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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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