128 NOVEMBER IN BROADLAND. 



spread a hull (whole) mile along the quayside ? An' ain't we a rough, unkempt 

 lot in our sou's an' ileys (oilskins), and faces unwashed for a week at a time? Jist 

 fancy a little herrin' rulin' the lives of thousands ! merchants, fishermen, tellers 

 (counters), auctioneers, cupers (coopers), blacksmiths, sailmakers, ship carpenters, 

 and a hundred other sort of folks, and thousands of 'em all gettin' more or less 

 benefited by one little fish but, in course, the millions of 'em du it. 



' Yew've bin in a fish-house, I s'pose ? That's a rum sight seein' the carters 

 fetchin' the fish; the hands a saltin', washin', spittin' (running them on spits or 

 sticks), hangin', kipperin', packin', labelling an' what not, ain't it ? A few hours 

 hangin' in the smoke-rume makes a herrin' intu a Yarmith blowter ; an' as many 

 weeks as hours make ham-cured reds of 'em. And for a breakfast dainty give me 

 one on 'em, though for a matter of that, didn't they make me dry, I cud manage 

 half-a-dozen. Ha! Ha!' 



Much that relates to the habits and whims of the herrings, their varieties, 

 the manoeuvres of the fishermen to outwit them, much of the birds and marine 

 monsters that prey upon them, of humorous and pathetic incidents that brighten 

 and sadden the fisherman's life, is told us, until the striking of the old Dutch clock 

 in the corner warns us that it is time to be off if we would catch our train. 



A tap at the window brings us out quickly. It is none other than our old 

 friend Trett, who is off to the station with a trunk of eels. 



<I thowt as yow'd be here, 'bor, an' as I've borrered Caleb Hewitt's pony an' 

 heer's rume for yer, wal, I doan't see as how yow'll need tu walk.' . 



We bid Tungate good-night. Trett puts the grey pony into an easy trot, 

 and away we go. 



'Look here, 'bor,' says he, 'yow've allers bin good tu me an' the missus du 

 take this 'ere for yer dinner tu-morrer. It'll plaase yer missus, and I know it will 

 yow. I kilt a couple this mornin' down in the seven-acre midder (meadow).' 



We dine at home next day on a fine fat bean-goose, and wish, dear reader, 

 you could have dropped in upon us and have had a taste of its sweet juicy flesh. 



