nation, which
necessarily renders it hostile.

When swimming, the devil-fish rests, so to speak, in its sheath. It
swims with all its parts drawn close. It may be likened to a sleeve sewn
up with a closed fist within. The protuberance, which is the head,
pushes the water aside and advances with a vague undulatory movement.
Its two eyes, though large, are indistinct, being of the colour of the
water.

When in ambush, or seeking its prey, it retires into itself, grows
smaller and condenses itself. It is then scarcely distinguishable in the
submarine twilight.

At such times, it looks like a mere ripple in the water. It resembles
anything except a living creature.

The devil-fish is crafty. When its victim is unsuspicious, it opens
suddenly.

A glutinous mass, endowed with a malignant will, what can be more
horrible?

It is in the most beautiful azure depths of the limpid water that this
hideous, voracious polyp delights. It always conceals itself, a fact
which increases its terrible associations. When they are seen, it is
almost invariably after they have been captured.

At night, however, and particularly in the hot season, it becomes
phosphorescent. These horrible creatures have their passions; their
submarine nuptials. Then it adorns itself, burns and illumines; and from
the height of some rock, it may be seen in the deep obscurity of the
waves below, expanding with a pale irradiation--a spectral sun.

The devil-fish not only swims, it walks. It is partly fish, partly
reptile. It crawls upon the bed of the sea. At these times, it makes use
of its eight feelers, and creeps along in the fashion of a species of
swift-moving caterpillar.

It has no blood, no bones, no flesh. It is soft and flabby; a skin with
nothing inside. Its eight tentacles may be turned inside out like the
fingers of a glove.

It has a single orifice in the centre of its radii, which appears at
first to be neither the vent nor the mouth. It is, in fact, both one and
the other. The orifice performs a double function. The entire creature
is cold.

The jelly-fish of the Mediterranean is repulsive. Contact with that
animated gelatinous substance which envelopes the bather, in which the
hands sink, and the nails scratch ineffectively; which can be torn
without killing it, and which can be plucked off without entirely
removing it--that fluid and yet tenacious creature which slips through
the fingers, is disgusting; but no horror can equal th