But of all crustaceans, none approaches the Lobster in delicacy of taste. This creature, the epicure's delight, loves to dwell in the deep clear waters along bold rocky shores, where it is taken in wicker baskets, or with small nets attached to iron hoops. About two millions of lobsters are annually imported from Norway, although they are also found in great abundance along the Scottish and Irish coasts. Thus, considering their high price, they form a considerable article of trade; and yet they are far from equalling in importance the minute Herring-crab (_Cancer halecum_), which, by forming the chief nourishment of that invaluable fish, renders in an indirect way incalculable services to man. The lobster breeds in the summer months, depositing many thousands of eggs in the sand, and leaving them there to be hatched by the sun. But few, as may easily be imagined, live to attain a size befitting them to appear in red livery on our tables. Like all crustaceans, the lobster casts its shell annually, and with such perfection, that the discarded garment, with all its appendages, perfectly resembles the living animal. The process is curious enough to deserve a few lines of description. When towards autumn, the time of casting the shell approaches, the lobster retires to a silent nook, like a pious hermit to his cell, and fasts several days. The shell thus detaches itself gradually from the emaciated body, and a new and tender cuticle forms underneath. The old dress seems now, however, to plague the lobster very much, to judge by the efforts he makes to sever all remaining connection with it. Soon the harness splits right through the back, like the cleft bark of a tree, or a ripe seed-husk, and opens a wide gate to liberty. After much tugging and wriggling, the legs, tail, and claws gradually follow the body. The claws give the lobster most trouble; but he is well aware that perseverance generally wins the day, and never ceases till the elastic mass, which can be drawn out like india-rubber, and instantly resumes its ordinary shape, has been forced through the narrow passage. It can easily be supposed that, after such a violent struggle for freedom, the lobster is not a little exhausted. Feeling his weakness, and the very insufficient protection afforded him by his soft covering, he bashfully retires from all society until his hardened case allows him to mix again with his friends on terms of equality, for he well knows how inclined they are to bite and devour a softer brother. The facility with which the crustacea cast off their legs, and even their heavy claws, when they have been wounded in one of these organs or alarmed at thunder, is most remarkable. Without the least appearance of pain, they then continue to run along upon their remaining legs. After some time a new limb grows out of the old stump, but never attains the size of the original limb.