The cover image was rejuvenated by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

'Natural History is the appointed handmaiden of Religion, enabling us to feel and
in some humble proportion to appreciate how closely and how carefully the
well-being and happiness of all creatures has been provided for,—how admirably
they are severally adapted to their respective stations and employments, and how
wonderfully every part of their economy is made subservient to the general good.
This is the true spirit in which the aquarïst ought to work, and this is the end
and object of his science.'—Rhymer Jones.

1 & 2 Valves of PHOLAS SHELL
3 Pholas crispata, with siphons extended
4 COMMON BRITTLE STAR (Ophiocoma rosula) From Nature, showing the progressive growth of new rays
5 COMMON CROSS-FISH (Uraster rubens)

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LORD BROUGHAM AND VAUX,
CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH,
ETC., ETC., ETC.,
THIS LITTLE VOLUME
Is Inscribed,
AS A TRIFLING TOKEN OF RESPECTFUL ADMIRATION
FOR
UNIVERSALLY RECOGNISED GREATNESS.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

[CHAPTER I.]

INTRODUCTORY.

On the Pleasures derived from the Study
of Marine Zoology.

'Woe to the man—
Who studies nature with a wanton eye,
Admires the work, but slips the lesson by.'

I.

As every fresh branch of investigation in natural history has a tendency to gather around it a rapidly accumulating literature, some explanation may probably be looked for from an author who offers a new contribution to the public. And when, as in the present instance, the writer's intentions are of an humble kind, it is the more desirable that he should state his views at the outset. Nor can the force of this claim be supposed to be lessened, from the gratifying fact, that the present writer has already received a warm welcome from the public.

But, before entering upon any personal explanations, it may not be out of place, in an introductory chapter such as the present, to bring under review some of the objections which have been, and still continue to be urged against this, in common with other departments of study, which are attempted to be made popular. No branch of natural history has been subjected to more disparaging opposition, partly, it must be owned, from the misplaced enthusiasm of over zealous students, than that of marine zoology.

There are two classes of readers, different in almost all other respects, whose sympathies are united in dislike of such works as this. The one, represented by men distinguished for their powers of original research, are apt to undervalue the labours of such as are not, strictly speaking, scientific writers. There is another class who, from the prejudice of ignorance, look upon marine zoology as too trivial, from the homeliness and minuteness of its details. The wonders of astronomy, and the speculations suggested by geological studies, nay, the laws of organization as exhibited in the higher forms of animal life, are clear enough to this class of readers; but it is not easy to convince them that design can be extracted from a mussel, or that a jelly-fish exhibits a marvellous power of construction.

Now, in my belief, the opposition of the better educated of these two classes of readers is the more dangerous, as it is unquestionably the more ungenerous. If Professor Ansted, when treating of the surprising neglect of geology, could thus express himself—'How many people do we meet, otherwise well educated, who look with indifference, or even contempt on this branch of knowledge,'—how much oftener may the student of the humble theme of marine zoology bewail the systematic depreciation of persons even laying claim to general scientific acquirements. This may be illustrated by an observation, made in a northern university, by a celebrated professor of Greek to a no less celebrated professor of natural history. The latter, intently pursuing his researches into the anatomy of a Nudibranche lying before him, was startled by the sudden entrance of his brother professor, who contemptuously advised him to give up skinning slugs, and take to more manly pursuits.

There is one light in which the study of marine zoology may be regarded, without necessarily offending the susceptibilities of the learned, or exciting the sneers of the ignorant. The subject may be pursued as an amusement—a pastime, if you will; and it is in no higher character than that of a holiday caterer, that the author asks the reader's company to the sea-side. No lessons but the simplest are attempted to be conveyed in this little volume, and these in as quiet and homely a style as possible.

Even in the light of an amusement, the author has something to say in behalf of his favourite study. He believes it to be as interesting, and fully as instructive as many infinitely more popular. For example: The sportsman may love to hear the whirr of the startled pheasant, as it springs from the meadow, and seeks safety in an adjoining thicket. I am as much pleased with the rustling of a simple crab, that runs for shelter, at my approach, into a rocky crevice, or beneath a boulder, shaggy with corallines and sea-weed. He, too, while walking down some rural lane, may love to see a blackbird hastily woo the privacy of a hawthorn bush, or a frightened hare limp across his path, and strive to hide among the poppies in the corn-field; I am equally gratified with the sight of a simple razor-fish sinking into the sand, or with the flash of a silver-bodied fish darting across a rock-pool.

Nay, even the trembling lark that mounts upwards as my shadow falls upon its nest among the clover, is not a more pleasant object to my eye, than the crustaceous hermit, who rushes within his borrowed dwelling at the sound of footsteps. In fact, the latter considerably more excites my kindly sympathies, from its mysterious curse of helplessness. It cannot run from danger, but can only hide itself within its shelly burden, and trust to chance for protection.

Neither the botanist nor the florist do I envy. The latter may love to gather the 'early flowrets of the year,' or pluck an opening rose-bud, but, although very beautiful, his treasures are ephemeral compared with mine.

'Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.'

But I can gather many simple ocean flowers, or weeds that—

'Look like flowers beneath the flattering brine,'

whose prettily tinted fronds will 'grow, bloom, and luxuriate' for months upon my table. They do not want careful planting, or close attention, or even—

'Like their earthly sisters, pine for drought,'

but are strong and hardy, like the pretty wild flowers that adorn our fields and hedge-rows. In the pages of an album, I can, if so disposed, feast my eyes for years upon their graceful forms, whilst their colours will remain as bright as when first transplanted from their native haunts by the sea-shore.

The entomologist delights to stroll in the forest and the field, to hear the pleasant chirp of the cricket in the bladed grass, to watch the honey people bustling down in the blue bells, or even to net the butterfly as it settles on the sweet pea-blossom, while I am content to ramble along the beach, and watch the ebb and flow of the restless sea—

'So fearful in its spleeny humours bent,
So lovely in repose—'

or search for nature's treasures among the weed-clad rocks left bare by the receding tide.

A disciple of the above mentioned branch of natural history will dilate with rapture upon the wondrous transformations which many of his favourite insects undergo. But none that he can show surpasses in grandeur and beauty the changes which are witnessed in many members of the marine animal kingdom. He points to the leaf, to the bloom upon the peach, brings his microscope and bids me peer in, and behold the mysteries of creation which his instrument unfolds. 'Look,' he says, pointing to the verdant leaf, 'at the myriads of beings that inhabit this simple object. Every atom,' he exultingly exclaims, 'is a standing miracle, and adorned with such qualities, as could not be impressed upon it by a power less than infinite!' Agreed. But has not the zoologist equal reason to be proud of his science and its hidden marvels? Can he not exhibit equal miracles of divine power?

Take, as an example, one of the monsters of the deep, the whale; and we shall find, according to several learned writers, that this animal carries on its back and in its tissues a mass of creatures so minute, that their number equals that of the entire population of the globe. A single frond of marine algæ, in size

'No bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,'

may contain a combination of living zoophytic beings so infinitely small, that in comparison the 'fairies' midwife' and her 'team of little atomies' appear monsters as gigantic, even as the whale or behemoth, opposed to the gnat that flutters in the brightest sunbeam.

Again: in a simple drop of sea-water, no larger than the head of a pin, the microscope will discover a million of animals. Nay, more; there are some delicate sea-shells(foraminifera) so minute that the point of a fine needle at one touch crushes hundreds of them.

'Full nature swarms with life; one wondrous mass
Of animals, or atoms organized,
Waiting the vital breath when Parent Heaven
Shall bid his spirit flow.'

Lastly, How fondly some writers dwell upon the many touching instances of affection apparent in the feathered tribe, and narrate how carefully and how skilfully the little wren, for example, builds its nest, and tenderly rears its young. I have often watched the common fowl, and admired her maternal anxiety to make her outspread wings embrace the whole of her unfledged brood, and keep them warm. The cat, too, exhibits this characteristic love of offspring in a marked degree. She will run after a rude hand that grasps one of her blind kittens, and, if possible, will lift the little creature, and run away home with it in her mouth. Now, whether we look at the singular skill of the bird building its nest, the hen sitting near and protecting its brood, or the cat grasping her young in its jaws, and carrying them home in safety, we shall find that all these charming traits are wonderfully combined in one of the humblest members of the finny tribe, viz., the common stickleback,—the little creature that boys catch by thousands with a worm and a pin,—that lives equally content in the clear blue sea or the muddy fresh water pool.

The author now finds that he has been much too prolix in these preliminary observations to leave himself space for a lengthened explanation of his reasons for again intruding upon the public. These are neither original nor profound. But he cannot help expressing an earnest hope that he may get credit from old friends, and perhaps from some new, for wishing to show that the book of nature is as open as it is varied and inexhaustible; and that, however jealously guarded are many of the great secrets of organization, a knowledge of some of the most familiar objects tends to inspire us alike with wonder and with awe.

[CHAPTER II.]

A Glance at the Invisible World.

'There is a great deal of pleasure in prying into this world of wonders, which
Nature has laid out of sight, and seems industrious to conceal from us.... It
seems almost impossible to talk of things so remote from common life and the
ordinary notions which mankind receive from the blunt and gross organs of sense,
without appearing extravagant and ridiculous.'—Addison.

II.

It is hardly possible to write upon marine zoology without either more or less alluding to those many objects, invisible to the naked eye, which call for the use of the microscope; and it seems equally difficult for any one who has been accustomed to this instrument to speak in sober terms of its wonderful revelations. The lines of Cowper, as the youngest student in microscopic anatomy will readily acknowledge, present no exaggerated picture of ecstasy:—

'I have seen a man, a worthy man,
In happy mood conversing with a fly;
And as he through his glass, made by himself,
Beheld its wondrous eye and plumage fine,
From leaping scarce he kept for perfect joy.'

It is proper, however, to notice that a serious objection has been urged against the use of the microscope by young persons, namely, the injurious effects of its habitual use upon the eyesight.

So far as my experience goes, I cannot deny that this objection is well founded. Since I have begun to use the instrument, I am obliged, if I wish to view distinctly any distant object, to distort my eyes somewhat to the shape of ill-formed button-holes puckered in the sewing. Some individuals, I am aware, foolishly affect this appearance, from the notion that it exhibits an outward and visible sign of their inward profundity of character. In my own case this result may have arisen from my having worked principally at night or in the dusk. 'As to the sight being injured by a continuous examination of minute objects,' writes Mr. Clark, a most scientific naturalist, 'I can truly say this idea is wholly without foundation, if the pursuit is properly conducted; and that, on the contrary, it is materially strengthened by the use of properly adapted glasses, even of high powers; and in proof I state, that twenty years ago I used spectacles, but the continued and daily examination of these minutiæ (foraminifera) has so greatly increased the power of vision, that I now read the smallest type without difficulty and without aid. The great point to be attended to is not to use a power that in the least exceeds the necessity; not to continue the exercise of vision too long, and never by artificial light; and to reserve the high powers of certain lenses and the microscope for important investigations of very moderate continuance. The observant eye seizes at a glance the intelligence required; whilst strained poring and long optical exertions are delusive and unsatisfactory, and produce those fanciful imaginations of objects which have really no existence. The proper time for research after microscopic objects is for one hour after breakfast, when we are in the fittest state for exertion.'

Mr. Lewes, again, speaking to the same point, viz., the eyes being injured by microscopic studies, says:—'On evidence the most conclusive I deny the accusation. My own eyes, unhappily made delicate by over-study in imprudent youth, have been employed for hours daily over the microscope without injury or fatigue. By artificial light, indeed, I find it very trying; but by daylight, which on all accounts is the best light for the work, it does not produce more fatigue than any other steadfast employment of the eye. Compared with looking at pictures, for instance, the fatigue is as nothing.'

In spite of the foregoing assertions, I feel it my duty to caution the student against excess of labour. Let him ride his hobby cautiously, instead of seeking to enrol his name among the martyrs of science, of whom the noble Geoffry St. Hilaire, M. Sauvigny, and M. Strauss Dürckheim, are noted modern examples. Each member of this celebrated trio spent the latter part of his existence in physical repose, having become totally blind from intense study over the microscope. But setting aside the evils of excess, we must bear witness to the intense delight which this pursuit affords when followed with moderation.

