'Necessity knows no law,' says the proverb, and starvation will cause people to eat anything, but nothing short of that would induce the average English man or woman, to partake of some of the dishes which foreigners relish. There are, however, some who are ready to experiment upon anything and everything presented to them in the shape of food. The late Dr. Buckland made soup of the bones of extinct animals, and his son, Mr. Frank Buckland, tasted every animal he could get at from the Zoo, and induced some of the members of the Zoological Society to join him in his 'feast of reason,' although it is doubtful whether the 'flow of soul' was quite up to that which would have followed a feast of turtle, oysters, etc., followed by mutton, beef, and game. And yet there seems no reason why turtle should occupy the proud position it enjoys, whilst we reject the land tortoise its near relation, and why oysters should be prized and snails rejected.

In eating and drinking there is a great deal of fashion and prejudice. We know that during the siege of Paris the Parisians were reduced to the necessity of eating all the animals in the Jardin des Plantes, as well as 'rats and mice and such small deer,' and since then they have retained a fondness for horseflesh, to which we have never yet attained, although, as we know, it has been eaten from time immemorial by the Tartars; whilst hunters in Africa, as well as natives, highly appreciate the meat of the zebra or quagga, and that of the donkey is said to be superior to both; but, if placed upon the London market, in all probability all three of these kindred meats would be allowed to rot unpurchased. In like manner the porcupine is esteemed a delicacy in South Africa, but its next-of-kin here, the hedgehog, is only eaten by gipsies. The eel, and even the great conger, is eaten with relish; but the snake, which is said to be good and wholesome, is regarded with horror and loathing by men rendered squeamish by civilisation.

The lordly elephant is made to contribute his quota of food to his pursuers, the foot being the tit-bit; but the lion and tiger, being carnivorous, are not appreciated by civilised man any more than the shark, the eagle, the vulture, and many other birds of the air, beasts of the earth, and fishes of the great sea, which are greedily devoured by savages. Even the hyaena is eaten by the Bushmen, although it is so hated by them that every one passing the carcase gives it a blow with a whip or stick.*

The whale and the seal are highly appreciated by the Greenlanders and Eskimos, although hunger alone would cause them to be relished by ourselves. Yet a whale or a good fat seal would have saved the lives of many an Arctic voyager, and the eagerness with which Greely and his starving followers hunted foxes and the great Polar bears, shows how hunger will whet the appetite; and certainly, if the choice lay between old boots, skins, and candle ends, and a seal steak, or piece of whale, there is no doubt which would be taken. We are told 'the seal, when young, is excellent, and as a material for soup is quite equal to the hare; while the skin of any of the Cetacea, especially that of the whalebone whale, if boiled down to a jelly, is a dish fit "to set before a king." It is often sent in hermetically-closed tins from Greenland to Christian IX., of Denmark, and therefore has in reality that destination.'

* Miss Gordon Cumming tells us that the Veddahs 'never eat elephant, buffalo, or bear, though squirrels, mongooses and tortoises, kites and crows, owls, rats, and bats are highly esteemed ; while a roast monkey, or a huge, hideous iguana-lizard, is an ideal dainty.' - 'Two Happy Years in Ceylon,' vol. ii., p. 91.

When, however, we turn to countries where food is plentiful, we are surprised at the singularities of taste in the choice of viands. Take, for instance, China, with its fatted dogs, its bird-nest soup, and trepang, all of which seem to us disgusting, yet doubtless had we been bred in China we should have esteemed them delicacies, as the Chinese do. There is no reason why dogs should not be good eating when well and carefully fed; but we from time immemorial have made of them such pets and companions that to eat them would seem like cannibalism. As to the birds' nests, they are of a peculiar kind, made of a gelatinous substance, and might probably be esteemed a delicacy by ourselves, were they not too scarce for export. Rats and mice are also relished by the Celestials, and in the account of the astonishing escape from death of some entombed miners in America, we read that they managed to preserve life by catching and eating the rats which came to prey upon them. This was, of course, a case of dire necessity; but an African traveller tells of a little Bushman, who picked up the mice which had been caught, and after putting them in the hot ashes for a few moments, devoured them greedily half-raw, entrails and all.

There is no one in England so poor as to eat these rodents willingly, but we remember hearing a French gentleman relate how, during the siege of Paris, he and his companions were attracted by a savoury smell in a restaurant, and determined coute quicoute to satisfy their hunger with the appetising delicacy. Upon paying a good round sum they secured the dish, and learnt with surprise that they had partaken of a ragout of rats. This was, of course, an exceptional dish; but the French habitually indulge in some viands which we despise, as, for instance, frogs. Of these, the hind legs only are taken, skinned, and the claws twisted together. In this form they resemble delicate little lamb cutlets, and are, as we can testify, extremely palatable. Then, all along the sea coasts of France and Italy may be seen the octopus occupying a place in the fishermen's baskets, and often boiled in cauldrons of oil in the streets, and taken out to be offered for sale to the passer-by, always with the recommendation, 'It is good, very good;' and, indeed, it smells good, and is said to enter largely into the savoury soups at the hotels.