14 May 1881 - 'Our Mutual Friend, Puss' by Dr Gordon Stables - Part Two

Part one of this story can be found here. And as always when the G.O.P. starts giving out recipes for medicines: don't try this at home.

Anyone who had never seen a more highly-bred cat than the honest and faithful but common grey grimalkin, that lies on the cottage hearthrug, singing duets with the tea-kettle, or the half-wild mouse-catcher of the barn-door, would be greatly surprised if he happened to go to a large show of our favourites, at the wealth of feline loveliness and grace displayed upon the benches.

"Why," I have heard some people exclaim, "I couldn't have believed there were such beautiful cats in the world."

And I have made reply, "What you see is simply the result of care and kindness, proper feeding and housing, and attention to the pelage or coats of the animals."

Cats, especially the long-haired breeds, it will do my readers no harm to know, are becoming more fashionable every day as domestic pets, and people who care to keep good ones, and to rear them well and show them, get very large prices for them. I am acquainted with ladies who sell their kittens even for two and three guineas each, and who would not take twenty for many of their full-grown pussies.

Let us imagine now that we are taking a walk around the great cat show at the Crystal Palace, and that I am mentor. I feel sure I can tell you many things about the inmates of the pens that you do not know.

Well, then, first on the list of short hairs is a tortoiseshell male cat, a very rare animal; here are several tortoiseshell female pussies, not big, and very dark in their markings, with no white. In their nature they are brave and bold, good workers, loving, gentle, and jealous, and always faithful to mistress or master. Next come the tortoiseshell and white, the colours being yellow, red, black and white, artistically arranged in those who have won prizes. They are bigger cats than the former, and not so decided in their likes and dislikes.

Then we have the brown tabbies – splendid fellows everyone of them, some of enormous size. There is one yonder, blinking half asleep on his scarlet velvet cushion. Who weight twenty-two pounds, but is so very lissom withal that he can jump on to the top of any door in his master's house. Tabbies are *par excellence the Englishman's cat. They are good-natured, brave and noble, fond of children, and very fond of their offspring. They ought to be long bodies and graceful; though massive, somewhat short in the forelegs, with large round heads, small ears, and gentle, happy-looking eyes. The strips should be black on a brown ground, and very well defined, and there should be no white on them, else they would be classed as brown-tabby-with-white. There should also be one or two semi-circular bars across the chest. Eyes hazel preferably.

The silver tabby has somewhat longer ears, and a less blunt face with green eyes. Colour like Aberdeen granite, striped with deeply dark markings. They are very lovely and valuable. The red tabbies come next. They are splendid fellows, with green or yellow eyes, reddish in colour, marked with deeper red, and no white. Look at this one; he has been passed over by the judge because his colouring is neither deep enough nor distinct enough. This breed is very clever, and they make capital hunters, but are apt to wander a long way from home; however, unless they fall victims to the vile traps or the too ready guns of cowardly keepers, they never fail to come back again.

The red and white tabby is a gay and gallant fellow, and full of life and fun. In that pen is a spotted tabby. This cat may be any colour, only covered with stripes, composed of spots. I hope that is not an Irish bull. That gentlemanly-looking fellow there is a black and white cat. His coat is of jet, he wears white socks and gloves, and a front as spotless as the snow. He is as good and as aristocratic in his ways as he looks; indeed, he would hardly deign to catch a mouse, but he likes a good dinner, and when he is outside and wants to get in, he does not mew like a common mouser; no, he jumps up and lifts the knocker.

In the next cage is a cat you scarcely see, so intensely ravenly black is he all over. But he can see you and me, and he is glaring at us with his green, green eyes, evidently in no very amiable temper. What he wants to know is, what has he been imprisoned here for, instead of roving wild and free in forest or field? But we must not judge him too harshly, for although he flew at the adjudicator of prizes this morning with tooth and nail, at home he is not naturally quarrelsome. These cats should be very large, with coats of glossiest black; even the whiskers must be black, and the eyes should be hazel if possible, but green is beautiful. Here we have a small but graceful puss, all one colour, namely, dark slate, not a light hair in her, not even in her whiskerets. These cats are rare, and seldom fail to win prizes in a mixed class. They are called Maltese cats. Pure white cats are no favourites of mine. They are usually dull and apathetic and often as deaf as a post. I should never expect a white cat to do anything *very clever.

There are many other strange, short hair cats, Manx, Abyssinian, &c., but we now pass on to the Long Hairs, only pausing for a moment at the cages filled with daft-looking kittens, brimful of folly and mischief and fun.

Now there are all kinds of colours of Long Hairs, but your real Persian is most graceful and elegant, especially in shape of head, which is somewhat sharp or peaked with shortish ears poised downwards, and an aural tuft in each. The expression of their eyes is singularly beautiful, and there is a certain languor of looks and manner about them that tells us their real home is not here, but in a far, far sunnier clime.

They do very well on the whole in England, however; but they ought not to be allowed to roam much, else they will assuredly be stolen, and their coats ought to be combed and brushed almost daily.

