In order that we may feel, a complicated apparatus of nerves and brain cells has to be constructed and set to work; but the Protozoon, without any distinct brain, is all brain, and its sensation is simply direct. Thus vision in these creatures is probably performed in a rough way by any part of their transparent bodies, and taste and smell are no doubt in the same case. Whether they have any perception of sound as distinct from the mere vibrations ascertained by touch, we do not know. Here, also, we are not far removed above the Protozoa, especially those of us to whom touch, seeing and hearing are direct acts, without any thought or knowledge of the apparatus employed. We might, so far, as well be Amœbas. As we rise higher we meet with more differences. Yet it is evident that our gelatinous fellow being can feel pain, dread danger, desire possessions, enjoy pleasure, and in a direct unconscious way entertain many of the appetites and passions that affect ourselves. The wonder is that with so little of organization it can do so much. Yet, perhaps, life can manifest itself in a broader and more intense way where there is little organization, and a highly strung and complex organism is not so much a necessary condition of a higher life as a mere means of better adapting it to its present surroundings. A similar lesson is taught by the complexity of their skeletons. We speak in a crude, unscientific way of these animals accumulating calcareous matter, and building up reefs of limestone. We must, however, bear in mind that they are as dependent on their food for the materials of their skeletons as we are, and that their crusts grow in the interior of the sarcode just as our bones do within our bodies. The provision even for nourishing the interior of the skeleton by tubuli and canals is in principle similar to that involved in the canals, cells, and canalicules of bone. The Amœba, of course, knows neither more nor less of this than the average Englishman. It is altogether a matter of unconscious growth. The process in the Protozoa strikes some minds, however, as the more wonderful of the two. It is, says an eminent modern physiologist, a matter of "profound significance" that this "particle of jelly [the sarcode of a Foraminifer] is capable of guiding physical forces in such a manner as to give rise to these exquisite and almost mathematically arranged structures." Respecting the structures themselves there is no exaggeration in this. No arch or dome framed by human skill is more perfect in beauty or in the realization of mechanical ideas than the tests of some Foraminifera, and none is so complete and wonderful in its internal structure. The particle of jelly, however, is a figure of speech. The body of the humblest Foraminifer is much more than this. It is an organism with divers parts, and it is endowed with the mysterious forces of life which in it guide the physical forces, just as they do in building up