the perfect jelly-fish as the final result of this extraordinary series of transformations.
Similar observations have been made respecting other tribes amongst the lower animals, and some interesting generalisations have been founded upon them, into which, however, it is not our present purpose to enter.
The Acalephæ are the principal agents concerned in the production of the beautiful phenomena of phosphorescence. The minute speciesmere gelatinous specksswarm at times by countless myriads in the waters of the ocean, and make its surface glow with 'vitalised fire.' The waves, as they curl and break, sparkle and flash forth light, and the track of the moving ship is marked by a lustrous line. 'In the torrid zones between the tropics,' says Humboldt, 'the ocean simultaneously develops light over a space of many thousand square miles. Here the magical effect of light is owing to the forces of organic nature. Foaming with light, the eddying waves flash in phosphorent sparks over the wide expanse of waters, where every scintillation is the vital manifestation of an invisible animal world.' Beneath the surface larger forms are seen, brilliantly illuminated, and lighting up the mystic depths of the sea. Fiery balls and flaming ribbons shoot past; and submarine moons shine with a soft and steady light amidst the crowds of meteors. 'While sailing a little south of the Plata on one very dark night,' says Mr Darwin, 'the sea presented a wonderful and most beautiful spectacle. There was a fresh breeze; and every part of the surface, which during the day is seen as foam, now glowed with a pale light. The vessel drove before her bows two billows of liquid phosphorus, and in her wake she was followed by a milky train. As far as the eye reached, the crest of every wave was bright; and the sky above the, horizon, from the reflected glare of these livid flames, was not so utterly obscure as over the vault of the heavens.' Even in our own seas very beautiful displays of phosphorescence may be witnessed. On fine summer nights, a soft, tender light plays round the boat as it moves onward, and the oars drop liquid fire. For how much of beauty are we indebted to these living specks of jelly?
Of the extreme minuteness of some of the species, an idea may be formed from the fact, that 110,000 might be contained in a cubic foot of water. We can say nothing with certainty as to the cause of the phosphorescence of the medusæ, and shall not trouble our readers with mere speculations.
The jelly-fishes furnish us with a striking illustration of the profusion of life in the ocean. Provision has indeed been made for securing in all the realms of our globe the largest possible amount of sentient being, and consequently of happiness. And to each tribe a definite part is assigneda special mission is intrusted. None can be spared from the economy of nature. The shoals of microscopic medusæ store up in their own tissues the minute portions of nutritious matter diffused through the waters, and supply food for the support of higher organisms. All the tribes of animated beings are dependent one upon another. That the greatest may enjoy its existence and fulfil its work, the least must hold its place and discharge its function. They co-operate unconsciously to secure the unity and harmony of a system which is designed to promote alike the interests of each and all of them.
STEEPLE-JACK'S SECRET
You must know, then, I began the world as a sailor; and I marvel to this day how I ever became anything else. Sailors are the stupidest set in creation. They are mere animals, except in the gift of speech; good, honest, docile animals, perhaps, but
dull and narrow. They go round the small circle of their duties like a blind horse in a mill. Their faculties are rocked by the waves and lulled by the winds; and when they come ashore, they can see and understand nothing for the swimming of their heads. Drink makes them feel as if at sea again; and when the tankard is out, they return on board, and exchange one state of stupefaction for another. Well, I was a sailor, and the dullest of the tribe. No wonder, for I was at it when a young boy. I was never startled by the sights or sounds of the sea. The moaning of the wind, the rush of the waves, the silence of the calm, were parts of my own existence; and in the wildest storm, my mind never took a wider tack than just to think what the poor devils on shore would do now.
I was a handy lad, however. I could go aloft with any man on board, and never troubled the shrouds in coming down when a rope was within springing distance. But this was instinct or habit: thought was not concerned in itI had not found the principle. One day, it blew what sailors call great guns; our bulwarks were stove in pieces, and the sea swept the deck, crashing and roaring like a whole herd of tigers. There was something to do at the mast-head; and when the order came through the speaking-trumpet, seeing the men hesitate, I jumped upon the shrouds without thinking twice. But at that moment the ship gave a lurch, and, holding on like grim death, I was buried deep in the waves. Although still clutching the ropes, I had at first an idea that they had parted, and that we were on our way to the bottom together. This could not have lasted above a minute or so; but it seemed to me like a year. I heard every voice that had ever sounded in my ear since childhood; I saw every apparition that had ever glided before my fancy: the Sea-Serpent twisted his folds round my neck, and the keel of the Flying Dutchman grated along my back. When the vessel rose at last, and I rose with her, the waters gurgling in my throat and hissing in my ears, I did not attempt to spring up the shrouds. I looked round in horror for the objects of my excited thoughts; and as I saw another enormous wave advancing till it overhung me, instead of getting out of its reach, which I could easily have done, I kept staring at it as it broke into what seemed innumerable goblin faces and yelling voices over my head. I was down again. My leading thought now was that I would strike out and swim for my life. But when I had just made up my mind to thiswhich the sailors would have called being washed awayI rose once more to the surfaceand struck up like a good one! I was at the cross-trees in a breath, and once in safety there, I looked back both with shame and indignation.