# The Aquarium (Gosse)/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
"When round thy wondrous works below My searching rapturous glance I throw, Tracing out wisdom, power, and love, In earth or sky, in stream or grove;— Let not my heart within me burn, Except in all I Thee discern."
Кeble.
How sweet is the coming in of Summer! Many a brilliant day of sunshine, the too willing heart greets as "the glorious summer time," which, after all, we are compelled to confess is not the genuine thing; and though it is pleasant, we unreluctantly hurry in to the fireside again. But at last we say, "This is the first real summer day we have had!" and there is really no mistake about it. Cold days may come, and will come after it; but we feel that we have really tasted the sweets of the genial season; she has looked upon us with her sunny laughing face, and will not now go away again.
There was a delicious haze spread over cliff and bank as we set out, a family party, to enjoy a morning stroll near the end of May. I will not say it was "formosissimus annus;" that was scarcely come yet; but it was a true summer morning. White cloudlets were dimpling the blue heaven, and fleeting gaily along before the pleasant breeze, that imparted the ​sensation of freshness without coldness. Away we tripped across the fields that crown the summit of Byng Cliff, treading on a soft and painted carpet of daisies and buttercups, pimpernel, clover and dandelion. The suburbs and villas looked attractive in their bowery groves, just flushed with green. Cockchafers, with loud buzzings, were "wheeling their drony flight" round the brambles of the hedgerows, and Larks were singing by scores in the dazzling sky, now and then dropping to hover over the grass a moment, before they sank in. A sweet picture of innocent happiness does this bird present; he pours out his heart in thrilling song far above the world in the full beams of the bright sun, and then sinks to repose in his humble nest, where the embrace of love welcomes him, and his infant progeny call forth all his fondness and all his joy!
Hark to that little snatch of a song! I thought it at first some lad at work, whistling "for want of thought", so full and mellow are the notes: but no; it is a Starling in yonder cage. He repeats this bar every two minutes or so, with an interval of silence between. Flocks of Starlings circle round the fields, not yet reduced to slavery and the cage; and there the Poke-pudding flits by, trailing after him his more than sufficient longitude of tail.
We get into a lane, deeply cut up with ruts, and reduced in its narrow dimensions by heaps of rotting sea-grass bordering each side, on which we have to mount to allow the manure-cart to pass. The carter-lad, not unmindful of the elegancies of life, amidst his somewhat sordid employment, has decked the head ​of his white horse with a rosette of cherry-coloured ribbons.
Everything is rich, luxuriant, and promising, in nature. The banks are crowded with the glossy, black-spotted leaves of the Wake-robin, and the young fronds of the Hart's tongue Fern. The Germander Speedwell, that loveliest and most constant of spring flowers, peeps out with its laughing blue eyes every where from the rank herbage. Remembrances of last spring, and of its pleasant walks about dear Ilfracombe, come crowding over our hearts, like gushes of fragrance, or like the associations of some well remembered melody. We see the same flowers again, hear the same music, bask in the same sunshine. It is one advantage of the interchange of the seasons, that these associations are continually refreshed; we could not go on enjoying so vividly the delightfulness of summer, if it were not interrupted by winter. Every beauty bursts upon us with the charm of novelty, and yet with the peculiar claim of old acquaintance.
"O evil day! if I were sullen, While the earth herself is adorning This sweet May morning; And the children are pulling On every side, In a thousand valleys, far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:— I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!"
A lovely view suddenly opened seaward, which I could not resist the temptation of sketching as I sat on a gate. In front was a dell, chequered and parted into fields by hedge-rows, and merging at length into
PORTLAND, FROM BELMONT.
​a sort of ravine; cottages were scattered here and there. A low spit of rock runs out into the sea, where I was the other day searching for Actinias. The ruins of Sandsfoot Castle just peep over the brow of the slope; and beyond is the calm Bay sleeping under the sun, bounded by Portland with its breakwater and its throng of shipping. A little to the right is that wondrous barrier, the Chesil Beach, and outside that the vast expanse of West Bay and the British Channel.
