Heads and tales
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Title: Heads and tales
or, Anecdotes and stories of quadrupeds and other beasts, chiefly connected with incidents in the histories of more or less distinguished men.
Editor: Adam White
Release date: June 28, 2008 [eBook #25918]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25918
Credits: Produced by Julia Miller, Janet Blenkinship and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEADS AND TALES ***
Produced by Julia Miller, Janet Blenkinship and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
HEADS AND TALES.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
[Illustration: The Tasmanian Wolf. (_Thylacinus Cynocephalus._)]
HEADS AND TALES;
OR,
ANECDOTES AND STORIES OF QUADRUPEDS
AND OTHER BEASTS,
CHIEFLY CONNECTED WITH INCIDENTS IN THE
HISTORIES OF MORE OR LESS DISTINGUISHED MEN.
COMPILED AND SELECTED BY
ADAM WHITE,
LATE ASSISTANT IN THE ZOOLOGICAL DEPARTMENT, BRITISH MUSEUM.
Second Edition.
LONDON:
JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.
MDCCCLXX.
PREFACE.
In this work, a part of which is, so far as it extends, a careful
compilation from an extensive series of books, the great order mammalia,
or, rather, a few of its subjects, is treated anecdotically. The
connexion of certain animals with man, and the readiness with which man
can subdue even the largest of the mammalia, are very curious subjects
of thought. The dog and horse are our special friends and associates;
they seem to understand us, and we get very much attached to them. The
cat or the cow, again, possess a different degree of attachment, and
have "heads and hearts" less susceptible of this education than the
first mentioned. The anecdotes in this book will clearly show facts of
this nature. In the Letter of the Gorilla, under an appearance of
exaggeration, will be found many facts of its history. We have a strong
belief that natural history, written as White of Selborne did his Letter
of Timothy the Tortoise, would be very enticing and interesting to young
people. To make birds and other animals relate their stories has been
done sometimes, and generally with success. There are anecdotes hinging,
however, on animals which have more to do with man than the other
mammals referred to in the little story. These stories we have felt to
be very interesting when they occur in biographies of great men. Cowper
and his Hares, Huygens and his Sparrow, are tales--at least the
former--full of interesting matter on the history of the lower animal,
but are of most value as showing the influence on the man who amused
himself by taming them. We like to know that the great Duke, after
getting down from his horse Copenhagen, which carried him through the
whole battle of Waterloo, clapped him on the neck, when the war-charger
kicked out, as if untired.
We could have added greatly to this book, especially in the part of
jests, puns, or cases of _double entendre_. The few selected may
suffice. The so-called conversations of "the Ettrick Shepherd" are full
of matter of this kind, treated by "Christopher North" with a happy
combination of rare power of description and apt exaggeration of detail,
often highly amusing. One or two instances are given here, such as the
Fox-hunt and the Whale. The intention of this book is primarily to be
amusing; but it will be strange if it do not instruct as well. There is
much in it that is _true_ of the habits of mammalia. These, with birds,
are likely to interest young people generally, more than anecdotes of
members of orders like fish, insects, or molluscs, lower in the scale,
though often possessing marvellous instincts, the accounts of which form
intensely interesting reading to those who are fond of seeing or hearing
of "the works of the Lord," and who "take pleasure" in them.
CONTENTS.
MAMMALIA.[1]
PAGE
MAN 1
Gainsborough's Joke--Skull of Julius Caesar when a boy 2
Sir David Wilkie's simplicity about Babies 3
James Montgomery translates into verse a description of
Man, after the manner of Linnaeus 4
Addison and Sir Richard Steele's Description of Gimcrack
the Collector 5
MONKEYS 9
The Gorilla and its Story 9
The Orang-Utan 11
The Chimpanzee 12
Letter of Mr Waterton 20
Mr Mitchell and the Young Chimpanzee 22
Lady Anne Barnard pleads for the Baboons 24
S. Bisset and his Trained Monkeys 25
Lord Byron's Pets 26
The Ettrick Shepherd's Monkey 27
The Findhorn Fisherman and the Monkey 29
"We ha'e seen the _Enemy_!" 29
The French Marquis and his Monkey 30
George IV. and Happy Jerry.--Mr Cross's Rib-nosed
Baboon at Exeter Change 31
The Young Lady's pet Monkey and the poor Parrot 33
Monkeys "poor relations" 34
Sydney Smith on Monkeys 34
Mrs Colin Mackenzie on the Apes at Simla 35
The Aye-Aye, or Cheiromys of Madagascar 36
BATS 38
One of Captain Cook's Sailors sees a Fox-Bat, and describes
it as a devil 39
Fox Bats (_with a Plate_) 41
Dr Mayerne and his Balsam of Bats 47
HEDGEHOG 48
Robert Southey to his Critics 48
MOLE 49
Mole, cause of Death of William III. 49
BROWN BEAR 56
The Austrian General and the Bear--"Back, rascal, I
am a general!" 58
Lord Byron's Bear at Cambridge 59
Charles Dickens on Bear's Grease and Bear-keepers 59
A Bearable Pun 60
A Shaved Bear 61
POLAR BEAR 61
General History and Anecdotes of Polar Bear, as observed
on recent Arctic Expeditions (_with a Plate_) 61
Nelson and the Polar Bear 67
A Clever Polar Bear 67
Captain Ommaney and the Polar Bear 70
RACCOON 71
"A Gone Coon" 71
BADGER 71
Hugh Miller sees the "Drawing of the Badger" 72
The Laird of Balnamoon and the Brock 75
FERRET 75
Collins and the Rat-catcher, with the Ferret 76
POLE-CAT 76
Fox and the Poll-Cat 77
DOG 77
Phrases about Dogs 77
Cowper's Dog 79
Cowper and his dog Beau 81
Burns's "Twa Dogs" 81
Dog of Assyrian Monument 86
Bishop Blomfield bitten by a Dog 88
Sydney Smith's Remark on it 88
Bishop of Bristol--"Puppies never see till they are nine
days old" 88
Mrs Browning, the Poetess, and her dog Flush 89
Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, Bart., and his dog Speaker 93
Lord Byron and his dog Boatswain 94
Lady's reason for calling her dog Perchance 96
Collins the Artist and his dog Prinny--the faithful
Model 96
Soldier and Dog 97
Bark and Bite!--Curran on Lord Clare and his Dog 98
Mrs Drew and the two Dogs 98
Gainsborough and his Wife and their Dogs 100
Sir William Gell's Dog, which was said to speak 101
The Duke of Gordon's Wolf-hounds 102
Frederick the Great and his Italian Greyhounds 104
The Dog and the French Murderers 104
Hannah More on Garrick's Dog 105
Rev. Robert Hall and the Dog 106
A Queen (Henrietta Maria) and her Lap-Dog 106
The Clever Dog that belonged to the Hunters of Polmood 107
The Irish Clergyman and the Dogs 108
Washington Irving and the Dog 108
Douglas Jerrold and his Dog 109
Sheridan and the Dog 109
Charles Lamb and his dog "Dash" 110
French Dogs of Louis XII. 110
Martin Luther observes a Dog at Lintz 111
Poor Dog at the Grotta del Cane 111
Dog a Postman and Carrier 113
South and Sherlock--Dog-matic 113
General Moreau and his Greyhound 113
Duke of Norfolk and his Spaniels 114
Lord North and the Dog 115
Perthes derives Hints from his Dog 115
Peter the Great and his dog Lisette 116
The Light Company's Poodle and Sir F. Ponsonby 118
Admiral Rodney and his dog Loup 119
Ruddiman and his dog Rascal 119
Mrs Schimmelpenninck and the Dogs 120
Sir Walter Scott and his Dogs 122
Sheridan on the Dog-Tax 123
Sydney Smith dislikes Dogs.--An ingenious way of getting
rid of them 124
Sydney Smith on Dogs 125
Sydney Smith.--"Newfoundland Dog that breakfasted
on Parish Boys" 126
Robert Southey on his Dogs 126
A Dog that was a good judge of Elocution.--Mr True
and his Pupil 127
Dog that tried to please a Crying Child 128
Horace Walpole's pet dog Rosette 128
Horace Walpole.--Arrival of his dog Tonton 129
Horace Walpole.--Death of his dog Tonton 130
Archbishop Whateley and his Dogs 131
Archbishop Whately on Dogs 132
Sir David Wilkie.--A Dog Rose 133
Ulysses and his Dog 133
WOLF 135
Polson and the Last Wolf in Sutherlandshire 135
"If the tail break, you'll find that" 137
FOX 138
An Enthusiastic Fox-hunting Surgeon 138
Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, on the Pleasures of Fox-hunting,
and the gratification of the Fox 139
Arctic Foxes converted into Postmen, with Anecdotes
(_with a plate_) 142
JACKAL 148
Burke on the Jackal and Tiger 149
CAT 149
Jeremy Bentham and his pet cat "Sir John Langborn 150
S. Bisset and his Musical Cats 152
Constant, Chateaubriand, and their Cats 153
Liston, the Surgeon, and his Cat 153
The Banker Mitchell's Antipathy to Kittens 154
James Montgomery and his Cats 155
David Ritchie's Cat 157
Sir Walter Scott's Visit to the Black Dwarf 157
Southey, the Poet, and his Cats 158
Archbishop Whateley and the Cat that used to ring the
Bell 160
TIGER AND LION 161
Bussapa, the Tiger-slayer, and the Tiger 162
John Hunter and the Dead Tiger 164
Mrs Mackenzie on the Indian's regard and awe for the
Tiger 165
Jolly Jack-tar on Lion and Tiger 166
Androcles and the Lion 167
Sir George Davis and the Lion 170
Canova's Lions and the Child 171
Admiral Napier and the Lion in the Tower 173
Old Lady and the Beasts on the Mound 173
SEALS 174
Dr Adam Clarke on Shetland Seals 175
Dr Edmonstone and the Shetland Seals 176
The Walrus or Morse (_with a Plate_) 182
KANGAROO 188
Charles Lamb on its Peculiarities 188
Captain Cooke's Sailor and the first Kangaroo seen 189
Charles Lamb on Kangaroos having Purses in front 189
Kangaroo Cooke 189
TIGER WOLF 190
SQUIRREL, &c. 194
Jekyll on a Squirrel 195
Pets of some of the Parisian Revolutionary Butchers 195
Sir George Back and the poor Lemming 196
McDougall and Arctic Lemming 197
RATS AND MICE 198
Duke of Wellington and Musk-Rat 200
Lady Eglinton and the Rats 200
General Douglas and the Rats 201
Hanover Rats 202
Irishman Shooting Rats 203
James Watt and the Rat's Whiskers 204
Gray the Poet compares Poet-Laureate to Rat-catcher 204
Jeremy Bentham and the Mice 205
Robert Burns and the Field Mouse 206
Fuller on Destructive Field Mice 208
Baron Von Trenck and the Mouse in Prison 209
Alexander Wilson, the American Ornithologist, and the
Mouse 211
HARES, RABBITS, GUINEA-PIG 212
William Cowper on his Hares 213
Lord Norbury on the Exaggeration of a Hare-Shooter 220
Duke of L. prefers Friends to Hares 221
S. Bisset and his Trained Hare and Turtle 221
Lady Anne Barnard on a Family of Rabbits all blind of
one eye 222
Thomas Fuller on Norfolk Rabbits 222
Dr Chalmers and the Guinea-Pig 223
SLOTH 224
Sydney Smith on the Sloth--a Comparison 224
THE GREAT ANT-EATER (_with a Plate_) 225
ELEPHANT 229
Lord Clive--Elephant or Equivalent? 230
Canning on the Elephant and his Trunk 232
Sir R. Phillips and Jelly made of Ivory Dust 233
J. T. Smith and the Elephant 234
Sydney Smith on the Elephant and Tailor 235
Elephant's Skin--a teacher put down 236
FOSSIL PACHYDERMATA 236
Cuvier's Enthusiasm over Fossils 236
SOW 238
"There's a hantle o' miscellaneous eatin' aboot a Pig" 238
"Pig-Sticking at Chicago" 238
Monument to a Pig at Luneberg 239
WILD BOAR (_with a Plate_) 239
THE RIVER PIG (_with a Plate_) 245
S. Bisset and his Learned Pig 250
Quixote Bowles fond of Pigs 251
On Jekyll's treading on a small Pig 251
Good enough for a Pig 251
Gainsborough's Pigs 252
Theodore Hook and the Litter of Pigs 253
Lady Hardwicke's Pig--her Bailiff 253
Pigs and Silver Spoon 253
Sydney Smith on Beautiful Pigs 254
Joseph Sturge, when a boy, and the Pigs 255
RHINOCEROS 229
The Lord Keeper Guildford and the Rhinoceros in the
City of London 230
HORSE 256
Horse shot under Albert 256
Bell-Rock Lighthouse Horse 257
Edmund Burke and the Horse 257
David Garrick and his Horse, "A horse! a horse! my
kingdom for a horse!" 258
Bernard Gilpin's Horses stolen and recovered 260
The Herald and George III.'s Horse 261
Rev. Rowland Hill and his Horse 261
Holcroft on the Horse 263
Lord Mansfield, his Joke about a Horse 267
Sir John Moore and his Horse at Corunna 268
Neither Horses nor Children can explain their Complaints 269
Horses with Names 270
Rennie the Engineer and the Horse Old Jack 270
Sydney Smith and his Horses 271
Sydney Smith.--He drugs his Domestic Animals 273
Horseback, an Absent Clergyman 273
Judge Story and the Names he gave his Horses 274
Short-tailed and Long-tailed Horses at Livery, difference
of Charge 275
ASS AND ZEBRA 276
Coleridge on the Ass 276
Collins and the old Donkey at Odell 276
Gainsborough kept one to Study from 277
Irishman on the Ramsgate Donkeys 278
Douglas Jerrold and the Ass's Foal 278
The Judge and the Barrister 279
Ass that loved Poetry 279
Warren Hastings and the refractory Donkey 279
Northcote, an Angel at an Ass 281
Sydney Smith's Donkey with Jeffrey on his back 281
Sydney Smith on the Sagacity of the Ass 283
Sydney Smith's Deers, how he introduced them into
his Grounds to gratify Visitors 284
Asses' Duty Free 284
Thackeray on Egyptian Donkey 285
Zebra, a Frenchman's _double-entendre_ 287
CAMELS 287
Captain William Peel, R.N., on Camel 287
Captain in Royal Navy measures the progress of the
Ship of the Desert 289
Lord Metcalfe on a Camel when a Boy 290
RED DEER 291
Earl of Dalhousie and the ferocious Stag 291
The French Count and the Stag 293
FALLOW DEER 294
Venison Fat, Reynolds and the Gourmand 294
Goethe on Stag-trench at Frankfort-on-Maine 294
GIRAFFE 295
"Fancy Two Yards of Sore Throat!" 295
SHEEP AND GOAT 295
How many Legs has a Sheep? 296
Goethe on Roos's Etchings of Sheep 296
Lord Cockburn and the Sheep 298
Erskine's Sheep--an Eye to the Woolsack 298
Sandy Wood and his Pet Sheep and Raven 298
General Carnac and She-goat 299
John Hunter and the Shawl-goat 300
Commodore Keppel _beards_ the Dey of Algiers 303
OX 304
Irish Bulls 304
A great Calf! "The more he sucked the greater Calf he
grew!" 304
Veal _ad nauseam!_ too much of a good thing 304
James Boswell should confine himself to the Cow 305
Rev. Adam Clarke and his Bullock Pat 305
Samuel Foote and the Cows pulling the Bell of Worcester
College 306
The General's Cow at Plymouth 308
Gilpin's Love of the Picturesque carried out--a reason
for keeping three Cows 308
King James on a Cow getting over the Border 309
Duke of Montague and his Hospital for Old Cows and
Horses 309
Philip IV. of Spain in the Bull-ring 310
Sydney Smith and his "Universal Scratcher" 311
Rev. Augustus Toplady on the Future State of Animals--the
Rev. William Bull 312
Windham on the Feelings of a Baited Bull 313
WHALE 315
A Porpoise not at Home 315
Whalebone 315
"What's to become o' the puir Whales?" 316
Very like a Whale! 316
Christopher North on the Whale 316
FOOTNOTES:
[1] There are many anecdotes in this book not included in this list,
which gives however, the principal.
