We are far from having exhausted the treasures of the teeming sands. Another visit to their broad expanse may yield other objects of interest not inferior to those we lately discovered there. Let us, then, seek the shore, where our humble friend the shrimper, with his wading horse, under the guidance of his shrill-voiced little son, still pursues his indefatigable calling.

Again the keer-drag is drawn up the tawny beach, the bag is untied, and the sparkling, crawling, jumping heap spreads itself over the sand, beyond the limits of the insufficient cloth.

A little silvery fish wriggles from the mass, and, by a few lateral vibrations, in an instant buries himself in the soft wet sand, all but the upper surface of his head and back. Our attention is drawn towards this object; but our friend the shrimper shouts rather abruptly a note of warning. “Mind what ye be ’bout! that ’ere’s pison! He’s a sting-bull, he is.” Thus armed, we use caution in our approaches, and look well before we touch. As we see it now, it certainly presents a noteworthy appearance. A large head, with a wide mouth opening at very upward angles; two staring eyes, set in the crown so as to look upward instead of sideways, and intently watching our intentions; a short fin on the back, of which the membrane is of the deepest velvet black, and the rays, which are stout sharp spines, are white; these rays are now stretched to the utmost, like a fan widely expanded, so as to offer the threatening points in all directions to a foe;—these are all the features we can discern, except a narrow line of olive presently lost in the sand, which marks the buried body.

In spite of the good man’s earnest warnings to have nothing to do with so venomous a creature, we must contrive to take possession of it for study at home; and by the aid of our hand-net we find no difficulty in lifting it and transferring it, an unwilling guest, to a glass jar of sea-water. We now discern it more fully and distinctly; though it manifests its indignation at this tyrannical suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, by flouncing around the glass, and scattering the water hither and thither. This wrath, however, gradually subsides, and our captive philosophically makes up his mind to his fate.

It is the Lesser Weever;[58] a name corrupted from the French, who call it Vive, from the length of time which the fish will live out of its native element. It also bears the names of sting-fish, sting-bull, and sea-cat, among English fishermen; on the shores of the Mediterranean it bears the title of spider, and the ancient Romans called it sea-dragon. The specific names,—vipera and draco, viper and dragon—which are appropriated to this species and another which is nearly allied to it, make up an extensive list of aliases, all combining to give this pretty little fish a thoroughly bad reputation. All these titles point to a habit and a power possessed by it of inflicting severe wounds, which without doubt are of a highly inflammatory character, and are slow and difficult to cure. These are effected by the rays of the first dorsal fin, which, as we have just seen, are erected and spread in a way which indicates a perfect consciousness of their power, and by certain spines, long and acute, set on the gill-covers, one on each, pointing backward. These all are of needle-like sharpness, and are wielded most effectively. Yarrell tells us that if trod upon, or only touched, while on the watch, nearly buried in the sand at the bottom of the water, it strikes with force either upwards or sideways; and Pennant says that he had seen it direct its blows with as much judgment as a fighting cock. Fishermen hold it in great dread; and the name of sting-bull is said to be due to its power of piercing even the proverbial thickness of a bull’s hide.

This is oracular; but it does not appear that the decision of the great French anatomist was grounded on any definite experiments. Mr. Couch, on the other hand, has known three men wounded successively in the hand by the same fish (the Greater Weever), and the consequences have been felt in a few minutes as high as the shoulder. It is certain that the spinous bristles of certain caterpillars have the power of inflicting envenomed wounds, which in some cases even prove fatal, notwithstanding the minuteness of the organs, and evidence appears very strong for the injection of some highly irritant poison by means of these prickles of the Weevers.

The flesh of these fishes is esteemed for the table; but such is the general apprehension of danger attendant upon touching them, heightened also by their great tenacity of life, that the fishermen usually cut off the first dorsal and the gill-spines as soon as they capture them; while in Spain and France these precautions are enforced by legal penalties, on such fishes being exposed in the market without having been disarmed.[59]

According to Mr. Couch smart friction of the wounded part with olive-oil is the most effectual remedy; and this fact again suggests analogy of the evil with the effects produced by the bites of venomous snakes and the stings of insects.[60]

Our little fish is not uncomely in its form or the distribution of its sober colours. The upper parts are light olive, with lines of ill-defined reddish spots running lengthwise; the sides are silver-grey, tenderly washed with blue; the under parts pearly white: the cheeks and operculum are richly adorned with pearly reflections; these parts are destitute of scales, which is the chief distinction between this species and the Greater Weever, after the size; this species rarely exceeding five or six inches in length, whereas its congener attains double those dimensions, and even more.

