XXII.

Serpulæ and Sabellæ

1, 2 SEA-URCHIN'S TEETH (Two illustrations.)3 COMMON SEA CUCUMBER4 COMMON RAZOR-SHELL5 COMMON SERPULÆ, attached to a piece of stone.

Withthe exception of the Balani (Acorn-Barnacles), perhaps the most common objects to be met with at the sea-shore are the Serpulæ. Scarcely a rock, or shell, or bit of old china, or piece of wood, or rusty nail, lying near low-water mark, but is encrusted with colonies of these animals. I have a small twig of a tree by me, so thickly coated with Serpulæ as to obscure all signs of its ligneous character, except at each end. A shell also exhibits the same phenomenon, and well-nigh defies the most skilful observer to define its original form with any degree of certainty.

The shelly tubes of these animals are built in the form of serpents, or twisted funnels, of a milk-white colour. Although so extremely hard, these tubes are formed solely by an exudation from the body of the animal—a simple marine worm. Unlike its erratic friend, the earth-worm, the Serpula is sedentary in its habits, and at no time does it ever leave its dwelling.

The delicate, but brilliant feathery plume—the only portion of the animal ever visible—constitutes the principal mechanism by means of which the Serpula constructs its calcareous tube.

A most wonderful instance of how mighty are the works which these insignificant creatures form when congregated together in vast numbers, and how useful such labours may sometimes be to mankind, is narrated by Dr. Darwin in his 'Voyage of the Beagle.'

Being delayed by adverse winds, this gentleman made a stay at Pernambuco, a large city on the coast of Brazil, and the most curious object that he saw there was the reef that formed the harbour. 'I doubt,' to use his own words, 'whether in the whole world any other natural structure has so artificial an appearance. It runs for a length of several miles in an absolutely straight line, and parallel to, and not far distant from the shore. It varies in width from thirty to sixty yards, and its surface is level and smooth; it is composed of obscurely stratified hard sandstone. At high water the waves break over it; at low water its summit is left dry, and it might then be mistaken for a breakwater erected by Cyclopean workmen. On this coast the currents of the sea tend to throw up in front of the land long spits and bars of loose sand, and on one of these the town of Pernambuco stands. In former times a long spit of this nature seems to have become consolidated bythe percolation of calcareous matter, and afterwards to have been gradually upheaved, the outer and loose parts during the process having been worn away by the action of the sea, and the solid nucleus left as we now see it. Although night and day the waves of the open Atlantic, turbid with sediment, are driven against the steep outside edges of this wall of stone, yet the oldest pilots know of no tradition of any change in its appearance. This durability is by far the most curious fact in its history;it is due to a tough layer, a few inches thick, of calcareous matter, wholly formed by the successive growth and death of the small shells of Serpulæ, together with some few Barnacles, &c. These insignificant organic beings, especially the Serpulæ, have done good service to the people of Pernambuco, for without their protective aid the bar of sandstone would inevitably have been long ago worn away, and without the bar there would have been no harbour,'

Nothing whatever appears to be known relative to the mode of reproduction of these Annelids. I have paid much attention to the subject, but as yet have not gained any positive information regarding it. The only fact which I consider worthy of being chronicled is the following: On one occasion, when quite a novice in Marine Zoology, while observing a beautiful group of Serpulæ seated on a stone, I saw issuing from out one of the tubes a kind of very fine dust, of a rich crimson hue, which continued to arisefor nearly an hour in spite of repeated efforts to disperse it by aid of a camel-hair pencil. At first I believed the 'dust' to be the 'remains' of a deceased serpula, but afterwards found that such was not the case, the annelid being alive and healthy. Never having seen the phenomenon since, it has been a great source of regret to me that I did not endeavour to discover what the dust was composed of; but have little doubt that the microscope would have shown it to be, in reality, the ova of the Serpula.

Another class of Annelidans, termed Sabellæ, like the Serpulæ, also build habitations for themselves, but not of the same materials. Instead of being white, the tubes of the first mentioned animals are brown in colour, and composed of minute granules of sand, or small shells, and lined internally with a gelatinous substance exuded from the body of the worm. On the interior of the oyster and other shells, and even in univalves occupied by the Lobster Crab, various tubes of Sabellæ may often be seen. They are, however, generally discovered congregated together, forming a kind of honeycomb mass in the fissures of rocks, or against the sides of rock-pools, or on the surface of small stones, &c.