"What is the difference," you ask me, "between a Persian cat and an Angora?"

Well, I have been asked that question before, and the reply is that there is no appreciable difference in the size of the cats nor in the length of their coats, only the fur of the Angora is finer and flossier and woollier than that of the Persian, and probably the Angora cat is not so sharp in expression of features.

May I give you a word of advice as to showing a cat? If you have one good enough there is no reason why you should not let it have a chance at distinguishing itself and winning a prize. DO not be afraid that it will not get every attention as far as can be given at a show. Nevertheless, do not fail to go with your favourite yourself, if possible. Take with you some raw meat, and the sweetest of milk in a bottle, and attend to pussy's wants yourself.

And now a few lines about the ailments that cats are subject to. Veterinary surgeons, I fear, know little about them, and care less.

When a cat seems ailing and sick, and moping and sleepy-looking, and if at the same time she refuses all food, you had better give an emetic – half a teaspoonful of salt in a little warm water. Follow this up in an hour or two with a teaspoonful of castor oil.

Grass should be grown in a flower-pot in towns, where cats have not much fresh air and freedom. This flower-pot should be placed where she can easily see it and get at it. Or when you are walking in the country, you may cull some nice fresh green grass and place it in the corner of the kitchen, the ends being kept tight between two bricks. It is an excellent blood purifier. A kind of chronic inflammation of the stomach is common among cats, especially those who are not properly dieted, and are glad to pick up and eat anything they can find. The cat refuses food, gets thin and wretched-looking, and has frequent attacks of vomiting. Medicine – a grain and a half of the trisnitrate of bismuth, put on the tongue twice a day, and a dose of castor oil once a week. Food – sweet milk or cream, and fish. If much wasting, raw beef, chopped fine, twice a day.

To give a cat medicine, two people are required. Pussy is rolled in a rug and placed on some one's lap, while you pour the medicine very gradually down her throat. If it is a pill or bolus, dip it in oil, and put it well back against the roof of the mouth; but mind your fingers. You can hold the mouth open with one hand whilst you manipulate with the other. Bronchitis is often fatal to cats; it attacks badly fed and badly housed pussies very often. There is a rough, dry coat, perhaps fits of shivering at first, with cough. The cough is dry the first day or two, but soon becomes moist, and there is a distressing difficulty of breathing, whilst the tongue is often protruded. Give a little oil at first, and feed on arrowroot, beef-tea, milk, &c., little and often. Then give this cough pill. Extract of conium and compound squill pill, of each twenty grains; make into a bolus with bread crumb, and divide into twenty pills; dose, one every night. Keep up her strength, and give a small teaspoonful of cod-liver oil twice a day.

For laxity of the system, a little common chalk mixture should be given three or four times a day, with one drop of the solution of muriate of morphia in each dose. Or put two grains of trisnitrate of bismuth on the tongue three times a day. Food: only milk, or milk with arrowroot, and a little egg may be allowed, but no meat.

Lung disease, or consumption, is known by the general appearance of the poor cat. There is bad coat, emaciation, capricious appetite, and loss of all liveliness. Raw mat, careful housing, and cod-liver oil are needed. When the cough is troublesome I order the following prescription:- Tinct opii camph., 1 drachm; syr scille, 1 drachm; sol mur morphine, 15 minims; aquae 2 oz; mix. Label: a teaspoonful whenever required. 

Fits: these are common in cats, and are almost too well known to require much description. The puss must be caught and bled. With a lancet make a small incision at the lower part of the ear, and make the blood flow by sponging with hot water. Or slit the ear with a fine pair of scissors.

If the cat is subject to fits, order the following at a respectable chemist's – Bromid potass, 10 grains; iod potass, 5 grains; zinci sulph, 5 grains; mix. Make twenty pills with bread crumb, and give one night and morning.

If pussy is thin, give cod-liver oil. If the reverse, lower the diet, and give a little boiled sheep's liver twice a week

For skin complaints use carbolic lotion; pure carbolic acid one part, water forty. Well shake before using it, and apply once a day, but not all over. AS internal medicine, give a teaspoonful twice a day in milk of liquor arsenicalis, ten drops in one ounce of distilled water.

For eye inflammation, bathe frequently in warm milk and water, and use a lotion of three grains of sulphate of zinc t an ounce of water.

Never deprive a cat of all her kittens at once. Never keep kittens that you are not sure of getting a good home for.

Never let anyone persuade you that pussy is not one of the gentlest and most faithful pets we possess.

15 January 1881 - 'What the Flowers Say' by James Mason

I have preserved the slightly odd placement of the pictures amongst the text. And #TIL there's a flower that symbolises "You're not pretty, but at least you're not stupid too".