HEADS AND TALES.
MAN.
In this collection, like Linnaeus, we begin with man as undoubtedly an
animal, as opposed to a vegetable or mineral. Like Professor Owen, we
are inclined to fancy he is well entitled to separate rank from even the
Linnaean order, _Primates_, and to have more systematic honour conferred
on him than what Cuvier allowed him. That great French naturalist placed
man in a section separate from his four-handed order, _Quadrumana_, and,
from his two hands and some other qualities, enrolled our race in an
order, _Bimana_. Surely the ancients surpassed many modern naturalists
of the Lamarckian school, who would derive him from an ourang, a
chimpanzee, or a gorilla. One of them has nobly said--
"Os homini sublime dedit, coelumque tueri."
Our own Sir William Hamilton, in a few powerful words has condensed what
will ever be, we are thankful to suppose, the general idea of most men,
be they naturalists or not, that mind and soul have much to distinguish
us from every other animal:--
"What man holds of matter does not make up his personality. Man is not
an organism. He is an intelligence served by organs. _They are_ HIS,
_not_ HE."
As a mere specimen, we subjoin two or three anecdotes, although the
species, _Homo sapiens_, has supplied, and might supply, many volumes of
anecdotes touching on his whims and peculiarities. As a good example of
the Scottish variety, who is there that does not know Dean Ramsay's
"Reminiscences?" Surely each nation requires a similar judicious
selection. Mr Punch, especially when aided by his late admirable artist,
John Leech, shows seemingly that John Bull and his family are as
distinct from the French, as the French are from the Yankees.
THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH THE ARTIST, AND THE TAILOR.
Gainsborough, the painter, was very ready-witted. His biographer[2]
records the following anecdote of him as very likely to be authentic.
The great artist occasionally made sketches from an honest old tailor,
of the name of Fowler, who had a picturesque countenance and silver-gray
locks. On the chimney-piece of his painting-room, among other
curiosities, was a beautiful preparation of an infant _cranium_,
presented to the painter by his old friend, Surgeon Cruickshanks.
Fowler, without moving his position, continually peered at it askance
with inquisitive eye. "Ah! Master Fowler," said the painter, "that is a
mighty curiosity." "What might it be, sir, if I may be so bold?" "A
_whale's eye_," replied Gainsborough. "Oh! not so; never say so, Muster
Gainsborough. Laws! sir, it is a little child's skull!" "You have hit
upon it," said the wag. "Why, Fowler, you are a witch! But what will you
think when I tell you that it is the skull of _Julius Caesar_ when he was
a little boy?" "Do you say so!" exclaimed Fowler, "what a phenomenon!"
This reminds us of a similar story told of a countryman, who was shown
the so-called skull of Oliver Cromwell at the museum in Oxford, and
expressed his delight by saying how gratifying it was to see skulls of
great men at different ages, for he had just seen at Bath the skull of
the Protector when a youth!
SIR DAVID WILKIE AND THE BABY.
A very popular novelist and author of the present day tells the
following anecdote of the simplicity of Sir David Wilkie, with regard to
his knowledge of _infant_ human nature:--
On the birth of his first son, at the beginning of 1824, William
Collins,[3] the great artist, requested Sir David Wilkie to become one
of the sponsors for his child.[4] The painter's first criticism on his
future godson is worth recording from its simplicity. Sir David, whose
studies of human nature extended to everything but _infant_ human
nature, had evidently been refreshing his faculties for the occasion, by
taxing his boyish recollections of puppies and kittens; for, after
looking intently into the child's eyes as it was held up for his
inspection, he exclaimed to the father, with serious astonishment and
satisfaction, "He _sees_!"
MAN DEFINED SOMEWHAT IN THE LINNAEAN MANNER.
One who is partial to the Linnaean mode of characterising objects of
natural history has amused himself with drawing up the following
definition of man:--"_Simia sine cauda; pedibus posticis ambulans;
gregarius, omnivorus, inquietus, mendax, furax, rapax, salax, pugnax,
artium variarum capax, animalium reliquorum hostis, sui ipsius inimicus
acerrimus._"
Montgomery translated the description thus:--
"Man is an animal unfledged,
A monkey with his tail abridged;
A thing that walks on spindle legs,
With bones as brittle, sir, as eggs;
His body, flexible and limber,
And headed with a knob of timber;
A being frantic and unquiet,
And very fond of beef and riot;
Rapacious, lustful, rough, and martial,
To lies and lying scoundrels partial!
By nature form'd with splendid parts
To rise in science--shine in arts;
Yet so confounded cross and vicious,
A mortal foe to all his species!
His own best _friend_, and you must know,
His own worst _enemy_ by being so!"[5]
ADDISON AND STEELE ON SOME OF THE PECULIARITIES OF THE NATURAL HISTORY
COLLECTORS OF THE DAY.
In one of the early volumes of _Chambers's Edinburgh Journal_, there was
a very curious paper entitled "Nat Phin." Although considerably
exaggerated, no one who had the happiness of knowing the learned,
amiable, and excellent Dr Patrick Neill, could fail to recognise, in the
transposed title, an amusing description of his love of natural history
pets, zoological and botanical. The fun of the paper is that "Nat" gets
married, and, coming home one day from his office, finds that his young
wife has caused the gardener to clear out his ponds of tadpoles and
zoophytes.
Addison or Sir Richard Steele, or both of them, in the following paper
of the _Tatler_ (No. 221, Sept. 7, 1710), has given one of those quietly
satiric pictures of many a well-known man of the day, some Petiver or
Hans Sloane. The widow Gimcrack's letter is peculiarly racy. Although
old books, the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_ still furnish rare material to
many a popular magazine writer of the day, who sometimes does little
more than dilute a paper in these and other rare repertories of the
style and wit of a golden age. We meditated offering various extracts
from Swift and Daniel Defoe; but our space limits us to one, and the
following may for the present suffice.
"_From my own Apartment, September 6._
"As I was this morning going out of my house, a little boy in a black
coat delivered me the following letter. Upon asking who he was, he told
me that he belonged to my Lady Gimcrack. I did not at first recollect
the name, but, upon inquiry, I found it to be the widow of Sir Nicholas,
whose legacy I lately gave some account of to the world. The letter ran
thus:--
"'MR BICKERSTAFF,--I hope you will not be surprised to receive a letter
from the widow Gimcrack. You know, sir, that I have lately lost a very
whimsical husband, who, I find, by one of your last week's papers, was
not altogether a stranger to you. When I married this gentleman, he had
a very handsome estate; but, upon buying a set of microscopes, he was
chosen a _Fellow of the Royal Society; from which time I do not remember
ever to have heard him speak as other people did_, or talk in a manner
that any of his family could understand him. He used, however, to pass
away his time very innocently in conversation with several members of
that learned body: for which reason I never advised him against their
company for several years, until at last I found his brain quite turned
with their discourses. The first symptoms which he discovered of his
being a _virtuoso_, as you call him, poor man! was about fifteen years
ago; when he gave me positive orders to turn off an old weeding woman,
that had been employed in the family for some years. He told me, at the
same time, that there was no such thing in nature as a weed, and that it
was his design to let his garden produce what it pleased; so that, you
may be sure, it makes a very pleasant show as it now lies. About the
same time he took a humour to ramble up and down the country, and would
often bring home with him his pockets full of moss and pebbles. This,
you may be sure, gave me a heavy heart; though, at the same time, I must
needs say, he had the character of a very honest man, notwithstanding
he was reckoned a little weak, until he began to sell his estate, and
buy those strange baubles that you have taken notice of. Upon
midsummerday last, as he was walking with me in the fields, he saw a
very odd-coloured butterfly just before us. I observed that he
immediately changed colour, like a man that is surprised with a piece of
good luck; and telling me that it was what he had looked for above these
twelve years, he threw off his coat, and followed it. I lost sight of
them both in less than a quarter of an hour; but my husband continued
the chase over hedge and ditch until about sunset; at which time, as I
was afterwards told, he caught the butterfly as she rested herself upon
a cabbage, near five miles from the place where he first put her up. He
was here lifted from the ground by some passengers in a very fainting
condition, and brought home to me about midnight. His violent exercise
threw him into a fever, which grew upon him by degrees, and at last
carried him off. In one of the intervals of his distemper he called to
me, and, after having excused himself for running out his estate, he
told me that he had always been more industrious to improve his mind
than his fortune, and that his family must rather value themselves upon
his memory as he was a wise man than a rich one. He then told me that it
was a custom among the Romans for a man to give his slaves their liberty
when he lay upon his death-bed. I could not imagine what this meant,
until, after having a little composed himself, he ordered me to bring
him a flea which he had kept for several months in a chain, with a
design, as he said, to give it its manumission. This was done
accordingly. He then made the will, which I have since seen printed in
your works word for word. Only I must take notice that you have omitted
the codicil, in which he left a large _concha veneris_, as it is there
called, to a _Member of the Royal Society_, who was often with him in
his sickness, and _assisted him in his will_. And now, sir, I come to
the chief business of my letter, which is to desire your friendship and
assistance in the disposal of those many rarities and curiosities which
lie upon my hands. If you know any one that has an occasion for a parcel
of dried spiders, I will sell them a pennyworth. I could likewise let
any one have a bargain of cockle-shells. I would also desire your advice
whether I had best sell my beetles in a lump or by retail. The gentleman
above mentioned, who was my husband's friend, would have me make an
auction of all his goods, and is now drawing up a catalogue of every
particular for that purpose, with the two following words in great
letters over the head of them, Auctio Gimcrackiana. But, upon talking
with him, I begin to suspect he is as mad as poor Sir Nicholas was. Your
advice in all these particulars will be a great piece of charity to,
Sir, your most humble servant,
"'ELIZABETH GIMCRACK.'
"I shall answer the foregoing letter, and give the widow my best advice,
as soon as I can find out chapmen for the wares which she has to put
off."
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Life of Thomas Gainsborough, R.A. By the late George Williams
Fulcher. Edited by his Son. P. 157.
[3] Memoir of the Life of William Collins, R.A. By W. Wilkie Collins.
I., p. 235.
[4] The future author of "The Woman in White" and "The Dead Secret," and
many other works of celebrity.
[5] Memoirs of James Montgomery. By Holland and Everett. I., p. 283.
MONKEYS.
THE GORILLA AND ITS STORY.
In the British Museum, in handsome glass cases, and on the floors of the
three first rooms at the top of the stairs, may be seen the largest
collection of the skins and skeletons of quadrupeds ever brought
together. In the third, or principal room, will be found a nearly
complete series of the QUADRUMANA or four-handed Mammalia. Monkeys are
_quadrumanous mammalia_. The resemblance of these animals to men is most
conspicuous, in the largest of them, such as the gorilla, orang-utan,
chimpanzee, and the long-armed or gibbous apes. Such resemblance is most
distant in the ferocious dog-faced baboons of Africa, the _Cynocephali_
of the ancients. It is softened off, but not effaced, in the pretty
little countenances of those dwarf pets from South America, the
ouistities or marmosets, and other species of new-world monkeys, some of
which are not larger than a squirrel.
They are well called MONKEYS, Monnikies, Mannikies--little men, "_Simiae
quasi bestiae hominibus similes_," "monkeys, as if beasts resembling
man," or "mon," as the word man is pronounced in pure _Doric_ Saxon,
whether in York or Peebles.
"Monkey! you very degraded little brute, how much you resemble us!" said
old Ennius, without ever fancying that the day would come when some men
would regard their own race as little better than highly-advanced
monkeys.
Let us never for a moment rest in such fallacious theories, or accept
the belief of Darwin and Huxley, with a few active agitating disciples,
that animals, and even plants, may pass into each other.
"I think we are not wholly brain,
Magnetic mockeries; ...
Not only cunning casts in clay;
Let science prove we are, and then
What matters science unto men,
At least to me! I would not stay:
Let him, the wiser man who springs
Hereafter, up from childhood shape
His action, like the greater ape,
But I was born to other things."
--_In Memoriam_, cxix.
Darwin and Huxley cannot change nature. They may change their minds and
opinions, as their fathers did before them. It is, we suspect, only the
old heathen materialism cropping out,--
"Our little systems have their day--
They have their day and cease to be.
They are but broken lights of Thee,
And Thou, O Lord! art more than they."
--_In Memoriam._
No artists or authors have ever pictured or described monkeys like Sir
Edwin Landseer and his brother Thomas. Surely a new edition of the
_Monkeyana_ is wanted for the rising generation. Oliver Goldsmith, that
great writer, who was most feeble in knowledge of natural history from
almost total ignorance of the subject, over which he threw the graces of
his charming style, noticed, as remarkable, that in countries "where the
men are barbarous and stupid, the brutes are the most active and
sagacious." He continues, that it is in the torrid tracts, inhabited by
barbarians, that animals are found with instinct so nearly approaching
reason. Both in Africa and America, accordingly, he tells us, "the
savages suppose monkeys to be men; idle, slothful, rational beings,
capable of speech and conversation, but obstinately dumb, for fear of
being compelled to labour."