A mass of Sabellæ tubes forms by no means an inappropriate or unpleasant object for the tank, as the animals are hardy, and will live for many months if the water be kept pure. Moreover, while in confinement, they do not live in luxurious indolence, butever seem to be busy in the exercise of their architectural propensities, making alterations, repairing damages, or otherwise 'sorting' their tubiculous habitations.

'The tubes of the Sabellæ,' says Dr. Williams, 'are soft, flexible, and muddy. Slimy mucus furnished by the integumentary glands of the body is the mortar or cement, fine sand molecules are the "stones" or solid material of the architecture. In the Sabellæ the lime of which the tubes are built is held in solution in the mucus provided by the cutaneous glands. It is adjusted in the fluid form, and moulded by appropriate tools into the required shape. It thensolidifies, too, under water, like the "Aberthaw lime." The tube of the Sabellæ fits closely round the body of the worm; it is slightly elastic, and the interior is smooth.'

'His mansion he extends,So well concealed beneath the crumbling sands.'

Fewpeople who are in the habit of visiting the sea-shore but must have noticed the empty shells of the animal about to be described. I allude to the Solen, or Razor-Shell, commonly so called from its resemblance to the handle attached to a barber's scythe.

This bivalve, improbable as the statement will appear to the uninitiated, is one of the most efficient burrowers to be met with on our shores.

By means of its fleshy foot it digs a hole in the mud or sand. Sometimes it retreats from the surface to a distance of several feet, but generally remains sufficiently near to allow its short, fringed siphons to project above the sand.

In walking along the beach, left bare by the receding tide, the pedestrian may often perceive little jets of water thrown up at his approach. These jets proceed from the Razor-Fish in question. Although we may be several yards from his burrow, his senseof feeling is so acute, that the faintest vibration of the earth around causes the creature to retire alarmed within his dwelling.

In many places the Solen is much sought after by the poor, who esteem it a great luxury. In foreign countries—Japan, for example—it is so highly prized that we are told, 'by express order of the prince of that country, it is forbid to fish them until a sufficient quantity hath been provided for the emperor's table.'

The Irish people, when they go out to catch the Solen siliqua, have an appropriate song and chorus which they sing, but whether to amuse themselves or charm the fish 'this deponent sayeth not,' for very obvious reasons. In general, I should think the less noise the more likelihood of success to those endeavouring to capture this animal.

'Who has not seen the picture of the stupid-looking boy going warily out with a box of salt, having been gravely informed by some village wag that if he would only just drop a pinch of salt on the birds' tails he would be sure to catch them. We are all familiar enough with this venerable joke, but not so with its successful application in another case. This time it is the fisherman, instead of the village boy, who carries the box. He cautiously slips a little salt into the hole, which irritates the ends of the siphons, and makes theSolencome quickly out to see what is the matter, and clear itself of this painful intrusion.The fisher, on the alert, must quickly seize his prey, or else it will dart back again into its retreat, whence no amount of salting or coaxing will bring it out again.'

If after reading the above quotation any person should fancy that in his mind's eye he perceives at many sea-side places, scores of hardy, weather-beaten fishermen walking about, each armed with nothing but a box filled with salt, wherewith to bamboozle the Spout-Fish, he will be most lamentably deceived. True it is, this plan is sometimes adopted by children and amateur naturalists, but by fishermen—never. Instead of a salt-box, these, when in search of their favourite bait, always carry a kind of harpoon, formed of a piece of iron rod, the end of which is sharpened to a point.

Having witnessed the Solen throw up his jet of water, and retire beneath the soil, the fisherman suddenly plunges his instrument into the orifice. Should the action have been skilfully performed, the rod will have pierced the animal between its valves, which instantly retract upon the intruding object. To draw the fish to the surface is then a comparatively easy task. If the first plunge of the rod be not successful, the fisher knows full well it would be futile for him to repeat the attempt, as the object of his attack would quickly burrow itself down to such a depth as to render pursuit hopeless.Juveniles at the sea-side, imitating the plan above described, become by practice very expert in procuring specimens of the Razor-Fish by means of a piece of wire sharpened at one end.

Fishes

1 SMOOTH BLENNY2 VIVIPAROUS BLINNY3 SPOTTED BLENNY or Gunnel-Fish4, 5, 6 THE MONTAGU SUCKER-FISH(Three illustrations.)7 SUCKER of THE MONTAGU SUCKER-FISH

Oneof the bestbons motsthat I ever remember to have read was entitled, 'Punch's Address to the Ocean'—

'With all thy faults I love theestill.'

