tions; and I feel as if wandering over a landscape
variegated by pleasant and contrasting colouring, and overshadowed with
associations which have long been a part of myself. One exception to the
general progression and assimilation still happily remains to gratify, I
must confess, my liking for things as they were. The fisher population
of Newhaven, Buckhaven, and Cellardykes--(my observation extends no
farther, and I limit my remarks accordingly)--are, in fact, the Scottish
highlanders, the Irish, the Welsh, and the Manks of Fisherdom. Differing
each somewhat from the other, they are united by one common bond of
character--they are varieties of the same animal--the different species
under one genus. I like this. I am always in high spirits when I pass
through a fishing village or a fisher street. No accumulation of filth
in every hue--of shell, and gill, and fish-tail--can disgust me. I even
smell a sweet savour from their empty baskets, as they exhale themselves
dry in the sunbeam. And then there is a hue of robust health over all.
No mincing of matters. Female arms and legs of the true Tuscan
order--cheeks and chins where neither the rose nor the bone has been
stinted. Children of the dub and the mire--all agog in demi-nudity, and
following nature most vociferously. Snug, comfortable cabins, where
garish day makes no unhandsome inquiries, and where rousing fires and
plentiful meals abide from June to January. They have a language, too,
of their own--the true Mucklebacket dialect; and freely and firmly do
they throw from them censure, praise, or ribaldry. The men are here but
men; mere human machines--useful, but not ornamental--necessary
incumbrances rather than valuable protectors. "Poor creature!" says Meg
of the Mucklebacket, "she canna maintain a man." Sir Walter saw through
the character I am labouring to describe; and, in one sentence, put life
and identity into it. I know he was exceedingly fond of conversing with
fisherwomen in particular. But, whilst such are the general features,
each locality I have mentioned has its distinctive lineaments. The
Newhaven fisherwoman (for the man is unknown) is a bundle of snug
comfort. Her body, her dress, her countenance, her basket, her voice,
all partake of the same character of _enbonpointness_. Yet there is
nothing at all untidy about her. She may ensconce her large limbs in
more plaiden coverings than the gravedigger in "Hamlet" had waistcoats,
but still she moves with