-glassful of sherry. It is astonishing how this glass of sherry helps to bring about a complete alteration of flavour. This salmi sauce is now complete, and the joints of game have simply to be warmed up in it, taking care, if the game was sufficiently cooked on the first day, that it remains on the fire only sufficiently long to warm it through and no longer, as otherwise the game would get over-cooked, and become hard and flavourless. We have recommended sherry to be added to the sauce, but at the same time would acknowledge the superior qualities of Madeira for the purpose. Madeira can now be bought from respectable wine merchants at from 30s. to 48s. a dozen, and is, on account of its quality, a far cheaper wine than any sherry that can be bought at the same price. Whenever sherry is used for cooking purposes, golden sherry is better than pale dry wine.

One most important point in the serving of entrees is their appearance. The cook should endeavour to please the eye as an accessory to the palate. I will now run through a few of the most common faults that inexperienced cooks exhibit in serving various entrees. A very common one is putting too much in a single dish. The quantity should always be in proportion to the dish. Indeed, I have seen dishes so piled up that, when first handed, persons have had considerable difficulty in avoiding a sort of shower of pieces on their plate. This is, of course, rare; but it will be very often found that dishes are so filled that any attempt at ornament or garnish is simply impossible. Another equally common fault is, that when any entrees are served which require gravy, this is not only too thin but too abundant. With regard to gravy poured round entrees, few maxims can be better for the cook to bear in mind than--"Little and good." Perhaps few dishes would better test a cook than hashed venison, made, say, from the remains of a haunch, and as the same remarks would equally apply to hashed mutton, a short description will not be superfluous.

We all know that generally inartistic dish called hashed mutton, once the scorn of Mrs. Gamp. Certainly a large dish--large enough to hold a haunch--in which thin slices of mutton float in an ocean of thin pale gravy, surrounded by sodden sippets of toast, cut in the old-fashioned wedge pattern, does not look tempting. Suppose, however, we serve hashed venison or mutton, nicely ornamented in a silver dish, in the way about to be described--premising that, should you not possess a silver dish, we would recommend an ordinary vegetable dish instead--then its appearance alone is enough to induce appetite. First, make some strong gravy with a good colour, using up the bone of the joint for the purpose; get the gravy to a proper consistency, like that of double cream, dark in colour, and thickened with arrowroot in preference to brown thickening. Next, in cutting up the meat, take care to avoid pieces of skin and gristle, and also avoid having thick lumps of meat. Warm up the meat in this gravy, taking care, as before, not to let the meat remain in for a longer period than is absolutely necessary to that end. Should the hash be venison, a little port wine and red currant jelly can be added to the gravy; and should it be mutton, one or two onions fried soft and of a nice brown colour, and a dessert-spoonful of mushroom ketchup, will be found an improvement. Next, take the dish, and, having thoroughly warmed it, pile the meat into a pyramid shape in the centre of the dish, leaving the border of it as bare as possible. Pour the remainder of the gravy gently over the piled-up meat, and place round the edge, instead of toast sippets, a garnish made by stamping out with some cutters a few pieces of stale bread into the shape of hearts, and frying them a nice bright golden-brown colour in some lard. Place these near each other round the base of the pyramid, and one--choosing the best looking--on the top of the pyramid, with a small silver arrow stuck in it. Of course this method of preparing the hash will give rather more trouble than the ordinary inartistic method, but then the difference in the appearance of the two dishes more than repays the trouble; the one, in fact, is an entree, and the other a dish only suitable for an early dinner for children, and which, if served in the kitchen, would too often--alas, for human nature!--be more than half wasted. Really, hashed mutton, especially the remains of a haunch or saddle, nicely served the way we have described, makes an entree that no one need be ashamed of sending to table.

Small crayfish make one of the very nicest-looking garnishes. If the entree, therefore, is hashed venison, a small crayfish could be placed at each of the four corners of the dish and a small one on the top of the pyramid. To ornament hashed mutton with crayfish would, I think, be going a little too far.

