“Among all the curious and quaint forms of animal life to be found in the sea,” says Lord, “few for grotesque oddity can equal the baby crabs, or _Zoëa_, as they are sometimes called. These interesting infants are not the least like their papa or mamma, and no respectable or fully‐matured male or female _crab_ would ever own them as his or her offspring. An elfish little creature is the juvenile crab, with a head scarcely deserving the name, and a pair of goggle bull’s‐eyes as of two policemen’s lanterns rolled into one, a tail vastly too long for him, and an anti‐ garotte spear, quite as long as his absurd little body, attached to the spot where his coat‐collar should be.... Master Crab’s internal economy is just as curious as his external skeleton. One pair of jaws one would be disposed to think sufficient for any living creature of reasonable requirements, but he possesses eight, and instead of exposing his teeth to the examination of the critical in matters of dentition, he carries them safely stowed away in the interior of his stomach, where they would be excessively hard to get at in cases of crustacean toothache. With such appliances as these the food cannot well be otherwise than perfectly masticated. A crab’s liver is an odd organ to contemplate, and constitutes a considerable portion of the soft interior of the shell‐like box in which the heart and other viscera are lodged. That well‐known delicacy known as the ‘cream’ or ‘fat’ of the crab is liver, and nothing else. The lungs, or gills, are formed by those fringe‐like appendages popularly known as the ‘dead men’s fingers.’ The shell‐shifting process before referred to is common to all crustaceans; and our friend the crab, when he feels his corselet getting rather tight for him, manages by some extraordinary process not only to extricate himself from it, together with his shell‐ gauntlets, and the powerful nippers with which he is provided, but performs other feats, compared with which those of the Davenport Brothers sink into utter insignificance.”