December is here, with its short days, its feeble watery sunshine, its frequent gloom and mist, its hanging leaden skies; in short, as the poet describes it,—

It requires some zeal in the pursuit of scientific lore to leave the glowing fire and the pleasant book, the luxurious arm-chair and the elastic carpet, and to venture down to the wild sea-beach, to poke and peer among the desolate rocks. Yet even now we may find a few bright days, when Nature abroad looks inviting, and when an hour’s marine research will prove neither unpleasant nor unsuccessful.

On such a noon, then, calm and quiet, the sun bright and cheerful, if low and feeble, the tide tolerably low and the rocks accessible, we hie down to some one or other of those ledges which have so often already yielded their treasures to our search, and begin our wonted labours at turning over the heavy angular masses. We soon find, attached to the under surfaces of these, what seem to be irregular blobs of coloured jelly of somewhat firm consistence, as if an invalid had been here eating his calves’-foot jelly, whose trembling hand had dropped sundry spoonfuls on the stones. Some appear as flattish shapeless drops, but others take more elevated forms, like sacks set on end, and usually displaying two mouths. One of these is of a pellucid yellowish green, or olive hue, with a cloudy spot of rich orange in the interior. A slight shrinking from the touch, a yet closer contraction of the projecting points, is the only token of life that we can discern in it now; but if we place it in an aquarium,—not forcibly removing it from its attachment, but lifting the shell or stone on which it rests; or, if this be too large, detaching the fragment with a chisel,—and allow it to remain a few hours undisturbed, we shall see evidences of a vitality, indubitable if not very active.

The whole creature is now much plumper and more pellucid; it stands up boldly from its base on the stone; its upper portion is much lengthened, and the two wart-like eminences have become two short tubes with gaping extremities, appearing as if they had been soldered together side by side, of which the one is considerably higher than the other.[149]

We have before us one of the Tunicata, an order of molluscous animals which are closely allied to the Conchifera or bivalves, but somewhat lower in the scale than they. It has no shell; that is to say, lime is not deposited in the outer investment, so as to give it the hard, rigid, solid texture of shell; but the internal organs, which are essentially similar to those of an Oyster or a Sand-gaper, are enclosed in a tough leathery coat, known as the test, which is in fact a closed shell destitute of lime. The eminent physiologist, John Hunter, who had dissected some of these homely Squirters, as they are familiarly called, recognised, with his wonted acumen, the structural similarity of their leathery envelopes to the stony shells of the lower bivalves; and, associating them in a group, called them “soft-shells.” The naturalness of this group, since called Tunicata by Lamarck, has been recognised by modern zoologists.

If we watch our Ascidia for a few minutes, we perceive that at irregular intervals one or both of the gaping orifices are suddenly closed and contracted, commonly both at the same instant. They are, however, soon opened again; and we may discern, especially if the specimen is in a glass vessel, and we watch it by the aid of a lens, with the light of a window at its back, that a current of the surrounding water flows from all sides to the taller orifice, and pours down its tube; while occasionally we see the ejection of a stream from the orifice of the shorter tube. Thus we have here a receiving and a discharging tube, the exact representatives of the two siphons in such bivalves as Pholas, Venus, etc. The former leads down into a capacious sac in the interior, the walls of which constitute the breathing apparatus. The inner surface is marked by regular parallel ridges which run in a horizontal direction; and these are again connected by vertical ridges at right angles, very numerous, enclosing a vast number of oval compartments. The sides of these are richly ciliated; and if the whole apparatus be carefully dissected out, and laid upon the stage of the microscope, the course of the ciliary currents may be distinctly seen, continuing with unabated vigour and with unfaltering precision for a long time after the severance of the organ from the body of the animal. But all this is seen to most advantage, if we select one of the smaller species, which are brilliantly transparent, such as one which grows in groups of elegant tall vases, about an inch in height, around the edges of our rocky pools,[150] or a tiny thing which forms a little heap of transparent globules, like pins’ heads, attached to sea-weeds.[151] In either of these, placed in a stage-trough of sea-water, we can watch at leisure the performance of the various vital functions in healthy action, with the knowledge that the little subject has not been martyred to science, but is all the while enjoying its humble life with perhaps as much zest as if it were still environed by the rough walls of its little native basin of rock.