My little boy interrupts me with "Give me some of those shells!" He points to the hedge, and I find that he means the young shoots of the Male Shield Fern coming up in great tufts, the points of each frond being curled round like a ram's horn, or still more closely like the shell of Trochus magus, which my little urchin supposed them to be. What a strange plastic imitative power there is in nature!
After a season in Devonshire, the scenery around Weymouth appears tame and mean, but this road is an exception to the rule. It is the back way to Wyke, leading past Belfield, the seat of Mrs. Buxton; and what with the rural character of the lanes, the woods that ornament the estate, and the fine views that occur, it is by far the most charming walk in the vicinity. Along the road-side there is a belt of wood, into which we took the liberty of straying, though I believe we were trespassers. However, the hoary and lichened trunks of the trees, the cool shadow, and the rank herbage that covered the ground tempted us too strongly. Among the coarse grass were many tufts of the stinking Iris, and the whorled stalks of the ​Wood Horsetail were piercing the turf, and between the oval plaited leaves of the Tway-blade, which was very abundant, the tall flowerstalk was shooting. The Beeches were just clothing their twigs with tender yellow leaves, and their beautiful grey smooth trunks were profusely embraced by the clinging Ivy. Every thing wore a delightful freshness:
"———The sweet buds——— Had not yet lost their starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn."
Keats
In the rough bark of an old willow I found half an hour's amusement, in obtaining a pocket-box-full of a very elegant but not uncommon shell, Clausilia nigricans. It is remarkable for having a sort of spring-door to its shell, composed of a shelly plate affixed to a highly elastic calcareous thread, which, while it allows the door to be pushed aside by the animal when it protrudes, closes tightly of its own accord the instant it withdraws. Dr. J. E. Gray calls one of the most wonderful contrivances employed by Nature for the protection of the Mollusca."
Birds were busy in the little grove, all intent on their own concerns, careless of our intrusion. Two Magpies were loudly brawling in a tree over our heads; Blackbirds all around were pouring forth their mellow notes; one was sitting on the top of a tall post, flirting and opening his tail as he uttered his clear whistle, and in the very height of enjoyment; at my approach away he flies, finishing the strain as he ​glides along-(it was much too good to be left incomplete)-and resuming it the moment he alights. The Cuckoo's always welcome, always thrilling, voice, fell on our startled ears, and settled any lingering doubt of the reality of summer. A gay Greenfinch was busy among the lovely blossoms, crimson and white, that covered a crab-tree in the hedge; and, around the same bush, a large yellow Dragon-fly was pursuing his avocation of hawking for small insects.
I hope my readers will be indulgent to me in repeating these details. I am sure they must have often enjoyed such scenes; and I love to recal them, not only in the general effect, but in the minute particulars; I love to linger on the individual features of a pleasant scene; for, in so doing, I am able in greater fulness to reproduce to my own mind the impressions awakened at the time. The delight we all feel in free, pure, wild nature is far too evanescent a thing; the business and care of life, the stern realities of "this working-day world," rub off the imprint too readily; let us stereotype it if we can.
But what connexion is there between all this, and the Marine Aquarium? Well, I have said, be indulgent! I have been idling, I confess; but still I am on duty. I am going down to the Fleet at Wyke for Actinias: yes, I assure you I am; and presently I will shew you the result. So farewell to birds, insects, flowers and trees, while I make the best of my way onwards.
I will not tarry to cast a stolen glance at the straggling village of Wyke, with its fine old church tower that serves as a conspicuous landmark to ​mariners coming up the Channel, but hurry through it, and across the fields to the sandy water's edge.
A curious and interesting scene was here before me; the tide was out, and the water was reduced to what looked like a shallow rivulet, scarcely more than a ditch in fact, with large patches of mud uncovered, green with confervoid plants. On the opposite side, to which one could have thrown a stone, rose a high beach of pebbles, on which several fishermen's boats were lying. This was the Chesil Bank, one of the most singular and most extensive ridges of pebbles in the world. It is a natural barrier thrown up by the sea, sixteen miles in length, consisting of smoothly rolled pebbles of white spar, quartz, jasper, &c. which regularly diminish in size from that of an egg (their dimensions down here) to that of a horse-bean at Abbotsbury, and thence to mere fine gravel. This bank, which connects Portland with the main, divides from the sea of West Bay a very narrow inlet called the Fleet, which runs up to a length of ten miles, and forms at the extremity a swannery of about a thousand swans. The creek is the resort in winter of the Wild Swan, as well as many other species of waterfowl.
