The mackerel is very voracious, and has courage enough to attack fish much larger than itself. It will even attack man, and is said to love him, gastronomically speaking. A Norwegian bishop who lived in the sixteenth century records the case of a sailor attacked by a shoal of mackerel, while he was bathing. His companions came to the rescue; but though they succeeded in driving off the fish, their assistance came too late; he died a few hours afterwards. This fish is generally taken by drift‐nets, usually 20 feet deep, and 120 long, well buoyed with cork, but without weights to sink them. The meshes are made of fine tarred twine. They are in their best condition in June and July. The ancients used to make a sauce piquant from their fat, which was called _garum_, and sold for the equivalent of sixteen shillings the pint. It was acrid and nauseous, but had the property of stimulating jaded appetites. Seneca charged it with destroying the coats of the stomach, and injuring the health of the high livers of his day. A traveller of the sixteenth century, Pierre Belon, found it highly esteemed in Constantinople. [Illustration: FISHING FOR TUNNY OFF THE COAST OF PROVENCE.] The formidable sword‐fish is also tolerable eating, especially when young, and there are fisheries for its capture in the Mediterranean. The fishermen of Messina and Reggio fish by night, using large boats carrying torches, and a mast, at the top of which one of their number is stationed to announce the approach of their prey, which is harpooned by a man standing in the bows. This fish attains a length of five or six feet, its sword forming three‐tenths of its length. It is one of the whale’s natural enemies, and it objects even to ships passing through its element. There are numerous cases cited of ship’s bottoms having been pierced by it. In 1725, some carpenters having occasion to examine a ship just returned from the tropics, found the sword of one of these animals buried in its lower timbers. They averred that to drive a pointed iron bolt of the same size to the same depth would require eight or nine blows with a thirty‐pound hammer. It was further evident from the position of the weapon that the fish had followed the ship while under full sail; it had penetrated the metal sheathing and three‐and‐a‐half inches of the timber. [Illustration: FISHING FOR SWORD‐FISH.] And now, before leaving the minor and intermediate types of ocean life for the monsters of the deep, a few general observations may be permitted. Pliny described 94 species of fish; Linnæus described 478; the scientists of to‐day know upwards of 13,000, one‐tenth of which are fresh‐water fish. The reader will then understand why only a few of the more important, useful, or curious have been described in these pages.