CRABS.

From the very earliest periods of the world’s history the family of Crab appears to have been well known and much respected, and the Zodiac would be incomplete without its “Cancer.” The picture from which the accompanying illustration is taken was drawn by an artist of the thirteenth century, and appears as an embellishment in a Prayer-book which afterwards became the property of Queen Mary, and is now in the British Museum. It serves to show the idea entertained in this country of that particular sign at the period referred to. Those remarkably odd fellows the early Romans, even in their time, were not the sort of folks to overlook or heedlessly pass by the merits of so distinguished a gentleman as Mr. Cancer. He was well known and highly appreciated in the Seven-hilled City long before Art, except as brought to bear on the delineation of rude and uncouth patterns on the skins of the inhabitants, was known in this country. But when the restless Roman gentry, before referred to, cast their lot on a distant shore, and settled in the savage British Isles, they bore with them memories not to be effaced or treated lightly. Tesselated pavements in Cancer’s honour were elaborately wrought, and carefully laid down by them in the villas they here built for themselves. The accompanying illustration represents a portion of one of these pavements discovered at Cirencester in the year 1783.⁠[1]

A great deal of this esteem, it is to be feared, somewhat resembled the great affection professed by a chief of the Feejee Islands for a very good-looking little midshipman of one of Her Majesty’s ships cruising among those fertile but questionable retreats. “I love him very much,” said the dusky potentate, “because he is so plump, and would make such a delicious roast with palm-top stuffing.” Apicius loved Crab because he was good in many ways. Hear what he says of Crab sausages: “Boil some of these animals, reduce them to a pulp; mix with this some spikenard, garum, pepper, and eggs; give to this the ordinary shape of sausages, place them on a stove or gridiron; and you will by this means obtain a delicate and tempting dish.” He also informs us that a Crab may be served whole, boiled, and accompanied by a seasoning of pepper, cummin, and rue, which the cook skilfully mixes with garum, honey, oil, and vinegar. Later on in history we find our friend Cancer depicted in heraldic devices, and among the armorial bearings of many influential families. So we see that his lineage is an ancient one. The family to which he belongs is extremely numerous, and it is with the peculiarities of some of its members that we shall now have to deal.

Among all the curious and quaint forms of animal life to be found in the sea, few for grotesque oddity can equal the baby Crabs, or Zoëa, as they are sometimes called. These interesting infants are not the least like their papa or mamma, and no respectable or fully-matured male or female Crab would ever own them as his or her offspring. An elfish little creature is the juvenile Crab, with a head scarcely deserving the name, and a pair of goggle bulls’-eyes as of two policemen’s lanterns rolled into one; a tail vastly too long for him, and an anti-garotte spear, quite as long as his absurd little body, attached to the spot where his coat-collar should be. The annexed illustrations will serve to give some idea of these prepossessing juveniles. They are the portraits of two little cousins. In this case, age, although it alters appearances, affects disposition but little, and, as you turn over some stone, fragment of wreck, or tuft of weed, in search of curiosities, young Master Crab will, in all probability, be found at home, and, like an enraged dentist, ready to do fierce battle against all intruders with his upraised pincers. This is the ill-disposed young gentleman who sends Lotty or Totty, with heartrending screams and pinched pettitoes, in wild dismay from the charming shell-floored pool, in which they have been paddling. Master Crab’s internal economy is just as curious as his external skeleton. One pair of jaws one would be disposed to think sufficient for any living creature of reasonable requirements; but he possesses eight, and, instead of exposing his teeth to the examination of the critical in matters of dentition, he carries them safely stowed away in the interior of his stomach, where they would be excessively hard to get at in cases of crustacean tooth-ache. With such appliances as these, the food cannot well be otherwise than perfectly masticated. A Crab’s liver is an odd organ to contemplate, and constitutes a considerable portion of the soft interior of the shell-like box in which the heart and other viscera are lodged. That well-known yellow delicacy known as the cream or fat of the Crab is liver, and nothing else. The lungs or gills are formed by those fringe-like appendages popularly known as the dead men’s fingers. The shell-shifting process before referred to, is common to all crustaceans; and our friend the Crab, when he feels his corselet getting rather tight for him, manages, by some extraordinary process, not only to extricate himself from it, together with his shell gauntlets and the powerful nippers with which he is provided, but performs other feats, compared with which those of the Davenport Brothers sink into utter insignificance; and we opine that, had those eminent spiritualists been called on to do by the aid of all their shadowy accomplices one half of that which Cancer and his cousins the lobsters and crays do unassisted, no Tom Fool’s knot would have been needed to complete their discomfiture. Not only are the too-constricted shell and claw coverings cast aside, but also the outer cornea of the eyes; the stem sheath of the eyes; the lining of the stomach with the internal teeth; the internal bones of the thorax; the lining membrane of the ear, and that covering the lungs; thus very nearly turning themselves inside out, as well as getting rid of their old suits of clothes. But all these wonderful operations are not performed with the ease with which the chrysalis sets free the painted butterfly, or the village maid, by touch of fairy wand, throws off her homely garb, and steps forth the gauzy glittering columbine in the transformation scene of a pantomime; but are works of time and trouble, the body appearing to dilate within its prison until the coffer-like cover formed by the shell slowly and by degrees gives way, the membranes one by one are torn asunder, the muscular tissue filling up the large claws and pincers undergoes a softening process which admits of its being drawn through the constrictions between the joints, and the crustacean and his old garments part company at last.

Between the loss of the old shell and the secretion of a new one, nothing can be more unenviable than the position occupied by our poor forlorn friend, who, like some fashionable exquisite during a temporary misunderstanding with his tailor, seeks retirement and obscurity. The pert young crablings, inquisitive, troublesome little gobies, and irritating prawns, who a short time since treated him with due respect, now pinch his unprotected skin and nibble at his poor defenceless tail in a manner not to be endured; so he shuns society, goes into dock for repairs, and waits for fresh sheathing and his new pincers to grow. These under favourable circumstances soon form, and “Richard is himself again.” It is our opinion that these moultings or changes do not, as some authors have stated, take place at regular and stated intervals in the lives of the larger crustacea, as rapidity of growth in particular individuals would tend to accelerate the period for change, and it appears probable, from the number and size of the marine molluscæ constantly found adhering to the shells of fully-matured specimens (oysters of even six years’ growth having been so discovered), that the changes of shell become less frequent as age advances.

The most important member of the Crab family, in a commercial and gustatory point of view, found in this country, is the large edible Crab of the shops, Cancer pagurus, the subject of the annexed illustration; and its capture not only gives employment to an immense number of families along the sea-board of England and its home dependencies, but forms an admirable school for the training of the hardy mariners so much needed for both our navy and mercantile marine. The professional crabber is usually an expert boatman, and line, or rather hook-fisher, in addition to his crab-catching powers. There are several methods by which Crabs can be taken, but that usually resorted to for the capture of the kind now under consideration is by crab pots, or baskets, woven of unbarked willows.⁠[2] These are contrived much on the principles of the common wire mousetrap, a number of points being arranged in funnel form at the entrance, so as to admit of free ingress, but rendering exit quite a different affair, and one by no means easy of accomplishment. The eel-basket, the salmon-trip, and many other fish traps are made in much the same manner, with some modifications as to material and size. Pieces of fish and fish offal are usually used as bait for these contrivances. This is secured within the basket, which, with a heavy stone as a sinker, and a long line with a float attached to it, is lowered down from the boat amongst sunken rocks and in the deep gulfs between reefs, where ledge, crevice, and secret cranny are known to afford hiding-places to the sought-for prey; and here the traps are allowed to rest, sometimes for the night, at others a shorter period, just as convenience or the probability of a take may suggest, when, the float being found and the line hauled in, the pot with its contents are soon safely on board the boat. Where many persons engage in the same occupation, it is necessary, in order to avoid mistakes as to the identity of the traps, to have certain distinguishing marks by which they may be known. Each fisherman, therefore, has his own pattern for the float—one using a single piece of circular form, another, a single square, whilst a third either piles several pieces in conical form, or cuts a peculiarly-formed cross. A plan we strongly recommend to those who wish to amuse themselves by catching Crabs for their own use, is to use a large flat bung, made of stout cork, nail a piece of strong tough wood, such as elm, to the under surface, in order to prevent splitting, burn a hole with a hot iron large enough for the float line to pass through, tie a knot or work a Turk’s head on the end of the line, paint the upper surface of the cork white, and then burn your initials deeply into the cork with a branding iron. The crabbers as a body are rarely dishonest, but little mistakes are at times made when crab-pots are insufficiently marked by the owner, and Crabs at a premium; still there are very few so utterly indifferent to the voice of public reprobation as to “haul another man’s pots,” a crime in the eyes of a fishing community pretty much on a par with stealing a sheep or robbing a church. Should you embark in the crabbing line, take our earnest advice: provide yourself with a boat with plenty of beam; have every rope, net, and line you use tanned; and never let your boat’s creeper, or “killick,” go on rocky ground without making use of the precaution shown in the accompanying illustration, known as “Becueing,” or the loss of creeper and creeper line into the bargain will be very likely to follow.

