[to be continued.]
[HOW THE CHILDREN CAUGHT SOME QUEER FISH.]
BY ALLAN FORMAN.
"Oh, Uncle Harry, I've got another dog-fish!" shouted Charley Newton, as he pulled in a small specimen of the genus Squalidæ.
"Keep on," laughed his uncle. "We'll soon have enough for dinner."
Harry Ferris had taken his nephews and niece out fishing on Long Island Sound. They were a jolly party: there was Uncle Harry himself, who, to use the language of one of his appreciative nephews, "had been everywhere, and knew everything," Tom and Charley Newton, two fine boys aged sixteen and fourteen, and Alice, their sister, a young lady of ten. Charley had distinguished himself so far by catching only dog-fish, a small species of shark.
"What do people call them dog-fish for?" asked Alice.
"I don't know," answered her uncle, "unless it is because they are so tough that a dog can't eat them."
"How rough their skins are!—just like sand-paper," remarked Tom, touching the fish Charley had just caught.
"The skins are sometimes used for making shagreen," said Uncle Harry. And then added, in answer to an inquiring look from Alice: "Shagreen is a sort of leather generally made from horses' or mules' hides. The genuine article comes from Turkey, and is used for covering small boxes, instrument cases, and the like; but the imitation made from sharks' hide is almost as good for all practical purposes."
How much more he might have told them about shagreen I do not know, for he was interrupted by Alice shouting, "Oh, Uncle Harry! what kind of fish is this?" as she held up for his inspection a queer-looking fish of a brownish color, with two pectoral fins of a size out of all proportion to its body. She put it into a tub of water, and watched it as it folded and opened its fins like fans. "Is it a flying-fish?" she asked.
"It is a sea-robin, Alice, sometimes known as a pig-fish," answered Uncle Harry.
"Why is it called a sea-robin?" inquired Tom.
"On account of its fins, I suppose," answered Uncle Harry. "It is called a pig-fish because it makes a noise like a pig." Then picking up the fish, he tapped it lightly on its head. "Ugh, ugh, ugh," said the fish.
The children laughed, and begged Uncle Harry to make it repeat its performance.
"What pretty eyes he has!" said Alice.
"Yes," chimed in Charley, "they are green, just like mamma's emerald."
"And what a funny flat square nose!" added Alice.
"A sort of a flat square circle, eh?" said Uncle Harry, mischievously.
"You know what I mean: its mouth is broader and its nose is not so round as a black-fish," explained Alice.
"Do they make that noise when they are in the water?" asked Tom.
"Some species do. I have never heard these in the Sound make any noise until they are caught. Sir John Richardson and Lieutenant White tell strange stories about the noises made by these gurnards, as they are called, and Baron von Humboldt says that the noise made by a school of Sciænoides, which is the name of a branch of the same family inhabiting the Indian Ocean, resembled a brass band. There are many species of fishes nearly related to the sea-robin in different parts of the world. One in the Mediterranean is called by the French the noisy maigre; by the Italians, the corro, or crow. It makes a strange cooing moan that can be heard to a depth of 150 feet. It is supposed that the sounds of bells and singing which occasionally issue from the Mediterranean, and which have given rise to so many legends about sunken convents and the like, are produced by the corro. It was known as early as the time of Aristotle, who mentions the Choiros, or pig-fish, as inhabiting the river Clitor, and speaks of its power of emitting sounds. A species in the Gulf of Mexico is called by the Spanish 'el soncador,' and by the Americans the 'grunt.' The little ones are very playful, and I have often watched them at their games of 'hide-and-seek,' or 'tag,' and have landed them with a hook and line; but they made such appeals to my compassion with their short quick groans of pain, and longer and more plaintive ones begging for release, that I generally threw them back. There are other kinds of fish that can make a noise as well as the genus called by naturalists Prionotus pilatus, to which the sea-robin belongs. Even the eel will squeak when caught, and the porpoise sometimes grunts very much like the sea-robin. The drum-fish, too, which makes a noise not unlike a drum. But here is another curious fellow," he added, as he pulled in a small brown fish about as long as your finger.
"What is it, Uncle Harry?" asked Charley.
"It is a swell-fish, as it is called here. I do not know any other name for it, but swell-fish is a very appropriate one."
"It looks like one of those New Orleans cigars that you used to have," said Tom.
Uncle Harry laughed, and turned it over.
"Old gold underneath," exclaimed Tom. "That fellow is gorgeous with his seal-brown coat and old-gold vest; he is certainly a swell fish."
"That is not the reason that he is called so," said Uncle Harry. "You would not believe he would take up as much room as the sea-robin. Look," he continued; and as he rubbed the rough under side of the fish, it slowly began to expand and puff out with air, until, instead of a small cigar-shaped fish, Uncle Harry held in his hand a ball as big as an orange, with a head at one side and a tail at the other.
"It looks like an apple with a sardine for a core," said Charley.
The children laughed.
"Now watch," said Uncle Harry, as he tossed it into the tub.
"It's gone," said Alice and Charley at the same time.
"No, it has only shrunk again," said their uncle. "But I guess we had better start for home. It is 'most supper-time, and if we don't get home, your mamma will think that I have taken you off to be pirates."
As they skimmed over the water toward home, Tom asked, "Are there other kinds of swell-fish in foreign waters?"
"I suppose so," said Uncle Harry. "While in Florida, I formed quite a friendship with a pair of porcupine-fish that lived behind an old log. They would eat worms from my hand, and would even allow me to take them up, but as this was accompanied by an immense puffing up of their bodies, I seldom attempted it."
"What became of them?" asked Alice.
"I do not know," answered Uncle Harry, with mock solemnity. "The pleasantest friendships, like the pleasantest days, must come to an end, and so our acquaintance was stopped short by my leaving for home, as to-day's sport was."
The children reached home in time for supper, tired and happy; but, hungry as they were, they could scarcely stop to eat, so eager were they to tell mamma about the sea-robin and the wonderful swell-fish.
THE CLOWN'S AUDIENCE.