"'Tis sweet to muse upon the skill displayed
(Infinite skill!) in all that He has made:
To trace in Nature's most minute design
The signature and stamp of power divine.
Contrivance intricate, expressed with ease,
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees."

As my aim is merely to give the reader a taste of the subject, and whet his appetite for its more extensive pursuit at other sources, I shall confine my remarks to a few of those creatures which are readily to be found in any well-stocked aquarium. The number of animalculæ and microscopic zoospores of plants, invisible to the naked eye, with which such a receptacle is filled, even when the water is clear as crystal, is truly marvellous. These animals mostly belong to the class Infusoria, so called from their being found to be invariably generated in any infusion, or solution of vegetable or animal matter, which has begun to decay. Now, the water in an aquarium which has been kept for any length of time necessarily becomes more or less charged with the effete matter of its inhabitants, which, if allowed to accumulate, would soon render the fluid poisonous to every living thing within it. This result is happily averted by the Infusoria, which feed upon the decaying substances in solution, while they themselves become in their turn the food of the larger animals. Indeed, they constitute almost the sole nutriment of many strong, muscular shell-fish, as pholas, mussel, cockle, &c.; and doubtless help to maintain the life of others, such as actiniæ, and even crabs, which, as is well known, live and grow without any other apparent means of sustenance. Thus the presence of Infusoria in the tank may be considered a sign of its healthy condition, although their increase to such an extent as to give a milky appearance to the water, is apt to endanger the well-being of the larger, though delicate creatures. The peculiar phenomenon alluded to arises from decaying matter, such as a dead worm or limpet, which should be sought after and removed with all possible speed. The whereabouts of such objectionable remains will be generally indicated by a dense cloud of Infusoria hovering over the spot. The milkiness, however, although it may look for the time unsightly, is ofttimes the saving of the aquarium 'stock.' When these tiny but industrious scavengers have completed their task of purification, they will cease to multiply, and mostly disappear, leaving the water clear as crystal. I believe it is the absence or deficient supply of Infusoria that sometimes so tantalizingly defeats the attempts of many persons to establish an aquarium. Pure deep-sea water, although never without them, often contains but very few, hence great caution is necessary not to overstock the tank filled with it, otherwise the animals will die rapidly, although the water itself appears beautifully transparent.

Of Infusoria there are many species. They are nearly all, at one stage or other of their existence, extremely vivacious in their movements; so much so, indeed, that it becomes a matter of difficulty to observe them closely. Some have the power of darting about with astonishing velocity, others unceasingly gyrate, or waltz around with the grace of a Cellarius; while not a few content themselves by, slug-like, dragging their slow length along. The last are frequently startled from their propriety and aplomb by the rapid evolutions of their terpshicorean neighbours. Some, again, grasping hold of an object by one of their long filaments, revolve rapidly round it, whilst others spring, leap, and perform sundry feats of acrobatism that are unmatched in dexterity by any of the larger animals.

I may here observe that the motions and general structure of many of the microscopic forms of vegetation, so much resemble those of some of the infusoria, that it has long puzzled naturalists to distinguish between them with any degree of certainty. The chief distinction appears to lie in the nature of their food. Those forms which are truly vegetable can live upon purely inorganic matter, while the animals require that which is organized. The plants also live entirely by the absorption of fluid through the exterior, while the animalculæ are capable of taking in solid particles into the interior of the body. Their mode of multiplication, and the metamorphoses they undergo, are much alike in both classes, being, during one stage of their existence, still and sometimes immovably fixed to stones, sea-weed, &c., and at another freely swimming about. Notwithstanding the similarities here stated, the appearance of certain of the species is as various as it is curious. One of the commonest species of the Infusoria (Paramecium caudatum) is shaped somewhat like a grain of rice, with a piece chipped out on one side, near the extremity of its body. It swims about with its unchipped extremity foremost, rotating as it goes. During the milky condition of the water (before alluded to), these creatures swarm to such a degree, that a single drop of the fluid, when placed under the microscope, appears filled with a dense cloud of dancing midges. Another (Kerona silurus) may be said to resemble a coffee-bean, with a host of cilia, or short bristles, on the flat side. These are used when swimming or running. But perhaps the most singular and beautiful of all the infusorial animalcules are the Vorticellæ, which resemble minute cups or flower-bells, mounted upon slender retractile threadlike stalks, by which they are moored to the surface of the weeds and stones. They are called Vorticellæ on account of the little vortices or whirlpools which they continually create in the water, by means of a fringe of very minute cilia placed round the brim of their cups. These cilia are so minute as to require a very high microscopic power to make them visible, and even then they are not easily detected, on account of their extremely rapid vibration, which never relaxes while the animal is in full vigour. On the other hand, when near death, their velocity diminishes, and ample opportunity is afforded for observing that the movements consist of a rapid bending inwards and outwards, over the edge of the cup. This is best seen in a side view. The action is repeated by each cilium in succession, with such rapidity and regularity that, when viewed from above, the fringe looks like the rim of a wheel in rapid revolution. A similar appearance, produced by the same cause, in another class of animalcula, of much more complex structure than the Vorticellæ, has procured for it the name of Rotifera, or wheel-bearers. The result of this combined movement of the cilia is, that a constant stream of water is drawn in towards the centre of the cup, and thrown off over the sides, when, having reached a short distance beyond the edge, it circles rapidly in a small vortex, curling downwards over the lips. These currents are rendered evident by floating particles in the water. The possession of these vibratile cilia is not peculiar to this class of animals; indeed, there is good reason to believe that there is scarcely a living creature, from the lowest animalcule, or plant germ, up to man himself, that is not provided with them in some part or other. In many of these Infusoria the cilia constitute the organs of locomotion; while in the higher forms they serve various other purposes, but chiefly that of directing the flow of the various internal fluids through their proper channels. But the peculiar and perhaps most wonderful organ of the Vorticella, is its stalk or mooring thread. This though generally of such extreme tenuity as to be almost invisible with ordinary microscopes, yet exhibits a remarkable degree of strength and muscular activity in its movements, which apparently are more voluntary than those of the cilia. Its action consists of a sudden contraction from a straight to a spiral form with the coils closely packed together, by which the head or bell is jerked down almost into contact with the foot of the stalk; after a few seconds the tension seems gradually relaxed, the coils are slowly unwound, and the stalk straightens itself out. This action takes place at irregular intervals, but it is seldom that more than a minute elapses between each contraction. It (the contraction) invariably happens when the animal is touched or alarmed, and is, consequently, very frequent when the water swarms with many other swimming animalcula. When it takes place the flower-bell generally closes up into a little round ball, which opens out again only when the stalk becomes fully extended. From this we might almost infer that some animalcule, or other morsel of food, had been seized and retained within the cup; moreover, that the contraction of the stalk assisted in securing or disposing of the prey. This, however, is uncertain.

The motions of the Vorticella do not seem much affected by the stalk losing hold of its attachment; but the result of such an accident taking place is that the cilia cause the animal to swim through the water, trailing its thread behind it, and the contraction of the latter merely causes it to be drawn up to the head.

There are various species of Vorticellæ. That just described is the simplest, consisting merely of a hemispherical ciliated cup, attached to a single thread. It is barely visible to the naked eye. But there is a compound species which I have this year found to be extremely abundant in my aquarium,—whose occupants, both large and small, it excels in singularity and beauty. In structure it is to the simple Vorticella what a many-branched zoophyte is to an Actinia. My attention was first drawn to the presence of this creature by observing some pebbles and fronds of green ulva thickly coated with a fine flocculent down. On closer inspection this growth appeared to consist of a multitude of feathery plumes, about one-sixteenth of an inch in height, and individually of so fine and transparent a texture as to be scarcely discernible to the unassisted sight. On touching one with the point of a fine needle it would instantly shrink up into a small but dense mass, like a ball of white cotton—scarcely so large as a fine grain of sand. In a few seconds it would again unfold and spread itself out to its original size. By carefully detaching a specimen with the point of a needle or pen-knife, and transferring it, along with a drop of water upon a slip of glass, to the stage of the microscope, a sight was presented of great wonder and loveliness:—

'The more I fixed mine eye,
Mine eye the more new wonders did espye!'

Let the reader imagine a tree with slender, gracefully curved, and tapering branches thickly studded over with delicate flower-bells in place of leaves. Let him suppose the bells to be shaped somewhat between those of the fox-glove and convolvolus, and the stem, branches, bells, and all, made of the purest crystal. Let him further conceive every component part of this singular structure to be tremulous with life-like motion, and he will have as correct an idea as words can give of the complex form of this minute inhabitant of the deep. Moreover, while gazing at it through the microscope, the observer is startled by the sudden collapse of the entire structure. The lovely tree has shrunk together into a dense ball, in which the branching stem lies completely hidden among the flower-bells—themselves closed up into little spherules, so closely packed together that the entire mass resembles a piece of herring-roe. This contraction is so instantaneous that the mode in which it is accomplished cannot be observed until the tree is again extended. As the re-extension takes place very slowly, we are enabled to observe that each branchlet has been coiled in a spiral form, like the thread of the simple Vorticella previously described; and also that the main stem, above the lowest branch, was coiled up in the same way, but not so closely, and that the part below the lowest branch had, curiously enough, remained straight. Sometimes, in large and numerously branched specimens, one or two of the lowest members do not contract at the same time with the rest, but do so immediately afterwards, as if they had been startled by the shrinking movements of their neighbours. Sometimes these lowest branches will contract alone, while all the others remain fully extended,—a fact that would almost seem to indicate that they possessed an independent life of their own.

In the accompanying engraving I have attempted faithfully to portray one of these wonderful creatures. Fig. 1 represents it fully extended, while Fig. 2 indicates its collapsed form. There is another curious circumstance which I have fortunately observed in connection with this Vorticella, a description of which will perhaps be interesting to the reader. I allude to the casting off of what may be called the fruit of the tree. When this event takes place, the buds (or fruit) dart about with such rapidity, that it is almost impossible to keep them in the field of view for the briefest space of time. A represents the enchanted fruit hanging on the tree; B shows it as it swims about.

Although not exactly fruit, it is, no doubt, the means by which the Vorticellæ are propagated, for it is known that many fixed zoophytes, and even some plants, produce free swimming germs or spores, which afterwards become fixed, and grow up into forms like those which produced them. In some of the branching zoophytes (Coryne, Sertularia, &c.), the germs are exactly like little medusae, being small, gelatinous cups fringed with tentacula, by means of which they twitch themselves along with surprising agility. In this Vorticella, however, it is more like one of the ciliated Infusoria. The first one that I saw attached I conceived to be a remarkably large bell, with its mouth directed towards me, but the cilia with which it appeared to be fringed were unusually large and distinct. The movements of these appendages being comparatively slow, it was most interesting to watch them as they successively bent inwards and rose again, like the steady swell of a tidal wave, or an eccentric movement in some piece of machinery, making a revolution about twice in a second, and in the opposite direction to the hands of a clock. Suddenly the tree contracted, when, to my surprise, I observed the bell, which not an instant before appeared attached, now floating freely in the water, its ciliary movements not being in the least interrupted. Presently, however, they became brisker, the bell turned over on its side, and, ere the tree had again expanded, darted out of view, not, however, before I had remarked that it was not a bell, but a sphere flattened on one side, and having its circular ring of cilia on the flat side, with only a slight depression in the middle of it. There also appeared to be a small granular nucleus immediately above this depression, the rest of the body being perfectly transparent. I afterwards saw several others attached to the tree, each seated about the centre of a branch; but none of these were so fully developed. They were like little transparent button mushrooms, and had all more or less of a nucleus on the side by which they were attached. On only one of these did I detect any cilia.

