er time than one can write. A little boy
plunged them into a pail of ruddy-looking water, and from thence into
the regulation fish box or basket that finds its way to the Metropolis.

A change has come over the inhabitants of Staithes since 1846, when Mr.
Ord describes the fishermen as 'exceedingly civil and courteous to
strangers, and altogether free from that low, grasping knavery peculiar
to the larger class of fishing-towns.' Without wishing to be
unreasonably hard on Staithes, I am inclined to believe that this
character is infinitely better than these folk deserve, and even when
Mr. Ord wrote of the place I have reason to doubt the civility shown by
them to strangers. It is, according to some who have known Staithes for
a long while, less than fifty years ago that the fisher-folk were
hostile to a stranger on very small provocation, and only the entirely
inoffensive could expect to sojourn in the village without being a
target for stones. The incursion of the artistic hordes has been a great
factor in the demoralization of the village, for who would not be
mercenary when besought at all hours of the day to stand before a canvas
or a camera? Thus, the harmless stranger who strays on to the staith
with a camera is obliged to pay for 'an afternoon's 'baccy' if he want
an opportunity to obtain more than a snapshot of a picturesque group. He
may try to capture a lonely old fisherman by asking if he would mind
standing still for 'just one second,' but the old fellow will move away
instantly unless his demand for payment be readily complied with.

No doubt many of the superstitions of Staithes people have languished or
died out in recent years, and among these may be included a particularly
primitive custom when the catches of fish had been unusually small. Bad
luck of this sort could only be the work of some evil influence, and to
break the spell a sheep's heart had to be procured, into which many pins
were stuck. The heart was then burnt in a bonfire on the beach, in the
presence of the fishermen, who danced round the flames.

In happy contrast to these heathenish practices was the resolution
entered into and signed by the fishermen of Staithes, in August, 1835,
binding themselves 'on no account whatever' to follow their calling on
Sundays, 'nor to go out with our boats or cobbles to sea, either on the
Saturday or Sunday evenings.' They also agreed to forfeit ten shillings
for every offence against the resolution, and