In the tank, it is not particularly interesting; it grovels on the bottom among the pebbles, and will cover its body with the sediment so far as it is able; where it lies for hours, watching upward. Doubtless this is its habitual mode of obtaining its food; lying motionless in wait, nearly concealed, the eyes and the mouth both opening upwards, so that the former can observe, and the latter seize, any vagrant crustacean, or annelid, or young fish-fry that unsuspectingly swims within reach. Its motions when its energies are aroused are rapid, sudden, and forcible; and it probably rarely misses its victim when it makes its snap; while the multitude of minute creatures that roam continually over every part of the sea-bottom give no lack of opportunities for the exercise of its instincts. He fares sumptuously, no doubt.

Here is in the drag a specimen of an interesting tribe of fishes. It is the young of the common Thornback, a little thing about five inches in width, and in its infantile grace and beauty much more attractive than the older ones we are accustomed to see on the fishmonger’s table. It flaps and flutters in impatience at being dragged out of its element, and exposed to ungenial air: we will quiet its anxiety by lifting it into yonder shallow rock-pool. Now watch it. How easily and gracefully it glides around its new abode, moving along by an undulation of the edges of the broad pectoral fins, a movement which Yarrell describes as something between flying and swimming. Now it lies still on the sand-floor of the pool, motionless, save that the two oval orifices just behind the eyes are constantly opening and closing, by the drawing across each or back, of a film which exactly resembles an eyelid, and which on examination with a lens we see to be edged with a delicate fringe. The action is so closely like the winking of an eye, that an observer seeing the fish for the first time might readily suppose the orifices to be the organs of vision. They are, however, outlets of the gills, called spiracles; the ordinary gill-apertures are five on each side, placed semi-circularly on the inferior surface of the body, as you see when I turn the fish on its back, a demonstration which it resents and resists with all its might: these upper orifices communicate with the gill-chambers by canals, and you may see the water now and then strongly driven out of them.

The eyes are these knobs just in front of the spiracles; or rather these are the orbits, the pupil looking sideways and somewhat downward. If you use the lens again, you perceive that there is a singular protection to the pupil in the form of a fan-like array of about a dozen stiff points arching over it.

The general form of the fish is beautifully symmetrical; it is nearly a rhomboid, with the two front sides slightly excavated, and the two posterior sides convex. At the point where these latter unite, there are two smaller fins (the ventrals), and the body is continued very slender to a considerable length, tapering to a point, near which two upright dorsals are placed. The pectorals, as in all this tribe, are of enormous size, forming the lateral angles of the rhomboid, and extending in front of the head to the tip of the snout.

The colours are beautiful, but not at all gaudy. A warm olive brown is the ground hue, on which numerous roundish black spots, with softly blending outlines, are set in symmetrical patterns, and there are also rows of pale spots. This combination of hues is elegant. The slender prolongation of the body is edged with a narrow stripe of pure white. The colour of the whole under surface is richly iridescent, like mother-of-pearl.

At present we see only a few of the curved spines appearing, chiefly in the vicinity of the eyes, which in the adult become so conspicuous and remarkable; being something like strong rose-spines, each set on an oval button of bone, imbedded in the skin.

Another draught presents us with the Fifteen-spined Stickleback,[61] a little fish, remarkable for its form, but much more so for its habits. It is ordinarily about five or six inches in length, very slender and lithe, from which circumstance, combined with a protrusion of the jaws, which gives it a sinister expression, it is on some parts of the coast called the Sea-Adder. The lower jaw projects considerably beyond the upper, which indicates that the fish habitually takes its food from a point above the level of its own body. The dorsal and anal fins are high and short, so as to form, when erected, nearly equal-sided triangles; but the former is preceded by fifteen minute sharp erectile spines, each of which has its own little membrane, and all together represent the spinous portion of the dorsal fin in such fishes as have but one, as the Blennies, or the first dorsal in such as have two, as the Weevers. The caudal is narrowly lozenge-formed, as ordinarily carried, but becomes fan-like when expanded. The colours are deep sepia, or olive-brown, cast into streaks and irregular clouds, on the sides, where they are interrupted by white, and by a rich golden yellow, that extends over the inferior surface: the dorsal and anal fins are white, each crossed by a broad conspicuous band of brown; the eyes have golden irides.

