THE LIONESS AND HER CUBS.THE LIONESS AND HER CUBS.
Part of a ship's crew being sent ashore on the coast of India for the purpose of cutting wood, the curiosity of one of the men having led him to stray to a considerable distance from his companions, he was much alarmed by the appearance of a large lioness, who made toward him; but, on her coming up, his fear was allayed, by her lying down at his feet, and looking very earnestly, first in his face, and then at a tree some little distance off. After repeating these looks several times, she arose, and proceeded toward the tree, looking back, as if she wished the sailor to follow her. At length he ventured, and, coming to the tree, perceived a huge baboon, with two young cubs in her arms, which he immediately supposed to be those of the lioness, as she crouched down like a cat, and seemed to eye them very steadfastly. The man being afraid to ascend the tree, decided on cutting it down; and having his axe with him, he set actively to work, when the lioness seemed most attentive to what he was doing. When the tree fell, she pounced upon the baboon, and, after tearing her in pieces, she turned round, and licked the cubs for some time. She then returned to the sailor, and fawned round him, rubbing her head against him in great fondness, and in token of her gratitude for the service done her. After this, she carried the cubs away one by one, and the sailor rejoined his companions, much pleased with the adventure.
A French gentleman relates a remarkable anecdote about a combat which he saw on the banks of the Niger, between a Moorish chief and a lion. The prince took the Frenchman and his company to a place adjoining a large wood which was much infested with wild beasts, and directed them all to climb the trees. They did so. Then, getting upon his horse, and taking three spears and a dagger, he entered the forest, where he soon found a lion, which he wounded with one of the spears. The enraged animal sprang with great fury at his assailant, who, by a feigned flight, led him near the spot where the company were stationed. He then turned his horse, and in a moment darted another spear at the lion, which pierced his body. He alighted, and the lion, now grown furious, advanced with open jaws; but the prince received him on the point of his third spear, which he forced into his throat. Then, at one leap, springing across his body, he cut open his throat with his dagger. In this contest, the Moor's skill was such, that he received only a slight scratch on the thigh.
THE CONVENTION OF ANIMALS.THE CONVENTION OF ANIMALS.
Allow me, in concluding these stories about lions, to recite one from the French. It is fabulous, as you will perceive; but fables are not to be despised. The design of the fable is to illustrate the truth that in a community, every one may be more or less useful. "War having been declared between two nations of animals (for, notwithstanding their instinct, they are as foolish as men), the lion issued a proclamation of the fact to his subjects, and ordered them to appear in person at his camp. Among the great number of animals that obeyed the orders of their sovereign, were some asses and hares. Each animal offered his services for the campaign. The elephant agreed to transport the baggage of the army. The bear took it upon him to make the assaults. The fox proposed to manage the ruses and the stratagems. The monkey promised to amuse the enemy by his tricks. 'Sire,' said the horse, 'send back the asses; they are too lazy—and the hares; they are too timid, and subject to too frequent alarms.' 'By no means,' said the king of the animals; 'our army would not be complete without these. The asses will serve for trumpeters, and the hares will make excellent couriers.'"
THE GALAGO.THE GALAGO.
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rom a recent English periodical, I have obtained some interesting facts in relation to an animal to which naturalists have given the name of the Galago. In the picture on the opposite page you have a portrait of the animal, drawn from life. He is a very singular looking fellow, as you perceive. Not long ago he was brought to England from Zanguebar, in Africa. The specimen, now being exhibited in London, is the first of this race of quadrupeds which has ever been introduced from its native country into any part of Europe, and it is exciting a great deal of interest among naturalists. Very little is known of the genus to which the animal belongs, all its species being found only in the barbarous countries, very little known, on the eastern coast of Africa. They all climb upon trees, like the squirrel. Their habits are strictly nocturnal. They never venture from their retreats while the faintest gleam of daylight is visible; but at the approach of night they become exceedingly active, springing from tree to tree with all the dexterity of the squirrel. In the day time, they remain, for the most part, in the holes of decayed trees. Their food is gum and pulpy fruits. The country where they live is one of the hottest regions on the globe. On this account, the animal sent to England is very sensitive to the sudden changes of that comparatively northern latitude, and it requires much care to preserve him from the influence of the cold. One of the striking peculiarities of the animal is the appearance of his feet. They resemble the hands of a man, as will be seen by the engraving. This peculiarity admirably fits the galago for the life it leads, as it spends a great part of its time in leaping on the boughs of trees. The specimen in England is remarkably tame and frolicksome, and does not seem altogether happy except when he is fondled and petted, when he enjoys himself immensely. During the night he delights in active motion, climbing and playing like a kitten, often uttering a loud, clucking noise, which ends with a sharp, shrill call, of astonishing volume. The animal is not so large as a fox.
