A "lucky-stone." 15 



would be able to give you satisfaction about them, 

 unless you happen to meet with a practical working 

 naturalist who has searched up the neighbourhood. 

 You must use your own eyes. 



I accordingly took a walk around the shore, from 

 the Lookout southward ; making my way down the 

 sloping cliff, which successive landslips have crumbled 

 down and rent into chasms in the grassy turf, threat- 

 ening at no very distant period the fall of the pretty 

 cottages above, that already stand in perilous proximity 

 to the falling edge. The beach below, sweeping round 

 to Belmont Bay, is loose shingle, most unpleasant and 

 fatiguing to walk over, and one of the most unproduc- 

 tive to the naturalist. Between tide-marks the pebbles 

 are washed clean by the surf, but along the line of 

 high-water, there is here a broad bank of black sea- 

 grass (Zostera), the accumulation of years, perhaps 

 ages, rotting into mould, and forming an admirable 

 manure. It is indeed used for this purposCj being 

 carted away by the farmers when it is sufficiently abun- 

 dant and sufficiently accessible. In the vicinity of 

 Torquay, and of Ilfracombe, I had not met with this 

 substance in any appreciable quantity ; but in Poole 

 Harbour, the scene of my early life, I had been 

 familiar enough with it, as its dirty, littering banks, 

 like a continuous dunghill, fringe the shores ; the 

 refuse of hundreds of acres of the grass, that grows 

 on the muddy flats of that land-locked harbour. 



Nor was this the only thing that reminded me 

 of early days. As I sauntered with down-cast 

 eyes over the shingle, my eye caught a perforated 

 pebble, and in an instant the rude distich of boyish 



