weight, looking like nothing so much as a pile of ripe white
currants, and clinging together in a very similar manner.

Such masses of ova I had often seen cast up among the outlying
rocks on the shores of the Caribbean Sea, when as a shipwrecked
lad I wandered idly about unburying turtle eggs from their snug
beds in the warm sand, and chasing the many-hued coral fish from
one hiding-place to another.

While loitering in these smooth waters, waiting for the laggard
wind, up came a shoal of dolphin, ready as at all times to attach
themselves for awhile to the ship. Nothing is more singular than
the manner in which deep-sea fish will accompany a vessel that is
not going too fast--sometimes for days at a time. Most
convenient too, and providing hungry Jack with many a fresh mess
he would otherwise have missed. Of all these friendly fish, none
is better known than the "dolphin," as from long usage sailors
persist in calling them, and will doubtless do so until the end
of the chapter. For the true dolphin (DELPHINIDAE) is not a fish
at all, but a mammal a warm-blooded creature that suckles its
young, and in its most familiar form is known to most people as
the porpoise. The sailor's "dolphin," on the other hand, is a
veritable fish, with vertical tail fin instead of the horizontal
one which distinguishes all the whale family, scales and gills.

It is well known to literature, under its sea-name, for its
marvellous brilliancy of colour, and there are few objects more
dazzling than a dolphin leaping out of a calm sea into the
sunshine. The beauty of a dying dolphin, however, though
sanctioned by many generations of writers, is a delusion, all the