In the tiny pin-head of clear jelly, the microscope displays the branchial sac hanging free in the cavity, like a bag of clear muslin. The oval cavities divided-off by the rectangular ridges are about forty in number, around each of which the ciliary waves incessantly roll, as running spots of black. It is a very charming spectacle to see so many oblong figures set symmetrically, all furnished on their inner surface with what look like the cogs or teeth of a mill-wheel, dark and distinct, running round and round with an even, moderately rapid, ceaseless course. These black, well-defined, tooth-like specks are merely an optical effect; they do not represent any actual objects, but only the waves which the cilia make: the cilia themselves being hairs, so fine as to be defined only with high powers. Occasionally we see one or other of the ovals suddenly cease its movement, while the rest go on; and now and then the whole are arrested simultaneously, and presently all start off again together, with a very pleasing effect, as if we were looking at the wheels of a very perfect and complex piece of machinery. These phenomena appear to indicate that the movements are under the control of the animal’s will, capable of being suspended or continued, wholly, or in any degree, at pleasure; which is not the case in the higher animals; our own respiratory movement, for example, as well as the pulsations of the heart, going on without the concurrence of our will, and even without our consciousness.

The action of the heart in these transparent creatures is equally visible. Below the muslin curtain with its living chambers, down at the very bottom of the body-cavity, there is a transparent sac of membrane, which takes the appearance of a long bag, pointed at each end, but not closed, and strangely twisted on its long axis, so as to make three turns. This is the heart; and within it are seen many colourless globules, floating freely in a clear fluid, which answers to the blood. This circulates throughout the system in the following manner:—We see a spasmodic contraction at one end of the bag, which drives forward the globules contained there; the contraction in an instant passes onward along the three twists of the vessel, the part behind expanding immediately as the movement passes on, and the globules are forcibly expelled through the narrow but open extremity. Meanwhile the free globules surrounding the commencing end have rushed in as soon as that part resumed its usual width, and are in their turn driven forward by the periodic repetition of the pulsation. The fluid, with its globules thus put in motion, is then driven along through the interstices of the various organs of the body, not through a system of closed blood-vessels, some finding their way along the transverse lines that separate the rows of gill-ovals, until they sooner or later arrive at the point where they entered the heart, to take the same course over again.

As in the kindred forms of animal life, the same orifice, the same cilia, the same currents are subservient to breathing and to the reception of food; the stomach digesting the microscopic animalcules which are poured with the entering stream through the receiving siphon. At some distance within the interior of this orifice there are a series of thread-shaped tentacles, affixed in a ring, which we may suppose to exercise some kind of superintendence, by touch or other perception, over the atoms which indiscriminately enter upon the stream, accepting or rejecting. Probably it is in the exercise of the latter discretion that those irregular regurgitations of the current take place, accompanied by a momentary closing of the mouth, that we frequently notice.

Still further ancillary to the protection of the stomach from the intrusion of inimical matters, we may safely suppose certain eye-like specks which are placed at the very vestibule. In the larger species, as this red-clouded green Squirter, there are seated in special fissures at the very margin of the expanded siphon-orifices, red dots,—eight around the receiving, six around the ejecting, siphon. Each dot seems ascertained to be an eye of very rudimentary structure, seated on a mass of orange pigment. We should probably do wrong if we attributed any higher vision to these organs than a low degree of sensibility to the general stimulus of the light.

Some species have the orifices of the siphons four-cornered, whereas the sort I have been describing have them circular; there are differences also in the breathing sac, which in the square-mouthed species is folded lengthwise, while in the round-mouthed it is plain. Hence the former have been separated from the AscidiÆ, as a distinct genus, named Cynthia; both including a large number of species.

