The Hermit, or Soldier, Crab, with the exception of a kind of cuirass, or head‐piece, has a soft, yielding skin. Knowing his own weakness, he invariably entrenches himself in some safe place, not unfrequently emptying the shell of some other marine animal. When he outgrows his borrowed habitation he looks out for some larger dwelling. He is a very timid creature, and retires at the least alarm. On the other hand, among his kind he is strong, voracious, and cruel. Two hermit crabs cannot meet without a fight brewing, but it rarely comes off. “Each extends his long pincers, and seems to try to touch the other, much as a spider does, when it seeks to seize a fly on its most vulnerable side; but each finding the other armed in proof and perfectly protected, though eager to fight, usually adopts the better part of valour, and prudently withdraws. They often have true passages of arms, nevertheless, in which claws are spread out and displayed in the most threatening manner, the two adversaries tumbling head over heels, and rolling one upon the other, but they get more frightened than hurt.” Mr. Gosse, however, describes a struggle which had a tragic end. A hermit met a brother hermit pleasantly lodged in a shell much more spacious than his own. He seized it by the head with his powerful claws, tore it from its asylum with the speed of lightning, and took its place not less promptly, leaving the dispossessed unfortunate struggling on the sand in convulsions of agony. “Our battles,” says Bonnet, “have rarely such important objects in view; _they_ fight each other for a house.” A young poet of to‐day(42) sings of _our_ wars— “Tell me, tell me, is this glory? Is it honour, is it fame? Has mankind, through ages hoary, Given to war its fitting name? Twist it, turn it, warp it, bind it, Greet its triumphs with acclaim, Yet at last the world will find it Only murder, all the same!” Both crabs and lobsters are amazingly prolific, and lay an enormous number of eggs: it is computed that each female produces from 12,000 to 20,000 in a season; and yet these shell‐fish are always dear in London! In France, Figuier tells us, the size of the marketable lobster is regulated by law, and fixed at a minimum of eight inches in length: all under that length are contraband. The London market is supplied from every part of our coasts, and very largely from Norway. At Kamble, near Southampton, one owner has storing‐ponds, or tanks, for 50,000 at a time; and he has his own smacks constantly running to the coasts of France, Scotland, and Ireland.