CHAP. x. THE EAST SHORE. Ill 



built of dead fish !" In the meantime, to strengthen hia 

 invitation, Dick proceeded to sketch in words the 

 scenery of the sea- shore at Thurso east and west of 

 the town. He gave a map in outline of the coast, in- 

 dicating the convolutions of the headlands and the dip 

 of the rocks. 



" Come," said Dick, on the 8th of April 1845, " come, 

 I will lead the way. We shall go round the east shore 

 in the direction of Murkle Bay, and I will direct your 

 attention to a few of the varied peculiarities of our 

 rocky path. Though the tide is at low ebb, we must go 

 round by the bridge, for the wintry spates have driven 

 away the stepping stones across the river. . . . We 

 go on, and are now snuffing the sweet sea-breeze, and 

 through the openings of the land we see the fair blue 

 sea, rippling bright in the morning sun, and stretching 

 far away into worlds of wonders. Behind us lies 

 Scrabster roadstead. You see the Bishop's Palace, and 

 above it the little burying-ground on the brink of 

 the cliff, sea-worn and ragged, where the echoes of 

 the murmuring waves sing a never-ending requiem to 

 the departed. And there is the old kirk; and there, 

 almost beneath our feet, is the bed of the river. See, 

 there is a nearly horizontal bed of clayey flagstone, 

 highly calcareous and charged with organic remains 

 scales, bones, spines, snouts of fish, and plants. 



"We pass onward. On the beach between us and 

 Thurso East Castle lies a moderate heap of rolled stones 

 of various sizes, and could they be bound together they 

 form a fine specimen of modern conglomerate, 