Any landsman who finds himself occupying a seat in a fishing-smack or oyster-boat while a stiffish breeze is blowing will, I am sure, with great mental fervour echo the above sentiment.

For myself, I can never take even a short trip on the water without experiencing some unpleasantness—proving to me that the sea is not 'my element.' Still, I am one of those to whom the 'salt ocean' is endeared by early recollections, having been, when a child, frequently among the aged and mutilated veterans of our country who vegetate on the banks of the 'silver Thames.'

From the tobacco-stained mouths of some of these old blue-jackets (all of whom, I may mention, according to their own account, had fought 'alongside of thegalyantNelson'), many strange stories have beenpoured into my eager and willing ears, and even now a thrill of delight is evoked when any of these 'yarns' rise to remembrance. Still, the truth must be told: ever since I narrowly escaped drowning by plumping into the water backwards, from leaning against theunsnibbed-door of a bathing-machine, and at another time from being in a boat that, to my intense horror and dismay, had sprung a leak—I have enjoyed the sea best when my feet are on dry land; in other words, I like to view the 'world of fluid matter,' in its various phases, from a distant and perfectly safe point of view. Nay more, I can always better appreciate certain of its beauties (at all events during winter time) when seated by a warm fireside.

When lately in such a cosy position, my thoughts reverted to the marvellous operations ever going on within the liquid walls of the great deep. There artifices and stratagems, robbery and murder, and cannibalism in its worst forms continually occur. On the other hand, there may be scenes of courtship, touching instances of maternal affection, such as, were they chronicled, would make our hearts bleed with truest sympathy. Still, the Rob Roy maxim of

'They should take who have the power,And they should keep who can,'

seems therein to be carried out with a rigour that would do honour to the 'bold outlaw Macgregor.'Might there is generally predominant over right. Fishes eternally prey upon each other; and for such reason, were it not for the wonderful fecundity of these creatures (one cod-fish, for instance, producing several millions of ova in a single season), we should soon have the waters depopulated of all but the monsters of the deep.

Now, knowing that such a state of things exists—that cannibalism is of such frequent occurrence, and the dogs of war are there ever let loose—the inquiry naturally presented itself: Are the inhabitants of the ocean a happy race or not? According to many writers, the answer must be given in the affirmative; nay, more, some authors state, and with good show of authority, too, be it observed, thatfishes are in reality the happiest of created things, by reason that they have no fear or apprehension of death, nor are they subject to pain or disease, nor, in fact, to any of those ills thatfleshis heir to. These creatures cannot, of course, live for ever; but by a merciful dispensation of Providence, their final pang endures but for an instant.

The celebrated St. Anthony is among the believers in the consummate happiness of the finny tribe. There is on record a discourse said to have been preached by him to an assembly of fish, in which they are flattered to an amazing extent. It almost rouses one's jealous ire to find such fulsome adulation bestowed upon the lower animals, at the expenseof all other objects in nature, not exceptingmanhimself. There is, however, such a singular force and truthfulness in some of the expressions and sentiments which occur in the Jesuitical discourse alluded to (given by Addison in his 'Remarks on Italy'), that I cannot resist the temptation of quoting a few of its most prominent passages.

We are told that St. Anthony, feeling annoyed at certain heretics not listening devoutly to his preaching, he determined to teach them a lesson; and for this purpose went down to the sea-shore, and called the fishes together in the name of God, that they might hear his holy word. The fish soon swam towards the speaker in vast shoals, and, having ranged themselves, according to their several species, into a very beautiful congregation, were addressed just as if they had been rational creatures.

The sermon commences in the following words:—

'My dearly-beloved Fish,—Although the infinite power and goodness of God discovers itself in all the works of his creation, as in the heavens, in the sun, in the moon, and in the stars—in the lower world, in man, and in other perfect creatures,—nevertheless, the goodness of the divine Majesty shines out in you more eminently, and appears after a more particular manner, than in any other created beings.

'It is from God, my beloved fish, that you have received being, life, motion, and sense. It is he that has given you, in compliance with your naturalinclinations, the whole world of waters for your habitation. It is he that has furnished it with lodgings, chambers, caverns, grottoes,and such magnificent retirements as are not to be met with in the seats of kings or in the palaces of princes!

