DECEMBER, 1881. 107 



become so used to the rush of the waves, and the howl 

 of the wind has been so familiar that, like the historical 

 miller when his water-wheel stops creaking, the stillness 

 of a normal day comes like the stoppage of a great pulse. 

 There is a sudden break in the smooth surface of the sea, 

 a white streak gleams along the water, and a huge figure 

 appears defiantly conspicuous several hundred yards off. 

 The atmosphere gives it an unduly prominent appearance, 

 and as the Northern Diver for such it is rises and 

 flaps its wings, it appears far more important than it 

 usually does in its "native element." Only on Sunday- 

 last, before service, when the sea outside was sadly ruffled 

 in temper, and bipeds ashore were in an equally unbe- 

 coming state of mind, a large specimen of the Great 

 Northern Diver was disporting itself at a few yards' dis- 

 tance from the shore in front of our dwelling. But this 

 is a week day, and the weather is fine, so we need not 

 expect such a display, and therefore content ourselves 

 with seeking the edge of the water like the seafowl, and 

 looking like them for unconsidered trifles cast up by the 

 late boisterous days and nights of bluster. 



We have not far to go until we meet an ungainly but 

 interesting figure in a very forlorn plight ; for once again 

 a huge-headed, gaping object, with its formidable array 

 of teeth prominently displayed, and its fishing apparatus 

 much out of repair, has been left hapless by the incon- 

 siderate force of the waves and thoughtless hurry of the 

 receding tide ! A fishing-frog (Lophius), with the "bait" 

 torn off its angle, and a series of holes driven into its soft 

 but tough skin by crabs and buckies, is now before us, 

 and we proceed to draw it shoreward with our boat-hook, 

 that we may examine it at leisure. We have never before 

 met such a large, fine liver in any of the specimens we 