It will be seen, on referring to the above cut, that the line after having been secured to the ring at the head of the creeper shank, as at A, is brought down and passed under one of the claws as at B. It is again brought up until it meets the ring, to which it is secured with a piece of common twine doubled, or a bit of single spun yarn, as at C. It will be at once seen that, on either of the claws becoming fixed in a rock or under a ledge (a matter of constant occurrence when fishing from a moored boat), by pulling heavily on the line the twine or yarn stopper gives way, and the creeper becomes immediately free by being capsized, and can then be readily hauled in.

To safely bring a large fish to basket after it is hooked requires skill, patience, and proper appliances. Hooks and their attachments to the traces should be well looked to before commencing operations. There are two modes of fastening on fish-hooks. One, as in the foregoing cut A, is with well-waxed silk or thread, binding the hook-wire and trace firmly and neatly together, and then finishing off by passing the end of the lashing back under three or four turns of itself, vide cut B, and then drawing it tightly home. The other plan is by half hitches, two or three of which are turned over the shaft of the hook below the flattened end usually made to sea-hooks; when drawn tight the turns of line may be pressed up compactly together with the thumb nail. The accompanying cut C will better explain the mode of putting on the hitches than would any written description. Both traces and lines should have loops made in the ends; these, when run together by what is called the loop slip, shown in the above illustration, make a very neat and secure fastening. Stones are conveniently fastened on as sinkers to lines mounted with many hooks; by the plan shown in the above cut, no knots are made, and when the stone is removed the loop falls out and leaves the line as before its attachment. Large powerful fish should never be lifted into the boat by the tackle. A wide, short-handled landing-net, and gaff, made from a large-sized fish-hook, lashed to a staff, form an essential part of the equipment.

The owners of yachts, and families residing near the sea, will find a few crab-pots, which can be made at a very trifling cost, a valuable acquisition, as not only crabs, but lobsters, cray-fish, and prawns are readily taken in them. Sea fishing-tackle will be found very useful, as after having baited and laid down the pots a number of fish may be very often caught. These will be found acceptable as an addition to the daily bill of fare, and such as are of inferior quality make excellent crab-bait. It is not our intention to enter at any length on a description of sea-fishing gear; still there are certain hints and expedients relating to it which may not prove unacceptable to the reader. Lines vary much in substance and length with the description of fish it is intended to capture, cod, conger eels, hake, &c., requiring them of considerable strength and power; but it will be found, as a rule, that the lines used by the regular fishermen of our coasts are much stouter than is necessary, and it may be depended on that the finer the tackle is, consistent with the requisite strength to hold the fish when hooked, the more successful will be the result of its use. It is very seldom indeed that a line is broken by a fish, unless from some flaw or imperfection, the trace on which the hook is tied being far more frequently the point of breakage. Strong silk-worm gut, either single or twisted, is much to be preferred to the hemp snoodings in common use for all traces but those used in the taking of the very largest descriptions of sea-fish. The round plait prepared salmon line, sold by all fishing-tackle makers, answers admirably for a general sea-line. The length may be proportioned to the depth of the water it is intended to fish, but about thirty yards is a convenient quantity to deal with. This should, for hand-line fishing, be kept wound on a frame reel. One of these is easily made as follows:—Two flat pieces of tough strong wood, such as oak or ash, about a foot long, an inch and a half wide, and a quarter of an inch thick, are to be prepared; at each end of these, at about two inches from the extremity, a round hole is to be either bored, or burnt with a hot iron. Two round wooden bars of about ten inches in length, and the size of an ordinary walking-stick, are now to be prepared, cutting each end to fit the holes in the flat bars, so that they may pass through them, and extend about two inches beyond. A shoulder must be cut in each joint, in order to prevent the bars from coming together; when put in place they are secured with small pins or brads; but, before fixing them, a round flat piece of cork is to be run on each round bar to stick the points of the hooks in; the cut on p. 15 shows the shape of the framework and the reel complete. Reels of this description are much to be preferred to the common kind, on account of the free ventilation they afford the lines when wound on them, and the freedom from entanglements insured by the cork hook-holders. The traces before referred to may be used of either single, double, or triple strands. All gut before being knotted together should be steeped for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour in warm, not hot, water; the curled portions and ends are to be cut off, and the required number of lengths selected as to stoutness. They can now be attached to each other by the use of the gut knot, as shown in the preceding cut. This, when drawn home and the ends trimmed off, forms a very secure fastening. To make a double or triple gut trace it will be necessary to twist the strands constituting it. This can be readily done by knotting the extreme ends together and then placing them between the back spring and blade of a common pocket-knife, as shown in the annexed cut. The other ends are now taken by two or three persons, according to the number of strands to be twisted, held between the finger and thumb, and turned until a spinning motion is communicated to the knife hanging in the middle, when the trace is very quickly finished,—six feet is a good length for general purposes. All hook-lengths and traces should be attached to the main line by brass swivels. A short, stiff rod, with stand-up rings, fitted with a large-sized Nottingham reel, on which fifty or sixty yards of prepared line has been wound, will be found useful for taking many kinds of fish, and an extra joint or two adapts it for fishing from rocks or pier heads. When using tackle of this description from a boat for the capture of small fish, as pouting, chads, whiting, &c. are commonly called, it will be found a good plan to employ a foot trace of twisted gut, medium-sized trout-hooks tied on strong single gut snoods; these may be looped on at eighteen inches apart. The bottom of the trace must be secured to one of the conical sinkers of sufficient weight to keep the line straight down against the run of the tide. Bait with rag-worm, and commence fishing at about three feet from the bottom, when, if the fish are not found feeding there, shallow depths may be tried, or the ground itself just touched with the lead, only taking care that a sufficient strain exists just to slightly curve the top of the rod; on feeling a bite, strike sharply, and when the fish is found to be hooked, draw the line in with the right hand, whilst the rod is upraised in the left, until the prize is at the surface, when, unless very diminutive indeed, the landing-net should be made use of,—more fish are lost in weighing out than in any other way. Large captives must be played until sufficiently passive to be safely brought alongside and netted or gaffed.

Rod-fishing for mackerel bass, grey mullet, “Atherene” or sand smelt, and several other descriptions, may, at times, be practised with considerable success. We have taken great numbers of the two former with both bait and artificial fly. Mackerel fishing with the float-line affords, at certain seasons, excellent sport. A large cork float, four-foot trace of single salmon gut, and one medium-sized Limerick trout-hook should be used; three or four duck-shot will be found, with the swivel, sufficient to keep the trace straight. Bait with either pilchard gut, a strip cut from the tail of a freshly-caught mackerel, or a long narrow ribbon of cuttle; cap the float to about fourteen feet from the hook and let the bait drift off with the tide. We have repeatedly taken numbers of mackerel in this way when hand-lines of the usual pattern were not visited by a single fish. For grey mullet, live shrimps or pieces of rag-worm will be found the best baits. Smelts are taken by mounting a number of very small hooks, No. 12 Kirby bend, on short pieces of very stiff gut looped on to the main traces, at about six inches apart; a light sinker should be made use of, and short junks of rag-worm used as bait. Smelts much frequent localities where fresh water flows into the sea. Lead sinkers, of any weight between seven or eight pounds and that of a buck-shot, can be cast between two common Bath scouring bricks. Half the form of the intended sinker is cut on each brick (after the surfaces have been rendered smooth by rubbing them together) with a common knife or chisel. The two halves, when exactly matched, are tied together with tape and a small inlet hole made, through which the molten lead is poured from an iron ladle, tobacco-pipe, or iron spoon; according to the quantity of metal required: one brick is sufficient to cast simple forms in, merely cutting out the shape and filling it up. All sorts of articles in lead can be made in this way, without any of the dangers which usually attend casting in clay or damp mould. The two kinds of fishing leads represented in the above cut can be used for a great number of purposes, and are mounted either single or double, as the strength of the under current or run of the tide may render necessary, by passing a few turns of fine packthread or spare snooding through the holes at B, and bringing the flat surfaces of the leads in contact. A great number of bass, codlings and other fish are, in many localities, to be taken by laying out lines baited with whelk, hermit-crab, &c., to meet the coming tide as it flows in over beaches or sand flats. A heavy lead is often used as a means by which the line and baits are not only kept at the bottom when they reach it, but is turned after the manner of a sling round the head of the fisherman, and then cast far out in the surf, to be withdrawn and again thrown as the take of fish or renewal of bait may render necessary. There are many very great inconveniences attendant on this mode of fishing, and it is far better to lay down a traveller when the tide is out. This is done as follows:—Just before the turn of the tide and the coming in of the young flood, select the spot at which you intend trying your fortunes, and then search out a large heavy stone as your traveller block, and thus prepare it, with strong twine or whipcord; take two or three turns round the stone and securely fasten off with a knot; then attach a common curtain ring or the link of an old chain. Lay your block on the edge of the water, pass one end of your fishing-line through the ring, and walk back with it some distance up the beach, allowing the other end to be given off the reel until the spot at which the first end was dropped is reached. The line will now be doubled; one half has hooks on short traces, as many as it is thought expedient to use, mounted on it. The other half is free from hooks, in order that it may run through the ring without entanglement. A small piece of stick is knotted on the line close to the first hook, so that it cannot be pulled through the ring, as shown in the illustration on p. 21.