'You have the water for your dwelling—a clear, transparent element, brighter than crystal; you can see from its deepest bottom everything that passes on its surface. You have the eyes of a lynx or of an Argus; you are guided by a secret and unerring principle, delighting in everything that may be beneficial to you, and avoiding everything that may be hurtful; you are carried on by a hidden instinct to preserve yourselves, and to propagate your species; you obey, in all your actions, works, and motions, the dictates and suggestions of nature, without the least repugnance or contradiction.

'The cold of winter and the heat of summer are alike incapable of molesting you. A serene or a clouded sky are indifferent to you. Let the earth abound in fruits or be cursed with scarcity, it has no influence on your welfare. You live secure in rains and thunders, lightnings and earthquakes; you have no concern in the blossoms of spring or in the glowings of summer, in the fruits of autumn or in the frosts of winter. You are not solicitous about hours or days, months or years, the variableness of the weather or the change of seasons.'

The saint still further 'butters his fish' by reminding them, among other things, that they were specially favoured by God at the time of the universal deluge, they being the only species of creatures that were insensible of the mischief that had laid waste the whole world! He then begs of them, as they are not provided with words, to make some sign of reverence; give some show of gratitude, according to the best of their capacities; express their thanks in the most becoming manner that they are able, and be not unmindful of all the benefits which the divine Majesty has bestowed upon them.

He had no sooner done speaking, but behold a miracle! The fish, as though they had been endued with reason, bowed down their heads with all the marks of a profound devotion, and then went joyously bobbing around with a kind of fondness, as in approval of what had been spoken by the blessed father, St. Anthony.

Many of the heretics, as a matter of course, were converted at beholding the miracle; and the polite and pious little fishes, having received his benediction, were dismissed by the saint.

Shakspeare authoritatively asserts that—

'Travellers ne'er do lie,Though fools at home condemn them.'

Here I beg to differ with the sweet Bard of Avon, who, I am sure, would have retracted his statementhad he read the above fishy discourse, and also the following among many other strange anecdotes which are published regarding the 'denizens of the deep.'

An Eastern traveller tells us that, 'in a certain river whose waters flow from Mount Caucasus into the Euxine, there arrives every year a great quantity of fish.' This information not being particularly novel in regard to most rivers, will fail to excite surprise in the mind of the reader. A different result, however, will follow when he hears that, according to Abon-el-Cassim, 'The people cut off all the flesh on one side of those inhabitants of the deep, and let them go. Well, the year following,' as this veracious writer avers, 'the same creatures return and offer the other side, which they had preserved untouched; it is then discovered that new flesh has replaced the old!'

This account reminds us of the tale of the traveller who reported that he had seen a cabbage, under whose leaves a whole regiment of soldiers were sheltered from a shower of rain. Another, who was no traveller (but the wiser man), said he had passed by a place where there were four hundred braziers making a cauldron—two hundred within, and two hundred without beating the nails in. The traveller, asking for what use that huge cauldron was, he told him, 'Sir, it was to boil your cabbage!' A wittily severe, but deserved rebuke.

There are many other statements regarding fishes which, although curious, are, nevertheless, to a certain extent true.

The Chinese, for instance, who breed large quantities of the well-known gold-fish, call them, it is said, with a whistle to receive their food. Sir Joseph Banks used to collect his fish by sounding a small gong; and Carew, the historian of Cornwall, brought his grey Mullet together to be fed by making a noise with two sticks.

In spite of these accounts, there are many writers who affirm thatfishes do not possess the sense of hearing at all; and certainly a belief that these creatures are gifted with such a faculty is not necessary, in my opinion, in order to explain the above-mentioned phenomenon.

At the fountains, in the gardens of Versailles, the writer has seen numbers of fishes flocking together and anxiously waiting for the subscriptions of the visitors. Now, had a bell been rung, these animals, doubtless, would have appeared at the edge of the fountain as usual; but had the bellnotbeen sounded, and any human figure been visible, they would have taken up the self-same position.

I have, at various times, kept packs of fishes (Blennies, &c.), and tamed them, so that each member would feed out of my hand. For some time I used to attract them to the side of the vessel in which, they resided by striking a wine glass with asmall stick; but I also noted that if I made myself visible, and remained silent, while handing down a few fish mouthfuls, that the whole pack followed as readily as if I had sounded the mimic gong. Nay, whether I offered any bribe or not, and silently approached their crystal abode, the whole family would immediately flock in great haste towards me.