For the present, I shall suppose that the gorilla, largest of all the
apes, can not only speak, but write; and is speaking and writing to an
orang-utan of Borneo. Even a Lamarckian will allow this to be within the
range of possibility. Were it possible to get Gay or Cowper to write a
new set of fables, animals, in the days of postoffices and letters,
would become, like the age, epistolary. But a word on the imaginary
correspondent.
The orang, as the reader knows, is the great red-haired "Man of the
Woods," as the name may be rendered in English. My old friend, Mr Alfred
Wallace, lately in New Guinea, and the adjoining parts, collecting
natural history subjects, and making all kinds of valuable observations
and surveys, sent to Europe most of the magnificent specimens of this
"ugly beast" now in the museum. He has detailed its habits and history
in an able account, published some years ago in "The Annals and Magazine
of Natural History."
Its home seems to be the fine forests which cover many parts of the
coast of Borneo. The home of the gorilla and chimpanzee are in the
tropical forests of the coasts of Western Africa.
There would seem to be but three or four well established _species_ of
these apes, though there are, as in man and most created beings, some
marked or decided varieties. These apes are altogether _quadrupeds_,
adapted for a life among trees. The late Charles Waterton, of Walton
Hall, whom I deem it an honour to have known for many years, personally
and in his writings, has well shown this in his "Essays on Natural
History." Professor Owen, with his osteologies, and old Tyson, with his
anatomies, have each demonstrated that--draw what inferences the
followers of Mr Darwin may choose--monkeys are not men, but quadrupeds.
The structure of chimpanzee, orang, and gorilla considerably resembles
that of man, but so more distantly does a frog's, so does Scheuchzer's
fossil amphibian in the museum, so does a squirrel's, so does a
parrot's. Yet, because parrots, squirrels, frogs, and asses have skulls,
a pelvis, and fore-arms, they are _not_ men any more than fish are.
Linnaeus has given the _real_ specific, the _real_ class, order, and
generic character of man, unique as a species, as a genus, as an order,
or as a class, as even the greatest comparative anatomist of England
regards him; "Nosce teipsum:" "[Greek: Gnothi seauton]"--KNOW THYSELF.
Man alone expects a hereafter. He is immortal, and anticipates, hopes
for, or dreads a resurrection. Melancholy it is that he alone, as an
American writer curiously remarks, collects bodies of men of _one_ blood
to fight with each other. He alone can become a _drunkard_.
The reader must leave rhapsody, and may now be reminded, in explanation
of allusions in the following letter, that the arm of Dr Livingstone,
the African traveller, was crushed and crunched by the bite and "chaw"
of a lion. He will also please to notice, that the skeleton of the
gorilla in the museum has the left arm broken by some dreadful accident.
This injury may _possibly_ have been caused by a fall when young, or
more probably by the empoisoned bite of a larger gorilla, or of a
tree-climbing Leopard. So much may be premised before giving a letter,
supposed to be intercepted on its way between the Gaboon and London, and
London and Borneo, opened at St Martin's-le-Grand, and detained as
unpaid.
"I was born in a large baobab tree, on the west coast of Africa, not
very far from Calabar. We gorillas are good time-keepers, rise early and
go to bed early, guided infallibly by the sun. But though our family has
been in existence at least six thousand years, we have no chronology,
and care not a straw about our grandfathers. I suppose I had a
grandmother, but I never took _any_ interest in any but very close
relationships.
"We never toiled for our daily food, and are not idle like these lazy
black fellows who hold their palavers near us, and whom I, for my part,
heartily despise. They cannot climb a tree, as we do, although they can
talk to each other, and make one another slaves. At least they so treat
their countrymen far off where the fine sweet plantains grow, and some
other juicy tit-bits, the memory of which makes my mouth water. These
fellows have ugly wives, not nearly so big-mouthed as ours, without our
noble bony ridge, small ears, and exalted presence. They are actually
forced to walk erect, and their fore-legs seldom touch the ground,
except in the case of piccanninies. These little creatures crawl on the
ground, are much paler when born, and are then perfectly helpless; and
have no hair except on their heads, whereas our beautiful young are
fine and hairy, and can swing among the branches, shortly after birth,
nearly as well as their parents. When I was very young, I could soon
help myself to fruits which abound on our trees.
"Have you dates, plantains, and soursops--so sweet--at Sarawak, Master
Redhair? We have, and all kinds of them. I should like, for a variety,
to taste yours. Mind you send me some of the _durian_.[6] Make haste and
send it, for Wallace's description makes my mouth water.
"I have told you our little ones soon learn to help themselves, whereas
I have seen the piccaninnies of the blacks nursed by their mothers till
many rainy seasons had come and gone. I really think nothing of the
talking blacks who live near us. They put on bits of coloured rags, not
nearly so bright, so regular, nor so _contrasting_ as the feathers of
our birds.
"Beautifully coloured are the green touraco and the purple
plantain-eater, a rascally bird! who eats some of our finest plantains,
and has bitten holes in many a one I thought to get entirely to myself.
Why, our parrots beat these West-African negroes to sticks! Even our
common gray parrot, so prettily scaled with gray, and with the red
feathers under his tail, is more natural than these blacks, with their
dirty-white, yellow, blue, green, and red rags.
"Besides, that gray parrot beats them hollow both in its voice and in
the way it imitates. Do you know that when I have been giving my quick
short bark, to tell that I am not well pleased, I have heard one of
these fellows near me actually make me startle--its bark was so like to
that of one of our kind! I cannot bear the blacks! I have had a grudge
against them since some little urchins shot at me when I was young, and
made my hand bleed. How it bled! My mother, with whom I had been, kept
out of the way of these blackguards, but I was playing with another
little gorilla, and forgot to keep a look-out. I have kept a good
look-out ever since I got _that_ wound, I assure you. I licked it often,
and so did my mother with her delicious mouth. It soon left off bleeding
and healed. We gorillas have no brandy, no whisky, no wine, not even
small beer, to inflame our blood. We sleep, too, among the trees, clear
off the ground, where there are dangerous vapours, so that we are free
from all miasmata. West Africa is my lovely home, and I am big and
beautifully pot-bellied. It is the home of the large-eared chimpanzee, a
near relative of ours, though we never marry. He is an active fellow,
with rather large vulgar-looking ears; while mine, though I ought not to
say so, are beautifully small, and denote my more exalted birth. Master
Chimpanzee needs all his ears, for he is not so strong as I, and as you
will hear, we anthropoids have enemies in our trees, just as you perhaps
have, Master Redhair. We are both cautious of getting on the ground, and
when there, I assure you I keep a sharp look-out.
"I have told you of one adventure I had in my youth, and now listen to
another which I have not forgotten to this day. My left arm aches now as
I think of it.
"As I was one day gambolling with another playfellow in a large tree,
with great branches standing out from the trunk, and at a good height
from the ground, my companion, another young gorilla, but with smaller
mouth, larger nose, and other features uglier than mine, suddenly
shrieked, and looked frightened and angry. No sooner had I noticed him
than my whole frame was shaken. I was seized by two paws in the small of
my back--a very painful part to be dug into--by ten hooked claws, nearly
as long as tenpenny nails, but horribly sharp and hooked.--Oh my arm!
"I tried to turn round, and there was a most ferocious leopard growling
at me. I tried to bite, and to scratch his eyes out, but the pain in the
small of my back made me quite giddy. The spotted scoundrel seized my
left arm--how it aches!--and gave me a _crunch_ or two. I hear, I feel
the teeth against my bones as I write. My whole body is full of pain.
"My mother came and released me. She was large, handsome, and
well-to-do, with _such_ long and strong arms, and with a magnificent
bulging and pouting mouth. In those days of my infancy I used to fancy I
should like to try to take as large a bite of a plantain as she could. I
tried twice or thrice, but could only squash a tenth of the juice of the
fruit into my mouth. She had glorious white teeth. Her grin clearly
frightened the leopard, as well as a pinch she gave him in the 'scruff'
of the neck with one of her hands, while with the other she caught hold
of his tail and made him yell. How he roared! He fell off the branch on
to another; but soon, like all the cats, recovered his hold and jumped
down to the ground, when he skulked away with his tail behind him.
"I must really leave off, warned both by my paper and your impatience.
Well, I grew stronger and bigger every day, and swung by one arm almost
as well as the rest did with their two. I got, in fact, so strong on my
hind feet, that my toes were actually in time thicker than those of any
of my race. It is well, my dear Orang, to use what you have left you,
and to try as soon as possible to forget what has been taken from you.
"... Look at my portrait, I am as strong, and as bony, and as bonnie, as
any gorilla. But I begin to boast, so I will leave off."
* * * * *
No doubt that gorilla's injured arm affected its habits and its activity
every day of its life. The broken arm, never set by some gorilla surgeon
of celebrity, formed a highly important feature in its biography.
Reader! when next thou visitest the noble Museum in Bloomsbury, look at
the skeleton of that gorilla, whose probable story Arachnophilus hath
tried to give thee, and remember that both skin and skeleton were
exhibited there before Du Chaillu became "a lion."
The gorilla is a native of West Africa. It is closely allied to the
chimpanzee, but grows to a larger size, and has many striking anatomical
characters and external marks to distinguish it. It is certainly much
dreaded by the natives on the banks of the Gaboon, and, doubtless,
dreads them equally. Dr Gray procured a large specimen in a tub from
that district. It was skinned and set up by Mr Bartlett. I have seen
photographs in the hands of my excellent old friend--that admirable
natural history and anatomical draughtsman--Mr George Ford of Hatton
Garden. These photographs were taken from its truly ugly face as it was
pulled out of the stinking brine. Life in death, or death in life, it
was most repulsive.
Professor Owen read a most elaborate paper on the gorilla before the
Zoological Society. The great comparative anatomist and zoologist shows
that it _may_ have been the very species whose skins were brought by
Hanno to Carthage, in times before the Christian era, as the skins of
_hairy wild men_. The historian refers to them as "gorullai" ([Greek:
Goryllai].)
The natives of West Africa name it "N'Geena."
* * * * *
The stuffed specimen at the Museum is a young male. Its preparation does
great credit to Mr Bartlett's care and knowledge, for the hair over
nearly all the body was in patches among the spirit--thoroughly
corrupted in its alcoholic strength by animal matter. The peculiarly
anthropoid and morbidly-disagreeable look that even the face of the
young gorilla had was, of course, perfect in the photograph. In the
_Leisure Hour_, a tolerably good cut of it was given, but the artist did
not copy the label accurately, for on the photograph from which that cut
was derived, _another name_ was rendered by _that_ sun, who pays no
compliments and tells no lies. Professor Owen, the greatest of
comparative anatomists, has made the subject of anthropoid apes his own,
by the perfection of his researches, continued and continuous. He would
have liked, at least I may venture, I believe, to say so (if the matter
gave him more than a moment's thought), that the name of Dr Gray had
been on that label.
_Letter from C. Waterton, Esq., mentioning a young gorilla._
WALTON HALL, _Feb_. 4, 1856.
"DEAR SIR,--As your favour of the 28th did not seem to require an
immediate answer I put it aside for a while, having a multiplicity of
business then on hand, and being obliged to be from home for a couple of
days.
"I beg to enclose you the letter to which you allude.
"Pray do not suppose that for one single moment I should be illiberal
enough to undervalue a 'closet naturalist.' 'Non cuivis homini contingit
adire corinthum.' It does not fall to every one's lot to range through
the forests of Guiana, still, a gentleman given to natural history may
do wonders for it in his own apartments on his native soil; and had
Audubon, Swainson, Jameson, &c., not attacked me in all the pride of
pompous self-conceit, I should have been the last man in the world to
expose their gross ignorance.
"You ask me 'If we are to have another volume of essays?' I beg to
answer, no. Last year, Mrs Loudon (to whom I made a present of the
essays) wrote to me, and asked for a few papers to be inserted in a
forthcoming edition. I answered, that as I had had some strange and
awful adventures since the 'Autobiography' made its appearance, I would
tack them on to it. But from that time to this, I have never had a line,
either from Mrs Loudon or from her publishers. But some months ago,
having made a present of a superb case of preserved specimens in natural
history to the Jesuits' College in Lancashire, I gave directions to my
stationer at Wakefield to procure me from London the fourth or last
edition of the essays; and I made references to it accordingly. But, lo
and behold, when I had opened this supposed fourth edition, I saw
printed on the title page 'a new edition.' Better had they printed a
_fifth edition_. This threw all my references wrong. Should you be
passing by Messrs Longman, perhaps you will have the goodness to ask
when this 'new edition' was printed.
"I am sorry you did not show me your drawing of the chimpanzee before it
was engraved. The artist has not done justice to it. He has made the
ears far too large.[7] The little brown chimpanzee has very small ears;
fully as small in proportion as those of a genuine negro. I am half
inclined to give to the world a little treatise on the monkey tribe. I
am prepared to show that Linnaeus, Buffon, and all our hosts of
naturalists who have copied the remarks of these celebrated naturalists,
are perfectly in the dark with regard to the true character of _all_ the
monkey tribe. Yesterday, I sent up to the _Gardener's Chronicle_ a few
notes on the woodpecker.--Believe me, dear sir, very truly yours,
CHARLES WATERTON.
"P.S.--Many thanks for your nice little treatise on the chimpanzee."
Mr Waterton enclosed me a copy of the following letter, which he
published in a Yorkshire newspaper:--
_To Mrs Wombwell._
"MADAM,--I am truly sorry that the inclemency of the weather has
prevented the inhabitants of this renowned watering-place from visiting
your wonderful gorilla, or brown orang-outang.
"I have passed two hours in its company, and I have been gratified
beyond expression.
"Would that all lovers of natural history could get a sight of it, as,
possibly, they may never see another of the same species in this
country.
"It differs widely in one respect from all other orang-outangs which
have been exhibited in England--namely, that, when on the ground, it
never walks on the soles of its fore-feet, but on the knuckles of the
toes of those feet; and those toes are doubled up like the closed fist
of a man. This must be a painful position; and, to relieve itself, the
animal catches hold of visitors, and clings caressingly to Miss Bright,
who exhibits it. Here then, it is at rest, with the toes of the
fore-feet performing their natural functions, which they never do when
the animal is on the ground.
"Hence I draw the conclusion that this singular quadruped, like the
sloth, is not a walker on the ground of its own free-will, but by
accident only.
"No doubt whatever it is born, and lives, and dies aloft, amongst the
trees in the forests of Africa.
