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ridden;" for we wish to interest you in a little pet we have there. A worm it is; but such a worm! The Nereis bilicæata it is called. A few months since, a hermit-crab and the shell it inhabits found a place in our aquarium; but soon, alas! the days of poor Pagurus were numbered, and its body became food for Anthea and her floral sisters. We were on the point of casting forth the deserted shell, when our suspicions were aroused that it was not so tenantless as we first imagined, for there seemed to be a little domicile within composed of tiny pebbles. We waited many days in vain for sight of living thing. One evening, passing the vase, candle in hand, we caught sight of what appeared a beautiful caterpillar; but the shy beauty instantly vanished into the recesses of the shell. You may imagine with what patience—or impatience, if you like—we watched his re-appearance.

In vain we tempted him with juicy beef and other delicacies with which we regale our numerous pets. He was proof against all our bribes. At length, growing deperate, we thought to frighten him into displaying himself; so, taking up our tube, we tapped gently at his portals, and waited breathlessly the result; when, lo! to our astonishment, curiosity we suppose overcame his shyness, and he cautiously peeped to see whether friend or foe requested admittance. Being satisfied of our amicable intentions, he waxed bolder, and displayed to our delighted gaze, again and again, his graceful form and bright brown and golden stripes.

We never fail, in this way, to summon him to our presence, much to the amusement of our young friends. And we would advise those who are fortunate enough to number this pretty worm among their pets, and lament his shyness, to give a ladylike double knock at his door, and we trust Mr. Nereis will oblingingly open to them in person.

That delightful marine biographer, Mr. Gosse, tells us, in his "Aquarium," that the Nereis is commonly found associated with the hermit-crab in old whelk shells; and it would appear that the worm has good reasons for entering into this partnership, as he expects Mr. Pagurus to cater for them both, frequently disputing even the possession of a tender morsel with his amiable companion; aye, even carrying his greed so far as to drag poor crabby's meal from his very jaws, and retiring into the recesses of the shell to discuss it at his leisure.

The sense of smell does not seem to be very acute in this little creature, for we have many times dropped pieces of meat into the shell, but have never seen them eaten; and if Nereis stumbled upon them, we believe it was more by luck that judgement. We fancy, indeed, that perhaps, after all, the shelter afforded by his friend's domicile is more essential to him than any provision made for his creature comfort, as our worm has flourished, and still continues to do oso, after a six months' separation. The motives that lead to this companionship seem rather obscure, and we trust some of our young friends may be induced to pursue this interesting inquiry, and by personal observation endeavour to throw some light upon the subject. M.

.—At a meeting of the Zoological Society, Feb. 14th, Mr. A. Newton exhibited a specimen of the Carolina Crake (Porzana Carolina), stated to have been recently obtained on the Kennett, near Newbury, being the first recorded instance of its occurrence in this country.

"The solemn death-watch clicks the hour of death."

, spirit-rapping, and all other modern manifestations were in their infancy when I was a child, but a superstitious belief in the idea that the noise made by this small insect indicated an approaching death in the house was firmly credited.

You probably remember Dean Swift's lines:—

The habits of this beetle were evidently not so well known in the days of Queen Anne as they are in the present time, otherwise the great satirist would not have fallen into the error of making the "maggot" cry click, it being the perfect insect only, and not the larvæ, which makes this noise.

This pigmy beetle is constantly found in old houses. Its antennæ, or horns, are red, having their three last joints longer than the others, and clubbed; the body is brown, but the wing-cases and breast are spotted—"handsomely tesselated," as some writers term it—and covered with an ash-coloured down; the legs are brown, of the same hue as the body. It is very slow in its motions, will rarely fly, and on being touched counterfeitss death for a long time. All the species possess this power, and hence their generic name, from "resuscitated." They will actually allow themselves to be pulled to pieces without showing a sign of life.

The larvæ look like little soft, white worms—the entire insect is only about a quarter of an inch in length—and they are especially destructive in their tastes. Woe betide the case of birds or prepared insects which they find their way to; old furniture, books, various sorts of grains, wafers, &c., are all in their line. They conceal themselves in grooves, and pass the nymph state in cells lined with a few silken threads. People formerly attributed the tickings of the death-watch to a species of wood-louse and of spider. I believe some of the wood-louse genus have the power of making a similar tick, but the death-watch best known to us belongs to the genus Anobium. According to naturalists, ten species found in Great Britain make the dreaded sound; our death-watch, however, on the present occasion is the Anobium tesselatum, and the way in which this insect chronometer goes to work is as follows:—It raises itself on its hind legs, and, with its body slightly inclined, beats its head against the wood with considerable force seven or eight times in rapid succession. The sounds produced in some instances resembles that made by rapping gently with a finger-nail on the table, and is supposed to be the means whereby Mr. and Mrs. Anobium Tesselatum inform each other of their change of residence, and give notice of their being at home to their friends—notes of invitation, in fact, which are generally sent out in spring and summer.

I was staying many years ago at an old country-house, on a visit to a little schoolfellow friend, whose papa was taken exceedingly ill during my stay. The ancient nurse—a quaint, kind old creature, strongly infected with superstitious notions—came into the play-room one day, and Sara, my friend, being absent, proceeded to inform Nancy, the head of the