The Aquarium

Front matter

THE AQUARIUM.

Pl. I.

P. H. Gosse. del.

Chapter 1

THE AQUARIUM.

CHAPTER I.

April is come at last. The arctic frosts, dreadful and protracted as they were, of February and March, that chilled the very life out of my poor cherished Actinias, and left me mourning over empty vases, have at last passed away, and here are the sweet, soft, south-west breezes of April. And now farewell to grimy, smoky London, and down, down, to Dorsetshire, as swiftly as the panting engine can drag us.

What a change have twenty four hours made! We raise the blind from our bed-room window, and instead of a forest of chimneys in the distance, and a mews in the foreground, with grooms currying horses that won't stand still, we gaze out upon the magnificent Bay of Weymouth, for our lodgings are on the ridge that they call the Lookout, with the sea below us breaking at the foot of the cliff.

The expanse before us has been described as second only to the beautiful Bay of Naples, by those who have seen both. I have not, and therefore cannot vouch for the justice of the comparison, but certainly this is a glorious prospect. It is a lovely morning; the sun has not long been up, but his effulgence fills the sky with splendour immediately in front, a splendour which trails along the intervening sea, as if it were the fiery monarch's train. Away on the left stretch the bold promontories and abrupt cliffs of Purbeck, twenty miles of purple coast, gradually lessening in apparent height and in distinctness of outline, until the bluff precipice that terminates the line, St. Aldhelm's Head, is lost in the brightness of the eastern horizon. Then the broad expanse of boundless sea brings the eye to Portland on the right, a lofty rounded mass, thrown out into strong light by the opposite sunbeams, and to that noble work the Breakwater, as noble in design and object, as marvellous in execution, which perpetually creeps out into the domain of the sea, presenting an effectual though scarcely visible wall to the waves, until by and by it shall stretch halfway across our present field of view, and inclose a safe harbour of refuge, on which many a mariner will bestow his grateful blessing. At such a time as this sweet April morning, indeed, a work like this may seem of little value, when the waves of the ocean only just suffice to break its face into gems of changing brilliance, and to make whispering music; while vessels of all sizes, like those whose clustering masts we see yonder under the promontory, ride with perfect security in the open road. But in the fierce gales of November or March, when the shrieking blasts drive furiously up the Channel, and the huge mountain-billows, green and white, open threatening graves on every side, how welcome would be a safe harbour, easy of access, and placed at a part of the coast, which else would be unsheltered for many leagues on either side! Blessed be God for the gift of his beloved Son, the only Harbour of Refuge for poor tempest-tossed sinners! We may think lightly of it now, but in the coming day of gloom and wrath, when "the rain descends, and the floods come, and the winds blow," they only will escape who are sheltered there!

This visit to Weymouth was immediately connected with the Marine Aquarium. Those of my readers who have honoured my 'Rambles on the Devonshire Coast' with their perusal, may remember the experiments I have there recorded, on the making of such an invention practicable in London, and other inland towns, and my anticipations of success. Early in December, 1852, I put myself into communication with the Secretary of the Zoological Society, and the result was the transfer of a small collection of Zoophytes and Annelides, which I had brought up from Ilfracombe, and which I had kept for two months in vases in London,—to one of the tanks in the new Fish House just erected in the Society's Gardens in the Regent's Park. This little collection thus became the nucleus and the commencement of the Marine Aquarium afterwards exhibited there.

It was in consequence of an engagement to supply with marine inhabitants the other tanks which the Zoological Society proposed to devote to this object that I proceeded again to the coast. The prosecution of that employment during the months of May, June, and July, in the course of which upwards of five thousand specimens of animals and plants passed through my hands, made me acquainted with many curious facts in their economy and habits, and with many interesting traits in their history, which are not recorded (so far as I am aware) in works of science.

The facilities for observation thus afforded me have been augmented by means of Aquaria of various forms and sizes, which I have had made for my own private use, and of which I shall have occasion to speak in the following pages. In them I could mark with leisure and precision the manners of the creatures that were living at home, yet constantly under my eye.

Considering the novelty and curiosity of the exhibition thus offered to the public, and the popularity which it achieved, it may not be uninteresting to treat of a few of the more prominent objects in detail, and of the modes in which they were collected. We generally feel an interest in knowing somewhat of the antecedents of any person or thing that strongly attracts our attention; and in the present case more than idle curiosity may be gratified, since the record of my experiences may be useful to others in forming similar collections, either for public exhibition or for private study.