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hat distinguished author, Oliver Goldsmith, in his "Animated Nature," has given a most interesting account of the habits of the bear, which I wish, for the benefit of my readers, might be embodied in this chapter, though, on the whole, I think the entire account is too long, and I am forced to omit it. Besides, I suppose it would hardly be just to accord such a civility to the bear, while it is denied to the other animals. According to the description of this eminent practical naturalist, the bear is not by any means the unamiable monster he has been represented to be; but has, on the contrary, a great many good traits of character. He has been slandered, grossly slandered, if we may credit Mr. Goldsmith; and for one, I do credit him. He is exceedingly reliable in most of his statements. Now that I am speaking of Mr. Goldsmith, I can scarce refrain from adding that I have been greatly assisted, in the preparation of this volume, by the work of his above alluded to. It is, and ever will be, a valuable book in the library of those who are interested in becoming acquainted with nature, in her varied aspects.
There are three species of bears—the black, the white, and the brown or Syrian bear. The latter, represented in the engraving on the opposite page, is the one to which allusion is made in Scripture.
THE BROWN BEAR.THE BROWN BEAR.
The bear is capable of strong and generous attachment. Many years ago, Leopold, Duke of Lorraine, in Europe, owned a bear which had become very tame, and which was remarkable for the strength of his love for those whom he happened to fancy. In the winter of 1709, a poor Savoyard boy had been placed in a barn to stay over night. This boy, finding that he was near the hut occupied by the duke's bear, took it into his head to go and pay the bear a visit. It was a singular fancy, to be sure. But as the old proverb says, "There is no accounting for tastes." He had no sooner formed the determination, than off he started to see Marco—for that was the name of the bear. He was cold, I think; and not having any other way of warming himself, he thought he would see if Marco could not be prevailed upon to let him share in the benefit of his shaggy coat for awhile. So in he went, and he and the bear were soon on the best of terms. Marco took him between his paws, and warmed him, by pressing him to his breast, until the next morning, when he allowed him to depart, to ramble about the city. In the evening, the young Savoyard returned to the bear's den, and was received with the same marks of kindness and affection. For several days, the boy made this den his home. The bear saved a part of his food for his companion, and they lived together on the most intimate and friendly terms. A number of days passed in this manner, without the servants knowing any thing about the circumstance, the boy not being in the den when the bear's food was brought. At length, one day, when some one came to bring the generous animal his supper, rather later than usual, the boy was there. The servant then saw the fondness of the bear for the young Savoyard. The boy was asleep. The bear rolled his eyes around, in a furious manner, and seemed to intimate that as little noise as possible must be made, for fear of awaking the child, whom he clasped to his breast. The bear did not move when the food was placed before him. This extraordinary circumstance was related to Leopold, the owner of the bear, who, with a good many others, went to the bear's hut, where they found, with surprise, that the animal never stirred as long as his guest manifested a disposition to sleep. When the little fellow awoke in the morning, he was very much ashamed and alarmed to find that he was discovered, thinking that he should be punished; and he begged the duke's pardon for the liberty he had taken with the bear. The bear, however, caressed his new friend, and tried to prevail upon him to eat a part of the supper which had been brought the previous evening, and which seemed untouched.
Bruin is famous for hugging his enemies so desperately, that they are glad to get clear of him. But in these hugging fights, he sometimes gets the worst of it, as in the following instance. Some years since, when the western part of the State of New York was but slightly settled, some enterprising emigrant from New England had built a saw-mill on the banks of the Genesee river. One day, as he was eating his luncheon, sitting on the log which was going through the sawing operation at the time, a huge black bear came from the woods, toward the mill. The man, leaving his bread and cold bacon on the log, made a spring, and climbed up to a beam above, to get out of the way of the bear, when the latter, mounting the log which the sawyer had left, sat down, with his back toward the saw, and commenced eating the man's dinner. After awhile, the log on which he sat approached so near the saw, that he got scratched a little, and he hitched away a few feet from the saw, and resumed his dinner. But the saw scratched him again soon, of course, and this time rather more seriously. Bruin got angry, and his anger cost him dearly. He wheeled about, and throwing his paws around the saw, he gave it a most desperate hug. In this position he remained, until he was sawn into two pieces, as if he had been a log. Poor fellow! we ought to pity him, I suppose; but it is pretty difficult to avoid a hearty laugh over his misfortunes.
