re, and
at the entrance of the shallows a pleasant surprise is prepared for us:
no less than half a dozen of our new friends, (the Ptychogena, as he has
been baptized,) come to look for their lost companion perhaps, await us
there, and are presently added to our spoils. We reach the shore heavily
laden with the fruits of our morning's excursion.

The most interesting part of the work for the naturalist is still to
come. On our return to the Laboratory, the contents of the buckets are
poured into separate glass bowls and jars; holding them up against the
light, we can see which are our best and rarest specimens; these we dip
out in glass cups and place by themselves. If any small specimens are
swimming about at the bottom of the jar, and refuse to come within our
reach, there is a very simple mode of catching them. Dip a glass tube
into the water, keeping the upper end closed with your finger, and sink
it till the lower end is just above the animal you want to entrap; then
lift your finger, and as the air rushes out the water rushes in,
bringing with it the little creature you are trying to catch. When the
specimens are well assorted, the microscope is taken out, and the rest
of the day is spent in studying the new Jelly-Fishes, recording the
results, making notes, drawings, etc.

Still more attractive than the rows by day are the night expeditions in
search of Jelly-Fishes. For this object we must choose a quiet night;
for they will not come to the surface if the water is troubled. Nature
has her culminating hours, and she brings us now and then a day or night
on which she seems to have lavished all her treasures. It was on such a
rare evening, at the close of the summer of 1862, that we rowed over
the same course by Saunders's Ledge and East Point described above. The
August moon was at her full, the sky was without a cloud, and we floated
on a silver sea; pale streamers of the aurora quivered in the north, and
notwithstanding the brilliancy of the moon, they, too, cast their faint
reflection in the ocean. We rowed quietly along past the Ledge, past
Castle Rock, the still surface of the water unbroken, except by the dip
of the oars and the ripple of the boat, till we reached the line off
East Point, where the Jelly-Fishes are always most abundant, if they are
to be found at all. Now dip the net into the water. What genie under the
sea has wrought this wonderful change? Our dirty, torn old net is
suddenly turned to a w