forgotten, have become familiar to me once again; | place before the fire, but is wheeled into a smaller traits I had endeavoured to recall for years, have corner, to leave more room for the broad circle come before me in an instant; nothing is changed but me: and even I can be my former self at will. Raising my eyes but now to the face of my old clock, I remember, quite involuntarily, the veneration, not unmixed with a sort of childish awe, with which I used to sit and watch it, as it ticked unheeded in a dark staircase corner. I recollect looking more grave and steady when I met its dusty face, as if, having that strange kind of life within it, and being free from all excess of vulgar appetite, and warning all the house by night and day, it were a sage. How often have I listened to it as it told the beads of time, and wondered at its constancy! How often watched it slowly pointing round the dial, and, while I panted for the eagerly-expected hour to come, admired, despite myself, its steadiness of purpose, and lofty freedom from all human strife, impatience, and desire!

I thought it cruel once. It was very hard of heart, to my mind, 1 remember. It was an old servant, even then; and I felt as though it ought to show some sorrow; as though it wanted sympathy with us in our distress; and were a dull, heartless, mercenary creature. Ah! how soon I learnt to know that in its ceaseless going on, and in its being checked or stayed by nothing, lay its greatest kindness, and the only balm for grief and wounded peace of mind!

formed about the cheerful hearth. I have sons and daughters, and grand-children; and we are assembled on some occasion of rejoicing common to us all. It is a birth-day, perhaps, or perhaps it may be Christmas-time: but be it what it may there is rare holiday among us, we are full of glee. In the chimney-corner, opposite myself, sits one who has grown old beside me. She is changed, of course: much changed; and yet I recognize the girl, even in that gray hair and wrinkled brow. Glancing from the laughing child who half hides in her ample skirts, and half peeps out,-and from her to the little matron of twelve years old, who sits so womanly and so demure at no great distance from me,-and from her again to a fair girl in the full bloom of early womanhood: the centre of the group; who has glanced more than once towards the opening door, and by whom the children, whispering and tittering among themselves, will leave a vacant chair, although she bids them not, I see her image thrice repeated, and feel how long it is before one form and set of features wholly pass away, if ever, from among the living. While I am dwelling upon this, and tracing out the gradual change from infancy to youth; from youth to perfect growth; from that to age; and thinking, with an old man's pride, that she is comely yet; I feel a slight thin hand upon my arm, and, looking down, see seated at my feet a crippled boya gentle patient child-whose aspect I know well. He rests upon a little crutch-I know it, too—and leaning on it as he climbs my foot-stool, whispers in my ear, "I am hardly one of these, dear grandfather, although I love them dearly. They are very kind to me, but you will be kinder still, I know."

I have my hand upon his neck, and stoop to kiss him: when my clock strikes, my chair is in its old spot, and I am alone.

To-night, to-night, when this tranquillity and calm are on my spirits, and memory presents so many shifting scenes before me, I take my quiet stand, at will, by many a fire that has been long extinguished, and mingle with the cheerful group that cluster round it. If I could be sorrowful in such a mood, I should grow sad to think what a poor blot I was upon their youth and beauty once, and now how few remain to put me to the blush; I should grow sad to think that such among them, as I sometimes meet with in my daily walks, are scarcely less infirm than I; that time has brought us to a level; and that all What if I be! What if this fireside be tenantdistinctions fade and vanish as we take our trem-less, save for the presence of one weak old man! bling steps towards the grave. But memory was given us for better purposes than this: and mine is not a torment, but a source of pleasure. To muse upon the gaiety and youth I have known, suggests to me glad scenes of harmless mirth that may be passing now. From contemplating them apart, I soon become an actor in these little dramas; and humouring my fancy, lose myself among the beings it invokes.