The idea of maintaining the balance between animal and vegetable life on chemical principles is not quite so novel as I had at first supposed. Priestley first advanced the opinion that plants in certain circumstances emitted oxygen gas; and Ingenhousz soon after discovered that the leaves of plants, when immersed in water, and exposed to the light of day, produced an air, which he announced as oxygen gas. This result, however, was doubted by Ellis, in his elaborate treatise on Atmospheric Air, and, as he considered, disproved. The consumption of oxygen by animals in respiration, and the emission of carbonic acid from the lungs and skin, were well shown by this writer, who maintained, however, that this latter gas was also emitted by the leaves of plants.

At the third Meeting of the British Association, held at Cambridge in 1833, Professor Daubeny communicated a notice of certain researches which he was then pursuing, concerning the action of light upon plants, and that of plants upon the atmosphere. "He considered that he had established, by experiments on plants immersed, sometimes in water impregnated with carbonic acid gas, and at others in atmospheric air containing a notable proportion of the same, that the action of light in promoting the discharge of certain of their functions, and especially that of the decomposition of carbonic acid, is dependent neither upon the heating, nor yet upon the chemical energy of the several rays, but upon their illuminating power.

"He regarded light as operating upon the green parts of plants as a specific stimulus, calling into action, and keeping alive those functions, from which the assimilation of carbon and the evolution of oxygen result…

"He had satisfied himself that in fine weather a plant consisting chiefly of leaves and stem will, if confined in the same portion of air night and day, and duly supplied with carbonic acid during the sunshine, go on adding to the proportion of oxygen present, so long as it continues healthy, at least up to a certain point…

"Considering the quantity of oxygen generated by a very small portion of a tree or shrub introduced, he saw no reasons to doubt that the influence of the vegetable might serve as a complete compensation for that of the animal kingdom."

In 1837, Mr. Ward made a Report to the British Association, "On the growth of Plants in closed Cases," at the end of which he "directed the attention of the members to the development of animal life upon the same principles." He was "quite certain that a great number of animals would live and thrive under this treatment."

In his treatise on the same subject, published in 1842, he dilates a little on this matter, chiefly with regard to increasing the purity of air for breathing in large towns, as a remedy for disease. "The difficulty to be overcome," he observes, "would be the removal or neutralization of the carbonic acid given out by animals; but this in the present state of science could easily be effected, either by ventilators or by the growth of plants in connexion with the air of the room, so that the animal and vegetable respirations might counterbalance each other. The volume of the air, with the quantity of vegetable matter required, as compared with the size and rank in creation of the animal, would be a problem well worthy of solution."

In the same year (1842) Dr. Johnston published his "History of British Sponges and Lithophytes," in which, arguing out the vegetability of the latter, he mentioned in a note what is the most germane of all to our purpose,—the actual formation of a little Marine Aquarium. To Dr. Johnston therefore, as I think, must be assigned the honour of the first accomplishment of this object. His words are as follows:—

"Was there a need of adding any additional proof of the vegetability of the Corallines, an experiment now before me would seem to supply it. It is now eight weeks ago since I placed in a small glass jar, containing about six ounces of pure sea-water a tuft of the living Corallina officinalis, to which were attached two or three minute Confervæ, and the very young frond of a green Ulva; while numerous Rissoæ, several little Mussels and Annelides, and a Star-fish were crawling amid the branches. The jar was placed on a table, and was seldom disturbed, though occasionally looked at; and at the end of four weeks, the water was found to be still pure, the Mollusca and other animals all alive and active, the confervæ had grown perceptibly, and the coralline itself had thrown out some new shoots, and several additional articulations. Eight weeks have now elapsed since the experiment was begun,—the water has remained unchanged, the coralline is growing, and apparently has lost none of its vitality; but the animals have sensibly decreased in numbers, though many of them continue to be active, and shew no dislike to their situation. What can be more conclusive? I need not say that if any animal, or even a sponge, had been so confined, the water would long before this time have been deprived of its oxygen, would have become corrupt and ammoniacal, and poisonous to the life of every living thing."

On the 4th of March, 1850, at a Meeting of the Chemical Society, Mr. Robert Warington communicated the results of an experiment which he had been prosecuting for nearly a year, "On the adjustment of the relations between the animal and vegetable kingdoms, by which the vital functions of both are permanently maintained." Two small gold fish were placed in a glass receiver of about twelve gallons' capacity, covered with thin muslin to exclude dust and soot. The vessel was half filled with spring-water, with a bottom of sand and mud, and some loose fragments of limestone and sandstone, so arranged as to afford shelter and shade. A small specimen of Valisneria spiralis was at the same time planted in the mud, and kept in place by a stone. The whole was then left undisturbed.

