the softness of the successive gradations to the upper or lower depths of the ocean.
The diaphonous quality of the sea is well known. We know that its clearness is superior to fresh water. The mineral and organic substances which it holds in suspension, even increase its transparency. In certain parts of the ocean—in the Antilles—the sand can be perceived at a depth of 145 yards; and the force of penetration of the solar rays seems to descend to a depth of 300 yards. But in the middle course of sea pursued by the Nautilus, the electric light was produced in the very bosom of the deep. It was no more like a luminous ocean—it was a liquid light.
If we can admit Erhemberg’s hypothesis, that there is a phosphorescent illumination at the bottom of the sea, then nature has certainly reserved for the inhabitants of the ocean one of its most wonderful sights, and I was able to judge of it here by the “play” of this light. Upon each side a window opened upon these unexplored abysses. The darkness of the room made the exterior more clearly visible, and we kept gazing as if the pure crystal was the glass case of an immense aquarium.
The Nautilus did not appear to move, because guiding-marks were absent. Sometimes the lines of water, divided by the “spur,” passed before our eyes with wonderful rapidity. Perfectly amazed we were seated before these glasses, and no one spoke till Conseil said:
“You wanted to see something, friend Ned—do you see now?”
“Very curious indeed,” exclaimed the Canadian, who, forgetful of his anger and his plans for flight, had sub-
