time of exuviation should be the best known. The soft-shell crab is condemned as food in Europe, it being considered as in a sickly state at that time, just as birds are when moulting. And may not this be so? However, in this country the procuring of the soft-shell crab is a great and profitable industry. Hence any intelligent "crabber" knows a good deal of their habits. For many years we knew an old fisherman. He was quite illiterate, but of more than the average intelligence of his class. He was an old "crabber" too. As he long supplied my family with fish, I often got him into conversation. But here I must be allowed to quote myself, as in the American Naturalist, vol. iii., giving the old man's own words: "I hev ketched soft crabs for market many a year. The crab sheds every year, chiefly in early summer. At that time the he one is mighty kind to his mate. When she shows signs of shedding, the he one comes along, and gets on the she one's back, quite tenderly-like, and entirely protects her from all enemies, whether of fishes, or of their own kind. She is now getting ready to shed, and is called a shedder. Soon the back begins to burst nigh to the tail. She is then called a buster. The he one is then very anxious to find a good place for her, either by digging a hole in the sand, or mud, or else looking up a good cover under some sea-weed. Here he brings her, all the time hovering nigh, and doing battle for her, if any thing comes along. She now—and it only takes a few minutes—withdraws from the old shell. And she comes out perfect, in every part, even to the inside of the hairs, the eyes, and long feelers, almost like the whiskers of a cat. At the first tide she is fat, and the shell is soft, just like a thin skin. She is then called a soft-shell, and it's the first-tiders that bring the high price. At the second tide she is perfectly watery, and transparent, and is then called a buckler; but she is not worth much then. At the third tide she is again a hard-shell, as she always was, only bigger."
"Have you seen all this with your own eyes?" we asked.
"Lor', sir, yes; hundreds and hundreds of times."
To the epicure, the soft-shell crab, when fried, is a great dainty. It is eaten entirely, like boned turkey; and, as a luxury, might be compared to a boneless fish. That it is an entirely unobjectionable food, is far from certain. It does not agree with every one, that is sure. It is a great business in New Jersey. Almost any morning, in summer, the sight may be seen at the Port Monmouth dock of unloading them from the cars on to the steamboat. They are shipped to market in boxes, each containing about six dozen of these soft-shell crabs, and covered on the top with wet sea-weed. Some idea of the importance of this business, while it lasts, may be formed from the fact that the neighborhood of Shark River will ship daily about five hundred dozen. These will bring, on an average, about $1.50 a dozen. When scarce, they bring almost fabulous prices. The business is, however, somewhat precarious. In some places, noted for being good,
