This analogy between plants and zoophytes is nowhere more apparent than in the coral. Rooted in the soil and upon rocks, the form of its branches many times subdivided, above all, the coloured appendages which at certain periods so closely resemble the corolla of a flower, have all the form and appearance of plants. Until the eighteenth century most naturalists classed the coral as Linnæus did, without the least hesitation, with analogous creations in the vegetable world. Réaumur long contended for the contrary opinion; but it is only in our day that the animal nature of the coral is satisfactorily established. The _sea anemone_ may be cited as another striking example of the resemblance borne by certain inferior organisms to vegetables. We hold, then, that we are justified in using the word _zoophyte_ to designate the beings which now occupy our attention. * * * * * We shall not surprise our readers by telling them that the structure of the zoophyte, especially in its inferior orders, is excessively simple. They are the first steps in the scale of animal life, and in them a purely rudimentary organization was to be expected. In these beings--true types of animal life--the several parts of the body, in place of being disposed in pairs on each side of its longitudinal plane, as occurs in animals of a higher organization, are found to radiate habitually round an axis or central point, and this whether in its adult or juvenile state. Zoophytes have not generally an articulate skeleton, either exterior or interior, and their nervous system, where it exists, is very slightly developed. The organs of the senses, other than those of touch, are altogether absent in the greater part of beings which belong to this, the lowest class of the last division of the animal kingdom. Several questions arise here: Has the zoophyte sentiment, feeling, perception? Has it consciousness, sense, sensibility? The question is insoluble; it is an abyss of obscurity. The coral, or rather the aggregation of living beings which bear the name, are attached to the rock which has seen their birth, and which will witness their death: the infusoria, of microscopic dimensions, which revolve perpetually in a circle infinitesimally small; the Amoebæ, the marvellous Proteus, which in the space of a minute changes its form a hundred times under the surprised eyes of the observer, are, in truth, mere atoms charged with life. Yet all these beings have an existence to appearance purely vegetative. In their obscure and blind impulse, have they consciousness or instinct? Do they know what takes place at the three-thousandth part of an inch from their microscopic bodies? To the Creator alone does the knowledge of this mystery belong.