Every thing went on well for a time, till it was found that the natural decay of the older leaves of the plant began to produce turbidity in the water, and a confervoid growth accumalated on the sides of the vessel, and on the surface of the water. To meet this emergency, Mr. Warington introduced a few common Pond-snails (Limnea), which greedily fed on the decaying vegetable matter and slimy mucous growth, so as quickly to restore the whole to a healthy state.

The result was now quite satisfactory. The plant throve and increased greatly by offshoots and suckers; the fishes continued to preserve their health and beauty, while the snails deposited enormous masses of eggs, thus supplying food for the fishes, as well as performing the office of scavengers.

Thus the success of the experiment was established, and an Aquarium was formed in fresh water; which has continued to prosper to the present time; the animals and plants maintaining each other in healthy life, and the water preserving its purity unchanged.

In January, 1852, Mr. Warington began to prosecute experiments of the same kind with sea-water, which presented some difficulties arising from the compound nature of that fluid, and from the peculiarities of marine vegetation. These difficulties, however, yielded to the perseverance and skill of the operator, and while I write these lines I am personal witness to his complete success, having just seen (January 1854) specimens of Sea-anemones and other marine animals in good health in that gentleman's Aquarium, which I know were sent from the sea-side more than a year and a quarter ago.

A Memoir by Mr. Warington, which appeared in the "Annals of Natural History" for November, 1853, gives some very interesting details of the progress of the marine experiments; and from it I shall make a few extracts.

"The sea-water with which the experiments were conducted, was obtained through the medium of one of the oyster-boats at the Billingsgate fish-market, and was taken from the middle of the English Channel.

"My first object was to ascertain the kind of seaweed best fitted, under ordinary circumstances, for keeping the water clear and sweet, and in a sufficiently oxygenated state to sustain animal life. And here opinions were at variance, for one naturalist friend whom I consulted, advised me to employ the Rhodosperms; another stated that it was impossible to make the red weeds answer the purpose, as he had tried them, and strongly recommended the olive or brown-coloured Algæ; while, again, others thought that I should be more successful with those which had in theory first suggested themselves to my own mind, namely the Chlorosperms. After making numerous unsuccessful experiments with both the brown and the red varieties of Algæ, I was fully convinced that the green weeds were the best adapted for the purpose.

"This point having been practically ascertained, and some good pieces of the Enteromorpha and Ulva latissima in a healthy state, attached to nodules of flint or chalk, having been procured from the shore near Broadstairs, several living animal subjects were introduced, together with the periwinkle. Everthing progressed satisfactorily, and these all continued in a healthy and lively condition.

"My first trials were conducted in one of the small tanks which had been used for fresh water; but as it was necessary, during the unsuccessful experiments with the brown and red sea-weeds, to agitate and aërate the water, which had been rendered foul from the quantity of mucus or gelatinous matter generated during the decay of their fronds, until the whole had become oxydized, and the water rendered clear and fitted for another experiment, it was, therefore, for greater convenience, removed into a shallow earthen pan, and covered with a large glass shade to protect the surface of the water, as much as possible, from the dust and soot of the London atmosphere, and at the same time impede the evaporation. In this vessel then I had succeeded perfectly in keeping a large number of beautiful living specimens in a healthy condition up to the close of 1852. I therefore gave instructions for the making of a small tank as a more permanent reservoir, and one more adapted for carrying on my observations and investigations on the economy and habits of the inhabitants.

"From the experience I had obtained in my experiments with the fresh-water tank, I was induced to modify slightly the construction of this vessel; thus, at the back, or part towards the light, the framing was filled with slate in the same way as the ends and bottom; for I had found that the glass, originally employed, very soon became covered with a confervoid growth which had an unpleasing appearance to the eye, and in consequence of which I had been obliged to paint the glass on the exterior to prevent this growth from increasing to too great an extent, It was also an unnatural mode of illumination, as all the light should pass through the surface of the water. The front towards the room and the observer was constructed of plate glass, the whole being set in a stout framework of zinc, and cemented with what is known under the name of Scott's cement, and which I have found to answer for the purpose most admirably. Within this tank were arranged several large pieces of rock-work, thrown into an arched form, and other fragments were cemented in places against the slate at the back and ends, and at parts along the waterline, so that the creatures could hide themselves at pleasure; a short beach of pebbles was also constructed in order that shallow water could be resorted to if desired. The whole tank was covered with a light glass shade to keep out the dust, and retard evaporation.

"With the sea water obtained in January, 1852, I have been working without cessation up to the present time, agitating and aërating when it became foul during the unsuccessful experiments on the seaweeds, but since then it has been rarely ever disturbed; the loss which takes place from evaporation being made up, as before stated, with rain or distilled water."

