JUNE, 1882. 193 



play bringing in a dredge from a hundred fathoms even 

 by the partial aid of a steam winch, laden with the spoil 

 of a course along a gravelly bottom, travelled with a 

 "good pulse." 



The sun has just sunk behind the Kingairloch hills, 

 and the loch is richly bathed in cross lights as the moon 

 swings lazily over the summit of Ben Breac. We are 

 turning homeward with but one skate to reward our long 

 watch around the cairn, and as we tug at the oar our 

 attention is once more attracted to what a shower of 

 rain or of flies ? One glance at the serene heavens dis- 

 pels any idea of rain drops, and neither midges nor flies 

 are troubling us, so we are forced to seek in the water 

 itself for an explanation of the peculiar appearance as if 

 sharp drops were striking the surface and spreading a 

 multitude of wave lines all around. On closer examina- 

 tion the explanation is sufficiently simple. The water is 

 teeming with sea-blubbers (Meditsce) just on a level with 

 the surface, and at each pulsation the centre is lifted 

 over the surface so as to cause a break, in the very same 

 way as any object, be it rain drop or insect, that struck 

 the surface from above would do. The great multitude 

 of these jelly-fishes all breaking the surface gave a most 

 remarkable appearance to the water, and as we passed 

 through them with the boat, the infinity of waving cilise 

 invested the sea with new interest, these creatures being 

 as beautiful in the water as they appear slobbery, unin- 

 teresting masses, when out of it. 



Suddenly, as we proceed, " there is a sound of revelry 

 by night," and hundreds of sable musicians of the most 

 dismal character commence "We won't go home till 

 morning," or its equivalent among dissipated rooks. 

 These birds have all been roosting on a low tree by the 



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