The arrangement is now complete and ready for baiting. It will be seen that as one line is drawn in, the other travels out towards the block, so that as the fish are hooked they are brought to land, the hooks are fresh baited, and the contrivance hauled out again without the trouble of throwing the lead. As the tide comes the fisherman walks back until he reaches high-water mark.

On some of our coasts a great number of Crabs are taken with the crab-hook. This is a sharp strong hook of tough iron, fastened to the end of a stout wooden staff, or pole, and the best time to use it is when the sea recedes during spring tides, and makes what among fishermen, is called a “great out.” At such times a great number of deep rock pools and hollow ledges become accessible, which during ordinary tides are far beneath the waves, and now is the harvest of the adventurous crab-hunter, who, hook in hand, climbs and scrambles among the slippery stones and weed-covered crags, to where narrow cleft and dark recess give promise of Crab’s lurking-places, when with a cautious probing motion, the curved instrument is thrust onward along the hidden galleries beneath the rock, until the practised hand detects the hoped-for impediment, when with one sudden, dexterous, backward stroke of his weapon he withdraws the retiring Cancer from his snug retreat, and exposes him to the garish light of day. Give him but one instant for reflection, and up goes his back against the roof of his hole, when, except by literally pulling him in pieces, extraction is a sheer impossibility; and it is in consequence of this exceedingly unaccommodating habit of his, that would-be crab-catchers have been at times crab caught, and their incautious groping hands held fast as though in the vice of some sea Vulcan, until the flowing tide has put an end to both their struggles and sufferings. The tenacity of a crab’s grip is perfectly extraordinary and all but incredible. A hold once taken is seldom let go, and the battles which frequently take place among these pugnacious gentry give ample scope for the exercise of their tremendous nippers; and nature has most wisely provided them with the power of throwing off such limbs as may be either seized by the enemy or seriously injured; and should they chance to encounter an antagonist from whom it appears wise to beat a retreat, our friend firmly seizes him by the most tender spot he can select, sets his pincers nipping and grinding in the most excruciating manner, and then rapidly detaching and leaving them in possession, darts off to the first sanctuary within his reach. To most living creatures the unceremonious sacrifice of limbs in this way would lead to almost immediate loss of life from hemorrhage, but a wise provision is also made for this contingency. The division taking place at a constricted portion of the joint of a limb admits of the vessels drawing themselves in, and so stopping the flow of blood. A thin membrane soon covers the stump, and in due time another limb replaces that which has been lost or cast away. In some localities the haunts of the Crab are discovered by fastening pieces of waste fish to the ends of short, strong lines, and then, after attaching long stones by their middles to the other ends, strewing them about among the rocks and pools; at the ebbing of the tide, these tell-tale stones are sought for as they rest outside and across the dwelling-places of the Crabs, which when found are not only “made a note of,” but the tenants either by hook or crook brought to light with little ceremony.

Some little judgment is required to select a thoroughly good Crab for the table, and as the choice usually lays amongst dead specimens, a few hints on the subject will not perhaps prove unacceptable. A male Crab is generally to be preferred to a female, on account of the larger development of claw, &c. The sexes may readily be distinguished by examining the flat, peak-shaped, flap-like tail, which will be found curled beneath the under-surfaces of the body. This in the male is narrow, whilst in the female it is wide and of different form. A good Crab should feel heavy in the hand, and on being sharply shaken no sound or movement of fluid heard. The large nippers should at the same time remain tucked tightly up, and not hang loosely from the body. The absence of freshness is a defect too obvious and important to need comment.

The proper mode of boiling Crabs has long been a subject on which doctors have disagreed. Who then shall decide? That there is cruelty associated with the taking away of life, it would be hard to deny, but the correctness of choice between gradual stewing in slowly-heating water, and being plunged at once into the seething, bubbling cauldron, requires “the revelations of a boiled crab” to clear up; and until a crustacean production under that or a like title appears, we shall continue to plunge our armour-clad victims in water at 212 degrees of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, and leave the question as to the propriety of our so doing to those who are disposed to grapple with the subject for its own sake.

The change of colour which takes place in many of the crustacea during the process of boiling, has long been a subject of remark. The common and edible Crabs of this country have their tints far less affected than the lobster, the peculiarly rich blue shade of whose shell when in a living state is too well known to need any lengthened description; this, as is well known, changes to a bright red in the cooking-pot, and the uniform of the police is exchanged for that of the line regiments. This strange metamorphosis, researches have shown to be entirely dependent on chemical laws. The pigment on which the blue shading and tint depend, is a peculiar fat-like substance, which possesses the singular property of becoming scarlet when subjected to 70 degrees of heat shown in the centigrade thermometer. A colouring matter of very similar properties was some time since discovered in the beaks and legs of certain birds.

The lobster pigment is soluble in spirits of wine, by which agent it can be extracted from the shell; but the colour changes at once from blue to red. And on adding either nitric or sulphuric acid, the charged spirit is changed to a green of a remarkably fast or permanent character. Who shall say, as fresh discoveries are made and new solvents brought to light, that lobster shells may not become more valuable than the appetising fish they once contained! We see no reason why the dormant sprite, who lies hid in the coat of sea mail, should not be roused from his long sleep and set to work with the other kobolds who do the will of the mighty magician chemistry; and little dreams the fascinating belle, who has been made “beautiful for ever,” how much those same kobolds have had to do with the process. Bismuth, from the deep-mine cavern, gives to the skin the pearly white so much prized: the cochineal bug, from the prickly cactus thickets, the roseate hue (“The Turkish Bloom of Health”) which is said, in the flowery language of the advertisers, to impart to the cheek the attractive lustre of the ripe peach. The elegant mauve dress, ribbons, and gloves, are “tinctured” by a toiling imp residing in gas tar. “Lovely things” in green too are industriously turned out by two quaint, but rather dangerous and mischievously disposed gentlemen of the elfish crew, Messrs. Arsenic and Copper, who work in partnership, and whose attractive joint productions some time since poisoned a number of the sea-green nymphs of a Parisian ballet. How far more appropriate and safe would it have been to draw from the rich stores of king Neptune the materials with which to dye the drapery of the stage mermaid and seaside beauty, and we hope ere long to see “the new lobster-shell green,” under some tremendously sonorous Greek name (without which success would be doubtful), “the fashionable colour.”

The juvenile members of most of our seaside communities are much given to crab-fishing, and may be seen from early morn to evening late, dangling their legs over some convenient rock, sea-wall, or landing-steps, and with a piece of twine to which a dainty morsel of fish offal has been tied, doing their best to induce some greedy young crabling to grasp it with his nippers, when, with a sudden jerk and triumphant shout, the deluded victim is pitched out high and dry before he knows what he is about, and is then tied by the leg and led about like a lilliputian pig, who strongly objects to either going to market or staying at home. Fortunately for him he is not very good to eat, or as a rule very large; still his captors, when they do secure him of even ordinary dimensions, treat him to a pot of boiling water, and let him go cheap. This description of crustacean is known as the Harbour or Shore Crab (Carcinus maenas), and is represented in the preceding cut. He is a weed of almost every soil, and a perfect pest to those who fish in estuaries and tidal rivers, nibbling off the bait in a manner past all endurance, and when the watchful angler, anticipating the presence of a plump and silvery fish at the end of the line, raises his fishing-rod aloft, there hangs instead, a green, mud-coloured little imp, clawing the air like an enraged spider, making himself in fact in every way obnoxious and disagreeable.