Here is a story of an encounter between a bear and a bull, which is also rather laughable, although there is a good deal of the tragic in it. A bull was attacked in the forest by a rather small bear, when, striking his horns into his assailant, he pinned him against a tree. In this situation they were both found dead; the bull from starvation, the bear from his wounds.
Some years ago, a New Hampshire boy found a very young cub near Lake Winnepeg, and carried it home with him. It was fed and brought up in the house of the boy's father, and became as tame as a dog. At length, it learned to follow the boy to school, and by degrees, it became his daily companion. At first, the other scholars were somewhat shy of Bruin's acquaintance; but before a great while, it became their constant play-fellow, and they delighted in sharing with it the little store of provisions which they brought for their own dinner. However, it wandered off into the woods again, and for four years, nothing was heard of it. Changes had taken place in the school where the bear used to be a welcome guest. Another generation of pupils had taken the place of the bear's old companions. One very cold winter day, while the scholmistress was busy with her lessons, a boy happened to leave the door open, and a huge bear walked in. The consternation of the mistress and her pupils was very great, of course. But what could they do? Nothing but look on, and see what would come of this strange visit. However, the bear molested no one. It walked quietly up to the fire, and warmed itself. Then it walked up to the wall, where the dinner baskets hung, and standing on its hind feet, reached them down, and made free with their contents. By and by, it went out. But the alarm was given, and the poor fellow was shot, when it was found out, by some marks on its body, that it was the identical bear that had used to visit the school four years before.
In one of the expeditions from England to the Polar seas, a white bear was seen to perform an ingenious feat in order to capture some walruses. He was seen to swim cautiously to a large, rough piece of ice, on which these walruses were lying, fast asleep, with their cubs. The wily animal crept up some little hillocks of ice, behind the party, and with his fore feet loosened a large block of ice. This, with the help of his nose and paws, he rolled along until he was near the sleepers, and almost over their heads, when he let it fall on one of the old walruses, who was instantly killed. The other walrus, with her cubs, rolled into the water; but the young one of the dead animal remained with its mother. On this helpless creature the bear then leaped down, and completed the destruction of two animals which it would not have ventured to attack openly.
It often happens, that when a Greenlander and his wife are paddling along out at sea, by coming too near a floating field of ice, a white bear unexpectedly jumps into their canoe. Provided he does not upset it by the weight of his body, he sits calmly and demurely in one end of it, like any other passenger, and allows himself to be rowed to the shore. The Greenlander would very cheerfully dispense with the company of the bear; but dares not dispute his right there—it might cost him a pretty rough handling. So he makes a virtue of necessity, and rows his bearship to the shore.
In the early part of the settlement of this country, an expedition was sent to explore a part of the territory now called Missouri. Bears were found there, at that time, in great abundance, and of very large size. Some of the men belonging to the expedition were in a canoe one day, when they discovered a bear lying in the open grounds, about three hundred paces from the river. Six of the men, all good hunters, immediately went to attack him, and concealing themselves by a small eminence, came within forty paces of him before they were perceived. Four of the hunters now fired, as nearly as they could at the same instant, and each lodged a ball in his body, two of which entered the lungs. The furious animal then sprang up, and ran upon the men, with his mouth wide open, ready for a terrible attack. As he came near, the two hunters who had reserved their fire gave him two rounds, one of which, breaking his shoulder, retarded his progress for a moment; but before they could reload, he was so near that they were obliged to run to the river. Before they reached it, he had almost overtaken them. Two jumped into the canoe; the other four separated, and concealing themselves among the willows, fired as fast as they could reload. They hit him several times; but instead of weakening the monster, each shot only seemed to direct him toward the hunters, till at last he pursued two of them so closely, that they threw aside their guns and pouches, and jumped down a perpendicular bank of some fifteen feet into the river. The bear sprang after them, and was within a few feet of the hindermost, when one of the hunters on the shore shot him in the head, and finally killed him. They dragged him to the shore, and found that eight balls had passed through him, in different directions.
