that there is only our body, which is now like a large sack or purse. Changed in this way, we can no longer lead the life that we have been accustomed to. We live in the sea, now, and are usually at the bottom of it, holding on to rocks or stones with some of our sucking tentacles, and often getting our soft, unarmed bodies into holes and crevices, the better to protect them. Our long lip-arms are always waving about in the water, and when we are hungry we throw them round anything that we care about eating, suck on to it with all our little mouths, and bite and swallow it with our big one. We need not go very far to supply our wants. Our waving tentacles look very like the seaweeds that we live amongst, so that fish, crabs, starfish, and all sorts of other living creatures are constantly swimming up against us, and when we like them and are hungry, we always treat them in this way. The shell of the crab must be hard that we cannot crack with our great parrot beak, and the fish must be clever that can avoid our embraces, since the faster it goes the faster we go with it. We hug it till it stops, and then eat it—we do not understand letting go. Such and so strange a creature is the cuttlefish, but perhaps the strangest, or at least the most interesting, thing about it, is that device that it practises, and which I began by alluding to. In its body there is a sort of bag, containing a fluid from which ink and the pigment known as sepia are prepared, and which is of a deep brown colour. This bag or gland has an opening near the end of the body, through which the fluid can be ejected into the sea, which then becomes discoloured. There is another opening near the creature’s mouth, and through this water can be expelled by it, in the same way but with greater violence. When, therefore, the cuttlefish is alarmed, and wishes to “lie low,” it spurts out the water with such force that its body flies backwards, and, at the same time, empties the contents of its ink-bag, thus making for itself a cloudy sanctuary, into the midst of which it disappears. After a time the water clears again, but the cuttlefish, in all probability, is nowhere to be seen.