The Zoologist/4th series, vol 2 (1898)/Issue 688/Notes and Queries
NOTES AND QUERIES.
MAMMALIA.
The Mammalia of Hampshire.— I am collecting information concerning the Mammalia of Hampshire, and should be grateful to any of your correspondents who could help me, especially with regard to the Bats, of which we claim eleven species, and the Cetacea (eight species), the Polecat, Marten, Black Rat, and Roebuck.—J.E. Kelsall (Milton Rectory, Lymington).
AVES.
Swallow v. Flycatcher's Peculiar Nesting Site.—Whilst searching a certain portion of the Mendip Hills for eggs of the Corn Bunting on June 20th last, I chanced to pass close to one of the well-like excavations which are numerous in this particular locality, and perhaps date back to 1500, when these hills were searched for lead, &c. On walking round this circular excavation in the earth, edged entirely with tall bracken, I was surprised to see a Swallow (Hirundo rustica) fly up from the depths below; so, having procured from the near woods a long stout fir-pole, I slid one end down, and firmly ledged it on an opposite rock. After half an hour's steady and laborious work in 100° Fahr., I found myself eighteen feet below the surface, and not altogether in an agreeable position or condition. After closely examining my landing stage, I commenced a hasty search for the nest of my little friend the Swallow; I found it close in reach, perhaps fourteen feet from the top, fixed against the rock, and built in the ordinary way of mud, and lined with hay and feathers, and containing five young ones. The nest appeared to be one of former years, only freshly lined. Personally, I have never found a Swallow's nest in such a queer situation before. On July 19th, having to visit a Greater Spotted Woodpecker's nest close by, I again walked to the gruff-hole; getting my pole once more into position, I was much quicker at the bottom of it than on the previous occasion. Now for the surprise: a little brown bird was sitting on the Swallow's nest. I reached my hand towards her, and she disappeared out of the hole above; I immediately recognized the Spotted Flycatcher. A pair of these birds had evidently taken possession of the Swallow's nest, and built a compact little nest inside, containing four eggs of the ordinary colour. The young of this species have since flown.—Stanley Lewis (Mount Pleasant, Wells, Somerset).
A Cuckoo's Economy in Question.—Ornithologists of a speculative turn of mind may be interested to learn that during the last week of May, in 1896, I found a Meadow Pipit's (Anthus pratensis) nest on the lower slopes of Aran, a well-known mountain in North Wales. In addition to one solitary egg belonging to the lawful owners, the nest contained a Cuckoo's egg. The former I left in situ; the latter I appropriated for reasons which need not here be specified, despite the fact that egg-collecting then as a hobby was with me a thing of the past. On retracing my steps some six hours later, I turned aside to have another look at the nest in question, and was surprised to find that the Meadow Pipit's egg had been hatched in the interim, the callow youngster lying dead in the nest. I say "surprised" advisedly, for though I had not examined the commoner egg at all critically in the morning, I had nevertheless satisfied myself before abstracting it that the Cuckoo's egg was absolutely fresh, and such was subsequently proved to be the case.
Now the main points of interest are as follows: What agency had been instrumental in removing the other eggs, which it is quite legitimate to assume had been originally laid? A Meadow Pipit's almost invariable clutch, I may observe, is four to six; not one odd egg. Again, admitting for the sake of argument that sundry eggs had been removed, what was the motive underlying their removal, assuming the Cuckoo to have been the culprit? Oologists of experience will not need to be told that when Voles plunder little birds' nests, they usually make a clean sweep—in time and by degrees—of all the eggs; while there are but few birds which will allow themselves to be robbed of every egg but one, yet still continue sitting, and to this category, in my experience, Meadow Pipits do certainly not belong. Another interesting point, too, is this: a perfectly fresh Cuckoo's egg is found side by side with a Meadow Pipit's egg on the point of hatching; what then becomes of the alleged prescience, or intelligence, or instinct, or inherited memory on the part of the Cuckoo in always arranging things so adroitly that no hitch shall occur in the due incubation of its eggs if left unmolested by the foster-parents? For in this particular instance, had there been no interference on my part, the young Meadow Pipit, in the event of all having gone well with it, would have been fledged and away before the Cuckoo's egg was hatched, even supposing the foster-parent to have "sat" pretty assiduously—which I doubt—after its own young one had emerged from the shell!
