At first sight I
took the little hopper, in the grey dusk, for one of the common, small
green lizards, and wasn't much disposed to pay it any distinguished
share either of personal or scientific attention. But as I walked on a
little further through the dense underbrush, more and more of these
shuffling and scurrying little creatures kept crossing the path,
hastily, all in one direction, and all, as it were, in a formed body or
marching phalanx. Looking closer, to my great surprise, I found they
were actually fish out of water, going on a walking tour, for change of
air, to a new residence--genuine fish, a couple of inches long each, not
eel-shaped or serpentine in outline, but closely resembling a red mullet
in miniature, though much more beautifully and delicately coloured, and
with fins and tails of the most orthodox spiny and prickly description.
They were travelling across country in a bee-line, thousands of them
together, not at all like the helpless fish out of water of popular
imagination, but as unconcernedly and naturally as if they had been
accustomed to the overland route for their whole lifetimes, and were
walking now on the king's highway without let or hindrance.
I took one up in my hand and examined it more carefully; though the
catching it wasn't by any means so easy as it sounds on paper, for these
perambulatory fish are thoroughly inured to the dangers and difficulties
of dry land, and can get out of your way when you try to capture them
with a rapidity and dexterity which are truly surprising.
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