MACKEREL-FISHING.

BY ROBERT ARNOLD.


When I was a boy, I lived on the rugged coast of New England. The sea
abounded in cod, hake, mackerel, and many other kinds of fish. The
mackerel came in "schools" in late summer, and sometimes were very
plentiful. One day, my uncle James determined to go after some of these
fish, with his son George, and invited me to go with them. We were to
start before day-break the next morning. I went to bed that night with
an impatient heart, and it was a long time before I could go to sleep.
After I did get asleep, I dreamed of the whale that swallowed Jonah, and
all kinds of fishes, big and little. I was awakened by somebody calling,
in a very loud voice, "Robert! Robert!" I jumped out of bed, with my
eyes not more than half opened, and fell over the chair on which I had
put my clothes. This made me open my eyes, and I soon realized that the
voice proceeded from my cousin George, who had come to arouse me for the
fishing-voyage.

I dressed as quickly as possible, and went downstairs. All was quiet in
the house except the old clock ticking in the kitchen. I went
out-of-doors and found the stars still shining. It was half-past three
o'clock in the morning. There was no sign of daylight, and even the
cocks had not begun to crow. In the darkness I espied George, who said,
"Come, it is time to start. Father is waiting for you."