ioo With Fish-Lines and Nets 



"That 'ere blizzard," said the old fellow 



to me one evening in June, as we sat on some 

 eel-pots discussing the next day's weather, 



"killed every crab in the bay, sure. The 



ice hurt 'em , and then the bliz- 

 zard made the water so cold that the crit- 

 ters all died. You won't see a crab here 



this summer." 



But it seems that the crab crop is somewhat 

 like the peach crop. The regular spring an- 

 nouncement to the effect that every peach-bud 

 in the country has been nipped by the frost is 

 hailed with joy by every lover of peaches, who 

 then feels sure that a fair crop can be counted up- 

 on. The blizzard may have done many things ; 

 it certainly did not kill all the crabs. It knocked 

 down the docks of the neighborhood, and put 

 back the spring about a fortnight; it did all 

 sorts of damage to chimneys, roofs, and fences. 

 But it did not kill the crabs, and it gave an in- 

 exhaustible topic of conversation to the gentry 

 who gather around the store-stove six nights 

 out of the seven to settle the affairs of the na- 

 tion, if talk can settle them. If the fish did 

 not bite ; if the summer was windy and cold 