We frequently see this attractive little fish hovering about the long tufts of wrack and tangle that hang from perpendicular rocks, and from the quays and wharves of our harbours. It diligently hunts about for its minute crustacean prey, in picking off which it assumes all varieties of position “between the horizontal and perpendicular, with the head downward or upward,” thrusting its projecting snout into the tufted weed, and snatching its morsel with a sudden jerk.

It is, however, in its domestic relations that this little fish presents itself in the most interesting aspect. It was known ages ago to Aristotle, that some fishes are in the habit of forming nests, in which they deposit their eggs, and bring up their young with a parental care not inferior to that of birds. Until lately, however, this fact was supposed to be fabulous; and fishes were believed by the greatest masters of modern zoology to be utterly destitute of the parental instinct. Recent research has in this, as in so many instances, proved the exactitude of the old Stagyrite’s knowledge, and we now know that several fishes of different families nidificate. The Sticklebacks, most of which inhabit in common our marine and fresh waters, are remarkable for the manifestation of this faculty, as was first shown by Mr. Crookenden, of Lewisham, in 1834, and as has since been proved, with many interesting details, by Mr. A. Hancock and Mr. Warington. Our Sea-Adder, which is exclusively marine, was first ascertained to be a nest-builder by the late Dr. George Johnston, who mentioned the fact in the “Transactions of the Berwickshire Naturalists’ Club” in 1839. But the most interesting account is that of Mr. R. Q. Couch, who noticed the facts on the coast of Cornwall, and thus records them in a paper read before the Royal Institution of that county:—

“During the summers of 1842 and 1843, while searching for the naked mollusks of the county, I occasionally discovered portions of sea-weed and the common coralline (Corallina officinalis) hanging from the rocks in pear-shaped masses, variously intermingled with each other. On one occasion, having observed that the mass was very curiously bound together by a slender, silken-looking thread, it was torn open, and the centre was found to be occupied by a mass of transparent, amber-coloured ova, each being about the tenth of an inch in diameter. Though examined on the spot with a lens, nothing could be discovered to indicate their character. They were, however, kept in a basin, and daily supplied with sea-water, and eventually proved to be the young of some fish. The nest varies a great deal in size, but rarely exceeds six inches in length, or four inches in breadth. It is pear-shaped, and composed of sea-weed or the common coralline as they hang suspended from the rock. They are brought together, without being detached from their places of growth, by a delicate opaque white thread. This thread is highly elastic, and very much resembles silk, both in appearance and texture: this is brought round the plants, and tightly binds them together, plant after plant, till the ova, which are deposited early, are completely hidden from view. This silk-like thread is passed in all directions through and around the mass, in a very complicated manner. At first the thread is semi-fluid, but by exposure it solidifies; and hence contracts and binds the substance forming the nest so closely together that it is able to withstand the violence of the sea, and may be thrown carelessly about without derangement. In the centre are deposited the ova, very similar to the masses of frog-spawn in ditches.

“Some of these nests are formed in pools, and are consequently always in water: others are frequently to be found between tide-marks, in situations where they hang dry for several hours in the day; but whether in the water or liable to hang dry, they are always carefully watched by the adult animal. On one occasion I repeatedly visited one every day for three weeks, and invariably found it guarded. The old fish would examine it on all sides, and then retire for a short time, but soon returned to renew the examination. On several occasions I laid the eggs bare, by removing a portion of the nest; but when this was discovered, great exertions were made to re-cover them. By the mouth of the fish the edges of the opening were again drawn together, and other portions torn from their attachments and brought over the orifice, till the ova were again hid from view. And as great force was sometimes necessary to effect this, the fish would thrust its snout into the nest as far as the eyes, and then jerk backwards till the object was effected. While thus engaged it would suffer itself to be taken by the hand, but repelled any attack made on the nest, and quitted not its post so long as I remained; and to those nests that were left dry between tide-marks, the guardian fish always returned with the returning tide, nor did they quit the post to any great distance till again carried away by the receding tide.”

It is worthy of note that the newly-hatched young from these nests were so unlike the full-grown Stickleback, and so like the common smooth Blenny, that Mr. Couch concluded that there had been some error in his observation, and that the nest truly belonged to the latter fish. Further research, however, proved that the Stickleback was indeed the parent; and the transition from the infantile Blenny-like outline of the face, high, bluff, and almost perpendicular, to the true Stickleback outline, long, slender, pointed, with the far-projecting lower jaw, is something remarkable.

