ASPECT OF A BEACH, AND ITS PROBABLE ORIGIN.—TRUE NATURE OF THE PEBBLES WHICH COMPOSE IT. I know of few things more pleasant than to ramble for a mile along one of our southern beaches in the early days of autumn. We get the sniff of the sea-breeze; we see prismatic colours dappling the water, or curiously reflected from capes of wet sand; solemn, beetling cliffs, broken here and there by a green slope, rise on one side of us; while, on the other, we are enchanted by the wild music of the waves, as they dash noisily upon the shingle at our feet, and then trickle back with faint, lisping murmurs into the azure gulf. Alpine scenery is majestic, and river-lit landscapes are delicious; but they seem as pictures of still life compared with the stir and resonance of the shore and the ocean. The breeze which bends the standing corn does not impart so much pleasure as that which dimples the bay at the foot of our rustic garden; the thunder-cloud resting on a mountain is not so impressive as that huge wall of inky blackness, which seems as if it would choke the very light and air while it gathers on the horizon, but will presently rend asunder and purify the overcharged atmosphere by launching a tempest upon the face of the deep. There are few persons who, after spending one or two consecutive summers at Eastbourne, or in the Isle of Wight, can repress an ardent longing to visit similar scenes from time to time. The sea-side stroll has, however, been accused of monotony. But this is either by really incompetent judges, or by inveterate sportsmen, to whom the neighbourhood of the ocean suggests nothing more apposite than a meet with harriers on the downs, or a raid upon puzzled rabbits in some outlying warren, with the aid of a keeper, ferrets, and “varmint” dogs. To such, even a brief sojourn on the simple-featured coast may, undoubtedly, prove wearisome; but the fault rests with themselves. For, all the while, others, who are better informed and more awake to what lies around them, will be cheerfully occupied in kindred pursuits at the foot of the cliff, or away on the beach, or far out, at low tide, among the weedy rocks and sand. Here they hunt the cockle and the razor-shell, collect bright algæ and marvellous zoophytes, or search for agates and fossils among the endless heaps of shingle. The delicate actiniæ and the rarer sea-weeds cannot be obtained in winter; but the pebbles, which are intended to form the subject of this little book, may always be met with; and the changes induced by rough winds and surging tides, yield them in even greater abundance. The pleasure of collecting pebbles has been greatly enhanced, to my mind, by considering how it is that we come to have pebbly beaches at all. Inevitable as these may appear to some people, they are quite a phenomenon in their way, and to the full as deserving our attention as the colony in a rabbit-warren.