motherly wife and chubby-cheeked child, and
long may the winds and the waves spare thy
cockle-shell boat, to catch thy daily bread
and thy quarterly rent!

Some few of the most distinguished and
fashionable rows have names to them, but
the vulgar multitude are known simply by
their numbers—and that only since 1804.
Before, it was Jumbers's Row and Mopus's
Row, when Jumbers and Mopus had moved
into the street or passed into the churchyard.
It was the Rising Sun Row for many a year
after the Rising Sun, and all belonging to it,
had long since gone to the dogs. From time
immemorial there has been a Market Row,
in which two people can walk arm in arm as
they stare at the élite of Yarmouth shop
windows; and there is a Broad Row, across
which, if an Adelphi harlequin could not
skip from first floor to first floor, he would
get from the management very significant
hints about his abilities.

The entire gridiron which constitutes Great
Yarmouth is an irregular long square,
stretching from north to south. The oddity
is, that till 1813 there were no streets across
it, namely from east to west, although there
are several along it, and no carriage-way
through the town, except by cart through
the little rows. A cross street at each end
of the parallelogram—Fuller's Hill on the
north, and Friar's Lane on the south—were
both wide apart and inconvenient, causing
this goodly watering-place to be more like
a rabbit warren or an ant-hill, than a city of
men. If otters lived in society, an otter's
hole would have been a better comparison,
seeing that Yarmouth people take to the
water and prey upon fish, as a matter of
natural instinct.

A little piece of superstition still prevails
amongst these Ichthyophagi—or herring-
eaters—which can be nothing else than a
remnant of the evil eye. On one occasion
I purchased of a fish-woman on the beach the
first fresh herrings she had sold that season.
Their cost amounted to that respectable coin,
a shilling, which she considered a much
better omen for her than if their equivalent
had been merely a few dirty copper penny-
pieces. The lady's eyes twinkled; with
extreme rapidity she spat on both sides of the
pure metal—which of the Georges was thus
insulted I cannot say, but am nearly sure it
was not Victoria—and hastily concealed it
beneath the thick folds of her gown, through
the intricacies of which it may be supposed
to have at last arrived at the lowest depths,
the fourth stomach, of an omnivorous pocket.

And so, in an Arab tent, the favourite
child is hidden, and perhaps its face purposely
dirtied by the anxious mother, to avert the
dangers of the evil eye. The prudential
feeling is perfectly intelligible in the midst
of the envious world we dwell in. The French
maxim cacher son bonheur, to conceal one's
good fortune, expresses the same apprehension
with practical forethought. Boast how lucky
you are, how successful you have been, what
a happy life you and yours are likely to lead,
and a whole gang of less fortunate folks will
soon come and throw stones at your happiness.
But if you chance to be in the midst
of comfort, leading the very life which pleases
you best, and fearing nothing so much as a
change, give out to the world that you are
wretched, and heart-broken, and miserable,
and good-for-nothing, and they will leave you
quiet, and cease troubling you with their
attentions. It is a wise thing now and then to
hide one's own advantages, and to spit upon
one's self "for luck."

The foundations of Great Yarmouth are
built upon herrings. It is they which have
enabled the town to stand firm upon the
sterile sands. And herrings, if we think of
it, are of the greatest importance to this part
of England, now that salmon no longer exist
there to rival them. The great attention
which the Scottish monarchs for a long time
directed to the salmon fishery only made
fresh-water sailors; whereas the herring
fishery has ever been one of the best schools
in which to train the genuine British tar and
pilot. The grant of various bounties from
the British Government have showed its
appreciation of this admirable marine discipline.
The exploits of Yarmouth beachmen, fishermen,
and sailors, the results of nursing in so
rude a cradle, would make an interesting
volume full of that class of adventure. One
instance of courage and promptitude must
suffice us here.

On the morning of September 4th, 1852,
although the sea did not appear to be very
rough at the distance of three or four hundred
yards from the shore, the billows which broke
over the jetty and the sands were nevertheless
very huge and frightful, and unusually heavy.
At about ten o'clock, a ship's boat, with three
men in her, rowed towards the jetty, for the
purpose of landing; but she was suddenly
struck by the breakers, lifted up as high as
the jetty railing, and in a moment overturned
with the men under her. The next wave
removed the boat, and discovered the men
struggling for life amidst the boiling waters.
It was soon apparent that only one of them
could swim, though swimming would be of
little avail in such a foaming sea as that; and
it was impossible for any boat to get to their
assistance, because it would be sure to be
overturned in a moment, exactly as their own
had been. Soon the boat came to the surface,
floating bottom upwards, with one man clinging
to her; the other two men seemed to be
grasping each other in the death struggle.
The one who could not swim entangled the
other who could, while the waves were buffeting
the overturned boat, and the sailor who
still was holding fast to it. The bystanders
were ejaculating that there was no earthly
hope for them, and thought only to aid them
by their prayers, when suddenly twenty or