planting," and the general cultivation of the
ground. Young oysters are caught and
transferred to places where they will find the
most nourishment; samples are drawn up,
like wine out of a cask, inspected, specimens
tasted, and the remainder returned to the
sea. The natural enemies of the oyster are
sifted out and destroyed — especially the poisonous
star-fish, and the mysterious "borer." The
former must be the old original regular oyster-
eater, as it devours them without pepper,
vinegar, bread-and-butter, or brown stout;
while the latter— a creature like a periwinkle—
stabs them to the heart, and leaves no sign but
a few black specks upon the shell. The whole
of this planting process is agricultural in
its character; and it occupies about six hours
on each of the three days. So important is it
to the welfare of the happy fishing-ground, and
so necessary is it not only to preserve the young
oysters already distributed, but to import fresh
life into the plantation, that last year (in 1858)
the sum of fifteen thousand pounds was invested
by the free company in a young oyster brood
purchased from the coast of Essex.

The dredging for the London market, a task
of about two hours' duration, is performed on
the other three days of the week generally on
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It is regulated
by the two salesmen who represent that happy
fishing-ground in the market of Lower Thames-
street, and it is this regulation which prevents
any violent fluctuations of price. The telegram
received from these agents directs the number of
bushels that are to be caught for market on
each fishing clay, and the catching of these
bushels is work that is equally divided amongst
all the effective members of the little oyster
fleet. Each crew of three men goes off to its
particular boat to dredge its particular "stint"
(the number it is to catch), and it is not allowed
to draw up more than its allotted portion.

The first step in oyster-dredging is to put on an
armour of warm clothing in which it is extremely
difficult for a novice to move or breathe. There
are long worsted stockings to be drawn on over
the trouser-legs; a pair of long, heavy, sewer-
boots, reaching almost to the waist, to be forced
on over these, a thick Guernsey shirt to be
stretched over your body-coat, and an oilskin
sou'-wester hat (like a dustman's) to be placed
on your head. It is not easy to put on a
Guernsey shirt without some care and practice,
as the material is so highly elastic, that the arms
are contracted to about the size of gun-bags, and
the head hole is like the mouth of a stone
bottle. As the whole fabric is struggled into
from the bottom upwards, there is a short period
when you are enveloped in total darkness, when
you feel your mouth full of wool, the grip of
some tight though soft binding substance across
your nose, and a strong sense of the impossibility
of getting your head out through the
chimney-pot above. When you emerge, once
more, into the daylight, you feel flushed and
rumpled, and you know that it requires some
physical force to pull down the blue strait-jacket-
like wrapper as far as your waist. In case of
dirty weather, which is always provided for, you
have a black, or yellow, salt, clammy oilskin
overcoat thrown into your arms, which feels
like the soddened skinny casing of some large
fish.

About eight o'clock on a fresh October morning,
the united company of free, happy family
oyster-fishers, plunge heavily and slowly through
the stones on the beach, and proceed, in a
thoughtful and deliberate manner, to push off
their boats, and row out to their little oyster
fleet. They are all equal; they are all working
together for good. The father meets his son,
who is apprenticed out of the domestic circle—
perhaps to a brother fisher next door but two;
the nephew meets his uncle, the uncle meets
his cousin, the cousin inquires after his aunt,
who is laid up with the lumbago; the grandson
lends a helping hand to his grandfather; the
brother-in-law is in attendance upon his relations
by marriage, and the whole scene is a picture of
quiet, profitable, patriarchal trade. A dozen happy
family shareholders will join to shoulder a rope,
and pull off a barge-like boat that the tide has
left high and dry. So confidentially do they lay
their heads together to do this, that they look like
a little open air board meeting held on the beach.
Their whole movements seem to be regulated by
a strong feeling that they have many centuries
before them in which to do their work; and
whatever accusation may be brought against
them, there is no man who can say that he ever
saw them in a hurry. They have lived amongst
oysters, and thought of them so long, till, at
last, it is possible to trace something of that
steady, stationary shell-fish in their nature.
They have fallen upon favourable ground where
they fatten and thrive; they show no disposition
to wander or move.

The ship to which we row off is a small yacht-
like smack, of about fifteen tons burden. Its
deck is almost flush with the bulwarks, and
covered with baskets, buckets, and nets; its
aspect is brown and yellow; and its flavour is as
decidedly salt and fishy as that of a free-
dredging oyster smack ought to be. When our
grey sails are set we skim away from our inner
coast moorings, through the little busy fleet,
which, under all canvas, is already at work
within the pole-marked bounds of the happy
growing-ground, until we come to our proper
anchorage, as settled by the foreman, the deputy,
and the jury-board. The bright green hills of
Kent, and the island of Sheppey, half circle us
on the landscape. The blue salt water comes
rolling in from the North Sea at the mouth of
the bay; the thin, pale, fleecy, grey and golden
clouds are flying over our heads; and the dull
sound of boat-building hammers comes to us
from the low black town.

Our nets are like fish— a thick trellis-work of
undressed buffalo bide, washed almost white with
repeated dipping; and the iron knife-like bar at
the mouth is formed so as to scrape the oyster
beds. They are dropped with their iron work,
like small anchors; and, when they are hauled