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and fattened just like chickens, only with much less trouble and expense. Even the flat fishes are capable of being thus fattened, and become wonderfully thick in body and firm in flesh, so that their weight is really astonishing when it is compared with their length. The food which they require is of the cheapest kind, and the fattened fish can be sold for so high a price as to render the speculation extremely remunerative.

A few lines must be given to the machine in which fish can be conveyed for great distances without suffering damage or perishing for want of air. It consists, as may be seen from the accompanying illustration, of a squared metal box closed above with a cover of perforated zinc. The box is not nearly filled with water, so that there is little fear of the contents being splashed out by the shaking incident to all travelling. The fish congregate at the bottom, and would soon exhaust the air contained in the water were it not renewed by artificial means.

TRANSPORTING BOX.

In one corner of the box is placed a forcing-pump, neatly fitted up with appropriate valves, and communicating with a tube which passes down the corner and crosses the bottom. The lower portion of the tube is pierced with holes like those of a watering-cart, and the pump is so arranged that at each stroke atmospheric air is driven through the tube and bubbles upwards through the water, vivifying the exhausted liquid in its progress.

Little trouble is expended on the process, as half a dozen strokes only are needed at a time, and the pump is so lightly constructed that a child can work it.

The reader will observe that there is not the least mystery or even difficulty about the process, and that any one who can obtain a supply of water is able to hatch and rear young fish until they are old enough to put into a river. Should the fish be of the non-migratory kind they may be placed in a pond, where they will grow with great rapidity, and are always at hand when needed. In one pond which had been thus stocked, and was netted three years after the tiny inmates were admitted, no less than eight thousand pounds weight of fish were captured by a single sweep of the net. This pond was near Montmirail, in the department of the Marne, and is now unfortunately cleared of fish, the proprietor having determined on filling it up and using the ground for agricultural pur

poses.

It is rather remarkable that the Chinese, who seem from time immemorial to have known the rudiments of almost every science, and never to have advanced beyond them, are well acquainted with the principles of pisciculture, and have carried out the science to a greater extent than is usual with that thrifty and omnivorous nation, except when a supply of food is in question. They have even discovered that when the little fishes have absorbed the egg vesicles, and are beginning to need food which cannot be supplied in the natural manner by casual insects and aquatic animalcules, the best way to feed them is to beat up the yolk of an egg and pour it into the water; thus furnishing them with a kind of diet that requires no trouble to procure, being carried into their tiny mouths by the mere action of the water; and which is analogous to the nutriment contained in the vesicle from which they had previously drawn their support.

It is of course impossible, in the limited space which can be allotted to a single subject in the pages of a magazine, to give more than a super

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In bright Italian day,

When first she heard the lay,
Ecco! l'aurora d'un giorno glorioso.'

And thus obey her will, those weary feet,
Through smoky alley, lane, or dismal street
Tread step by step along.

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Not one she knows, scarce one would question' where'
Her rightful home, or why she strolleth there.
The language of her voice is sweet and rare;
Unknown to that rough throng,

Who listen to her song,

'Ecco l'aurora d'un giorno glorioso.'

But one from her own land in sickness lies
In some dim attic near; and ere he dies
Is roused by words like these.

Of youth and of a far-off land he dreams,

The past by some sweet charm and future seems
Enwoven in one blaze of glorious gleams
Of joy; like light he sees,

Beaming with peace and ease,
'Ecco! l'aurora d'un giorno glorioso.'

That voice, an angel to his tranced sight
Glides o'er a vista of ethereal light

Far in the heights above;

Who, singing, scatters flowers to mark the way,
Such gorgeous hues as vie each rainbow ray,
And bids him follow to the gate of day.

To Paradise above,

Directs that voice of love,

Ecco! l'aurora d'un giorno glorioso.'

Strange melodies from thence now reach his ear,
Whence in yon light majestic steps appear,

Dazzling as crystalled snow.

Down comes to meet him by that radiant shore
E'en one he loved yet thought to meet no more,
Who, smiling, said, 'We dreamed that life was o'er.
But, ah! it was not so,

"Twas but the end of woe,

Ecco! l'aurora d'un giorno glorioso.'

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THE MYSTERY OF THE HOTEL DE L'ORME.

HE little town of St. Bignold

Twas in a foment when, early in

the forenoon of the 8th of October, 1812, a report rang through it that a murder had been committed within its walls. Such a thing had not been heard of for years; not, at all events, since the Comte de l'Orme's marriage with the blackeyed daughter of Lopez, the moneylender- the event from which all the late great occurrences at St. Bignold were dated-and strangely enough the victim of the atrocious deed was Madame de l'Orme herself.

Every one at St. Bignold knew how ill that unequal marriage had turned out; indeed, could it be otherwise, when it was only for her wealth that the young handsome comte had sold himself to the hightempered, jealous heiress? Yet at the time all had admired his selfsacrifice, for it was well known that it was made not for his own sake alone, but for that of his orphan sisters and brother, who without it had been left portionless and uneducated. For them he sacrificed his liberty, for them he bound himself for life to one whose golden attractions far exceeded those of her person, and whose pride, self-will, and jealousy, rendered the first five years after their marriage one longcontinued succession of disputes and discomforts. At the end of that time old Lopez died; and soon afterwards it was announced that the Comte de l'Orme had volunteered for the Russian campaign.

