thought the matter over, and sought in books for confirmation of what I witnessed, but without success.” A similar instance was related in a letter to one of the morning papers (I think, the _Daily Telegraph_), about eight months previously; and the statement then appeared to me to be an attempt to hoax the public; for it seems impossible that an octopus can travel over the ground at the pace described. But it is not to be supposed that a gentleman of Dr. Owen’s age and profession would volunteer information intentionally erroneous. Among the details given by him is one which is difficult to understand. The genus _Octopus_ is especially characterised by the smallness of the eye. This is larger in _Philoxenis_ and _Argonauta_; but in all of the family the iris is oblong, and not round. In the calamaries it is larger, and always circular; but the octopods alone of the cephalopoda, are able, by the disposition of their arms, to walk, or progress, on dry land, or to return to the water if cast upon the shore. Marvellous as the above narrative may appear to the reader (and I confess I so regard it), it has been collaterally confirmed by an officer of high rank in the Royal Engineers, whose veracity is unquestionable, and who, without previous knowledge of Dr. Brisco Owen’s communication, related to me, first verbally, and afterwards, at my request, in writing, a similar adventure which happened to himself. “When at Bermuda,” he said, “in 1868, whilst sitting on a rock near the water, I saw a curious instance of the power of locomotion of these beasts. A small octopus emerged from the water, apparently in great terror: in two seconds he was followed by a larger one, evidently in chase. The little fellow might have been ten inches over all, the larger one about eighteen, or perhaps twenty, inches. Their mode of progression was most singular: in position something like the ‘arabs’ of the London streets, but not turning. Five arms seemed to be used in walking, or, rather, progressive motion; the remaining three being reserved for seizing. I should think the rate at which both animals went was as fast as a man could possibly walk, _i.e._, between five and six miles an hour. A larger octopus would undoubtedly cause a man following it to run, unless it chose to turn and face him.” Both of these accounts of the locomotive powers of the octopus are perfectly clear and definite; and, therefore, although we may say, with Horatio,—“This is wondrous strange!” we must either entirely disbelieve two credible witnesses, or apply to the case the aphorism of Hamlet:—“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.” CHAPTER VI. NEW LIMBS FOR OLD ONES.