Then there are other members of the same amiable race, with whom he who fishes the sea with nets will not be long before he makes acquaintance. These are the swimming Crabs, of which there are numerous species. These differ materially from the kinds we have described, in habits, appearance, and structure. By the use of their powerful oar-like legs they are enabled to propel themselves through the water with great rapidity and precision, and by darting among the meshes of the fishing-nets they become so hopelessly entangled, that a “Fiddler Crab” (as it is sometimes called from the rapidity with which it works its elbows) in a trammel net, is often used by fishermen as a standard with which to compare cases of the most utter bewilderment. The annexed cut represents one of these, the Velvet Swimming Crab (Portunus puber).

The still, deep, lagunes, within the coral reefs, in the southern and eastern seas, contain creatures of this class most exquisite in form and colour, and we have often looked down into some clear, well-like gulf between the branching coralines, clustering sponges, and actinea of countless hues, and watched the marvellous episodes of deep-sea life there passing beneath; fringes of crystal arms, disc-like mouths, and far-stretching tendril-shaped legs, wave from every point and ledge, whilst crustaceans, as of animated enamel work, accompanied by fish, like living gems, troop restlessly in and out and to and fro, in an endless throng.

Anthozoa, those living, ocean blossoms, spread their petals of a thousand hues, whilst the family of Medusidæ float like shadows through the tranquil depths.

Spider Crabs are there, too, both here and in the seas, washing our own island, with limbs so long and attenuated, and bodies so small, that they look more like overgrown DADDY LONGLEGS going through a course of sea-bathing than aught else, and we almost begin to think they must be marine spiders after all, and wonder where the sea-flies are, and what sort of webs they would spin to catch them in. The Indian seas have inhabitants of the serpent order, which are by no means safe to meddle with. They, too, desport after their own manner:—

The subject of the annexed illustration is the common slender Spider Crab (Stenorynchus tenuirostris), frequently captured on our own coast. Some of these queer gentry, near relatives of his, are as prickly as a chestnut husk, and have claws like crooked tobacco-pipe stems. No cook even in the last stage of insanity could hope to utilize them.

Then we have the soft-tailed, Soldier, or Hermit Crabs, who, because they are insufficiently clad by nature, seize on the first convenient shell they can discover, and then, by adroitly introducing the point of the tail, slip into it, much as a skilful stage demon vanishes through a vampire trap. Vacant shells are not always selected as mansions; those with inhabitants are not unfrequently taken possession of, when a process of forcible ejectment is had recourse to, and the hapless mollusc is soon gobbled up, and his house occupied by the spoiler. Pagurus Bernhardus, the subject of the annexed illustration, is no doubt familiar to many of our readers, as most of the little salt-water ponds amongst the rocks and stones have one or more of these tiny hermitages in them. Whelk-shells are very commonly found inhabited by the pagurus we are describing, and large numbers, under the name of Crab Whelks, are collected, and used as bait, after the shell and hard structures have been removed by breaking them off with a hammer.

Pea Crabs there are also, living at free quarters in houses not their own; but of these we shall have more to say further on. The Hermits we find on our coasts are perfect pigmies when compared with some of the species found in and about the tropic seas, who, dwelling in the huge helmet-like shells with which these warm regions abound, spend almost as much of their lives out of the sea as in it, consume large quantities of vegetable matter, and appear capable of supporting life for some time without absolutely going into the water.

Tenantless mollusc shells are not the only dwelling places of the Hermits, and other species of Crabs, and they have, from periods of remote antiquity to our own day, been found in situations in which they apparently have no reasonable right to be. This has given rise to much learned disputation, and not a few wild theories and quaint conceits.

That matchless piece of nature’s handiwork, the Philippine Island sponge (see next page)—Venus’s Flower Basket, or Euplectella speciosa, of naturalists—which has recently attracted so much attention in the British Museum and among the scientific world, was, about a year since, accidentally hauled up from the bottom of the sea, entangled on a fish-hook, by a native who was fishing for rock cod off the Island of Zebu, one of the Philippine group. Since the first discovery, numerous specimens have been obtained in the same locality, and from 30l. (the price paid for the fisherman’s prize) the value has progressively become less. Still purchasers are numerous enough to make flower-basket hunting a remunerative occupation for some time to come. It is perfectly impossible, even with the aid of pictorial illustration, to give an adequate idea of the elegance and beauty of this extraordinary production. Of cornucopiæ form, and of the finest Brussels lace texture, it stands like a network vase among a tuft of crystal threads. The cover, like that of some antique flagon, crowns the top, and completes the strange resemblance to man’s most skilled and perfect productions. Venus herself might well be proud of such a flower-basket; but like many other things of beauty, there are mysteries round their growth and formation. One of these, is the almost invariable presence of the remains of one or more Crabs in the interior of this, to them, crystal prison, out of which escape is just as impossible as from a capsuled bottle. Many differences of opinion exist as to the mode by which the Crabs first obtained an entrance; there appears, however, little doubt that this is effected whilst the sponge is in an immature condition, and before the cover is woven. There is a young specimen which we have examined in the British Museum in this incomplete state, and it is questionable whether the basket-like tube is ever covered until it has reached maturity; when, although the sponge appears to cease growing in an upward direction, the power possessed by it to secrete the silicious matter of which the network is composed remains unimpaired, and, like a skilful artisan as he is, he at once repairs neatly such injuries as his crystal palace may sustain.

Dr. Gray has in his possession a specimen in which a repair of this kind has been effected. A hole appears to have been broken by some accident in one of the sides about half-way between the point of attachment and the cover. A new network of fibres in bunches has been substituted for the broken ones—of form much like the original structure. The peculiar curved or cornucopia shape before referred to, and usually, although not invariably, assumed by these baskets, has also given rise to much speculation amongst the scientific. Dr. Gray gives it as his opinion that the weight of the Crab when crawling through the interior of the tube, may influence the direction in which the basket is found to incline. He says: “As the Crab becomes imprisoned in the cavity, it will be constantly walking up and down the tube to procure food, and by so doing will, most likely, bend the tube on one side, so that the free end of the tube may become bent down nearly to the level of the base;” and it remains an open question whether this is the true solution of the enigma, or, like the goblet forms of some species of sponges, and the rounded contour of others, the cornucopia form of growth may not, after all, be that common to E. speciosa.

It appears to be the prevailing opinion amongst the fishermen by whom the Euplectella is taken, and by whom it is known as the Rigederos, “that it is the work of two insects (meaning probably the Crabs found in the tubes) at the bottom of the sea.” A French correspondent in writing recently to the authorities of the British Museum, expresses his opinion that the Euplectella is the work of the Crabs. There are very grave reasons, however, why this opinion should be received with the greatest caution, if not absolute doubt. In the first place, we know of no crustacean possessing a like power of silicious secretion and construction. Then the Crabs which are found inclosed are not always of the same species, or even genera. Dr. Gray is of opinion that one which he examined through the meshes was a Pagurus, and of habits identical with those which we have already described. Crabs with such investigating and intrusive instincts as these, would not fail to explore the inmost recesses of a hollow tube of such a tempting appearance as the young, growing, and coverless Euplectella would present; and what more probable than that, as the tube became perfected and the lid partly made, the Crab or Crabs might still continue to inhabit it, until the orifice being at last closed up, and escape impossible, our friend remained a prisoner for life. His cast-off shells, like old worn-out garments, would remain sealed up securely with him, and give the idea that many Crabs had there resided.

The ancients, although totally ignorant of the existence of the beautiful lace-work basket we have described, and the creatures dwelling within them, were nevertheless perfectly aware of the presence of small Crabs in the shells of the great silk-yielding mussel (Pinna nobilis), who, because he had no visual organs himself, was supposed to need the services of a vigilant submarine watchman, sharp of ear and keen of eye—a sort of concierge, in fact—to attend to the door and keep out all unwelcome visitors.