While a British frigate was locked in the ice of the Polar seas, three bears were discovered one morning, directing their course toward the ship. They had undoubtedly been attracted by the scent of a part of the carcass of a sea-horse that the crew had killed a few days before, which had been set on fire, and was burning on the ice at the time of their approach. They proved to be a female bear and her two cubs; but the cubs were nearly as large as the mother. They ran eagerly to the fire, and drew out of the flames a part of the flesh of the sea-horse which remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously. Some of the crew threw large pieces of the flesh from the ship upon the ice, which the old bear took, one by one, and laid before her cubs. Then she divided each piece, and reserved only a very small portion for herself. As she was carrying away the last piece, several of the men on board the ship aimed their muskets at the two cubs, and shot them dead; after which they shot at the old bear, and wounded her, though not mortally. One of the gentlemen who witnessed this spectacle says that it would have drawn pity from any but the most unfeeling hearts, to mark the affectionate concern expressed by this poor beast, as she saw that her young were dying. Though she was sorely wounded herself, and could but just crawl to the place where they lay, she carried the last piece of flesh to them, as she had done with the others, and divided it for them. When she perceived that they refused to eat, she put her paws first upon one and then upon the other, and endeavored to raise them up. All this time it was deeply affecting to hear her moans. When she found she could not stir her dying cubs in this manner, she went away some distance from them, looking back occasionally, and moaning, as if in the utmost distress. This means not availing to entice them away from the spot, she returned, and commenced smelling around them, and licking their wounds. Then she went off a second time, as before, and having crawled a few paces, looked again behind her, and for some time stood still, uttering the most piteous cries. But still her cubs did not rise to follow her, and she returned to them, and with signs of the greatest fondness, went around them separately, placing her paws upon them tenderly, and giving utterance to the same cries of distress. Finding, at last, that they were cold and lifeless, she raised her head toward the ship, and growled in indignation for the murder. Poor creature! the men on board returned her angry cry with a shower of musket balls. She fell between her cubs, and died licking their wounds.
Hans Christian Andersen, in his "Picture Book without Pictures," relates an anecdote, in his droll way, about a tame bear, who got loose, when the man who was exhibiting him was at dinner, and who found his way into the public house, and went straight to a room where there were three children, the eldest of whom was only some six or eight years old. But, Hans, you may tell the rest of the story in your own peculiar language: "The door sprang open, and in stepped the great rough bear! He had grown tired of standing out there in the yard, and he now found his way up the steps. The children were very much frightened at the great, grim-looking beast, and crept each one of them into a corner. But he found them all out, and rubbed them with his nose. He did them no harm, not the slightest. 'It is certainly a big dog,' thought they; and so they patted him kindly. He laid himself down on the floor, and the smallest boy tumbled over him, and amused himself by hiding his curly head in the thick black hair of the animal. The eldest boy now took his drum, and made a tremendous noise; and the bear rose up on his hind legs, and began to dance. It was charming. Each boy took his weapons—for they had been playing at soldiers before their visitor arrived. The bear must have a gun too, and he held it like a regular militia man. What a fine comrade they had found!—and so they marched about the room—'one, two! one, two!' Presently, however, the door opened. It was the children's mother. You should have seen her—her face as white as a sheet; her half-opened mouth, her staring eyes. The smallest of the children ran up to her mother, and shouted with all her might, 'Mama, we are playing at soldiers!'"
THE JUGGLER AND HIS PUPILS.THE JUGGLER AND HIS PUPILS.
Bears have frequently been taught a great many funny tricks. I remember seeing one, when a boy, that would stand on his head, and dance, and perform sundry other feats of skill. His master was an old man, who passed himself off among the little folks as a conjurer. He was dressed in a most grotesque manner, and played on a drum and some kind of wind instrument at the same time. Besides the bear, who seemed to be the hero in the different performances, the juggler had some dogs, which he had trained to dance to his music, and a cock which would walk and dance, after his fashion, on stilts. But I should not care to witness any such performances now. I should not be able to keep out of my mind the thought that the different animals engaged in these exhibitions must have been subjected to a great deal of pain and ill treatment before they could have arrived at such a stage of proficiency, and that thought would imbitter the entertainment, I imagine.
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very body, almost, entertains a sort of hostility to the rat family, and considers himself licensed to say all manner of hard things about them. They are a set of rogues—there is no doubt about that, unless they are universally slandered. But they are shrewd and cunning, as well as roguish; and many of their exploits are worth recording.
