Thenceforward, for a little space, the jelly-speck lives in that shell, and feeds in that shell, and then it dies in that shell. When it exists no longer, down sinks the lifeless skeleton, to serve a new purpose at the bottom of the sea. No mere shapeless lumps are these shells, flung together without care or plan. Each one, however infinitesimal in size, is a delicate and elaborate construction; each one shows the carrying out of a definite and beautiful plan. A different design serves for each species and kind of jelly-speck--not for each individual. Such Design we must ascribe to a Mind lying beyond that which we see; not to the jelly-speck itself, which acts as an unconscious architect, working automatically, as you and I work in the early growth and later renewal of our bony frameworks, the “secreting” of our skeletons. No chance tossing together of particles of carbonate-of-lime could result in the exquisite forms, the intricate patterns, of these little shells; still less, in such patterns being faithfully reproduced by millions of living jelly-specks, each according to its own class or variety. For all this the present tense is as true as the past tense. Those white cliffs along the coast were formed ages ago. But the ocean is working still, building still, piling grains of sand together still, heaping specks of mud together still, and laying shells, shells, shells, together still, in amounts beyond all reckoning. Chalk-building went on in ages past; it goes on now; and doubtless it will go on in centuries to come. Not only beyond reckoning, but beyond imagination, are the enormous multitudes of these creatures, which live and die in the ocean, forming their shells, and adding their skeletons to the ever-growing pile below. Over a large part of the Atlantic bed, as over other Ocean-beds too, lies a thick ooze. When this was first brought to the surface, in soundings that were made before the laying of the earliest Atlantic cable, it was supposed to mean a thin deposit of no particular importance. Then a deep-sea dredge, plunged into the ooze, carried away half-a-ton of it, and men began to realise what its presence might mean. By a long succession of soundings, its true nature became slowly manifest. The ooze was found to be composed chiefly of tiny rounded shells, called “Globigerina,” which belong to a larger class, known as “Foraminifera.” And the white chalk of our British cliffs is made principally of Foraminifera shells. This last name springs from two Latin words, meaning “I bear a hole.” The Foraminifera shells bear many holes. Each is in shape a tiny collection of rounded compartments, usually not more than sixteen in number; and each compartment has numerous minute holes in its walls. Its inhabitant, a speck of jelly, is one of the least of living creatures, belonging to the great Division of “Protozoa,” or “First Animals.” None rank below them, for they are on the first or lowest rung in the ladder of life.