But now the tide has reached its lowest mark; and as we wander over the wet sand at its very verge, our attention is attracted by every tiny object that breaks the uniform level, even at a considerable distance. Some of these are worm-casts thrown up by busy Annelids, working away in the sand to reach a lower and therefore a wetter level, as the upper stratum dries in the sun. But others are Crabs, of two or three species. One of them is the somewhat uncommon and very beautiful Portumnus variegatus, of which a great number are left by the sea, but all of them dead; some of them, however, from their freshness, only recently defunct. The shape of the carapace, or body-shell, is very elegant, and the colours, though sober—a light drab, mottled and pencilled with pale lilac—are pleasing: the hindmost pair of feet terminate in thin swimming-plates, but they are narrow, and exhibit the natatory character in only a subordinate degree.

Other Crabs are alive and active, though, to be sure, in a somewhat sluggish way. Here we catch sight of a slight movement in the wet sand, and, stooping, we perceive a pair of antennÆ, much beset with short bristles, projecting from the surface. They wag to and fro, and presently up pushes a shelly head, with its pair of stalked and jointed eyes, and two tremendously long angular arms, furnished with awkward-looking nippers at their extremities. Another effort, and the whole Crab emerges from his sandy burrow, and displays his pale buff-coloured shell, wrinkled across, and armed with sharp spiny points at its front and edges. We easily take him up, for his means of escape are feeble, as he uncouthly shuffles on his short legs over the sand; and his bellicose instincts are not strongly developed, nor, if they were, have those long levers of arms any formidable powers of offence. Latreille gave to the genus the title of Corystes; which signifies a warrior armed for battle, from ?????, a helmet, but its inoffensiveness belies the appellation.[62] Pennant had already conferred on the species the name of Cassivelaunus, the ancient British chief immortalized by CÆsar. If you were to ask me why this obscure crab should bear a name so renowned, I can answer only by conjecture. The carapace is marked by wrinkles, which, while in some specimens they suggest nothing, in others, especially old males, bear the strongest and most ludicrous resemblance to the face of an ancient man. I have taken specimens in which the vraisemblance was so perfect as to strike me, and others to whom I showed it, with amazement. Now Pennant, as is well known, had strong sympathies with his British ancestry; and perhaps, by a not extravagant stretch of imagination, his playful fancy saw the features of the grand old Celtic warrior perpetuated on this Crab, which he first met with, too, be it remembered, on the Welsh coast.

Mr. Couch, in his Cornish Fauna, notices the unusual length of the antennÆ. “These organs,” he says, “are of some use beyond their common office of feelers; perhaps, as in some other crustaceans, they assist in the process of excavation; and, when soiled by labour, I have seen the Crab effect their cleaning by alternately bending the joints of their stalks, which stand conveniently angular for this purpose. Each of the long antennÆ is thus drawn along the brush that fringes the internal face of the other, until both are cleared of every particle that adhered to them.” This suggested use of the antennÆ does not seem to me to be a very felicitous guess of the excellent Cornish naturalist: I should fancy them to be somewhat inefficient instruments in excavation: perhaps I can help him to a better. I have observed that, when these Crabs are kept in an aquarium, they are fond of sitting bolt upright, the antennÆ placed close together, and also pointing straight upward from the head. This is, doubtless, the attitude in which the animal sits in its burrow, for the tips of the antennÆ may often be seen just projecting from the sand. When the chosen seat has happened to be so close to the glass side of the tank as to bring the antennÆ within the range of a pocket lens, I have minutely investigated these organs, without disturbing the old warrior in his meditation. I immediately saw, on each occasion, that a strong current of water was continuously pouring up from the points of the approximate antennÆ. Tracing this to its origin, it became evident that it was produced by the rapid vibration of the foot-jaws, drawing in the surrounding water, and pouring it off upwards between the united antennÆ, as through a long tube. Then, on examining these organs, I perceived that the form and arrangement of their bristles did indeed constitute each antenna a semi-tube, so that when the pair were brought face to face the tube was complete. It is difficult to make this arrangement intelligible by mere words; but I may say that if either of the antennÆ were broken off in the middle and viewed vertically, the bristles would be seen to project from each side of the inner face, in a curved form, each making about a fourth of a circle, so that the two corresponding bristles enclose, with the body of the antenna, a semicircle. Of course, those of the opposite antenna make another semicircle, and, when placed face to face, the points of the bristles just cross each other, and a circle is enclosed. Now, the whole length of the antennÆ (about an inch and a half) is closely beset with these bristles, and thus a long row of rings is formed with very narrow interspaces between them; and these rings do in effect constitute a tube quite sufficient to retain the stream of water that is poured through it.