"Put it on a tree, and then it will immediately have the full use of the
toes of its fore-feet. Place it on the ground, and then you will see
that the toes of the fore-feet become useless, as I have already
described.
"That it may retain its health, and thus remunerate you for the large
sum which you have expended in the purchase of it, is, madam, the
sincere hope of your obedient servant and well-wisher,
CHARLES WATERTON."
Scarborough Cliff, No. 1, _Nov. 1, 1855_.
"_P.S._--You are quite at liberty to make what use you choose of this
letter. I have written it for your own benefit, and for the good of
natural history."[8]
MR MITCHELL ON A YOUNG CHIMPANZEE.
The writer of a most readable article on the acclimatisation of animals
in the _Edinburgh Review_,[9] gives an amusing recital of the arrival of
a chimpanzee at the Zoological Gardens. It was related to him by the
late Mr Mitchell, who was long the active secretary of the society, and
who did much to improve the Gardens. "One damp November evening, just
before dusk, there arrived a French traveller from Senegal, with a
companion closely muffled up in a burnoose at his side. On going, at his
earnest request, to speak to him at the gate, he communicated to me the
interesting fact that the stranger in the burnoose was a young chim, who
had resided in his family in Senegal for some twelve months, and who had
accompanied him to England. The animal was in perfect health; but from
the state of the atmosphere required good lodging, and more tender care
than could be found in a hotel. He proposed to sell his friend. I was
hard; did not like pulmonic property[10] at that period of the year,
having already two of the race in moderate health, but could not refrain
from an offer of hospitality during Chim's residence in London. Chim was
to go to Paris if I did not buy him. So we carried him, burnoose and
all, into the house where the lady chims were, and liberated him in the
doorway. They had taken tea, and were beginning to think of their early
couch. When the Senegal Adonis caught sight of them, he assumed a jaunty
air and advanced with politeness, as if to offer them the last news from
Africa. A yell of surprise burst from each chimpanzella as they
successively recognised the unexpected arrival. One would have supposed
that all the Billingsgate of Chimpanzeedom rolled from the voluble
tongues of these unsophisticated and hitherto unimpressible young
ladies; but probably their gesticulations, their shrill exclamations,
their shrinkings, their threats, were but well-mannered expressions of
welcome to a countryman thus abruptly revealed in the foreign land of
their captivity. Sir Chim advanced undaunted, and with the composure of
a high-caste pongo; if he had had a hat he would have doffed it
incontinently, as it was, he only slid out of his burnoose and ascended
into the apartment which adjoined his countrywomen with agile grace, and
then, through the transparent separation, he took a closer view. Juliana
yelled afresh. Paquita crossed her hands, and sat silently with face
about three quarters averted. Sir Chim uttered what may have been a
tranquillising phrase, expressive of the great happiness he felt on thus
being suddenly restored to the presence of kinswomen in the moment of
his deepest bereavement. Juliana calmed. Paquita diminished her angle of
aversion, and then Sir Chim, advancing quite close to the division,
began what appeared to be a recollection of a minuet. He executed
marvellous gestures with a precision and aplomb which were quite
enchanting, and when at last he broke out into a quick movement with
loud smacking stamps, the ladies were completely carried away, and gave
him all attention. Friendship was established, refreshments were served,
notwithstanding the previous tea, and everybody was apparently
satisfied, especially the stranger. Upon asking the Senegal proprietor
what the dance meant, he told me that the animal had voluntarily taken
to that imitation of his slaves, who used to dance every evening in the
courtyard."
So far Mr Mitchell's narrative; the reviewer relates how a chimpanzee,
placed for a short time in the society of the children of his owner in
this country, not only throve in an extraordinary manner, was perfectly
docile and good-tempered, but learnt to imitate them. When the eldest
little boy wished to tease his playfellow, he used, childlike, to make
faces at him. Chim soon outdid him, and one of the funniest things
imaginable was to see him blown at and blowing in return; his
protrusible lips converted themselves into a trumpet-shaped instrument,
which reminded one immediately of some of the devils of Albert Duerer, or
those incredible forms which the old painters used to delight in piling
together in their temptations of Saint Anthony.
LADY ANNE BARNARD PLEADS FOR THE BABOONS.
Lady Anne Barnard, whose name as the writer of "Auld Robin Gray" is
familiar to every one who knows that most pathetic ballad, spent five
years with her husband at the Cape (1797-1802). Her journal letters to
her sisters are most amusing, and full of interesting observations.[11]
After describing "Musquito-hunting" with her husband, she writes:--"In
return, I endeavoured to effect a treaty of peace for the baboons, who
are apt to come down from the mountain in little troops to pillage our
garden of the fruit with which the trees are loaded. I told him he would
be worse than Don Carlos if he refused the children of the sun and the
soil the use of what had descended from ouran-outang to ouran-outang;
but, alas! I could not succeed. He had pledged himself to the
gardener,[12] to the slaves, and all the dogs, not to baulk them of
their sport; so he shot a superb man-of-the-mountain one morning, who
was marauding, and electrified himself the same moment, so shocked was
he at the groan given by the poor creature as he limped off the ground.
I do not think I shall hear of another falling a sacrifice to Barnard's
gun; they come too near the human race" (p. 408).
In another letter she says (p. 391), "The best way to get rid of them is
to catch one, whip him, and turn him loose; he skips off chattering to
his comrades, and is extremely angry, but none of them return the season
this is done. I have given orders, however, that there may be no
whipping."
S. BISSET AND HIS TRAINED MONKEYS.
We have elsewhere referred to S. Bisset as a trainer of animals. Among
the earliest of his trials, this Scotchman took two monkeys as pupils.
One of these he taught to dance and tumble on the rope, whilst the other
held a candle with one paw for his companion, and with the other played
a barrel organ. These animals he also instructed to play several
fanciful tricks, such as drinking to the company, riding and tumbling
upon a horse's back, and going through several regular dances with a
dog. The horse and dog referred to, were the first animals on which this
ingenious person tried his skill. Although Bisset lived in the last
century, few persons seem to have surpassed him in his power of teaching
the lower animals. We have seen a man in Charlotte Square, in 1865, make
a new-world monkey go through a series of tricks, ringing a bell, firing
a pea-gun, and such like. Poor Jacko was to be pitied. His want of heart
in his labours was very evident. Poor fellow, no time for reflection was
allowed him. Like some of the masters in the Old High School,--such
cruelty dates back more than thirty years,--a ferule, or a pair of tawse
kept Jacko to his work. It was play to the onlookers, but no sport to
master Cebus. Had he possessed memory and reflection, how his thoughts
must have wandered from Edinburgh to the forests of the Amazon!
LORD BYRON'S PETS.
Beside horses and dogs, the poet Byron, like his own Don Juan, had a
kind of inclination, or weakness, for what most people deem mere vermin,
_live animals_.
Captain Medwin records, in one of his conversations, that the poet
remarked that it was troublesome to travel about with so much live and
dead stock as he did, and adds--"I don't like to leave behind me any of
my pets, that have been accumulating since I came on the Continent. One
cannot trust to strangers to take care of them. You will see at the
farmer's some of my pea-fowls _en pension_. Fletcher tells me that they
are almost as bad fellow-travellers as the monkey, which I will show
you." Here he led the way to a room where he played with and caressed
the creature for some time. He afterwards bought another monkey in Pisa,
because he saw it ill-used.[13]
Lord Byron's travelling equipage to Pisa in the autumn of 1821,
consisted, _inter caetera_, of nine horses, a monkey, a bull-dog, and a
mastiff, two cats, three pea-fowls, and some hens.[14]
THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S MONKEY.
(_From the "Noctes Ambrosianae," Dec. 1825._[15])
_Shepherd._ I wish that you but saw my monkey, Mr North. He would make
you hop the twig in a guffaw. I ha'e got a pole erected for him, o'
about some 150 feet high, on a knowe ahint Mount Benger; and the way the
cretur rins up to the knob, looking ower the shouther o' him, and
twisting his tail roun' the pole for fear o' playin' thud on the grun',
is comical past a' endurance.
_North._ Think you, James, that he is a link?
_Shepherd._ A link in creation? Not he, indeed. He is merely a monkey.
Only to see him on his observatory, beholding the sunrise! or weeping,
like a Laker, at the beauty o' the moon and stars!
_North._ Is he a bit of a poet?
_Shepherd._ Gin he could but speak and write, there can be nae manner o'
doubt that he would be a gran' poet. Safe us! what een in the head o'
him! Wee, clear, red, fiery, watery, malignant-lookin een, fu' o'
inspiration.
_Tickler._ You should have him stuffed.
_Shepherd._ Stuffed, man! say, rather, embalmed. But he's no likely to
dee for years to come--indeed, the cretur's engaged to be married;
although he's no in the secret himsel yet. The bawns are published.
_Tickler._ Why really, James, marriage I think ought to be simply a
civil contract.
_Shepherd._ A civil contract! I wuss it was. But, oh! Mr Tickler, to see
the cretur sittin wi' a pen in 's hand, and pipe in 's mouth, jotting
down a sonnet, or odd, or lyrical ballad! Sometimes I put that black
velvet cap ye gied me on his head, and ane o' the bairns's auld
big-coats on his back; and then, sure aneugh, when he takes his stroll
in the avenue, he is a heathenish Christian.
_North._ Why, James, by this time he must be quite like one of the
family?
_Shepherd._ He's a capital flee-fisher. I never saw a monkey throw a
lighter line in my life.... Then, for rowing a boat!
_Tickler._ Why don't you bring him to Ambrose's?
_Shepherd._ He's sae bashfu'. He never shines in company; and the least
thing in the world will make him blush.
THE FINDHORN FISHERMAN AND THE MONKEY.
Sir Thomas Dick Lauder[16] records the adventures of a monkey in
Morayshire, whose wanderings sadly alarmed the inhabitants who saw him,
all unused as they were to the sight of such an exotic stranger.
"We knew a large monkey, which escaped from his chain, and was abroad in
Morayshire for some eight or ten days. Wherever he appeared he spread
terror among the peasantry. A poor fisherman on the banks of the
Findhorn was sitting with his wife and family at their frugal meal, when
a hairy little man, as they in their ignorance conceived him to be,
appeared on the window sill and grinned, and chattered through the
casement what seemed to them to be the most horrible incantations.
Horror-struck, the poor people crowded together on their knees on the
floor, and began to exorcise him with prayers most vehemently, until
some external cause of alarm made their persecutor vanish. The
neighbours found the family half dead with fear, and could with
difficulty extract from them the cause. 'Oh! worthy neebours!' at last
exclaimed the goodman with a groan, 'we ha'e seen the _Enemy_ glowrin'
at us through that vera wundow there. Lord keep us a'!!' He next alarmed
a little hamlet near the hills; appearing and disappearing to various
individuals in a most mysterious manner; till at last a clown, with a
few grains of more courage than the rest, loaded his gun and put a
sixpence into it, with the intention of stealing upon him as he sat most
mysteriously chattering on the top of a cairn of stones, and then
shooting him with silver, which is known never to fail in finishing the
imps of the Evil One. And lucky indeed was it for pug that he chanced,
through whim, to abscond from that quarter; for if he had not so
disappeared, he might have died by the lead, if not by the silver. As it
was, the bold peasant laid claim to the full glory of compelling this
dreaded goblin to flee."
Sir Thomas Lauder kept several pets in his beautiful seat at the Grange,
long occupied by the Messrs Dalgleish of Dreghorn Castle as a genteel
boarding-school, and now by the Misses Mouatt as one for young ladies.
We have often seen the tombstones to his dogs, which were buried to the
south of that mansion, in which Principal Robertson the historian died,
and where Lord Brougham, his relation, used to go when a boy at the High
School.
THE FRENCH MARQUIS AND HIS MONKEY.
Dr John Moore, the father of General Moore, who fell at Corunna, in one
of the graphic sketches of a Frenchman which he gives in his work on
Italy, records a visit he paid to the Marquis de F---- at Besancon.
After many questions, he says, "Before I could make any answer, I
chanced to turn my eyes upon a person whom I had not before observed,
who sat very gravely upon a chair in a corner of the room, with a large
periwig in full dress upon his head. The marquis, seeing my surprise at
the sight of this unknown person, after a very hearty fit of laughter,
begged pardon for not having introduced me sooner to that gentleman (who
was no other than a large monkey), and then told me, he had the honour
of being attended by a physician, who had the reputation of possessing
the greatest skill, and who _certainly_ wore the largest periwigs of any
doctor in the province. That one morning, while he was writing a
prescription at his bedside, this same monkey had catched hold of his
periwig by one of the knots, and instantly made the best of his way out
at the window to the roof of a neighbouring house, from which post he
could not be dislodged, till the doctor, having lost patience, had sent
home for another wig, and never after could be prevailed on to accept of
this, which had been so much disgraced. That, _enfin_, his valet, to
whom the monkey belonged, had, ever since that adventure, obliged the
culprit by way of punishment to sit quietly, for an hour every morning,
with the periwig on his head.--Et pendant ces moments de tranquillite je
suis honore de la societe du venerable personage. Then, addressing
himself to the monkey, "Adieu, mon ami, pour aujourdhui--au plaisir de
vous revoir;" and the servant immediately carried Monsieur le Medicin
out of the room.[17]
This is a most characteristic bit, which could scarcely have occurred
out of France, where monkeys and dogs are petted as we never saw them
petted elsewhere. These things were so when we knew Paris under
Louis-Philippe. Frenchmen, surely, have not much changed under Louis
Napoleon.
THE MANDRILL AND GEORGE THE FOURTH.
One of the attractive sights of Mr Cross's menagerie, some forty years
or so ago, was a full-grown baboon, to which had been given the name of
"Happy Jerry." He was conspicuous from the finely-coloured rib-like
ridges on each side of his cheeks, the clear blue and scarlet hue of
which, on such a hideous long face and muzzle, with its small,
deeply-sunk malicious eyes, and projecting brow and cheeks, seemed
almost as if beauty and bestiality were here combined. But Jerry had a
habit which would have made Father Matthew loathe him and those who
encouraged him. He had been taught to sit in an armchair and to drink
porter out of a pot, like a thirsty brickmaker; and, as an addition to
his accomplishments, he could also smoke a pipe, like a trained pupil of
Sir Walter Raleigh. This rib-nosed baboon, or mandrill, as he is often
called, obtained great renown; and among other distinguished personages
who wished to see him was his late majesty King George the Fourth. As
that king seldom during his reign frequented places of public resort, Mr
Cross was invited to bring Jerry to Windsor or Brighton, to display the
talents of his redoubtable baboon. I have heard Mr Cross say, that the
king placed his hands on the arm of one of the ladies of the Court, at
which Jerry began to show such unmistakable signs of ferocity, that the
mild, kind menagerist was glad to get Jerry removed, or at least the
king and his courtiers to withdraw. He showed his great teeth and
grinned and growled, as a baboon in a rage is apt to do. Jerry was a
powerful beast, especially in his fore-legs or arms. When he died, Mr
Cross presented his skin to the British Museum, where it has been long
preserved. The mandrill is a native of West Africa, where he is much
dreaded by the negroes.
