When the herring has for a long time frequented a coast, by degrees, if other circumstances admit of it, there springs up a town. Not only of such towns may it be said, that they are cast up out of the sea, but from a distance they look like washed-up timber and wrecks, or like a mass of upturned boats that the fishermen have drawn over for shelter some stormy night; as one draws nearer, one sees how accidentally the whole has been built, mountains rising in the midst of the thoroughfare, or the hamlet separated by water into three, four divisions, while the streets crook and crawl. One condition only is common to them all, there is safety in the harbour for the largest ship; there is shelte…
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