We have a pretty attractive little Cynthia in our dredging,—the Currant Squirter.[152] It is not uncommon in deep water off this coast, and in Weymouth Bay; frequently occurring in family groups crowded together on old shells. Generally there is one of superior dimensions to the rest, the venerable parent of the colony; and, surrounding him, others of varying size, and (doubtless) age, down to very minute infants. The full size is about that of half a small cherry; but it is more usual to see them not exceeding that of half a red currant. These comparisons will also give a fair idea of their shape and colour, especially in a state of contraction, as when lifted from the water: for they are little hemispheres of a brilliant, scarcely pellucid, crimson hue, seated on the shell by the whole broad base. Under water, and at ease, the form becomes more conical, rising into a point; whence, in full expansion, the two siphons protrude, slightly divergent, and the one a little superior to the other, each opening by a distinctly quadrangular orifice.

Contrasting with this neat and pretty little family, we have here another species of the genus, the Four-angled Squirter.[153] You would hardly suppose this to be an animal at all, if uninitiated; but might readily pass it over as a rude stone, or a bit of wood roughly bruised and worn by the waves beating it among the rocks, so uncouth and coarse and shapeless it is. It forms a great mass, some two inches high, rudely four-sided, of a dull yellowish-olive hue, rising into two blunt eminences, which individually retain the quadrangular shape, and in activity open by symmetrically quadrangular orifices. It is a sluggish, unattractive lump of flesh, somewhat between leather and jelly in texture, coarsely pellucid, but not transparent, and its exterior is usually distinguished by various extraneous matters imbedded in the test, as well as by forests of tangled zoophytes which creep over it and root in it as on the rock. The surface itself, moreover, is much corrugated by an irregular network of depressions, marking off angular warty areas.

On the other hand, the little Currant is a pleasing inhabitant of the aquarium. Of manners, to be sure, it has not much, good or bad, but the form and colour are agreeable; as is also the effect produced by the grouping of the brilliant drops of jelly. Little of change takes place, beyond the occasional contraction and reprotrusion of the orifices; but sometimes you may see, as I have seen, at certain times, the laying of eggs by this species, which is an interesting phenomenon. These are perfectly globular, about the size of small shot or pins’ heads, of a rich scarlet-crimson hue: they are deposited in a singular manner. The oviduct does not extend to the exterior of the body, but discharges the eggs into a large cavity formed by the mouth, of which the discharging siphon is the outlet. From this orifice, then, they are expelled, shot out perpendicularly with considerable force, so that they describe arched courses through the water, like bombs shot from a mortar, rising to a height ten times that of the animal. I have observed a dozen or more eggs thus discharged in quick succession, which then fall to the bottom around the parent, destined to constitute one of those family groups in which we usually find the species.

I have not been successful in rearing these eggs to maturity. The development of the Tunicata has, however, been observed by various naturalists, and by none more thoroughly than by the late Sir John Dalyell, whose elaborate and costly works, profusely illustrated, are such a mine of information respecting the lower forms of marine life.

The young escapes from the egg in a form as unlike the parent as can be imagined. It is a flat ovate body with a long flat tail, altogether presenting a curious resemblance to the tadpole of a frog. In this condition I have found the larva of the Clavelina, and have followed it to the development of the Ascidia form. By means of the rapid vibrations of the powerful tail, the little tadpole swims for short distances through the water, with more effort than effect. After a while, it rests; swims again, and again rests; till at last it moves no more. A coloured eye-speck is visible on the surface, destined to be absorbed; the tail is beginning to disappear (in some cases it is separated by a spontaneous constriction at its junction with the body, in others it appears to be gradually absorbed); one or more warts are seen budding from the opposite extremity of the body. These last secrete a cement by which the animal is finally attached to its support, shell, stone, or sea-weed, either growing out into creeping and adherent root-threads, or enlarging into a broad base, from which the body begins to grow upward. After a while the two orifices are formed; first within, on the mantle, before the exterior test is pierced; then the internal organs, the gill-sac, and the pulsating heart, if it be one of the transparent species, become recognisable; the single eye-speck, a temporary organ, pales and disappears; and the permanent circles of visual organs are formed around the siphonal orifices. And thus the Ascidian is developed.

