plump; and Tyacke, joyful at the improvement which he daily witnessed, let his stock feed on for a week. It was towards evening that he bethought himself, as the tide was out, that if he meant to reach Billingsgate by the next morning it would be wise to re‐ship his oysters before turning in for the night. The boat was lowered; but, as he attempted to land, he was warned off by the owner of the soil, who stood there with several fierce‐ looking fellows, armed with cutlasses and fowling‐pieces, evidently anticipating the Cornishman’s intention, and determined to frustrate it at all hazards. “‘What do you want here?’ he asked of Tyacke. “‘The oysters I put down to feed,’ was the reply; ‘they were placed there by your permission, and now I am anxious to re‐ship them, to be in time for to‐morrow’s market.’ “‘True,’ replied the Kentishman, ‘I gave you leave to lay down the oysters and feed them, but not a word was said about re‐shipping them. Where they are, there they stay; and if you persist in trespassing, I shall know what to do.’ “Poor Tyacke found himself much in the predicament of many a flat who has been picked up by a sharp. A century ago law was not justice, nor justice law. Perhaps it may not be so even now, and the story of the lawyer who ate the oyster in dispute, and gave each of the disputants a shell, may hold as good in our day as it did in that when the author of the ‘Beggars’ Opera’ put it into verse.” It is said that the oyster, a delicate, refined animal, is particularly fond of music. One of the oyster’s historians says that an old ballad is still sung by many a hardy seaman as he trolls his dredging nets:— “The herring loves the merry moonlight, The mackerel loves the wind, But the oyster loves the dredger’s song, For he comes of a gentle kind.” Shakspere, it may be remembered, alludes to “an oyster crossed in love.” Raised out of his native waters, the oyster makes the voyage to the first station in his destined travels in company with his kind, and if it occupies a long time, is attentively supplied with refreshing sea‐water. If taken proper care of, he arrives at the wharf as lively as when first taken from his native element. Witness the excellent American “Blue Points,” now commonly sold in England. Arrived in port, the oyster too often, however, first becomes sensible of the miseries of slavery, for here he is shovelled into carts and barrows, and tumbled into sacks, and he may consider himself greatly fortunate if he gets a drink of salted, not sea, water.