How I longed for a chance of sketching the scene!

Prawns are not quite such colourless creatures in the sea as they are here.  Why they lose their colour and markings in captivity is not known.  They seem otherwise well.

They are hungry creatures, and their scent is keen.

The shrimps keep more out of sight; they burrow in the sand a good deal.  You know one has to look for fresh-water shrimps in a brook if one wants to find them.

In Tank 18 are our old friends the hermit-crabs.  As a child, I think I believed that these curious creatures killed the original inhabitants of the shells which they take for their own dwelling.  It is pleasant to know that this is not the case.  The hermit-crab is in fact a sea-gentleman, who is so unfortunate as to be born naked, and quite unable to make his own clothes, and who goes nervously about the world, trying on other people’s cast-off coats till he finds one to fit him.

They are funnily fastidious about their shells, feeling one well inside and out before they decide to try it, and hesitating sometimes between two, like a lady between a couple of becoming bonnets.  They have been said to be pugnacious; but I fancy that the old name of soldier-crabs was given to them under the impression that they killed the former proprietors of their shells.

With No. 18 the window tanks come to an end.

In two other rooms are a number of shallow tanks open at the top, in which are smaller sea-anemones, star-fish, more crabs, fishes, &c., &c.

Blennies are quaint, intellectual-looking little fish; friendly too, and easy to be tamed.  In one of Major Holland’s charming papers in Science Gossip he speaks of a pet blenny of his who was not only tame but musical.  “He was exceedingly sensitive to the vibrations of stringed instruments; the softest note of a violin threw him into a state of agitation, and a harsh scrape or a vigorous staccato drove him wild.”

In Tank 34 are gurnards, fish-gentlemen, with exquisite blue fins, like peacock’s feathers.

No. 35 contains dragonets and star-fish.  The dragonets are quaint, wide-awake little fish.  I saw one snap at a big, fat, red star-fish, who was sticking to the side of a rock.  Why the dragonet snapped at him I have no idea.  I do not believe he hurt him; but the star-fish gradually relaxed his hold, and fell slowly and helplessly on to his back; on which the dragonet looked as silly as the Sultan of Casgar’s purveyor when the hunchback fell beneath his blows.  Another dragonet came hastily up to see what was the matter; but prudently made off again, and left the star-fish and his neighbour as they were.  I waited a long time by the tank, watching for the result; but in vain.  The star-fish, looking abjectly silly, lay with his white side up, without an effort to help himself.  As to the dragonet, he stuck out his nose, fixed his eyes, and fell a-thinking.  So I left them.