I am told that the other
night a great noise was heard in the kitchen of a gentleman with whom I
have the honour to be acquainted, and that the servants, getting up,
found an eel chasing a cat round about the room.
I believe this story.
The eel was in a bucket of water, and doomed to die upon the morrow.
Doubtless the cat had attempted to take liberties with him; on which a
sudden thought struck the eel that he might as well eat the cat as the
cat eat him; and he was preparing to suit the action to the word when he
was discovered.
The insects are insignificant and ugly, and, like the plants, devoid of
general interest. There is one rather pretty butterfly, like our
English tortoiseshell. There is a sprinkling of beetles, a few ants,
and a detestable sandfly, that, on quiet, cloudy mornings, especially
near water, is more irritating than can be described. This little beast
is rather venomous; and, for the first fortnight or so that I was bitten
by it, every bite swelled up to a little hard button. Soon, however,
one becomes case-hardened, and only suffers the immediate annoyance
consequent upon its tickling and pricking. There is also a large
assortment of spiders. We have, too, one of the ugliest-looking
creatures that I have ever seen. It is called "weta," and is of tawny
scorpion-like colour with long antennae and great eyes, and nasty
squashy-looking body, with (I think) six legs.
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