48 
ANIMAL LIFE ON THE 
green promontory to the right will amply repay the loss of 
time. From the bosom of a thicket of a surrounding green 
and yellow furze, a little square-built church, due to 
Disruption times, rears its unassuming belfry. The 
magnificence of architecture and swelling grandeur of re- 
ligious pomp and wealth are absent here, but, far better, 
in the midst of the calm and holy repose of the surround- 
ing solitude, the worshippers within can attune their hearts 
to the communings of nature without in the moan of the 
murmuring waves or the piping joy of the warblers. A 
more fitting place for the erection of the sanctuary of God 
could scarcely be found. On the green sward that sur- 
rounds the humble walls, one solitary spot alone marks the 
resting-place of the dead. This is the grave of Montague 
Stanley, who, in his younger days, was an actor — known on 
the boards of the old Dunlop Street Theatre, Glasgow, but 
who, from religious convictions, forsook the stage and betook 
himself to the life of an artist. From the very spot where 
rests his mouldering dust he delineated on canvas the bold 
rocky shore before us stretching aAvay southward, with the 
dark towering woods of Mount Stuart in the background. 
So much was he attached to the lovely, lonely spot when 
health forsook him, and he found death approaching, that he 
expressed the wish of being there laid to rest — a desire kindly 
granted by the then proprietor. Sauntering round by the 
west we come upon the ruins of the old Salt Pans, where, 
in past ages, that precious commodity for the use of the 
islanders was extracted from the briny deep under the 
supervision of a tax-imposing Excise. 
A few steps further seaward bring us to the rocky 
promontory that juts out into the left jaw of the bay, 
forming the boldest feature of the landscape. Eound the 
spacious pools, and over the jagged ridges and deep gullets^ 