The genera Ascidia and Cynthia consist of isolated distinct individuals; the Clavelina and the Perophora exist in the form of groups, composed of distinct individuals associated by a common branching root-thread, whence they irregularly bud forth. There are, however, other genera, in which the compound life is more prominently manifest, the individual being recognisable only by carefully dissecting it out from the common mass. To this form belong many gelatinous masses which occur on our rocky coasts; one in particular,[154] conspicuous for its rich scarlet and orange colours, which forms irregular pear-shaped lumps, that hang from low-lying ledges, and that look not unlike strawberries. This is extremely abundant. More attractive still are the Botrylli,[155] which doubtless many persons have gazed on with admiration, wondering what they can be,—animal, vegetable, or what. They look as if small quantities of jelly had been spilt, sometimes on a stone, sometimes on the broad leaf of a tangle, sometimes on a shrubby sea-weed, entangling the twigs and leaves in the gelatinous mass. When we look closely at such an object, we see that it is studded with little starry systems of oblong specks, of some bright colour contrasting with the ground-tint;—perhaps the stars are bright orange on a warm brown, or pale straw-colour on a chocolate ground, or green on an iron-grey. The stars vary in outline, often being angular, often oval, or circular: they vary, too, in dimensions, and in number of the constituent specks; some may be a sixth of an inch in diameter, and contain a dozen or more; others may be less than half that size, and have no more than two or three; or even a single speck may be seen here and there, which has not yet begun to develop the starry form.

Each bright speck in these radiating star-like systems is an animal essentially of the Ascidian form, with the following peculiarities. All have budded from one primary individual, which was produced as a tiny tadpole, from an egg: the manner and direction in which the buds were put forth determining the starry arrangement. There is a common gelatinous envelope, in which the whole are imbedded, and which ever extends as the individuals and systems multiply, and which seems to have the power of developing isolated individuals which have not budded in the ordinary way, but which then produce others by budding, and so become the commencing points of other systems. In each individual the siphonal orifices are remote from each other, the receiving one being placed on the circumference of the ring or system, while the ejecting one is placed at the opposite end, opening, in common with the discharging siphons of all of that system, into a central main orifice, which rises out of the level with a circular rim, and forms the dark centre of the system.

In the open ocean there are forms of Tunicata which are not attached, but swim freely; and, what is surprising, even compound forms are thus found, progressing by a combined action. One of the most curious is the genus Pyrosoma, which consists of long-bodied Ascidians, so united in rings as to constitute a long, free cylindrical tube, closed at one end and open at the other. By the rhythmical contractions and dilatations of the multitude, this great cylinder slowly swims through the open sea. But the most interesting circumstance in its history is that it is intensely luminous, lighting up the midnight ocean with flashes of vivid light, or seen gliding through the dark water like glowing sticks of fire. So it is described by some voyagers, perhaps with a little exaggeration, for Mr. Bennett, to whom we are indebted for many valuable remarks on oceanic zoology, speaks in more subdued tones of it. His account of this and other pelagic phosphorescence is very interesting:—

“On the 8th of June,” he observes, “being then in lat. 30° S., and long. 27° 5' W., having fine weather and a fresh south-easterly trade-wind, and the range of the thermometer being from 78° to 84°, late at night, the mate of the watch came and called me to witness a very unusual appearance in the water, which he, on first seeing it, considered to be breakers. On arriving upon deck, this was found to be a very broad and extensive sheet of phosphorescence, extending in a direction from east to west, as far as the eye could reach. The luminosity was confined to the range of animals in this shoal, for there was no similar light in any other direction. I immediately cast the towing-net over the stern of the ship, as we approached nearer the luminous streak, to ascertain the cause of this extraordinary and so limited phenomenon. The ship soon cleaved through the brilliant mass, from which, by the disturbance, strong flashes of light were emitted; and the shoal, judging from the time the vessel took in passing through the mass, may have been a mile in breadth. The passage of the vessel through them increased the light around to a far stronger degree, illuminating the ship. On taking in the towing-net, it was found half filled with Pyrosoma (Atlanticum?), which shone with a beautiful pale-greenish light; and there were also a few shell-fish in the net at the same time. After the mass had been passed through, the light was still seen astern, until it became invisible in the distance; and the whole of the ocean then became hidden in the darkness as before this took place. The scene was as novel as beautiful and interesting; more so from my having ascertained, by capturing luminous animals, the cause of the phenomenon.

