nature, and how delighted I am with the opportunity of continuing them! But, as this is a matter that admits of being communicated, I will not excite the sympathy of my friends by mere exclamations.
The stone-works which have been built against the inroads of the sea consist, first of all, of several steep steps; then comes a slightly inclined plane; then, again, they rise a step, which is once more succeeded by a gently ascending surface; and last of all comes a perpendicular wall with an overhanging coping over these steps: over these planes the raging sea rises, until, in extraordinary cases, it even dashes over the highest wall with its projecting head.
The sea is followed by its inhabitants,—little periwinkles good to eat, monovalve limpets, and whatever else has the power of motion, especially by the pungar-crabs. But scarcely have these little creatures taken possession of the smooth walls, when the sea retires again, swelling and cresting as it came. At first the crowd know not where they are, and keep hoping that the briny flood will soon return; but it still keeps away. The sun scorches, and quickly dries all up; and now begins the retreat. It is on these occasions that the pungars seek their prey. Nothing more wonderful or comical can be seen than the manœuvres of these little creatures, with their round bodies and two long claws (for the other spider-feet are scarcely worth noticing). On these stilted fore-legs, as it were, they stride along, watching the limpets; and, as soon as one moves under its shell on the rock, a pungar comes up, and, inserting the point of his claw in the tiny interstice between the shell and the rock, turns it over, and so manages to swallow the oyster. The limpets, on the other hand, proceed cautiously on their way, and by suction fasten themselves firmly to the rocky surface as soon as they are aware of the proximity of their foe. In such cases the pungar deports himself