I was curious to observe what zoological features so remarkable a water might furnish; and though I did not obtain much, some peculiarities were noticed. The little pools left isolated, and the shallow indentations of the muddy shore were tenanted by multitudes of little fishes, which were lying motionless in great numbers, but shot away so invariably on the approach of a footfall that it was difficult to ascertain their ​nature. By perseverance, however, I captured several, and found them to be the One-spotted Goby (Gobius unipunctatus); a tiny fish about two inches long, and well marked by a spot of rich dark blue on the dorsal fin. It proved a lively and pleasing tenant of the Aquarium.
Lying flat on the mud, in many cases with not more than an inch of water above them, enjoying the light and warmth of the sun, were multitudes of Pleuronectidæ of several species, such as the Brill, the Plaice, the Dab, and the Sole. All that I saw were very young, from an inch to two inches in length. Though easily caught, they are of little value, for they do not live long in a tank, and are uninteresting from their sluggish habits, as they lie perfectly still on the bottom for hours together, trusting for concealment to the similarity of their russet colour to that of the sand.
By digging in the sand some specimens of the Launce (Ammodytes) were discovered; a slender silvery fish, which has the habit of burrowing into the wet sand on the retreat of the tide; and also some Bivalves, as Pullastra aurea, and Venus casina. But the most interesting thing to me was the great multitudes of Actiniæ that were expanding their flower-like disks on the surface of the mud beneath the shallow water. I was for some time disposed to consider this as a strange species, partly from its colour, but principally from what appeared to me its unusual locality and habit; but I am at length persuaded that it is the Daisy Anemone (A. bellis); though widely differing from those individuals which dwell in the hollows of the honeycomb limestone near Torquay.
​Actinia bellis in this situation is externally of a dull wainscot-yellow hue, paler towards the base, which is usually buried in the mud. The disk is blackish brown, freckled with grey and white spots, and the tentacles are similarly coloured. In other particulars as of form, arrangement and number of the tentacles, &c, it agrees with the normal state of the species; but the body is thicker in proportion to the disk, which has not the same tendency to assume the appearance of a shallow cup.
This was not the first occasion on which I had met with this variety of the Daisy Actinia. A few days before this I had taken a run up the inlet called the Backwater, and had seen, towards the upper end, in the shallows of the western side, a great number of dull yellow objects scattered over the mud of the bottom. You would suppose them to be pebbles, but on taking one up, which you may easily do with your hand, if you are in one of those little flat-bottomed skiffs that are here called troughs, but at Poole bear the appellation of canoes,—you perceive that you have captured an Actinia. The soft, slimy, fetid mud affords no proper surface for adhesion; and hence the Anemones can scarcely be said to adhere in the manner of the genus, but simply to rest on their basal disk. This, however, is not owing to any defect in the power of adhesion, for on being removed into a vessel of sea water, they are soon found clung fast to the bottom and sides.
In one case I observed the interior of the stomach protruded from the mouth, in the form of two flat corrugated semicircular lobes of a greyish hue, that ​quite concealed the disk. Presently afterwards I perceived that this individual had just given birth to two young ones, one of which was still adhering to the edge of the mouth. I attempted to remove it, but it resisted; at length it came away, dragging a third young one, which was attached to it, out of an orifice situated at the extremity of a line that divides the protrusile lobes from each other. After the birth, I examined this orifice with a lens: its edge appeared lacerated or jagged, and I found that it led, not into the stomach, but into the cavity surrounding the stomach. I then searched at the opposite extremity of the dividing line, and found a corresponding orifice into which I could readily insert a pin without the least resistance till it reached the sucking base. A good deal of the contorted filaments commonly called ovarian, was discharged from both orifices, which, lying about, concealed them from view until searched for.
