"Ah, well! this isn't the time to see so much of them. It's in the winter you see the herring-smacks come in at the herring-wharf over yonder, and hundreds of baskets full of the shining fellows brought ashore and sold, and sent off fresh in no time; while others are kept here to turn into bloaters, or red herrings, or kippers. Those sheds in the yard over there are where hundreds of women and girls set to work to salt or pack the herrings in barrels; the bloaters are what we call cured in the herring-office."
"That's a funny name," said Ben.
"Yes; and it's funny what goes on there. The herrings are brought ashore, are shot out of the baskets on to the stone floor, shovelled into big tubs to be washed, and then threaded through the gills on to long laths of wood. Then these laths with the rows of herrings strung on 'em are hung in frames from wall to wall of a top room, like a barn with a stone floor, and a hole in the roof. When that room's full of herrings all hanging in rows—thousands and thousands o' fish—a fire of oak chips and logs is lighted on the floor, and the smoke going all among the herrings, and only by degrees getting out of the hole in the roof, the fish are smoked; and them that's salted first is red herrings, and them that's only just touched dry with the smoke like are bloaters.
"So now we'll get down to our lodging, and have some supper, Ben; and so to bed, that we may be up early in the morning; but don't you dream about being a smack-boy, or you won't sleep at all sound, I can tell you."
Thomas Archer
THEIR WONDERFUL RIDE.
"two little folk were riding."
s I passed down the pathway
I heard a merry pair
Shout from behind the garden wall,
"Let's ride the old brown mare."
With whip and voice I heard them
Urge on the maddened steed,
Whilst to my frantic warnings
They paid no single heed.
Then quickly down the garden, Trembling with fear and fright,
And bursting open wide the door
I saw this curious sight:—
Upon a wooden railing
That ran down from the wall,
Two little folk were riding,
Quite safe from fear or fall.
"Why, auntie, what's the matter?"
Shouted the merry pair;
"You cannot think what fun it is
To ride the old brown mare!"