Before becoming expert in carrying out the plan (which will be fully detailed hereafter) for clarifying the water of an aquarium which has become opaque from superabundant vegetative growth, I had to submit to many annoying failures. Thus it was in a certain instance.
I had cleaned out my tank, refilled it with partially purified water, and again inserted the various animals constituting my 'stock.' Emboldened by the success which had attended my operations, I thought a still further dose of diluted acid might be added, in order thoroughly to remove the greenish hue of the water. A few minutes showed me the folly of not letting well alone, for soon flakes of discharged vegetation were precipitated to the base of the vessel, covering it with a coating of fur.
The poor Blennies speedily showed signs of distress, and changed colour, as they generally do, upon the most trifling cause. Instead of dark brown or black, their bodies appeared of a yellowish tint, spotted with white. Such a change was lovely to the eye, but, alas! it was—
'The loveliness in death,
Which parts not quite with parting breath.'
The little creatures jumped and dived about in all directions, all their motions being extremely violent. I quickly perceived the error which had been committed, and, moreover, discovered to my chagrin that such error could not possibly be rectified for some time, on account of my not having by me any reserve of pure salt water. Taking several of the fishes in my hand, I stroked their backs with a camel-hair pencil, and was pleased to find that as their alarm subsided their natural hue returned. My being obliged to place my pets in their unhappy and pestilential home again was, as the reader may suppose, a source of regret to me; but I had some hopes that they might by chance survive, and become used to the 'vapour of their dungeon,' at all events until such time as I could hasten to the sea-side and procure a new supply of water. My expectations of such a result were built upon the fact, that although four of the fishes had changed colour, the small Blenny still retained its natural hue. How did this happen? it will be asked. I answer, by little Dombey (doing as his brethren had always hitherto done in similar circumstances) leaping on to a ledge of rock that projected out of the water, and there breathing the fresh air in safety.
On the following morning I peeped into the vessel, and saw by their upturned gills that all my finny proteges were dead!
'All my pretty ones?
Did I say all?'
All except the smallest of the pack, he was still dressed in his sombre coat, and gracefully reclining upon the rocky couch above mentioned.
How thankfully he received the breakfast that I temptingly offered upon the tips of my feeding brush, and how grateful he seemed to be, when, after the lapse of a few hours, I was enabled to let him float again in his pure native element, a fresh supply of which had been procured with as little delay as possible!
The Viviparous Blenny differs from the other British Blennies 'in the circumstance to which its name refers—that of bringing forth its young alive, which seem perfectly able to provide for themselves from the moment they are excluded.'