"Is there any moral shut within the bosom of the rose?" - Tennyson

You may look at flowers in two ways - botanically, which is very interesting, or sentimentally and poetically, which is more interesting still. They are almost all surrounded by a halo of human thought, and we find in them - or fancy we find in them, which is much the same thing - an approach to human expression. We speak of them as possessing pride, modesty, boldness, delicacy, as inspired by joy, sorrow, and ambition. We give them a voice and a language.

We do not, of course, always know what they say. You remember the man in the fairy tale who had the gift of understanding the speech of animals, but lost it through telling the secret to his wife. Now it is not unlikely that the exact language spoken by the flowers, if ever it was known, has been lost in some such fashion. We comprehend it very imperfectly, guessing at it as we might guess at the speech of our dogs and cats.

Some people can never understand its meaning, any more than they can make out what is told by any of the other wonders of nature. Such are not desirable acquaintances at all. Keep far away, says a wise man, from those who have no sympathy for flowers.

The great thing requisite is to be in love with what is beautiful, and to have an open and tender heart. To all happy natures of whom this is the description flowers say strange things, and birds and beasts make surprising revelations.

The object of this article is to speak of the language of flowers as it is at present understood. By the matter-of-fact this language has been held of small account, and has often been sadly misrepresented, but, girls, to speak seriously, it contains a genuine truth to which good sense will not refuse attention. The more the things of nature are mixed up with our own spiritual being the more interesting, the more enjoyable, the more beautiful the world will appear. Connect things with thoughts, then things are truly valuable.

If the study of the language of flowers did nothing more than send you to the garden and the fields, it would not be an unsatisfactory result. The value of the open air is not half understood, and how few, after all these years, have discovered that there is more genuine happiness to be obtained in the healthy round of rural life than amidst all the bustle of society.

There is a great deal of poetry still left in the country, though perhaps not quite so much - and the more's the pity - as in the olden times when "the elves danced full oft in many a green mead," and the cowslips were the pensioners of the fairy queen.

Flowers are in a special manner connected with the romance of life. They are mixed up with all our remembrances, and the older we grow the most quiet nooks they occupy in our hearts. It would be a curious calculation how many withered flowers there are in the world treasured as relics beyond price, and forming the links that connect us with a happy past. It is, therefore, of great interest to know the sentiments connected with different flowers, and the human attributes and human passions which they are held to denote and express.

There can be no doubt that the language of flowers came originally from the East, the home of so many marvels. It received a great deal of attention in Europe in the Middle Ages, and was of good service to lords and ladies, who in those times knew as little how to write as how to read. We have not the only example of utility in the case of the fair prisoner who, having no opportunity of speaking to her lover, informed him of her captivity by throwing from a lofty tower a rose bathed in her tears.

Those who have tried to reduce the language of flowers to a system have laid down several rules for its use. The first of these is that a flower presented in an upright position expressed a certain thought, but given with its head hanging downwards utters just the contrary sentiment. You may also, they say, vary the expression of flowers by altering their position. The marigold laced on the head, for example, signifies sorrow of mind; above the heart, pangs of love; resting on the breast, ennui. It makes a difference, too, if you present a flower with or without its leaves or without its thorns, if it happens to have any thorns. A rosebud, with all its thorns and leaves, means, "I fear, but I hope;" stripped of its thorns, "There is everything to hope for;" stripped of its leaves, "There is everything to fear."

But all this is too elaborate for most people, and we must always bear in mind that the poetry of nature may be ruined by indulgence in fantastic whims.

Let us speak first of the rose, the flower of love and beauty. No other has been more highly praised by poets in every country and in all past times. It has had the most high-sounding names given to it: Queen of Flowers, Daughter of the Sky, Glory of Spring, and Ornament of the Earth show the depth of enthusiasm it has excited. We therefore naturally expect it to take a leading place in speaking the language of flowers. And so it does.

Roses represent a different sentiment according to their colour. The white rose indicates "candour;" the musk rose "affectation;" the single rose "simplicity;" the damask rose "freshness;" the cabbage rose goes forth as "an ambassador of love;" and a white and red rose together form a symbol of unity.

A yellow rose means "decrease of love" or "jealousy," yellow, according to one of the articles of folk-lore, being a jealous colour. If you wish to indicate "charming grace and beauty," you must select a China rose. That must have been the flower sent by the poet with the famous verses -

"Go, lovely rose,
Tell her that wastes her time and me
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be."

In the East, the rose is above all others the flower of affection. There is a beautiful story which represents the bulbul - so the Armenians call the nightingale - as falling in love with the rose, and as only beginning to sing when inspired by the tender passion. This fable has been put into verse by Thackeray -

"Under the bought I sat and listened still,
I could not have my fill.
'How comes,' I said, 'such music to his bill?
Tell me for whom he sings so sweet a trill.
'Once I was dumb,' then did the bird disclose,
'But looked upon the Rose;
And in the garden where the loved one grows
I straightway did begin sweet music to compose.'"

The rose used to be employed as the symbol of silence, and from this arose a phrase one often hears, "under the rose." It seems that in ancient times it was a custom to place chaplets of roses above the heads of the guests, and on these occasions when people wished what they said to go no farther than those present they remarked that their observations were made "under the rose." Thus the phrase we use took its origin.

