I was 'on thorns' until next day, so that I might by watching solve the mystery. A third Pholas was flung into the den. The fishes, eager as usual, instantly attacked and pulled the mollusc to pieces. After a while the crab began to move about to and fro, evidently very restless, and anxious for my departure. I did retire, but only to such distance as would allow me a distinct view of his movements. In a few moments he stepped out mincingly on the tips of his toes, and crossed the tank to the spot where the poor Pholas lay, like some fine beau in Queen Anne's reign tripping jauntily down the Mall, or across St. James' Park, to feed the ducks in Rosamond's Pond. The Blennies darted off at his approach. He then seated himself before the mangled corpse, and scraped at it vigorously, manifestly searching for some coveted treasure. Shortly after, perceiving him clutch at something, I quickly approached and disturbed his movements--took up the Pholas, and to my surprise found, on drawing out an object that protruded from the foot of the animal, that I possessed the pearly and gelatinous cylinder, such as the crab had twice before devoured with such evident relish.[11] [11] My first introduction to the Hyaline stylet as above narrated, occurred in October 1858. It was plain then that the little rascal had become so dainty, that he 'turned up his nose,' or rather his 'pair of noses,' at what is vulgarly termed the 'first cut,' and condescended only upon the tit-bits, for his marine banquet. So his crabship, in order to save himself trouble, actually waited until the fishes had cut up the Pholas to a certain point, when he would rush forward and seize on his favourite fare. Some of my readers will doubtless remember the anecdote of the crossing sweeper, whose idiosyncrasy led him to covet diurnally a mutton-chop situated in the middle of the loin. My Lady Pepys, or Mr. Saccharine, the great grocer, couldn't always procure the desired 'cut!' _n'importe_ the knight of the besom met with no such disappointment. This individual's place of business was luckily situated opposite to a noted butcher's shop, which circumstance easily enabled him to watch until, from the demands of sundry customers, the perspective of the loin, which lay temptingly upon the chopping block, had become adapted to his point of sight. He would then step in and meekly order a simple pound avoirdupois. With this _bonne-bouche_ carefully packed in his pocket, he would again mount guard, and remain until night. At dusk of evening he shut up shop,--that is, he swept the dirt over the parallel path that he had all day kept scrupulously clean, and then marched off to enjoy his dinner at a fashionable hour, in private. Are not these cases palpably alike? Passing by certain details, were not the pawkiness and cunning of the epicurean beggar fully equalled by our diminutive friend, _C. mænas_?