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294 the tanner, to the marrow which makes lip-salve for fine ladies, together with their use as food, more than pays their price when alive. The meat is minced by machinery, salted and peppered to the taste of the fowls, and exceedingly enjoyed by them. They are let out in divisions into portions of an area of twenty acres, enclosed by the buildings appropriated to them, and by walls; and in the high insect season they are allowed to range further, under strict guardianship. After four years of this easy life,—spent in apartments which are kept warm in winter and cool in summer, and always clean,—they receive the summons of fate. The four-year-olds are drawn apart, and fed on crushed grain for three weeks, before being sent to Paris for the market. The work of the hens is done for them, beyond the mere laying. The eggs are hatched in chambers, heated and darkened to the degree ascertained to exist under the sitting hen. Every morning the newly hatched chicks are removed to the nursery, and fresh eggs are placed in the space they vacate.

The buying and selling which ensues upon this poultry rearing is very remarkable. The farmers are eager for the horses’ bones (as are the lamp-black and button-makers), and the gardeners for the manure of the fowls, which has a special value for florists. The head and hoofs make glue and Prussian blue. The poultry returns are, however, the most interesting to us. The sale of eggs is 40,000 dozen per week, bringing in 250,000 dollars per annum, at the rate of four francs, or 3s. 4d., per six dozen. In the three months of last autumn M. de Sora sold in Paris nearly 12,000 capons. His total expenses, including an allowance for dilapidations and repairs, amount to somewhat less than 16,000l., and his annual profits are about 36,500l.

We shall not expect our English gentlewomen to set up horse-slaying establishments, or poultry houses employing a hundred, or half a hundred attendants; but why should they not adopt the practices suggested by growing knowledge and skill? The doubt, to those who are aware of the pressure of the egg and fowl demand, will be, whether I am not treating the vocation of henwife unworthily by supposing it a subordinate department of the dairy occupation. I do indeed believe that there is a creditable and useful career awaiting a very considerable number of my country-women, whenever they may choose to betake themselves to supplying our towns and villages and factory districts with poultry and eggs.

I have said nothing of the particular branches of demand which relate to ducks and turkeys. I must also leave to the imagination and fair judgment of those whom it may concern the prospect from the culture of honey. There are places even in this country where women can make a living very easily as bee mistresses; and the care of bees would combine well with that of the dairy and poultry yard. The same may be said of the production of fruit and flowers to a certain extent; but it would not be prudent to undertake too many things; and the calling of the market gardener,—also very suitable to women,—seems to comprehend these latter productions more directly than the dairy and poultry and pig pursuits.

It would be really a great satisfaction to some of the best friends of active and self-reliant English women to see some of them entering upon departments of profitable industry so suitable for them, and at present so ill occupied. It cannot be pride that is in the way; for there is no sort of humiliation connected with a career so independent and useful and pleasant. I can only suppose that the opportunity is not appreciated, because the need is not understood. I am glad to have heard of one young lady who has thought of a rural career for herself, whether in a right or impracticable direction. I hope to hear of more before I die. 2em

by side in our tiny skiff

Floating along with the tide,

My love and I watched the fading light

Of the summer eve die into the night,

And the moon through her queendom glide.

Floating along where the flexile trees

To the river’s brink had grown;

And with drooping branches the waters brushed

As in mimic rapids they brawled and rushed

On a fallen tree or a stone.

Then I turned away from the starry heavens

To gaze in my dear one’s eyes;

But they met not mine in their calm repose,

For troubled gleams in their depths arose,

And her smiles gave place to sighs.

Close to my side she shuddering clung,

And told her fears on my breast;

Beneath these waters that round us play,

The tangled weed and the darkness stay,

And the dead in their shadows rest!

Side by side could we float for aye,

Calm river and peaceful sky!

But alas! our life like the surface gleams,

But to merge our fates in the turbid streams

That under its surface lie!

And I shrink, I shrink from the coming storms,

Thy courage may haply brave—

Lest these clinging arms in my selfish dread,

When the smiling moments of youth have fled

May gulph thee, too, in the wave!”

Then up I raised the face of my love

Till the moonbeams tinted her brow;

Till the gloomy shadow of bending trees

And the haze of the night no more she sees,

Nor the treacherous current below.

And the genial warmth of a trusting heart

Came back to her radiant eyes;

And her hand clasps mine, as borne by the tide

Wherever it listeth, through life we glide

Our gaze on the changeless skies!