“All is not gold that glitters,” neither does every whelk shell enclose its legitimate owner. Pick up that one which moves with such unusual speed through this shallow pool, and you will find a pair of lobster like claws dangling from its mouth. Gently crack the shell--for you will find it next to impossible to extract him alive otherwise--and you will see, what one may be pardoned for supposing, a miniature lobster, but which in reality belongs to another distinct species, namely, the hermit crab. Whether he has obtained occupancy by force of arms or merely through decease of the original tenant is a moot point, but the first supposition is highly probable, as he is a most belligerent little customer. An amusing sight may be witnessed by placing several of them, deprived of the shells, in an ordinary soup plate, with a little sea water and some empty shells--fewer shells than crabs. The fighting and struggling to secure houses is ludicrous in the extreme. One may be seen almost successful in mooring himself within a shell--which, by the way, is effected by means of the shelly plates at the extremity of his soft, twisted tail--when another seizes him by the nape of the neck, as it were, and he is dragged reluctantly forth. The evictor still holds him struggling at claw’s length, and not until he himself is safely ensconced does he relinquish his grasp. Others, again, may be seen prospecting the interior of a shell. Extended at full length on the top of the shell, with their claws groping within, one is forcibly reminded of a person “guddling” for trout. Should there be any portion of the original whelk remaining in the shell, this, after repeated tuggings, is cleared out. The tail is then inserted, and the whole body withdrawn into the shell, providing it is large enough; if not, he stands a bad chance of being evicted by the next pugnacious house-hunter. _MAY 1901._