My own experiments with marine animals and plants were commenced about the same time as Mr. Warington's, namely, at the end of January, 1852. I was not aware till long afterwards that either that gentleman or any one else had proposed to effect such an object, which had been occupying my mind for some time. My success, which was less perfect than Mr. Warington's, I published in the "Annals of Natural History" for October, 1852, and subsequently, in my "Rambles on the Devonshire Coast." Travel for health, the want of a fixed residence prevented my prosecuting my experiments with sufficient care and perseverance to ensure full success; besides which my ultimate object was rather the study of the habits of marine animals, to which end the Marine Aquarium was merely (or at least principally) accessory.

Finally, the complete success of the interesting exhibition opened to the public last year at the Zoological Gardens in the Regent's Park adds its confirmation to the practibility of the Marine Aquarium. At the time that these sheets go to press, several of the Tanks contain sea-water which has not been changed for more than seven months; and several of the animals survive, which were placed therein nearly a year ago. The high health, liveliness, and fine condition which they exhibit are patent to every visitor; while the botanist sees with great interest a luxuriant crop of marine plants which have grown in this state of confinement. They are, I believe, exclusively, of the Chlorospermatous Order; Ulva, Enteromorpha, Conferva, Bryopsis, &c. Of the last-named genus a profuse growth enveloping a stone in one of the central Tanks forms an object of surpassing beauty.

Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.

The love of Nature's works Is an ingredient in the compound, man, Infus'd at the creation of the kind. And, though th' Almighty Maker has throughout Discriminated each from each, by strokes And touches of his hand, with so much art Diversified, that two were never found Twins at all points—yet this obtains in all, That all discern a beauty in his works, And all can taste them.

Cowper.

The first thing I always do when I get into locality, is to walk round to reconnoitre; to take a general view of the hunting ground. This examination I almost always find necessary to make for myself; it is astonishing how little information one can get from persons of the greatest intelligence and general knowledge, and of a life's familiarity with the place, when we ask them for details that they have not had occasion to study. The nature of the shore here or there, what sort of surface is exposed at low water, how far the sea recedes from the cliffs, where tide-pools are to be found, where sea-weeds grow most abundantly,—these are inquiries which do not seem to demand an intimate acquaintance with technical natural history to be answered, and yet of the inhabitants of any seaport town, not one in a thousand would be able to give you satisfaction about them, unless you happen to meet with a practical working naturalist who has searched up the neighbourhood. You must use your own eyes.

I accordingly took a walk around the shore, from the Lookout southward; making my way down the sloping cliff, which successive landslips have crumbled down and rent into chasms in the grassy turf, threatening at no very distant period the fall of the pretty cottages above, that already stand in perilous proximity to the falling edge. The beach below, sweeping round to Belmont Bay, is loose shingle, most unpleasant and fatiguing to walk over, and one of the most unproductive to the naturalist. Between tide-marks the pebbles are washed clean by the surf, but along the line of high-water, there is here a broad bank of black sea-grass (Zostera), the accumulation of years, perhaps ages, rotting into mould, and forming an admirable manure. It is indeed used for this purpose, being carted away by the farmers when it is sufficiently abundant and sufficiently accessible. In the vicinity of Torquay, and of Ilfracombe, I had not met with this substance in any appreciable quantity; but in Poole Harbour, the scene of my early life, I had been familiar enough with it, as its dirty, littering banks, like a continuous dunghill, fringe the shores; the refuse of hundreds of acres of the grass, that grows on the muddy flats of that land-locked harbour.

Nor was this the only thing that reminded me of early days. As I sauntered with down-cast eyes over the shingle, my eye caught a perforated pebble, and in an instant the rude distich of boyish days came up to my recollection, and I involuntary repeated—

Lucky stone! lucky stone! go over my head, And bring me some good luck before I go to bed!"

For it was one of the superstitions of my childhood, taught and believed by credulous schoolfellows, that the boy who found such a perforated stone, and threw it over his head with the above doggerel rhyme, would not fail to reap a swift harvest of "luck." What a strange faculty is memory! I had not thought of this rhyme nor of its associations for perhaps thirty years; and yet the sight of the pebble brings up perfect recollection, as if it had been only yesterday that I had played at canal-digging and boat-sailing on Westbutts shore! Perhaps nothing, be it good, bad, or indifferent, (especially the latter two) is really lost when once the mind has apprehended it; so lost as that it may not be recalled, voluntarily or involuntarily, by some association or other, at some time or other. And possibly in eternity, when God will bring every secret thing to judgment, we may find every thing perfectly presented to our remembrance that has ever occurred to us, with all its causes, results, and connexions. "For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; and hid that shall not be known." Terrible, indeed, would be the anticipation of such an unveiling of the past, were it not for the blood of the Great Atoning Lamb of God, in which the guiltiest conscience may find refuge.

