494 THE OCEAN WOELD. 



body always remain under cover. At low water the hermits spread 

 themselves over the rocky shore, and the spectator thinks he sees a 

 great numher of shells which move in all directions, with allurements 

 different from that which belongs to their essentially slow and 

 measured race. If they are touched they stop suddenly, and it is soon 

 discovered that their shell is the dwelling of a crustacean, not a 

 mollusc. The animal lives alone in its little citadel, like the hermit 

 in his cell or the sentinel in his box. Hence the name of hermit 

 and soldier. 



When our crustacean outgrows its borrowed habitation, it sets out 

 in search of -another shell, a little larger, and better suited for its 

 increased size. 



The hermit often avails itself, as we have said, of empty shells 

 abandoned by their owners; when the tide retires these seldom fail 

 them, and the hermit may be seen examining, turning, and returning, 

 and even trying its new domicile. It glides slowly along on its abdomen, 

 which is large and somewhat distorted, sometimes in one shell, some- 

 times in another, looking defiantly all round it, and returning very 

 quickly to its ancient lodging if the new one does not turn out to be 

 perfectly comfortable, often trying a great number, as a man might 

 try many new clothes before suiting himself. In its successive removals 

 the little sybarite chooses a hermitage more and more spacious, 

 according to its taste or caprice in colour or architecture. The cunning 

 little creature chooses its mansion, now grey or yellow, now red or 

 brown, globular or cylindrical, in the form of a spiral or of a tun, 

 toothed or crenulate, with trenchant edge or pointed terminations ; 

 but, as a rule, our crustacean Diogenes houses itself in spirals of con- 

 siderable length, as in Cerithium, Buccinum, or Murex. 



The hermit is very timid ; at the least noise it shrinks into its 

 shell and squats itself, without motion, drawing in its smaller claws 

 and closing the door with its larger ones, the latter being often covered 

 with hairs, tubercles, or with teeth. In short, our prudent cenobite 

 clings so closely to the bottom of its retreat, that we might pull it to 

 pieces without getting it out entire ; its tail is transformed into a sort 

 of sucker, by the aid of which it attaches itself firmly to the walls of 

 its habitation. It is at once strong and voracious, eating with much 

 relish the dead fishes and fragments of molluscs and annelids which 

 come in its way. Nor does it hesitate to attack and devour living 



