SHORES OF THE CLYDE AND FIRTH. 
143 
to live with the same ease amid the rough, wild, sea-lashed 
shores of Ailsa Craig. 
Our boatmen friends are now beckoning us to be away, 
and we are soon skimming across the sea again on our 
homeward way. 
CHAPTER XVI. 
WITH THE HERRING FISHERS OF LOCH FYNE. 
When ye are sleepin' on your pillows, 
Dreamed ye ought o' our puir fellows, 
Darkling as they face the billow s, 
A' to fill our woven willows ? 
Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ? 
They're no brought here without brave darin' — 
Buy my caller herrin'. 
Ye little ken their worth. 
Wha'll buy my caller herrin' ? 
O, ye may ca' them vulgar farin' : 
Wives and mithers, maist despairin', 
Ca' them lives o' men." 
FiEW indeed who hear the familiar cry of the herring 
— hawker on the street, prosecuting his or her calling, 
think of the truths contained in the words of this popular 
song. Too often, alas, is the realisation of the last line of 
the quotation accomplished on the stormy seas of our 
rugged northern coasts; and not a season passes without 
one or other of our fishing villages having not a few wives 
and mithers " left despairing for the return of those loved 
ones they will never see more. The pathetic tale of one of 
