No sooner said than done. What a calming sensation a whiff of good tobacco induces on these burning days! But what have I got? Above thirty globes of chalcedony, blue and white, as oval as bantams’ eggs. I select half a dozen on account of some beauty or peculiarity, and fling the remainder into the sea, there to undergo a fresh impregnation. Next, sundry bits of the red and white conglomerate. Let me advise everybody who has the opportunity, to pick this up. When sliced and polished, the surface obtained beats the inlaid work of a cabinet-maker all to nothing. Next, a couple of choanites, one in the dark “rag,” ribbed like sea-weed; the other in pretty light-brown moss-agate. These two go into my breast-pocket for safety. Lastly, what has never been out of my hand since I found it—a huge, knotted jasper-agate, of five pounds’ weight. I will only add that the beach here described is a first-rate one in its way, although not my absolute favourite. I had, however, never seen it before, and have never visited it since; moreover, I had not a hammer with me, nor any refreshment beyond a cigar, after tramping over many miles of deep shingle; consequently, I do not suppose I did justice to the contents of that bit of coast. But where am I now? Two hundred miles away, and the scene is changed. I have just rounded a headland, on whose summit the ripening corn-field is waving and gleaming like the tuft on the head of a woodpecker. Dizzy precipices of chalk stand like sugar-loaves against the blue sky, here and there cleft in a tortuous, yawning chasm. Beneath, the beach seems to slumber, so gentle is that lisping murmur, where the long billowy swell washes the face of the skerries, and lifts up and down their heavy fringe of tangle like a giant’s beard. Two hours are mine, as we mortals reckon, before I am expected at the evening meal. This time I have my hammer with me—no clumsy carpenter’s tool, which might rend or splinter, but a tempered steel. I did but walk a couple of miles in all. I found sundry pieces of perfectly white agate, one of which proved good enough for a seal. I broke open a score or two of jaspers, and was rewarded at last by a fine slab of the rich brown (quasi-Egyptian). Then I hunted up from the shingle a pocketful of “sponges,” and a choanite in dark purple flint, which is rare. And then time was up, and scaling the cliff by a well-known gap and pathway, I returned home to crab-pie and a cup of tea, and the welcome of a dear, kind face. This part of our coast is much visited now by pebble-seekers.