Cucumaria crocea and of the Psolus 

 ephippifer are equally well cared for 

 on the mother's back. The Synapta 

 whose habitat extends from Cape Cod 

 to North Carolina, is viviparous. This 

 is a slender, transparent Cucumber, some 

 eighteen inches in length, and has twelve 

 branching tentacles, but no feet. It can 

 be found in the upper part of its bur- 

 row when the tide is out, and will go to 

 pieces if kept for a few hours in con- 

 finement. 



The Holothurians are widely distrib- 

 uted and common through shallow to 

 very deep water where the abyssal 

 forms have brilliant colors. One which 

 I saw, a deep red variety, was as long 

 as a man's arm. At another time we 

 found a small white variety in such 

 quantities on the Pacific coast, that we 

 scooped them out by the peck. A fish 

 inhabits the intestines of certain Cucum- 



bers, and a parasite mollusk resides in 

 others. Both animals, it would seem, 

 prefer the safe seclusion of their hosts, 

 to life in the open with its attendant 

 dangers. 



In China and some of the South Sea 

 Islands the trepang of commerce is 

 made by drying the Holothuria edulis. 

 The food is greatly prized by the 

 natives, but is too expensive for any 

 but the wealthy. It occurred to some 

 Americans that this delicacy could be 

 manufactured from Holothurians of the 

 American Pacific coast, and sold at a 

 greatly reduced price, to Chinese living 

 in this country. A company was formed 

 and the industry started, but the for- 

 eigners declined to use the domestic arti- 

 cle, for they said it lacked the right 

 flavor, so the enterprise was aban- 

 doned at a considerable loss to its pro- 

 moters. 



Ellen Robertson Miller. 



TO A SONGBIRD. 



Sing, let thy heart- full joy, gushing, o'erflow it. 



Heedless that none but June's warm heaven hears : 



For thou could'st guess not to what eager ears 

 The kindly zephyr's gentle breath would blow it. 

 Nay, and though thou, uncrowned, may never know it. 



Thy humble lay, that the dull listener cheers 



Is the true lyric of the unending years : 

 A vagrant rhymer, man, and thou, the poet. 



When long is hushed my song, and those who heard 



Are deafened to the silence of the grave : — 

 Aye, even when the echoes last have stirred 



That Wordsworth woke and Shelley set awave, — 

 Blithe from the throat of many a happy bird 



Shall swell the self-same notes of thy sweet stave. 



— Charles Elmer Jenney. 