Mr. Gosse, in his 'Tenby,' gives a picture of an animal exceedingly like what I have described; but from his account of it, there seems to be some doubt of their identity. He calls it 'Zoothamnium spirale,' because the insertions of the branches were placed spirally around the main stem, like those of a fir-tree. In my specimens the branches were set alternately on opposite sides of the main trunk, and the whole was curved like a drooping fern leaf or an ostrich feather, the bells being mostly set on the convex side.

In conclusion, let me mention that it is an error to suppose, as many persons do, that putrid water alone contains life. Infusoria occur, as before hinted, in the clear waters of the ocean, in the water that we drink daily, and also in the limpid burn that flows through our valleys, or trickles like a silver thread down the mountain side.[1]

'Where the pool
Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible,
Amid the floating verdure millions stray.
Each liquid too, whether it pierces, soothes,
Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste,
With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream
Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air,
Though one transparent vacancy it seems,
Void of their unseen people. These, concealed
By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape
The grosser eye of man.'

Let it be remembered, too, that Infusoria, when found in either do not themselves constitute the impurity of fresh or salt water; they merely act as 'nature's invisible scavengers,' whose duty it is to remove all nuisances that may spring up; and most unceasingly do these tiny creatures labour in the performance of their all-important mission of usefulness.

[CHAPTER III.]

Sea Anemones.

'The living flower that, rooted to the rock,
Late from the thinner element,
Shrunk down within its purple stem to sleep,
Now feels the water, and again
Awakening, blossoms out
All its green anther-necks.'

1 Sir J. G. Dalyell's celebrated ACTINIA (Drawn from Nature Jan. 1860.)
2 A. CRASSICORNIS
3 CAVE DWELLER (A. troglodytes)

III.

No marine objects have become more universally popular of late years than Sea Anemones. Certainly none better deserve the attention which has been, and is daily bestowed upon them by thousands of amateur naturalists, who cannot but be delighted with the wondrous variety of form, and the beauteous colouring which these zoophytes possess.

A stranger could scarcely believe, on looking into an aquarium, that the lovely object before him, seated motionless at the base of the vessel, with tentacula expanded in all directions, was not a simple daisy newly plucked from the mountain side, or it may be a blooming marigold or Anemone from some rich parterre—instead of being, in reality, a living, moving, animal-flower.

One great advantage which the Actiniæ possess over certain other inhabitants of the sea-shore, at least to the eye of the naturalist, is the facility with which specimens may be procured for observation and study. Scarcely any rock-pool near low water mark but will be found to encompass a certain number of these curious creatures, while some rocky excavations of moderate size will at times contain as many as fifty. Should the tide be far advanced, the young zoologist need not despair of success, for, by carefully examining the under part of the boulders totally uncovered by the sea, he will frequently find specimens of the smooth anemone, contracted and hanging listlessly from the surface of the stone, like masses of green, marone, or crimson jelly.

The Actiniæ, and especially examples of the above mentioned species, are extremely hardy and tenacious of life, as the following interesting narrative will prove.

The late Sir John Dalyell writing in 1851, says, 'I took a specimen of A. mesembryanthemum (smooth anemone) in August 1828, at North Berwick, where the species is very abundant among the crevices of the rocks, and in the pools remaining still replenished after the recess of the tide. It was originally very fine, though not of the largest size, and I computed from comparison with those bred in my possession, that it must have been then at least seven years old.'

Through the kindness of Dr. M'Bain, R.N., the writer has been permitted to enjoy the extreme pleasure of inspecting the venerable zoophyte above alluded to, which cannot now be much under thirty-eight years of age!

In the studio of the above accomplished naturalist, 'Granny' (as she has been amusingly christened) still dwells, her wants being attended to with all that tenderness and care which her great age demands.

Sir J. Dalyell informs us that during a period of twenty years this creature produced no less than 344 young ones. But, strange to say, nearly the fortieth part of this large progeny consisted of monstrous animals, the monstrosity being rather by redundance than defect. One, for instance, was distinguished by two mouths of unequal dimensions in the same disc, environed by a profusion of tentacula. Each mouth fed independently of its fellow, and the whole system seemed to derive benefit from the repast of either. In three years this monster became a fine specimen, its numerous tentacula were disposed in four rows, whereas only three characterize the species, and the tubercles of vivid purple, regular and prominent, at that time amounted to twenty-eight.

From the foregoing statement we learn that this extraordinary animal produced about 300 young during a period of twenty years, but, 'wonder of wonders!' I have now to publish the still more surprising fact, that in the spring of the year 1857, after being unproductive for many years, it unexpectedly gave birth, during a single night, to no less than 240 living models of its illustrious self!

This circumstance excited the greatest surprise and pleasure in the mind of the late Professor Fleming, in whose possession this famous Actinia then was.

Up to this date (January 1860) there has been no fresh instance of fertility on the part of Granny, whose health, notwithstanding her great reproductive labours and advanced age, appears to be all that her warmest friends and admirers could desire. Nor does her digestive powers exhibit any signs of weakness or decay; on the contrary, that her appetite is still exquisitely keen, I had ample opportunity of judging. The half of a newly opened mussel being laid gently upon the outer row of tentacula, these organs were rapidly set in motion, and the devoted mollusc engulphed in the course of a few seconds.

The colour of this interesting pet is pale brown. Its size, when fully expanded, no larger than a half-crown piece. It is not allowed to suffer any annoyance by being placed in companionship with the usual occupants of an aquarium, but dwells alone in a small tank, the water of which is changed regularly once a week. This being the plan adopted by the original owner of Granny, is the one still followed by Dr. M'Bain, whose anxiety is too great to allow him to pursue any other course, for fear of accident thereby occurring to his protegée.

[A portrait of Granny, drawn from nature], will be found on Plate 2.

A. troglodytes[2] (cave-dweller) is a very common, but interesting object. The members of this species are especial favourites with the writer, from their great suitableness for the aquarium. They vary considerably in their appearance from each other. Some are red, violet, purple, or fawn colour; others exhibit a mixture of these tints, while not a few are almost entirely white. There are certain specimens which disclose tentacula, that in colour and character look, at a little distance, like a mass of eider-down spread out in a circular form. A better comparison, perhaps, presents itself in the smallest plumage of a bird beautifully stippled, and radiating from a centre. The centre is the mouth of the zoophyte, and is generally a light buff or yellow colour. From each corner, in certain specimens, there branches out a white horn that tapers to a very delicate point, and is oft times gracefully curled like an Ionic volute, or rather like the tendril of a vine.

In addition to the pair of horns alluded to, may sometimes be seen a series of light-coloured rays, occurring at regular intervals around the circumference of the deep tinted tentacula, and thereby producing to the eye of the beholder a most pleasing effect.

As a general rule, never attempt to capture an anemone unless it be fully expanded, before commencing operations. By this means you will be able to form a pretty accurate estimate of its appearance in the tanks. This condition of being seen necessitates, of course, its being covered with water, and, consequently, increases the difficulty of capturing your prize, especially when the creature happens to have taken up a position upon a combination of stone and solid rock, or in a crevice, or in a muddy pool, which when disturbed seems as if it would never come clear again.

It is, in consequence, advisable to search for those situated in shallow water, the bottom of which is covered with clean sand. When such a favourable spot is found, take hammer and chisel and commence operations. Several strokes may be given before any alarm is caused to the anemone, provided it be not actually touched. No sooner, however, does the creature feel a palpable vibration, and suspect the object of such disturbance, than, spurting up a stream of water, it infolds its blossom, and shrinks to its smallest possible compass. At same time apparently tightens its hold of the rock, and is, indeed, often enabled successfully to defy the utmost efforts to dislodge it.

After a little experience, the zoologist will be able to guess whether he is likely to succeed in getting his prize perfect and entire; if not, let me beg of him not to persevere, but immediately try some other place, and hope for better fortune.

Although apparently sedentary creatures, the Actiniæ often prove themselves to be capable of moving about at will over any portion of their subaqueous domain. Having selected a particular spot, they will ofttimes remain stationary there many consecutive months. A smooth anemone that had been domesticated for a whole year in my aquarium thought fit to change its station and adopt a roving life, but at last 'settled down,' much to my surprise, upon a large mussel suspended from the surface of the glass. Across both valves of the mytilus the 'mess.' attached by its fleshy disc, remained seated for a considerable length of time. It was my opinion that the mussel would eventually be sacrificed. Such, however, was not the case, for on the zoophyte again starting off on a new journey, the mollusc showed no palpable signs of having suffered from the confinement to which it had so unceremoniously been subjected.

The appearance of this anemone situated several inches from the base of the vessel, branching out from such an unusual resting-place, and being swayed to and fro, as it frequently was, by the contact of a passing fish, afforded a most pleasing sight to my eye. Indeed, it was considered for a while one of the 'lions' of the tank, and often became an object of admiration not only to my juvenile visitors, but also to many 'children of larger growth.'

There is a curious fact in connection with the Actiniæ which deserves to be chronicled here. I allude to the apparent instinct which they possess. This power I have seen exercised at various times. The following is a somewhat remarkable instance of the peculiarity in question.

In a small glass vase was deposited a choice A. dianthus, about an inch in diameter. The water in the vessel was at least five inches in depth. Having several specimens of the Aplysiæ, I placed one in companionship with the anemone, and was often amused to observe the former floating head downward upon the surface of the water. After a while it took up a position at the base of the vase, and remained there for nearly a week. Knowing the natural sluggishness of the animal, its passiveness did not cause me any anxiety. I was rather annoyed, however, at observing that the fluid was becoming somewhat opaque, and that the Dianthus remained entirely closed, and intended to find out the cause of the phenomena, but from some reason or other failed to carry out this laudable purpose at the time. After the lapse of a few days, on looking into the tank, I was delighted to perceive the lace-like tentacula of the actinia spread out on the surface of the water, which had become more muddy-looking than before.

I soon discovered that the impurity in question arose from the Aplysia (whose presence in the tank I had forgotten) having died, and its body being allowed to remain in the vessel in a decaying state. The deceased animal on being removed emitted an effluvium so intolerably bad that it seemed like the concentrated essence of vile odours. The water, of course, must have been of the most deadly character, yet had this most delicate of sea-anemones existed in it for several consecutive days.

In order further to test how long my little captive would remain alive in its uncongenial habitation, I cruelly refused to grant any succour, but must own to having felt extremely gratified at perceiving, in the course of a few days, that instead of remaining with its body elongated to such an unusual extent, the Dianthus gradually advanced along the base, then up the side of the vessel, and finally located itself in a certain spot, from which it could gain easy access to the outer atmosphere.

After this second instance of intelligence (?) I speedily transferred my pet to a more healthy situation.

Having procured a small colony of Actiniæ, you need be under no anxiety about their diet, for they will exist for years without any further subsistence than is derived from the fluid in which they live. Yet strange as the statement will appear to many persons, the Actiniæ are generally branded with the character of being extremely greedy and voracious. 'Nothing,' says Professor Jones, 'can escape their deadly touch. Every animated thing that comes in contact with them is instantly caught, retained, and mercilessly devoured. Neither strength nor size, nor the resistance of the victim, can daunt the ravenous captor. It will readily grasp an animal, which, if endowed with similar strength, advantage, and resolution, could certainly rend its body asunder. It will endeavour to gorge itself with thrice the quantity of food that its most capacious stomach is capable of receiving. Nothing is refused, provided it be of animal substance. All the varieties of the smaller fishes, the fiercest of the crustacea, the most active of the annelidans, and the soft tenants of shells among the mollusca, all fall a prey to the Actiniæ.'

This is a sweeping statement, and, although corroborated by Sir J. Dalyell and others, is one that requires to be received with a certain degree of caution. It most certainly does not apply to A. bellis, A. parisitica, A. dianthus, troglodytes, or any other members of this group; and to a very limited extent only is it applicable to A. coriacea or A. mesembryanthemum.

As may readily be conceived, the writer could not keep monster specimens, such as are often found at the sea-shore; but surely if the statement were correct that, as a general rule, the actiniæ eat living crabs, the phenomenon would occasionally occur with moderate-sized specimens, when kept in companionship with a mixed assembly of crustaceans. Yet in no single instance have I witnessed a small crab sacrificed to the gluttony of a small anemone.

