144 
ANIMAL LIFE ON THE 
these bereaved ones we once heard, in the sweet tones of 
her native doric, welling from her breast of bitter remem- 
brance. Through tearful eyes she gazed across the meadow, 
and pointing to the old churchyard, began thus : — " Ower 
yonder, in the cauld mools, they laid my bonnie lassie, the 
idol o' my heart ; nor could I ever after pass here without 
the sorrows o' my aching heart fixing a fond, lingering 
look on the spot — I ken whaur she lies ; but, alas ! alas ! 
how sune were the thoughts o' my heart and the gaze o' my 
een to be turned out ower yonder to the cruel SPa, whaur 
my guidman an' my braw son, ae fearfu' nicht, were baith 
engulphed in its treacherous depths ; an' whaur they lie 
noo, the ever-greedy sea will never tell." Nevertheless the 
loss of brave men and the sorrows of bereaved wives and 
mothers, the harvests of the sea must be reaped; and, as 
the reader will perceive by the title of this chapter, we 
propose making ourselves familiar with the operation by a 
visit to the Loch Fyne and Firth of Clyde herring fisheries. 
We have already penetrated the waters of the Kyles of 
Bute and left its beautiful scenery behind, and are now 
skirting the north shore of Loch Fyne, along the rugged 
coast of Otter. The winds of August are fanning a gentle 
ripple over the wide expanse of waters before us, and the 
glow of the afternoon sun, away in the north, is burnishing 
the purple flood of heather-bloom on the breasts of the far- 
reaching peaks of Glendernal. An occasional silver strand 
or small pebble bay along the shore relieves the monotony 
of the wild, rocky coast ; and near those pleasant breaks we 
can mark the abodes of the fishermen, with their net-drying 
poles at hand. 
We are, indeed, scarcely entered the famous loch until, 
by the numerous fishing-boats seen everywhere, we are 
reminded of the great trade of the district, through the 
