----"the amaze
Of deep-seen wonders."
I have before me now five specimens of this splendid anemone. They are all expanded, and they glow in the sunshine like huge carnations of the brightest amber, one of them verging towards a pure white. Two of these are represented in the engraving, surrounded by fronds of Delesseria sanguinea, Callithamnium, and Griffithsia. The one attached to the perpendicular side of a stone is of the golden amber variety; when fully expanded it forms a massive column of five inches in height, at least, and nearly three in diameter. From the summit of the column the tentacles fringe over in rich masses, like the petals of a monster carnation, all of them in motion as if seeking something which they cannot find. The tentacular disk is deeply frilled and puckered, and constantly changes its outline under the capricious will of the animal; while, at the same time, the tentacles arrange and rearrange themselves into most confusing forms; then again expand to their utmost, and expose the oval mouth and crenated lips, of a pellucid softness that would appear as if chiselled out of alabaster, were they not constantly varying their form, and every instant undergoing a new "sea-change." The tentacles are very regularly arranged around the mouth, but towards the margin they thicken and thicken till they form a dense fringe that overlaps the column, and continues ever waving as if stirred by trembling ocean currents. If I now strike the glass with my finger, or even breathe lightly on the surface of the water, they are all withdrawn, the stately column shrinks down into a mass of pulp, and in a few moments swells out like a globular balloon, so tight and large that one momentarily expects it to burst. For an instant only it remains thus blown out; it is suddenly constricted as if clasped by a cord, and it then becomes double like a pair of globes placed one upon the other, and flattened where they meet. Suddenly the imaginary girdle slips downward, disappears, then it contracts, rises again, assumes its noblest proportions, expands its thousand fringes, all delicately waving above the dark stones, and is once more as lovely, or lovelier than ever.
ACTINIA DIANTHUS, DELESSERIA SANGUINEA, CALLITHAMNIUM ROSEUM, GRIFFITHSIA SETACEA.
This has been described as one of the most tender of its class, but I have long been convinced that it is comparatively hardy, and may be preserved with very great certainty. So long as the water is kept moderately pure, by an occasional filtering through charcoal—which aerates and purifies at the same time—it lives and prospers, occasionally moving from place to place, but almost always expanded, and every instant assuming some new form. It is, however, so far delicate that, if frequently disturbed, it is sure to perish. When removed from its native "oozy bed" it should be kept on the stone or shell to which it is found attached, until it floats off of its own accord, and fixes itself elsewhere. When handled it throws out a number of white threads, which are afterwards withdrawn.
WHAT IS AN ANEMONE?
It is very strange that where the animal and vegetable kingdoms meet, the forms should assume such close resemblances to each other, as to make it frequently a matter of difficulty to determine to which of the two great departments some special specimen shall be assigned. Here are the lovely sea-flowers—flowers only in name and appearance—representing the lowest links of animal life and pointing to that last link where the animal and the vegetable blend into one, bearing all the outward resemblances to flowers from which they take their appropriate names, yet all of them strictly animals, endowed with volition, and in their general organization assimilating to the extensive series of zoological orders which stand above and beneath them. The sea anemones are animals of the lowest class—zoophytes of the great Cuverian division of Radiata. It is in this division that animation is seen to tremble and flicker in the socket, and to become gradually extinguished as we descend the scale and approach the confines of the kingdom of verdure. Here, then, life has its lowest if not least lovely forms; the individuals have less individuality, many of them live in groups and clusters, and increase in a semi-vegetative manner by gemmation, or the formation of bud-like germs, while others generate by spontaneous fissure, and break up into numerous forms, each of which rapidly acquires the form of the parent, and proceeds in the same way to increase its kind.