From my house-top I can look upon a hundred homes, in every one of which these social companies are matters of reality. In my daily walks I pass a thousand men whose cares are all forgotten, whose labours are made light, whose dull routine of work from day to day is cheered and brightened, by their glimpses of domestic joy at home. Amid the struggles of this struggling town, what cheerful sacrifices are made; what toil endured with When my fire is bright and high, and a warm readiness; what patience shown, and fortitude blush mantles in the walls and ceiling of this ancient displayed; for the mere sake of home and its affecroom; when my clock makes cheerful music, like tions! Let me thank Heaven that I can people one of those chirping insects who delight in the my fireside with shadows such as these: with shawarm hearth, and are sometimes, by a good super-dows of bright objects that exist in crowds about stition, looked upon as the harbingers of fortune and me: and let me say, "I am alone no more." plenty to that household in whose mercies they put their humble trusts when every thing is in a ruddy genial glow, and there are voices in the crackling flame, and smiles in its flashing light; other smiles and other voices congregate around me, invading with their pleasant harmony the silence of the

I never was less so, I write it with a grateful heart,-than I am to-night. Recollections of the past and visions of the present, come to bear me company: the meanest man to whom I have ever given alms, appears to add his mite of peace and comfort to my stock: and whenever the fire within me shall grow cold, to light my path upon this For then a knot of youthful creatures gather round earth no more, I pray that it may be at such an my fireside, and the room re-echoes to their merry hour as this, and when I love the world as well as voices. My solitary chair no longer holds its ample! I do now.

time.

THE DEAF GENTLEMAN FROM HIS OWN APARTMENT.

OUR dear friend laid down his pen at the end of the foregoing paragraph, to take it up no more I little thought ever to employ mine upon so sorrowful a task as that which he has left me, and to which I now devote it.

As he did not appear among us at his usual hour next morning, we knocked gently at his door. No answer being given, it was softly opened; and then, to our surprise, we saw him seated before the ashes of his fire, with a little table I was accustomed to set at his elbow when I left him for the night, at a short distance from him; as though he had pushed it away with the idea of rising and retiring to his bed. His crutch and footstool lay at his feet as usual, and he was dressed in his chamber-gown, which he had put on before I left him. He was reclining in his chair, in his accustomed posture, with his face towards the fire, and seemed absorbed in meditation,-indeed, at first, we almost hoped he was.

Going up to him, we found him dead. I have often, very often, seen him sleeping, and always peacefully; but I never saw him look so calm and tranquil. His face wore a serene, benign expression, which had impressed me very strongly when we last shook hands: not that he had ever any other look, God knows: but there was something in this so very spiritual, so strangely and indefinably allied to youth, although his head was gray and venerable, that it was new even in him. It came upon me all at once, when on some slight pretence he called me back upon the previous night, to take me by the hand again, and once more say, "God bless you."

A bell-rope hung within his reach, but he had not moved towards it, nor had he stirred, we all agreed, except as I have said, to push away his table, which he could have done, and no doubt did, with a very slight motion of his hand. He had relapsed for a moment into his late train of meditation, and with a thoughtful smile upon his face, had died.

I had long known it to be his wish, that whenever this event should come to pass, we might all be assembled in the house. I therefore lost no time in sending for Mr. Pickwick and for Mr. Miles: both of whom arrived before the messenger's return.

It is not my purpose to dilate upon the sorrow, and affectionate emotions, of which I was at once the witness and the sharer. But I may say, of the humbler mourners, that his faithful housekeeper was fairly heart-broken; that the poor barber would not be comforted; and that I shall respect the homely truth and warmth of heart of Mr. Weller and his son, to the last moment of my life. And the sweet old creetur, sir," said the elder Mr. Weller to me in the afternoon, "has bolted. Him as had no wice, and was so free from temper that a infant might ha' drove him, has been took at last with that 'ere unavoidable fit o' staggers as we all must come to, and gone off his feed for ever! I see him," said the old gentleman, with a moisture in his eye which could not be mistaken, "I see him gettin', every journey, more and more groggy; I says to Samivel, My boy! the Grey's a-going at the knees;' and now my predilictions is fatally werified; and him as I could never do

enough to serve or show my likin' for, is up the great uniwersal spout o' natur'."

I was not the less sensible of the old man's attachment, because he expressed it in his peculiar manner. Indeed, I can truly assert, of both him and his son, that notwithstanding the extraordinary dialogues they held together, and the strange commentaries and corrections with which each of them illustrated the other's speech, I do not think it possible to exceed the sincerity of their regret: and that I am sure their thoughtfulness and anxiety, in anticipating the discharge of many little offices of sympathy, would have done honour to the most delicate-minded persons.

Our friend had frequently told us that his will would be found in a box in the Clock-case: the key of which was in his writing-desk. As he had told us also that he desired it to be opened immediately after his death, whenever that should happen, we met together that night, for the fulfilment of his request.

