134 



HARDWICKE'S SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



[June ], 1S6S. 



PEBBLE FINDING. 



He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame, — 

 His is untaxed and undisputed game. 



Crabbe. 



rpHE above, though referring to the entomo- 

 -*- logical pursuits of the old Spitalfields weavers, 

 may with propriety be said of the pebble-hunter; 

 and as I do not remember seeing in these pages 

 any gossip upon seaside pebbles, I am induced 

 to pen a few lines with the view of drawing the 

 attention of any who may be "going to the sea :J 

 to a source of very pleasant recreation, and, 

 indeed, of instruction. Like many other col- 

 lected objects, too, the specimens, when polished 

 and put away, serve to remind one afterwards of 

 many a delightful seaside trip, and many a pleasant 

 stroll with, maybe, a pleasant friend along the 

 shore, as well as bear at all times fresh and fresh 

 inspection, and each time, probably, display some 

 new beauty which had not been observed before. 



Summer will probably suit most people better 

 for pebble-hunting than winter, for it is cold 

 standing about sometimes; nevertheless, after a 

 heavy winter's gale, when the beach has been well 

 " turned over " by the waves, that is undoubtedly 

 the time to stroll along the shore. There are the 

 objects of your search on every side— yours, abso- 

 lutely yours, to reject or carry away; and your 

 sense of independence and freedom from inter- 

 ference makes the pebble-hunter's pursuit a very 

 pleasant one. Notwithstanding what Crabbe says 

 of the insect-hunter, he may, by imprudent intru- 

 sion into a tempting cover, find himself face to face 

 with an irate bailiff, whose love for pheasants may 

 be great, and whose contempt for entomology, 

 except in the case of ant eggs, may be still greater. 

 But on the beach the pebble-hunter is " monarch 

 of all he surveys." He has but to use his eyes, or, 

 when doubtful, his hammer, and the hidden beau- 

 ties are his own. And what beauties do those 

 rough-looking stones hide ! What rare combinations 

 of colour are to be found within them — some- 

 times pervading the entire pebble, sometimes 

 looking like delicate moss floating in a calm pool of 

 chalcedony ! What pretty landscapes in miniature, 

 the distance lit up by gorgeous sunset lines ! How 

 beautiful are the ramifications of the sponges, how 

 wonderful the radiations of the choanite ! — the last 

 seeming as though it had died and been turned to 

 stone but yesterday, instead of having been the 

 inmate of its flinty bed for we know not how many 

 thousand years. We can't help it, but we seldom 

 bring to the light of day a recondite tenant of a 

 pebble without a sense of great intrusion. It seems 

 as though one had no business to break in upon the 

 mysterious repose of such a venerable organism. 



But perhaps our reader is saying, " All this is very 



well; I never had the chance of indulging in this 

 sentimentality, for I never could find a pebble in my 

 life. They look very pretty in the bazaars and 

 lapidaries' windows, and very dear they are too. All 

 I ever got for my trouble, if I summoned courage to 

 take a stone to a lapidary, was, ' Sorry to say, sir, 

 your pebble is only flint. I don't believe they are 

 found on our coasts at all.' " 



True it is that all that are exposed as local 

 pebbles are not local pebbles ; but, speaking from 

 eight years' experience (on and off) of the south 

 coast beaches, I can assure such incredulous, because 

 unsuccessful, grumblers that beautiful pebbles are 

 to be found on our coast (I refer now to Worthing, 

 and right and left of it for miles) ; and I can also 

 announce to all whom it may concern that a very 

 honest and clever lapidary resides in that same place, 

 and that Mr. Dowsett 'will never play false with 

 anybody. 



And now come with me in imagination, good 

 reader, to our Sussex beach, and I will give you a 

 short lesson on " indications." 



Here is a nice bit of beach where the pebbles are 

 not too crowded. We are just in time, too, for the 

 tide is just leaving the beach, and the pebbles are 

 wet. Look at this pebble I have just picked up. 

 Rough looking I grant you ; but I turn it over, and 

 now what see yon ? " Some blue-looking bubbles in a 

 depression of the stone ?" True ! that is chalcedony ; 

 and where there are well-developed bubbles of 

 chalcedony, there is generally something good 

 within. Now here is another. "No bubbles there'!" 5 

 No ; but wait. Do you observe those marbled 

 colours, red and black, mingling with each other, 

 and looking transparent? and holding my hand 

 slantingly over the top of the pebble against the 

 sun, see ! the whole of the upper part is quite trans- 

 parent ! That is a beautiful moss agate. But now 

 here is a choanite. " You don't see any feelers ?" 

 No ; and 1 don't like the feelers to appear too plain 

 on the outside. But mark, there is a sort of 

 depression in the stone, and in its centre a granular- 

 looking circle ; that; is the root. Having plenty at 

 home, I'll break it. There ! see how the feelers 

 spread with beautiful regularity all through the 

 pebble, but all starting from that base which I 

 called the root, the whole looking like an anemone 

 of our modern aquariums. Here is a sponge. 

 How do I tell ? By that rough reticulated round 

 button. And here is a pebble with a transparent 

 round coloured patch on the surface ; that is either 

 a small choanite or a species of madrepore." 

 With these precise indications, now go and try for 

 yourself. But I will not close without a few 

 general remarks. The patch above mentioned is 

 seen very frequently upon long-shaped pebbles — 

 sausage-shaped we may say ; and the indication 

 appears at both ends. These are often very pretty 

 specimens when "split" lengthways, displaying 



