SWIMMING BATS.
[To TER EDITOR Or VIZ " Ell•liCTATOR."] Sut,—A contemporary, the Saturday Review, lately made great fun of a statement in one of the daily papers that a bat had been observed swimming. Now, I do not suppose that bats are in the habit of taking their morning bath like good Christians ; never- theless, they are capable, to some slight extent, of paddling themselves about on the surface of still water.
I was once watching a little stream near Guisborough, in Cleveland, where it widened out above a neglected weir. It was about mid-day in summer. A small bat flew out of some cranny in the rocks, I dare say, and fluttered over the pool. Perhaps it was dazzled by the light or the shimmering of the water. Anyhow, it fell into the middle of the pool, and I thought it would be drowned. However, it managed to oar itself with its wings to the opposite bank, and there crept away among the bushes,—a draggled, deplorable.looking object. This summer, I was watching a pond one still, misty evening. It was about sunset, and numbers of bats came out and hawked flies over the water. They often dipped, and once or twice a bat overbalanced itself, and lay with its wings expanded on the water. Incredible as it may seem, after several struggles, these immersed bats succeeded in rising on the wing from the surface of the water, which was there three or four feet deep.
Recently I observed something similar. A wasp was floating in a drinking-trough, on the surface of the water, with its feet spread out. Suddenly, without any apparent effort, it rose from the water, which was quite out of its depth, and began to fly about. It then again deliberately settled on the surface of the water, this time where the water was shallower, so that, after floating about a little, it waded ashore. Perhaps these facts may interest some of your readers.—I am, Sir, &c.,
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