In Cross's menagerie at Walworth, nearly twenty years ago, there was
generally a fine mandrill. We remember the sulky ferocity of that
restless eye. How angry the mild menagerist used to be at the ladies in
the monkey-room with their parasols! These appendages were the feelers
with which some of the softer sex used to touch Cross's monkeys, and, as
the old gentleman used to insist, helped to kill them. Parasols were
freely used to touch the boas and other snakes feeding in the same warm
room. No doubt a boa-constrictor could not live comfortably if his soft,
muscular sides got fifty pokes a day from as many sticks or parasols.
Edward Cross, mild, gentle, gentlemanly, Prince of show-keepers, used to
be very indignant at the inquisitorial desire possessed, especially by
some of the fairer sex, to try the relative hardness and softness of
serpents and monkeys, and other mammals and creatures. This story of the
mandrill may excuse this pendant of an episode.
THE YOUNG LADY'S PET MONKEY AND HER PARROT.
Horace Walpole tells an anecdote of a fine young French lady, a Madame
de Choiseul. She longed for a parrot that should be a miracle of
eloquence. A parrot was soon found for her in Paris. She also became
enamoured of General Jacko, a celebrated monkey, at Astley's. But the
possessor was so exorbitant in his demand for Jacko, that the General
did not change proprietors. Another monkey was soon heard of, who had
been brought up by a cook in a kitchen, where he had learned to pluck
fowls with inimitable dexterity. This accomplished pet was bought and
presented to Madame, who accepted him. The first time she went out, the
two animals were locked up in her bed-chamber. When the lady returned,
the monkey was alone to be seen. Search, was made for Pretty Poll, and
to her horror she was found at last under bed, shivering and cowering,
and without a feather. It seems that the two pets had been presented by
rival lovers of Madame. Poll's presenter concluded that his rival had
given the monkey with that very view, challenged him; they fought, and
both were wounded: and a heroic adventure it was![18]
MONKEYS POOR RELATIONS.
One of Luttrell's sayings, recorded by Sydney Smith, was,--
"I hate the sight of monkeys, they remind me so of poor relations." Here
follows a fine passage of Sydney Smith, which he might have written
after hearing the lectures of Professor Huxley.[19] "I confess I feel
myself so much at my ease about the superiority of mankind,--I have such
a marked and decided contempt for the understanding of every baboon I
have yet seen,--I feel so sure that the blue ape without a tail will
never rival us in poetry, painting, and music,--that I see no reason
whatever why justice may not be done to the few fragments of soul, and
tatters of understanding, which they may really possess. I have
sometimes, perhaps, felt a little uneasy at Exeter 'Change, from
contrasting the monkeys with the 'prentice boys who are teasing them;
but a few pages of Locke, or a few lines of Milton, have always restored
my tranquillity, and convinced me that the superiority of man had
nothing to fear."[20]
MRS COLIN MACKENZIE OBSERVES APES AT SIMLA.[21]
The monkey she alludes to seems to be the _Semnopithecus Entellus_, a
black-faced, light-haired monkey, with long legs and tail, much
venerated by the Hindoos.
"Mrs L. and I were very much amused, early this morning (July 5), by
watching numbers of huge apes, the size of human beings, with white hair
all round their faces, and down their backs and chests, who were
disporting themselves and feeding on the green leaves, on the sides of
the precipice close to the house. Many of them had one or two little
ones--the most amusing, indefatigable little creatures imaginable--who
were incessantly running up small trees, jumping down again, and
performing all sorts of antics, till one felt quite wearied with their
perpetual activity. When the mother wished to fly, she clutched the
little one under her arm, where, clinging round her body with all its
arms, it remained in safety, while she made leaps of from thirty to
forty feet, and ran at a most astonishing rate down the khad, catching
at any tree or twig that offered itself to any one of her four arms.
There were two old grave apes of enormous size sitting together on the
branch of a tree, and deliberately catching the fleas in each other's
shaggy coats. The patient sat perfectly still, while his brother ape
divided and thoroughly searched his beard and hair, lifted up one arm
and then the other, and turned him round as he thought fit; and then the
patient undertook to perform the same office for his friend."
THE AYE-AYE (_Chiromys Madagascariensis_).
Zoologists used to know a very curious animal from Madagascar, by name,
or by an indifferent specimen preserved in the Paris Museum. Sonnerat,
the naturalist, obtained it from that great island so well known to
geographical boys in former days by its being, so they were told, the
largest island in the world. This strange quadruped was named by a word
which meant "handed-mouse," for such is the signification of _chiromys_,
or _cheiromys_, as it used to be spelled. This creature, when its
history was better known, was believed to be not far removed in the
system from the lemurs and loris. Its soft fur, long tail, large eyes,
and other features and habits connected it with these quadrumana, while
its rodent dentition seemed to refer it to the group containing our
squirrels, hares, and mice. It has been the subject of a profound memoir
by Professor Owen, our greatest comparative anatomist; and I remember,
with pleasure, the last time I saw him at the Museum he was engaged in
its dissection. I may here refer to one of the Professor's lighter
productions--a lecture at Exeter Hall on some instances of the "power of
God as manifested in His animal creation"--for a very nice notice of
this curious quadruped. In one of the French journals, there was an
excellent account given of the peculiar habits of the little nocturnal
creature. In those tropical countries the trees are tenanted by
countless varieties of created things. Their wood affords rich feeding
to the large, fat, pulpy grubs of beetles of the families _Buprestidae_,
_Dynastidae_, _Passalidae_, and, above all, that glorious group the
_Longicornia_. These beetles worm their way into the wood, making often
long tunnels, feeding as they work, and leaving their _ejecta_ in the
shape of agglomerated sawdust. It is into the long holes drilled by
these beetles that the Aye-Aye searches with his long fingers, one of
which, on the fore-hand, is specially thin, slender, and skeleton-like.
It looks like the tool of some lock-picker. Our large-eyed little
friend, like the burglar, comes out at night and finds these holes on
the trees where he slept during the day. His sensitive thin ears, made
to hear every scratch, can detect the rasping of the retired grub,
feasting in apparent security below. Naturalists sometimes hear at
night, so Samouelle once told me, the grubs of moths munching the dewy
leaves. Our aye-aye is no collector, but he has eyes, ears, and fingers
too, that see, hear, and get larvae that, when grown and changed into
beetles, are the valued prizes of entomologists. Into that tunnelled
hole he inserts his long finger, and squash it goes into a large, pulpy,
fat, sweet grub. It takes but a moment to draw it out; and if it be a
pupa near the bark, so much the better for the aye-aye, so much the
worse for the beetle or cossus. I might dilate on this subject, but
prefer referring the reader to Professor Owen's memoir, and to his
lecture.[22] The aye-aye, in every point of its structure, like every
created thing, is full of design. Its curious fingers, especially the
skeleton-like chopstick of a digit referred to, attract especial notice,
from their evident adaptation to the condition of its situation and
existence, as one of the works of an omnipotent and beneficent Creator.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] The Durian, a peculiarly favourite fruit in several of the Eastern
Islands.
[7] Mr Wolf's drawing was taken from a chimpanzee. Mr Waterton's young
chimpanzee was in reality a small-eared gorilla. The ears of the
chimpanzee are large.
[8] Written in 1861. Skins and skeletons of the gorilla are to be found
now in many museums.
[9] For Jan. 1860, vol. iii., p. 177.
[10] Monkeys are very liable to lung diseases in this climate, and all
menagerie keepers are aware of the bad effects of the winter on these
denizens of a warm climate.
[11] See "Lives of the Lindsays," by Lord Lindsay, vol. iii., pp.
371-476.
[12] At Paradise. She describes some plants, one, evidently a Stapelia,
is a fine large star-plant, yellow and spotted like the skin of a
leopard, over which there grows a crop of glossy brown hair, at once
handsome and horrible; it crawls flat on the ground, and its leaves are
thick and fat (p. 407).
[13] "Conversations of Lord Byron" (p. 9).
[14] _Loc. cit._ (p. 1).
[15] "Works of Professor Wilson," vol. i., p. 73.
[16] Gilpin's "Forest Scenery," edited by Sir T. D. Lauder, vol. i., p.
354.
[17] "View of Society and Manners in Italy," vol. ii., p. 475.
[18] Extracted from the late Mr Cunningham's complete edition; we
neglected to quote the page, and have altered and shortened the words.
[19] "Memoirs of Rev. Sydney Smith," i., p. 377.
[20] "Wit and Wisdom of Rev. Sydney Smith" (it is from a lecture at the
Royal Institution), p. 259.
[21] "Life in the Mission, the Camp, and the Zenana; or, Six Years in
India," by Mrs Colin Mackenzie, vol. ii., p. 126.
[22] Published by James Nisbet & Co., in 1863, 1864.
BATS.
A highly curious, if not the strangest, order of the class are these
flying creatures called bats. It is evident from Noel Paton's fairy
pictures that he has closely studied their often fantastic faces. The
writer could commend to his attention an African bat, lately figured by
his friend Mr Murray.[23] Its enormous head, or rather muzzle, compared
with its other parts, gives it an outrageously hideous look. In the late
excellent Dr Horsfield's work on the animals of Java, there are some
engravings of bats by Mr Taylor, who acquired among engravers the title
of "Bat Taylor," so wonderfully has he rendered the exquisite pileage or
fur of these creatures. It is wonderful how numerous the researches of
naturalists, such as Mr Tomes, of Welford, near Stratford, have shown
the order _Cheiroptera_ to be in genera and species. Their profiles and
full faces, even in outline, are often most bizarre and strange. Their
interfemoral membranes, we may add, are actual "unreticulated" nets,
with which they catch and detain flies as they skim through the air.
They pick these out of this bag with their mouths, and "make no bones"
of any prey, so sharp and pointed are their pretty insectivorous teeth.
Their flying membranes, stretched on the elongated finger-bones of their
fore-legs, are wonderful adaptations of Divine wisdom, a capital subject
for the natural theologian to select.
Our poet-laureate must be a close observer of natural history. In his
"In Memoriam," xciv., he distinctly alludes to some very curious West
African bats first described by the late amiable Edward T. Bennett, long
the much-valued secretary of the Zoological Society. These bats are
closely related to the fox bats, and form a genus which is named, from
their shoulder and breast appendages, _Epomophorus_:--
"Bats went round in fragrant skies,
And wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes
That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes,
And woolly breasts and beaded eyes."
The species Mr Bennett named _E. Whitei_, after the good Rev. Gilbert
White, that well-known worthy who wrote "The Natural History of
Selborne," wherein are many notices of bats.
CAPTAIN COOK'S SAILOR AND HIS DESCRIPTION OF A FOX-BAT.
It is curious, now that Australia is almost as civilised, and in parts
nearly as populous, as much of Europe, to read "Lieutenant Cook's Voyage
Round the World," in vol. iii. of Hawkesworth's quartos, detailing the
discoveries of June, July, and August 1770--that is close upon a
century ago. What progress has the world made since that period! We do
not require long periods of ages to alter, to adapt, to develop the
customs and knowledge of man. At p. 156 we get an account of a large
bat. On the 23d June 1770 Cook says:--"This day almost everybody had
seen the animal which the pigeon-shooters had brought an account of the
day before; and one of the seamen, who had been rambling in the woods,
told us, at his return, that he verily believed he had seen the devil.
We naturally inquired in what form he had appeared, and his answer was
in so singular a style that I shall set down his own words. 'He was,'
says John, 'as large as a one-gallon keg, and very like it; he had horns
and wings, yet he crept so slowly through the grass, that if I had not
been _afeared_ I might have touched him.' This formidable apparition we
afterwards discovered to have been a bat, and the bats here must be
acknowledged to have a frightful appearance, for they are nearly black,
and full as large as a partridge; they have indeed no horns, but the
fancy of a man who thought he saw the devil might easily supply that
defect."
* * * * *
Having seen some of the very curious fox-bats alive, and given some
condensed information about them in Dr Hamilton's series of volumes
called "Excelsior," the writer may extract the account, with some slight
additions, especially as the article is illustrated with a truly
admirable figure of a fox-bat, from a living specimen by Mr Wolf. In Sir
Emerson Tennent's "Sketches of the Natural History of Ceylon," p. 14, Mr
Wolf has represented a whole colony of the "flying-foxes," as they are
called.
[Illustration: Flying Fox. (Pteropus ruficollis.)]
FOX-BATS (_Pteropus_).
In this country that bat is deemed a large one whose wings, when
measured from tip to tip, exceed twelve inches, or whose body is above
that of a small mouse in bulk. In some parts of the world, however,
there are members of this well-marked family, the wings of which, when
stretched and measured from one extremity to the other, are five feet
and upwards in extent, and their bodies large in proportion. These are
the fox-bats, a pair of which were lately procured for the Zoological
Gardens. It is from one of this pair that the very characteristic figure
of Mr Wolf has been derived.[24] There is something very odd in the
appearance of such an animal, suspended as it is during the day head
downwards, in a position the very sight of which suggests to the
looker-on ideas of nightmare and apoplexy. As the head peers out from
the membrane, contracted about the body and investing it as in a bag,
and the strange creature chews a piece of apple presented by its keeper,
the least curious observer must be struck with the peculiarity of the
position, and cannot fail to admire the velvety softness and great
elasticity of the membrane which forms its wings. It must have been from
an exaggerated account of the fox-bats of the Eastern Islands that the
ancients derived their ideas of the dreaded Harpies, those fabulous
winged monsters sent out by the relentless Juno, and whose names are
synonymous with rapine and cruelty.
Some of these bats, before they were thoroughly known, frightened
British sailors not a little when they met with them. We have given an
anecdote, illustrative of this, in a preceding page.
Dr Forster, who accompanied Captain Cook on the voyage round the world
from 1772 to 1775, observed fox-bats at the Friendly Islands, where they
were seen in large groups of hundreds. Our traveller even notices that
some of them flew about the whole day, doubtless from being disturbed by
the wandering crews of the British discovery ships. He saw a Casuarina
tree of large size, the branches of which were festooned with at least
five hundred of these pendent Cheiroptera in various attitudes of ease,
according to the habits and notions of the bat tribes, who can hang
either by the hind or by the fore-feet. He noticed that they skimmed
over the water with wonderful facility, and he saw one in the act of
swimming, though he cannot say that it did so with either ease or
expertness; they are known, however, to frequent the water in order to
wash themselves from any impurities on their fur and wings, as well as
to get rid of the vermin which may be infesting them.
