the genus is extremely rare, if not altogether extinct.
However, the fact of their having other chambers than that which our windows command gives me some sort of clue to their feeding habits. I think they are shy of eating in our presence, and having, probably by night, collected a store of provisions in some inner apartment, repair thither at stated times; and you know, my dear, other and higher classes of beings have their feeding places and feeding times, to satisfy the cravings of nature.
I am confirmed in this view from having continually observed, at certain stated hours of the day (not so punctual, by the way, as one could desire, to establish so interesting a theory; but, at all events, never less than three times a day), all the individuals of our collection assemble, and pass out of one of the side doors, with a certain eager expression of face which, to my thinking, denotes appetite.
Papa holds, on the other hand, that they subsist on the animalculæ with which the fluid in which they live is said to teem. For my part, I think they are far too solid to live on animalculæ.
Do they sleep? I believe they do—probably in the night, when they are shrouded from our view, partly by the darkness, and partly by a curious contrivance of these ingenious creatures, who place a sort of thick screen before our windows, evidently to guard themselves from our inspection.
Not that they sleep all the night; for long after they have thus closed themselves in, we hear them ceaselessly chattering in their strange fashion, and sometimes making rude attempts to imitate the singing of birds—at which times the sides of our cottage, well built as it is, literally vibrate with the sound.
But I feel sure they do sleep, for I once saw one of them (a male), in broad daylight, extend himself at full length, shut his eyes, and remain perfectly still for several minutes, except that he uttered at regular intervals a soft sound, something like the snop of dear old Admiral Chub, as he takes his after-dinner nap, with his head up-stream.
The mechanical ingenuity of these creatures is astonishing. The ground of their apartment is strewn with a soft substance, of close texture and many colours, really almost as soft and as pretty as a bed of anacharis, and the whole den is filled with ingenious contrivances to support their ungainly forms when they are at rest. I should be at a loss to guess how they could produce such things, had I not observed that they show some ingenuity in the use of a pair of large—I must not say fins, they are so heavy and clumsy, but flappers furnished with strong and flexible claws, such as the beaver is said to have had, and to have used with such dexterity.
But I cannot stay to describe the many wonderful results of the instinctive sagacity of these curious beings—their artificial light, their artificial music, &c. I am preparing a little set of papers for the “Trent and Humber Illustrated Minnows’ Magazine,” which will contain the result of all my observations. I will pass at once to the great Epidermis question, as I call it.
I mentioned above the fact that in the female of the “bipes vorax,” the lower part of the body is shrouded by a remarkably luxuriant epidermis, or outer skin, which, indeed, extends over the whole form, except the head and the extremity of the flappers.
Now papa says this is not an epidermis at all, but an extraneous artificial covering, which their instinct teaches them to form out of the leaves of the trees or grass of the field, to protect themselves from the cold, to which they are liable in their fluid.
When I think of my own feelings on this subject,—of the simple, beautiful, and convenient covering with which nature has provided me; of the excusable pride I feel, as, in the height of the season and the prime of my youth, I display my spangling scales under the bright sunlight,—I confess I can hardly realise the possibility of any creature being taught by nature to cover itself up in so curious and cumbrous and grotesque a manner; and I cannot say I can trace the slightest resemblance to the simplicity of leaves or grasses, either in the colour or the form of these outer coverings of the female bipeds.
The male, too, who certainly has an outer coating, though of a very different form, shows no symptom of its being extraneous: he never changes it, as I can assert after the closest observation, and seems insensible and indifferent to it altogether. But to the female, this epidermis, whether natural or artificial, seems to possess the highest interest; in fact, it occupies her attention all day long. Her flappers are busy with little scraps and portions of it at all hours. The male, by the way, never seems to know what to do with his flappers.
Two or three of the females may be seen getting together in groups, hard at work, preparing, apparently, a new epidermis; turning it about; showing it to one another; trying it on themselves or each other, their eyes sparkling with animation, and an incessant chattering going on the whole time.
When I hear them thus (conversing, I have no doubt, in their way), I long to understand their language. The real lover of knowledge does not disdain to learn even from the lowest classes in the scale of creation, and I doubt not I should learn much from them at these times. I ought to say, in reference to this question, that the changes which take place in the epidermis of the female are quite extraordinary. New colours, new shapes, new ornaments from head to foot, every day, and sometimes two or three times a day. And the vain creatures evidently think that we are admiring them all the time.
My dearest Fluminia, come to us soon: come and enjoy with us at once the delicious indulgences of our charming retreat, and the pleasures of scientific research, for which the remarkable creatures I have attempted to describe afford a seemingly inexhaustible subject.
I kiss your fin, and remain,
Dearest Fluminia,
Your attached
Aquaria.
