When first seen stranded on the shore the Star-fish, by the uninitiated, is thought to be a creature incapable of movement of any kind. But this is far from being the case, for in its native element it moves along the bottom of the sea with the greatest ease, being provided with an apparatus specially adapted for the purpose. Ordinarily its arms are kept upon the same level, but in passing over obstacles that lay in its path, the animal has the power of raising any one of its several arms. Elevations are ascended with the same ease and facility as progression on plane surfaces is effected. Perforating the arms, or rays, and issuing from apertures, will be found large numbers of membranous tubes, which prove to be the feet of the animal. Upon careful examination the latter will be found to consist of two parts, a bladder-like portion, resident within the body, and a tubular outlying projection, ending in a disk-shaped sucker, thus showing the feet to be muscular cylinders, hollow in the centre, and very extensible. In progression the animal extends a few of its feet, attaches its suckers to the rocks or stones and then, by retracting its feet, draws the body forward. Like that of the tortoise, its pace is slow and sure. But the most singular thing about this singular animal is its manner of overcoming obstructions, which it must certainly perceive, judging from the preparations to surmount them which it makes at the opportune moment. In addition to organs of locomotion Star-fishes possess blood-vessels, digestive and respiratory apparatus, and a nervous system of a very low order, an inference to which its seeming capacity of enduring vivisection without pain unmistakably leads. Interesting as its manner of progression, even under the most trying circumstances, must be, yet there is nothing in the life of this lowly-organized animal that has half the charm to the true lover and student of nature than the mother Star’s devotion to her young. Her eggs she carries in little pouches placed at the base of the rays. When emitted through an opening, which occasionally and unintentionally occurs, the mother does not abandon them to the cruel charities of the ocean world, but gathers them together, forming a kind of protecting cover of them, very much like a hen brooding over her chickens. Her actions bespeak an anxiety which could only be born of an affection, as real and sympathetic as that which a human mother feels for the loss of any of her offspring. No matter how often the eggs become accidentally scattered, the mother does not grow weary of her charges and leave them to themselves, but gathers them to the maternal fold with the same tender, patient solicitude as characterized her first efforts. Confined to a tank, when with ova, the mother Star has been known to traverse the entire length of the vessel until she has found and recovered her scattered treasures.