MARCH, 1882. 



The rush of a wave startles us in the midst of our 

 cogitations, and it is clear we must leave the haunts of 

 the sea nymphs for an indefinite period. "Stop the 

 boat a moment." Our boat hook is swept out, and in 

 comes a sun indeed quite 6^ inches in diameter, as 

 large as a dinner plate, and tinted with all the glories of 

 the sunset. Murmurs of admiration break from all. 

 " Back the boat," we call, as we seek to stay it in the 

 current, "and examine the fragments of the feast Mr. Sun 

 was engaged upon." "Flowers of the sea, or delicate 

 sea-weeds !" you exclaim. Well, the cannibal was 

 actually devouring its own kind. No wonder it was a 

 sun, for it was building itself up on the rays of a star-fish, 

 large as our finger each of them ! 



MARCH, 1882. 



We were coming up the Sound of Eriska, and were 

 then a good mile from the Appin shore, when one of our 

 crew observed that there was a weasel on the shore. We 

 smiled at the idea, for to see a brown weasel on a dusky 

 foreshore at a mile distant was a feat we believed no eyes 

 in the boat could accomplish, and even our own are 

 fairly telescopic. However, there was really no mystery 

 whatever, and the most ordinary vision could discern 

 the Stoat in its winter robe of white, in a state of intense 

 activity among the seaweed at low water. What it was 

 about remained unknown, but it continued for a length of 

 time to chase something all about the seaware, and may 

 have been hunting some of the smaller fry, such as mice. 

 We do not suppose the tribe eat crabs, at least we never 

 heard of it, and the greater probability is that the 



