IN FEATHERS AND FUR. 233 
the rest of the Crab family, they are fierce and voracious, hunting 
their prey through ' the water, and eating everything that has life, 
nearly. Such greedy fellows they are, that they eat each other as 
readily as anybody else. A small Crab has no chance for his life 
when a larger one gets after him. They seem to have very little 
feeling, however. One naturalist tells about seeing a small Crab 
busily engaged with his dinner, when a larger one came up, and 
commenced dining off him. He went on with the greatest cool- 
ness, devouring his own prey, while his big brother was eating 
him. 
Crabs eat with their claws, as if they were hands, tearing their 
food to pieces and putting it in their mouths, and it is said to be a 
very droll sight. Mr. Wood tells of one common British Crab, 
whose special business it is to act as scavenger on the coast. 
Everything that is thrown into the sea, like bad fish, he will attend 
to at once, tearing it in bits and eating it. But the strangest thing 
about it is this, in pulling his food off, of course thousands of small 
particles are left floating around too small for the claw of the 
Crab, so he is accompanied by a whole family of sea creatures, who 
have established their home on his back and legs — actually fastened 
there and living on him — and whose mouths are always open to 
catch the floating particles. Twenty or thirty thousand of them 
there are sometimes. I suppose some instinct tells them that 
wherever that greedy fellow goes will always be plenty to eat, and 
so they take life passage with him. 
Perhaps the very oddest of this odd family is the Hermit 
Crab. He is called Hermit because he always lives alone. But 
the strange thing about him is, that nature has not provided him 
with a strong shelly house, like the rest of the Crab family, but has 
left him to find his own. This he does by hunting up some dis- 
carded shell, generally of the spiral sort, and taking possession of 
it. When he settles himself, it is for life — at least, till he grows 
too big for this house — so he is very particular to have it just the 
right size, and not too heavy for him to drag around. When he 
finds one to suit, he goes in tail first, and takes a strong grasp with 
his two last legs, which nature — having denied him a house of his 
own — has made very handy for this purpose. Once in, it is impos- 
sible to get him out ; he will let himself be torn apart before he 
will give up. In fact, he can draw himself so far back into his 
house that you can't get hold of him to pull him out. 