The researches of Lamarck go to show that the ancient writers were generally of opinion that these Crabs were especially employed as general guardians and inseparable companions to the Pinna, that they had one common birth, and that the one could not exist without the other,—the absence of vision in the Pinna being compensated for by the vigilance of the Crab, whilst in matters requiring power and resistance, Cancer had only to give the required sign by a gentle nip, when his partner, with the strength of a sea-giant, shut his shell-trap-door on all the inquisitive, intrusive little fish within the fatal portal, when the firm of Pinna and Crab made remarkably short reckonings with them. We read that in 1749, Hasselquist, the distinguished naturalist, undertook a voyage to the Levant, and corresponded with Linnæus during his travels. In one of his communications he thus writes from Smyrna:—“Amongst others they sell here a sepia, or cuttle-fish, which by them is called Οκτωποδια. It has only eight tentacles all of equal length. The whole animal is a foot long, and thick in proportion. Of this the Greeks have related an anecdote which I think remarkable. The Pinna muricata, or great silk mussel, is here found in the bottom of the sea in large quantities, and is a foot long. The cuttle-fish watches the opportunity when the mussel opens her shell to creep in and devour her; but a little Crab which has scarcely any shell, or has at least only a very thin one, lodges constantly in this shell-fish. She pays a good rent by saving the life of her landlady, for she keeps a constant look-out through the aperture of the shell, and on seeing the enemy approach she begins to stir, when the πινα (for so the Greeks call the shell-fish) shuts up her house, and the rapacious animal is excluded. I saw this shell-fish first at the Island of Milo, and found such a little Crab in all I opened. I wondered not a little what was her business there; but when I came here, I was first informed of it by the Secretary of our Consul, M. Justi, a curious and ingenious man, who has travelled much, and lived long in this place. This was afterwards confirmed by several Greeks who daily catch and eat both these animals.”

The common Pea Crab (Pinnotheres pisum), represented in the annexed cut, and of enlarged scale, is an inhabitant of our own coasts, and frequently found residing within the shell of the common edible mussel, (Mytilus edulis); but it is very remarkable that the female Crabs are very much more numerous than the males, and that although the male Crab may be at times captured at a distance from his strange lodging, we know of no instance of a female being taken in any situation but within the shell of some mollusc. Aristotle speaks of this small mail-clad janitor as a little fish with claws, like those of a Crab, which keeps guard and ward for the Pinna, grows to her mouth, and acts as her caterer. Pliny too remarked and described the apparently anomalous association. He speaks of the Pinna as a shell-fish that is found in muddy waters, always erect, and never without a companion of the Crab kind. Oppiannus not only knew that Crabs existed commonly in the Pinna shells, but clearly conceived that it was their duty and mission to do so. Thus he writes:—

The accompanying illustration, on a very enlarged scale, represents the pinna’s companion, Pinnotheres veterum, which will be seen at a glance to differ materially in appearance from P. pisum. The mussel is not the only shell in which P. pisum finds ready-furnished lodgings. The common cockle (Cardium edule), and in some instances the ordinary oyster, being selected to supply them. Mr. W. Thompson, in writing on the crustaceans of Ireland, says, “The smallest Pinnotheres I have seen was found by Mr. Hyndman, in a living Cardium exignum, dredged up by us in Strangford Lough, in October, 1834. It is a male. The carapace is under a line in length; the entire breadth of the Crab from the extremities of the outstretched legs is three lines. The cardium is under three lines in length, and barely exceeds that admeasurement in breadth; so that the Crab, when in the position just mentioned, must have on both sides touched the walls of his chosen prison. The Pinnotheres likewise inhabits the Cardium edule. Before me is one of these Crabs, of which the carapace is two lines in breadth, obtained by Mr. Hyndman in a full-grown C. edule from Strangford Lough; but from the Sligo coast where this Crab attains an extraordinary large size, a Crab with a carapace four lines in breadth, and with outstretched legs seven lines across, was once kindly brought to me by Lord Enniskillen. Mr. R. Ball informs me that on two occasions he obtained a great number of the Pinnotheres, and which were all males, from the Cardium edule, when at Youghal. About nine out of every ten cockles contained a Crab. On opening oysters at Tenby in Wales he has procured the Pinnotheres. This Crab, like the Pagurus, occupies different species of shells according to its size, and at every age, and generally selects such as with outstretched legs it would fill from side to side.”

Another extraordinary instance of anomalous association is to be found in the habits of the Pagurus prideauxii, which is invariably found with the cloak Anemone (Adamsia palliata) adhering to it, and so strong are the mysterious bonds of relationship, friendship, or whatever it may be called, which bind them together, that on the Pagurus finding it requisite to increase the size of his borrowed mansion, the Anemone, like a chosen companion as he is, follows to the new home, being deftly held by the nippers of the fresh inhabitant until enabled to obtain a firm hold just outside the portal, where it remains until some other removal is made, or more commodious quarters required. From these sociable house-hunting adventurers we pass on to the burrowing Crabs, of which there are many kinds, indulging in habits most curious and noteworthy. Perhaps the most remarkable of these, is the great Cocoa-nut Eating Crab, or “Ou-Ou,” as it is called by the natives of some of the localities in which it is met with. It is the Birgus latro of naturalists, and is well represented, although on a very reduced scale in the illustration next page. It is found in many of the Coral Islands dotting the Indian seas and Pacific ocean, and beneath the rustling, waving, cocoa-nut groves, which abound within the torid zone. The Ou-Ou forms for himself a home, delving and burrowing, miner-like, beneath the wide-spreading roots of the tropic trees, and excavating deep and cunningly-formed galleries and chambers in the coral sand and broken shells; and one is almost disposed to think that the following lines by Thomson must have been penned in all the fervour of a poet’s admiration for the happy lot of our friend of subterranean proclivities:—

Here, like a feudal baron of old, he forms for himself a stronghold, sallying forth like a freebooter, to feast on the spoils of the grove. Curious stories are related of these marauders, and it has been gravely asserted that they have been known to ascend the tall stalks of the cocoa palms for the purpose of detaching and throwing down the nuts. We are not prepared to say that particular palms (when in a more than ordinarily sloping posture) may not been have climbed in the manner stated by certain species. Our own experience, however, strongly disposes us to think that such nuts as from time to time fall to the ground from ordinary causes, constitute the prizes commonly appropriated by B. latro. His enormously powerful and ponderous nippers enable him to husk and rend these from their tenacious coatings with surprising speed and facility; and it is only necessary to examine the cocoa-nut husks with the nuts within them, as imported from abroad, to be convinced that our nut-eating friend must be a veritable crustacean Hercules, to be capable of such feats of strength, as the dragging forth of the treasures from their dense fibrous envelopes unquestionably are; and a Hercules he is in his own way, for the tenacious wire-like network of cocoa fibre in which the nut is inclosed, is torn, split, and rent asunder, as though with the iron pincers of a brawny blacksmith, until the coveted dainty is set free. One end of every common cocoa-nut has, as most of our readers are aware, three holes in it; these, from their position and quaint resemblance to the face of a living creature, are called the monkey’s face. One of these holes is selected as a point of attack, and a succession of adroitly-delivered and heavy raps are rapidly given with the large claw. An opening, or breach, is thus very quickly effected. The narrow pair of nippers now come into operation, and by dexterously inserting them, the whole of the white, sweet, oleaginous contents are deftly scooped and clawed out. B. latro has a keen eye to future wants as well as to present enjoyment; he is not only a gourmand, but pretty much of a utilitarian; so he employs his sharp, powerful claws in carding and combing up the bundles of tangled coir, remaining after his husk-splitting operation. This, by dint of much clawing to and fro, at length becomes almost as fine as tow, or the oakum used by shipwrights. When sufficiently manipulated, he gathers together the result of his labours, and transports it to the inmost recesses of his subterranean stronghold beneath the roots; a bed is here made from it, on which our friend reclines; and it helps to form a convenient covering and protection for him when debarred from the pleasures and delights of Crab society during the uncomfortable process of shell-changing. The crafty human inhabitants of these wave-washed isles, are too well versed in the habits of our friend, and too well aware of his provident habits, not to avail themselves of the stores of well-preserved fibre thus laid up; advantage is therefore taken of the buried store, which is unceremoniously dragged forth, collected together, and made use of for caulking the seams of their canoes, and many other useful purposes. During the period of comparative torpidity usually accompanying the shell-shifting process, the wants of nature are wonderfully and wisely provided for. These strange creatures are each furnished with a species of natural magazine, containing fatty matter, which they carry beneath their tails. Some Crabs of large size have been known to yield enough to produce a quart of oil, limpid, of excellent quality, and highly esteemed by the natives. B. latro is much given to nocturnal rambling, and frequent visits are by him paid to localities within the cheering influences of the salt-sea wave; but we do not agree with those writers who have accused him of nightly hydropathic journeys. During the breeding season some considerable time is spent by the whole family in exploring the countless rock-pools and lagunes between the coral reefs. Here, after the departure of the parents for their homes amongst the roots, the juvenile crabs continue to desport themselves, until grown strong enough to attack the nuts on their own account, when they proceed to join their seniors in the family diggings. The natives, when they set their minds on a Crab-hunting expedition, provide themselves with much the same kind of equipment as a party of English gamekeepers would use when about to extract a secretive badger from his burrow. Digging, and that of the most determined and energetic description, is the favourite method of bringing the game to light, which desirable consummation is rarely arrived at until a very large amount of loud shouting and needless leaping about has been had recourse to. The unfortunate Crabs are very good to eat, and they appear thoroughly aware of it, making use of every effort in their power to avoid capture. They are, nevertheless, ruthlessly overtaken in the subterranean race, dragged forth into the broad sunlight, ignominiously bound with cords twisted from the tough fibre of the cocoa husk (a very requisite precaution by the bye), and lugged off into hopeless captivity.