Howsoever the facts are to be accounted for, I do not disguise my personal conviction that the Cuckoo herself abstracted the surplus eggs of the Meadow Pipit, and that she had some excellent though recondite motive for so doing. To others I leave the responsibility of explaining away an apparently singular aberration on the part of a species which, according to some people, is "knowing" even to the extent of being able to diversify the colouring of its eggs to suit the exigencies of each recurring situation! But, apart from all speculation on the issues raised, it is impossible not to recognize that the discovery of a perfectly fresh Cuckoo's egg alongside a Meadow Pipit's egg on the very point of hatching must be a matter of no small interest to scientific ornithologists, since, so far as I am aware, nothing of the kind has ever been before recorded; while far from tending to elucidate anything in connection with the economy of the species, the incident, if not to be dismissed as a lapsus on the part of an undiscerning Cuckoo, seems to me to involve a most perplexing economy in still deeper mystery.—H.S. Davenport (Melton Mowbray).
Cuckoos in 1898.—It seems clear that some peculiarity exists at the present time here connected with calls upon the services of the Mountain Linnet (Linota flavirostris) as foster-birds. Following up my observations since my last communication, I observed another young Cuckoo on an adjoining moor on July 30th. I was attracted to it by the peculiar " cheep " of this young bird, which of course was away from the nest. Its entreaties were evidently directed towards its foster-parents, and on changing its position from the sloping ground where it was when it first saw me to the branch of a willow bush, where it clung tenaciously, the Mountain Linnets were both promptly in attendance. We may assume that they were the foster-birds, and their interest in the young Cuckoo was equal to anything which I have observed by these birds in that direction when looking after their own young after these have left the nest. These three were seen near the same place in similar form on Aug. 8th. Another young one made its appearance on my hay-field on Aug. 6th; the peculiar "cheep" drew attention to it, and it seemed to have just recently taken to flight. It was not the rufous one mentioned in my last communication, being of a dark blue colour. This bird may be thus considered another of this year, and had the same species of birds for foster-parents. As hay-making operations were being executed at the time, ample opportunities occurred for observing the movements of this individual, which was seen daily up to Aug. 12th; sometimes being under cover, sometimes appearing in graceful flight, perching on an adjoining bush, the fences of the field, or on the implements. It seemed to become acquainted with our movements, and it occurred to me that the nature of the flies and such like was the attraction which kept this one so closely amongst us. We neither saw it taking food itself, nor being fed by the foster-parents, but the latter were always in attendance; and a peculiar sight it was to see this pretty specimen of a bird courting care from the little Twites. One could not wish to see a better sight than the graceful form of its flight during the latter part of the time. It improved in flying during the week. A Kestrel soaring nearly caused some little hubbub on one occasion, the Cuckoo's cries, evidently showing that it wanted protection from its little guardians, drawing our attention to the matter, which was interesting to us. The last appearance of this bird was on Aug. 15th, by which time the peculiar "cheep" of its voice had changed to a sort of croak. It had become a beautiful specimen of its kind, and attained the power of a most graceful flight. The foster-birds were still in attendance. Three were seen on a moor in the neighbourhood on Aug. 12th. One being seemingly larger than the others, there were some grounds. for supposing that the former was an old one, the latter young ones. That is all that I know as to the latest date of their presence or waygoing. The season being late, they would probably have been here at a later date than usual; their departure being a mystery to me. Whether the young have instinctive powers to lead them the proper course of themselves, or the old wait in whole or in part—that is, parents wait on offspring, or casual stragglers pick up young right and left—this year at least the old birds had generally disappeared before these young ones referred to were able to follow. How far they may go at first is also worthy of notice, as they may only remove in stages of a few miles at a time from this part, seeing that they appear much later in the milder parts of the kingdom. Then, as they do not pair, as is believed, would the males move away before the females? The latter might be kept waiting for or with their young, but—and as others who are polygamous have males which show more or less interest in the offspring of their species — we cannot conclude that the males do not equal in interest the females. In short, the point being debated whether the old take any interest after depositing the egg, it is just possible that the males would equal the females in showing attention, which latter has been proved to have been shown to young at various times. When the attachment continues so long towards the foster-birds, it would be interesting to know how they parted company. Would the youngster by a long flight leave behind such foster-birds as those we have been speaking of, who live in small space, or would the latter shake the former off in due time? There is also the point, would one of the old Cuckoos appear in due course, or is the whole thing a matter of mere accident?
