[Illustration: THE (JOHN) REAL DEMOCRACY OF NEW YORK CITY.]

* * * * *

A CRABBED HISTORY.

Most people have a peculiar fondness for crabs. A dainty succulent soft
shell crab, nicely cooked and well browned, tempts the eye of the
epicure and makes his mouth water. Even a hard shell is not to be
despised when no other is attainable. We eat them with great gusto,
thinking they are "so nice," without considering for a moment that they
have feelings and sentiments of their own, or are intended for any other
purpose than the gratification of our palate. But that is a mistake
which I will try to rectify in order that the _bon vivant_ may enjoy
hereafter the pleasures of a mental and bodily feast conjointly.

Most crabs are hatched from eggs, and begin life in a very small way.
They float round in the water, at first, without really knowing what
they are about. They have but little sense to start with, but after a
while improve and begin to strike out in a blind instinctive way, which,
after a few efforts, resolves itself into real genuine swimming. They
commence walking about the same time. Awkward straggling steps, to be
sure, but they get over the ground, and that is the most they care for.

When they are about a month old they begin to feel that life has its
realities, and that they must do something towards the end for which
they were made. The thought is faint at first, but by degrees grows
weightier, till at last they can stand it no longer, and, making a great
effort to throw off the incubus of babyhood that weighs so heavily upon