68 JOURNAL OF THE [March, 



would be the growth of oyster-beds that coastwise navigation 

 must cease. But the waste is simply enormous — so many are the 

 enemies and so various the perils of the infant mollusk. To de- 

 vise wise methods of artificial culture is now the great problem 

 on which the scientific men of the U. S. Fish Commission are at 

 work. That done, we may hope for some arrest of this stupen- 

 dous waste. 



I suppose our young oyster to have stopped his roving life. 

 He has made an attachment, wise or unwise. And strange at- 

 tachments he does sometimes form. I have in my collection 

 quite a display of eccentric, if not discreditable ostrean alliances. 

 I have one oyster which is hugging desperately a ring-bolt, 

 another devotedly attached to a decanter, and, again, no less 

 than half a dozen ardently attached to a whiskey bottle. What- 

 ever may be the object chosen, — and anything will do that'serves 

 as an anchorage, — the mollusk, if not disturbed, stays there for 

 the rest of its natural life. 



Let us suppose our little oyster now attached to its object. It 

 is yet the merest atomy of life — a microscopic object — and, it is 

 likely, not much over a day old. But in that atom, and during 

 that time, how rapidly the life forces have worked ! The little 

 thing now puts all its powers at house building. First, it lays 

 the foundation by placing itself on its left side, in order that the 

 hollow, or dish-shaped valve, may be cemented to its anchorage. 

 There is now a secreting and exuding of a horny substance, of a 

 mucilaginous consistency, which is called concholine. This is 

 laid down on the rock, or other support, in a meshy form, just 

 like a tiny wad of the finest conceivable lace. Into these meshes 

 percolates the carbonate of lime held in solution by the sea 

 water. In this way is the foundation laid. Next, there is a 

 spreading out of the shells on asymmetrical lines — for the valves 

 are becoming inequal and dissimilar. But during this founda- 

 tion work, what about food-getting ? Perhaps we shall see. 



One of the first serious studies of my young days, in Zoology, 

 was the question. What becomes of the tadpole's tail ? I carried 

 a tadpole into froghood. He had ceased to be a gill-breather, 

 and, having lungs, must emerge from the water, and come to the 

 air. Nor could he any longer live on carrion and putrid plants. 

 He must now hunt the living insects. Such a change is hardly 

 less than a shock, I observed that my frog kept still, but bear- 