Then I have to say about the clearing away of the eggs or young of the foster-birds. In the two cases this year it is pretty clear that neither was done by the young Cuckoos—one being impossible, the other most improbable. It must have been either the old Cuckoo or the foster birds that had cleared away the young in one case, the eggs in another, to make room for the favoured one. J for one must lead myself on to the debatable ground, and say that the vigilant eye of the parent Cuckoo, in my opinion, must have led her to clear out the impediments to the proper care of her progeny. It being concluded that the Cuckoo about the time which she deposits an egg in a nest habitually does extract an egg of the bird's, but not always, we may reason that she may more or less habitually clear out the latter's offspring. Failing in the latter, the young Cuckoo can do so for itself in due course. Whether dead young birds would be carried away by her is more doubtful; probably, as in some cases at least where the young one expels, the foster-birds clear away.—Wm. Wilson (Alford, Aberdeen).
Date of Arrival of the House Martin.—I am glad that Mr. Warde Fowler has called attention (ante, p. 267) to the apparent alteration in the date of arrival of the House Martin (Chelidon urbica), as it has much puzzled me to account for its having been so late in its spring appearance in South Devon since 1891. Previous to that year I had always seen the first House Martin in April, and in the year before that (1890) as early as the 9th of that month. Since then I have never observed it before May, except in 1894, when April 20th was the date of its arrival at Exmouth. Although in 1891 I did not see any in Exeter till May 14th (when there were a few only to be seen), it was observed at Swanage, in Dorset, on April 11th, and at Kingsbridge, in South Devon, on April 24th. Again, in 1897 I did not notice any at Chagford, Devon, till May 3rd; but House Martins had been seen by the Rev. Murray A. Mathew at Buckland Dinham, Somerset, on April 6th. This year I saw none till June 19th at Topsham, and at Chagford, at the end of the month, there were very few in the streets, though it is usually a very abundant species there. One, however, was seen by Mr. Mathew at Buckland Dinham on April 26th, and it appears to have been as numerous as usual there. In this neighbourhood it has been very scarce all the summer. It would appear from the late Mr. T.R. Archer Briggs's notes that the House Martin is always later in arriving in the Plymouth district than about Exeter, and the late Mr. J. Gatcombe observed some arriving with a northerly wind on May 3rd, 1873, although near Topsham it arrived in large numbers from the south on April 16th. In 'The Zoologist' for 1845, pp. 1189 and 1890, are some observations on the arrival of spring migrants at Devonport by W. Harris Bow, who gives the following dates of arrival for the House Martin: — 1841, May 3rd; 1842, May 9th; 1844, May 2nd; 1845, May 5th. In 1895 I observed House Martins at Bovey Tracey, Devon, on May 1st; and when Mr. Mathew and myself were at Slapton Ley, on the south coast, on May 9th, House Martins were in great numbers perched on the telegraph-wires which run along the sands, and had evidently just arrived from seaward; but none were seen at Exmouth till May 12th.