There were several slaughter-houses near Paris, where as many as thirty worn-out horses were slaughtered every day. One of these slaughter-houses was regarded as a nuisance, and a proposition was made to remove it at a greater distance from the city. But there was a strong objection made to its removal, on account of the ravages which the rats would make in the neighborhood, when they had no longer the carcasses of the horses to feed upon. These voracious creatures assembled at this spot in such numbers, that they devoured all the flesh (that was not much, perhaps, in many cases) of twenty or thirty horses in one night, so that in the morning nothing remained of these carcasses but bare bones. In one of these slaughter-houses, which was inclosed by solid walls, the carcasses of two or three horses were placed; and in the night the workmen blocked up all the holes through which the rats went in. When this was done, the workmen went inside with lighted torches and heavy clubs, and killed two thousand six hundred and fifty rats. In four such hunts, the numbers destroyed were upward of nine thousand. The rats in this neighborhood made themselves burrows like rabbits; and to such an extent was the building of these underground villages carried, that the earth sometimes tumbled in, and revealed the astonishing work they had been doing.
That is rather a tough story, but I guess we shall have to believe it. It comes to us on the authority of Mr. Jesse, who, in his excellent work on Natural History, is pretty careful to say nothing which cannot be relied upon as true. As to the battle which those men had with the rats in the slaughter-house, it must have been a desperate one. I should not have fancied it much. I had a little experience in fighting with rats once, when I was a boy. They were in a room occupied with meal and flour. The door was closed, so that they could not get out. I was armed with a fire shovel, or something of that sort, and I fought, as I thought at the time, with a good deal of bravery and some skill. But the rats got the better of me. They won the victory. They would jump upon a barrel, and from that upon a shelf, and then down they would fly into my face, ready to gripe me with their teeth. I was glad to beat a retreat soon, I assure you.
They are a shrewd set of fellows, these rats. Some years ago, the cellar of the house in which I resided was greatly infested with them. They devoured potatoes, apples, cabbages, and whatever came in their way; for they are not very particular about their diet, you know. Well, we set a trap for them. It was a flat stone set up on one end, with a figure four. We scattered corn all about the trap, and placed a few barrels on the end of the spindle under the stone. The first night these midnight robbers ate up all the corn around the trap, but did not touch a morsel under it. This they repeated several nights in succession; and all at once, there was not the trace of a rat to be found in the cellar. They no doubt held a council (rats are accustomed to hold councils, it would seem; they once held a council to deliberate upon the best mode of protection against their enemy, the cat, and concluded to put a bell on her ladyship—so the fable says)—they held a council, as I said before, and came to the unanimous conclusion that those quarters were no longer safe. So they decamped forthwith; and the very next day after we missed them, one of our neighbors complained that they were suddenly besieged by a whole army of rats.
A German succeeded in training six rats so that they would go through astonishing exercises. He kept them in a box, which he opened, and from which they came out only as their names were called. This box was placed on a table, before which the man stood. He held a wand in his hand, and called by name such of his pupils as he wished to appear. The one who was called came out instantly, and climbed up the wand, on which he seated himself in an upright posture, looking round on the spectators, and saluting them, after his own fashion. Then he waited the orders of his master, which he executed with the utmost precision, running from one end of the rod to the other counterfeiting death, and performing a multitude of astonishing feats, as he was bidden by his master. After these performances were finished, the pupil received a reward for his good behavior, and for his proficiency in study. The master invited him to come and kiss his face, and eat a part of the biscuit which he held between his lips. Immediately the animal ran toward him, climbed up to his shoulder, licked the cheek of his master, and afterward took the biscuit. Then, turning to the spectators, he seated himself on his master's shoulder, ate his dinner, and returned to his box. The other rats were called, one by one, in the same manner, and all went through the several parts with the same precision.
I have read a pretty tough rat story in the "Penny Magazine," but it is said to be authentic. "An open box," says the narrator, "containing some bottles of Florence oil, was placed in a room which was seldom visited. On going into the room for one of the bottles, it was perceived that the pieces of bladder and the cotton, which were at the mouth of each bottle, had disappeared; and that a considerable quantity of the contents of the bottles had been consumed. This circumstance having excited surprise, some of the bottles were filled with oil, and the mouths of them secured as before. The next morning the coverings of the bottles had again been removed, and part of the oil was gone. On watching the room, through a small window, some rats were seen to get into the box, thrust their tails into the necks of the bottles, and then, withdrawing them, lick off the oil which adhered to them."