The lily is the emblem of majesty and purity. This flower is closely connected with the legendary history of the Virgin Mary, the lily which generally appears in pictures in connection with her being the great white lily of our gardens. As a token of purity it was frequently placed by artists in the Middle Ages in the hands of female saints.

The lily of the valley has always been held to be symbolical of purity and holiness. In some country places this humble but graceful plant is understood as pointing men's thoughts to a better world; it is called there the "ladder to heaven," a name evidently suggested by the arrangement of the flowers.

The snowdrop is another of those emblems of purity of which the world cannot have too many. This flower has become invested with a kind of sacredness; no doubt because it forms about the first sign that after the long sleep of winter Nature is rousing herself to begin the life and work of spring.

AS an emblem of modesty we have the daisy, the badge of Maid Margaret, that was so meek and mild, a very popular saint in the olden time. Another flower speaking the same language is the humble violet. The violet is also a lover's flower, and stands for constancy. As the old rhyme has it -

"The violet is for faithfulness
Which in me shall abide."

We have a contrast to these plants of modest looks and lowly thoughts in the tulip, which is held to be a symbol of grandeur and magnificence. During last century this flower created a sensation at which we may well imagine violets, daisies, and all quiet-minded flowers were much amazed. The love of tulips became a mania. IT was no rare thing to see a family ruined through the passion of the father for tulips.

The thistle in the language of flowers stands for "retaliation." To the Scotchman, however, as everyone knows, it speaks of nothing but the glories of his own native land, of which it is the emblem.

It became the emblem of Scotland, if legends be true, in the following way - When the Danes invaded Scotland, a long time ago, it was thought a shabby thing to attack an enemy except in broad daylight. On one occasion the invaders resolved to avail themselves of stratagem, and to come upon the Scots by night. To prevent their tramp from being heard they marched barefooted. They thus got unobserved within a short distance of the Scottish forces; but a Dane unluckily set his foot on a superb prickly thistle, and he gave such a howl of pain that the Scots heard him. They immediately ran to their arms and defeated the foe with great slaughter. After this the thistle was, out of pure gratitude, made the emblem of the Scottish kingdom.

Another Scottish flower is the harebell, the blue-bell of Scotland. In the language of flowers the harebell represents "submission." According to the poet -

"The harebell, for her stainless azure hue,
Claims to be worn of none but those are true."

All blue flowers, however, the bard should have noticed, have equal rights in this way, it being laid down in the old rhyme that blue is the colour of true love, as green is that of grief, and yellow that of love forsaken.

Now we come to "the sweet forget-me-nots that grow for happy lovers."

The language of this flower lies in its name, and its name it is said arose from the following incident - Two lovers were once loitering on the margin of a lake, when the maiden noticed some flowers growing on the surface of the water, near an island at some distance from the shore. She expressed a wish to obtain them, and her knight, in the true spirit of ancient chivalry, at once plunged into the water, and swimming to the spot plucked the wished-for plant. His strength, however, failed, and feeling that he could not regain the shore, although very near it, he threw the flowers on the bank; then, casting a last affectionate look upon his lady-love, he cried, "Forget me not," and was buried in the waters.

Rosemary stands for remembrance. At one time this plant was thought to strengthen the memory, and in consequence of this it became the symbol of remembrance amongst friends and lovers. A lover would say to his lass -

"Rosemary is for remembrance
Between us day and night;
Wishing that I might always have
You present in my sight."

Ophelia, in her madness, gives rosemary to her brother, "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember."

Silence is represented by lavender. There is a superstition in some parts of the Continent that lavender has the power of restoring speech to those who have lost it.

Eglantine means just the reverse of lavender, and stands for "you speak well."

Amongst our winter decorations holly has an important place, and it speaks a language of great interest. The Romans of old held holly to be a sign of peace and goodwill, and it has thus come to be the emblem of the principal festival of a religion which preaches peace and goodwill to all mankind. With the northern nations of Europe holly used to be a type of the life which preserved nature through the desolations of winter.

The laurel speaks of triumph or glory. In the middle ages this plant served to crown poets, artists, and men of learning, who had particularly distinguished themselves. From this practice we have derived our expression poet-laureate. During the time when Rome ruled the world the laurel was held to be the emblem of victory, and also that of clemency. Whenever a despatch was sent telling of a great success it was wrapped up in, and ornamented with laurel leaves. And in triumphal processions leaves of laurel were worn by the victorious generals, and the common soldiers bore sprigs of it in their hands.

Friendship, fidelity and marriage are represented by ivy. This pleasant duty has been performed by this plant for many a day. In Greece wreaths of ivy used to be presented to newly-married people as a suitable emblem of undying affection amid the ravages of time.

But we must not linger over the subject in this way or we shall never have done. Our purpose, girls, is to give just enough to show you that there is a language of flowers and that it is worth looking into for yourselves. We shall hurry on and just mention a few more of the commoner plants with the language popularly assigned to them.