The tameness of these little creatures was somewhat remarkable. On numberless occasions I have taken them up in the palm of my hand, without the slightest opposition on their part, and then stroked and smoothed them on the back, as I would do a bird. At such times they made a kind of musical chirp, expressive of pleasurable emotion, and seemed in no hurry to escape into their native element even when I laid my hand in the water.

Such delightful confidence was always rewarded with some dainty.

Dr. Warwick relates an instance of instinct and intelligence in the Pike, which is so remarkable that I am sure my readers will be pleased to be made acquainted with it. I am the more induced to transfer it to these pages, from the remarks with which the doctor closes his narrative. From reasons stated above, the reader will be prepared to learn that I do not consider the statements therein advanced—that fishes are really sensible to sound—by any means conclusive.

When residing at Dunham, the seat of the Earl ofStamford and Warrington, he (Dr. Warwick), was walking one evening in the park, and came to a pond where fish intended for the table were temporarily kept. He took particular notice of a fine pike of about six pounds weight, which, when it observed him, darted hastily away. In so doing it struck its head against a tenterhook in a post (of which there were several in the pond, placed to prevent poaching), and, as it afterwards appeared, fractured its skull, and turned the optic nerve on one side. The agony evinced by the animal appeared most horrible. It rushed to the bottom, and boring its head into the mud, whirled itself round with such velocity that it was almost lost to sight for a short interval. It then plunged about the pond, and at length threw itself completely out of the water on to the bank. He (the doctor) went and examined it, and found that a very small portion of the brain was protruding from the fracture in the skull. He then carefully replaced this, and with a small silver toothpick raised the indented portion of the skull. The fish remained still for a short time, and he then put it again in the pond. It appeared at first a good deal relieved, but in a few minutes it again darted and plunged about until it threw itself out of the water a second time. A second time Dr. Warwick did what he could to relieve it, and again put it in the water. It continued for several times to throw itself out of the pond, and with the assistance of thekeeper, the doctor at length made a kind of pillow for the fish, which was then left in the pond to its fate. Upon making his appearance at the pond on the following morning, the pike came towards him to the edge of the water, and actually laid its head upon his foot. The doctor thought this most extraordinary, but he examined the fish's skull and found it going on all right. He then walked backwards and forwards, along the edge of the pond for some time, and the fish continued to swim up and down, turning whenever he turned; but being blind on the wounded side of its skull, it always appeared agitated when it had that side toward the bank, as it could not then see its benefactor. On the next day he took some young friends down to see the fish, which came to him as usual, and at length he actually taught the pike to come to him at his whistle, and feed out of his hands. With other persons it continued as shy as fish usually are. He (Dr. Warwick) thought this a most remarkable instance of gratitude in a fish for a benefit received, and as it always came at his whistle,it proved also what he had previously, with other naturalists, disbelieved, that fishes are sensible to sound. (?)

On hunting among the rock-pools by the sea-shore, several peculiar little fishes are frequently to be found, and although some of them cannot be considered suitable for the aquarium, still, for the reader's information, it may be as well that I devote abrief space to a description of the peculiarities of each.

By far the most interesting of all the finny occupants of the rock-pool, is, to my taste, the Smooth Blenny, or, as it is variously termed, Shanny, or Tansy. It is also more abundant than many other species, and may therefore be readily captured during summer. The Blenny varies from two to five inches in length. The back is ornamented with exquisite markings, but the most characteristic features are the peculiar bluntness of the head, and the brilliant crimson dot both on and immediately beneath the eyes.

Although easily tamed, the Blenny, in his native haunts, appears to be the most timid of animals, darting with the rapidity of lightning to the shelter of some stone or overhanging weeds at the remotest indication of approaching footsteps, or the faintest shadow of a human form being cast on the water.

When desirous to procure a specimen, it is best to choose as small a pool as you can for your hunt. Drop in your net at one end, and as the Shanny precipitately retreats to the other, give him chase. Having arrived at the extremity of his domain, he will endeavour to hide among the weeds, but if you hold your net across the pool with one hand, and with the other lift up a stone or beat the bushes, the little fellow will become greatly excited, and dartingout, of course, unwillingly, falls into the snare prepared for him.

Having gained your prize, do not handle it, but placing your finger under the net, tilt it over the mouth of the bottle, and allow the Blenny to fall as gently as possible into the water. You need be under no uneasiness after introducing him to the aquarium about the nature of his diet. He is far from being epicurean in his tastes. I supply mine according to my whim at the moment, with whatever is at hand, a bit of fowl, roast beef, or the like.