We will now take another form of ornamenting entrees--viz. fried parsley. Probably cooks are more indebted to parsley than to anything else for ornamenting their dishes. The great secret of fried parsley is, first, it must be fresh-cut double parsley, and rather dark in colour; secondly, it must be perfectly dry before it is fried. Again, the fat must be boiling, and the greatest care exercised in draining the parsley so as not to break it more than possible. The best method of frying parsley is to put it in a little wire basket in a small deep stewpan. This basket can be easily made at home out of two-pennyworth of wire, by a very little exercise of ingenuity. The advantage of the basket is that it can be fitted to the stewpan, and the parsley can be lifted out bodily, thereby rendering the risk of breaking very small. Fried parsley can be used to ornament or garnish various kinds of patties, the dark green contrasting well with the light-brown pastry. Fried parsley should also be served with kromeskies, croquettes, fried sweetbreads, fried oysters, lobster cutlets, and a variety of other light entrees. To continue the idea of entrees made from remains of joints, we will next consider the number of nice dishes made from boiled turkey, boiled fowl, etc. Suppose, for instance, the dinner has consisted of one of these, with that very usual accompaniment--a boiled tongue. Now, an exceedingly pretty-looking entree can be made from them. Cut off the best pieces of the white meat that has been left, and make a strong white stock with the bones, which may be thickened with a little white roux, and, if possible, tow-or three-pennyworth of cream. Warm up the meat in some of this sauce, pile it up as before in a pyramid shape on the dish, and pour the remainder of the thick white sauce over it, the sauce being made sufficiently thick to what is called "mask" the surface. Sprinkle over this white pyramid, sparingly and lightly, a little rather coarsely chopped dark-green parsley, and ornament the base of the pyramid with thin pieces of white meat from the turkey, stamped into the shape of cocks'-combs, or some such pattern, with a crimped edge. Also cut some thin slices of the red tongue, and stamp these out in the same pattern. Warm up these slices of white meat and red tongue in a little hot clear stock, and place these slices round the dish at the base of the pyramid of meat, alternately red and white, having, of course, the crimped edge outwards. A single small crayfish on the top of the pyramid, or a little sprig of parsley, will complete the dish. This entree, it should be borne in mind, is, in addition to being a really handsome dish, a most economical one, for, with the exception of the cream--which is not absolutely necessary--everything is used up, the bones forming sauce instead of being left on the plates and given to the dog in the ordinary manner. Of course, this dish will be vastly improved by the addition of button-mushrooms and slices of truffle. When truffles are used, the alternate slices of black, red, and white look extremely nice; or should the truffle be in small quantities, little pieces can be reserved to dot the stamped frill of the white meat--a small piece in the centre of each round.

In all dishes that have vegetables served with them, much may be done to improve their appearance by having some at least of the vegetables stamped of a nice pattern; even in large dishes that do not come under the heading of entrees, boiled turnips and boiled carrots always look better if roughly shaped like pears, and so cut that they will stand upright. When placed alternately round a boiled leg or neck of mutton, over which some caper sauce has been poured, the general appearance of the dish is far superior to what it would be if simply cut carrots and turnips were placed on haphazard. To teach even the elementary principles of making dishes look elegant is, we fear, a task beyond the power of mere words. Some persons are naturally artistic, and others are not. The cook who will go out on Sunday afternoon in a pink bonnet with a blue parasol will never learn so to arrange colours in garnishing a dish as to really attract the eye. We will, however, give a few hints to those--and we are glad to say they are many--who seem to possess the power of using garnishes when they have them.