Rushes are held to signify "submission" or "docility," and if any day you watch the wind sweeping over them you will see that the plant speaks quite in character. Heath signifies solitude. Pink verbena, on the contrary, has a leaning towards society, and is an emblem of "family union." Jasmine stands for "amiability," fern for "sincerity," and foxglove, which always wears a brazen-faced air, for "insincerity."

The acacia stands for "friendship" or "platonic affection." There is a deeper sentiment at work when one presents a sprig of mignonette, which signifies "your qualities surpass your charms" - mental qualities, be it understood, and personal charms. Apple-blossom is still more serious, for it means "preference;" but "preference' is cold compared with "generous and devoted affection," and that is indicated by a sprig of honeysuckle.

As the flame of affection burns still brighter, the heliotrope, the camellia, the pansy, and the mistletoe, find employment. The heliotrope says "I am ever faithful and devoted;" the camellia, "In me behold constancy itself;"  the pansy, "I think of you, think of me;" and the mistletoe, "Whatever difficulties are in the way of winning you, I shall surmount them all." And may that be the fortune of all the honest-hearted hard-working lovers in the world.

21 August 1880 - 'Our Aquarium at the Seaside'

How to bring a bit of the natural world into the sitting-room.

Nothing is more interesting, during a visit to the seaside, than the institution of an aquarium; but, unfortunately, it is not always so popular as it is interesting.

The lodging-house keeper is apt to say that she "don't want them nasty things lol-olloping all over the place, and making a swim everywhere;" and if we are as careless as some young people I have known, who put scratchy shells and damp seaweed on polished tables, and spilt fishy water over new carpets, I do not much wonder at the poor woman's objections. But a little suavity and a good deal of care will probably soon soothe her into resignation, if not acquiescence, and a square of oil or America cloth laid under our aquarium will be a further balm to her suspicious fears.

But if we are to have a successful aquarium, more than this will be required of us.

We must be endowed with some proportion of those useful qualities, patience and perseverance, as our fish will die and our pans become unsavoury mortuaries if we are not both constant and tender in the care of our marine nursery.

And first we must be particular as to the kind of vessel in which we place our aquarium, for fishes and anemones will not live anywhere and anyhow.

The pan or pans must not be of glass, if we are to make the inmates happy, for these little rovers and climbers of the deep love occasional darkness and retirement.  For the same reason they should not be left too long in the sun or before a glaring window.

Then, again, they must not be too deep. A large surface is absolutely necessary for evaporation, and  for the water to absorb sufficient of the oxygen of the air, without which our fishes could not live or breathe. The liquid, again, should be renewed daily. But we need not trudge all the way down to the sands for this. Our bedroom jug, if tolerably fresh, will do, for soft water may be put in without injury, since the salt remains when the water evaporates. Then put in a little sand, a few pebbles, and only the right sort of seaweed.

Green laver - (Ulva latissima), a common seaweed, with a thin green crenellated leaf, like a broad ribbon, is a good kind, as it absorbs the gases given out by the fishes, and itself gives out the oxygen gas which they require. Purple laver is equally good. Now raise a cone of stone or sand - a miniature Mont Blanc - in one part of your aquarium, for your crabs and other animals to "take the air" when they desire it; but take care that your cairn is not near the edge of your vessel, or you will soon have all the crustaceans and shell-fish taking voyages of discovery over your sitting-room floor.

From all this you will see that those showy glass tanks kept in the fashionable shops are not at all the right things to have, and that earthenware pans, though less ornamental, are really far better for your little prisoners. They will by no means disdain a footpan if you are short of better accommodation.

But now  for the inmates themselves.

We will begin with bona fide fishes, for it would never do to have only crabs and anemones (or crustacean and acalepha, as we ought to call them) in our aquarium.

The grey mullet and the basse are both nice fishes, if not too big for us. The grey mullet is specially lively, and thinks nothing of taking a flying leap out of his tank on to the floor, to his own inevitable destruction, so that we must be careful to see that his prison is covered.

The basse is very hardy and very lively, and if we can manage to get a small one out of the fisherman's seine net, his blue back and silver stomach will look well darting about our aquarium.

The pluck, or pogge, is a very queer little fish, with a striped brown body, white underneath, and covered with a quantity of spiked tubercles, that gain for it in some parts of the country the name of the armed bullhead. We must decidedly get a seiner or a shrimper to find a pogge for us in their nets.

Among fishes that we may find for ourselves by hunting among the rock pools is the spotted gunnell. It is a little, dappled brown, eel-like creature, ornamental along the bottom of the dorsal fin with a line of black spots in a white rim, and is so agile and slippery that it requires a wary fisher to entrap it even with the net. It is a little bit large, perhaps, for our collection, being unusually about six inches long, but is hardy and a curious variety.