With regard to A. mesembryanthemum, A. bellis, and A. dianthus, they get so accustomed to the presence of their crusty neighbours, as not to retract their expanded tentacula when a hermit crab, for instance, drags his lumbering mansion across, or a fiddler crab steps through the delicate rays, like a sky terrier prancing over a bed of tulips.

Thus much I have felt myself called upon to say in defence of certain species of Actiniæ; but with regard to A. crassicornis, I must candidly own the creature is greedy and voracious to an extreme degree.

Like many other writers, I have seen scores of this species of Actiniæ that contained the remains of crabs of large dimensions, but at one time considered that the latter were dead specimens, which had been drifted by the tide within reach of the Actiniæ, and afterwards consumed. That such, indeed, was the correct explanation in many instances I can scarcely doubt, from the disproportionate bigness of the crabs as compared with the anemones, but feel quite confident, that in other instances, the crustacea were alive when first caught by their voracious companions.

To test the power of the 'crass.,' I have frequently chosen a specimen well situated for observation, and dropped a crab upon its tentacula. Instantly the intruding animal was grasped (perhaps merely by a claw), but in spite of its struggles to escape, was slowly drawn into the mouth of its captor, and eventually consumed. In one case, after the crab had been lost to view for the space of three minutes only, I drew it out of the Actinia, but although not quite dead, it evidently did not seem likely to survive for any length of time.

In collecting Actiniæ great care should be taken in detaching them from their position. If possible, it is far the better plan not to disturb them, but to transport them to the aquarium on the piece of rock or other substance to which they may happen to be affixed. This can in general be done by a smart blow of the chisel and hammer.

Should the attempt fail, an endeavour should be made to insinuate the finger nails under the base, and so detach each specimen uninjured. This operation is a delicate one, requiring practice, much patience, and no little skill. We are told by some authors that a slight rent is of no consequence, since the anemone is represented as having the power of darning it up. It may be so, but for my part I am inclined in other instances to consider the statement more facetious than truthful. In making this remark, I allude solely to the disc of the animal, an injury to which I have never seen repaired. On the other hand, it is well known that certain other parts may be destroyed with impunity. If the tentacula, for instance, be cut away, so great are the reproductive powers of the Actiniæ, that in a comparatively short space of time the mutilated members will begin to bud anew.

'If cut transversely through the middle, the lower portion of the body will after a time produce more tentacula, pretty near as they were before the operation, while the upper portion swallows food as if nothing had happened, permitting it indeed at first to come out at the opposite end; just as if a man's head being cut off would let out at the neck the bit taken in at the mouth, but which it soon learns to retain and digest in a proper manner.'

The smooth anemone being viviparous, as already hinted, it is no uncommon circumstance for the naturalist to find himself unexpectedly in possession of a large brood of infant zoophytes, which have been ejected from the mouth of the parent.

There is often an unpleasant-looking film surrounding the body of the Actiniæ. This 'film' is the skin of the animal, and is cast off very frequently. It should be brushed away by aid of a camel-hair pencil. Should any rejected food be attached to the lips, it may be removed by the same means. When in its native haunts this process is performed daily and hourly by the action of the waves. Such attention to the wants of his little captives should not be grudgingly, but lovingly performed by the student. His labour frequently meets with ample reward, in the improved appearance which his specimens exhibit. Instead of looking sickly and weak, with mouth pouting, and tentacula withdrawn, each little pet elevates its body and gracefully spreads out its many rays, apparently for no other purpose than to please its master's eye.

A. mesembryanthemum (in colloquial parlance abbreviated to 'mess.'), is very common at the sea-shore. It is easily recognised by the row of blue torquoise-like beads, about the size of a large pin's head, that are situated around the base of the tentacula. This test is an unerring one, and can easily be put in practice by the assistance of a small piece of stick, with which to brush aside the overhanging rays.

A. crassicornis grows to a very large size. Some specimens would, when expanded, cover the crown of a man's hat, while others are no larger than a 'bachelor's button.' Unless rarely marked, I do not now introduce the 'crass.' into my tanks, from a dislike, which I cannot conquer, to the strange peculiarity which members of this species possess, of turning themselves inside out, and going through a long series of inelegant contortions. Still, to the young zoologist, this habit will doubtless be interesting to witness. One author has named these large anemones 'quilled dahlias;' and the expression is so felicitous, that if a stranger at the sea-side bear it in mind, he could hardly fail to identify the 'crass.,' were he to meet with a specimen in a rocky pool. Not the least remarkable feature in connection with these animal-flowers, is the extraordinary variety of colouring which various specimens display.

A. troglodytes, is seldom found larger than a florin. Its general size is that of a shilling. From the description previously given, the reader will be able to make the acquaintance of this anemone without any trouble whatever.

A. dianthus (Plumose anemone), is one of the most delicately beautiful of all the Actiniæ; it can, moreover, be very readily identified in its native haunts. Its colour is milky-white,—body, base, and tentacula, all present the same chaste hue. Specimens, however, are sometimes found lemon-coloured, and occasionally of a deep orange tint. Various are the forms which this zoophyte assumes, yet each one is graceful and elegant.

The most remarkable as well as the most common shape, according to my experience, is that of a lady's corset, such as may often be seen displayed in fashionable milliners' windows. Even to the slender waist, the interior filled with a mass of lace-work, the rib-like streaks, and the general contour, suggestive of the Hogarthian line of beauty, the likeness is sustained.

When entirely closed, this anemone, unlike many others, is extremely flat, being scarcely more than a quarter of an inch in thickness; indeed, so extraordinary is the peculiarity to which I allude, that a novice would have great difficulty in believing that the object before him was possessed of expansive powers at all, whereas, in point of fact, it is even more highly gifted in this respect than any other species of Actiniæ.

[CHAPTER IV.]

Edible Crab, Shore-Crab, Spider-Crab, &c.

'With a smart rattle, something fell from the bed to the floor; and disentangling
itself from the death drapery, displayed a large pound Crab.... Creel Katie made
a dexterous snatch at a hind claw, and, before the Crab was at all aware, deposited
him in her patch-work apron, with a "Hech, sirs, what for are ye gaun to let gang
siccan a braw partane?"'—T. Hood

1 EDIBLE CRAB
2 EDIBLE CRAB, casting its shell, from Nature
3 SPIDER CRAB
4 COMMON SHORE-CRAB
5 MINUTE PORCELAIN-CRAB

IV.

The foregoing motto, extracted from a humorous tale by 'dear Tom Hood,' which appeared in one of his comic annuals,—or volumes of 'Laughter from year to year,' as he delighted to call them,—may not inaptly introduce the subject of this chapter.

The term partane is generally applied in Scotland to all the true crabs (Brachyura). An esteemed friend, however, informs me that in some parts it is more particularly used to denote the Edible Crab (Cancer pagurus), which is sold so extensively in the fishmongers' shops. However that may be, there is no doubt it was a specimen of this genus that Creel Katie so boldly captured.

Now this crab, to my mind, is one of the most interesting objects of the marine animal kingdom, and I would strongly advise those of my readers who may have opportunities of being at the sea-side to procure a few youthful specimens. Its habits, according to my experience, are quite different from those of its relative, the Common Shore-Crab (Carcinus mænas), or even the Velvet Swimming-Crab (Portunus puber). Unlike these, it does not show any signs of a vicious temper upon being handled, nor does it scamper away in hot haste at the approach of a stranger. Its nature, strange as the statement may appear to many persons, seems timid, gentle, and fawn-like.

On turning over a stone, you will perhaps perceive, as I have often done, three or four specimens, and, unless previously aware of the peculiarity of their disposition, you will be surprised to see each little fellow immediately fall upon his back, turn up the whites of his eyes, and bring his arms or claws together,—

'As if praying dumbly,
Over his breast:'

making just such a silent appeal for mercy as a pet spaniel does when expecting from his master chastisement for some faux pas. One of these crabs may be taken up and placed in the hand without the slightest fear. It will not attempt to escape, but will passively submit to be rolled about, and closely examined at pleasure. Even when again placed in its native element, minutes will sometimes elapse before the little creature can muster up courage to show his 'peepers,' and gradually unroll its body and limbs from their painful contraction.

Most writers on natural history entertain an opinion totally at variance with my own in regard to the poor Cancer pagurus, of whom we are speaking. By some he is called a fierce, cannibalistic, and remorseless villain, totally unfit to be received into respectable marine society. Mr. Jones relates how he put half a dozen specimens into a vase, and on the following day found that, with the exception of two, all had been killed and devoured by their companions; and in a trial of strength which speedily ensued between the pair of 'demons in crustaceous guise,' one of these was eventually immolated and devoured by his inveterate antagonist. Sir J. Dalyell mentions several similar instances of rapacity among these animals. Now, these anecdotes I do not doubt, but feel inclined, from the results of my own experience, to consider them exceptional cases.

When studying the subject of exuviation, I was in the habit of keeping half a dozen or more specimens of the Edible Crab together as companions in the same vase; but except when a 'friend and brother' slipped off his shelly coat, and thus offered a temptation too great for crustaceous nature to withstand, I do not remember a single instance of cannibalism. True, there certainly were occasionally quarrelling and fighting, and serious nocturnal broils, whereby life and limb were endangered; but then such mishaps will frequently occur, even in the best regulated families of the higher animals, without these being denounced as a parcel of savages.

Compared to Cancer pagurus, the Shore-Crab appears in a very unamiable light. When the two are kept in the same vase, they exhibit a true exemplification of the wolf and the lamb. This, much to my chagrin, was frequently made evident to me, but more particularly so on one occasion, when I was, from certain circumstances, compelled to place a specimen of each in unhappy companionship. Here is a brief account of how they behaved to each other: The poor little lamb (C. pagurus) was kept in a constant state of alarm by the attacks of her fellow-prisoner (C. mænas) from the first moment that I dropped her in the tank. If I gave her any food, and did not watch hard by until it was consumed, the whole meal would to a certainty be snatched away. Not content with his booty, the crabbie rascal of the shore would inflict a severe chastisement upon his rival in my favour, and not unfrequently attempt to wrench off an arm or a leg out of sheer wantonness. To end such a deplorable state of matters, I very unceremoniously took up wolf, and lopped off one of his large claws, and also one of his hind legs. By this means I stopped his rapid movements to and fro, and, moreover, deprived him somewhat of his power to grasp an object forcibly. In spite of his mutilations, he still exhibited the same antipathy to his companion, and, as far as possible, made her feel the weight of his jealous ire. Retributive justice, however, was hanging over his crustaceous head. The period arrived when nature compelled him to change his coat. In due time the mysterious operation was performed, and he stood forth a new creature, larger in size, handsomer in appearance, but for a few days weak, sickly, and defenceless. His back, legs, and every part of his body were of the consistency of bakers' dough. The lamb well knew her power, and though much smaller in size than her old enemy, she plucked up spirit and attacked him; nor did she desist until she had seemingly made him cry peccavi, and run for his life beneath the shelter of some friendly rock. Without wishing to pun, I may truly say the little partane came off with eclat, having my warmest approbation for her conduct, and a claw in her arms as token of her prowess. I knew that when wolf was himself again there would be a scene. Reprisals, of course, would follow. Therefore, rather than permit a continuance of such encounters, I separated the crabs, and introduced them to companions more suited to the nature of each.

The difference exhibited in the form and development of the tail in the ten-footed Crustacea (Decapoda)—as for instance, the crab, the lobster, and the hermit-crab—is so striking that naturalists have very appropriately divided them into three sections, distinguished by terms expressive of these peculiarities of structure: 1st, Brachyura, or short-tailed decapods, as the Crabs; 2d, Anomoura, or irregular tailed, as the Hermit-crabs; 3d, Macroura, or long-tailed, as Lobster, Cray-fish, &c.

It is to a further consideration of a few familiar examples of the first mentioned group that I propose to devote the remainder of this chapter.