THE LONG-TONGUED MEDUSA
I continued my walk over the Ferry Bridge, and along the ridge of pebbles, to the fishing village of Chesil. It has an aspect of venerable antiquity, arising chiefly from its being built, even to the poorest fishermen's huts, of massive stone; the door-posts, the window-sills, the lintels, all of the grey freestone, which constitutes the staple of the island. The vast over-hanging cliffs of the west side, add to the grandeur, and impart an awfulness to the scene, which reminded me of an exhumed town. The people visible were few, and those were still, grave, and seemingly only ​half awake, quite unlike the "fast-living" people that one is accustomed to see in these days. Two or three sailors lounging in as many of the little stone-porches, a superannuated fisherman with palsied fingers weaving a mat of spunyarn, a little girl with pitcher on her shoulder going for water to the brook, and a woman or two half up the steep, and almost over the houses, hanging out clothes, made up about the sum total of the moving population.
Indications of the habits and doings of the village, however, there were. At every second door nets were hung out to dry; and pieces of water-logged timber, splintered and torn by tempests, collections of rusty nails and iron-work, crumpled sheets of green copper, old blocks, and fragments of cordage, were heaped up beneath the windows, or lay in the porticoes at every turn. Fishing and wrecking were evidently the characteristic means of living here.
I walked along the margin of the shore, where the transparent wavelets of the wide, horizonless sea were washing the pebbles, and producing a constant succession of whispering cadences, that fell musically, the voices of the many-sounding sea. Medusæ, by Scores, were washed up, the common Aurelia aurita, lying helpless on the shingle like cakes of jelly, each marked with four rings of purple. These were the first Acalephs I had seen this season, and well pleased I was to see them.
Wearisome walking it is over the pebbly beach; the loose stones give away beneath the tread, and at every step the foot sinks in above the shoe-top. How wonderful to reflect that, with such an apparently ​feeble, ever shifting material, the Almighty has curbed the wildest fury of the raging sea, and made its very rage build up its own barrier!
"Who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth as if it had issued out of the womb? When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddling band for it; and brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors; and said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?"
Several mackerel boats were hauled up on the beach, and, while I stood, a party of stalwart fellows in Guernsey frocks and deck boots came running down with rudder and oars, and, launching one of the skiffs, put to sea, for a report prevails that a shoal of Mackerel has been seen in the offing, their first appearance this season. Enormous lobster-pots lay about, to which those used in Weymouth Bay are toys, and a stout rope beset at intervals with great cork-floats, displayed the device by which the position of these cages is marked, and the manner in which they are raised for examination; while just off shore a line of well-boxes was floating, in which the captured Crustaceans are kept prisoners of war, till occasion serves for conveying them to market.
Beyond the village the beach gave way to an ironbound shore, strewn with boulders and fallen masses of stone, vast in dimensions, angular, smooth and white, heaped on each other in wild confusion. The sea washed in among them, passing freely into their interspaces, but not forming pools. Hence very few sea-weeds were growing here, the surfaces of the rocks being ever liable to be laid bare by the dashing of the ​unmitigated surf. There were, however, on the perpendicular and overhanging sides of the blocks, a few tufts of that peculiarly beautiful, silky, bright-green Conferva, Cladophora gracilis, and one or two of the equally lovely, crimson-pencilled Callithamnion corymbosum. Trochus crassus, a rather rare shell, was adhering to the rocks.
Here I found myself once more among my favourites, the charming little Naked-eyed Medusæ. It was nearly high tide, and the sea had the brilliant crystalline clearness of spring-water: though, on minute examination, it was seen to hold in suspension millions of filmy bodies, the exuviæ of the countless acorn-barnacles (Balanus), that stud the lower rocks.
Standing on the huge angular blocks, I dipped with a ring-net at the end of a staff, and up came several balls of clear jelly, which when turned into a glass jar of water proved to be fine specimens of Sarsia tubulosa. Again and again the net went down, and at every plunge brought up more of the same species, which could be distinctly seen, on bringing the eye nearer to the water, playing by scores in the sea, almost wherever I looked.