The observations in 'Birds of Devon,' alluded to by Mr. Warde Fowler, were made by myself, and I append records for thirty-four out of the fortysix years between 1852 and 1897 from my own note-books (made principally in Exeter or its neighbourhood, and at Exmouth); and also notes made by the late Mr. T.R. Archer Briggs at Fursdon, Egg Buckland, Devon, which were very kindly put into my hands by his brother, Colonel Briggs. My observations were unfortunately not continuous, as I was absent from England between 1856 and 1862, and between 1884 and 1888, and from 1867 to 1870, and in a few other years I was too much occupied to record any observations. It is curious to notice that whereas the dates of arrival in this neighbourhood used to be much earlier than those recorded by Mr. O.V. Aplin near Banbury, of late years they are later.
| 1852, April 7th | |
| 1853, April 12th | April 20th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1854, | |
| 1855, April 25th | April 27th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1856, April 14th | |
| 1857, | |
| 1858, | April 22nd, T.R.A.B. |
| 1862, April 23rd | April 24th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1863, April 28th | |
| 1864, April 24th | |
| 1865, | April 27th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1866, April 16th | |
| 1867, April 14th | April 27th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1868, | |
| 1869, | |
| 1870, | |
| 1871, April 19th | April 28th, T.R.A.B.; April 17th, Totnes, J.H.G. |
| 1872, April 21st (April 23rd, Torquay, J.H.G.) | |
| 1873, April 16th (in large numbers) | April 30th, T.R.A.B.; May 3rd, J.G. |
| 1874, April 2nd and 5th | April 27th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1875, April 10th and 18th | |
| 1876, April 9th (many) | |
| 1877, April 26th | May 4th (Plympton). |
| 1878, April 25th | |
| 1879, | April 25th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1880, April 24th | |
| 1881, | |
| 1882, April 6th | |
| 1883, April 29th | |
| 1884, April 13th | |
| 1885, | |
| 1886, | |
| 1887, | May 4th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1888, | April 25th, T.R.A.B. |
| 1889, | |
| 1890, April 9th (Exmouth) | |
| 1891, May 14th (Exeter) | April 24th (Kingsbridge). |
| 1892, May 5th (Exmouth) | |
| 1893, | |
| 1894, April 20th (Exmouth) | |
| 1895, May 1st (Bovey); May 9th (Slapton, in large numbers); May 12th (Exmouth) | |
| 1896, May 8th (Exmouth) | |
| 1897, May 3rd (Chagford) | |
| 1898, June 19th (Topsham) |
—W.S.M. D'Urban (Newport House, near Exeter).
Dr. Saxby and the Breeding of the Turnstone.—The locus standi of the Turnstone (Strepsilas interpres), in relation to the question as to whether the species has ever been known to breed in the British Islands, has long perplexed me. No authenticated nests and eggs have ever been found, write, in effect, most of the more modern authorities in the ornithological world. And yet Saxby's account of the discovery of a nest and eggs in Shetland is so circumstantial as to make one wonder whether there is anything "behind the scenes" which causes such almost universal scepticism on the point. That indefatigable and intelligent ornithologist observed a female Turnstone on the evening of June 16th "behaving very suspiciously"; he ultimately, after a search extending over two hours, stumbled on the eggs, three in number, which were lying "in a hollow among the stones," the same hollow being "scantily lined with dry grass."