Some of these nut-feeders grow to a monstrous size (some being over two feet long), are armed with nippers of most formidable dimensions, and make no more of snapping the strong cord, with which the Crab-catchers endeavour to secure them, than if they were as many strands of packthread. At certain seasons of the year a vegetable diet appears to become unpalatable to our friend. He then seeks a change, and levies open and indiscriminate warfare on all the tribe of shell-bearing molluscs he can lay his thievish claws on, not giving even the ghost of a chance of escape. He seizes them forcibly with his nippers, and then extracts them from their snug shell-castles, with a dexterity which an accomplished London shell-fish dealer might look on with envy; and then, not content with devouring the ill-fated tenant, he performs a sort of grotesque defiant, and triumphal march, with the vacant shell raised like a standard, aloft in his claws, as if for the express purpose of inciting other Crabs more peaceably disposed and less nefarious in their habits, to the perpetration of outrages of a similar character. Take him for all in all, B. latro may be considered anything but a well-conducted member of the family to which he belongs. His name denotes the character which he has fully earned and universally maintains.

The countless thousands of islands, reefs, and spots of newly-formed land dotting the South Seas and Indian Ocean, are ever on the increase. The foundations of these are firmly laid at the sea’s bottom by legions of that tiny toiler of the deep, the coral insect, and year by year, and age by age, his ceaseless labours progress upward and ever upward towards the light of heaven; layer by layer, and ledge by ledge, are formed, until the pigmy beginning grows to be a strong sea-wall, like the ramparts of some Old World fortress. In time, the green wave breaks and feathers on its crest, whilst other walls slowly but surely raise their masses from beneath. Within their circling grasp, a still rock lake at length is formed, round which the angry billows roll and thunder, chafing at the mighty barrier disputing their dominion. Here, within the safe, still pool, collect the thousand and one waifs and strays, ever to be found floating or driven by the tide currents. Fragments of wreck from distant shores, dead fish, empty mollusc shells, echini, sea-weed, and drift-wood cast far out to sea by the floods of the great rivers of the tropics;—all these, and innumerable other objects, find a resting-place on the newly-formed rocks, and in due time are broken up by decay, but are always added to by the same great store, until, wave-borne in their rough, strong, buoyant husks, come cocoa-nuts and other seeds. These quickly germinate, sprout up, and send their roots far out in search of nutriment, and thus bind the loose materials of the new-formed ground together. Watered by the tropic showers and sea spray, the little sea-girt forest grows apace, and the wandering sea-fowl, and migratory birds are not slow in converting it into a haven of rest for their wearied pinions. These last visitors bring in their crops, from far-off continents and islands, the seeds of many shrubs and plants, which, falling amongst elements congenial to their growth, rapidly spring into life, and, like the trees amongst which they find shelter, bear seed in their turn, and in due season die, to afford food for their successors in the kingdom of plants. Man claims some of these realms as his own; others are left to such inhabitants as nature may people them with. The West India Islands, too, are inhabited by many curious and interesting members of the Crab family: one of these known as the Land Crab (Gecarcinus ruricola), is pretty much of a highlander in his nature. The upland solitudes are most to his taste, and here he forms for himself a snug retreat beneath the earth of the hill-side. As the spawning season approaches, a mighty gathering of the clans takes place, and whole legions unwarned by fiery cross, or blazing beacon, hasten forth to join the living tide flowing onward towards the sea. Through the tangled jungle, down the rock-strewn ravine, over fallen tree-trunks, and among the dense undergrowth of the forest, in ceaseless, creeping, crawling, scuttling thousands; still they come onward, and ever onward, as the bright stars shine out to light them on their way. Banks, hedges, walls, and even houses are passed straight over in this crustacean steeplechase, no flags being needed to keep the mail-clad competitors to the true course—instinct the guide, and the blue sea for a goal, nothing stops the race.

Cuffee and his companions, who have been gossiping and story-telling beneath their cocoa-leaf roofs until half-asleep, appear to become most violent and incurable lunatics, on suddenly becoming aware of the nocturnal exodus: they leap high in the air, shout, scream, and dance like fiends, whilst the most ready-witted of the crew dash off to de massa with the startling news. “Hi, golly, sa; de Crab, de Crab! he come for sure dis time, sure nuff; plenty catch um bum by;” and Cuffee keeps his word to the letter, and captures the pilgrims by the basketful, in spite of their claws; and black-faced woolley-headed Aunt Lilly, the cook, shows her teeth like ivory dominoes in an ebony box, as visions of white, snow-like rice, cocoa-nut milk, capsicum pods, and stewpans pass in pleasing and appetising review before her, and massa himself takes an extra pull at the cold sangaree jug, sleeps pleasantly, and dreams of the Crab feast of the morrow.

At the termination of the spawning season the survivors return to their homes among the hills; and but little notice is taken of them now, as they night by night bend their weary steps on the backward march, poor, low-conditioned, and unfit for human food, like the salmon-kelt on his journey to the sea. A short residence in his earth burrow serves to set our friend the Crab on his legs again, and make even better food of him than can be prepared during the migration. Sugar-cane plantations are his delight, and in them he regales himself like an alderman, nipping through the crisp rind of the sugar-bearing reed, sucking the luscious juices and clawing out the sweet contents, until a rustling sound warns him that Nemesis, in the form of our old friend Cuffee, is not far off, and that active individual, accompanied by a prick-eared cur, and armed with a spike-pointed cane, pounces down on the very spot where G. ruricola, Esq. had been so pleasantly regaling himself, and now commences a fierce and relentless action.

Cuffee, Cur, and Spike, v. Crab. Ever on the alert, Crab darts off backwards with astonishing rapidity, keeping a very bright eye on the cur, who rushes pell-mell after him through the canes, cheered on by the shouts and “Ya, ya’s” of his sable master, whose aim it is to head back the Crab, or pin him with his spike. This latter feat he all but accomplishes; but the Crab darts like lightning a couple of feet backwards, and then shoots off at right angles with the agility of a sprite. One more rapid dart in the opposite direction, the spike is furiously hurled by baffled Cuffee, and is within an inch of transfixing the cur, who sniffs and whines disconsolately at the mouth of a hole, which leads he knows not whither.

When hunting amongst the grass jungles of the Mahratta country, we were greatly amused at the quaint proceedings of a species of Crab which at certain seasons abounds there. These little fellows, members of the genus Thelphusa, were, when we saw them, busily engaged in their hay harvest, and actively engaged in mowing the grass. This they did in the most curiously quaint and elfish manner, sitting bolt upright and working their sharp scissors like nippers right and left, until enough to form a bundle had been gathered; then, with this, compactly rolled up in sheafs, off they would trot to their holes, and when the load had been safely disposed of, back they would scuttle for others with quite as much bustle, fuss, and excitement as if they had been the owners of a large estate, a hundred acres of meadow hay to get in, and the barometer at change. So we left our funny, clever, energetic little friends with a good speed, hard at it, making hay whilst the sun shone.

