1372 THE STORY OF THE UNIVERSE 



in vain. He is being "played" with such a fishing- 

 line as the skill of a Wilson or a Stoddart never 

 could invent; a living line, with elasticity beyond 

 that of the most delicate fly rod, which follows every 

 lunge, shortening and lengthening, slipping and 

 twining round every piece of gravel and stem of 

 sea-weed, with a tiring drag such as no Highland 

 wrist or step could ever bring to bear on salmon or 

 on trout. The victim is tired now; and slowly, and 

 yet dexterously, his blind assailant is feeling and 

 shifting along his side, till he reaches one end of 

 him; and then the black lips expand, and slowly 

 and surely the curved ringer begins packing him end 

 foremost into the gullet, where he sinks, inch by 

 inch, till the swelling which marks his place is lost 

 among the coils, and he is probably mascerated to 

 a pulp long before he has reached the opposite ex- 

 tremity of his cave of doom. Once safe down, the 

 black murderer slowly contracts again into a knot- 

 ted heap, and lies, like a boa with a stag inside him, 

 motionless and blessed. 



There; we must come away now, for the tide is 

 over our ankles; but touch, before you go, one of 

 those little red mouths which peep out of the stone. 

 A tiny jet of water shoots up almost into your face. 

 The bivalve (Saxicava rugosa), who has burrowed 

 into the limestone knot (the softest part of the stone 

 to his jaws, though the hardest to your chisel), is 

 scandalized at having the soft mouths of his siphons 

 so rudely touched, and taking your ringer for some 

 bothering Annelid, who wants to nibble him, is de- 

 fending himself; shooting you, as naturalists do 