That the eggs were fresh is to be inferred from the context at the top of p. 172 in ' The Birds of Shetland,' a copy of which work I have before me. Further, Saxby writes that he "had not the smallest doubt that the eggs were Turnstone's—indeed, they could have been nothing else." On the following morning a man arrived with the two eggs which Saxby had left in the nest overnight to claim the reward offered by the latter—an incident which tends to prove that the Shetlander had no misgivings as to the correct identity of the species. While yet again, after having specifically referred to the fact that he had for years seen Turnstones in pairs about the shores of Unst during the breeding season, Saxby writes:—"Two of the eggs were a good deal like the figure in Mr. Hewitson's work." Now it seems to me that for writers with almost one accord to declare that it is highly probable that the Turnstone breeds in Shetland and on some of the northern islands, and then summarily to reject Saxby's positive and very explicit account of the discovery of a nest and eggs in Shetland with the remark, "There is no authentic instance of the breeding of the Turnstone in Great Britain" (vol. iii. p. 178, 'British Birds,' Bowdler Sharpe), is a capricious, not to say arbitrary and illogical way of treating the matter. I have nowhere seen it stated that Saxby was not competent to identify a Turnstone when he saw one, or its eggs; while Seebohm, with whom I entirely agree, has asserted that "the eggs of the Turnstone cannot be confused with those of any British Plover, nor easily with those of any of the Sandpipers." To my eye, indeed, they have a character peculiarly their own. Edward Newman, by the bye, reviewed 'The Birds of Shetland'—a second notice—in 'The Zoologist' (of which he was then the talented Editor) of November, 1874; but, far from raising a warning voice on the point at issue, he quoted the author's passage dealing with it in full, eulogistically remarking:—"The breeding habits of the Turnstone are admirably described in the paragraph which follows, and leaves nothing to be desired." What I want to know is this: why is Saxby continually quoted with evident approval in this, that, and the other work on British Birds, and yet the same author's detailed version of a question of considerable scientific interest discarded as unworthy of credit? Surely the mere presumptive evidence surrounding the issue strongly favours the complete reliability of the story as Saxby gave it to the world, let alone the personal testimony he adduced in substantial support of it. Permit me to add that I write in no carping spirit; my sole object is quest for information, being unable to account for the non possumus attitude adopted by comparatively recent authors in face of some apparently convincing statements on the part of a man who was so punctilious on the score of ornithological accuracy that, though in his own mind he was perfectly satisfied that a couple of eggs brought to him by a boy in 1859 were Turnstone's, he abstained from labelling them as such owing to the inability of the finder to furnish any account either of the bird or nest.—H.S. Davenport (Melton Mowbray).
Late Stay of Swift.—While taking a walk on Lansdown, on Oct. 1st, I saw a Swift amongst a large flock of Swallows and House Martins. I see in the 'Field,' Sept. 24th, that a correspondent noticed a Swift at Wainfleet, Lincolnshire, on Sept. 18th. I do not remember having noticed this migrant prolonging its stay so late as October.—C.B. Horsbrugh (4, Richmond Hill, Bath).
REPTILIA.
Notes on the Habits of Python molurus in Confinement.—Twelve months ago I became the possessor of an Indian Python (P. molurus), which up to the present I have kept in excellent health. During this time I have noticed several things in connection with its habits which are new to me, and which perhaps may be of interest to readers of 'The Zoologist.'
In most accounts of these large reptiles in confinement they are described as being lethargic, and seldom moving. This idea must, I think, arise from their nocturnal habits, and my experience certainly does not confirm the statement. During the daytime my snake lies quiet, apparently fast asleep. Whether or no he is so I cannot say, but I notice that the elliptic pupil of the eye is generally at this time almost invisible. On touching him, however, the black streak widens until the pupil is large and round, and this I presume means that he is waking up and opening his eyes. However, during the day he seldom moves or takes any notice of what is passing around him; at night he is quite a different animal. He generally wakes up about seven or eight o'clock in the evening, when I see his small head and pearly-white throat peering through the glass front of his case. His movements are restless, quick, and active, and he is rarely still for long together, moving at a fairly rapid pace round the case, and up and down a branch which is placed therein for the purpose of exercise. The pupil at this time is full and round, covering nearly all the eye. His great delight is to be allowed to leave the case and climb about my shoulders, or to have the free run of the room, where he goes on exploring expeditions over chairs, tables, &c, inquisitively examining everything by the aid of his constantly vibrating tongue. Dull-coloured articles which do not shine have not nearly the same attraction for him as those which are brightly polished. The Rev. G.C. Bateman, in his useful book, 'The Vivarium,' expresses the opinion that snakes possess little or no sense of hearing, and my observation certainly confirms this; for, while the Python is exceedingly quick at detecting vibration, he takes not the slightest notice of any sound which is unaccompanied by it, even at times when he is most "wide-awake."
