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,—

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,—

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:—

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]