First, much may be done with artificial flowers cut from turnips or beetroots. For instance, a tongue glazed, with a paper frill round the root, and a nicely-cut flower made from a turnip, and just tinged with cochineal in imitation of a roseate camellia, placed on the top, always looks an exceedingly handsome dish. The turnip flower should be stuck on to a small stick of wood, and a couple of bay-leaves tied on to the stick with it. This method of ornamenting dishes, though old-fashioned, is very effective. For hot entrees and hot dishes of every description the following garnishes will be found especially useful:--Fried croutons of bread cut into the shape of hearts or stars, and fried a golden-brown colour; button-mushrooms glazed--i.e. small button-mushrooms that have had some bright glaze brushed over them; pieces of white chicken or turkey placed alternately with pieces of red tongue, each piece being cut into some pattern with a cutter; stamped pieces of vegetables, such as carrot, turnip, parsnip, artichoke, or even the root of a French artichoke; fried parsley or fresh parsley; whole truffles or truffles cut in slices or patterns; cocks'-combs, plovers' eggs, small crayfish, prawns, stoned olives; occasionally, even, small slices of gherkins or the skin of a chilli. For instance, take the case of a filleted sole a la maitre d'hotel. Place the slices of rolled grilled sole on end in a silver dish, pour over them thick white sauce, made by boiling the bones of a sole in a little milk, thickening it with a little white roux, and seasoning with salt and pepper. Pass this sauce through a tamis to render it smooth, and take care that it is nice and thick. Now place alternately on the top of each little roll of fish a small piece--say the size of the thumb-nail--of the bright-red skin of a chilli, and a slice of the bright outside of a green gherkin or the skin of a green chilli. What a wonderful alteration in the appearance of the dish! Yet recollect the extra cost is next to nothing, and the whole cost of the dish less than that of a plain fried sole in egg and bread-crumbs with melted butter.

It is in garnishing cold dishes, however, that the greatest effect in appearance is generally produced. For instance, a ham plain boiled, and one glazed and ornamented with a border of what looks like butter, what a contrast! Yet this border can be easily made with a little practice. We will describe how to make a ham look nice, and will first suppose the ham boiled sufficiently, and allowed to get cold in the water in which it was boiled, in order that the jelly, that gives a ham such a delicious flavour, may get cold in the ham itself, instead of running out into the dish, as it would do had the ham been taken out of the liquor. Next we will suppose some nice bright glaze has been placed over the surface of the ham with a brush till it resembles in appearance a new mahogany dining-table. Now, how are we to make the bright trellis-work to go round the ham? First, take some plain white lard and melt it, and, if it be winter time, add to it a little plain salad oil, in order to make the mixture thinner when cold. Now take an ordinary sheet of common notepaper, and roll it into the shape of a cone; take the point of the cone between the thumb and finger of the right hand, and pour some of the melted lard, or mixed lard and oil, into the cone, and so hold the point that the lard can be made at will to run out in a thin stream at the end--i.e. so hold it that you can regulate the thickness of the stream or stop it altogether. It is now evident that you can write or even draw with this cone, as with a soft pen, making as desired either thick strokes or fine strokes. Of course, to do it well a person must first be a good writer or drawer, and then have a considerable amount of practice. A very little practice, however, will suffice to enable one to put a simple ornamental border round a ham. My own experience is as follows. I practised on a clean, black, shiny tea-tray, as then the lard--which, of course, hardens as it falls--could be scraped up with a knife (an ivory paper knife is best), re-melted, and used for the ham. On the occasion of a birthday or at Christmas-time, a suitable device, such as "Many happy returns of the day," or "A Merry Christmas," can be written in the centre of the ham, and a border placed round the edge. A paper frill tied on to the bone, and plenty of fresh parsley round the dish, will always ensure an inviting appearance.

