fishermen who have handled them, when adhering to oysters, for years, and never knew that they were aught else than spots of slime. Once, when out on the shore at a very low tide, and busy overturning stones, in search of creatures thus concealed, a fisherman, wondering what we were about, came and accosted us:
Fisherman—"What have you got, mister?"
Self—"Some little sea-flowers;" and we pointed to certain little hemispheres of pellucid but limpid pearl, on a stone held in our hand.
Fisherman—"What! them grease-spots?"
Self—"Yes. And you should see them when the tide's up. Then every one opens into a little flower. They're only shut up now."
With an expression that indicated doubt of our veracity, or sanity, Piscator turned away, muttering as he left, "Guess you'd better shut up, my blossom!"
However, we took our "grease-spots" home, proud enough of them. After time given for rest they came out finely. Pretty things they were. There was one especially, over which we had both joy and sorrow—the one to have found it, and the other when it died. It was a wee but winsome thing, about a third of an inch when unfolded, and all parts of it, column, and disk, and petals, were each and all of a soft, limpid emerald. Oh, we thought, if that could be transformed into a hard substance, what a gem it would be! That was the only time we ever saw an entirely green anemone. The green opelet of Great Britain is only so as to its tentacles, and even these are tipped with red. We have often obtained from the rocks in the East River very pretty small anemones, of an orange hue.
Generally the sea-anemone will not spread her beautiful form in a bright light. Often, when all seemed sulky and there was a general collapse, we have restored the whole coterie to good-humor, simply by covering up the aquaria for an hour or two, and then uncovering, when the flowers will fully open. It was a great transformation to see, when this change took place with our favorite—a fine, large, fawn-colored Metridium marginatum, obtained from Newport. When in healthful expansion it was larger than a good-sized dahlia; and although of a subdued neutral tint, yet in form and color we thought our marine-flower the superior of its terrestrial rival.
Somewhere we read the lucubration of a philosopher that there was no humor in Nature, but all was serious. The observation struck us as very learned, but very silly. No humor in Nature? Nonsense! Come out from your candle-light cogitations unto some real observations in the sunny light of Nature's beaming face, and I can show you humor. Ay, fun, if you will—yes, even practical jokes. A large actinia took a notion to swallow a large scallop, which it had captured. After considerable stretching it got the bivalve down into its stomach, and in due time the contained mollusk was digested. But what about the shell? Why, this—it could not get it up again! It was a double