Montague's Blenny is its cousin, and is another pretty fish that we may capture for ourselves when we clamber over the slippery rocks at low tide.  It is much more highly coloured than its relative, however, wearing a dark green coat, spotted with blue, with a white waistcoat, and orange-dotted fins.

At the same time we may "happen" across a goby, a dark little fish belonging to the same family, but of quaker-like dress, who is distinguished by the rapidity of his motions and by his habit of carrying off his prey, when caught, to some convenient retiring place, where, like a dog with a bone, he devours his prey in private.

It is decidedly worth while, and by no means difficult, to get one of the pipe or bill fishes for our marine happy family. They have most queer, snake-like little bodies, long and thin, and their tails are prehensile. That is to say, they fasten themselves to the seaweed tufts by these appendages, precisely as monkeys do to forest trees. They have a decided predilection, like monkeys, for hanging head downwards; but, unlike monkeys, they show an equal enjoyment in balancing themselves the other way up, upon the tips of their tails! The dorsal fin of the pipe fish is beautifully and delicately formed; and it is by means chiefly of this fin that the owner can perform his acrobatic feats.

The pipe fish, too, has another peculiarity. If he resembles the monkey in his tail, he resembles the kangaroo in his pouch. In this pouch the paternal pipe fish carries about his numerous little family, until they are old enough to be cast adrift and to provide for themselves.

If we have room for another fish in our aquarium, we should not omit to put in one little dab or flounder. The movement of these flat fishes when swimming is the perfection of undulatory grace, and the brown and silver curves rippling through the water, circle in and out like a broad ribbon.

But we must begin now to think of shellfish for our aquarium, and of course we must have some crabs, both common crustaceans and hermit crabs. The common green crab is not a very desirable inmate, although he is an amusing and lively fellow. But his voracious appetite and sanguinary proclivities make it advisable for us either to give him a separate establishment of his own, or to choose from his species one young and small enough not to be a very formidable foe. We must also take care to provide him with a dry landing place, remembering that crabs are amphibious creatures. But we must look to his security.

I had, a few years ago, an interesting little crab who met with a most untimely fate. He had attained to intimate and almost affectionate terms with me, when one day, to my sorrow, he disappeared, and my footpan knew him no more.

I had almost forgotten my little crab, when, a week or two latter, happening to remove the sofa cushion against which I had been leaning, I found the stiffened corpse of my friend pressed between it and the sofa back. What induced him to go to such an unsuitable place I never knew; whether curiosity, or desire for warmth, or simple chance. I fear, however, it could scarcely have been affection for myself.

The way the crab eats is very interesting, using his claws like a human hand to hold and to dissever. 

The spider crab is a curious-looking little animal, worth having, and easily obtained at low water; and the velvet fiddler or lady crab is a handsome creature, with soft velvety brown back, and legs striped blue and scarlet. But of all crabs the hermit or soldier crabs will interest us most. They are called hermits, I suppose, because of their solitary lives, and soldiers because of their pugnacious love of warfare.

But they might, with reason, be called cuckoo crabs, too, since, like that dishonest bird, they have the audacious habit of turning their neighbour out of house and home, and appropriating his tenement.

The hermit chiefly affects the whelk's shell; but he is not above putting up with a less suitable one if that is not procurable, and, watching his absurd efforts sometimes to insert the whole of a large body into a very small shell, one is irresistibly reminded of an overgrown schoolboy in last year's trousers.

The hermit crab's excuse for his burglary lies in the fact that nature has not provided a shell for his body, which at one part is soft and defenceless.  At its termination is a sort of T-shaped hook or grasper, by which he clings so tightly to his stolen property that you may tear the animal to pieces before dislodging him. 

The soldier crabs will fight fiercely over an empty shell placed between the two of them, and I had one valiant specimen that used to go out to battle with a cuttlefish six inches long. The opal-coloured cuttlefish blushed all over in crimson patches with anger at the crab's temerity and at his opening nips, but after a minute or two always got the best of it, and persuaded the crab (who scuttled ignominiously away, shell on back), that discretion was the better part of valour.

Belonging to the same family are the shrimps and the prawns, of which we must have one or two. The shrimps we can catch for ourselves in the rock pools, and we shall do well to examine their method of swimming and the delicate shell-plates upon their "tails," so constructed as to enable their possessor to dart through the sea with a marvellous rapidity. The prawns, too, are pretty little creatures in the water, with their glowing eyes and diamond-hued bodies. Perhaps, however, some of my readers may agree with a small friend of mine who, on first seeing a live prawn, exclaimed in disappointment, "O, auntie, I like the pink prawns much better!" 

A minute ago I named the cuttlefish. Mine was a very fine specimen, and rather rare on these coasts, I fancy; but the squid may be procured almost anywhere with a little care, and is a better size for our aquarium. He is a most singular little creature, looking all head, eyes, and suckers, and well worthy of our observation.

We may perhaps hatch our squid from the eggs which are to be found, about June, upon the seashore, and this of course will double our interest in our eccentric little friend. If we have a taste for hatching marine animals, we may do the same with the whelk's eggs, which are found in such countless clusters on the rocks.

