The fossils of Roman Camp Hill are not drifted specimens. They must have lived and died where the quarryman now finds them. We recognise them as all unequivocally marine; corals, crinoids, and brachiopodous molluscs, are all clearly the denizens of the sea, and hence we conclude that they mark the site of an ancient ocean. The snail-shells that swarm about the fruit-trees of our orchards not more unmistakably indicate a land-surface than do these petrified relics evidence an old sea-bottom. We can argue, too, from the crowded way in which they lie grouped together, that life must have been prolific in these primeval waters. Every fragment of the rock shows its dozens, nay, hundreds, of stone-lily joints, disjointed indeed, yet easily recognisable. They must have swarmed as thickly along the floor of the sea as the strong-stemmed tangle that darkens the bottom of many a picturesque bay along our western coasts, yet with a gracefulness of outline such as none of our larger sea-weeds can boast. Less numerous but not less markedly _in situ_ are the shells of productus and spirifer, the former with its finely-striated surface fresh as if the creature had died but yesterday, while the slender spines with which it was armed lie strewed around. In short, the whole suite of organisms points to a period of tranquil deposition in a sea of probably no great depth, where the lower forms of the animal kingdom flourished in abundance, contributing by their calcareous secretions to form continuous layers of limestone.