Another story about these animals, almost as wonderful, I have upon the authority of a clergyman in England. He says that he was walking out in the meadow one evening, and he observed a great number of rats in the act of emigrating. He stood perfectly still, and the whole army passed close to him. Among the number he tells us was an old rat who was blind. He held a piece of stick by one end in his mouth, while another rat had hold of the other end of it, and was conducting him.
The Chicago Democrat tells the following, prefacing it with the remark that the rats of Chicago are "noted for their firmness and daring." A few nights since, a cat belonging to a friend, while exercising the office of mother of a family of kittens, was attacked by a regularly organized band of rats, which, sad to relate, contrived to kill the parent, and make a prey of the offspring. In the morning the cat was found bitten to death by the side of nine of her assailants, whom she slew before she was overpowered by superior numbers.
The following story about a rat extremely fond of good living, was told me by a clerical friend residing in the city of New York. The family in which this rat lived, had just purchased some round clams, and they were placed in the cellar. One night all the inmates of the house were alarmed by an unusual noise. It appeared as if some one was stamping about the house with heavy boots on. It was a long time before they found out how the matter stood; but when they did find out, an old rat was discovered dragging one of these clams about with him. It appeared that this fellow, thinking it would be nice to have a supper from one of the clams, which he saw open, thrust in his paw, and got caught.
This story reminds me of a French fable about the rat who got tired of staying at home, and went abroad to see something of the world. "A rat with very few brains"—so runs the fable—"got tired of living in solitude, and took it into his head to travel. He had hardly proceeded a mile, before he exclaimed, 'What a grand and spacious world this is! Behold the Alps and the Pyrenees!' The least mole-hill seemed a mountain in his eyes. After a few days, our traveler arrived at the sea-coast, where there were a multitude of oysters. At first he thought they were ships. Among these oysters, was one lying open. The rat perceived it. 'What do I see?' said he. 'Here is a delicate morsel for me, and if I am not greatly mistaken, I shall have a fine dinner to-day.' So he approached the oyster, stretched out his neck, and thrust his head between the shells. The oyster closed, and master Nibble was caught as effectually as if he was in a trap." I believe the moral of this fable is something as follows: "Those who have no experience in the world, are often astonished at the smallest objects, and not unfrequently become the dupes of their ignorance."
In 1776, one of the British ships engaged in the war with this country, became infested with rats to such a degree, that they at last devoured daily nearly a hundred weight of biscuit. They were at last destroyed, by smoking the ship between decks, after which several bushels of them were removed.
In the Isle of France rats are found in prodigious swarms. There were formerly so many, that, according to some accounts, they formed the principal cause for abandoning the island by the Dutch. In some of the houses, thirty thousand have been known to be killed in one year.
In Egypt, when the waters of the Nile retire, after the annual overflow, multitudes of rats and mice are seen to issue from the moistened soil. The Egyptians believe that these animals are generated from the earth; and some of the people assert, that they have seen the rats in a state of formation, while one half of the bodies was flesh and the other half mud.
The following anecdote is related by a correspondent of one of the English newspapers: "This morning," says he, "while reading in bed, I was suddenly interrupted by a noise similar to that made by rats, when running through a double wainscot, and endeavoring to pierce it. The noise ceased for some moments, and then commenced again. I was only two or three feet from the wall whence the noise proceeded; and soon I perceived a great rat making his appearance at a hole. It looked about for awhile, without making any noise, and having made the observations it wished, it retired. An instant after, I saw it come again, leading by the ear another rat, larger than itself, and which appeared to be much advanced in years. Having left this one at the edge of the hole, it was joined by another young rat. The two then ran about the chamber, collecting the crumbs of bread which had fallen from the table at supper the previous evening, and carried them to the rat which they had left at the edge of the hole. I was astonished at this extraordinary attention on the part of the young rats, and continued to observe all their motions with a great deal of care. It soon appeared clear to me that the animal to whom the food was brought was blind, and unable to find the bread which was placed before it, except by feeling after it. The two younger ones were undoubtedly the offspring of the other, and they were engaged in supplying the wants of their poor, blind parent. I admired the wisdom of the God of nature, who has given to all animals a social tenderness, a gratitude, I had almost said a virtue, proportionate to their faculties. From that moment, these creatures, which I had before abhorred, seemed to become my friends. By and by, a person opened the door of the room, when the two young rats warned the blind one by a cry; and in spite of their fears, they did not seek for safety themselves, until assured that their blind parent was beyond the reach of danger. They followed as the other retired, and served as a sort of rear-guard."
