metallic lustre shining suddenly from under
the tin; a neighbour flits over its back, the
creature is alarmed, and blushes brown all
over. If there be a sand bottom provided in the
tank, the Sepiole first hovers over it, moth-
fashion, and determines upon what part it will
settle. As it settles, a slight hollow is made
by a blowing of the sand from under it. Then
the sand is seen to be blown out, backward,
from beneath the body: issuing from all sides
in a little cloud. At each blast, the animal
thrusts itself deeper downwards, and the
displaced sand falls round about its back. This
clever display of sapper and miner work, it
contrives to produce by jets of water forced
through its flexible little funnel, and directed
at will, forward, backward, or to either side.
When small stones block its way, and they
are not to be blown out, the Sepiole thrusts
little arms under its body, seizes the stones by
help of sucking dishes, draws them out, and
throws them forward to a little distance with
a graceful movement. When its top is level
with the sand, its eyes being still uncovered,
the animal is content, and rests. Should any
intruder go on with the finished work, and
heap sand over the top of the creature's
mantle, or its eyes—either by an undulation of
the mantle's edge, or by a prompt use of the
funnel—the Abstraction is instantly cleared
away.

There is a fierce cannibal fish, about three
inches long, that will vary the interest of the
small drama always going on in the aquarium
by taking the demon's part. He has a good
demoniacal name—the Black Goby—and a
good demoniacal nature. He lurks under the
rocks and weeds, whence he will dart out, with
glaring eyes, to seize even one of his own
cousins by the tail, and swallow him alive.
Over such work, his body will assume the
colour of his deed, and become nearly black.
At other times, when he rests, it is of a pale
brown, with drab clouds, and patches of white
specks. This fish has wonderful eyes of a pale
blue colour, like turquoises.

A great many of the usual denizens of
an aquarium display curious changes of
colour; even the little gray mullets, the
hardiest and most cheerful members of such a
happy family, change, when greatly alarmed,
from iron-gray to a pale drab colour with
three reddish lines. The little mullets, who
always like to live together, dart about in
shoals, as lively as young chickens; chace
each other after bits of bread, or fruit pulp
meat, or (sweetest of all to their palates)
prawns or shrimp spawn; and always keep up,
in the quart or gallon or two of sea, a
pleasant bustle.

The Tansy, again, is a common little fish
that yields amusement, as a little coward and
big thief. It darts out of corners to steal
food, even out of the mouth of a fellow fish,
and runs away into a hiding-place to eat it.

The Soldier crabs, again, besides being worth
careful study, enliven the business of an
aquarium with a great many obvious
incidents. As becomes soldiers, they fight, and
have passages of arms with one another;
sometimes one soldier-crab will even drag
another out of the shell in which he
lives, and take forcible possession of his
premises. Then, this crab, living in an
old whelk-shell, often carries about, pick-
a-back, a fine Sea Anemone, riding upon
the shell as outside passenger. It is, at
the same time, almost always associated
with a beautiful sea-worm, a two-lined
Nereis, that lives in a retreat of its own
between the shell and the crab's body. When
the Soldier is off guard, and is munching
his bit of dinner, the head of the Nereis
will commonly be seen gliding round the
crab's right cheek, and passing between
the upper and lower foot-jaws. Without
scruple this intrusive lodger will then drag
some of the food, even out of the mouth of
the warrior; and though the crab holds on,
and makes due effort to retain his property,
or may perhaps frighten the Nereis from its
hold by making a terrible and sudden start,
he never, by any chance, attempts to hurt
the worm, or displays wrath at the indelicate
behaviour of his delicate acquaintance.

Shrimps and Prawns, swimming about in
the aquarium, are striking objects of a sort
of visionary beauty. Their lightness, their
transparency, their graceful, gliding
movements, and the long delicate wands they wave,
entitle them to be set down as the fairies of
the water. They also are worth watching.
It is a pretty thing to see the Prawn enjoying
a wash after dinner. His front feet are
like a pair of living bottle-brushes, with
which he maintains the polish of his coat of
mail: forcing them into every hollow, cleaning
them occasionally between his foot-jaws,
bending his tail conveniently towards them,
even thrusting them far in between his hard
coat, and the tender body that it covers.

In short, since we have not space to multiply
examples, be it said that it is impossible
to establish an aquarium that shall contain
only half a dozen creatures, or but a single
one, which will not provide matter for daily
study and delight. The wonders of the sea
are inexhaustible in any five creatures chosen
from five millions, and to a very great extent
they offer a perfectly new field of inquiry.
It is but quite recently that the principles on
which an aquarium is founded have been
properly developed, and carried into practice.
We can now bring the fishes, element and all,
into our homes,watch them, and learn to know
them as familiarly as dogs and cats; or, if we,
cannot undertake to do so much for ourselves,
we can go to the Regent's Park gardens, and
see it done by the Zoological Society, on a far
larger scale than would suit private means or
opportunities, and with commensurate success.
There we may look at the new world
that has been lately spread before the eyes of
men, and begin as even naturalists have, only