Captain Lort Stokes found the red-necked species to be very abundant,
during his survey of the north coast of Australia in H.M.S. _Beagle_. As
the boats were engaged in the survey, flights of these bats kept
hovering over them, uttering a disagreeable screeching noise and filling
the air with a faint mildewy odour, far from agreeable to the smell. The
sailors gave these bats the name of "monkey-birds," without being aware
that naturalists in their system consider them as following closely the
order which contains these four-handed lovers of trees. Captain Stokes
observes that the leathern wings have a singular heavy flap, and that a
flight of bats would suddenly alight on a bamboo and bend it to the
ground with their weight. Each individual struggles on alighting to
settle on the same spot, and like rooks or men in similar circumstances,
they do not succeed in fixing themselves without making a great deal of
noise. When first they clung to the bamboo, they did so by means of the
claw on the outer edge of the flying membrane, and then they gradually
settled.
Among the wild and varied scenery of those groups of islands called the
Friendly Islands, the Feejees, and the Navigators, species of fox-bat
form one of the characteristics of the place to the observant eye;
while, if the traveller should happen to be blind, their presence among
the otherwise fragrant forests would be readily perceived from the
strong odour which taints the atmosphere, and which, says the Naturalist
of the United States Exploring Expedition, "will always be remembered by
persons who have visited the regions inhabited by these animals." Mr
Titian Peale mentions that a specimen of the fox-bat was kept in
Philadelphia for several years; and like most creatures, winged as well
as wingless, was amiable to those persons who were constantly near it,
while it showed clearly and unmistakably its dislike to strangers.
On its voyage, this strange passenger was fed on boiled rice, sweetened
with sugar; while at the Museum, it was solaced and fed during its
captivity chiefly on fruit, and now and then appeared to enjoy the
picking from the bones of a boiled fowl. The fox-bat is but seldom
brought alive to this country. The late Mr Cross of the Surrey
Zoological Gardens kept one for a short time, and deemed it one of his
greatest rarities; and, till the arrival lately of the pair alluded to
at the Gardens in the Regent's Park, we have not heard of other
specimens having been exhibited in this country. They are difficult to
keep, and seem to feel very sensibly the changes of our climate, while
it is a hard thing to get for them the food on which they live when in a
state of liberty.
Mr Macgillivray discovered a new species of fox-bat on Fitzroy Island,
off the coast of Australia, when he was naturalist of H.M.S.
_Rattlesnake_.[25] He fell in with this large fruit-eating bat
(_Pteropus conspicillatus_) on the wooded slope of a hill. They were in
prodigious numbers, and presented the appearance, as they flew along in
the bright sunshine, of a large flock of rooks. As they were approached,
a strong musky odour became apparent, and a loud incessant chattering
was heard. He describes the branches of some of the trees as bending
beneath the loads of bats which clung to them. Some of these were in a
state of inactivity, sleeping or composing themselves to sleep, while
many specimens scrambled along among the boughs and took to flight on
being disturbed. He shot several specimens, three or four at a time, as
they hung in clusters. Unless they were killed outright, they continued
suspended for some time; when wounded they are difficult to handle, as
they bite severely, and at such times their cry resembles somewhat the
squalling of a child. The flesh of these bats is described to be
excellent, and no wonder, when they feed on the sweetest fruits; the
natives regard it as nutritious food, and travellers in Australia, like
the adventurous Leichhardt on his journey to Port Essington, sometimes
are furnished with a welcome meal from the fruit-eating fox-bats which
fall in their way. Even the polished French, in the Isle of Bourbon, as
they used to call the Mauritius, sometimes stewed a Pteropus, in their
_bouillon_ or broth to give it a relish.
Travellers observe that in a state of nature the fox-bats only eat the
ripest and the best fruit, and in their search for it they climb with
great facility along the under side of the branches. In Java, as Dr
Horsfield observes, these creatures, from their numbers and fruit-eating
propensities, occasion incalculable mischief, as they attack every kind
that grows there, from the cocoa-nut to the rarer and more delicate
productions, which are cultivated with care in the gardens of princes
and persons of rank. The doctor observes, that "delicate fruits, as they
approach to maturity, are ingeniously secured by means of a loose net or
basket, skilfully constructed of split bamboo. Without this precaution
little valuable fruit would escape the ravages of the kalong."
We have mentioned that the fox-bats are occasionally eaten in Australia.
Colonel Sykes alludes to the native Portuguese in Western India eating
the flesh of another species of Pteropus; and it would seem that but for
prejudice, their flesh, like that of the young of the South American
monkeys, is extremely delicate; the colonel says, writing of the
_Pteropus medius_, a species found in India, "I can personally testify
that their flesh is delicate and without disagreeable flavour."
The Javanese fox-bat occasionally affords amusement to the colonists as
well as natives, who chase it, according to Dr Horsfield, "during the
moonlight nights, which, in the latitude of Java, are uncommonly serene.
He is watched in his descent to the fruit-trees, and a discharge of
small shot readily brings him to the ground. By this means I frequently
obtained four or five individuals in the course of an hour." The natives
of New Caledonia, according to Dr Forster, use the hair of these great
bats in ropes, and in the tassels to their clubs, while they interweave
the hair among the threads of the _Cyperus squarrosus_, a grassy-looking
plant which they employ for that purpose.
William Dampier,[26] in 1687, observed the habits of a fox-bat on one of
the Philippine Islands, though he has exaggerated its size when he
judged "that the wings stretched out in length, could not be less
asunder than seven or eight foot from tip to tip." He records that "in
the evening, as soon as the sun was set, these creatures would begin to
take their flight from this island in swarms like bees, directing their
flight over to the main island. Thus we should see them rising up from
the island till night hindered our sight; and in the morning, as soon as
it was light, we should see them returning again like a cloud to the
small island till sunrising. This course they kept constantly while we
lay here, affording us every morning and evening an hour's diversion in
gazing at them and talking about them." Dr Horsfield describes the
species, which is abundant in the lower parts of Java, as having the
same habit. During the day it retreats to the branches of a tree of the
genus _Ficus_, where it passes the greater portion of the day in sleep,
"hanging motionless, ranged in succession, and often in close contact,
they have little resemblance to living beings, and by a person not
accustomed to their economy, are readily mistaken for a part of the
tree, or for a fruit of uncommon size suspended from its branches." The
doctor describes their society as being generally silent during the day,
except when a contention arises among them to get out of the influence
of the sun, when they utter a sharp piercing shriek. Their claws are so
sharp, and their attachment is consequently so strong, that they cannot
readily leave their hold without the assistance of their wings, and if
shot when in this position, they remain suspended.
DR MAYERNE AND HIS BALSAM OF BATS.
Dr Mayerne, a learned English physician, who died, aged eighty-two, in
1655, showed by his prescriptions that his enlightenment was not more
than that of the prevailing ignorance of the period. The chief
ingredient in his gout-powder was "raspings of a human skull unburied;"
"but," writes Mr Jeaffreson,[27] "his sweetest compound was his 'balsam
of bats,' strongly recommended as an unguent for hypochondriacal
persons, into which entered adders, bats, sucking whelps, earth-worms,
hogs' grease, the marrow of a stag, and the thigh-bone of an ox."
No doubt the doctor imagined that a combination of the virulence,
flightiness, swiftness, strength, and other qualities of all these
animals would in some mysterious way be communicated to his melancholy
patient; and, indeed, by acting on the imagination of such persons a
favourable direction is given to their thoughts, and in this way their
severe malady may at times have been removed.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] Illustrated Proceedings of Zoological Society.
[24] This was written some years ago; but I was glad to see when last in
the Zoological Gardens, June 1866, another live specimen of a species of
fox bat.
[25] "Narrative of the Voyage," i., p. 96 (1852).
[26] "New Voyage round the World" (1698), p. 381.
[27] "A Book about Doctors," by J. Cordy Jeaffreson, i., p. 23.
HEDGEHOG.
This well-armed genus of insect-eating quadruped has sometimes given to
describing zoologists, at least so it is said, an opportunity of paying
a sly compliment, concealing an allusion to the _touchy_ or supposed
irritable disposition of the party after whom the species has been
named. When Southey wrote the following paragraph, he happily expressed
what is too commonly the meaning and wish of critics and criticised. If
my readers look into any system of mammalia of recent date, under the
article _Erinaceus_, he will see one or more instances of concealed
allusions to touchiness of disposition in the persons of the
naturalists, _honoured_ by the seeming compliment. The hedgehog is
itself a very useful and very harmless quadruped. It is of great use in
a garden, and also in a kitchen frequented by crickets or black-beetles.
Its food is chiefly grubs, insects, worms, and such like. The creature
is easily tamed, and becomes a lovable and not a touchy pet. It is
eminently nocturnal.
SOUTHEY AND HIS CRITICS.
Robert Southey ("Common-Place Book," 4th series, p.44) writes:--
"I intend to be a hedgehog, and roll myself up in my own prickles: all I
regret is that I am not a porcupine, and endowed with the property of
shooting them to annoy the beasts who come near enough to annoy me."
MOLE.
This is perhaps the most remarkable of all our quadrupeds. Its
subterranean haunts and curious aptitudes for a life below the surface
of the ground are peculiarly worthy of study. The little hillocks it
turns up in its excavations are noticed by every one. Its pursuit of
worms and grubs, its nest, its soft plush-like fur, the pointed nose,
the strong digging fore-feet, the small all but hidden eyes, and
hundreds of other properties, render it a noticeable creature. The
following passage from Lord Macaulay's latest writings, although rather
long, may interest some in the story of this curious creature:--
THE MOLE AND KING WILLIAM.
"A fly, if it had God's message, could choke a king."[28] I never knew
till the 9th January 1862, when reading vol. v. of Macaulay's England,
that a horse, stumbling on a mole-hill, was the immediate cause of the
death of the great William III.
Lady Trevelyan, the sister of Macaulay, published vol. v. of her
brother's work, and added an account of the death of the illustrious
Dutchman, who did so much for our religious and civil liberties. The
historian was very partial to William, and the account of that monarch's
last days is Macaulay's last finished piece: it is here quoted in full
from the history:[29]--
"Meanwhile reports about the state of the king's health were constantly
becoming more and more alarming. His medical advisers, both English and
Dutch, were at the end of their resources. He had consulted by letter
all the most eminent physicians of Europe; and, as he was apprehensive
that they might return flattering answers if they knew who he was, he
had written under feigned names. To Fagon he had described himself as a
parish priest. Fagon replied, somewhat bluntly, that such symptoms could
have only one meaning, and that the only advice which he had to give to
the sick man was to prepare himself for death. Having obtained this
plain answer, William consulted Fagon again without disguise, and
obtained some prescriptions which were thought to have a little retarded
the approach of the inevitable hour. But the great king's days were
numbered. Headaches and shivering fits returned on him almost daily. He
still rode, and even hunted; but he had no longer that firm seat, or
that perfect command of the bridle, for which he had once been renowned.
Still all his care was for the future. The filial respect and tenderness
of Albemarle had been almost a necessary of life to him. But it was of
importance that Heinsius should be fully informed both as to the whole
plan of the next campaign, and as to the state of the preparations.
Albemarle was in full possession of the king's views on these subjects.
He was therefore sent to the Hague. Heinsius was at that time suffering
from indisposition, which was indeed a trifle when compared with the
maladies under which William was sinking. But in the nature of William
there was none of that selfishness which is the too common vice of
invalids. On the 20th of February he sent to Heinsius a letter, in which
he did not even allude to his own sufferings and infirmities. 'I am,'
he said, 'infinitely concerned to learn that your health is not yet
quite re-established. May God be pleased to grant you a speedy recovery.
I am unalterably your good friend, WILLIAM.' These were the last lines
of that long correspondence.
"On the 20th of February, William was ambling on a favourite horse named
Sorrel through the park of Hampton Court. He urged his horse to strike
into a gallop just at the spot where a mole had been at work. Sorrel
stumbled on the mole-hill, and went down on his knees. The king fell
off, and broke his collar-bone. The bone was set, and he returned to
Kensington in his coach. The jolting of the rough roads of that time
made it necessary to reduce the fracture again. To a young and vigorous
man such an accident would have been a trifle; but the frame of William
was not in a condition to bear even the slightest shock. He felt that
his time was short, and grieved, with a grief such as only noble spirits
feel, to think that he must leave his work but half finished. It was
possible that he might still live until one of his plans should be
carried into execution. He had long known that the relation in which
England and Scotland stood to each other was at best precarious, and
often unfriendly, and that it might be doubted whether, in an estimate
of the British power, the resources of the smaller country ought not to
be deducted from those of the larger. Recent events had proved that
without doubt the two kingdoms could not possibly continue for another
year to be on the terms on which they had been during the preceding
century, and that there must be between them either absolute union or
deadly enmity. Their enmity would bring frightful calamities, not on
themselves alone, but on all the civilised world. Their union would be
the best security for the prosperity of both, for the internal
tranquillity of the island, for the just balance of power among European
states, and for the immunities of all Protestant countries. On the 28th
of February, the Commons listened, with uncovered heads, to the last
message that bore William's sign-manual. An unhappy accident, he told
them, had forced him to make to them in writing a communication which he
would gladly have made from the throne. He had, in the first year of his
reign, expressed his desire to see a union accomplished between England
and Scotland. He was convinced that nothing could more conduce to the
safety and happiness of both. He should think it his peculiar felicity
if, before the close of his reign, some happy expedient could be devised
for making the two kingdoms one; and he, in the most earnest manner,
recommended the question to the consideration of the Houses. It was
resolved that the message should be taken into consideration on Saturday
the 7th of March.