FIELD MICE.FIELD MICE.
There are several species of mice. The engraving represents the field mouse, an animal which sometimes makes great havoc with the farmer's grain. The common domestic mouse is perhaps better known. He is generally, and I think I may say justly, regarded as a pest in the house where he becomes a tenant. But he is an interesting animal, after all. I love to watch him—the sly little fellow—nibbling his favorite cheese, his keen black eye looking straight at me, all the time, as if to read by my countenance what sort of thoughts I had about his mouseship. How much at home he always contrives to make himself in a family! How very much at his ease he is, as he regales himself on the best things which the house affords!
A day or two ago, a friend of mine was telling me an amusing story about some mice with which he had the pleasure of a slight acquaintance. He lived in the same house with a gentleman who kept a sort of bachelor's hall, and who was a great lover of pets. This gentleman took him into his room one day to see a mouse which he was educating to be a companion of his lonely hours. The bachelor remarked that he had been a pensioner for some time, that he fed him bountifully every day, and that he had become very tame indeed. "But," said the mouse's patron, "he is an ungrateful fellow. He is not content with eating what I give him; he destroys every thing he can lay hold of." A short time after this, my friend was called in again, when he was told by the bachelor, that, the mouse having become absolutely intolerable by his petty larcenies and grand larcenies, he set a trap for him and caught him. But still the larcenies continued. He set his trap again, and caught another rogue, and another, and another, till at last he found he had been making a pet of thirteen mice, instead of one, as he at first supposed.
The field mouse, represented in the engraving, lays up a large store of provisions in his nice little nest under ground, which he keeps for winter. These mice are very particular in stowing away their winter store. The corn, acorns, chestnuts, hickory nuts, and whatever else they hoard up, have each separate apartments. One room contains nothing but corn, another nothing but chestnuts, and so on. When they have exhausted their stock of provisions before spring, and they have nothing else to eat, they turn to, and eat one another. They are regular cannibals, if their manners and customs have been correctly reported. Sometimes the hogs, as they are roaming about the pasture, in the autumn, soon after a family of field mice have laid in their provisions, and before the ground has frozen, come across the nest, and smell the good things that are in it. Then the poor mouse has to suffer. The author of the Boy's Winter Book thus graphically and humorously describes the misfortunes of such a mouse: "There he sits huddled up in a dark corner, looking on, as the hog is devouring the contents of his house, saying to himself, no doubt, 'I wish it may choke you, you great, grunting brute, that I do. There go my poor acorns, a dozen at a mouthfull. Twelve long journeys I had to take to the foot of the old oak, where I picked them up—such a hard day's work, that I could hardly get a wink of sleep, my bones ached so. And now that great glutton gobbles them all up at once, and makes nothing of it! What I shall do in the winter, I'm sure I don't know. There goes my corn, too, which I brought, a little at a time, all the way from the field on the other side of the woods, and with which I was often obliged to rest, two or three times before I reached home; and then I sometimes had to lay my load down, while I had a battle with another field mouse, who tried to take the corn away from me, under pretence of helping me to carry it home, which I knew well enough meant his own nest. And after all this fighting, and slaving, and carrying heavy loads from sunrise to sunset, here comes a pair of great, grunting pork chaps, and make a meal from my hard earnings. Well, never mind, Mr. Pig. It's winter now; but perhaps by next harvest time, I shall creep into some reaper's basket, and have a taste of you, when he brings a part of you, nicely cured and cooked, and laid lovingly between two slices of bread and butter. I'll be even with you then, old fellow—that I will, if I am only spared!' And so he creeps out, scarcely knowing whether he should make up his mind to beg, borrow, or steal, half muttering to himself, as he hops across the way, to visit some neighbor for a breakfast, 'I declare such infamous treatment is enough to make one dishonest, and never be industrious and virtuous any more!'"