We found it where he had told us: wrapped in a sealed paper and with it, a codicil of recent date, in which he named Mr. Miles and Mr. Pickwick his executors-as having no need of any greater benefit from his estate, than a generous token (which he bequeathed to them) of his friendship and remembrance.

After pointing out the spot in which he wished his ashes to repose, he gave to "his dear old friends," Jack Redburn and myself, his house, his books, his furniture-in short, all that his house contained and with this legacy, more ample means of maintaining it in its present state, than we, with our habits, and at our term of life, can ever exhaust. Besides these gifts, he left to us, in trust, an annual sum of no insignificant amount, to be distributed in charity among his accustomed pensioners-they are a long list--and such other claimants on his bounty, as might, from time to time, present themselves. And as true charity not only covers a multitude of sins, but includes a multitude of virtues; such as forgiveness, liberal construction, gentleness and mercy to the faults of others, and the remembrance of our own imperfections and advantages; he bade us not inquire too closely into the venial errors of the poor, but finding that they were poor, first to relieve, and then endeavour-at an advantage-to reclaim them.

To the housekeeper, he left an annuity; sufficient for her comfortable maintainance and support through life. For the barber, who has attended him many years, he made a similar provision. And I may make two remarks in this place: first, that I think this pair are very likely to club their means together and make a match of it; and secondly, that I think my friend had this result in his mind: for I have heard him say, more than once, that he could not concur with the generality of mankind, in censuring equal marriages made in later life, since there were many cases in which such unions could not fail to be a wise and rational source of happiness to both parties.

The elder Mr. Weller is so far from viewing this prospect with any feelings of jealousy, that he ap pears to be very much relieved by its contemplation; and his son, if I am not mistaken, participates in

this feeling. We are all of opinion, however, that desk, his crutch, his footstool, hold their accusthe old gentleman's danger, even at its crisis, was tomed places; and the clock stands in its familiar very slight; and that he merely laboured under one corner. We go into the chamber at stated times, of those transitory weaknesses, to which persons of to see that all is as it should be; and to take his temperatement are now and then liable, and care that the light and air are not shut out: for on which become less and less alarming at every return, that point, he expressed a strong solicitude. But it until they wholly subside. I have no doubt he will was his fancy, that the apartment should not be inremain a jolly old widower, for the rest of his life; habited; that it should be religiously preserved in as he has already inquired of me, with much gravity, this condition; and that the voice of his old compawhether a writ of habeas corpus would enable him nion should be heard no more. to settle his property upon Tony, beyond the possi- My own history may be summed up in very few bility of recall; and has, in my presence, conjured words; and even those I should have spared the his son with tears in his eyes, that in the event of his reader, but for my friend's allusion to me some time ever becoming amorous again, he will put him in a since. I have no deeper sorrow than the loss of a straight-waistcoat until the fit is passed, and distinct-child-an only daughter, who is living, and who fled from her father's house but a few weeks before our friend and I first met. I had never spoken of this, even to him; because I have always loved her, and I could not bear to tell him of her error, until I could tell him also of her sorrow and regret. pily I was enabled to do so some time ago. And it will not be long, with Heaven's good leave, before she is restored to me before I find, in her and her husband, the support of my declining years.

ly inform the lady that his property is "made over." Although I have very little doubt that Sam would dutifully comply with these injunctions in a case of extreme necessity, and that he would do so with perfect composure and coolness, I do not apprehend things will ever come to that pass: as the old gentleman seems perfectly happy in the society of his son, his pretty daughter-in law, and his grand-children: and has solemnly announced his determination to "take arter the old un in all respects:" from which I infer that it is his intention to regulate his conduct by the model of Mr. Pickwick, who will certainly set him the example of a single life.

I have diverged for a moment from the subject | with which I set out, for I know that my friend was interested in these little matters, and I have a natural tendency to linger upon any topic that occupied his thoughts, or gave him pleasure or amusement. His remaining wishes are very briefly told. He desired that we would make him the frequent subject of our conversation: at the same time, that we would never speak of him with an air of gloom or restraint, but frankly, and as one whom we still loved, and hoped to meet again. He trusted that the old house would wear no aspect of mourning, but that it would be lively and cheerful; and that we would not remove or cover up his picture, which hangs in our diningroom, but make it our companion, as he had been. His own room, our place of meeting, remains, at his desire, in its accustomed state; our seats are placed about the table, as of old; his easy chair, his

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For my pipe-it is an old relic of home, a thing of no great worth, a poor trifle: but sacred to me for her sake.