Few subjects of study are more difficult and obscure than such as belong to the lower forms of the animal kingdom. However carefully we may observe the habits of these animals, our conclusions are too often apt to be unsound, from our proneness to judge of their actions as we would of the actions of men. As a consequence, an animal may be pronounced at one moment quiet and intelligent, and at another obstinate and dull, while perhaps, if the truth were known, it deserves neither verdict.

For my own part, the more I contemplate the habits of many members of the marine animal kingdom, the more am I astounded at the seeming intelligence and purpose manifested in many of their actions. Prior, apparently, must have been impressed with the same idea, for he says, speaking of animals,—

"Vainly the philosopher avers
That reason guides our deeds, and instinct theirs.
How can we justly different causes frame
When the effects entirely are the same?
Instinct and reason, how can we divide?
'Tis the fool's ignorance, and the pedant's pride!"

This train of thought has been suggested to my mind by viewing the singular conduct of a Shore-Crab, whom I kept domesticated for many consecutive months. Three times during his confinement he cast his exuvium, and had become nearly double his original size. His increased bulk made him rather unfit for my small ocean in miniature, and gave him, as it were, a loblolliboy appearance. Besides, he was always full of mischief, and exhibited such pawkiness, that I often wished he were back again to his sea-side home. Whenever I dropped in a meal for my Blennies, he would wait until I had retired, and then rush out, disperse the fishes, and appropriate the booty to himself. If at all possible, he would catch one of my finny pets in his arms, and speedily devour it. Several times he succeeded in so doing; and fearing that the whole pack would speedily disappear, unless stringent measures for their preservation were adopted, I determined to eject the offender. After considerable trouble, his crabship was captured, and transferred to a capacious glass.

The new lodging, though not so large as the one to which for so long a time he had been accustomed, was nevertheless clean, neat, and well-aired. At its base stood a fine piece of polished granite, to serve as a chair of state, beneath which was spread a carpet of rich green ulva. The water was clear as crystal; in fact, the accommodation, as a whole, was unexceptionable. The part of host I played myself, permitting no one to usurp my prerogative. But in spite of this, the crab from the first was extremely dissatisfied and unhappy with the change, and for hours together, day after day, he would make frantic and ineffectual attempts to climb up the smooth walls of his dwelling-place. Twice a day, for a week, I dropped in his food, consisting of half a mussel, and left it under his very eyes; nay, I often lifted him up and placed him upon the shell which contained his once-loved meal; still, although the latter presented a most inviting come-and-eat kind of appearance, not one particle would he take, but constantly preferred to raise himself as high as possible up the sides of the vase, until losing his balance, he as constantly toppled over and fell upon its base.

This behaviour not a little surprised me. Did it indicate sullenness? or was it caused by disappointment? Was he aware that escape from his prison without aid was impossible, and consequently exhibited the pantomime, which I have described, to express his annoyance, and longing for the home he had lately left?

Thinking that perhaps there was not sufficient sea-weed in the glass, I added a small bunch of I. edulis. Having thus contributed, as I believed, to the comfort of the unhappy crab, I silently bade him bon soir. On my return home, I was astonished by the servant, who responded to my summons at the door, blurting out in a nervous manner, 'O sir! the creature's run awa!' 'The creature—what creature?' I inquired. 'Do ye no ken, sir?—the wee crabbie in the tumler!'

I could scarcely credit the evidence of my sight when I saw the 'tumler' minus its crustaceous occupant. The first thought that occurred to me was as to where the crab could be found. Under chairs, sofa, and fender, behind book-case, cabinet, and piano, in every crevice, hole, and corner, for at least an hour did I hunt without success. Eventually the hiding-place of the fugitive was discovered in the following singular manner: As I sat at my desk, I was startled by a mysterious noise which apparently proceeded from the interior of my 'Broadwood,' which, by-the-by, I verily believe knows something about the early editions of 'The battle of Prague,' The strings of this venerable instrument descend into ill-disguised cupboards, so that at the lower part there are two doors, or, in scientific language, 'valves.' On opening one of these, what should I see but the poor crab, who, at my approach, 'did' a kind of scamper polka over the strings. This performance I took the liberty of cutting short with all possible speed. On dragging away the performer, I found that his appearance was by no means improved since I saw him last. Instead of being ornamented with gracefully-bending polypes, he was coated, body and legs, with dust and cobwebs. I determined to try the effect of a bath, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing him regain his usual comely appearance. The next step was to replace him in his old abode; and having done so, I felt anxious to know how the creature had managed to scale his prison walls. The modus operandi was speedily made apparent; yet I feel certain that, unless one had watched as I did, the struggles of this little fellow, the determination and perseverance he exhibited would be incredible.

After examining his movements for an hour, I found, by dint of standing on the points of his toes, poised on a segment of weed, that he managed to touch the brim of the glass. Having got thus far, he next gradually drew himself up, and sat upon the edge of the vessel. In this position he would rest as seemingly content as a bird on a bush, or a schoolboy on a gate.

My curiosity satisfied, the C. mænas was again placed in the vase, and every means of escape removed.

Here let me mention that I still had a Fiddler-Crab in my large tank, who had formerly lived in companionship with the shore-crab above mentioned. With 'the fiddler' I had no fault to find; he was always modest and gentle, and gave no offence whatever to my Blennies. He never attempted to embrace them, nor to usurp their lawful place at the table, nor even to appropriate their meals. On the contrary, he always crept under a stone, and closely watched the process of eating until the coast was clear, when he would scuttle out, and feed, Lazarus-like, upon any crumbs that might be scattered around.

Although so modest and retiring, I soon discovered that this little crab possessed an ambitious and roving disposition. This made him wish to step into the world without, and proceed on a voyage of discovery—to start, indeed, on his own account, and be independent of my hospitality, or the dubious bounty of his finny companions. Taking advantage on one occasion of a piece of sandstone that rested on the side of the aquarium, he climbed up its slanting-side, from thence he stepped on to the top of the vessel, and so dropped down outside upon the room floor. For nearly two days I missed his familiar face, but had no conception that he had escaped, or that he wished to escape from his crystal abode. It was by mere accident that I discovered the fact.

Entering my study, after a walk on a wet day, umbrella in hand, I thoughtlessly placed this useful article against a chair. A little pool of water immediately formed upon the carpet, which I had no sooner noticed, than I got up to remove the parapluie to its proper place in the stand, but started back in surprise, for in the little pool stood the fugitive fiddler moistening his branchiæ.

Taking up the little prodigal who had left my protection so lately, I soon deposited him in a vase of clear salt water. After a while, thinking it might conduce to the happiness of both parties, I placed him in companionship with his old friend, Carcinus mænas. This, like many other philanthropic projects, proved a complete failure. Both creatures, once so harmless towards each other, seemed suddenly inspired by the demon of mischief. Combats, more or less severe, constantly occurring, in a few days I separated them.

The 'fiddler' I placed in the large tank, where he rested content, and never again offered to escape—evidently the better of his experience. Not so his old friend, who still continued obstinate and miserable as ever. In his case I determined to see if a certain amount of sternness would not curb his haughty spirit. For two days I offered him no food, but punished him with repeated strokes on his back, morning and evening. This treatment was evidently unpleasant, for he scampered about with astonishing rapidity, and ever endeavoured to shelter himself under the granite centre-piece. When I thought he had been sufficiently chastised, I next endeavoured to coax him into contentment and better conduct. My good efforts were, however, unavailing. Every morning I placed before him a newly-opened mussel, but on no occasion did he touch a morsel. All day he continued struggling, as heretofore, to climb up the side of his chamber, trying by every means in his power to escape. This untameable disposition manifested itself for about a week, but at the end of that time, on looking into the vase, I saw the crab seated on the top of the stone, his body resting against the glass. I then took up a piece of meat and placed it before him. To my surprise he did not run away as usual. Having waited for some minutes, and looking upon his obstinacy as unpardonable, I tapped him with a little stick—still he never moved. A sudden thought flashed across my mind; I took him up in my hand, examined him, and quickly found that he was stiff and dead!

There is a little crab, Porcellana longicornis, or Minute Porcelain-Crab, frequently to be met with in certain localities.

The peculiarity of this creature is the thickness and the great disproportionate length of his arms, as compared with the size of his pea-like body. He possesses a singular habit which I have not observed in any other crustaceans. He does not sit under a stone, for instance, but always lies beneath such object with his back upon the ground; so that when a boulder is turned over, these crabs are always found sitting upon it, whereas the shore-crabs, when the light of day is suddenly let in upon them, scamper off with all possible speed; or if any remain, it appears as if they had been pressed to death almost, by the weight of the stone upon their backs.

The colour of P. longicornis is that of prepared chocolate, shaded off to a warm red.

Another crab, equally common with those already mentioned, is to be met with when dredging, and in most rock-pools. At Wardie, near Edinburgh, I have seen hundreds of all sizes hiding beneath the rocks at low tide. Its scientific name is Hyas araneus, but it is better known as one of the Spider-Crabs. It claims close relationship with that noted crustaceous sanitory reformer, Maia squinado. Although this H. araneus is a somewhat pleasant fellow when you get thoroughly acquainted with his eccentricities, appearances are sadly against him at starting. Speaking with due caution and in the gentlest manner possible, consistent with truth, I must say that this crab is, without exception, one of the dirtiest-looking animals I have ever met with in my zoological researches. At a by no means hasty glance, he appears to be miraculously built up of mud, hair, and grit on every part, except his claws, which are long and sharp as those of any bird of prey.

The first specimen I ever saw, seemed as if he had been dipped in a gum pot, and then soused over head and ears in short-cut hair and filth.

The second specimen, although equally grimy, had some redeeming points in his personal appearance, for at intervals every part of his back and claws were covered with small frondlets of ulva, dulse, D. sanguinea, and other beautiful weeds, all of which were in a healthy condition. After keeping him in a vase for a week, he managed, much against my wish, to strip himself of the greater part of these novel excrescences.

Instead of minute algæ, we read that these crabs are sometimes found with oysters (Ostrea edulis) attached to their backs. Mr. W. Thompson mentions two instances where this occurs, with specimens of H. araneus, to be seen in Mr. Wyndman's cabinet. Speaking of these, he adds, 'The oyster on the large crab is three inches in length, and five or six years' old, and is covered with many large Balani. The shell, a carapace of the crab, is but two inches and a quarter in length, and hence it must, Atlas-like, have born a world of weight upon its shoulders. The presence of the oyster affords interesting evidence that the Hyas lived several years after attaining its full growth.

For days after I had brought him home, my second specimen appeared as if he were dead, and it was only by examining his mouth through a hand lens that I could satisfy myself as to his being alive. When I pushed him about with an ivory stick he never resisted, but always remained still upon the spot where I had urged him.

This species of acting he has given up for some time, and at the present moment I rank H. araneus among my list of marine pets, for he does not appear any longer to pine for mud with which to decorate his person, but is quite content to 'purge and live cleanly' all the rest of his days.

The ancients imagined that Maia squinado possessed a great degree of wisdom, and further believed him to be sensible to the divine charms of music. It is very curious, as well as true, that this animal has in a far higher degree than other crustaceans, a gravity of demeanour, and a profound style of doing everything, that always excites our irreverent laughter, but at the same time leaves an impression that, if justice were done, the animal ought to hold a higher position in the marine world than a scavenger and devourer of ocean garbage. If Maia and C. mænas be both eating out of the same dish, in the shape of an open mussel, the former seems ever inclined to admonish his companion upon greediness and want of manners. The only seeming reason why M. squinado does not really give such advice, is because of the impossibility of any individual speaking with his mouth full. The knowledge, too, that if he commenced a pantomimic discourse, it would give his young friend an opportunity of gaining too large a share of the banquet, may, perhaps, have something to do with his preferring to remain quiet.

As for Maia's possession of appreciative musical qualities, I can only state that both he and his friend Hyas really do convey to the beholder an impression confirmatory of this statement. I have frequently been amused to observe the singular phenomenon of each animal coming to the side of the vase and rocking his body to and fro, in apparent delight at the exercise of my vocal abilities, just as when a pleasing melody is being played in the concert room, we bend backwards and forwards, and beat time to the tune. These animals also adopt the same course: it must be to unheard music (which the poets say is sweetest), that seems ever and anon to fall on their ears, giving them great delight.