I think then that we may, with an approach to certainty, conclude that the long antennÆ are intended to keep a passage open through the sand, from the bottom of the burrow to the superincumbent water, for the purpose of pouring off the waste water, rendered effete by having bathed the gills: and it is one of those exquisite contrivances and appropriations of structure to habit which are so constantly exciting our admiration in the handiwork of the ever blessed God, which cannot be predicated by the À priori reasoner, however astute, but are ever rewarding the research of the patient observer.

Our walk along the sands with steady downcast poring gaze suddenly ends, and we find ourselves among low ledges of black rock (ruddy, however, in its recent fractures, for it is the old red sandstone), clad with sweltering weed, and intersected by little sparkling pools and basins, in which the tiny fishes and entangled prawns shoot hither and thither at our approach. It is the low-lying ridge in the midst of the broad sandy bight that I have already spoken of. Well, n’importe; there is plenty of game to be obtained here, and all is fish that comes to our net. What have we here, creeping over the broad brown leathery leaf of this Laminaria? Is it a little scrap torn from an old newspaper? It looks like it at the first glance, only that it moves steadily onward with a smooth gliding motion, which shows that it possesses a life of its own. Examine it closely: it is exactly like a bit of white paper, about as large as a rose leaf, and cut into that shape, only with an even edge, its clear white surface marked all over with black parallel lines, some thinner, some thicker, running lengthwise, and as clear as if drawn with a pen. What answers to the base of the leaf is the head of the creature, the pointed end being the tail, where the two most strongly marked black lines meet; from the head end arise two curious ear-like leaflets, which are studded with crowded black dots, and are thrown back upon the general surface. With a lens we may discern on the surface of the body, just between these ear-like tentacles, a group of black specks. These are ascertained to be veritable eyes, notwithstanding their number, for they have a cornea, a light-refracting body surrounded with pigment, and a nerve-bulb.

As the animal glides over the surface of the smooth weed, or over the inequalities of the rough rock, we see that its thin papery margin is frequently thrown up into waves, or folds, more or less distinctly revealing the inferior surface. The movement is very even and uniform, but the mode by which it is effected has not been satisfactorily explained. It has been asserted that certain staff-like bristles which project from the skin are used as oars, but this seems doubtful. It is certain that the whole body of the animal, as of the entire class to which it belongs, is densely clothed with minute vibratory cilia; and these, while they probably serve as organs of locomotion in freely swimming, do also without doubt make the whole skin a highly delicate and sensitive organ of touch.

It is asserted of the near allies of this species, and probably is equally true in this case, that if an individual be cut to pieces, every portion continues to live and feel, from whatever part of the body it may be taken; and what is not a little remarkable, each piece, even if it be the end of the tail, as soon as the first moment of pain and irritation has passed, begins to move in the same direction as that in which the entire animal was advancing, as if the body were actuated throughout by the same impulse; and, moreover, every division, even if it is not more than the eighth or tenth part of the creature, will become complete and perfect in all its organs.[63]

You would naturally expect to find the creature’s mouth at the front end, where the two tentacles are placed, and the group of eyes, but you would search for it there in vain. It is, in fact, situated most strangely in the very midst of the belly; that is, at the very centre of the inferior surface. And its structure is not less peculiar than its locality. It consists of an orifice, in the midst of which lies a sort of trumpet of enormous extent when opened, but when not in active use thrown into many folds, which, when the animal wishes to seize prey, are thrust forth, and being partly opened, take the appearance of many irregular tentacles radiating in all directions, at the centre of which is the oesophagus, leading immediately into a much ramified intestine. The name which is given to this elegant and interesting creature is Eurylepta vittata.[64]