The only caution I adopt when giving animal food to the Blenny is to remove all traces of fat. I mince their food into minute particles, and having sufficiently moistened it, I place a morsel upon a hair pencil. This attention to their comforts the Blennies soon learn to appreciate, and will, after a while, display at meal times the sagacity of larger animals.

Perhaps the simplest plan to adopt is to cut open a mussel and throw it into the tank. A considerable deal of amusement, moreover, is often to be obtained by watching the fishes engaged at such a meal. How they toss the valves of the Mytilus about, and snap at each other's tails! How vexed they become if by accident the shelly dish is turned topsy-turvy, and resists all their manœuvres to reverse it so as to get at the meat! The valves of a large mussel will sometimes be literally cleaned out by some half dozen Blennies in the course of an hour.

I have noticed a singular fact in connection with the Blenny—namely,that they do not all increase in size as they grow older. Out of five that I kept domesticated for more than two years, one specimen remained at the end of that period of the same size as when I first made its acquaintance in a rock-pool by the sea-shore, while its companions had greatly increased their proportions. But let me in justice add, that if my little finny pet failed to increase in corpulency, it gained largely in intelligence. Who is there that has not seen children, short in stature, and comparatively old in years, who deserve the epithet applied to them by the vulgar, of 'little—butknowing.' This remark would apply with great truth to my 'little Dombey' fish.

Before becoming expert in carrying out the plan (which will be fully detailed hereafter) for clarifying the water of an aquarium which has become opaque from superabundant vegetative growth, I had to submit to many annoying failures. Thus it was in a certain instance.

I had cleaned out my tank, refilled it with partially purified water, and again inserted the various animals constituting my 'stock.' Emboldened by the success which had attended my operations, I thought a still further dose of diluted acid might be added, in order thoroughly to remove the greenish hue of the water. A few minutes showed me the folly of not letting well alone, for soon flakes of discharged vegetationwere precipitated to the base of the vessel, covering it with a coating of fur.

The poor Blennies speedily showed signs of distress, and changed colour, as they generally do, upon the most trifling cause. Instead of dark brown or black, their bodies appeared of a yellowish tint, spotted with white. Such a change was lovely to the eye, but, alas! it was—

'The loveliness in death,Which parts not quite with parting breath.'

The little creatures jumped and dived about in all directions, all their motions being extremely violent. I quickly perceived the error which had been committed, and, moreover, discovered to my chagrin that such error could not possibly be rectified for some time, on account of my not having by me any reserve of pure salt water. Taking several of the fishes in my hand, I stroked their backs with a camel-hair pencil, and was pleased to find that as their alarm subsided their natural hue returned. My being obliged to place my pets in their unhappy and pestilential home again was, as the reader may suppose, a source of regret to me; but I had some hopes that they might by chance survive, and become used to the 'vapour of their dungeon,' at all events until such time as I could hasten to the sea-side and procure a new supply of water. My expectations of such a result were built upon the fact, that although four of the fishes hadchanged colour, the small Blenny still retained its natural hue. How did this happen? it will be asked. I answer, by little Dombey (doing as his brethren had always hitherto done in similar circumstances) leaping on to a ledge of rock that projected out of the water, and there breathing the fresh air in safety.

On the following morning I peeped into the vessel, and saw by their upturned gills that all my finny proteges were dead!

'All my pretty ones?Did I say all?'

All except the smallest of the pack, he was still dressed in his sombre coat, and gracefully reclining upon the rocky couch above mentioned.

How thankfully he received the breakfast that I temptingly offered upon the tips of my feeding brush, and how grateful he seemed to be, when, after the lapse of a few hours, I was enabled to let him float again in his pure native element, a fresh supply of which had been procured with as little delay as possible!

The Viviparous Blenny differs from the other British Blennies 'in the circumstance to which its name refers—that of bringing forth its young alive, which seem perfectly able to provide for themselves from the moment they are excluded.'

It is a most gentle, graceful-looking fish, but as far as my experience goes, one that is impossible totame, or rather, I should say, embolden. All my efforts to domesticate various specimens have proved unavailing; and in spite of the most earnest and kindly attention, they have generally pined away and died within a week after their introduction to the aquarium.

From the illustration on Plate 12the reader will have no difficulty in recognising the original, should he by chance meet with it hiding among the tangle, or beneath the stones by the sea-shore.