The movements here alluded to may be in no way influenced by music; but such as they are, it is curious that they have not been noticed as an apparent explanation of the origin of the ancient belief regarding the Spider-Crabs.

A friend, on one occasion having procured for me, among other objects, a Common Limpet, I placed this mollusc in my aquarium, and soon had the pleasure of watching it affix its broad foot to the surface of the glass. After a while, on the Limpet slightly raising its canopy, I was surprised to observe a little Shore-Crab peer out from between the foot and shell. On suddenly ejecting the intruder by means of a small brush, he speedily hid himself from view among the surrounding pebbles. A few hours after, on again approaching the tank to view the Patella (which was easily identified, from the fact of an immense colony of Mussels being settled on its back), I found to my great astonishment that the crab had re-seated himself in his old position. I often repeated the sweeping operation, but without success, for the little rascal had become artful, and was not inclined to be driven forth a second time by a coup de main. I touched the Limpet frequently and saw it glue itself, as usual, to the glass; but, singular to state, the creature always left a larger space between its foot and the circumference of the shell on the side at which the crab was seated, than on the opposite one, seemingly from a wish to accommodate its crustaceous friend. This space, moreover, let me observe, was larger than was absolutely necessary, for, as the shell was not air-tight, I was enabled to thrust my camel-hair pencil teazingly upon the crab, and was much amused to watch him clutch at the intruding object, and, at times, move about with it in his grasp, thus proving that he was by no means uncomfortably 'cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd.'

For a whole week the crab remained in his favorite lodgings, and only resigned occupancy thereof when his friend gave up the shell—and died.

There is a certain species of crab, Pinnotheres pisum, or common Pea-Crab, frequently found in Mytilus edulis, the Oyster, and the Common Cockle. Indeed, one gentleman states, that on his examining, on two occasions, a large number of specimens of the Cardium edule, he found that nine out of every ten cockles contained a crab. Still, in no other instance than the one my own experience furnishes, have I ever heard of the Shore-Crab, or, indeed, of any other crustacean, becoming the guest of Patella.

The classical reader will not fail to remember Pliny's statement (somewhat analogous to that above narrated) of a small crab, Pinnotheres veterum, which is always found to inhabit the Pinna,—a large species of mussel. This latter animal being blind, but muscularly strong, and its juvenile companion quick-sighted, but weak of limb, the crab, it is said, always keeps a sharp look-out, and when any danger approaches, he gladly creeps into the gaping shell for protection. Some writers assert, that when the bivalve has occasion to eat, he sends forth his faithful henchman to procure food. If any foe approaches, Pinnotheres flies for protection with his utmost speed to the anxious bosom of his friend, who, being thus warned of danger, closes his valves, and escapes the threatened attack. When, on the contrary, the crab loads himself with booty, he makes a gentle noise at the opening of the shell, which is closed during his absence, and on admission, this curious pair fraternize, and feast on the fruits of the little one's foray.

For those of my readers who may prefer verse to prose, I here append a poetical version of this fable—equally pretty, but, let me add in a whisper, equally opposed to fact, at least in its principal details:—

'In clouded depths below, the Pinna hides,
And through the silent paths obscurely glides;
A stupid wretch, and void of thoughtful care,
He forms no bait, nor lays no tempting snare;
But the dull sluggard boasts a crab his friend,
Whose busy eyes the coming prey attend.
One room contains them, and the partners dwell
Beneath the convex of one sloping shell:
Deep in the watery vast the comrades rove,
And mutual interest binds their constant love;
That wiser friend the lucky juncture tells,
When in the circuit of his gaping shells
Fish wandering enters; then the bearded guide
Warns the dull mate, and pricks his tender side.
He knows the hint, nor at the treatment grieves,
But hugs the advantage, and the pain forgives:
His closing shell the Pinna sudden joins,
And 'twixt the pressing sides his prey confines.
Thus fed by mutual aid, the friendly pair
Divide their gains, and all their plunder share.'

There is one singular feature in the Crustacea which it may prove interesting to dwell a little upon. I allude to their power of living apparently without food, or at least without any other sustenance than is afforded by the animalculæ contained in the water in which they dwell. One accurate observer states that he kept a Cray-fish for a period of two years, during which time the only food the animal received was a few worms,—not more than fifty altogether. This statement I have often had ample means of verifying. Yet, on the other hand, strange to say, the crab is always on the hunt after tit-bits; and nothing seems to give him greater delight than a good morning meal, in the shape of a newly opened Mussel, Cockle, and above all—a Pholas. Let a youthful crustacean cast its shell, and rest assured, unless its companions have had their appetites appeased, they will endeavour to fall upon and devour the defenceless animal. This, to my chagrin and annoyance, I have known to occur repeatedly. When nothing else can be procured, not only the Lobster Crabs, but any Brachyurous Decapods who may be at hand, will set to work, and industriously pick off and eat the Acorn-Barnacles attached to any object within reach. These facts show that the asceticism of the crab is not voluntary, and that when opportunity occurs, he is as fond of a good dinner as are animals possessed of a higher degree of organization.

It will be gratifying if other observers are able to verify the circumstance which I shall allude to hereafter, and which would seem to show that the exuviation of crustacea is expedited by affording specimens an unlimited supply of food.

'The organs for pursuing, seizing, tearing, and comminuting the food of the Brachyurous Decapods,' says Professor Bell, 'are carried to a high degree of development; ... these appendages consist of six pairs, of which some are actual organs of mastication, as the mandibles or the true jaws, the foot jaws or pedipalps, generally serving to keep the food in contact with the former, whilst it is being broken up by them.

'The buccal orifice in the Brachyura occupies the interior face of the cephalic division of the body, and is bounded anteriorly by a crustaceous lamina of determinate form, which has been termed the upper lip, and posteriorly by another, termed the lower lip. The mandibles occupy the sides of the opening. After these, and external to them, are the first, and then the second pair of true jaws, followed by the three pairs of pedipalps or foot jaws, the last of which, when at rest, close the mouth, and include the whole of the preceding ones. In the Macroura the pedipalps are very different in their forms, and have the aspect of very simple feet.

'The means of comminuting the food are not restricted to the complicated machinery above referred to, for the stomach itself contains a very remarkable apparatus, consisting of several hard calcareous pieces, which may be termed gastric teeth. They are attached to horny or calcareous levers, fixed in the parietes of the stomach; they are moved by a complicated system of muscles, and are admirably adapted to complete the thorough breaking-down of the aliment, which had already been to a considerable extent affected by the buccal appendages. These gastric teeth may be readily seen and examined in the larger species of Decapoda, as in the large eatable crab and the lobster; and it will be readily perceived how perfectly the different pieces are made to act upon each other, and to grind the food interposed between them.'

Having been on a certain day at the sea-side collecting, I was amused to observe the movements of two ragged little urchins, who approached near to where I stood, bottle in hand, examining some beautiful zoophytes by aid of a pocket lens. One of them had a short iron rod, with which he very dexterously hooked out any unfortunate crab who happened to have taken up its quarters in some crevice or beneath a boulder. Having captured a specimen, it was handed over to his companion, who quickly tied it to a string which he held in his hand.

I had seen many a rope of onions, but this was the first time I had seen a rope of crabs. On inquiry, I learned that the boys had taken two dozen animals in about two hours. When any of the green-bellied crabs happened to be poked out, they were allowed to escape back again as quickly as they pleased.

With poor Cancer pagurus the case was different,—every specimen, as soon as caught, being strung up, and doomed to 'death in the pot.'

The above, I need scarcely state, is not the usual manner of fishing for crabs, the approved plan being to take them in what are termed crab-pots, 'a sort of wicker-trap made, by preference, of the twigs of the golden willow (salex vitellina), at least in many parts of the coast, on account, as they say, of its great durability and toughness. These pots are formed on the principle of a common wire mousetrap, but with the entrance at the top; they are baited with pieces of fish, generally of some otherwise useless kind, and these are fixed into the pots by means of a skewer. The pots are sunk by stones attached to the bottom, and the situation where they are dropped is indicated, and the means of raising them provided, by a long line fixed to the creel, or pot, having a piece of cork attached to the free end of the line; these float the line, and at the same time serve to designate the owners of the different pots—one, perhaps, having three corks near together towards the extremity of the line, and two distant ones—another may have one cork fastened crosswise, another fastened together, and so on. It is, of course, for their mutual security that the fishermen abstain from poaching on their neighbour's property; and hence we find that stealing from each other's pots is a crime almost wholly unknown amongst them.'

'The fishery for these crabs constitutes an important trade on many parts of the coast. The numbers which are annually taken are immense; and, as the occupation of procuring them is principally carried on by persons who are past the more laborious and dangerous pursuits of general fishing, it affords a means of subsistence to many a poor man who, from age or infirmity, would be unable without it to keep himself and his family from the workhouse.'[3]

[CHAPTER V.]

Hermit-Crabs.

'Finding on the shoar
Som handsome shell, whose native lord of late
Was dispossessed by the doom of Fate,
Therein he enters, and he takes possession
Of th' empty harbour, by the free concession
Of Nature's law—who goods that owner want,
Alwaies allots to the first occupant.'—Du Bartas.

1 COMMON HERMIT-CRAB (Pagurus bernhardus) in shell of common Whelk
2 COMMON HERMIT-CRAB out of shell
3 SHIP BARNACLES

V.

Twice in every twenty-four hours the waters of the ocean ebb and flow. Twice only in each month, however, do the spring-tides occur. For there are few dangers that the ardent student of nature would not encounter. Lord Bacon tells of a certain bishop who used to bathe regularly twice every day, and on being asked why he bathed thus often, answered, 'Because I cannot conveniently bathe three times.' The zoologist, like the 'right reverend father' alluded to, would willingly undergo what appears to others much hardship and trouble, not only once or twice, but even three times daily, in pursuit of his favourite studies, did Nature but offer the kind convenience.

On these occasions the zoologist can pursue his researches at the shore, at a distance beyond the usual tidal line. Numerous boulders and rock-pools, during many days covered by the sea, being then laid bare and exposed to his eager, searching hands and eyes, he is frequently able to discover many rare objects, or, at least, common ones revelling in almost giant-like proportions, and wonderful profusion.

The Soldier or Hermit-Crabs (to an account of whom we intend to devote this chapter), offer a most remarkable proof of this. Occupying the centre of a rocky excavation, I have repeatedly found several dozen of these comical creatures, each inhabiting the cast-off shell of a defunct Whelk (Buccinum undatum), which measured not less than five or six inches in length. To my surprise these aldermanic crustaceans possessed no companions of a smaller growth; while at a few yards nearer shore, as many shells would be found congregated together as in the more distant pool,—the largest, however, being no bigger than a damson, while the smallest might be compared to an infantile pea, or cherry-stone.

I cannot explain this appearance otherwise, than by supposing that the Anomoura become prouder, or, it may be, more cunning, as they grow older, and, having arrived at their full development, they fit themselves with their final suit; thereafter, in a spirit of aristocratic exclusiveness, they retire to fashionable subaqueous residences, distant as far as possible from the homes of the canaille, who inhabit the common, littoral boundaries of the shore.

The peculiarity, to which I alluded, of the Anomoura occupying shells that have formerly belonged to other animals, is so strange that some writers have not hesitated to express doubt upon the subject. This denial of a fact, which can so readily be proved, is one of the 'curiosities of literature.' Swammerdam, a Dutch naturalist contemptuously observes, 'What an idle fable that is which is established even among those who study shell-fishes, when they show some kind of the crab kind in their museums, adding at the same time, that they pass from one shell to another, devour the animals that lived in those shells, and keep them for their own habitations. They dignify them with the high-sounding names, and additions, as Soldiers, Hermits, and the like; and thus, having no experience, they commit gross errors, and deceive themselves, as well as others, with their idle imaginations.'