Thus, since the death of our venerable friend, Jack Redburn and I have been the sole tenants of the old house: and, day by day, have lounged together in his favourite walks. Mindful of his injunctions, we have long been able to speak of him with ease and cheerfulness; and to remember him as he would be remembered. From certain allusions which Jack has dropped, to his having been deserted and cast off in early life, I am inclined to believe that some passages of his youth may possibly be shadowed out in the history of Mr. Chester and his son: but seeing that he avoids the subject, I have not pursued it.

My task is done. The chamber in which we have whiled away so many hours, not I hope without some pleasure and some profit, is deserted: our happy hour of meeting strikes no more: the chimney corner has grown cold and Master Humphrey's Clock has stopped for ever.

THE END OF MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

POSTSCRIPT.

Now that the time has come for taking leave, I And that the words I have to add are very few indeed. We part until next November. It is a long parting between us, but if I have left you any thing by which to remember me, in the mean while, with no unkind or distant feelings-any thing by which I may be associated in spirit with your firesides, homes, and blameless pleasures-I am happy.

Believe me it has ever been my true desire to add to the common stock of healthful cheerfulness, good humour, and good will. And trust me, that when I return to England, and to another tale of English Life and Manners, Í shall not slacken in this zealous wish.

I take this opportunity of thanking all those who have addressed me by letter since the appearance of the foregoing announcement; and of expressing a hope that they will rest contented with this form of acknowledgment, as their number renders it almost impossible for me to answer them individually.

I bid farewell to them and all my readers, with a regret like that we feel in taking leave of friends, who have become endeared to us by long and close communication; and I look forward with trustfulness and pleasure to our next meeting.

NOVEMBER, 1841.

SP. OF MAG.

From the Spectator.
ON THE MANAGEMENT AND HISTORY
OF FISHES.
Boccius On the Breeding of Fresh-water Fish.*
Yarrell's History of British Fishes.†

ONE of the most striking effects of civilization is its increase of life. In America, there are only 28 inhabitants to the square mile; whilst Europe, although naturally less favourable for procuring subsistence, maintains 61 persons to the square mile. This, however, is by no means the strongest example, as it includes the results of civilization in the United States and the British Colonies: if we take the extreme cases, we shall find, that whilst the territory of the independent Indians only supports 0.2 to the square mile, the United Kingdom supports about 200. Whether existence is a boon or not, may be left for satirists to discuss and philosophers to decide, but here at least is a tangible test to which human advancement may be submitted upon demonstrable principles. Taken at the lowest decimal proportion, the odds are 1,000 to 1 in favour of civilization.

Nor is it in human life alone that this great increase takes place; animals are not only multiplied, but much better cared for than when the creatures are abandoned to themselves or hunted to death both by man and other beasts. The data on this point are not furnished with any thing like the approximate calculation of human inhabitants; but, according to M'Gregor's Statistics of the Globe, there are in Great Britain about two millions of horses, ten and a half millions of horned cattle, forty-four millions of sheep, and upwards of five millions of swine-a total of more than sixty millions of useful animals, in a space one hundred and twenty times less than the continent of America.

It is questionable, however, whether we have yet reached the highest ratio by which life can be maintained from a given extent of land. And, not to speak of agricultural improvements, the volumes before us suggest the means of a considerable increase of human food, if not of an absolute increase of life, through a mode which has hitherto received little or no attention. To attempt to breed fish as a regular article for market, may not only seem Utopian, but needless, with the natural waters and their countless multitudes at our disposal when we can catch them. Yet the argument is pretty much the same as might be raised against breeding sheep and cattle by a Red Indian, looking at his boundless prairies and their myriads of buffaloes. We must confess, we entertain less doubts about the practicability of rearing fish as a commodity, or the advantage of substituting a certain for a very uncertain supply, than as to the value of fresh-water fish as an article of food, eels excepted. This, however, may be a peculiarity of taste; and as Mr. Boccius's Treatise on the Management of Fresh-water Fish is an express exposition of the best mode of rearing them, and Mr. Yarrell's History of British Fishes contains a good nany facts bearing upon the subject, we will endeavor to convey a sufficient view of the facts so far as they are at present known, especially as the mat

A Treatise on the Management of Fresh-water Fish, with a view of making them a source of profit to landed proprietors. By Gottlieb Boccius.-Van Voorst.