The Trochus zisiphinus, or top shell, is a pretty inhabitant for the stones at the bottom of our pan, with its dappled pink, white, and mauve shell; and the dog winkle, also, though we must beware he does not use his long sword-like tongue (with which he perforates the abode of his enemies and devours them) to work too much havoc amongst his companions.

As for limpets, a few of the handsomest common limpets, or fisherman's hats (Patella vulgate), and of the common periwinkle, will be sufficient for us. The latter is a useful member of an aquarium, as he keeps in order for us the too luxuriant, freshly-growing seaweed, with his long scythe-like tongue. This tongue, covered with its numerous teeth, is a most interesting object under a microscope.

If we have our friend with the dredge still at our beck and call, we must get him to try and fish up for us one of those beautiful creatures called Aphrodite aculeate, or the sea mouse. It is not unlike the shape of a mouse, only requiring legs and tail, but is covered all over its sides with spines or hairs of every conceivable shade of brilliant colouring. These spines change their hue with every fresh ray of light, making the sea mouse a thing of rare beauty. 

It seems strange that so fascinating a creature should prefer darkness and retirement, but so it is; and we shall find some difficulty in persuading it to display itself to our admiring eyes. The Aphrodite is essentially a practical-minded animal, and what little energy it possesses, it lends to the cause of gastronomy, eating up many of its more defenceless companions by means of a terrible aggressive proboscis, which it can dart out, when hungry, to a surprising length, but which it keeps almost concealed when not in use.

But (at the risk of mixing up our company without much regard to ties of relationship or rights of precedence), I must remind you that we must not forget to get a sea-cucumber for our aquarium. He is a most curious-looking, though retiring animal, often found in the dredge, and owes his name to his queer shape, which is not unlike that of a cucumber with a bunch of leaves at one end. His skin is spiny and perforated with holes, out of which come curious suckers, used in breathing and digestion. 

This Holathuria, as he and his family are called, has one very odd and unpleasant trick, which is, that he will not only at times turn himself inside out, but will subsequently, if properly nourished, live to replace his ejected inside.

The holathuria differ as to their choice of homes, some living in the deep sea and some burrowing in the sand or hiding under rocks or seaweed. The poor people of Naples sometimes eat them; whilst the Chinese have a perfect mania for a certain member of the holothurian fraternity, which they call "trepang."

They make it into rich soups and stews, and thousands of pounds worth of these queer unsavoury-looking animals are yearly imported into China  for the delectation of the Celestials.

A sea urchin, too, we must have, or sea hedgehog, as his picturesque spikes entitle him to be called. In Latin he is termed the echinus. The empty shell of the echinus, that very probably we have picked up on the shore, bears very little resemblance to the beautiful creature when alive. It was bare, smooth, and brown, and covered with little circular sockets.

But when the echinus is alive every socket bears its pointed spike, so delicately fixed that it can move at will; and intended party as a means of defence, and partly as numerous crutches to assist the little suckers which serve as feet.

The echinus differs a good deal in size on our own shores; but he excels both in beauty and magnitude abroad. I have picked up very beautiful ones by the Mediterranean - a rich brown, deep purple, and even crimson, in colour, nearly four inches in diameter, and with spikes quite three inches long.

The sea urchin does not look a tempting dish to us, but both Greeks and Romans of old appear to have thought it so. It was served up at marriage and other feasts, flavoured with vinegar, sweet wine, and herbs, and considered quite a dainty.

Belonging to the same family as the sea cucumbers and the sea urchins, although to a different branch, are the star-fishes, which lie all about us as we climb along the rocks and over the loose shingle. After a storm these fat, red stars almost cover the shore, thrown up by the retiring waves; and in some places their corpses have even been used to manure the land.

It is worth taking a star-fish (Uraster rubens) home with us, in order to study the action of the five rays, or limbs, which, covered with their thousands of strong minute suckers, make themselves useful as feelers and as propellers. It is a funny thing to see a star-fish walk or turn himself over. He is a lively and intelligent animal, and although apparently he has no eyes, he boasts a pair of little organs like insect antennae, which are very sensitive. But if you keep a star-fish, he must be put into a pot by himself. Mind you do not let him associate with the rest of the marine aquarium or you will find your aquarium speedily turned into a slaughter-house, with only shells of the inhabitants left to explain their mournful ends. For our friend has a vulgar appetite, and a fierce and determined mode of gratifying it. In his turn, however, he is much relished by larger fish, and especially by cod and haddock, and has many foes to contend against.

The stellerides, as they are called, are remarkably full of vitality, and indeed may almost be said to have  as many lives as a cat, since, were every one of their arms lopped off by a cruel hand, each to which a little portion of the circular body adhered, would become in time a new starfish.