Another species not less interesting, Bougainvillæa Britannica, accompanied the Sarsiæ, but not in any considerable numbers; and there were a few of that lovely animated crystal globe, Cydippe pomiformis, and a small Thaumantias or two, and many of those curious, slender, fish-shaped animalcules, named Sagitta, some of them twice as large as those I had seen at Ilfracombe, but apparently of the same species.
A week or two later than this, namely at the end of ​May, I found the Sarsia even more abundant around the boulders at the Nothe Point. They were accumulated by hundreds if not thousands, shooting hither and thither near the surface of the clear water, in the narrow interstices of the rocks, and in the little inlets, borne in by the incoming flood-tide.
The size, the perfect transparency, the elegant form, and the extraordinary vivacity of this species render it one of the most interesting of the Medusæ, for keeping in a glass vessel of sea-water. Its shape is that of an ellipse, of which about a third has been cut off at one end; a tall bell of the purest crystal, a little narrowed at the mouth. At four equidistant points on the margin of this bell are placed as many knobs, within each of which is a bright red speck, and from every one of the knobs depends a tentacle resembling a slender thread. Often these threads are shrivelled up till they are not more than a quarter of an inch long; more commonly they are about an inch and a half in length, but occasionally, when the Sarsia rests motionless in the water, a little turned over on one side, its tentacles are allowed to hang down in the deep to a great length; five inches I have seen them extended, as measured by a rule placed against the side of the glass. When thus stretched they appear like a thread of excessive tenuity, but if you look very closely you may see even with the naked eye that it is not a simple thread, but rather a string of the most minute white beads, which when placed under the microscope are discovered to be a series of thickened knobs, arranged in an imperfect spiral round the central filament.
​But the most remarkable and conspicuous feature in this Medusa is the peduncle, which depends, like the clapper of a bell, from the centre of the roof. This is a somewhat thick, fleshy, cylindrical organ, capable of energetic movements, and particularly of enormous elongation and contraction. Sometimes it is shortened so as to be wholly contained in the concavity of the bell, being more or less curled up at the same time at others it is lengthened and allowed to protrude far beyond the margin, hanging down,—not merely to twice the length of the body," as Professor Forbes says;—this gives a very inadequate idea of its powers, but to five times that length. I carefully measured one which was lying quite still, near the side of the glass, (a vessel with straight sides, so that there was no irregular refraction) by applying an ivory scale to it; the peduncle was twenty lines in length, though the bell was scarcely four. The basal part of this long tongue is abruptly diminished to a mere thread, and though this is not conspicuous when the organ is contracted, it becomes a marked character in the extended condition; in the case I have just mentioned the thread-like neck formed just one-third of the whole length, itself reaching far beyond the margin of the bell.
The motions of the Sarsiæ are more energetic than those of any other Medusa that I am acquainted with. In the unbounded freedom of their native sea, and in the limited dimensions of a glass vase, they are alike sprightly. By rapid pump-like contractions of their umbrella, they dart through the water, and shoot round and round, almost with the force and swiftness of a swimming fish. The summit of the bell always goes ​foremost, whether the direction of the movement be vertical, horizontal, or as is most commonly the case, oblique; and the tentacles, and the long white proboscis drag behind in trailing lines. Now and anon, the shooting is suddenly suspended, the bell hangs over and remains awhile motionless, the tentacles are allowed to depend like spiders' webs, or are suddenly drawn up into shrivelled puckers, become mutually entangled and intertwisted, then slowly free themselves and hang down again. Sometimes the motionless bell itself sinks very gradually, and the tentacle-threads take the most elegant curves and arches in their descent.
The Sarsia is voracious, and the long and flexible peduncle is not only the stomach which digests the prey, but the hand which stretches forth to seek and to grasp it. I put into the bottle containing several the minute green-eyed fry of some fish, newly hatched, about half-an-inch in length. In a very few minutes I saw that a Sarsia had caught the little fish, which was seized and partly swallowed by the clubbed extremity of the peduncle. For hours afterwards the prey was visible, though more and more engulphed; the large head and prominent green eyes of the victim being very conspicuous.
PEARL-SHELLS.