That there is nothing mythical in the matter can easily be made apparent to any person who chooses to visit the sea-shore. At such locality he need have no difficulty in recognising the Hermit-Crab, or meeting with numerous specimens for examination. Supposing such a one is at a rock-pool, and, moreover, that he knows by sight the Buckie (periwinkle), and Common Whelk, he will probably in such case be aware that the animals occupying these shells are snail-like in construction, and that their locomotion is consequently slow and formal. If, therefore, when peering into any pool he sees the Buckie, for instance, apparently change its nature, and instead of

'Dragging its slow length along,'

scamper off suddenly, or roll over and over from the top of an eminence to the bottom, he may rest assured that the original inhabitant has departed, and that its place is occupied by a Lobster-Crab.

The cause of his strange peculiarity I will briefly explain.

In the true Lobster the tail forms a most valuable appendage. In the tail the principal muscular power of the animal is seated; and by means of it, too, the animal is enabled to spring to a considerable distance, and also to swim through the water at will. This important organ is well protected by a casing consisting of a 'series of calcareous rings, forming a hard and insensible chain armour.'

In the Lobster-Crab there is no such arrangement. 'The abdominal segment of this singular animal, instead of possessing the same crustaceous covering as the rest of his body and claws, is quite soft, and merely enveloped in a thin skin. To protect this delicate member from the attacks of his voracious companions, the poor Pagurus is compelled to hunt about for some Univalve, such as a Whelk or Trochus, and having found this, he drops his tail within the aperture and hooks it firmly to the columella of the shell. Why Providence has doomed the poor Hermits to descend to such physical hypocrisy, and clothe themselves in the left-off garments of other animals, it is not easy to conjecture. No doubt, besides the defence of their otherwise unprotected bodies, he has some other object of importance in view. Perhaps they may accelerate the decomposition of the shells they inhabit, and cause them sooner to give way to the action of the atmosphere; and as all exuviæ may be termed nuisances and deformities, giving to these deserted mansions an appearance of renewed life and locomotion, removes them in some sort from the catalogue of blemishes.'

Professor Jones, when treating of this class of animals, forcibly remarks that 'the wonderful adaptation of all the limbs to a residence in such a dwelling, cannot fail to strike the most curious observer. The Chelæ, or large claws, differ remarkably in size, so that when the animal retires into its concealment, the smaller one may be entirely withdrawn, while the larger closes and guards the orifice. The two succeeding pairs of legs, unlike those of the Lobster, are of great size and strength, and instead of being terminated by pincers, end in strong-pointed levers, whereby the animal can not only crawl, but drag after it, its heavy habitation. Behind these locomotive legs are two feeble pairs, barely strong enough to enable the Soldier-Crab to shift his position in the shell he has chosen; and the false feet attached to the abdomen are even still more rudimentary in their development. But the most singularly altered portion of the skeleton is the fin of the tail, which here becomes transformed into a kind of holding apparatus by which the creature retains a firm grasp of the bottom of his residence.'

So great is the power of the animals to retain hold of their shell, and so intense their dislike to be forcibly ejected therefrom, that they will often allow their bodies to be pulled asunder, and sacrifice their life rather than submit to such indignity. This fact I have proved on sundry occasions. But supposing a crab to have taken a fancy to a shell, occupied by some brother Pagurus, (a circumstance of frequent occurrence), he quickly proceeds to dislodge the latter. Curious to state, this process never seems attended with any fatal result.

When watching the operation, it has appeared to me as if the crab attacked preferred to yield rather than be subjected to continuous annoyance, and the discomfort of keeping for so long a time buried within the inner recesses of his dwelling.

The contrast in appearance of the Hermit-Crab when seated in his shell, and crawling about minus such appendage, is great indeed.

This the reader will readily perceive by examining the Illustrations on [Plate 4], which are drawn from nature, and are truthful portraitures of this singular creature.

I have already mentioned the extreme difficulty there is in expelling a Lobster-Crab. This, be it understood, applies only to the animal in good health; for no sooner does he feel sick than he instantly leaves his shell, and crawls about in a most pitiable plight. He sometimes becomes convalescent again by being placed solus in some fresh water, or laid out in the air for a few moments. But he ought, on no account, when in a sickly condition, to be allowed to hide himself beneath any pieces of rock or shadow of the Algæ.

If he is out of sight, be sure not to let him be out of mind; for, should he die in the tank, and his body be allowed to remain for any length of time, he will very soon afford you full proof that such toleration on your part is anything but pleasant.

Although, as already stated, this animal cannot be drawn out of his shell except by extreme force, the object can easily be obtained by aid of strategy. Having been for some time at a loss how to give certain young visitors a sight of the Hermit-Crab in his defenceless state, I, by accident, hit upon the following simple plan:—

With a piece of bent whalebone I lifted up a Pagurus, shell and all, and allowed the latter to drop upon the outer row of the tentacula of an Actinia, which quickly stuck fast to the intruding object. The crab at first did not seem fully alive to his critical position. He popped out of his shell and looked unsuspectingly around, until catching sight of my face, he instantly retired from view with a casket-like snap. In a minute he was out again, and this time prepared to change his position. For this purpose he gave several successive pulls, but finding all his efforts to remove his carriage unavailing, he unhooked his tail and scrambled down among the pebbles. My purpose was thereby gained, for the next moment he was resting in the palm of one of my juvenile friends, who seemed quite delighted with his prize. Twice afterwards, being in a mischievous mood, I gave the crab a fright in the way just mentioned; but it was quite evident, that what might be sport to me was death to him, for he was both annoyed and alarmed at my procedure. Even when guiltless of any intention of touching the creature, if I merely showed him the cane he immediately hobbled away at the utmost rate of speed he could muster. On several occasions I followed after and brought him back to the edge of the tank, although such conduct met with his strongest disapproval, and caused him for some time to sulk beneath an arch-way of rock work, away from the reach of vulgar eyes.

Upon the side and near the base of my tank a fine specimen of the Limpet was at one time attached. From the centre of its shell a forest of sea-grass waved gracefully, shadowing a large colony of Barnacles thickly clustered beneath. Soon the Patella decided upon taking its usual morning stroll in search of food, a task of little difficulty, standing as the animal already did upon the margin of a broad meadow, richly coated with a verdant growth, composed of the infant spores of the Ulva. Slowly moving along, the Patella, with its riband-like band of teeth, swept off the luscious weed in a series of graceful curves, thus making an abundant and healthful meal. Before proceeding far, however, he was forced to bear the weight of a Soldier-Crab, who had most unceremoniously climbed upon his back, and taken up a position at the base of the latissima fronds.

There seemed so much nonchalance about the Pagurus that I determined to watch his movements, and, if possible, to see how he would manage to descend from a position which, if the mollusc continued his mowing operations, would soon be unenviably high.

In about an hour the Limpet had reached the level of the water in the aquarium, and there took up his abode for the night. Next day and the next there was no change of situation. The crab now began evidently to perceive the danger of the position in which he was placed, for he constantly moved to and fro, and peered over into what must have seemed to him an unfathomable abyss.

While I stood, the Patella made a sudden movement of its shell—so sudden, indeed, as to startle its companion, who quickly put out his claws to save himself from falling. Unfortunately, in his spasmodic gesture he allowed the tip of one of his claws to intrude under the edge of the conical canopy, thus, in fact, pricking the fleshy 'mantle' of the animal within, who instantly, of course, glued itself to the glass with immoveable firmness. I suppose the same thing must have frequently occurred without my knowledge, for after a lapse of several days the Pagurus and his bearer were still in the same spot. I felt a growing alarm for the continued health of the Hermit-Crab, from the fact of its being poised so directly over the ever-expanded tentacles of a large Anemone. To prevent any mishap, I went to lift his crabship, with a view of transferring him to a place of safety, when, no sooner did he perceive the advancing forceps, than he rushed into his shell with a sudden and audible 'click,' forgetting for the moment that he stood on such ticklish ground. The consequence was that, seeking to avoid Scylla, he fell into Charybdis. In other words, he dropped plump upon the well-gummed tenter-hooks of the Crassicornis, which instantly closed and engulphed its prize. In vain did I endeavour with all speed to pick out the devoted Pagurus. The more I tried, the more firmly did the Actinia hold him in its convulsive grasp.

With extremely few exceptions, the Hermit-Crabs are always found to be a prying, prowling, curious class of animals, and are ever, like the husband of the fair Lady Jane—

'Poking their nose (?) into this thing and that.'

They will turn over each shell and pebble that comes in their way, and examine it with profound attention, or industriously climb up and roll down hillocks and trees in the shape of small rocks and sea-weeds, much to their danger.

I once possessed a Hermit-Crab, whose voracious movements afforded considerable amusement to myself and my friends. My Diogenes—or, as the Cockney news-boys used to pronounce the now extinct comic periodical, Dodgenes—on a certain occasion had climbed up a segmentally cut frond of Irish Moss. On reaching the topmost point, his weight became too great for the weed to bear; so, finding he was losing his equilibrium, in great alarm he made a clutch at the first object that stood near, in order to save him from falling.

A mussel was moored hard by, to the side of the vase by means of its silken byssus threads, and upon this friendly bivalve the Pagurus leaped by aid of his long taper legs. Unluckily the shell of the Mytilus was open, and the crab unwittingly thrusting his toe within the aperture, the intruding object was of course instantly gripped by the mollusc. This accident put him in a terrible fright. His gestures were most excited, and no wonder. Let the reader fancy himself hanging on to a window sill, at a height say of twenty feet from the ground, with the sash-frame fixed on his hand, and a huge iron foot-bath, or some such object, attached to the lower part of his body, and he will have a tolerably correct idea of the painful position of our crustacean friend.

After curling and uncurling his tail, and trying several times in vain to throw his tub upon the valve of the mussel, he released hold of his encumbrance, and allowed it to drop. Although still hanging, he had no difficulty in rolling up his 'continuation,' and elevating his body to the walls of his prison. Once again upon solid ground, he laboured hard to get his leg free. But unsuccessful in his efforts, he adopted another course, and snapped it off in a rage.

Scarcely, however, was the act of mutilation finished, when the stupid animal apparently seemed anxious to recover his lost toe, (which I may mention, had in reality fallen down among the pebbles).

After scraping, then resting, and scraping again, many successive times, he at last succeeded in diving the points of his largest claw into the chasm formed by the gaping mollusc. Of course, the member was held as if by a powerful vice. Very soon his courage deserted him, and he seemed to wait and weep despairingly for fate to release him from the sad predicament into which he had foolishly fallen. Alas! he little knew the singular part that fickle fortune had doomed him to play,—to become, if I may so term it, a kind of Prometheus in the tank.

My pack of fishes, having been on short rations for several days, had become exceedingly ravenous, and consequently were keeping a sharp look-out for scraps. Hence their intense delight on catching sight of the devoted 'Dodgenes' can readily be imagined. Such a delicious morceau was perfectly irresistible:—

'Mercy, mercy!
No pity, no release, no respite, oh!'

At it they went, 'tooth and nail,' First one and then another tore away a mouthful, until in the twinkling of an eye, almost, the martyr crab was left forlorn and dead—

'A remnant of his former self.'

During the early portion of last year I had a Hermit-Crab inhabiting a pretty Purpura, whose shell I wished to sketch as an illustration, it being of peculiar form and colour. On going to the tank I discovered that Pagurus had most apropos vacated his turbinated cot, apparently in consequence of his feeling rather squeamish. Thinking he might perhaps presently recover, or pick up another dwelling, I hesitated not to abstract the shell, in order to make the required drawing. I had not been occupied with my task for more than five minutes, when my attention was attracted by a great excitement and clatter pervading the tank. A hasty glance within the vessel sufficed to explain the cause of the hubbub.

The brief domestic drama of which I was a spectator, with its somewhat singular denouement, I will now proceed to unfold for the reader's entertainment. It conveys a good lesson in natural history, and also exhibits a striking example of life beneath the waters.

