MAY IN BROADLAND. 51 



runnin I The eel-sets are suffin like a big trawl net, with the mouth athwart the 

 river; into it the scrigglers swim, and down tu the poke end they wriggle. In course 

 we take good care by manes of proper contrivances to puzzle 'em how tu git out 

 agin. Dark, wet September nights are the best for this fishin', especially if a bit 

 of thunder keeps a rumblin'. In a good season tons of eels are taken an' sent tu 

 the London markets. Them cockneys dote, so they tell me, on 'em.' 



' What's babbin' like, 'bor ? Wai, I'll tell yow. It's as aisy as aisy if yer only 

 knows how. Yow get some worams, as yow kin any damp night when they turn 

 up on the grass tu 'mardle.' Yow want a lantern an' a tin, and yow want ter look 

 lively, for they sune pop in agin. When yow want to 'bab' yow make a ; bab.' 

 And this is how yow du it I might as well show yer, for I shall be a babbin' tu- 

 night down hinder.' 



Taking out a tin of lively worms, and finding up some thread and a needle, he 

 begins impaling each unhappy victim, making quite a festoon of them. We try 

 to watch the operation without a shudder: he evidently thinks he is putting the 

 worms to very little inconvenience. 



'Yow then bunch 'em up like so ' (winding them round his fingers) 'an' tie 

 up in a knot, fix on yer sinker, an' theer yow are. Tie the lot on the end of yer 

 line, bob it up an' down till you feel an eel a chuckin', then heave hirjx up gently 

 an' drop him in yer boat, which he'll du, when his teeth git disintangled. We 

 sumtimes catch tew or three stone a night. Sumtimes never a eel, 'bor. Them 

 boxes outside we pop 'em intu, where they doan't seem wery uncomfortable, for 

 the tide goes through 'em, 'cos they're riddled with holes; then when we want to 

 sell 'em, there yow are, yer see! 



1 What about the winter? Wai, we go a-pickin' for sich eels as have buried 

 theerselves in the mud, 'bor, for all doan't travel seawards. Here's a eel-pick. 



' Eels is rum things lor, they're as big a mystery as anything I knows on. 

 Some say they grows from hoss-hairs: some say they've young 'ens I doan't 

 believe nayther. Why, I've seen under a magnifier what folks calls the fat of the 

 eel, and it's no more nor less than eggs. The ' over ' (ova), as a gent called it, 

 don't grow wery big till the eels are in the deep seas where they spawn, goodness 

 only knows where; and where the old 'uns go after is just as big a wonder. Any- 

 way, I've seed little totty eels not bigger nor darnin' needles, and yow can see 

 through 'em, coming up the shallows from the sea in thousands in the springtime. 



Much more eel-lore is dispensed, which space forbids to detail. As we are 

 leaving the old man in his lonesome hut, to step into our boat, a kingfisher 