The rate of growth is much more rapid than I should have expected. When I obtained him on Sept. 7th, 1897, he then measured 6 ft. 6 in. in length; on Nov. 29th he had increased to 6 ft. 10 in., and to-day (Sept. 2nd, 1898) he measures 8 ft. 1 in., an increase of nineteen inches for the twelve months. His girth has also considerably increased. During the year he has shed his skin four times. The first was only a few days after I got him, when I noticed him rubbing his head upon the felt at the bottom of the case in order to loosen the skin round his jaws. I have unfortunately lost my notes of the details of the operation, but I remember the time occupied from beginning to end of the proceedings was only twenty minutes, the skin being cast in one piece. Frequently I place in the case a zinc bath filled with water, and in this the Python spends a good deal of time, lying totally immersed, but with the nostrils just above the surface of the water. If disturbed he will withdraw even this, and my friend Mr. F. Grant and myself timed him on one occasion for 5£ minutes before he raised his head to take breath. To this bath he always repairs before casting his skin, and usually passes a considerable time therein on such occasions. On Nov. 20th, noticing that the reptile was listless and sluggish, and the skin very dry and rough—signs denoting that it was nearly ready to shed—I placed the bath in the case at seven o'clock in the evening. The snake at once entered the water, and did not again leave it until between seven and eleven o'clock in the evening of Nov. 26th, when it shed its skin in the water and left the bath. The skin this time was shed in two pieces. On Jan. 6th the Python again commenced to steep preparatory to casting another skin, and this time remained continuously in the water until Jan. 13th, when it shed its skin (in several pieces) in the water. I was not fortunate enough to see the operation of casting in either of these cases, but on Aug. 10th the snake again entered its bath with a view to softening its skin for casting. This time I kept him under close observation during the whole time. After he had been in the water a day or two the scales over his eyes became white and opaque, and the reptile was evidently blind. In about five days after this occurred they cleared again, and he was able to see, and two days later—on Aug. 19th, at 11.30 p.m.—he left the water. At 11.40 p.m. he commenced rubbing the sides of his jaws on the felt at the bottom of the case, gradually loosening the skin round the edges of the lips. When he had got as far as the nostrils he gave two sudden and forcible expirations of breath—not an ordinary hiss, but more like a sneeze—apparently to clear the skin from the inside of the nostrils, and then continued rubbing off the moist loose skin. At 11.48 p.m. he had the skin completely free from the head, both above and below. At 11.52 p.m., as the snake appeared not to have sufficient room in which to move about, I opened the case and removed the bath. On being thus disturbed he ceased rubbing off the skin, which was now turned back for about six inches behind the head, and lay quiet until 12.10 a.m., when he again commenced. By 12.27 a.m. he had fully two feet of skin removed, and at 1 a.m. three feet. At 1.30 a.m. the tip of his tail came away free from the old skin, which was shed all in one piece, but with one or two small rents in it. During the last half-hour I assisted the process by allowing the Python to crawl through my partially closed hands, as he appeared to feel the need of something against which to rub himself.
As a pet, the Indian Python has many qualifications to recommend him. He is clean in his habits, has no objectionable smell, is easy to feed and keep in good health, and (if my specimen may be taken as a fair example) is easily tamed. Mine is an exceedingly gentle animal, appearing to thoroughly enjoy being handled and petted; and, although his intelligence is not of a very high order, he can readily distinguish between myself and a stranger, from whom he shrinks with evident suspicion, whilst coming to me without hesitation.—W.J. Clarke (44, Huntriss How, Scarborough). PISCES.