One of the prettiest and most useful garnishes for cold dishes is beetroot, especially for any white kind of dishes. Take, for instance, that exceedingly handsome dish when properly prepared--a salad mayonnaise. First prepare the sauce, taking care to make it sufficiently thick, so that it can be used to mask or cover an uneven surface. It will be found best, in making mayonnaise sauce, to commence by adding the oil drop by drop to the yolk or yolks of eggs alone; do not put in the pepper and salt or vinegar till after it has got quite thick. Indeed, it will be generally found best in making an ornamental salad of any description to reserve the pepper and salt till the whole salad is mixed up together. Having, by beating the oil and egg well together, got the sauce as thick almost as butter in summer time, arrange the salad. First pile the lettuce-leaves into a pyramid shape, with the cut lobster inside, supposing the salad to be a lobster one. If you have a lettuce with a good round heart to it, reserve the heart, cutting the stalk flat, so as to make it stand upright. This heart, if you like, can be placed on the top as an ornament, as it is green, or can itself be masked over with mayonnaise sauce. Next cover the pyramid completely over with the mayonnaise sauce, and place the heart of the lettuce, also covered, we will suppose, on the top. Arrange the small red legs of the lobster round the base of the pyramid as garnish. Now take some coarsely-chopped parsley, and place little specks of green alternately with little specks of lobster coral over the white pyramid, the distance between these bright-green and red spots being about half an inch. Place also a few bright-green capers on the top and round the base of the pyramid. Inside the bend of the legs should be placed hard-boiled eggs cut in quarters, stoned olives, filleted and washed anchovies, and a few capers. Should you have a good-sized silver dish, place, if possible, a small red crayfish in each corner, with its small claws stretched out. There are few dishes that repay the trouble of ornamenting more than lobster salads, especially for occasions such as wedding breakfasts or suppers. When you have a lobster salad, the red beetroot garnish is unnecessary. But suppose the salad mayonnaise is a salmon mayonnaise, or a chicken or turbot mayonnaise, beetroot will here take the place of the red lobster legs and the red coral. Red strips of beetroot can be placed in a sort of trellis-work round the base of the salad, and small specks of red beet-root can be arranged on the white sauce alternately with the specks of green parsley.

One very pretty garnish for cold dishes is aspic jelly. Make some good aspic jelly according to the recipe given in its proper place, and pour it while liquid into a large dish. Reserve a little of the jelly, and add to it a few drops of cochineal, which will make it a bright red; pour this also into a similar-shaped dish, and allow the jelly to get cold. You can now cut it into any shape you may wish--a diamond pattern is as good as any--as the jelly will settle on the dish, which should have been filled about a quarter of an inch deep. You will consequently have alternate pieces of a bright pale yellow and bright red to place round any dish you may wish, such as cold chicken cutlets. Again, the trimmings of the jelly can be beaten up with two forks, and piled up as a sort of glittering heap in the middle of any dish. Of Course, the simplest and most useful of all garnishes is plain green parsley, and you can generally tell by simply watching how a cook will send to table a common dish, like a cold roast fowl, whether she is possessed of any taste or not. A cold roast turkey glazed and sent to table tastefully decorated with parsley is always a handsome dish.

One very common form of handsome dishes is cold turkey or chicken, boned, etc., dressed with forcemeat, but modelled the shape, say, of a boar's head or a swan. These dishes are made by means of copper moulds, tinned inside, which are rather expensive to buy. The meat is placed in the mould warm, and mixed with a strong stock, which being a jelly when cold causes all the meat to adhere together; some liquid strong stock can also be poured in after the mould has been shut together. On turning out, of course, the shape is perfect, so far as the mould itself is; it may occasionally, however, require a little trimming. This moulded dish now requires glazing. Suppose, for instance, it is a boar's head. Get some very strong dark but bright glaze; keep the glaze dissolved in a little basin placed in a larger one into which some boiling water has been poured. In fact, heat the glaze just like what so much resembles--glue. By means of two artificial eyes and the kernels of two brazil nuts stuck in for tusks, the resemblance becomes very perfect. Should the model be a swan, a real swan's head is generally placed on the top, and joined to the mould by means of a wire. If the mould be a pheasant, the head of the pheasant can be affixed, and wings with the feathers on placed each side, while the long tail-feathers are stuck in to represent the tail.