The spotted Blenny, Butter-Fish, or Gunnel-Fish, as it is variously termed, is found lurking under stones in the same places as the preceding. In the north of Scotland it is called 'cloachs,' and is used extensively as a bait for larger fish. When disturbed, it wriggles its body about in the muddy bottom of the rock-pool like an eel, for which, indeed, it is occasionally mistaken.

Its length varies from three to nine inches; the depth only half an inch; the sides very much compressed and extremely thin.

The dorsal fin consists of seventy-eight short spiny rays, and runs the length of the back almost to the tail. The most conspicuous feature in the Gunnel-Fish are the eleven round spots which occur at the top of the back, and reach the lower half of the dorsal fin; they are black, half encircled by white.

The tail is rounded, and of a yellow colour. The back and sides are of a deep olive; the belly whitish.

In its young state I have had this fish live in my aquarium for several months, but it never seemed to be happy or contented.

The Five Bearded Rockling is almost as great a favourite with the writer as the Smooth Blenny. It is a very pretty fish, and may be easily tamed. In the course of a week I trained one to feed out of my hand, and when I put my finger in the water the fish would rub against it with its head, just as a favourite cat frequently does against the leg of a person with whom it is very familiar; moreover, if I moved the intruding digit with a circular motion through the water, the Rockling would waltz round the tip with evident signs of pleasure.

This fish is often found in tide-pools, and may readily be identified by the prominent appendages attached to its head, to the presence of which, the Rockling owes its familiar appellation.

The Goby (Gobius unipunctatus), or, as it is more popularly termed, One-Spotted Goby, is frequently found inhabiting the same pool as the Blenny or the Rockling. The distinguishing character of this pretty creature is the black spot which is situated between the fifth and sixth ray of the first dorsal fin. Its length is usually about one, or one and a half inches; specimens have, however, sometimes been found on the shores of the Frith of Forth, that measured nearly three inches.

The colour of the Goby is very changeable. If theanimal is labouring under excitement, its body assumes a deep brownish tint, approaching in some instances to black; this gives place to brown, drab, and even amber, or yellowish white.

The Goby possesses the power of attaching its body to any object by means of its ventral fins, which become united together in the form of a funnel.

Another species (Gobius bipunctatus), or Two-Spotted Goby, is generally found among theFuci, in rocky situations. Its name is derived from a dark spot which is distinctly apparent on each side, near to the origin of the pectoral fin.

The head and upper part of the body is dark brown,—the under part of the head and belly white or pale drab.

Allusion has already been made to the peculiarity of the Gobies affixing their bodies to rocks or other substances, by means of a sucker formed by the junction of the ventral fins. The adhesive power in question, which this class of creatures possess, is very limited as compared with that which is exercised by the true sucker fishes, and especially by the members of a certain species, whose bodies are furnished with two distinct organs of adhesion.

The extraordinary adhesive powers of the Lump-Sucker, for instance, have been tested by several writers. One observer states, that a fish of moderate size has been known to suspend a weight of above 20 lbs., upon which it had accidentally fasteneditself. Mr. Pennant says still more, for he has known that, in flinging a fish of this kind just caught into a pail of water, it fixed itself so firmly to the bottom, that, on taking it by the tail, the pail was lifted up, though it contained several gallons of water.

To descend from the largest to the smallest species, we arrive at the Montague Sucker-Fish, or, as it is sometimes called, the Diminutive Sucker, one of the most interesting little creatures to be met with at the sea-shore. At the coast near Edinburgh I have met with many specimens, equally well in the spring or winter season, as during the summer months. At such locality this species may therefore be pronounced common; yet it is comparatively unknown to most 'collectors' in the neighbourhood. Many, indeed, contend that my designation is erroneous. But having taken considerable pains to satisfy my mind upon the subject, I have no hesitation whatever in stating that the little fish in question is identical with that of the Montague Sucker.

Donovan, in his 'Natural History of British Fishes,'[19]was the first to illustrate and publish an account of thispetitegem of ocean. His figures are copied from drawings made by Colonel Montague, who also furnished the description of the specimen delineated. With the important exception of thesucker—an organ of adhesion which is very nearly correct—the general appearance of the Diminutive Sucker-Fish as figured, is not at all satisfactory. Perhaps this is not to be wondered at, when we remember that the specimen from which the sketches were taken was very small indeed. Moreover, it was diaphanous, and is depicted as being principally transparent, spotted, and tinged with pink.

