The sea, moreover, labours to help the land in other ways, some of them singular enough. Many thousands of poor unproductive acres have, in these last ten years, been rendered rich and fertile by supplies of GUANO. And whence did we get the guano? why, from the _sea-fowl_, and from a barren rock in the bosom of the seas! This is no trifling benefit to reap from the “desert sea.” What a beautiful thing is _glass_, and how indispensable it has become to us! Perhaps no other material can be insured to be _perfectly_ clean and pure for drinking out of. For many years our glass-works depended mainly upon a constant supply of _kelp_ from the Orkneys, and even now they cannot dispense with the sea-sand. The porcelain mills in Staffordshire and elsewhere are very glad to obtain a cartload of pebbles from the beach. These go to the “crushing” department; and if among them there are, as there are pretty sure to be, a dozen lumps of chalcedony, the material of the next batch of teacups will be unusually fine, provided some one who understands them _picks_ the stones first. Indeed, if I had no preferable occupation in this world, I have often thought I would collect the rough agates and chalcedonies from sundry localities I wot of, and fabricate a _biscuit_ of my own, as the king of Saxony does at Meissen. But though I have not the leisure for this, others may have; and so I mention it here. Especially I incline to think that a splendid kind of “Wedgewood” ware would result from the crushing of certain jaspers, for I suppose their colours would not fade in the furnace. Then, the seaside visit, I must not omit to mention, can be enlivened by sundry local pursuits and amusements. Besides the pleasures of a sailing-boat, and a run with the “dredge” and the “dipping-net,” there is the exciting march of the Shrimper, knee-deep in the wave, pushing the hoop-net before him, and every now and then halting to fill his front pocket with the silvery jumpers. If there are rocks near at hand, there will be _lobster-pots_ to visit; and the habits and deportment of a live lobster are among the most curious in creation. In agility and cunning he surpasses even a salmon. Also, for the benefit of those who at all regard what they eat—and he who disregards it is a goose—I may just venture to hint that a _real_ lobster-salad (London confectioners have a way of selling _sham_ ones,) is a dish worthy their serious attention: Barclay’s stout being not a bad accompaniment.