122 



THE YOUNG NATURALIST. 



[July 



W e met at the appointed time, and after a most pleasant voyage 

 of five hours (s.s. Snaefell), glided alongside Douglas pier. At this 

 important junction we lost the Doctor, but he shortly relieved our 

 anxieties by emerging, warm, with vigorous exertions, from a chaotic 

 mass of the trunks and hatboxes, and staggering beneath the load of 

 an enormous chest. This latter box of mystery exhaled a delightful 

 perfume of methylated spirits during its journey to the station, arousing 

 misgivings as to the safety of its contents. Arrived at the terminus we 

 had three-quarters of an hour to wait for our train, and expended the 

 interval in the discussion of buns obtained from a neighbouring restau- 

 rant, a proposition on our part in favour of meat pies being over-ruled 

 by a majority of three to one. The balance of the said buns made 

 luxurious boat cushions later on. Our united destination was Port 

 Erin, and we were quite ready to do ample justice to the fresh fish and 

 other island luxuries that awaited our advent. 



This little village is on the south-west coast, and possesses a 

 magnificent bay. It is a wonderfully good hunting ground for the 

 marine biologist, as the receding tide lays bare a large tract of rocks 

 to the right, extending almost under the shadow of Brada Head, at 

 the entrance to the bay. On the south side of the bay, collecting is 

 unproductive except at very low tide — such as we experienced — when 

 the outgoing waters give access to numberless stones. One little 

 corner here close to the new boat slip, is wonderfully prolific, by reason 

 of the vast quantities of refuse cast aside by the fishermen : 1 peelers,' 

 fish entrails, old bait and the like, though offensively foul at times for 

 our olfactory sense organs, are appreciated with intense relish by the 

 thousands of marine animals that assemble to the banquet. 



A promenade extends to the breakwater, the latter a striking 

 monument to man's futile battle with the elements. Some years ago, 

 the Government of the island incurred a very great expense in the 

 erection of a handsome breakwater, building likewise a deep water 

 landing pier and other structural improvements. But the wind and 

 the waves proved mightier than concrete blocks, and the storm of a 

 single night displaced the entire structure, heaping the huge masses 

 upon each other in bewildering confusion and in a fashion that the 

 mind of the designer never imagined. Filled with potent wrath, the 

 fierce waters beat them in their passionate fury, tore them from the 

 embrace of bolts and iron bars, flung them headlong into the seething 

 abyss, and built therein a palace, olive mantled, fitting retreat for 