The Diminutive Sucker, in its adult state, is said to be from two to three inches in length; consequently Colonel Montague's first specimen must have been an extremely young one.

The usual colour is deep orange, varied with minute dark spots. The under parts of the body and throat are of flesh colour; the centre of the sucker being faintly tinged with crimson.

I have seldom met with specimens measuring more than one, or one and a quarter inches. It is a marked peculiarity in this Sucker-Fish, that when adhering to any substance it has a constant habit of curving the tail towards the head. In such position it will remain motionless for several hours.

There is little difficulty in capturing the Montague Sucker in its native haunts. It does not possess the power of darting to and fro with the speed of the Blenny, or most other fishes, but progresses through the liquid element with a peculiar quivering motion.

It is not a fish that can be recommended for the aquarium. A fortnight to three weeks is the longest time that I have been able to keep a specimen alive; indeed, until I adopted the plan of allowing each little captive to remain quiet and undisturbed in a dark and shady place, death ensued in the course of one or two days.

My illustrations (Plate 12)having been carefully drawn and coloured from a living specimen, the student will, I trust, find no difficulty in recognising the Diminutive Sucker, should he be so fortunate as to meet with it in a rocky pool.

'There is also a fish called the Sticklebag, a fish without scales, but hath his body fenced with several prickles. I know not where he dwells in winter, nor what he is good for in summer, but only to make sport for boys andwomen anglers.' Thus contemptuously does dear old Izaak speak of the Sticklebag, or Stickleback, as it is now termed, one of the most amusing and interesting members of the finny tribe. I have frequently transferred specimens of the Stickleback from fresh water to salt water, and found them live quite as well in the latter as in the former.

The contrast, however, between the appearance of the three spined Stickleback, when first taken from the sea, and one captured in the fresh water pond is very remarkable. The first is dressed in a gorgeous coat of varied colours. Around the mouth and bellyit is bright crimson, on the upper part of its body various tints of green prevail; while in the pond specimen no red colour is visible at all, but only white blended with green.

In addition toGasterosteus aculeatus, whom we have above alluded to, there is another species,G. spinachia, or Fifteen-Spined Stickleback, which is also an inhabitant of rock-pools by the sea-shore, but unlike the first-mentioned, is never found in fresh water. Both species possess one peculiarity in common, a description of which will form an appropriate conclusion to this chapter. I allude to their nest-building habits, which has only of late years been proved to exist, although Aristotle has recorded the same fact regarding a fish (Phycis) in the Mediterranean Sea, which was known to make a nest and deposit its spawn therein.

The duties of mason and architect are invariably undertaken by the male Stickleback. His materials are of course very limited, still his labours are skilfully and even artistically performed. Having chosen a suitable spot as a foundation for his house, he collects some delicate sea-weeds, gravel and sand, and with these materials, aided by a glutinous fluid which is given off from his body, the house is built. When completed, and not before, he seeks out his mate, and invites her to take possession of her newly formed home. If she shows any affectation or coquetishness, he does not hesitate to nip hold of her tail, and urgeher forward by equally expressive signs. Soon, like a dutiful little pet, she enters, and having deposited spawn, retires again, leaving her lord and master to guard the casket and its living treasure. This task, though extremely arduous, he adopts with pride and gratification.

How so small a creature can bear up so long under such a state of apparent excitement appears marvellous. His assiduity is most extraordinary. By night he rests beside the nest, and by day, if he can possibly hinder it, he allows nothing to approach. When there are other members of the Stickleback family in the aquarium, numerous combats are sure to ensue, for as the young and transparent offspring of one fish are deemed a great dainty by the non-parental body, the latter invariably endeavour to satisfy their cannibal propensities at the harrowing expense of their neighbours.

When the spawn are hatched, fresh care devolves upon the parent, in order to keep them within the nursery, and protect them from the greedy mouths of the larger fish, always on the look-out for tit-bits. Should one of the little fishlings stray beyond the prescribed bounds, the watchful parent darts after it, and in an instant his jaws close over the wanderer apparently for ever, but in fact only for a time, for swimming quickly back the old fish puffs out the straggler into its nest lively and uninjured.

'And so I end this little book, hoping, even praying that it may encourage a fewmore labourers to go forth into a vineyard which those who have toiled in it knowto be full of ever fresh health, and wonder, and simple joy, and the presence andthe glory of Him whose name is Love.'—C. Kingsley.

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