But here is another member of the same class of strange creatures. On turning up a large flat stone, we expose to the light of day what might readily be mistaken for a very long thong of black leather, or rather a narrow strip of Indian-rubber, twisted and tied together, and coiled in all possible contortions. If you take hold of it, you find it not so easy to secure it as you expected, for it is excessively lubricous and soft, and withal so extensile and so tough, that you may pull one of the coils to almost any length without lifting the rest of the creature. However, you at last contrive to raise the slippery subject, and commit it safe to your tank at home, in which it will live an indefinite while; often invisible for weeks at a time, lying concealed under some of the stones, then seen perhaps in every corner of your aquarium at once, stretching from one stone to another, and coiling around every groin and projection, folded back upon itself, until in the multitude of convolutions you despair of finding head, tail, or any end at all to the uncouth vermin. You may soon discover the signs of its presence, however, in another way, for its voracity is great, and it is a ferocious foe to the tube-dwelling worms; such as the lovely SabellÆ and SerpulÆ, thrusting its serpent-like head into their tubes, and dragging out the hapless tenant to be quickly swallowed.

The animal is named Nemertes Borlasii, or sometimes Borlasia longissima, in allusion to Dr. Borlase, the historian of Cornwall. It is also occasionally termed the Long-worm, par excellence, a name whose appropriateness will appear from the fact that it sometimes reaches a length of thirty feet, with a breadth of an eighth of an inch.

Mr. Kingsley has drawn the portrait of this ciliated worm; and if he has painted it in somewhat dark colours, and manifested more than a common measure of antipathy to it, we must confess that the physical and moral lineaments of the subject do in some degree justify the description. I will quote his vivid words.

“There are animals in which results so strange, fantastic, even seemingly horrible, are produced, that fallen man may be pardoned if he shrinks from them in disgust. That, at least, must be a consequence of our own wrong state; for everything is beautiful and perfect in its place. It may be answered, ‘Yes, in its place; but its place is not yours. You had no business to look at it, and must pay the penalty for intermeddling.’ I doubt that answer: for surely, if man have liberty to do anything, he has liberty to search out freely his Heavenly Father’s works; and yet every one seems to have his antipathic animal, and I know one bred from his childhood to zoology by land and sea, and bold in asserting, and honest in feeling, that all without exception is beautiful, who yet cannot, after handling, and petting, and admiring all day long every uncouth and venomous beast, avoid a paroxysm of horror at the sight of the common house-spider. At all events, whether we were intruding or not, in turning this stone, we must pay a fine for having done so; for there lies an animal, as foul and monstrous to the eye as ‘hydra, gorgon, or chimera dire,’ and yet so wondrously fitted for its work, that we must needs endure for our own instruction to handle and look at it. Its name I know not (though it lurks here under every stone), and should be glad to know. It seems some very ‘low’ Ascarid or Planarian worm. You see it? That black, slimy, knotted lump among the gravel, small enough to be taken up in a dessert-spoon. Look now, as it is raised and its coils drawn out. Three feet! Six—nine at least, with a capability of seemingly endless expansion; a slimy tape of living caoutchouc, some eighth of an inch in diameter, a dark chocolate-black, with paler longitudinal lines. Is it alive? It hangs helpless and motionless, a mere velvet string across the hand. Ask the neighbouring Annelids and the fry of the rock fishes, or put it into a vase at home, and see. It lies motionless, trailing itself among the gravel; you cannot tell where it begins or ends; it may be a strip of dead sea-weed, Himanthalia lorea, perhaps, or Chorda filum; or even a tarred string. So thinks the little fish who plays over and over it, till he touches at last what is too surely a head. In an instant a bell-shaped sucker mouth has fastened to its side. In another instant, from one lip, a concave double proboscis, just like a tapir’s (another instance of the repetition of forms), has clasped him like a finger, and now begins the struggle; but in vain. He is being ‘played’ with such a fishing-rod as the skill of a Wilson or a Stoddart never could invent; a living line, with elasticity beyond that of the most delicate fly-rod, which follows every lunge, shortening and lengthening, slipping and twining round every piece of gravel and stem of sea-weed, with a tiring drag such as no Highland wrist or step could ever bring to bear on salmon or trout. The victim is tired now; and slowly, yet dexterously, his blind assailent is feeling and shifting along his side, till he reaches one end of him; and then the black lips expand, and slowly and surely the curved finger begins packing him end foremost down into the gullet, where he sinks, inch by inch, till the swelling which marks his place is lost among the coils, and he is probably macerated into a pulp long before he has reached the opposite extremity of his cave of doom. Once safe down, the black murderer contracts again into a knotted heap, and lies like a boa with a stag inside him, motionless and blest.”[65]