Short Sunfish near Scarborough.—On the afternoon of Sept. 4th I was with a party of friends in a boat about two miles from land, off Cloughton Wyke, a small rocky cove five miles north of Scarborough. The day was very hot, with no wind and a calm sea. We saw coming along with the current, and perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, a tall black object showing above the surface of the water, moving somewhat rapidly from side to side, and never disappearing beneath. On gently paddling the boat towards it, we saw that it was a Short Sunfish, and, moving very carefully, it allowed us to bring the boat up within three feet of it, and drift alongside while we watched it. It was moving at the rate of about four miles an hour with the help of the current, at the same time steadily paddling with its large fins. Perhaps the fact that the uppermost of these was almost entirely out of water accounted for the fact that its position was lop-sided instead of straight, and at first it gave us the impression of an injured fish. The means of propulsion appeared to be entirely confined to the two large fins, with which it sculled itself along by alternate movements. So far as we noticed, the pectoral fins and tail were not used. The fish showed no signs of fear until we touched it, when it darted, at an astonishing speed for such an awkward-looking creature, across the bows of the boat. On striking it with a "gaff" it struggled powerfully, diving downwards, and was with difficulty secured. Out of the water it lived only a very short time, and changed its colour in a very remarkable manner as it died. While in the water, and immediately after being taken out, the general colour was very dark brown, almost black, with bright silver streaks and spots. The belly was silvery. After being out of the water about three or four minutes all the dark colour faded, leaving the fish a uniform bright silver. In a few minutes the dark colour gradually returned, until the fish was its normal colour, after which it slowly faded again to plain silver, and remained so. It groaned piteously as it lay in the bottom of the boat, much like a Gurnard, but not quite so loud. The fish weighed about 20 lb., and was 31 in. from tip to tip of the large fins, and 21 in. in length from nose to tail. It was infested with no fewer than three distinct varieties of parasites—Lernæa branchialis on the gills, a large round flat parasite about one inch in diameter on the belly and sides, and a smaller one with a long tail on the same part. On dissection the stomach contained a quantity of yellowish fluid, but nothing recognizable. A week later T saw a small specimen of the same species in a local fishmonger's shop, which the manager said had been taken at Scarborough, but I could get no details as to the exact locality and date.—W.J. Clarke (44, Huntriss Row, Scarborough).
ARACHNIDA.
Asagena phalerata at Grasmere.—It may interest your readers to hear of a recent capture of Asagena phalerata. This spider is certainly not common in the North-west of England; it was recorded by Blackwall as rare in Denbighshire, and by Mr. Cambridge as rare in Dorset. I found a mature male on Aug. 3rd or 4th, at the top of Redbank, above Grasmere. Its habitat is said to be amongst heather and stones, but this specimen was in a patch of grass beneath a rock, and close to a tiny fine sheet of web. The grass was glistening with dew in the early morning sun, and several of these small snares sparkling with specks of moisture attracted my attention, but the spiders were easily lost in the herbage, and only one rewarded my search. The species is a very distinct one, and seen upon the ground might be mistaken for a small beetle at a hasty glance. The length is just three-sixteenths of an inch. The cephalo-thorax is a dark red-brown colour, broad behind, and quite narrow at the caput; it is slightly overhung by the flattened oval abdomen. This is a very deep black-brown, somewhat glossy; on the fore part is a narrow yellowish white crescent mark, and half-way between this and the spinners on either side is a short vivid white line, slightly curving back, and in the centre just above the spinners is a longer bisected white line. The legs are short and strong, of the same colour as the cephalo-thorax, and are ringed with black at most of the joints. The palpi are short and thick, and the palpal organ a complicated knob.—Henry W. Freston (Kersal, Manchester).