“The second occasion of my meeting these creatures was not exactly similar to the preceding; but though also limited, was curious, as occurring in a high latitude, during the winter season. It was on the 19th of August, the weather dark and gloomy, with light breezes from north-north-east, in lat. 40° 30' S., and long. 138° 3' E., being then distant about 368 miles from King’s Island (at the western entrance of Bass’s Straits). It was about eight o’clock P.M. when the ship’s wake was perceived to be luminous; and scintillations of the same light were also abundant around. As this was unusual, and had not been seen before, and it occasionally, also, appeared in larger and smaller detached masses, giving out a high degree of brilliancy, to ascertain the cause, so unusual in high latitudes during the winter season, I threw the towing-net overboard, and in twenty minutes succeeded in capturing several Pyrosomata, giving out their usual pale-green light; and it was, no doubt, detached groups of these animals that were the occasion of the light in question. The beautiful light given out by these molluscous animals soon ceased to be seen emitted from every part of their bodies; but by moving them about it could be reproduced for some length of time after. As long as the luminosity of the ocean was visible (which continued most part of the night), a number of Pyrosoma Atlanticum, two species of Phyllosoma, an animal apparently allied to Leptocephalus, as well as several crustaceous animals (all of which I had before considered as intertropical species), were caught and preserved. At half-past ten P.M. the temperature of the atmosphere on deck was 52°, and that of the water 51½°. The luminosity of the water gradually decreased during the night, and towards morning was no longer seen, nor on any subsequent night.”[156]

Let us come back from the wide world of waters, with its nightly illuminations, and its other ten thousand marvels, to our own homely and quiet beach. A tribe of existences is awaiting our notice, which we have as yet neglected; which yet we cannot fail to observe whenever we peep beneath these boulders, and look at these rocky ledges, just left exposed by the lowest retiring tides. They are the Sponges; the most debateable forms of life, long denied a right to stand in the animal ranks at all, and even still admitted there doubtingly and grudgingly by some excellent naturalists. Yet such they certainly are, established beyond reasonable controversy as true and proper examples of animal life, and therefore having a rightful claim to be painted and described in this series of essays. However, as they are the lowest, so shall they be the last; for, with a few notes on some of our species, I shall dismiss my kind and courteous readers.

The inferior surface of this huge slab of limestone, supported at one end by a boulder, while the other end is imbedded in the mud or concealed by the smaller fragments that are thrown in confusion around, is densely studded with organisms. It is only at very low tides that this arch is exposed, though now we can creep in and work with no great discomfort, though with some defilement of our garments from the mud and slime. The absence of direct light is favourable to the growth of marine productions, and thus we have another congenial element in the obscurity. With some of the smaller sea-weeds, chiefly of the filamentous kinds, as Cladophora, Conferva, some of the minuter Callithamnia, etc., the majority of the forms that crowd and cover the rock so densely are animals: indeed there are large areas where the animate forms struggle so perseveringly for standing-room, that not a filament or frond of vegetation can be seen, and you could not thrust the point of a penknife down to the rock in any spot without wounding some or other of the incrusting creatures. Polyzoa are here, chiefly of the tufted species; Hydrozoa, too, hang down; Anemones, but not in abundance, may be seen; SaxicavÆ push their crimson siphons through, here and there; Botrylli are spread in patches, and Amoeroecia are suspended like a plentiful crop of tempting strawberries; but Sponges constitute the staple of the crop; it is a veritable field of Sponge.

I have on other occasions described some of the more characteristic phenomena of this class of creatures;—the volcanic eruptions of the Crumb-of-bread Sponge, the hills and poles and webs of the Rosy Crumb, the protrusile bladders of the Sanguine, the starry spicula of the Flat-Sack.[157] These I shall assume as known, and shall confine myself to the enumeration and description of a few other species which are found congregated on this rocky roof.