These little fellows, we have every reason to think, are purely inland in their habits, and we know of no instance of their being known to travel either singly or in bodies to the sea coast. A member of the same genera, represented in the annexed cut, is found in many parts of the south of Europe, forming burrows for itself in the river banks, and from this habit obtains the name of Thelphusa fluviatilis. Few specimens reach three inches in length, and the colour is no means inviting, being of a dingy yellow. Yet it appears to have attracted much attention amongst the ancients: both Aristotle and Hippocrates knew it well, and there are medals which were struck in very early periods bearing representations of this Crab on them. There appear to be some religious associations connected with crustaceans of this description, as we find the monks of the Greek church taking some pains to procure them, and then disposing of the dainty without troubling the cook. In Italy the burrowing Crabs are eaten at Easter, much as we eat hot-cross-buns on Good Friday. There are other Crabs which form burrows both in the sands of the sea-shore and the banks and plains of the interior. One of these is the Sand Crab (Ocypoda arenaria) of naturalists). The wide, open sand stretches of many tropical countries, abound with these remarkably agile little creatures, who excavate holes in the sand close to the borders of the tide. These are the lilliputian pedestrians with whom skylarking midshipmen engage in foot-races along the strand, and meet ignominious defeat in consequence. As autumn approaches, their sea-side retreats are quitted, the inland burrows occupied, and a state of hybernation gone into, until, the winter having passed away and the spring weather come, Seaward ho! is the order of the day again.

The Gelasimus is in many respects similar in its habits to these fleet-footed gentlemen, but he turns his attention more directly to sapping and mining operations, carrying on his labours in the most cunning and artful manner. Nothing annoys him more than to have prying men or investigating animals, passing their remarks, or taking note of the mouth of his shaft; so he digs away in his deep level, until he has accumulated a goodly quantity of sand and earth, when up he comes stealthily to the opening of his mine, pops out his head, peers sharply and jealously round, and, if the coast appears clear, round he flourishes his claw with all the force and precision of an accomplished round-hand bowler at cricket, and away he casts the proceeds of his excavations, but at the same time taking care that no two clawfuls go in the same direction, lest the newly-raised sand should betray the secret he is so careful to conceal.

The sands of the reefs and islands of the Eastern seas afford a home for the King Crab (Limulus), who, with his odd-looking, shield-shaped body, and long blade-like spike or spear, will be familiar to many of our readers. Some individuals of this species grow to a very large size, and are sought for by the Malays, both on account of the immense number of eggs they sometimes contain, and the natural weapon with which nature has armed them. These lance-shaped spears are often made use of as points for arrows and other warlike implements, mainly because the wounds inflicted with them are more painful and dangerous than those received from instruments of iron or steel. The Malays are by no means an amiable or forgiving race, and take infinitely more pains to poison the blade of the “crease” or serpentine-knife they carry, than to serve a friend or save a life, and we therefore feel far more respect for the Crab who furnishes the point for the arrow, than for the man who fires it. Then there is the Nut Crab, or Calappa, whose queer little legs are so closely tucked away under his odd little shell, that rambling “Jack Tars” in search of “Curios” not unfrequently gather a few to bring home to their friends, under the idea that when cut and polished they will serve to form elegant brooches and splendid shirt-pins, for the gay promenades of Portsmouth and Plymouth. A dry old salt of a quartermaster, on the Indian station, chanced one day, when on shore for a cruise, to become possessed of a goodly number of these lucky stones, as he called them, and by way of securing his treasures placed them in an old silk-handkerchief, and stowed them away, with a few dollars and sundry cakes of cavendish, in the corner of his chest. It so happened that some piratical ship-mate, not proof against the allurements of honey dew and silver, but totally indifferent to natural history, seized his opportunity and spirited off the tobacco and money, but left the lucky stones behind. The next day, when our old friend came for his accustomed supply of the weed, he, to his horror, astonishment, and indignation, found the supposed pebbles in active motion, performing foot-races over his best jacket, the handkerchief spread open, and, alas! empty. “Well,” exclaimed he, “blow me if this ain’t too much of the monkey. Why, look ye here, messmates; these here blessed stones have come to life, every man Jack of ’em. They’ve chawed all my bacca and spent every meg of my money; and now I’ll heave all the beggars to Davey Jones’s locker. Overboard is where I means to pitch ’em!” and so he did, no doubt to the intense gratification of the falsely-accused Crabs. Like the Rocky Mountain ant, in whose hill precious stones are not unfrequently found,—the codfish acts the part of treasure-seeker among the rocks and sands of the ocean’s depths,—minute crustaceans of great variety, are by the shrewd and practical lover of natural history, taken from the stomachs of the captured fish, and many would have remained all but unknown to science had it not been that the Crab collecting-habits of certain large sea-fish, were discovered and promptly taken advantage of. We strongly advise all those who are fond of collecting either British or foreign specimens never to miss the opportunity of acquiring crustaceous wealth held out by the taking of a large deep sea-fish. Take out his “treasure-sack”—the stomach,—wash the contents in plenty of clean water, carefully examine them, and the trouble will not be thrown away, or the research made in vain. We have obtained very large numbers of a very pretty little Crab scarcely as large as a coffee-bean (Porcellana longicornis) in this way. This little creature is closely allied to P. platycheles, found abundantly on the southern coast of Devon. He delights to dwell like a sort of “Dirty Dick” of crustacean life in a mud hovel of his own scooping, working his way beneath stones which appear close enough to the bottom to make a crab-biscuit of him. Catch him, when or how you will, he is always like an elfish brick-maker, condemned to make bricks without straw, and debarred the privilege of washing. His jacket and trousers are begrimed with red dust, and his queer little face peers out at you, like that of an Indian idol smeared with war-paint. Nature has, however, endowed him with brush-bearing feet, with which he from time to time dusts his own suit; but he remains a rather dusty, grimy, little fellow after all, and we cannot help thinking that the treatment prescribed by Mr. Dick, for David Copperfield, would greatly benefit his personal appearance. Nature appears, when modelling the forms of the endless types of curious crustacean life with which the Southern and Eastern seas abound, to have given free scope to a love for marvellous quaintness and oddity of contour. The coasts of Japan furnish us with examples of Crab life so hideously grotesque, that nothing short of seeing a veritable specimen would serve to convince any one who had first seen a sketch of this Japanese notability, that the whole conception was not the creation of a distempered dream. Macrocheira-kœmpferi, of which two remarkably fine specimens are to be seen in the British Museum, are just the kind of Crabs a timid young lady, or nervous young gentleman, would strongly object to meet “by the sad sea wave,” or elsewhere. Their legs are so long, that running away from them would be utterly useless,—giving them, when standing, the height of an ordinary camp-stool, whilst the nipper claws appear constructed precisely on the same principle as are the arms of the magic policeman of a pantomime, which stretch easily from the level of the street to the housetop, where that prince of evil-doers, the clown, has vainly sought sanctuary. Then the coasts of Tasmania and other portions of Australasia are inhabited by Crabs, who make up in bulk and enormous power, the little they may fall short of their Japanese cousins in length of limb. The pincers of some of these are large enough to embrace the thigh of a man easily, and we apprehend that escape from that bugbear of apple-stealing rustics, the village man-trap, would be a matter of perfect simplicity, and a mere practical joke, to getting out of the grip of one of the gigantic crustaceans of the antipodes. As some of these are remarkable for their formidable appearance and colossal power, so are others well worthy of note on account of their beauty of colour and elegance of conformation. Neptunus pelagicus, a Crab of medium size, is wonderfully handsome, being ornamented with most strangely arranged spicules, and spotted with purple, shading off into pink. Oceanus crucifer, an inhabitant of the Indian seas, is perfectly charming in his way; in fact, a sort of “Dresden beauty,” who might be easily mistaken for a specimen of the most exquisite pink and white china.

From the Chilian coast we have another Crab, of a totally different style of beauty, in the person of Cancer dentatus, who appears to have laid the forest under contribution to furnish his unique wardrobe. A coat of bark, plant-stalk legs, and a very becoming frill, of autumnal-brown fern-leaves, constitute his get up, and it is no flattery to say that he looks uncommonly well in it. From the Caribbean sea we get, amongst a whole host of strange productions, that little gem of a Crab, Mithraculus coronatus. He looks as if designed expressly to be converted into a brooch, his compact little body resembling the most delicately tinted, blue porcelain, whilst his tiny claws are more like minute tufts of fur than aught else we can compare them to.