Of the shelled Mollusca which the dredge ever and anon brings up, the Trochi are among the most conspicuous for beauty. T. ziziphinus is exceedingly common in deep water, and not rare within tide marks. Its very regularly conic form, and the blotches of dark purple that run in a spire round and round the shell are pleasing to the eye; and the animal, which crawls freely in confinement, is richly coloured, being of the tint of a ripe melon, striped with black. (See Plate I.) One or two specimens of a pure white variety of this species have occurred to me.
Though this is a shell of considerable size, it is exceeded in that respect, and (in the estimation of some probably), in that of beauty also, by T. granulatus. The latter is esteemed a somewhat rare shell, but in this Bay, and off Portland, it is not at all uncommon. In shape it is equally elegant with the former, the shell tapering to a conical point, and displaying a surface sculptured with spiral raised lines, each of which is composed of a number of minute rounded knobs, like a string of beads. Its texture is somewhat fragile, and its colour a faint flesh-tint or yellowish white, slightly dashed with purple.
In captivity the animal is rather chary of displaying itself; which is the more to be regretted since it is ​large and handsome. The large lappets on each side of the neck, and the wing-like appendages of the mantle, furnished with tentacular filaments, are conspicuous when it crawls; though these parts are less vividly coloured than in its more common congener. Neither species unfortunately thrives, according to my experience, in an Aquarium; they sometimes obstinately refuse to protrude from the very first, and, after lingering a few days, die where they were put in.
The chief glory of this genus is the richly pearled internal surface of their shells, in which they are not excelled by any, even of the true margaritiferous bivalves. Both of the species I have named are very brilliant, and it might be worth while to experiment on them in the manner in which it is reported that pearls are artificially produced by those ingenious rogues the Chinese. Dr. Gray says that they introduce little pieces of silver wire, bent into a peculiar form, between the mantle of the pearl-oyster, while yet alive, and the shell; not perforating the shell, as has been sometimes stated. This zoologist himself tried the experiment on the Unio, a bivalve of our fresh waters, and was very sanguine as to its success;—but I have never heard of any one having suggested the formation of pearls by the Trochi, though as these beautiful objects are produced spontaneously by some univalves, (as Strombus for example), I do not see why it may not be possible. The origin of loose pearls is known to be the irritation caused by some extraneous body, to get rid of which the secreting surface of the animal throws off in unusual quantity, the brilliant nacreous matter. This, investing ​the offending substance, conceals its points and roughnesses, and in process of time, becomes round by the addition of successive coats of pearl.
May not the Christian learn the happy art of converting every "thorn in the flesh" into a pearl for his heavenly diadem? "For these light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."
THE GOBLET LUCERNARIA.
The shore of the Bay known by the name of Belmont, curving between the Nothe and Byng-Cliff, consists of a series of low ledges almost horizontal, running east and west, with a very gentle dip to the southward. They are for the most part densely covered with a matted drapery of Fucus serratus and canaliculatus, which hangs over the northern edges, and conceals the narrow clefts that traverse them. If we go at low water as far down as we can reach, and lift the heavy masses from the ledges, and from the clefts, we shall find them no unprofitable hunting ground. Many kinds of delicate sea-weeds grow under the shadow of the coarse olive Fuci, and among them crawl many Nudibranch Mollusca and other interesting creatures.
It was here that I met with the Goblet Lucernaria (L. cyathiformis), apparently a rare species, since it seems to have been seen by only two observers, the Norwegian zoologist Sars, who first described it, and Dr. Landsborough, who gave it a place in the British Fauna, by finding it on the coast of Arran. Dr. Johnston has given in his British Zoophytes, p. 475, ​a short description and a figure taken from this latter specimen. The specimen which I have found is evidently identical with this, though there are some differences in the form.
When extended, it stands about 1/3rd of an inch in height, shaped like a goblet, with an oval body, somewhat flattened, being broad in one aspect, and thin in another at right angles to it. This is perpendicularly corrugated, so as to form four irregular lobes. Above the body there is a decided neck or constriction, not indicated in Dr. Johnston's figure, above which the tentacular disk expands much like the mouth of a phial. Below, the body is supported by a corrugated footstalk, capable of considerable extension and contraction, terminating in a flat, dilated, sucking disk.
