Dead sea-weed fronds are indeed abundant, sinking slowly downward, in company with ourselves; and dead Diatoms, with dead microscopic creatures of many kinds, rain incessantly from the surface waters to the ocean’s bed. But they are far too minute for us to feel them, as they slip noiselessly past. _Seeing_ anything, small or large, is out of the question. No light; no waves; no colour; no beauty. Only unbroken stretches of silent water, with intense and penetrating cold. A mile or more below we find ourselves on firm ground. This is the topmost peak of a sub-ocean mountain range, rising from the bottom of the sea. In the darkness we grope our way to the verge, then slowly walk down its sloping side, under a ponderous weight of water, while our feet are upon a sticky unpleasant ooze, which seems to be everywhere. Only not quite everywhere. The nature of the ocean-floor varies. Here, for instance, we come to a patch of hard ground, reaching some little way. But the sticky ooze mainly prevails, varied by less sticky mud. And neither ooze nor mud is always of the same description, as we should discover if we walked far and examined specimens from each district. There are muds and muds--oozes and oozes. Crabs in abundance scuttle over the ground, as we may know by feeling, if we have left our boots behind. And slimy creatures of various kinds flourish, none of them precisely the same as those which inhabit our sea-beaches in regions of light, yet their near relatives. Stooping down, we touch a rough-coated hedgehog; and then our fingers come into contact with a mass of slimy tentacles, which sting sharply. One would like to be able to see, as well as to feel. But into these depths no gleam of sunlight may ever penetrate. Yet, as we stroll onward, plodding through the thick plastic ooze, in the pitchy darkness we become aware of a light, a hazy light, drawing near. One does not expect to find a lantern down here in the deep ocean-waters. It positively seems to be a lantern, moving as if it had a will of its own. And about the small living lantern, during its approach, we see many creatures congregated, swimming and whisking round, evidently making use of the glimmer to catch their prey. When it has come close, we find the light to proceed from a soft-bodied jelly-like animal, which, as it travels, carries its own illumination with it. Had we in upper regions such power to shine for ourselves, we should be delightfully independent of artificial light after dark. At first our impression is that the sub-ocean lamp must be a very uncommon phenomenon. But as we go on we encounter another and another--different indeed in species, yet alike in the possession of natural light-giving organs.