Sept. 1, 1S69.J 



HARDWICKE'S SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



215 



Bacillaria paradoxa.— My query in March 

 number respecting the habitat of this singular dia- 

 tom, in which I doubted it as an exclusive marine 

 and brackish genus, has elicited an answer from 

 India, in your June number, from Major Hobson, 

 from which it now appears conclusive that it is also 

 a fresh-water genus. Since then I have been some- 

 what diligent in searching after its fresh-water 

 localities in and around the metropolis, and the 

 following can be recorded : — River Lea at Edmon- 

 ton, about twelve miles from the River Thames ; 

 Regent's Canal, Regent's Park, about seven miles 

 from the river ; Surrey Canal at Cambcrwell, about 

 four miles from the river ; the Surrey Commercial 

 Docks, in the timber ponds ; and the A r ictoria 

 Docks. Perhaps the last two localities may at 

 times be slightly brackish, especially the latter; 

 the remainder are in connection with the river, but 

 at a distance where the water is quite fresh. At 

 present, I, and a few friends interested with me, 

 have failed to find it in water which is not in 

 connection with a tidal river ; nor have I heard of 

 any one who has, except Major Hobson. I may 

 add that I have kept these algse alive in fresh 

 Mater for a week or so. Respecting the extraor- 

 dinary "military" movements of this fastest mover 

 of all the Diatomacea3, I cannot but believe that 

 it must be caused, in common with all Diatoms, 

 by the influence of light effecting forces within the 

 frustule, in connection with growth, of which we 

 know but little, remaining one of those mysteries 

 of nature which baffle whilst exciting inquiry. — 

 Thomas Simson, Upper Lewisham Road, S.E. 



Food for Bullfinch. — Will you be kind enough 

 to tell me the proper food for Bullfinches ? If I 

 give them hemp-seed I find they get too fat aud die 

 suddenly, and if I only give them rape and canary 

 seed, they look bad and ragged in their feathers. I 

 have two nice cock birds, but looking rather ragged 

 and bare. — L. C. Whelan. 



Value of Sparrows.— A few years ago the 

 streets of New York aud Brooklyn were infested 

 with bugs and worms that riddled all the vegetation, 

 hung in great festoons from the trees, swung in the 

 air on every side, drove the whole population from 

 what was once the cool and comfortable shade, 

 making the sunny side of the street the refuge of 

 the pedestrian, and the parks no longer pleasure 

 resorts, but nuisances. People were always dodging 

 these pests in walking; in the cars they picked 

 them from each other's bonnets, in church from 

 each other's backs. It was like a plague of Egypt, 

 aud people cried out for a Moses. The little Euro- 

 pean house sparrow undertook that role, and was 

 successively introduced into the parks and open 

 spaces, and everywhere its enemy aud ours 

 vanished before it. The difference in enjoyment 

 between a summer in New York now and three 

 years ago is very great, which difference of comfort 

 must be laid to the account of our faithful little ally. 

 Sparrows are now seen in this country by the 

 thousand, and not only are they scavengers of cities 

 and keepers of parks — not only do they make 

 streets habitable and shade trees grateful, but they 

 are worth their weight in gold to fruit-growers in 

 the country round about. The only sufferers, 

 indeed, by their domestication here are the comic 

 papers, which used to be full of woodcuts describing 

 the old discomforts — Adolphus making love to 

 Angelina with a pair of the banished enemies hang- 

 ing to the waxed ends of his moustache, she wearing 

 a cluster of them en chignon, and so on. All that 

 resource is closed now for the humorous artists. 



But to the original question— Are we ungrateful to 

 our feathered friends ? Not so, as one who walks 

 through Central Park will see, observing the palaces 

 we have built for them, or who ever glances of a 

 morning at their original settlement in Union Park 

 — the Jamestown, so to speak, of these little colo- 

 nists—and notes the hotels we have provided for 

 our winged allies, while a steady old policeman is 

 posted as faithful guardian of their rights and 

 interests below.- — Neio York Times. 



On the Alcoholic Compound termed 

 Punch. • — Chastened and invigorated by the 

 discipline of physical research, the philosopher fear- 

 lessly climbs the never-trodden peaks of pure 

 thought, whence he surveys without dizziness the 

 shadowy domain which lies beyond the horizon of 

 ordinary observation. The empirical art of punch- 

 brewing is coextensive with civilization. But the 

 molecular commotion which agitates the palate of 

 the punch-drinker and awakes in his brain an 

 indescribable feeling of satisfaction could only be 

 apprehended by one whose mind had been previously 

 exercised on the parallel bars of acoustics and 

 optics. Taste is due to vibratory motion. A pep- 

 perment lozenge, for example, dissolving in the 

 mouth, may be likened to a vast collection of minute 

 tuning-forks vibrating synchronously. Pulses are 

 imparted to the nervous filaments of the tongue and 

 palate, and are translated by the internal sense into 

 peppermint. What was molecular agitation is now 

 taste. With punch properly compounded, we ob- 

 tain saporous vibrations of various degrees of 

 rapidity, but so related that their simultaneous ac- 

 tion on the organ of taste produces an agreeable 

 harmony. The saccharine, acid, and ethylic trills 

 are rhythmical, and a glass of punch is truly the 

 analogue of the sonnet. The instinct of man has 

 detected many such harmonies which have yet to be 

 investigated. Eor example : what palate is insensi- 

 ble to the harmonious effect of roast hare and 

 currant-jelly ? But where is the philosopher who 

 can lay his hand upon Ins heart aud say he has de- 

 termined the relation of the saporous vibrations of 

 the jelly to those of the hare ? My own researches 

 on this point have deepened my natural humility, 

 and I now eat my currant-jelly with the simple faith 

 of a little child. Experiment has proved that the 

 juice of three or four lemons, aud three-quarters of 

 a pound of loaf-sugar dissolved in about three pints 

 of boiling water, give saporous waves which strike 

 the palate at such intervals that the thrilling acidity 

 of the lemon-juice and the cloying sweetness of the 

 sugar are no longer distinguishable. We have, in 

 fact, a harmony of saporific notes. The pitch, 

 however, is too low, and to heighten it, we infuse in 

 the boiling water the fragrant yellow rind of one 

 lemon. Here we might pause, if the soul of man 

 craved no higher result than lemonade. But to 

 attain the culminating saporosity of punch, we must 

 dash into the bowl, at least, a pint of rum and nearly 

 the same volume of brandy. The molecules of 

 alcohol, sugar, and citric acid collide, and an entirely 

 new series of vibratious are produced — tremors to 

 which the dullest palate is attuned. In puuch, then, 

 we have rhythm within rhythm, and all that philo- 

 sophy can do is to take kindly to its subtle 

 harmonies. It will depend in some measure upon 

 previous habits, whether the punch when mixed 

 will be taken in excess or in moderation. It may 

 become a dangerous ally of gravity and bring a sen- 

 tient being to the gutter. But, on the other hand, 

 it may become the potent inner stimulus of a noble 

 outward life. — Exeter Change for the British Lions. 