"But, on the 1st of March, humours of menacing appearance showed
themselves in the king's knee. On the 4th of March he was attacked by
fever; on the 5th, his strength failed greatly; and on the 6th he was
scarcely kept alive by cordials. The Abjuration Bill and a money bill
were awaiting his assent. That assent he felt that he should not be able
to give in person. He therefore ordered a commission to be prepared for
his signature. His hand was now too weak to form the letters of his
name, and it was suggested that a stamp should be prepared. On the 7th
of March the stamp was ready. The Lord Keeper and the Clerks of the
Parliament came, according to usage, to witness the signing of the
commission. But they were detained some hours in the ante-chamber while
he was in one of the paroxysms of his malady. Meanwhile the Houses were
sitting. It was Saturday the 7th, the day on which the Commons had
resolved to take into consideration the question of the union with
Scotland. But that subject was not mentioned. It was known that the king
had but a few hours to live; and the members asked each other anxiously
whether it was likely that the Abjuration and money bills would be
passed before he died. After sitting long in the expectation of a
message, the Commons adjourned till six in the afternoon. By that time
William had recovered himself sufficiently to put the stamp on the
parchment which authorised his commissioners to act for him. In the
evening, when the Houses had assembled, Black Rod knocked. The Commons
were summoned to the bar of the Lords; the commission was read, the
Abjuration Bill and the Malt Bill became law, and both Houses adjourned
till nine o'clock in the morning of the following day. The following day
was Sunday. But there was little chance that William would live through
the night. It was of the highest importance that, within the shortest
possible time after his decease, the successor designated by the Bill of
Rights and the Act of Succession should receive the homage of the
Estates of the Realm, and be publicly proclaimed in the Council: and the
most rigid Pharisee in the Society for the Reformation of Manners could
hardly deny that it was lawful to save the state, even on the Sabbath.
"The king meanwhile was sinking fast. Albemarle had arrived at
Kensington from the Hague, exhausted by rapid travelling. His master
kindly bade him go to rest for some hours, and then summoned him to make
his report. That report was in all respects satisfactory. The States
General were in the best temper; the troops, the provisions, and the
magazines were in the best order. Everything was in readiness for an
early campaign. William received the intelligence with the calmness of a
man whose work was done. He was under no illusion as to his danger. 'I
am fast drawing,' he said, 'to my end.' His end was worthy of his life.
His intellect was not for a moment clouded. His fortitude was the more
admirable because he was not willing to die. He had very lately said to
one of those whom he most loved, 'You know that I never feared death;
there have been times when I should have wished it, but, now that this
great new prospect is opening before me, I do wish to stay here a little
longer.' Yet no weakness, no querulousness disgraced the noble close of
that noble career. To the physicians the king returned his thanks
graciously and gently. 'I know that you have done all that skill and
learning could do for me, but the case is beyond your art; and I
submit.' From the words which escaped him he seemed to be frequently
engaged in mental prayer. Burnet and Tenison remained many hours in the
sick-room. He professed to them his firm belief in the truth of the
Christian religion, and received the sacrament from their hands with
great seriousness. The antechambers were crowded all night with lords
and privy-councillors. He ordered several of them to be called in, and
exerted himself to take leave of them with a few kind and cheerful
words. Among the English who were admitted to his bedside were
Devonshire and Ormond. But there were in the crowd those who felt as no
Englishman could feel, friends of his youth, who had been true to him,
and to whom he had been true, through all vicissitudes of fortune; who
had served him with unalterable fidelity when his Secretaries of State,
his Treasury, and his Admiralty had betrayed him; who had never on any
field of battle, or in an atmosphere tainted with loathsome and deadly
disease, shrunk from placing their own lives in jeopardy to save his,
and whose truth he had at the cost of his own popularity rewarded with
bounteous munificence. He strained his feeble voice to thank
Auverquerque for the affectionate and loyal services of thirty years. To
Albemarle he gave the keys of his closet and of his private drawers.
'You know,' he said, 'what to do with them.' By this time he could
scarcely respire. 'Can this,' he said to the physicians, 'last long?' He
was told that the end was approaching. He swallowed a cordial, and asked
for Bentinck. Those were his last articulate words. Bentinck instantly
came to the bedside, bent down, and placed his ear close to the king's
mouth. The lips of the dying man moved, but nothing could be heard. The
king took the hand of his earliest friend, and pressed it tenderly to
his heart. In that moment, no doubt, all that had cast a slight passing
cloud over their long and pure friendship was forgotten. It was now
between seven and eight in the morning. He closed his eyes, and gasped
for breath. The bishops knelt down and read the commendatory prayer.
When it ended William was no more!"
It was assuredly the stumbling of his horse against a mole-hill that led
more immediately to the death of this great monarch. It is but one link
in the chain of many providences affecting his life. We all remember the
schoolboy ditty--
"For want of a nail the shoe was lost;
For want of a shoe the rider was lost;
For want of the rider the battle was lost;
For want of the battle the kingdom was lost."
How much the death of King William retarded progress in Great Britain
can never be judged or determined. His appointed hour had come. It was
no bullet with its billet on the banks of the Boyne that laid the
Dutchman low, but the cast-up earth of a specimen of a little
insectivorous quadruped called the mole, which laid him on that bed from
which he never arose.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] Jeremy Taylor, if I remember aright.
[29] Vol. V., pp. 305-310.
BEARS.
A most comfortably clad set of plantigrade creatures, as fond, most of
them, of fruits as they are of flesh. No creatures are more amusing in
zoological gardens to children, who wonder at their climbing powers. Who
is so heartless as not to have pitied the roving polar bear, caged, on a
sultry July day, in a small paddock with a puddle, and wandering about
restlessly in his few feet of ground, as the well-dressed mob lounged to
hear the military band performing in the Regent's Park Zoological
Gardens? Even young bears have an _adult_ kind of look about them. The
writer remembers the manner of one, disappointed at its bread sap, most
of the milk of which had been absorbed. A little girl standing by, not
two years old, perfectly understood what the little creature was
searching for, and, looking up, said "milka," or something closely
resembling it. We recently saw a little brown bear, on board a Russian
ship at Leith. He acted as a capital guard. The little creature had a
grown-up face, more easily observed than described.
Bear hams, we speak from rare experience, are truly excellent. Bears, in
our early London days, were kept by many hairdressers and perfumers. The
anecdote or passage from Dickens's "Humphrey's Clock" is very
characteristic.
In one of Wilkie's pictures the brown bear is figured on its way with
its owners to the parish beadle's "house of detention." We remember the
very bear and its owners. A fine chapter might be written on the animals
that used to be led about the country by wandering foreigners. Our first
sight of guinea-pigs, our first view of the black-bellied hamster, our
first sight of the camel and dromedary, with a monkey on his neck, and
our first bear, were seen in this way. Boys and girls in those days
seldom saw menageries. A muzzled bear on its hind legs in Nicolson
Street, or at the Sciennes, was an exotic sight seldom witnessed, and
not easily forgotten. The last we saw was in Bernard Street, Leith, in
1869. That very day, the police were hunting for Bruin and its leaders
all over Edinburgh. Bears are now debarred from parading our streets.
AN AUSTRIAN GENERAL AND A BEAR.[30]
Mr Paget was told an excellent story of a bear hunt, which took place in
the mountains of Transylvania, and in the presence of the gentleman who
told him the story.
"General V----, the Austrian commander of the forces in this district,
had come to Cronstadt to inspect the troops, and had been invited by our
friend, in compliment to his rank, to join him in a bear hunt. Now, the
general, though more accustomed to drilling than hunting, accepted the
invitation, and appeared in due time in a cocked hat and long gray
greatcoat, the uniform of an Austrian general. When they had taken up
their places, the general, with half a dozen rifles arrayed before him,
paid such devoted attention to a bottle of spirits he had brought with
him, that he quite forgot the object of his coming. At last, however, a
huge bear burst suddenly from the cover of the pine forest, directly in
front of him. At that moment the bottle was raised so high that it quite
obscured the general's vision, and he did not perceive the intruder till
he was close upon him. Down went the bottle, up jumped the astonished
soldier, and, forgetful of his guns, off he started, with the bear
clutching at the tails of his greatcoat as he ran away. What strange
confusion of ideas was muddling the general's intellect at the moment it
is difficult to say, but I suspect he had some notion that the attack
was an act of insubordination on the part of Bruin, for he called out
most lustily, as he ran along, 'Back, rascal! back! I am a general!'
Luckily, a poor Wallack peasant had more respect for the epaulettes
than the bear, and, throwing himself in the way, with nothing but a
spear for his defence, he kept the enemy at bay till our friend and the
jaegers came up, and finished the contest with their rifles."
BYRON'S BEAR AT CAMBRIDGE.
When at Trinity College, Cambridge, Lord Byron had a strange pet. He
"brought up a bear for a degree." He said to Captain Medwyn,[31] "I had
a great hatred of college rules, and contempt for academical honours.
How many of their wranglers have ever distinguished themselves in the
world? There was, by the by, rather a witty satire founded on my bear. A
friend of Shelley's made an ourang-outang (Oran Hanton, Esq.) the hero
of a novel ('Melincourt'), had him created a baronet, and returned for
the borough of One Vote."
CHARLES DICKENS ON BEARS' GREASE AND ITS PRODUCERS.
Any one who has been long resident in London, or who has passed through
Fenchurch Street, or Everett Street, Russell Square, must have been
struck with the way in which "bears' grease" is or used to be advertised
in these localities. Dickens makes Mr Samuel Weller tell of an
enthusiastic tradesman of this description.[32]
"His whole delight was in his trade. He spent all his money in bears,
and run in debt for 'em besides, and there they wos a growling away in
the front cellar all day long and ineffectually gnashing their teeth,
vile the grease o' their relations and friends wos being retailed in
gallipots in the shop above, and the first floor winder wos ornamented
with their heads; not to speak o' the dreadful aggrawation it must have
been to 'em to see a man always a walkin' up and down the pavement
outside, with the portrait of a bear in his last agonies, and
underneath, in large letters, 'Another fine animal was slaughtered
yesterday at Jenkinson's!' Hous'ever, there they wos, and there
Jenkinson wos, till he was took very ill with some inward disorder, lost
the use of his legs, and wos confined to his bed, vere he laid a wery
long time; but sich wos his pride in his profession even then, that
wenever he wos worse than usual the doctor used to go down-stairs, and
say, 'Jenkinson's wery low this mornin', we must give the bears a stir;'
and as sure as ever they stirred 'em up a bit, and made 'em roar,
Jenkinson opens his eyes, if he wos ever so bad, calls out, 'There's the
bears!' and rewives agin."
The author of a most amusing article in the seventy-seventh volume of
the _Edinburgh Review_, on the modern system of advertising, records
that, in his puff, the first vendor of bears' grease cautioned his
customers to wash their hands in warm water after using it, to prevent
them from assuming the hairy appearance of a paw.
A BEARABLE PUN.
An illiterate vendor of beer wrote over his door at Harrowgate, "_Bear_
sold here." "He spells the word quite correctly," said Theodore Hook,
"if he means to apprise us that the article is his own _Bruin_."[33]
[Illustration: Polar Bear. (Thalassarctos maritimus.)]
SHAVED BEAR.
Robert Southey ("Common-Place Book," 4th ser., p. 359) says:--"At
Bristol I saw a shaved monkey shown for a fairy; and a shaved bear, in a
check waistcoat and trousers, sitting in a great chair as an Ethiopian
savage. This was the most cruel fraud I ever saw. The unnatural position
of the beast, and the damnable brutality of the woman-keeper, who sat
upon his knee, put her arm round his neck, called him husband and
sweetheart, and kissed him, made it the most disgusting spectacle I ever
witnessed. Cottle was with me."
He also tells of a fellow exhibiting a dragon-fly under a magnifier at a
country fair, and calling it the great High German "Heiter-Keiter."
THE POLAR BEAR.
(_Thalassarctos maritimus._[34])
Notwithstanding ice and snow, and the darkness of a nine months' winter,
the Arctic regions are tenanted by several mammalia. Some of these are
constant residents, the rest are migratory visitors. Of the former
division, one of the most conspicuous, as it is certainly the most
formidable, is the polar bear,--a creature between eight and nine feet
in length, which, shuffling along the snow at a very quick pace, and
being an excellent swimmer besides, cannot fail to inspire dread. The
large wide head and fearfully armed jaws are united by a strong neck to
powerful shoulders, from which spring the thick and muscular fore-legs.
The paws, both of the fore and of the hind feet, are broad and admirably
adapted, with their long hairy covering, to keep the polar bear from
sinking in the snow. Although the creature has an appearance of
clumsiness, it is the reverse of inactive. Every one who knows the
boundless spaces it has to traverse, when in a state of liberty and the
"monarch of all it surveys," cannot but pity it as a prisoner in the
Regent's Park, where a tolerably capacious den, supplied with a bath of
water of very limited dimension, affords the restless creature less
liberty than a squirrel has in its round-about, or a poor lark in its
cage.
Voyagers to the Arctic regions describe it as wandering over the fields
of ice, mounting the hummocks,[35] and looking around for prey. With
outstretched head, its little but keen eye directed to the various
points of a wide horizon, the polar bear looks out for seals; or scents
with its quick nostrils the luscious smell of some stinking
whale-blubber or half-putrid whale-flesh. Dr Scoresby relates[36] that a
piece of the _kreng_ of a whale thrown into the fire drew a bear to a
ship from the distance of miles. Captain Beechey mentions, that his
party in 1818, as they were off the coast of Spitzbergen, by setting on
fire some fat of the walrus, soon attracted a bear to their close
vicinity. This polar Bruin was evidently unaccustomed to the sight of
masts, and, when approaching, occasionally hesitated, and seemed half
inclined to turn round and be off. So agreeable a smell as burning
walrus fat dispelled all distrust, and brought him within musket-shot.
On receiving the first ball, he sprang round, growled terrifically, and
half raised himself on his hind-legs, as if expecting to seize the
object which had caused so much pain; woe to any one who had at that
moment been within reach of his merciless paws! Although a second and
third ball laid him writhing on the ice, he was not mastered; and on the
butt end of a musket directed at his head breaking short off, the bear
quickly seized the thigh of his assailant, and, but for the immediate
assistance of two or three of his shipmates, the man would have been
seriously injured. In these very seas--nearly fifty years before--the
hero of Trafalgar encountered this Arctic tyrant, and, when missed from
his ship, was discovered with a comrade attacking a large specimen,
separated from them by a chasm in the ice. On being reprimanded by his
captain for his foolhardiness, "Sir," said the young middy, pouting his
lips, as he used to do when excited, "I wished to kill the bear that I
might carry the skin to my father."[37]
Barentz, in his celebrated voyage in 1595, had two of his men killed by
"a great leane white beare." In these early days, so unused were polar
bears to man, that though thirty of their comrades attempted a rescue,
the prey was not abandoned. The purser, "stepping somewhat farther
forward, and seeing the beare to be within the length of a shot,
presently levelled his peece, and discharging it at the beare, shot her
into the head, betweene both the eyes, and yet shee held the man still
fast by the necke, and lifted up her head with the man in her mouth, but
shee beganne somewhat to stagger; wherewith the purser and a Scottishman
drew out their courtlaxes (cutlasses), and stroke at her so hard, that
their courtlaxes burst, and yet shee would not leave the man. At last
Wm. Geysen went to them, and with all his might stroke the beare upon
the snowt with his peece, at which time the beare fell to the ground,
making a great noyse, and Wm. Geysen leaping upon her cut her throat.
