Page:Hardwicke's Science-Gossip - Volume 1.pdf/151

The House Sparrow in India.—The house sparrow is more widely distributed than any species found in Hindostan; it is found all over India, and northward even on the steppes of Chinese Tartary. In every village and town of Hindostan it swarms in countless thousands, and is the same dirty, noisome bird as we find in the streets of London. During summer evenings, in Cashmere, they assemble in vast flocks on the chunar trees, accompanied by myriads of jackdaws and maina birds (Acridotheres tristis); their rough calls, mixed with the chirpings of the sparrows, are anything but pleasant. In the wild and barren Ladakh, the sparrow lives and dies under the roofs of the rude inhabitants of that desolate and dreary land. I recollect, when travelling in that country, we cam to an assemblage of Tartar huts, after a long and fatiguing march of twenty miles. Not a symptom of animated nature was visible; long we waited at the doorway of a miserable little hut; but no natives made their appearance. At last a chirp was heard, and a sparrow flew out of the hovel; this little fact was convincing, for the sparrow loves man.—"The place is inhabited;" and so it was. A short time afterwards a flock of goats and sheep were seen winding down the glen, and we were soon surrounded by crowds of wondering Tartars.—A. L. Adams, M.B.

The Song of the Water-dipper.—As I have been fishing during the afternoons of several days lately, I have had a very agreeable companion in a water-dipper (Cinclus aquaticus), which I find daily in the same locality, and very frequently on the same stone. The song of this bird struck me as being peculiarly sweet and harmonious, and as having a bubbling, pipe-like sound. It is low, but very distinct, and can easily be heard above the babble and roar of the shallows. I heard it singing in October last, and, for the first time this year, in the middle of March. Its spring song, in my estimation, is as yet inferior to its autumn, thus reversing the general rule. This may be merely owing to my hearing the bird recording, rather than in full song. There is a peculiar beauty in the posture of the bird, as he leans forward, singing and jerking his tail, and then stopping for an instant to plume himself, somewhat in the manner of water-birds in general.—R. Bl.

A Badger and five young ones, about five weeks old (apparently), were presented, about the third week in February, to the Clifton Zoological Gardens. The young ones all died; the mother looked very ill.—J. A. N.

Ring Ousel.—The Welsh mountains appear to be the head-quarters in Britain of this bird. It is not uncommon to see three or four pairs during a morning's walk.—M. C. C.

Buried Alive.—In the spring of 1863, I was in wants of a few eggs of the martin (Hirundo urbica), and while examining a number of their nests I came upon one, the hole of which had apparently been plastered up with the same material as the nest was composed of. The well-known anecdote of the sparrow, who, taking possession of a martin's nest and refusing to evacuate, was plastered up by the martins and left to perish, at once occurred to me; and I expected to find the remains of some poor sparrow in the nest; but on taking it down I was much surprised to find the dried remains of a common wren (Troglodytes Europæus), and three or four martin's eggs. What can have been the motive of the wren in going there I cannot imagine; perhaps some of your readers can enlighten me on the subject.—J. A. H.

Octopus.—In the Levant, among the Greek islands, this creature, called "Octopodia" (eight legs) by the fishermen, assumes large proportions, and is exceedingly troublesome to them when alive, but is much esteemed when dead as an article of consumption. Boiled, and afterwards pickled in vinegar, or stewed, it is really very palatable, as I can voich; yet had mine been the task of preparing them, perhaps I should never have been enabled to give an opinion, as the modus operandi is to beat them severely for an hour or so against the nearest large stone until all their sliminess exudes and leaves them fit for market.—A. M. B.

Very like a Shrimp.—Preserve me from the distilled prattle of the conscientious quack who grinds up facts out of a printed book, and then repeats them at haphazard, because he thinks educated society expects some acquaintance with the phraseology of science. Protect me from him, I should only put him out; let him enjoy himself in his own way, I in mind, out of shot. Perhaps, while I am peopling a flat valley with ancient monsters, smacking the slime with their great tails, gobbling, sleeping, snorting, fighting—while I hear the shriek and the rustle of strange birds in the air, but see the same blessed sun above our heads, the same harvest moon, though rising on the unreaped earth—while I am thus out of date, or may be picturing to myself the naked battle around the barrows on the windy downs, my friend with the book shouts to me that he thinks he has found a Coleopterum ridiculosum in the shingle. Will I come and see? And the inspected beast bounds off his open palm with an elastic "spang," very like a shrimp, as I tell him,—and is gone past verification; is probably at the moment hastily shoving himself, at great risk of bruises, deep down among his native stones. But my friend says, contemptuously, that it cannot be a shrimp—because shrimps are red.—Jones's Holiday Papers.