The Blennies, I may state, had become very voracious, pugnacious, and audacious; nothing seemed safe from their attacks. I had begun to feed them on the Cardium edule and Mussel, but such diet, after a time, only served to whet their appetite, which certainly appeared to 'grow by what it fed on,' for they darted about through the water in all directions, searching, as I suppose, for other dainties. These efforts were unsuccessful, until they caught sight of the plump, undefended portion of the body of their companion, the Hermit-Crab, who had just left his shell, as above stated.

The sight of such a feast must have (figuratively speaking) made their 'mouths water,' One after another these rascally fish dodged round the crustaceous victim, and gripped, and shook his 'continuation' with extraordinary violence. In vain did the crab try to act on the defensive; all his efforts to retaliate were ineffectual, and in this instance it might be truly said that 'might' overcame 'right.' He ran to and fro in great distress, scraping the pebbles and shells about (thus partly creating the clatter that I had heard while sketching), in the hope that he might find an empty univalve in which to deposit his mutilated carcase. When almost breathless and exhausted, he discovered a worn-out Wentletrap, and strove to lift his quivering body into the aperture, alas! without success. His strength failed him, and he fell dead at the very threshold of his new-found home.

While watching thus far the above transaction, the writer felt almost inclined to waver in the faith he had long held with others, namely, that fishes and other marine animals are insensible to pain. But the movements of this poor Hermit-Crab were as indicative of severe suffering as anything he ever witnessed in bird or quadruped.

Wishing to examine the remains of the crab, I stepped aside for a few moments to procure my forceps, but when I again reached the vase, to my intense surprise the defunct animal was nowhere to be seen! I could only account for so singular a circumstance by supposing some of the larger crustaceans had taken advantage of my absence to complete the work of destruction, and therefore took no further notice of the matter at the time.

I had often wished that some of my finny pets would deposit their spawn in the tank, and felt very anxious, if such an event did take place, that I might be near to witness it. But I was most anxious to watch the gradual development of the ova, and, if practicable, to become the fond owner of a host of infant 'fishlings.'

Guess the thrill of pride, then, which ran through my veins when, on peering into my mimic rock-pool, after a brief absence from home, I observed the largest of my Blennies to be apparently in an 'interesting condition.' I watched and petted her many times daily, and fed her with every suitable dainty that could be thought of. Sometimes I took her in the palm of my hand, and with a fine camel-hair pencil stroked her glossy back. This operation evidently gave great delight to the little beauty; and after a while, when my hand was laid in the water, she gently floated off into her native element with almost swan-like grace.

The law of nature being the same with this fish as with the Stickleback, I knew the nest, if there was to be one at all, should be built by the male. But as I could not detect any specimen of the 'sterner sex' among my pack, and there being no signs of preparation for the grand event about to take place, I felt in a manner compelled to carry out the nidifying task in my own humble way. Of course, I gave up all idea of 'weaving' a nest with bits of weed, stones, and marine glue; nor was such a style of structure a desideratum in the present instance, wanting, as I did, to take notes, in Paul Pry fashion, of the minutest particular that might occur within the building. The following was the plan I adopted. First was procured the exquisitely formed valve of a large Pecten, the interior of which was white and beautifully irridescent. This pretty cot, I said to myself, shall serve as a chamber for my protégé. The shell being deposited behind a piece of rock, in such a position that its side rested against the surface of the glass, I was thus enabled to watch what was going on within. Some fronds of sea-weed were trained around so as to form a kind of drapery. The Blenny, I am quite certain, knew perfectly well that all this care and preparation was on her account, for nearly the whole of each day she spent in the novel apartment extemporized for her accommodation. After a week had elapsed, she grew uneasy and pettish, was ever snapping at her companions, and hunting them about in all directions. On one occasion, however, she seemed to be uneasy, now clashing round the rock, then darting to the top of the tank, and down again upon the pebbles. Scores of times these movements were repeated, until I felt alarmed for her safety, and annoyed at my inability to relieve her sufferings. But aid from me being impossible, I felt compelled, though very unwillingly, to allow nature to take its course.

On looking into the aquarium one morning, I observed some strange object protruding from the fish. The little creature, too, on catching sight of me, came to the side of the tank, near to where I stood, and by her movements asked me, as plainly as any dumb animal could ask, to give her my assistance. After a few minutes spent in a 'brown study', I resolved to grant her petition, and immediately setting to work, drew from her—what? what do you suppose, reader? In truth neither more nor less than the body, head, and long antennæ of the 'martyr' Hermit-Crab! whose late sudden disappearance was now fully accounted for.

There are ten British species of Lobster-Crab, but one only, P. Bernardhus, to which the reader has been introduced, is common to our shores.

[CHAPTER VI.]

Exuviation of Crustacea.

(THE PHENOMENA OF CRABS, ETC., CASTING THEIR SHELLS.)

'As Samson at his marriage propounded a riddle to his companions to try their
wits thereon, so God offereth such enigmas in Nature, partly that men may make
use of their admiring as well as of their understanding; partly that philosophers
may be taught their distance betwixt themselves, who are but the lovers, and God,
who is the giver of wisdom.'—Introduction to Conchology, page 384.

VI.

The Armory of the Tower of London forms, it is generally admitted, one of the most interesting sights of the great metropolis. No one can look without wonder upon that goodly array of knights and noble warriors, nor help an involuntary sigh over the degeneracy of modern humanity. Though the figures before us are technically and irreverently termed 'dummies,' the hardened shell with which their body and limbs are cased we know has felt the throb of many a true English heart, maybe, glistened beneath the sun at Cressy and Agincourt, or perhaps on the bloody fields of Worcester and Marston Moor. It requires no great power of the imagination to transport ourselves to bygone centuries, and listen to the ring of hostile arms, the sepulchral voices of men whose heads are inurned in casques of steel, blended with the clash of battle-axes, the whizz of arrows, the neighing of steeds, the rattle of musketry, and at intervals the deep booming cannon's roar.

But, asks the gasping reader, what has this parade of mail-clad warriors and old battle-fields to do with so prosaic a theme as the exuviation of crabs? I must acknowledge that the question is a very natural one, for there appears at first sight no connection between the two subjects. The analogy will not, I believe, appear so forced when I mention my possession of a smaller, although hardly less singular armory, consisting of various coats of shelly mail, each of which, at one time or other, belonged to, and was worn by a living creature, and proved as effectual a protection in many fierce though bloodless combats as any casque or helmet worn by knight. Unlike the dummies of the Tower, my specimens are perfect, and give a complete representation, more truthful than any photograph, of the defunct originals, when armed by Nature cap-a-pie.

In plain words, I own a curious collection of the cast-off shells of various crabs, which have from time to time been under my protection. From the fact that no museum in the kingdom contains a single series of such objects, exhibiting the various stages of growth in any crustaceous animal, the reader will easily conceive the difficulty there must be in procuring them, and consequently the interest that attaches to the mysterious phenomenon of exuviation.

Strange to say, the subject of this chapter is one of the least known in the whole range of natural history. The facts connected with the process are few, and far from well authenticated. This state of things appears the more extraordinary, when we remember the great facility with which specimens of crustacea may be found.

For years past I have paid much attention to the elucidation of this subject, and during that period have had to submit to numberless mishaps and disappointments. For example, perhaps after watching a 'pet' day after day for months, anxiously expecting that exuviation would take place, in nine cases out of ten,—ay, in ninety-nine out of the hundred,—I would find that the process had been completed when I was asleep, or that the animal had died suddenly. In the latter case new specimens had to be procured, and the same watching process repeated, in most cases with the like unhappy results.

I will now, however, endeavour as briefly as possible to make the reader acquainted with what has already been written upon exuviation, as far as I have been able to learn, up to the present time, interspersing the narrative with such notes as may seem necessary by way of illustration, and then proceed, in the words of Shakspeare, to lay down my own 'penny of observation.'

The first clear and satisfactory remarks on this subject were made by the celebrated Reaumur, who lived above a century ago: 'The unexampled accuracy and truthfulness of this great naturalist is attested,' says one writer, 'by the fact, that of all the observations made by himself alone, far exceeding those of any other writer of past or present times, and occupying in their published form numerous large quarto volumes, scarcely one has been contravened by subsequent credible observers, whilst they have formed the substance of half the numerous compilations on insect life, acknowledged or otherwise, which have appeared since his time.'

Goldsmith, who derived his knowledge of this subject from Reamur, tells us, in his usual free and easy style, that crustaceous animals (as crabs and lobsters) 'regularly once a year, and about the beginning of May, cast their old shell, and nature supplies them with a new one. Some days before this necessary change takes place, the animal ceases to take its usual food. It then swells itself in an unusual manner, and by this the shell begins to divide at its junctures between the body and the tail. After this, by the same operation, it disengages itself of every part one after the other, each part of the joints bursting longitudinally, till the animal is at perfect liberty. This operation, however, is so violent and painful that many die under it; those which survive are feeble, and their naked muscles soft to the touch, being covered with a thin membrane; but in less than two days this membrane hardens in a surprising manner, and a new shell as impenetrable as the former supplies the place of that laid aside.'

This, then, was and is to a great extent, up to the present time, the universally adopted explanation. Goldie, of course, could not afford time, and it may be doubted if he possessed the requisite amount of patience, to confirm what he wrote by actual observation. Seeing that the statement was graphic in its details, and evidently either wholly or in part the result of personal observation, he very naturally gave it full credence. But what shall we say of a noted writer (Sir C. Bell)[4] who apparently half doubts the truth of exuviation, for although he mentions the particular account which Reamur gives, yet tells his readers that 'naturalists have not found these cast off shells.' After such a remark as this, we need no longer sneer at the compilations of the author of the 'Vicar of Wakefield.'

I need hardly state, that at certain seasons of the year almost every rock-pool at the sea-shore will exhibit to the observant eye scores of 'these cast off shells' in a perfect state. The writer above quoted also remarks, 'We presume the reason that the shells of the crustacea are not found in our museums, is because they are not thrown off at once, but that the portions are detached in succession.' An ill-founded presumption this, the fact being that the inelastic integument is invariably (in all the Decapoda at least) thrown off entire, the eyes and long antennæ sheaths, the claws with the hair attached, even the gastric teeth, all remain with wonderful exactness.

To look at the rejected shell, indeed, any person not previously acquainted with the fact would naturally suppose that he saw before him the living animal, a close inspection being necessary to dispel the illusion. As soon as the crab has emerged from its old covering, it increases with such astounding rapidity, that at the end of one or two days it can grow no larger until the next moulting time.

In referring to my own introduction to the subject of exuviation, I may be allowed to notice the annoyance a young aquarian experiences from the rapidity with which the tank water is apt to become opaque. As such a state involves considerable trouble, especially when the occupants of the tank are the subjects of continued observation, I may mention, in passing, that the means I adopted to correct this state of matters was either to syringe the water frequently, or what seemed to answer still better, to permit it to run off by a syphon into a basin on the floor.

When the opacity of the tank is occasioned by decaying animal matter, the only remedy is to remove the offending 'remains.' But with many of the common inhabitants of the tank—the crustaceans, for example—great difficulty is often experienced in ascertaining their state of health, with a view to sanitary investigation. As these creatures, instead of boldly exhibiting themselves during the day, generally hide under pebbles or pieces of rock, or are buried in the sand, it is sometimes necessary to submit the contents of the mimic rock-pool to a process of 'putting things to rights,' as the ladies say when about doing a kindness,—oh, horror!—to our books and papers.

It happened on a certain occasion that my aquarium was in an unsatisfactory condition. A nasty vapour arose from the base, and diffused itself over nearly the entire vessel. My fishes disliking their usual haunts, were all spread out at full length high and dry upon a ledge of rock-work, projecting above the surface of the water. The little Soldier-Crab had managed to drag his body and heavy tail piece up the brae, hoping to breathe the fresh air in safety. His big brother was not so successful, and despite his efforts speedily came to grief. Finding he could not drag his carriage up the rock, he stepped out of the lumbering vehicle. His appearance soon became woe-begone in the extreme. In a few minutes he expired. The buckies, too, with singular instinct, had collected in a row along the dry ledge of the tank.