A widow's stoky. S23 



The Parisian fishwives are clean and buxom women, like 

 their sisters of Newhaven, and they are quite as celebrated if 

 not so picturesque in their costume. About a century and a 

 half ago — and I need not go further back — ^there were a great 

 number of fishwives in Paris, there being not less than 4000 

 oyster-women, who pursued their business with much dexterity, 

 and were able to cheat their customers as weU, if not better, 

 than, any modem fishwife. One of their best tricks was to 

 swallow many of the finest oysters under the pretence of their 

 not being fresh. Among the Parisian fishwives of the last cen- 

 tury we are able to pick out Madame Picard, who was famed 

 for her poetical talent, and was personally known to many of 

 ■ the eminent Frenchmen of the last century. Her poems were 

 collected and published in a little volume, and ultimately by 

 marriage this fishwife became a lady, having married a very 

 wealthy silk merchant. The fishwives of Paris have long been 

 historical : they have figured prominently in all the great 

 events connected with the history of that city. Deputations 

 from these market-women, gorgeously dressed in silk and lace, 

 and bedecked with diamonds and other precious stones, fre- 

 quently took part in public affairs. Mirabeau was a great 

 favourite of the Parisian fishwives ; at his death they attended 

 his funeral and wore mourning for him. These Poissardes took 

 an active part in the revolution of 1789, and did deeds of 

 horror and charity that one has a difliculty in reconciling. It 

 was no uncommon sight, for instance, to see the fishwives 

 carrying about on poles the heads of obnoxious persons who 

 had been murdered by the mob. 



The short and simple annals of the fisher-folk are all 

 tinged with melancholy — there is a skeleton in every closet. 

 There is no household but has to mourn the loss of a father 

 or a son. Annals of storms and chronicles of deaths form the 

 talk of the aged in all the fishing villages. The following nar- 

 rative is a sample of hundreds of other sad tales that might 

 be collected from the coast people of Scotland. It was related 

 to a friend by a woman at Musselburgh : — " Weel, ye see, sir, 

 I haena ony great story tiU tell. At; the time I lost my guid- 

 man I was livin' doon by at the Pans (Prestonpans, a fishing 

 village). The herrin' season was ower about a month, and 

 my guidman had laid by a guid pickle siller, and we had 

 skytched oot a lot o' plans for the futur'. We had nae bairns 

 o' oor ain, although we had been married for mony years ■ but 



