But to the intelligent and right thinking man, no employment could be found more elevating or ennobling than this; and whether he be a fellow-worker himself, or merely an approving observer of the labours of others, still he feels, and conscientiously believes in the words of Milton, that-- "The desire which tends to know The works of God, thereby to glorify The great Workmaster, leads to no excess That merits blame, but rather merits praise The more it seems excess." When such a one contemplates the atmosphere, for instance, with its 'wonderful phenomena of clouds, rain, and sunshine, that alternately shield, moisten, and warm the face of the earth, he feels awed by the grandeur of the exquisite system of machinery by which such beautiful results are accomplished. To him also the sea, with its physical geography, becomes as the main-spring of a watch; its waters, and its currents, and its salts, and its inhabitants with their adaptations, as balance wheels, cogs, and pinions, and jewels. Thus he perceives that they too are according to design; that they are the expression of one thought, a unity with harmonies, which one intelligence only could utter.' To his eye all created things possess an interest doubly great, not only from their marvellous structure, but from the mission they are destined to fulfil in this lower world. What peculiar mission the Acalephæ (which we are now about to consider) were destined to fulfil it has long puzzled men of science to explain. Nor can this be wondered at, when we remember the amazing number of these creatures, and also the extreme delicacy of their structure. Some indeed appear almost as if they were formed by the sportive combination of air and water, as if the sea-breeze ruffling the face of ocean caused bubbles innumerable to arise, which becoming mysteriously endowed with life, thenceforth existed as Medusæ. They have, indeed, frequently been spoken of as 'animated sea-water,' or 'living jelly.' These expressions seem most appropriate when we remember, that if one of these creatures be placed upon a plate of glass, and allowed to remain exposed to the sun's rays, the only thing that will remain to testify to the existence of this singularly graceful object is a thin film, that a stroke of the sponge or finger will remove in an instant. The most satisfactory explanation that has been offered as to the use and purpose of the Medusæ is, that _they serve as the principal food of whales and other Cetacea_. To these marine monsters--frequently found from 70 to 110 feet long--we can imagine a few hundreds of jelly-fish would be considered a small meal. The supply, however, is ever equal to the demand, as we shall see hereafter.