Amateur fishers have been but seldom in evidence here this summer; even the lobsters have enjoyed a season of comparative rest. Possibly the uncertain state of the weather prevented their usual visits. Towards the close of the month a trio of amateurs cast anchor--or rather what does duty as such--within hail of our kitchen window, a favourite spot of theirs. Lines were no sooner down than a brisk business began in cod, varied by an occasional poddley which has little or no market value, but which to us here is always acceptable, and forms the principal part of our catches. Several good catches of these have been taken here during the month. What appears to be whitings two inches in length is seen to be their food at present. The terns also are seen to be on similar diet, and though engaged in conveying a mouthful to their young ones, it in no way impedes their full flow of language, nor muffles in the slightest degree their strident throat notes. During the unusually low tides occurring this month an opportunity was afforded of examining a most peculiar form of animal life of which I have nowhere seen any account. Attached to the rocks amongst groups of corallines this curious object[2] has all the semblance of a bird’s claw. Imagine the leg of a bird amputated at the knee, firmly fastened to the rock by the cut end, and imbued with life, and you have a fair idea of this animal. About half an inch in length, the “leg” is seen to be composed of segments, and terminates in three toes, furnished with sharp, curved claws, which keep up a constant clutching--at what is not apparent; but the action strongly reminds one of a similar effect produced by juveniles who have become the proud possessor of a hen’s foot, and for a piece of slate pencil--the usual juvenile currency--demonstrate to admiring companions the utility of the extensor muscles.