Through the fascinating interpretation of the good Gilbert, many now understand the attraction of those branches of natural history which he so curiously investigated; but few are willing to admit that it is as easy to make the natural features of some obscure fishing-village, with no herbage on its bare rocks, and no bush, no blade of grass, no bird to be seen or heard, equally interesting; yet I can assure them, that by lifting even the mere border of that green curtain of the ocean, or by awaiting its unveilings, as the retiring tide bears back its folds, a host of wonders will be revealed, sufficient to rouse the most torpid mind of the most inactive idler to their earnest and deeply-inquiring contemplation, and arouse him to their devout admiration, as among the most exquisite miracles of that creative and sustaining Power which is the source of their existence. [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER II. THE FLOOR OF THE OCEAN. The wonders of the ocean floor do not reveal themselves to vulgar eyes. As the oracle was inaudible to sacrilegious listeners, and as none but poetic ears heard the cadenced beating of the feet that danced to unearthly music, near the fountain haunted by the Muses of classic fable—so, none but the initiated can see the myriad miracles that each receding tide reveals on the ocean floor. The initiation, however, is not mysterious; there are no dark rites to observe—no Herculean labours to accomplish, before entering upon the noviciate, which at once opens a large area of unexpected pleasures, and an ample field for admiration and investigation. A few elementary works carefully studied, or even this present little book attentively perused, would supply the first helps towards _seeing_, at all events, a portion of the “wonders of the shore,” as the brilliant author of “Glaucus” has eloquently termed those revelations of the retiring deep. It is the _seeing_ that is everything. But let none despair of acquiring that power. “The name of the Devonshire squire, Colonel George Montague” (thus wrote the late Professor Edward Forbes), “might have become one of the greatest in the whole range of British science, had his whole career been devoted to marine physiology;” and that mainly because, from a sincere devotion to a favourite pursuit of his leisure, he acquired the art of _seeing_—an art sought by so few, though open to all who will earnestly seek it.