The head-quarters of the pilchard in the United Kingdom are, as we have said, the Cornish sea-ports. The usual buyers of pilchards are the curers, who purchase sometimes by the cran, but more frequently by the hogshead. The fish, after the curing process, are packed in brine in casks, or dried and barrelled in the same way as red-herrings, according to the state of the market. In some instances they are smoked to keep only a short time, and sold like bloaters, but this is not a very usual or remunerative proceeding. The fish, as we have stated, have become scarcer of late years, but the same may be said of all sea-fish, and the scarcity is, no doubt, caused by the want of sufficient regulations for their protection during their spawning season, a protection which is afforded to all fresh-water fish. Sea-fish have innumerable enemies, and whilst the destruction, by millions, of herrings and mackerel in full roe is permitted and even encouraged by law, it is unreasonable to expect the stock of sea-fish to increase. For every female herring or mackerel destroyed whilst in roe, 500,000 ova perish, and whilst the salmon, trout, perch, and all fresh-water fish are protected by act of parliament, there is no protection whatever for our sea-fisheries. The remedy is very simple. Let it be made illegal to destroy sea-fish whilst breeding, that is, give them a couple of months’ immunity, and the supply of a good wholesome article of food for the poor man will be increased a hundred-fold, and fish will be procurable in the London market at a tenth part of the present price. The subject is well worth the attention of the legislature, and he will deserve well of the nation who shall first call the attention of Parliament to so important a matter, and one in which there is room for such a vast improvement. Astley H. Baldwin.
A ROMANCE OF LIMA.
Many years ago a young Englishman, a medical student named Astley, went to Lima. The love of adventure was strong upon him, and all he met with in his own country was too tame to satisfy it. Proud of the profession for which he was studying, and trusting to it for subsistence, strong and healthy in body and in mind, he left England with a bold heart, and this was the life he led, and what came of it.
At a time when the difficulty of procuring subjects for anatomical study was very great, and when to procure them honestly was impossible, as the prejudice against dissection was so strong that no one was willing to submit the body of any one connected with him to examination, it is well known that there were men who made it their business to obtain, at no small risk, bodies, generally those of the newly-buried, which they sold to surgeons, medical students, or indeed to any one who stood in need of the ghastly commodity.
This class, known as “body snatchers” and “resurrection men,” has died out, since there is happily now little prejudice against what has been triumphantly proved to be a necessary branch of scientific study; but at the time of our story their hideous work was a thriving and profitable one.
Richard Astley, in common with the rest of the profession, availed himself of their services, and many times in the black night his door was opened to those who did not knock, but who were expected and waited for, and who, entering silently, stealthily deposited a dread burden upon the table prepared for its reception. Old and young, men, women, and children, all in turn lay upon that grim table, and Astley’s skilful instruments cut their way to secrets that were destined to benefit the living.
Though he was not hard-hearted, it was not unnatural that in time he should grow so much accustomed to the sight of his “subjects” as to feel nothing but a momentary pity as he put aside the clustering curls of infancy, or uncovered the face of a man struck down in the glory of his years.
One night, as many nights before, the stealthy visit was paid, and Astley took his lamp to examine the new subject. Neither strong man nor tender child this time, but a young and beautiful woman. The dead face was so lovely that it did not seem possible that light in the closed eyes, and colour in the pale lips and cheeks, could make it lovelier. The fair hair had fallen back, and gave no shade to the white brow, and the long fair lashes lay in a thick fringe upon the violet-tinted underlids.
She was very tall and slender, and her hands—one of which hung down as she lay upon the table—were long and perfectly shaped. As Astley lifted the hand to lay it on her breast, he thought how beautiful it must once have been, since now, when there was not the faintest rose-tint to relieve the deathly pallor of it, it was so exquisite. She wore one garment, a long flannel shroud, very straitly made, through which scanty drapery the outline of her slender limbs was distinctly visible, and below which her delicate feet were seen, bare to the ankle.
Astley was troubled as he had never been before. The idea of treating this beautiful corpse as he had done all others brought to