Another kind of starfish, called the brittle star, may be found on the shore or among the rock pools at low water, generally buried among the tufts of green seaweed. The brittle stars are delicate and pretty, and more lively than their heavier cousins, the common stars, and owe their name to their embarrassing habit of tumbling to pieces when touched or frightened.

But all this time we have forgotten the actiniae, or sea anemones, who perhaps after all will form our chief delight in our new aquarium. The commonest kind, found all over England, is the beadlet (I will not attempt its terrible scientific name, which boats sixteen letters in one word).

The beadlet, when closed, is a little roundish lump of crimson or green jelly, sticking firmly to the rock; when open, he is a soft hamper, full of waving leaflets, a rim of bright blue ornamenting the base of the hamper. The beadlets, when on their native rocks, are often to be seen surrounded by a happy family of baby beadlets, and will populate the aquarium rapidly with fresh members. They are very hardy little animals, and will stand unintentional neglect or maltreatment with greater good temper than most of our marine friends. 

There is another fish, the dahlia wartlet. It is another common but beautiful sea anemone. This fine creature is more than five inches in diameter, and is coloured white, crimson and green. When open it resembles a soft basketful of fine buds, something like the dahlia in appearance. Its name of wartlet it gets from the little protuberances, like warts, which cover its body. These protuberances attract small bits of shell and stone, which so cover the anemone that it is difficult to discover it when closed.

But the dahlia wartlet, like the starfish, is a dangerous addition to an aquarium. It is a hungry creature, and so skilful with its tentacles, that shellfish, crabs, and even prawns fall victims to its voracious dexterity. There is no such objections to the plume anemone (Actinoloba dianthus), who is an exceedingly pretty little fellow, white, yellow, and red. When open its outer edge is beautifully fringed, resembling a circle of fairy feathers. This little anemone loves the dark, and I have found a beautiful species of it in caves on the Bristol Channel, coloured scarlet, with a white fringe.

Another curious anemone is the snake-locked (or Sagartia viduarta), which, when closed, is an uninteresting little object, like a flattened lobster-pot, but when open becomes a long waving arm, the hand being represented by a numerous quantity of snake-like locks floating in every direction.

A few acelepha or sea jellies will make a nice variety in our aquarium. I would scarcely advise you to burden your can with one of those huge rainbow-hued crystal bowls lying upon the sands, but I would advise you, in passing, to bend down and admire its opal, transparent brilliancy; and then, turning it gently over, to mark its strange india-rubber-like appendages or tentacles, and the shape of its body, which - convex or pointed above  is concave or hollowed below.

Many of the jelly-fish are called Medusida on account of the long tendrils which fall from their bodies or float after them like the locks of Medusa - as they lie lazily and gracefully on the summer sea.

In the region of the tropics, jelly-fish or Medusae of all kinds and sizes swarm, extending for miles over the sea, and positively checking the progress of ships, whilst the phosphorescent light they emit gives the appearance of an infinite host of stars twinkling and dancing over the bosom of the waters.

The medusa, however, is an unpleasant customer to deal with when out bathing, as he has a most irritating sting.

One of the prettiest ornaments for our aquarium will be the cydippe or sea acorn - a little cone-shaped medusa, with long dependent strings - which is exquisitely formed and tinted, and which can be caught in a net a little distance from land. When first captured, it will appear like a little colourless ball of jelly; but, when freed and at ease in the aquarium, it will spread out its tentacles, adopt its rainbow hues, and become an object of beauty.

Who has not heard of "Portuguese Man of War," with its luminous body and its tentacles of two lengths - the longer used to capture the prey and convey it to the shorter, which are furnished with mouths to receive it?

And now, before turning homewards with our well filled can, may I ask you to bend down and carefully gather up that little lump of sandy tubes lying at our feet upon the wet shore?

And don't say, contemptuously, "Why, those are nothing but worms!" for you will find, when you keep an aquarium, that some worms can be interesting acquaintances.

This sabella, as he is called, is very delicate, and you must beware that his house does not fall to pieces in your hands; but you will discover in time that he is a clever architect and industrious builder, who will carry on his work with perfect equanimity in captivity, if supplied with material.

Another "worm," probably not far off, and decidedly prettier, is the "terebella."

The sabella looks like a writhing mass of sandy pipes; but the terebella has the appearance of one large distinct tube, covered with sparkling incrustations of broken shell and grains of sand, from one end of which protrude many little snaky tentacles.

The terebella is sometimes a foot long, and is a burrower as well as a builder, often burying his body in the sand, leaving uncovered his tentacle and a part of his tube.

This tube is only the shell of the animal, which is quite distinct, and can not only move about the habitation, but if denuded of it can build a new one from surrounding materials by means of its skilful tentacles.

But we must pause. One could go on for ever enumerating new instances of the intricate beauties of creation, and the loving care of a divine Father. But we have now more than sufficient to stock the moderate aquarium of a beginner, who will find that a careful study of the habits of even these few among the countless multitudes of strange and beautiful little creatures will open out to her new fields of ever-widening thought, and many an hour of unexpected enjoyment.