A History of British Fishes. By William Yarrell, F.L.S., V.P.Z.S. Illustrated by 500 wood-engravings. In two volumes. Second edition.-Van Voorst.

ter is important in itself and will contain some curious illustrations of the natural history of fishes.

A considerable trade is at present carried on in Saxony in the rearing of fresh-water fish, an acre of water being worth more than an acre of land; and, according to Mr. Boccius, the fresh are as nutritious as salt-water fish, and more digestible, whilst the quality would be much improved under a proper system of breeding. To effect this, there should be three ponds in succession, each increasing in size. The scale Mr. Boccius suggests is three acres for the first, four acres for the second, and five for the third pond-making altogether twelve acres of water; which, after the first three years, will produce an annual income from each pond in rotation. The first pond should be on a slight elevation, as it is the principal feeder of the other ponds from its surplus waters, by means of a water-course and a sluice, the raising of which also drains off the water and facilitates the capture of the fish. The supply of the ponds should be from the drainage of the surrounding country; and it is desirable to receive the refuse of a village or farm if possible, on account of the food it furnishes to the fish. The greater the distance between the ponds, the better, on account of the matter they may receive from their own independent drainage. As all foliage is pernicious, no trees should be permitted to overhang the ponds. A clayey soil is very unfavourable to fish, from its not supplying sufficient nutriment to insects, which form part of their food; but the sides are of little consequence if the bottom is sandy. As Lord Home, in a communication to Mr. Yarrell, attributes the superior flavour of the Blackadder (Blackwater) trout to the river rising in and flowing through mosses, it is probable the drainings of marsh-lands would be beneficial. The ponds need not be deep, excepting at the sluice; but the details of their formation may be found in the treatise.

The mode of stocking suggested by our author is 200 brood carp, 20 brood tench, and 20 brood jack, to each acre of water; the brood being all of one season's spawn. The carp are selected for their fecundity and quality; the tench for their quality, and a notion of their medicinal properties, indicated in the name of the German fisherman, "doctor-fish." The jack, besides their flavour, are chosen for their voracity, as a check to overpopulation. See the Malthusian check applied to fishes.

"Jack or pike is well known to be the most rapacious fresh-water fish that exists; but with all its voracity, it is absolutely necessary to have a sufficient quantity in the carp-stews or ponds, to check increase. *

"It has been fully proved that a given space of earth can produce only a certain quantity; so only can a given space or quantity of water produce a certain quantity either of vegetable matter or animalcules; and, curious as it may appear, yet it is as true as curious, that by storing only the proper number of fish adapted to the water, the weight in three years will prove equal to what it would have been had twice the number been placed therein, so that the smaller number produces the same weight as the larger, from a given quantity of water. By overstocking the water, the fish become sickly, lean, and bony; and to which I have laid down, the fish will be healthy, on the contrary, when the regulations are attended fleshy, and fat.

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By this it will be seen that jack become a useful appendage in well-regulated ponds, tantamount to an absolute necessity, but with the necessity a proper

ty, as it will be found that jack, carp, and tench, | Thomas Lister Parker, Esq., to offer some remarks thrive and grow in equal proportion after this system. on the growth of the young salmon in fresh water: "In stocking ponds, it must be strictly observed and in order to prevent any misconception of the that the jack, carp, and tench, be all of the same sea- terms employed, I shall speak of the young salmon son or spring spawn; and the period for brooding the of the first year as a pink; in its second year, till it pond is towards the end of October, or if the season goes to sea, as a smolt; in the autumn of the second be open and mild, early in November; for the follow-year as salmon peal, or grilse; and afterwards as ing reasons. Carp and tench being fish of the same adult salmon. habits, they slam or mud at the same period, lying torpid through the winter-months, so that they keep secure from the attacks of the juvenile jack; the jack at that age finds sufficient food in worms, &c. to subsist upon; as the spring advances, when the carp and tench leave their winter-lairs, the jack then in turn become sickly as their spawning-season approaches, and consequently do not annoy the carp, much less the tench: this brings them through April, when the jack spawn; and they remain quiet from that time until the wet season of July.

"In June, both the carp and tench spawn; and although in very small casts for the first season, yet they are far larger than would be beneficial for the stews were no jack in them; and from this period the jack becomes useful, for as he gets more and more vigorous so does he keep down the brood and thrive himself. Thus, by making an easy prey, it seldom if ever occurs that a jack chases a carp of his own age: the result is, that through the clearance of the brood the stock finds sufficient food to live and thrive upon."

