" M. le Blanc was once chief cook to a Parisian nobleman. For days before Christmas he treated his guests to mouth-watering descriptions of 'ze magnifique dinnair on ze Chrisemas day in La Belle France.' A few days before Christmas he became very mysterious, and intimated that those fortunate mortals who sat at his board should also have a 'magnifique dinnair.' Accordingly anticipations ran high. The day at last arrived. His promises were fulfilled. The table was spread with an embarrassment of good things. One dish was a special favorite, to the undisguised delight of the cuisinier. It seemed a species of game, was delicately flavored, but no one knew exactly what it was. 'Oh, monsieur, do tell us what this delicious dish is,' said a young and pretty guest, when the dish was demolished. ' Zat, madam, zat eis ze grand triumph of ze art. Only ze Frenchmen mek ze delicious deesh - zet ees ze vat you call ze owl - ze pet owl.' 'Owl!' exclaimed a chorus of voices, and a dozen wry faces were made. 'Oh, monsieur, how could you have the heart to kill the poor thing?' chirped the fair inquirer. 'It ees you zat mek ze cruel accusations, madam.

I no keel him - he die.' "