The Zoologist— January, 1869. 1505 



smoke : I feel that I am suspended in the air — the squall as much 

 beneath as above my boat : there is no noise, and the " gray mare " is 

 dashing away eastward like a phantom : I feel I have gone through 

 something — I know not What. But now the sea is shrieking on every 

 side — so heavy the blast that the waves cannot rise, but pass away in 

 foam. Of course it was too late now to reach land : four oars could 

 not have urged ray boat to shore, and if my mooring- stone did not 

 hold — 1 was riding at the full length of my rope — well, if it did not 

 hold ? — would that I were among the land-birds, that is all. I had no 

 alternative but to look about me, and curse my folly for venturing so 

 far to sea, such a threatening day, on a wild-goose chase. The short 

 waves dashed into my little bark, drenching me with spray, the leaden 

 clouds scudded across the sky, the sleet fell in torrents, and the blast 

 like ice whistled through the sea-weed that dangled about my boat. 

 Baling now became imperative. Faith ! I would have bailed my worst 

 enemy that minute to have been ashore at my comfortable breakfast, 

 for the only baler I had was a sardine-box, and only one half of the 

 lid cut open, so that I found it as hard to get the water out as I found 

 it easy to get it in ! Indeed I was in a fix ! However, as the wind 

 held steady, the white squall settled down into a decent rolling sea, 

 which my little boat, with some aid from the paddles, breasted like a 

 duck, and if it was not for the dread apprehension that my mooring- 

 rope might cut on the rocky bottom I might have enjoyed the wild 

 grandeur of the scene pretty well. There stretched charming Dalkey 

 and Killiney with their villaed hill-sides, — there lay Dublin Bay, second 

 in beauty not even to that of Naples, — there the Wicklow mountains 

 capped with storm, — all in-shore of me, seen through the smoke-like 

 spray. Howth, to the right, rising stern from the seething waters ;— 

 Bray Head, to the left, lost amid the foam caused by the eddying 

 blasts from its own round summit ; — all that way lull of hope. To the 

 east, the cold green sea, enlivened by the occasional struggling flight 

 of a weary gull making to the harbouring sands — what would I not 

 give to tramp them now ! — all out there utter despair. * * * * 

 With twelve o'clock the day cleared, the sun broke out, fitfully, it is 

 true, but I blessed its feeble rays, and prepared for breakfast — a wet 

 crust and a pocket-flask. Though the wind still blew in showers, and 

 fresh enough, the fear of a watery grave had left my mind, — a cold 

 death the best of us shrink from, — so I spent ray time not unprofitably 

 in watching the habits of the northern and redthroated divers from 

 their own level. I noted many of the ways they avoid breaking waves, 



SECOND SERIES — VOL. IV. I> 



