Captain Isidore Le Roy is to be sent to the
College of France, in order to be prepared by
the Professor himself fur this grand attempt
to cultivate the sea. Amongst the measures
to be taken for the accomplishment of this
design, there are some whose efficaciousness
has been already demonstrated by
experience, and which, by their immediate
application, will lead to sure results. But,
alongside of this acquired knowledge, there
are mysteries which can only be revealed by
persevering observation. It is therefore
necessary to establish on the coast-line vast
laboratories of science, where the acquisitions
made by continued experiment, may furnish
Industry with new means of extending her
empire. The saline lakes of the South of
France, the creeks of the Atlantic coast, of
Algeria and Corsica, oiler the most varied
conditions for the organisation of these great
cantonments, which will be progressively
transformed, in accordance with the Imperial
desire, into a veritable apparatus for the
sowing and the cultivation of the sea. The
different species which promise to be of the
greatest utility as articles of food, admitted by
turns into the numerous basins of these novel
zoological water-gardens, will be watched,
like the quadrupeds brought up in parks or
farms, by the attentive eye of observers
deputed to study the laws of their propagation
and development. A clever draughtsman
would fix with the pencil the curious
discoveries made in these living museums,
and would prepare the sketch-book of one of
the most important publications with which
the annals of natural history have ever been
enriched. The unexpected phenomena which
Monsieur Coste witnessed at Concarneau, in
the small confined fish-ponds of the pilot
Guillou, leave no doubt as to the immense
utility of an establishment which would
furnish the State with the means of action
proportioned to the wants of a grand economical
enterprise.

                 A DUEL IN JEST.

IN a grave old German essay upon duelling,
there is a story somewhat pointless yet,
inasmuch as it is true, worth noting as a picture
of chivalry at romps in the year sixteen
hundred and nineteen.

In Valentia a noble lord whom the
discreet chronicler calls, as he calls all the
persons in the tale, by a fictitious name, held
a feast at the wedding of his daughter.
Being the eldest knight of his order, he
invited all his brother knights from far and
near to assist at his festival, and there were
among the guests many young nobles who
were only candidates for investiture. Among
these was one the number of whose ancestors
was not greater than the number of the
apostles. He was snubbed; and a young
braggart, Fracasio, who had but two ancestors
missing out of a pedigree that went back all
the way to his distinguished father Adam,
was especially merry at the expense of the
youth who had only twelve grandfathers to
mention. At dinner, Fracasio sat near his
victim, and in sport threw into his face a cup
of Spanish wine, that drenched the curl out
of his hair and spoilt the beauty of his
pointed collar. Next to the young man sat
a knight who was about to be his brother-in-law,
being already plighted to his sister. By
this knight the insult was at once repaid in
kind. Another cup of wine was thrown at
the aggressor. A friend of Fracasio's, who
happened to sit at the other end of the table,
hurled then his cup of wine at the new
combatant, but this in its passage sprinkled no
less than six people, who immediately filled
their six cups and threw them all at the new
champion. The six cups of wine, travelling
down the table, sprinkled many guests, and
in a short time there was a general discharge
of full wine-cups from both sides of the table.
The lights were quenched. The table was
thrown down, the guests struggled with one
another in the dark. But all this riot was
maintained in jest; no knight dishonoured
himself by the drawing of a deadly weapon.
When the lights were rekindled a general
amnesty was declared, the tables were
restored, and everybody returned quietly to
the celebration of the wedding feast, except
one knight, who had the mouth of a lion and
a chicken's heart.

This knight, Roderick, mingled big threats
with the laughter of his comrades. He was
not to be changed so easily. He never left
unpunished a churl who by daylight rubbed
against his clothes in passing, and was he to
forgive those who brought their hands too
near him in the dark! It was true that he
had not been taken by the throat. But
somebody had lain with his nose against
his boot-sole. Who was that man? For he
must have his blood. The other knights
sought to appease their friend with reasonable
and good-natured words. When these
failed they returned to their cups, and paid
no further heed to him. Roderick stood
apart still fulminating a neglected wrath
until at last he also returned to the table
and growled as he drank until he had
drunk himself into a stupid silence.
Somebody then advised that he should be
carried up to bed, and he was put to bed by his
companions.

In the morning Roderick awoke somewhat
uncertain as to his position. He slept in the
same room with twelve or fourteen other
knights of his own rank. They were talking
in their beds to one another. He feigned
sleep that he might be guided in his conduct
by their manner of discussion. They were
very charitable to their comrade, as knights
ought to be. Their poor friend Roderick
was an honest fellow, but he had been
troubled in his cups last night. There was
no sword and gunpowder whatever in their