Epeira diadema Courtship.—On Sept. 5th I made a close observation of the courtship of a fine pair of Epeira diadema. Some days ago the female spun a large web in a corner by my front door here, and on two mornings I had watched the efforts of a male to wiu her good graces. She fiercely repelled, however, all his advances. But on the morning of the 5th her humour had changed. A male crept down the wall until he reached a radius of the web. He cautiously advanced along this while she hung motionless in the centre of the web. When he reached the orbicular lines he vibrated the web with his fore legs, and also waved these up and down several times; he then went back to the wall. This he repeated several times, till the female set off slowly towards him. He waited on the line by the wall till she came to the edge of the snare and poised herself upon the line on which he had travelled; she seemed to hang down attached by all her feet to the line. He then carefully approached on the upper side of the line, waving his fore legs slowly up and down; then he backed away, then advanced, always coming nearer at each repetition. At last he was actually waving his legs over her head, and still she did not move. It seemed as if he wished to mesmerize her. He ran back to the wall, and waited a second or two; then most resolutely he ran to her again without any precaution at all, grasped her with his fore feet, and appeared to press both palpal organs upon the region of her genital aperture. They remained motionless in this position fully half a minute. He then withdrew very slowly indeed towards the wall, and there suspended himself by a single line of about three inches. He seemed to be dying, and I thought she had bitten him. However, in five minutes he revived, and went off to the niche in the wall whence he had first come. She meanwhile awoke, and returned to her usual place in the centre of her web. I hope to record the date when the eggs thus fecundated are deposited. In the same connection, I may mention that in another part of my little garden I have just seen two males captured and devoured by females of this species; but in neither instance did it seem to me that the male thus caught was on amorous purpose bent. Once certainly he had dropped from above into the web accidentally, and he was unable to extricate himself before he was attacked and swathed in silk.—Henry W. Freston (Manchester).
INSECTA.
Jumping Beans.—I do not know whether your pages are open to discussion, but if they should be, I should like to invite an explanation as to the method by which a perfect insect, imprisoned under certain conditions as a pupa, liberates itself on emerging from that state. At the World's Fair at Chicago, and subsequently last summer at Earl's Court, certain seeds of a Mexican Euphorbiaceous plant were sold under the designation of "Jumping Beans." These seeds, if placed in a warm hand, or subjected to sunshine or a higher temperature, would move, or jump with short jerks, and by some people who knew nothing of their nature were considered "wonders" and "uncanny." They were sold at a considerable price at Chicago, and at a fair and reasonable price at Earl's Court. Of course the solution was evident to anyone who knew anything about lepidopterous larvæ, namely, that they enclosed some internal feeding larva. I procured a few for observation in June, 1857; and in September, 1858, three Tortrix moths (Carpocapsa, I believe) emerged. The problem I want to solve is, how do these imago forms find their exit from the extremely hard and tough walls of the seed in which they have been enclosed, so tough and hard that it requires a very sharp knife to cut through them? The aperture through which the small moth escapes is a perfect cylindrical hole, as true as if bored by an instrument. In two of the cases in which the perfect insect came forth I found the empty pupa-case lying clear of the seed capsule. In a third case the pupa protruded about half its length through the aperture, and was dead, apparently wanting strength to effect its exit. New how is this circular aperture, by which the moth escapes, formed? Has the imago or the pupa the power of secreting some fluid that decomposes the wall of the seed; but if so, how is it that the aperture is so perfectly true in its circular form? This aperture is never visible until the imago or pupa has emerged. The seeds remain externally intact up to that time. It occurred to me that the larva, before going into the pupa state, might possibly prepare an exit for the imago by eating partly through the wall, but not so far as to break through altogether. With a view to ascertain this, I have just opened a seed, and find a perfect pupa, and no sign of the interior of the walls having been eaten away, as I conjectured above; and besides, if such preparatory boring, as I conjectured, had occurred, this would have involved intelligence on the part of the larva, which one can hardly suppose. The subject, I think, is an interesting one, and I hope that some of your entomological readers will throw some light upon it.—W. Oxenden Hammond (St. Alban's Court, near Wingham, Kent).
[See 'Entomologist,' 1895, 1896, and 1897, and especially a paper by Dr. Sharp "On Jumping Cocoons from South Africa," Entom. November, 1896.— Ed.]