INTRODUCTION. 
“ Come unto these yellow sands, 
And there take hands ” 
Even the happy people of whom the strange phrase is used, that “ money is no object to 
them,” cannot command fate altogether. They are mortal in respect of their minds ; and 
cannot, with all appliances, get away from the inexorable law which rules that whoever would 
find the world interesting must work out an interest in it for himself. Much may be done, it 
is true, by unlimited wealth, to stave off the hour of ennui, but nothing answers so effectually 
as a healthy, earnest employment, whether of body or mind. Everything but w^hat a man 
labours for becomes wearisome to him after a time — a cherished occupation never; for 
although on some particular day he may have tired himself in its pursuit, the object pursued 
is as dear to him as ever, when the next morning’s sun wakes him from the blessing of rest to 
the still higher blessing of exertion. 
It may seem strange to open an introduction to a set of sea-weed descriptions with a 
somewhat trite moral reflection, but it has its particular mission in this particular case. It 
justifies the labour to which the book calls its readers, as well as that which the writer has 
gone through ; and holds out to the former the encouragement of hope that their trouble will 
not be thrown away. 
It was once prettily said by a lady who cultivated flowers, that she had “ buried many a 
care in her garden and the sea-weed collector can often say the same of his garden — the 
shore ; as many a loving disciple could testify, who, having taken up the pursuit originally as 
a resource against weariness, or a light possible occupation during hours of sickness, has ended 
by an enthusiastic love, which throws a charm over every sea-place on the coast, however dull 
and ugly to the world in general ; makes every day spent there too short, and every visit too 
quickly ended. Only let there be sea, and plenty of low, dark rocks stretching out, peninsular- 
like, into it ; and only let the dinner-hour be fixed for high-water time, — and the loving 
disciple asks no more of fate. Turn him out on that flat, and, to you (0 Gentile of the outer 
courts), uninteresting shore, with a basket, a bottle, a stick, a strong pair of boots (oiled, not 
polished with blacking), and, let us add, to crown the comfort, a strong, friendly, and willing, 
if not learned companion; and all the crowned heads of Europe may be shaken without his 
being able to feel that he cares. When the returning tide has driven him backwards from his 
best hunting grounds, and sent him home at last to dinner and things of the earth, earthy, 
the squabbles of nations may come in for a share of his attention perhaps ; but, even then, only 
imperfectly, for the collected treasures have to be examined and preserved, and the heart of the 
collector yearns after them. 