Standing here once more at the verge of the sea, with its gentle waves kissing my feet, about to resume, after the dreariness of winter, those studies of the works of God which are so delightful, my mind was powerfully struck with that Almighty decree which amidst continual change, maintains an everlasting order. Man grows old, but Nature is ever young; the seasons change, but are perpetually renewed—"While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease." Beautifully has the American poet sung of this:—

Has Nature in her calm majestic march Faltered with age at last? does the bright sun Grow dim in heaven? or in their far blue arch, Sparkle the crowd of stars when day is done Less brightly? when the dew-lipped Spring comes on, Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky With flowers less fair than when her reign began? Does prodigal Autumn to our age deny The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye? Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth In her fair page: see, every season brings New change to her of everlasting youth; Still the green soil with joyous living things Swarms; the wide air is full of joyous wings; And myriads still are happy in the sleep Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings The restless surge. Eternal love doth keep In his complacent arms the earth, the air, the deep."

Bryant.

The shingle beach presently becomes sand as we approach the angle of the bight, and after a few yards the shore is covered with a wilderness of rugged shapeless masses of conglomerate that have fallen from the cliff. Ledges of flat, or very slightly inclined, rock run out into the sea in several successive spits at this point, just beneath the bluff headland known as Binkleaf, (probably a local corruption of Byng Cliff or some such appellation). The ledges are covered by the tide, but the recess of low water leaves a large surface exposed, which subsequently afforded me many a harvest of marine plants and animals. For the present, however, I satisfied myself with a cursory view; climbing over the green and slippery boulders, at some risk of chafed shins, I walked out upon the low ledge, marked the long narrow ribbon-like leaves of the Zostera, green and glossy, growing in beds in the pools and nooks that indent the ledges, and the purple tufts of mossy sea-weed that fringe the dark hollows of the rock; turned over a few stones, and saw colonies of the plump and fruit-like smooth Anemone (Actinia mesembryanthemum) of various hues, adhering to their sides; essayed to catch one or two of the nimble little Blennies that shot from covert to covert in the rocky basins; and having satisfied myself that the ground was promising, I sought for a place where I might climb the cliffs, and enjoy the widened prospect from their summit.

The inclination of the slope allows access to the top a little farther on, and I wended my way up over the rugged but turf-covered steep, through thickets of furze and bramble, thence walking back along the margin of the cliff. It was a lovely day in the beginning of April, but the northern breeze made it cold; the clear transparent blue of the sky was speckled over with fleecy clouds, which, as they flitted along, made a constant alternation of sunshine and shadow. A noble view of the broad bay is before one at this

COLLECTING UNDER BYNG CLIFF.

spot; the sea below of a pale greenish-blue hue, becoming more silvery as it merges into distance, and the reflection grows more perfect; the undulating outline of the land to the north, with those smoothly rounded swellings and sinkings that are so characteristic of the chalk formation; and now and then the broad white cliffs; Portland to the south, with its long breakwater, and its busy works on shore, from which some tin-covered roof happened at the moment to reflect the rays of the sun above direct to my eye, as if it had been a mirror; and beyond its precipices there was the sea again over the Chesil beach. The steamer "Contractor," gaudily painted in green and white, that plies between Weymouth and Portland, whose unpoetical name the good people here pronounce with a strongly marked accent on the first syllable,—was running across the bay, almost as if under my feet; and far away in the Channel some ocean steamer, of gigantic dimensions, was making her way upward, with a long line of black smoke streaming away behind her, half way across the horizon.

The birds and insects were enjoying the spring sunshine. A dozen larks were scattered about the sky, and humbler songsters were chirping among the brambles. A few wild bees were humming over the turf, which glittered with the yellow pilewort and bright-eyed daisy, but afforded as yet few of those flowers that bees delight in. Among the grass at the very verge of the precipice, as I sat there a moment to survey the shore below, I found that curious beetle Meloe proscarabæus, a rather large insect of a deep dull indigo tint, easily recognisable, should you ever fall in with it, by its very short wing-cases, which do not half cover its enormous distended body. I took it up gently in my fingers, when it helplessly crumpled up its legs, as if it had learned the lesson divinely taught, but which Christians find it so hard to practise.—"Resist not evil,"—and lay passively in my hand, weeping at every joint of every limb a tear of orange-coloured fluid, that has conferred the name of Oil-beetle upon it. This liquor, which had a rank odour, stained the skin of my hand; and I soon put down my captive, who was glad to disappear among the stalks of the grass.