One of the first to catch the eye, by its gorgeous colour, is a rather thin, soft, spreading patch, of the richest vermilion hue.[158] It is of close substance, the surface covered with shallow irregular sinuous channels and minute orifices. It rarely exceeds an inch in diameter, but throws out slender clinging processes to some length. The flesh is dense. Under the microscope it contains three-rayed spicula, which are for the most part somewhat blunt, but some are very sharp. After death it rapidly loses its brilliant hue, and dries of a dull oak-brown.

Another occurs in the form of low irregular spreading patches of a greyish black, very smooth and shiny, more plump than the former, and a little larger.[159] There are no visible orifices on the surface. The substance is yellowish grey, compact, with a distinct demarcation from the thin black tough skin. The spicula of the flesh have three rays in one plane, and one standing up from it; very stout, sharp-pointed, with a distinct canal running through the centre of each ray of the larger ones. There are a few rods abruptly hooked at the tip; a few very long, straight, and slender, with pin-like heads; and a few simple needles, long, slender, pointed at one or at both ends.

Some largish rounded masses occur, several inches in diameter, and rising to a thickness of three-fourths of an inch.[160] The surface is undulate, the summits slightly ridged, covered with shallow sinuous channels having sharp edges, not very confluent: large round mouth-orifices (oscula) generally mark the summits of the ridges. The colour of this fine species is a deep buff, and its appearance is much like that of our Turkey Sponge, with something of the same feel, but much firmer. The interior is full of channels. The spicula here are very varied and interesting, comprising some curious and unusual forms. Some, indeed, are simple needles, nearly straight, pointed at one end rather abruptly. The following are minute. There are a number of rings interrupted at one side, like the letter fat letter C, some thicker and more elliptical, others slender and rounder, round letter C. A few take the form of the letter letter C, but having one lobe much more developed than the other. Some of the round letter C form have both the extremities bifid, and the points widely diverging; and some of these have the back straight, instead of curved, and these with their bifid points, look, when viewed in front, like double anchors. All are, as usual, spun out of the most brilliant glass.

Then we have in some abundance a sort[161] with firm cartilaginous walls, about one-eighth of an inch thick, standing up to the height of three-fourths, with rounded summits, running in irregular sinuations and convolutions, not unlike the cartilage of the human ear, enclosing deep hollows. The colour is opaque white, tinged with red, probably from the red mud, which is prevalent here. When cut with a knife this sponge has a sharp, crisp, gritty feel, and when a little is crushed between glass plates we distinctly hear a creaking sound. These phenomena depend on the circumstance that it is almost wholly composed of great stout three-rayed spicula, solid throughout, together with a multitude of excessively slender needles, straight, long, pointed at one end; and many others as slender, but very short; no longer, indeed, than the thickness of one of the three-rayed.[162]

Equally numerous with these, and possessing a certain amount of resemblance to them, are some thick, compact, sack-shaped masses, with angular edges and blunt points: sometimes they are flattened and dilated, like a sack when empty; sometimes rounded, like a sack when full. In the former condition several perforations occur along the terminal ridge, in the latter there is generally but one. The colour is white, slightly tinted, just as in the preceding. It stands up boldly and stiffly (or rather hangs in the natural state) from its rather narrow base to the height of about two-thirds of an inch, and the flattened specimens are as wide as this. It is nearly made up of three-rayed spicula, some of large size, but more rather small. A transverse section shows no obvious arrangement, except that of the great central channel, into which the points of the spicula project; but a longitudinal section shows the spicula built up one on another in many courses, so nearly symmetrical that hexagonal canals are formed, whose axes run transversely to the axis of the sponge; i.e., horizontally. There is very little fleshy or gelatinous matter.[163]

Again we see a showy species,[164] making soft, spongy patches of an orange or red-lead colour, an inch or more in diameter, rising into ridges a quarter of an inch high, and forming low peaks, whose apices are perforate. Its substance contains simple needles, long, nearly or quite straight, pointed at one end; these are found in great numbers in close array, the points mostly projecting from the surface. Some of them are twice as thick as others.