No one was astonished, and all were rejoiced to learn that he had discovered so glorious and exemplary a means of escaping from the thraldom in which he had hitherto been held; but they were amazed, indeed, when a week or two after his departure the comtesse broke up her establishment at the castle, and removed to the strange old house at St. Bignold, bequeathed to her by her father.

The reasons for this change it was difficult to discover, and no one had

a right to question them. Yet, the 'Hotel de l'Orme,' as the neighbours had nicknamed old Lopez's dwelling-place on his daughter's marriage, was not the place likely to be selected as the abode of a woman so proud of her rank, and so resolute in resisting the slightest approach to familiarity from any one she chose to consider her inferior.

It is true that the comtesse had had the original entrance to the house built up, and a new approach made to it through a cul-de-sac opening almost directly into the better part of the town; and probably she imagined that by this precaution she had acquired an aristocratic retirement for her mansion, which certainly boasted of some apartments of good size. But to one really alive to the bienséances of life the situation of the house would have caused incessant annoyance, for the original front abutted on one of the worst streets of St. Bignold, inhabited by the very poorest of the people, whose windows completely commanded those of the hotel. One often sees such streets as the Rue Sylvaine in ancient walled towns, where the contracted space obliged the architects to make height take the place of breadth, where the gabled houses rise to an immense height, and each story overhangs the one beneath, until the uppermost ones almost meet in the centre, leaving between scarce one narrow strip of sky, and entirely shutting out the rays of the joyful, healthgiving sun. Such was the case in the Rue Sylvaine; and of course the Hotel de l'Orme was as dark and dismal as possible, in spite of its carved windows and the really elegant balustrades which ran along the narrow ledge of the third floor, where madame's principal apartments were situated. The furniture and establishment of the hotel were more in keeping with the situation of the house than the rank of its owner. The ground floor was let off to a shoemaker, whose wife took

charge of the apartment above in which Madame de l'Orme received the very few persons who visited her on business affairs- visitors of friendship there never were. A few stiff-backed chairs and spider-legged tables, with one or two tiny squares of carpet in the midst of the highlywaxed floors, composed the furniture of these desolate-looking rooms; nor was the private apartment of madame much more luxuriously furnished, except in one respect, and that oddly enough was in mirrors! The whole chamber seemed lined with them. Turn where you would your own face and figure met your gaze, and the room seemed filled to suffocation with the reflected reflections of it.

On a

stranger the effect at first was very startling. He seemed to find himself in a crowded room, and a moment or two elapsed ere he discovered that the ideal crowd was formed of repeated images of himself. There were, however, no strangers admitted there during Madame de l'Orme's life. After her death there were enough, heaven knows!

The small establishment of this dreary place consisted, besides Madeline the shoemaker's wife, of a coachman and footman, who only entered the house at stated hours to receive orders for the day, and Madame de l'Orme's maid, Julie, a young girl of twenty, the only member of the household of the château who had accompanied her mistress to St. Bignold.

To Julie alone were intrusted the mysteries of the sanctum on the third floor; no one else was permitted to cross the threshold of its iron-bound door, no one else was admitted to the slightest degree of confidence from her haughty mistress. The reason of this confidence in so young a girl it had hitherto been impossible to fathom, though many speculated on the strangeness of one in all respects so great a contrast to her mistress, being exempt from the harsh treatment every one else had to bear from Madame de l'Orme. But then, as some one wisely remarked, Who knew what treatment she really did receive?' Old Madeline reported

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that Julie said madame was very good to her; but that might or might not be; who could tell? It was certain that Julie always looked melancholy, and that betokened no very happy home!

Julie's history was a sad and simple one. Her parents had died of fever when she was a mere infant, and the Comte de l'Orme-he was the Comte Auguste then-had taken pity on the pretty homeless child, and had persuaded his mother to have her brought to the château, and educated under her own eye. Thus the little girl was in many things almost a lady, and hence perhaps arose her reserve to those of her own rank, and the few friendships she made among them. On the comte's marriage, Julie was transferred to the new comtesse's care, and had been retained in a confidential capacity near her person ever since. Indeed it was often said that if Madame de l'Orme cared for any one or trusted any one, it was Julie.

Scandal-mongers hinted that the watchful care she bestowed on the orphan might arise less from affection than jealousy; that she was clever enough to see that the best chance of discouraging Monsieur de l'Orme's evident partiality for the young girl was to keep her constantly under her own eye. But this was only scandal. It is true that in his lady's presence it was impossible for him to say even one kind word to the child whose life he had saved, and whom he had hitherto treated with brotherly kindness, but that was all. Yet every one remarked that when Monsieur de l'Orme and his valet left the castle little Julie looked very sad, and when some time afterwards it was certain that they had joined the fatal Russian expedition she looked sadder still. Then the news from the seat of war, how eagerly she listened to it! How pale her cheek grew when a report reached St. Bignold that the division in which Monsieur de L'Orme served had been exposed to great danger at the passage of the Niemen! How her pretty eyes filled with tears when, in spite of the official bulletins of success and victory,

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