THE MORTE STONE. 83 



But, first, let me tell you what made me desiderative 

 of tin boxes, and indignant with Tenby for its want of 

 resources. At Ilfracombe the orange-tentacled and 

 orange -disked Anemones, by Mr Gosse christened 

 Actinia aurora and Actinia venusta, are unknown, 

 and, of course, prized all the more on that account. Is 

 not everything valued for its rarity ? There is, how- 

 ever, not many miles from Ilfracombe, a terrible reef 

 runnino- far out into the sea, bearino- the sombre name 

 of the Morte Stone, on which many a tall ship has been 

 wrecked, and which, inaccessible from the land, is 

 visited only by naturalists and gulls. We — I mean 

 the naturalists, not the gulls — found Morte Stone well 

 worth the visit ; and w^hile scrambling over its desolate 

 ridges, the spray of a heavy sea dashing from either 

 side in our faces, and a noonday sun pouring down its 

 fierce passion upon our heads, as we clambered over 

 rocks so black with mussels that you could not for 

 yards have inserted a penknife between them. A., with 

 his coat off, emerged from under a ledge, meeting B., 

 no less jubilant, both holding up specimens of the 

 orange-tentacled Anemone, hitherto supposed to be- 

 long exclusively to Tenby. This was the first time I 

 saw the sunset-flame on the tentacles of this Anemone ; 

 and when at Tenby, remembering the delight with 

 which B. carried home the novelty, it was natural that 

 I should wish to send him a few of the beauties ex- 

 panding their tentacles in my vases. But how ? One 

 cannot wrap a moist and mucose animal in note-paper, 

 and expect it to reach its destination like an invitation 



