334 
NATURE 
[ Fed. 8, 1883 
was selected by myself and my friend as a camping 
ground for a fortnight’s holiday in the height of summer. 
Beyond a few pounds of biscuit and the usual allowance 
of tea and sugar, we had nothing, intending to live on 
whatever the gun and fishing-line brought to bag, and 
pick up as much natural history as possible. At a short 
distance from camp a creek entered the bay, noted for 
the abundance of wild fowl to be found upon it in the 
autumn and winter; but now all the birds were away 
breeding in the vast impenetrable swamps to the south- 
ward of the bay, except a few barren or unmated 
stragglers. . . . The sole result of the day’s sport had 
been a pelican and a small shark, obtained in the first 
hour after sunrise, when alone it was possible to face the 
heat. Neither of us being acquainted with the method 
(if any exist) of rendering pelican a culinary delicacy, 
and having made the acquaintance of fried shark 
to such purpose that we would not willingly renew 
it, nothing remained but to watch for a chance duck. 
This duty being allotted to me, while my companion pre- 
pared the tea, I placed myself towards evening in hiding 
behind a mangrove stump, with the retriever beside me. 
For nearly an hour I endured the torture of a mosquito 
assault on face, hands, and legs, when suddenly a duck 
turned the seaward bend of the creek, and came skimming 
along the water tome. I stepped forward and shouted 
at him, with the usual result of making him hesitate in 
his flight and rise well into the air, exposing the lower 
and most vulnerable side of his body to the charge, 
which in another instant laid him dead upon the water. 
The retriever dashed in to do his part of the work, and 
our supper might have been considered secure, had not a 
swift-winged cloud passed between the very nose of the 
dog and the bird, and with a splendid swoop a sea eagle 
bore off the duck, grasped by one strong foot. The sudden 
and unexpected action deprived me momentarily of all 
thought but admiration for the consummate ease and 
grace of a movement performed without any apparent 
effort, yet so expressive of immense power.” 
Among the novel or otherwise interesting observations 
in natural history which are recorded, we may note the 
following. The young kangaroo, while carried in the 
pouch of its mother, swallows the nipple, the end of which 
rests in the stomach; if forcibly withdrawn, the young 
animal makes no attempt to regain it, nor does it seem to 
have any idea where to seek for it. Again, speaking of 
Prof. Owen’s theory concerning the object of the pouch 
as a ‘‘perambulator,” necessitated by the long droughts 
in Australia to enable the mother to carry about her 
young in her search for water, Mr. Nicols observes that 
this view can only at best apply to the case of kangaroos, 
and therefore can scarcely be taken as the true vazsox 
@étre of the marsupium. Moreover, as a matter of fact, 
the ‘‘arboreal marsupials do zo¢ migrate in the severest 
drought, and in all probability they depend entirely upon 
the copious dew which falls at night upon leaves and 
grass.” 
The following observation on the king lory seems worth 
quoting :— 
“In a few minutes he flew on to a tree well within 
range of the binocular, and shortly afterwards a female 
joined him in answer to his call. The swain was ardent, 
the damsel coy ; they flitted from branch to branch, and 
whenever she perched he circled round her, threw himself 
underneath the branch, and swung to and fro with out- 
spread wings, displaying the full glory of his scarlet 
breast. In every movement, whether on the wing or 
swaying at the end of a bough, he studied to present in 
the most effective manner the brilliant adornments of his 
plumage. . . . I do not think it possible for any one who 
had seen this little episode in bird life to have resisted 
the conclusion that the male was conscious of his beautiful 
breast, and that he adopted the best method of showing 
it by swinging himself beneath the branch, whence the 
female could look down and admire the display.” 
In the course of a discussion on the theory of flight Mr. 
Nicols has occasion to correct several errors of observa- 
tion which have been made by previous writers. Thus, 
Captain F. W. Hutton has said that he has “sometimes 
watched narrowly one of these birds (albatross) sailing 
and wheeling about in all directions for more than an 
hour without seeing the slightest movement of the 
wings”; and the Duke of Argyll, in his “ Reign of 
Law,’’ repeats the statement, on the testimony, as he 
says in reply to a letter from Mr. Nicols on the subject, 
“of many writers and of some friends.’’? But Mr. Nicols 
is very positive in his assertion that “the soaring does 
not continue for more than four minutes without a wholly 
new departure of from twenty to thirty powerful wing im- 
pulses, and it would seem an importation of the super- 
natural into Natural History to admit the possibility 
of sustaining the [soaring] flight for an hour.’ Mr, 
Nicols also questions the accuracy of another statement 
which was published by the Duke in this Journal concern- 
ing the habits of Picus minor. His Grace said that, 
having had an opportunity of closely observing these 
habits, he found that the cock bird drums upon the 
hollow parts of trees with his beak, in order to produce 
“instrumental music’’ wherewith to charm the sitting 
hen. On this it is remarked— 
“The above is dated May, 1880. Although everything 
from the pen of so attentive an observer will be received 
with respect, it must obviously be very difficult to deter- 
mine whether this is really a substitute for vocal music, 
or simply the ordinary beating of the tree to procure 
food.” 
We shall now conclude this brief selection from Mr. 
Nicols’ observations, by quoting a somewhat remarkable 
one which he made in the Zoological Gardens of London. 
“T saw a most extraordinary performance on the part 
of a flamingo towards a cariama. The two birds were in 
adjoining pens in the open air, separated by close wire 
fencing, over which the flamingo could easily reach. The 
cariama was constantly uttering its harsh metallic cry 
while standing opposite to the flamingo, both birds being 
as near the fence as they could stand. They remained 
gazing at each other thus for at least half an hour, each 
replying to the cry of the other. The demeanour was not 
in the least suggestive of anger, but what passion moved 
the flamingo I cannot imagine, unless it had some refer- 
ence to the sexual instinct, and may indicate a habit 
unknown to naturalists. During the whole time that I 
watched them—and perhaps for long before and after— 
the flamingo continued to drop from its beak upon or in 
front of the cariama a bright scarlet fluid, which I cannot 
doubt was blood. The bird was certainly not wounded 
or hurt, and the action, from whatever impulse it pro- 
ceeded, was voluntary, and appeared to afford gratification 
to the performer and to the recipient of this singular 
attention. In reply to a note on the subject, which I at 
once sent to Mr. Darwin, he expressed his surprise at the 
peculiar behaviour of the flamingo, which had not pre- 
viously been brought under his notice, but did not see his 
way to an explanation of it. The keeper told me he had 
witnessed the performance once before, and assured me 
that both birds were in perfect health, and on most friendly 
terms with each other.” 
From the care with which Mr. Nicols has made most 