Drop capital F
riend reader, did you ever see the rabbit bounding along through the bushes, when you have been walking in the woods? When a boy, I used often to be amused at the gambols of the rabbits, in the woods near my father's house. They do not run very gracefully or very fast, and a dog easily overtakes them. It seems cruel to hunt them, and set snares for them; and yet if they are wanted for food, doubtless there is no harm in taking their life. The way in which I used to catch them, years ago, when the sources of my enjoyment were widely different from what they are at present, was by means of a box-trap with a lid to it, so adjusted that the poor rabbit, when he undertook to nibble the apple, attached to the spindle for a bait, sprung the trap, and made himself a prisoner. Another method we used to employ to catch the rabbit, was something like this: a fence was made of brush-wood, about three feet high, and reaching some rods in length. The brush in this fence was interlaced so closely, that rabbits and partridges could not get through except at intervals of a few yards, where there was a door. At this door was a noose connecting with a flexible pole, which was bent down for the purpose. The unsuspecting rabbit, in his journeyings from place to place, comes to the fence. He could leap over, if he should try. But he thinks it cheaper to walk through the door, especially as there is a choice bit of apple suspended over the entrance. Well, he attempts to go through, stopping a minute to eat that favorite morsel; he thrusts his head into the noose; the trap is sprung, and the elastic pole twitches the poor wayfarer up by the neck. It is rather barbarous business, this snaring innocent rabbits; and I should much rather my young friends would adopt either of a hundred other sports of winter, than this.
THE RABBIT TRAP.THE RABBIT TRAP.
The father of a family of rabbits is said to exercise a very respectable discipline among the children. Would it not be well for some of our fathers and mothers to attend school, a quarter or so, in one of their villages? The father among rabbits is a patriarch. Somebody who owned several tame ones, tells us that whenever any of them quarreled, the father instantly ran among them, and at once peace and order were restored. "If he caught any one quarreling, he always punished him as an example to the rest. Having taught them to come to me," says this man, "with the call of a whistle, the instant this signal was given, I saw this old fellow marshal up his forces, sometimes taking the lead, and sometimes making them file off before him."
THE RABBIT.THE RABBIT.
Drop Capital P
robably most of my readers are so well acquainted with natural history, that they do not need to be told that the hare and the rabbit are very like, in their appearance, as well as in most of their habits. The two animals, however, are sufficiently unlike to be entitled to a separate introduction in our stories.
Hares have been known to possess a good deal of cunning, which is a fortunate circumstance for them, as they often need not a little of this trait of character in their numerous persecutions. "I have seen," says Du Fouilloux, a French naturalist, "a hare so cunning, that, as soon as it heard the huntsman's horn, it started from its place, and though at the distance of a quarter of a league from it, leaped to a pond, and there hid itself among the rushes, thus escaping the pursuit of the dogs. I have seen a hare, which, after having run above two hours before the dogs, has dislodged another hare, and taken possession of its residence. I have seen them swim over three ponds, of which the smallest was not less than eighty paces broad. I have seen others, which, after having been warmly chased for two hours, have entered a sheep-cot, through the little opening under the door, and remained among the cattle. Others, again, when the dogs have chased them, have joined a flock of sheep in the field, and, in like manner, remained with them. I have seen others, which, when they heard the dogs, have concealed themselves in the earth, or have gone along on one side of a hedge, and returned by the other, so that there was only the thickness of the hedge between the dogs and the hare. I have seen others, which, after they had been chased for half an hour, have mounted an old wall of six feet high, and taken refuge in a hole covered with ivy."
An English hunter tells a very affecting anecdote about two hares which were chased by a pack of dogs. A hare which they had pursued for some time was nearly exhausted. On the way, he came across another hare, doubtless a personal friend of his. The latter, after a short conversation with the former—for there was not time for many ceremonies—took the place of the poor weary one, and allowed himself to be chased by the dogs, while the other, who must soon have fallen a victim to the dogs, was left to shift as best he could, and try to find a place of shelter.
The hares in Liberia exhibit much foresight. In the month of August they cut great quantities of soft, tender grass, and other herbs, which they spread out to dry. This hay, early in autumn, they collect into heaps, and place either beneath the overhanging rocks, or around the trunks of trees, in conical heaps of various sizes, resembling the stacks in which men sometimes preserve their hay in winter. The stacks which the hares make are much smaller, however, not usually more than three feet high. In the winter these stacks are covered with snow, and the animals make a path between them and their holes. They select the best of vegetables for their winter store, and crop them when in the fullest vigor, and these they make into the best and greenest hay.
Dr. Towson, while in Gottingen, succeeded in getting a young hare so tame, that it would play about his sofa and bed. It would leap upon his knee, pat him with its fore feet, and frequently, while he was reading, it would jump up in his lap, and knock the book out of his hand, so as to get a share of his attention.