132 



THE SEA. 



below the superficial runnings of the storm ? I have 

 often looked down from the taifrail of a ship becalmed 

 in the midst of the ocean, down, down, into the 

 clear, pellucid blue, and wondered how far it was to 

 the solid bottom, and what sort of a floor it was, and 

 what was going on in those solitudes. The world 

 beneath the waters has beauties of its own ; and not a 

 few observers have remarked the high gratification 

 with which they have gazed into its recesses, when 

 these have not been so profound as to be beyond the 

 exploring power of the eye. In the quiet lagoons of 

 the coral isles of the South Sea, as a canoe glides over 

 the smooth surface, scarcely dimpling it with its pro- 

 gression, so transparent is the water that every feature 

 of the bottom, though many fathoms deep, is distinctly 

 traced. The groves of living coral, branching in fan- 

 tastic imitation of the shrubs and trees of the land, 

 and bearing in their thousands of expanded polypes, 

 crimson, green, orange, and yellow, what seem to be 

 brilliant composite flowers in profusion, form a strange 

 submarine shrubbery of the gayest colours. The gor- 

 geous shells, those fine cones, and cowries, and olives, 

 that form the pride of many a European cabinet, 

 are crawling idly over the brainstones and madrepores; 

 each partially covered with its fleshy mantle, and 

 expanding its broad undulating foot, which are glit- 

 tering in still richer painting than even the porcelain 

 shells. Long ribbon-fishes, that gleam like burnished 

 silver, dart by ; and parrot-fishes, coloured with the 

 bright hues of the birds whose names they bear, 