Leucosia urania is another strange Chinese Crab, resembling in no common degree a pebble of polished white agate; whilst a brother, P. porcellana, is found in Australia; and nearer home, we obtain from the neighbourhood of the Island of Madeira the Plagusia squamosa, or Goat Crab, whose whole shell is rich in ornamentation, and who is by no means unlike a handsomely chased snuff-box, inlaid with chinaware and metal. Unlike these bits of ocean bric-a-brac is Parthenope horrida, from the reefs bordering the Isle of France. This unprepossessing individual the casual observer would declare without hesitation to be an ungainly, rugged lump of broken white coral rock; and there are uncomfortable asperities and corners enough to prevent any pedestrian, however heedless, from stepping on it; and let him just pick one up to cast at some passing sea-bird, and see how quickly the stone will resent the liberty, and show how he is to be depended on at a pinch. Then, to step from the harsh and uncompromising to the grotesque and elfish, we have but to visit the genial blue waters of the Mediterranean, where we find about as comical a little Crab as exists in all “Crabdom,” wide as that ill-defined dominion unquestionably is. This little gentleman is known as Dromia lator, and his habits, to say the least of them, are as eccentric as his personal appearance is queer. A hairy, wiry-coated, round-bodied, little crabling is he, and his delight is to go hunting and foraging about amongst the coralines, medusæ, and molluscs at the bottom, and because he is a designing, artful little wolf of a crab, he brings to bear his talent for stratagem. After searching out a nice, hollow piece of soft and fine-grained sponge, he works his way under it—roaches up his little back, until the yielding material opens and again closes round him, thus forming a snug and well fitting great-coat, which, like charity, covers a multitude of sins.

The tricksy sprites of fish and shrimps, as they joyously disport themselves amongst the branching coral, take little heed of the familiar ball of sponge, which in some unaccountable manner or another appears, uninvited, in the very midst of the revels. It is strange, certainly, that guest after guest should vanish into it, and return no more; but sponges, you know, are common enough in every grade of society, and therefore it is that the one in question is little suspected of having a live adventurer, of the most acquisitive and nipsome habits, bound up within its folds: but there he is, for all that, as you would find out to your cost, if you unwittingly enlisted him for toilet purposes, on the strength of his borrowed uniform.

As another instance of quaint resemblance to inanimate or stationary objects, we have Echinocerus cibarius, a native of the North-west Coast of America, where it was discovered during the voyage of Her Majesty’s ship Plumper; and nothing on earth does this rugose creature so much resemble as a large, uneven, ball of half-baked brick clay, and his claim to the honour of being a Crab, would be laughed to scorn by those who from bashfulness had never shaken hands with him. Australia, that land of oddities, contributes to our store a perfect little sea vagabond, in the person of Pilumnus nespertilis, who is without any exception the very dirtiest and most disreputable-looking little scamp in all king Neptune’s dominions. Cut a frayed-out corner, from a chimney-sweep’s soot-bag, and you have his exact resemblance. Yet who shall say that P. nespertilis is not a gentleman, in spite of his unpromising and unfashionable raiment!

Australia is a land of contradictions, as we all know. Even explorers’ names serve but to mislead and confound the uninitiated. We have “Cape pigeons,” which are no more pigeons than wild geese or storks: “Cape salmon,” which own to no bonds of relationship with the family of Salmonidæ.

The “robins” of the United States of America bear no resemblance to those of England, and enjoy none of the love, protection, and numerous privileges universally accorded to their more fortunate namesakes on this side of the Atlantic. Again, we say advisedly, let no man heedlessly try the strength of his teeth on an “Indian wood-apple,” simply because it is called “an apple.” He had far better make an attempt on an iron cannon-shot of Woolwich pattern at once, than try his powers of mastication on one of these forest fruits. The cherry of Australia, too, has a disagreeable and exasperating habit of growing with its stone outside, and of being highly unpalatable into the bargain; whilst the “pear” of that favoured land would, if duly fitted by a clever cabinet-maker, and properly polished, make an excellent and highly ornamental knob for a street door. A cabbage-tree is by no means bad as a producer of material for the manufacture of hats, and the green tops are occasionally boiled by settlers of vegetarian inclinings; but any one sanguine enough to seek cabbages amongst the cabbage-palms might reasonably be looked for, with bridle on arm, and basket in hand, carefully prospecting the pastures for a “mare’s nest,” with a view to the leading home of the colts and the basketing of such eggs as might remain unhatched. Depend, therefore, that our begrimed little acquaintance is not exactly as stupid as he looks, and that his dirty, hempen jacket, is given him for some wise purpose. Nothing is created in vain; and Columbus, with all his talent and power as a sea commander, gladly availed himself of the services of one of the most tiny Crabs (Planes minutus), who, floating by the good ship, in his tangled bed of Sargossa or gulf-weed, was hauled on board by the bronzed and storm-tossed mariners, by whom he was at once introduced to the chief, the man of demonstration, who crushed in the egg’s end to make it stand upright. “A crab!” said he; “a good and fair harbinger of land, which, with God’s help, we shall soon discover.” And so they did, for the Crab’s tale came true, and the West India Islands were almost immediately fallen in with, and duly investigated.

P. minutus is a roving sailor by nature, and is carried on his long sea-voyages by the masses of weed ever carried onward by the warm and genial gulf-stream, and there is little doubt that members of the family to which he belongs, now naturalized on our own coasts, first travelled hither amongst the meshes of their ocean raft, which knew no return. Such specimens as have been procured on the coasts of England, are not as large or brilliant in their colour, as those captured in more genial climes.

The Floating Crabs, as met with in true gulf streams, are extremely pretty little creatures, measuring about eight-tenths of an inch in length. They are clouded and shaded with rich warm brown, yellow, and buff, and well deserve the consideration of the lover of natural history.

The almost innumerable channels stretching between the coral reefs, lagunes, and palm-clad islands of the Southern Seas are inhabited by legions of Crabs of next to endless species and varieties. Many of these feed luxuriously on the vast numbers of “Trepang,” or sea slug (Holotharia edulis) found in these latitudes. The human crab industriously seeks his share of this half-grub, half-slug, delicacy, and some account of its nature and mode of preparation may not prove unacceptable to the reader. The Bêche-de-mer, as this uninviting looking creature is called by the traders who deal in it, is in immense request in nearly every market in the Chinese empire, as a stock ingredient to be used in the preparation of the rich, glutinous soups and stews, in which the Celestials so much delight. They are also extensively used to mix with little squares of salt pork, sharks’ fins, and pickled bamboo shoots; when thus combined, served up as a stew, and accompanied by diminutive cups of hot “sam shoo,” or rice spirit, John Chinaman, when fortunate enough to get it, yields himself to gastronomic enjoyment, and cares not to call the most important mandarin in the empire, his uncle. As there are brands of high repute amongst wine producers, so are there high and low class slugs in the sea’s great larder, and there are six kinds well known in the trade.

The best are those procured by divers, who prosecute their labours amongst the deep recesses between the reefs, where the water is always of considerable depth. The next quality is taken by nocturnal hunting-parties, who sally forth, torch in hand, and thread the intricate mazes amongst the coral ponds and lagunes, making night hideous by their fiendish shouts, and wild, weird proceedings. The bright moon-light nights so enjoyable within the tropics, are also taken advantage of, for slug-catching purposes, when great quantities of average worth are not unfrequently procured. The inferior sorts are usually gathered by the idlers and children of the islands, who wander about in the rock pools left by the receding tide, and pick up all they can there discover. The trader obtains the various kinds and qualities from the slug-hunters, and at once proceeds to select them according to their market value. Benches are erected, on which they are first cut open with sharp knives, cleansed, and placed without water in very large cauldrons to cook. The juices thrown out by the Trepang are sufficient to prepare him in, and prevent his becoming too dry in the kettle stage of the operation.

From the boiling department they are removed to large wooden sheds, erected for drying them in. Here they are arranged on shelves placed one over the other, where they are constantly turned and most carefully attended to; huge wood fires being kept burning to expedite the process, as it is essential that the slugs should be completely freed from even the slightest suspicion of moisture before they are packed for deposit on board ship. Comparatively few persons have any idea of the immense commercial importance to be attached to this branch of industry; but some rough notion of the enormous number of these questionable-looking dainties annually collected by the Trepang catchers may be formed, when we state, that a single trader from America obtained, during a bartering expedition amongst the Fejee group of islands, in return for the issue of miscellaneous articles and objects of trade, representing no very great value, 25,000 dollars’ worth of Trepang in seven months. And in order to still further show that even this repulsive and insignificant-looking sea-worm is worthy of the consideration of the “grave and staid merchant,” we give the financial return made on one voyage prosecuted for its obtainment:—Peculs⁠[3] of slugs obtained, 1,200; cost of goods and outfit, 3,500 dollars; money return on sales effected, 27,000 dollars. The value of the prepared slugs in the markets of the East may be said to range between ten and sixty dollars per pecul, according to condition, demand, and quality. Advantages even greater than the direct acquisition of money have resulted from this peculiar trade. Discoveries have been made of islands, unknown until the adventurous traders landed on them; and commercial pursuits have been successfully prosecuted with tribes who, in all probability, would have remained hostile to Europeans for ages to come, had not that humble missionary, the sea-slug, opened up the road to friendship, well-reposed trust, and business relationship.