Page:Hardwicke's Science-Gossip - Volume 1.pdf/124

The Hedgehogs kept by Professor Buckman in the Geological Museum are old friends of mine, for I was the curator of the said museum at the time, and I took as great an interest in the "pets" as my good friend and teacher did. I can well remember, however, what Mr. Buckman has not mentioned, that they were not the sweetest or cleanest of pets, and decidedly untidy in their habits, and that having once collected for them a quantity of black slugs, they devoured them in so foul a manner, leaving mutilated molluscous scraps in all sorts of corners, that we gave them no more of such juicy food, and, finally, voted them not quite desirable indoor pets; so, if I recollect rightly, they were popped in a bag, and sent as a present to a worthy clergyman in Cirencester, our former chaplain, from whose garden they very soon made their escape.

I wonder if my friend remembers the snake we had in the museum about the same time, and how, one day, it was missing from its box, and what a search was instituted from one end of the college to the other,—

and all to no purpose; and how, at length, it came to the ears of our good matron, who never went to bed afterwards for months without expecting to find a snake coiled up between the sheets. Many a good laugh we had about it.

The Hedgehod is still very common in the north of England; at least there are plenty on my own farm in Cheshire. I quite agree with Mr. Buckman that it is one of our most useful animals, and I always save a Hedgehog from the "barn-door savages" when I have an opportunity, pointing out to them the absurdity of supposing that a cow would let such a prickly milker have anything to do with her; but I cannot quite acquit the Hedgehog of all mischievous propensities, for I know that he will take young chickens, having caught him in the very act.

The summer before last we had a hen with a brood of chickens placed in a coop near the back-door, in which they were left to roost. One night, as usual, I went out to look round just before going to bed, and found that the hen had forced her way out of the coop, and was covering her chickens outside; and as I passed the coop I heard a slight rustling and a sort of crouching noise within it, and upon looking in I found that a Hedgehog had pushed his way through the bars, and there he sat making a fine feast of one of the chickens, and so intent was he upon his meal, that, even when I threw the light of my lantern upon him, he was not a whit abashed, but, in the most impudent way possible, sat crunching the bones before my eyes.

There is generally some foundation for most widely-spread popular opinions, and looking at the fact which I have just stated, I think there is every probability that the Hedgehog will eat both the eggs and the young of such birds as build their nests upon the ground; and small blame to him.

The writer of the article p. 4 clearly does not credit the assertion there alluded to, of the viper swallowing its young. Now, "seeing is believing," and I well remember having seen in my boyhood—some 30 years ago—an instance of the fact, the truth of which he doubts, because resting merely on the testimony of unscientific country people. Now, I have no pretensions to science, but I vouch for the truth—above referred to—of having, in my boyhood,—when out on a birds'-nesting expedition, in a southern county, with some three or four companions,—come suddenly upon a viper, sunning her young brood on an open grassy spot in a broad hedge-row: hedge-rows were common in those days. Immediately she saw us, she began to hiss, and away went the young, previously some feet from her, "helter-skelter" towards their mother; rushed into her mouth—expanded to an immense width for so small a creature—and down her throat, one over the other, while you could say "Jack Robinson." The space where she was recreating was some 20 feet square, so that before she could beat to cover, we, boylike, being armed with sticks, had beaten her to death. This done, one of the party with his knife opened the body, and out came again the little ones, all of which we killed. I do not remember the exact number, but my impression is that it was not more than 6 or 8. In confirmation of this statement I give you my real name and address below, and here subscribe myself,

Nature is a great artist, when she is left to herself to suit her means to her end.—Lamartine.

The vast cathedral of nature is full of holy scriptures, and shapes of deep, mysterious meaning; but all is solitary and silent there; no bending knee, no uplifted eye, no lip adoring, praying. Into this vast cathedral comes the human soul, seeking its Creator; and the universal silence is changed to a sound, and the sound is harmonious, and has a meaning, and is comprehended and felt.—Longfellow's Hyperion.