The profit Mr. Boccius estimates as follows"The calculation for three acres, would give on an average as follows

600 Carp, at 3 pounds each
60 Tench, at 4 pounds each.
60 Jack, at 3 pounds each

2,100 pounds.

240

210

2,550

66

66

66

Total weight of store "Supposing the fish to be worth 18. per pound, the value would be 1271. 10s. for three years, or 421. 10s. per annum; but were only half price obtained, then as the first expense is the only one, it must be termed a profitable rental, especially as under the old system many gentlemen have large pieces of water which produce nothing."

The price of 1s. a pound is not only evidently too high, but it may be questioned whether the breeders could realize 6d. unless they turned retailers themselves. At 3d. a pound, the receipt per acre would be only 31. 158., without allowing for expenses of management and the formation of the ponds. Unless Mr. Boccius has underrated the produce, or we have underrated the value, it does not appear that the formation of fish-ponds, in this country, would answer as a mere profitable investment of capital. Where water already exists which produces nothing, or a person possesses land that yields him no rent, or where it is desirable to drain lands, and the formation of ponds offers a practicable receptacle for their waters, then the breeding of fish on our author's plan may beneficially be taken as a collateral speculation. Putting profit aside, it will furnish a liberal and public-spirited series of experiments, not devoid of the interest attaching to observations of nature.

But from soine scattered passages in Mr. Yarrell's History, there is a probability that much more valuable fish than either carp, tench, or jack, may be raised in ponds; no less than the salmon himself, with possibly soles and mullet.

"In the autumn of the year 1835, Thomas Upton, Esq., of Ingmire Hall, situated between Sedbergh and Kendal, began to enlarge a lake on his property; and in the spring of 1836, some pinks from the Lune, a salmon-river which runs through a valley not far from the lake, were put into it. This lake, called Lillymere, has no communication with the sea, nor any outlet by which fish from other waters can get in, or by which those put in can get out. The pinks when put into Lillymere did not certainly exceed three inches and a half in length. Sixteen months afterwards, that is, in the month of August, 1837, Thomas L. Parker, Esq., then visiting his friend, fished Lillymere, desirous of ascertaining the growth of the pinks: and with a red palmer-fly caught two salmon-peal in excellent condition, silvery bright in colour, measuring fourteen inches in length, and weighing fourteen ounces. One was cooked and eaten; the flesh pink in colour, but not so red as those of the river; well flavoured, and like that of a peal. The other was sent to me in spirit of wine, and a drawing of it immediately taken. In the month of July, 1838, eleven months after, another tion and colour, about two inches longer, and three small salmon was caught, equal to the first in condi

ounces heavier. No doubt was entertained that

these were two of the pinks transferred to the lake in the spring of 1836, the first of which had been retained sixteen months, and the other twenty-seven months, in this fresh-water lake. *

"A knowledge of the growth of young salmon in riment has succeeded elsewhere, may be useful to a fresh-water lake, as here described, and the expethose gentlemen who possess lakes near salmonrivers, from which they can supply them with pinks: whether the salmon thus prevented going to saltwater will still retain sufficient constitutional power to mature their roe, and by depositing it in the usual manner, as far as circumstances permit, produce their species, would be a subject worthy of further investigation. That the rate of growth in young salmon has some reference to the size of the place to which they are restricted, receives further confirmation in these river, lake, and well specimens. The smolt taken from the well in July, 1838, where it had been confined for eight months, was rather smaller in size at that time than the smolts in the Hodder in the preceding April, though both were pinks of the same year, namely, 1837. The smolt taken from the lake in August, 1838, which then measured seven inches and a half, had also grown more rapidly than that in the well, but had not acquired the size it would have gained had it been allowed to go to sea. Further, it may be observed, that the salmon-peal from the lake in August, 1837, then eighteen months old, though perfect in colour, is small for its age; while that of July, 1838, or twentynine months old, is comparatively still more deficient in growth.

SOLES IN FRESH-WATER.

"Soles appear to thrive well in fresh water. Dr. M'Culloch, in his papers on changing the residence of certain fishes from salt water to fresh,' says, he "I am now enabled, through the kindness of was informed that a sole had been kept in a fresh

SALMON IN STILL WATER.