Now we notice another peculiar form:[165] creeping, worm-like masses of orange-yellow or buff hue, soft and spongy in texture, which throw up one or more free, erect processes, irregularly curved, an inch or more long, and about one-eighth thick on an average, but frequently swollen and contracted by turns. These are not tubular, and the tips are rounded. The general surface under a magnifier appears slightly channelled. Within we find simple needles, long, nearly straight, pointed at both ends, moderately numerous, enveloped in much yellow granular flesh.

Then there are some imposing masses of a globose form,[166] some of which attain a foot or more in diameter, though others are not more than an inch. The surface is compact and smooth, of a delicate purplish-grey hue, with a few minute orifices, each surrounded by a small paler area.

The spicula in this noble species are various: simple rods, straight, thick, long, slightly spindle-shaped, blunt at both ends, with a linear axis; three-rayed, large, stout, very unequal angled, without any central channel; a number of very small five- and six-rayed stars, the rays projecting in different planes. They are set in a dense, yellow, gelatinous flesh, in which we may at all times discover many gemmules, or eggs; the smaller (or younger) are nearly round, bristling with points in all directions like sea-urchins, changing as they grow larger to a more oval form, beset with rounded warts, instead of points. These are discharged, when mature, with the currents of water, through the orifices, and find their way to some suitable spot, where they develop themselves into the parent form.

Finally, here is a sort[167] whose colour is a pale Indian red; occurring in masses which take the form of thick, plump bands, about half-an-inch in width, but alternately swelling and contracting, which creep over the rock, meeting and uniting, and then separating, so as to leave hollow open interstices, which, however, in some specimens are gradually filled up. The swellings form pointed hillocks, the apices of which are pierced with from one to three orifices. Irregular shallow channels cover the hillocks, and converge to the apices. It contains simple needles, slender, straight (or slightly curved), pointed at each end, not very numerous, thickly invested with granular flesh. This Sponge shrivels much, and becomes shapeless in drying, but changes little in colour. It is abundant.[168]

I cannot conclude this volume without recording my solemn and deliberate protest against the infidelity with which, to a very painful extent, modern physical science is associated. I allude not only to the ground which the conclusions of modern geologists take, in opposition to the veracity of the “God which cannot lie,” though the distinct statements which He has made to us concerning Creation are now, as if by common consent, put aside, with silent contempt, as effete fables, unworthy of a moment’s thought, and this too before vast assemblages of persons, not one of whom lifts his voice for the truth of God. These assaults are at least open and unmasked. But there is in our scientific literature, and specially in that which takes a popular form, a tone equally dangerous and more insidious. It altogether ignores the awful truths of God’s revelation, that all mankind are guilty and condemned and spiritually dead in Adam; that we are by nature children of wrath; that the whole world lieth in the wicked one; and that the wrath of God abideth on it: it ignores the glorious facts of atonement by the precious blood of Christ, and of acceptance in Him. It substitutes for these a mere sentimental admiration of nature, and teaches that the love of the beautiful makes man acceptable to God, and secures His favour. How often do we see quoted and be-praised, as if it were an indisputable axiom, the sentiment of a poet who ought to have known better,

a sentiment as silly as it is unscriptural; for what connexion can there be between the love of the inferior creatures, and the acceptableness of a sinner praying to the Holy God? It is the intervention of Christ Jesus, the anointed Priest, which alone gives prayer acceptance.

There is no sentimental or scientific road to heaven. There is absolutely nothing in the study of created things, however single, however intense, which will admit sinful man into the presence of God, or fit him to enjoy it. If there were, what need was there that the glorious Son, the everlasting Word, should be made flesh, and give His life a ransom for many?

If I have come to God as a guilty sinner, and have found acceptance, and reconciliation, and sonship, in the blood of His only-begotten Son, then I may come down from that elevation, and study creation with advantage and profit; but to attempt to scale heaven with the ladder of natural history, is nothing else than Cain’s religion; it is the presentation of the fruit of the earth, instead of the blood of the Lamb.

This will be, in all probability, the last occasion of my coming in literary guise before the public: how can I better take my leave than with the solemn testimony of the Spirit of God, which I affectionately commend to my readers,—

THERE IS NO WAY INTO THE HOLIEST BUT BY
THE BLOOD OF JESUS.

FINIS.