Viewed from above, the tentacular disk is seen to be a pellucid gelatinous membrane, of a form indistinctly stellar, with eight points. The spaces between the points are furnished with tentacula, about twelve in each space, which are short, rather crowded, and set in three rows, a little overarching the margin. Those in the middle of the interspace are the longest, and the length diminishes on each side: the points themselves are destitute of tentacles. The tentacles are composed of a thick cylindrical stem, which has a central opaque core; and a globular white head, which under a power of 200 diameters, showed neither hairs nor ciliary action, but appeared viscous. The tentacles originate without the margin of the disk, for the edge of the latter is distinctly traced within their bases.
The delicate transparent disk is shallowly ​funnel-shaped, descending abruptly in the centre, where rises a cup-like mouth of a greenish hue, formed of thin membrane, capable of considerable motion, sometimes taking a circular shape, and at others wrinkled into four lobes or lips, strongly reminding one of the peduncle of many Medusæ. Each of these lobes corresponds with one, taken alternately, of the marginal angles, as do also four black spots, rising from the interior of the body, and projecting into the disk immediately around the mouth. These spots are the summits of as many dark bands that are seen running down the body longitudinally, and which appear to be connected with the ovaries, for each of them is bounded by a series of pale egg-like bodies, the upper extremity of each series running off in a number of globular white corpuscles towards each of the eight marginal interspaces.
The general colour of the animal is a pale dusky brown or grey, the tint becoming warmer in some parts. The translucency of the integument reveals the internal organs, and hence the light and dark bands already spoken of are conspicuous.
When I discovered the little creature it was attached by its foot to a fragment of rock. For convenience of examination I gently dislodged its sucker, as I would have removed an Actinia, supposing it would soon adhere to the sides of its vessel. While I had it, however, it shewed no inclination to refix itself, but lay at length on the bottom. The tentacular disk is habitually expanded, and it is not at all timid or impatient of handling. If rough usage be applied, and especially if it be lifted out of the water, it ​presently infolds the margin to so great an extent as nearly to conceal the tentacles. The footstalk is also contracted by corrugation, but no sooner is it immersed again than this is lengthened, and the tentacles are expanded as before. The changes in the outline of the lips, and slight jerkings of the body to and fro, or corrugations of the surface in various degrees, constitute the chief of its movements.
On cutting off the globular head of a tentacle and submitting it to pressure, I found the structure to contain a moderate number of minute thread-capsules, about 1/1700th of an inch in length, of two forms:—the one long-oval, apparently carrying a simple thread, the other oval, with a distinct internal chamber near one end, indicating an armature on the thread. The threads were projected from the former in several instances, but I saw no example of the propulsion of the latter.
I afterwards obtained a second specimen of this little Lucernaria, on a similar rocky ledge which runs out from the eastern point of Lulworth Cove. In every respect it agreed with the one above described, which may therefore be considered as representing its normal condition. Though inconspicuous for size or colour, it is a form of much interest to the naturalist, as it is evidently much less aberrant from the Actinæ proper, with which its affinities connect it, than the broad gelatinous-disked species to which the genus Lucernaria was confined before the discovery of L. cyathiformis. Though still peculiar, the form is not very remote from that of the genus Corynactis, by which, as I conceive, it is linked with Actinia.
* ↑ Brit. Land Shells, p. 211.
* ↑ Professor Agassiz, with whose masterly tract on a closely allied species, I was not at this time acquainted, states that Sarsia mirabilis, with all the small Naked-eyed Medusæ of the North American coasts, disappears about the middle of summer, being killed by the heavy rains of that season. (Mem. Amer. Acad. iv. 228.) If I were to judge only by my Weymouth experience, I should say our Naked-eyed Medusæ conformed to the same rule; as, though I searched often in various situations, I scarcely obtained an individual of any species after the date above mentioned. Yet, in the Bristol Channel, many kinds, from the minute Turris neglecta upwards, swarmed during the months of August, September and October in 1852; and it is generally considered that the latter part of summer and autumn is the most favourable season for studying all the Medusæ of our coasts.