The 7th of September wee buried the dead bodies of our men in the States
Island, and having fleaed the beare, carryed her skinne to Amsterdam."
This is about the earliest record of an encounter with this formidable
creature; sailors now find that they can be attacked with most advantage
in the water. When in this element, they try to escape by swimming to
the ice, and when the ice is in the form of loose and detached small
floes, Dr Sutherland has seen them dive underneath, and appear on the
opposite side. Scoresby records, that when shot at a distance, and able
to escape, the bear has been observed to retire to the shelter of a
hummock, and, as if aware of the styptical effect of cold, apply snow to
the wound.
In common with nearly every animal, this huge despot of the North is
strongly attached to its young. Captain Inglefield, on his return home
from Baffin's Bay in 1852, pursued three bears, as he was anxious to get
a supply of fresh meat for his Esquimaux dogs. The trio were evidently a
mother and twins. The captain was anxious to secure the cubs alive as
trophies, and was cautious in shooting at the mother. All three fell,
and were brought on board the _Isabel_. He records that it was quite
heartrending to see the affection that existed between them. When the
cubs saw their mother was wounded, they commenced licking her wounds,
regardless of their own sufferings. At length the mother began to eat
the snow, a sure sign that she was mortally wounded. "Even then her care
for the cubs did not cease, as she kept continually turning her head
from one to the other, and, though roaring with pain, she seemed to warn
them to escape if possible. Their attachment was as great as hers, and I
was thus obliged to destroy them all. It went much against my feelings,
but the memory of my starving dogs reconciled me to the necessity."
The female bear when pursued carries or pushes her cubs forwards, and
the little creatures are described as placing themselves across her path
to be shoved forwards. Scoresby mentions an instance where, when
projected some yards in advance, the cubs ran on until she overtook
them, when they alternately adjusted themselves for a second throw.
It is chiefly on the seal that this bear feeds, and it displays great
cunning in catching them as they sleep on the ice, or come to the holes
in the ice to breathe, when it destroys them with one blow of its
formidable and heavy paw. For its mode of getting the walrus we refer
the reader to "Excelsior," vol. i. p. 37. Notwithstanding his strength
and ferocity, the Esquimaux frequently kill the polar bear, as they
esteem its flesh and fat, and highly prize its skin. The flesh is not so
prized by Saxons, whether they be European or American. Dr Kane's
opinion would differ but little from that of Arctic voyagers on our side
of the Atlantic. The surgeon to the "Grinnell Expedition" in search of
Sir John Franklin thus characterises its flesh: "Bear is strong, very
strong, and withal most capricious meat; you cannot tell where to find
him. One day he is quite beefy and bearable; another, hircine, hippuric,
and detestable."
It is but fair to say that Captain Parry[38] regards the flesh of the
polar bear to be as wholesome as any other, though not quite so
palatable. His men suffered from indigestion after eating it; but this
he attributes to the quantity, and not to the quality, of the meat they
had eaten.
There seems to be little doubt that the liver is highly deleterious.
Some of the sailors of Barentz, who made a meal of it, were very sick,
"and we verily thought we should have lost them, for all their skins
came off from the foot to the head."
The skin of the bear is covered with long yellowish white hair, which,
is very close, and forms a wonderful defence against the cold, and
against the tusk of the animals on which it feeds. We heard of another
use of this hair from an officer on one of the late Arctic searching
expeditions. A bear was seen to come down a tolerably high and steep
declivity by sliding down on its hinder quarters, in an attitude known,
in more than one part of the British Islands, by the expressive name of
"katy-hunkers;" the shaggy hair with which it was covered serving like a
thick mat to protect the creature from injury. The Esquimaux prepare the
skin sometimes without ripping it up, and turning the hairy side inward
a warm sack-like bed is formed, into which they creep, and lie very
comfortably. Otho Fabricius, in his "Fauna Graenlandica" (p. 24), informs
us that the tendons are converted into sewing threads. The female bear
has one or two, and sometimes three, cubs at a time. They are born in
the winter, and the mother generally digs for them and for herself a
snug nestling-place in the snow. The males in the winter time leave the
coast, and go out on the ice-fields, to the edge of the open water after
seals.--_Adam White, in "Excelsior" (with additions)._
NELSON AND THE POLAR BEAR.
In 1773, Captain Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave, sailed on a voyage of
discovery towards the North Pole. In this expedition sailed two Norfolk
young men, one in his twenty-third year, the other a mere lad in his
fifteenth year. The former sailed from a spirit of curiosity, and being
sorely distressed by sea-sickness was landed in Norway. He afterwards
became famous in the British Parliament, and the speeches of the Right
Hon. William Windham, Secretary at War, are often referred to even now.
The younger man was Horatio Nelson, cockswain under Captain Lutwidge,
who was killed at the battle of Trafalgar, thirty-two years after his
Polar expedition, and left a name which is synonymous with the glory of
the British navy.
Southey, in his admirable life,[39] records an instance of his hardihood
on this expedition:--"One night, during the mid-watch, he stole from the
ship with one of his comrades, taking advantage of a rising fog, and set
off over the ice in pursuit of a bear. It was not long before they were
missed. The fog thickened, and Captain Lutwidge and his officers became
exceedingly alarmed for their safety. Between three and four in the
morning the weather cleared, and the two adventurers were seen at a
considerable distance from the ship attacking a huge bear. The signal
for them to return was immediately made; Nelsons' comrade called upon
him to obey it, but in vain; his musket had flashed in the pan; their
ammunition was expended; and a chasm in the ice, which divided him from
the bear, probably preserved his life. 'Never mind,' he cried; 'do but
let me get a blow at this devil with the butt-end of my musket, and we
shall have him.' Captain Lutwidge, however, seeing his danger, fired a
gun, which had the desired effect of frightening the beast; and the boy
then returned, somewhat afraid of the consequences of his trespass. The
captain reprimanded him sternly for conduct so unworthy of the office
which he filled, and desired to know what motive he could have for
hunting a bear. 'Sir,' said he, pouting his lip, as he was wont to do
when agitated, 'I wished to kill the bear, that I might carry the skin
to my father.'"
A CLEVER POLAR BEAR.
Mr Markham,[40] when the ship _Assistance_ was in the Wellington
Channel, observed several bears prowling about in search of seals. "On
one occasion," he writes, "I saw a bear swimming across a lane of water,
and pushing a large piece of ice before him. Landing on the floe, he
advanced stealthily towards a couple of seals, which were basking in the
sun at some little distance, still holding the ice in front to hide his
black muzzle; but this most sagacious of bears was for once outwitted,
for the seals dived into a pool of water before he could get within
reach. On another occasion, a female Bruin having been shot from the
deck of the _Intrepid_, her affectionate cub, an animal about the size
of a large Newfoundland dog, remained resolutely by the side of its
mother, and on the approach of the commander of the _Intrepid_ with part
of his crew, a sort of tournament ensued, in which the youthful bear,
although belaboured most savagely, showed a gallant resistance, and at
length rushing between the legs of the corporal of marines, laid him
prostrate on the ice, floored another man, who had seized hold of his
tail, and effected his escape."
CAPTAIN OMMANEY AND THE POLAR BEAR.
Captain Ommaney,[41] who led one of the travelling parties in 1851 sent
out from the ships under Austin in search of Franklin on the 12th of
June, the day before he arrived at the ships, met with a laughable
accident, although it might have had a serious termination. They had all
of them but just got into their blanket bags, when a peculiar noise, as
if something was rubbing up the snow, was heard outside. The gallant
captain instantly divined its cause, seized, loaded, and cocked his gun,
and ordered the tent door to be opened, upon which a huge bear was seen
outside. Captain Ommaney fired at the animal, but, whether from the
benumbed state of his limbs, or the dim glimmering light, he
unfortunately missed him, and shot away the rope that supported the tent
instead. The enraged monster then poked his head against the poles, and
the tent fell upon its terrified inmates, and embraced them in its
folds. Their confusion and dismay can more easily be imagined than
described, but at length one man, with more self-possession than the
rest, slipped out of his bag, scrambled from under the prostrate tent,
and ran to the sledge for another gun; and it was well that he did so,
for no sooner had he vacated his sleeping sack than Bruin seized it
between his teeth, and shook it violently, with the evident intention of
wreaking his vengeance on its inmate. He was, however, speedily
despatched by a well-aimed shot from the man, the tent was repitched,
and tranquillity restored.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] "Hungary and Transylvania," &c., by John Paget, Esq., vol. ii. p.
445.
[31] "Conversations of Lord Byron," p. 72.
[32] "Master Humphrey's Clock."
[33] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 331
[34] [Greek: Thalassa], sea; [Greek: arktos], bear.
[35] Those "Arctic hedge-rows," as Mr David Walker calls them, when, on
the 30th November 1857, he was on board the Arctic yacht _Fox_,
wintering in the floe-ice of Baffin's Bay. "The scene apparent on going
on deck after breakfast was splendid, and unlike anything I ever saw
before. The subdued light of the moon thrown over such a vast expanse of
ice, in the distance the loom of a berg, or the shadow of the hummocks
(the Arctic hedge-rows), the only thing to break the even surface, a few
stars peeping out, as if gazing in wonder at the spectacle,--all united
to render the prospect striking, and lead one to contemplate the
goodness and power of the Creator." On the 2d November, they had killed
a bear, which had been bayed and surrounded by their Esquimaux dogs.
Captain M'Clintock shot him. He was 7 feet 3 inches long. Only one of
the dogs was injured by his paws. Much did the hungry beasts enjoy their
feast, for they "were regaled with the entrails, which they polished off
in a very short time."--_Mr Walker, in_ _"Belfast News Letter," quoted
in "Dublin Natural History Review," 1858_, p. 180.
[36] "Account of Arctic Regions," i. 517.
[37] The anecdote is given with more detail at p. 67.
[38] "Attempt to Reach the North Pole," p. 115.
[39] "Life of Nelson," by Robert Southey, Esq., LL.D., Poet Laureate, p.
11.
[40] "Franklin's Footsteps," by Clement R. Markham, p. 65.
[41] "Franklin's Footsteps," by Clement Robert Markham, late of H.M.S.
_Assistance_, p. 93.
RACCOON.
A strikingly pretty, well-clad, and pleasingly coloured North American
quadruped, of which many zoological anecdotes might be given. Linnaeus
named it _Ursu lotor_, or the Washer, from its curious habit of putting
any food offered to it, at least when in confinement, into water, before
attempting to eat it.
"A GONE COON."
An American phrase for "the last extremity," or, "it's all up." They say
that a Major, or Colonel, or General Scott "down South" was notorious as
a dead shot. Once on a time, when out with his gun, he espied a raccoon
on a lofty tree. The poor raccoon, noticing the gun pointed at him,
cried to the dead shot, "Air _you_ General Scott?"--"I air."--"Then
wait, I air a comin' down, for I air _a gone coon_."
BADGER.
The badger, or brock, as it is called in Scotland, is yearly becoming
more and more rare. In a few years, this curious and powerful member of
the _ferae_, will figure, like the bear and beaver, as among the extinct
quadrupeds of these islands. Naturalists will be recording that in the
days of Robert Burns it must have been not at all uncommon, and not rare
in those of Hugh Miller, since low dram-shops kept them for the
entertainment of their guests. The Ayrshire bard makes the Newfoundland
dog, Caesar, say to his comrade Luath, the collie, when, speaking of most
of the gentry of his day--
"They gang as saucy by poor folk
As I wad by a stinking brock."[42]
The author of "Old Red Sandstone" and "My Schools and Schoolmasters,"
has recorded in the latter work the history of his employment as a hewer
of great stones under the branching foliage of the elm and chestnut
trees of Niddry Park, near Edinburgh, and how, in the course of a strike
among the masons, he marched into town with several of them to a meeting
on the Links, where, conspicuous from the deep red hue of their clothes
and aprons, they were cheered as a reinforcement from a distance. On
adjourning, Hugh Miller, in his racy style, gives the following account
of a badger-baiting more than forty years ago:--
HUGH MILLER AND THE BADGER-BAITING IN THE CANONGATE.
"My comrades proposed that we should pass the time until the hour of
meeting in a public-house, and, desirous of securing a glimpse of the
sort of enjoyment for which they sacrificed so much, I accompanied them.
Passing not a few more inviting-looking places, we entered a low tavern
in the upper part of the Canongate, kept in an old half-ruinous
building, which has since disappeared. We passed on through a narrow
passage to a low-roofed room in the centre of the erection, into which
the light of day never penetrated, and in which the gas was burning
dimly in a close, sluggish atmosphere, rendered still more stifling by
tobacco-smoke, and a strong smell of ardent spirits. In the middle of
the crazy floor there was a trap-door, which lay open at the time; and a
wild combination of sounds, in which the yelping of a dog, and a few
gruff voices that seemed cheering him on, were most noticeable, rose
from the apartment below. It was customary at this time for dram-shops
to keep badgers housed in long narrow boxes, and for working men to keep
dogs; and it was part of the ordinary sport of such places to set the
dogs to unhouse the badgers. The wild sport which Scott describes in his
'Guy Mannering,' as pursued by Dandy Dinmont and his associates among
the Cheviots, was extensively practised twenty-nine years ago amid the
dingier haunts of the High Street and Canongate. Our party, like most
others, had its dog,--a repulsive-looking brute, with an earth-directed
eye; as if he carried about with him an evil conscience; and my
companions were desirous of getting his earthing ability tested upon the
badger of the establishment; but on summoning the tavern-keeper, we were
told that the party below had got the start of us. Their dog was, as we
might hear, 'just drawing the badger; and before our dog could be
permitted to draw him, the poor brute would require to get an hour's
rest.' I need scarce say, that the hour was spent in hard drinking in
that stagnant atmosphere; and we then all descended through the
trap-door, by means of a ladder, into a bare-walled dungeon, dark and
damp, and where the pestiferous air smelt like that of a burial vault.
The scene which followed was exceedingly repulsive and brutal,--nearly
as much so as some of the scenes furnished by those otter-hunts in which
the aristocracy of the country delight occasionally to indulge. Amid
shouts and yells the badger, with the blood of his recent conflict still
fresh upon him, was again drawn to the box-mouth; and the party
returning satisfied to the apartment above, again betook themselves to
hard drinking. In a short time the liquor began to tell, not first, as
might be supposed, on our younger men, who were mostly tall, vigorous
fellows, in the first flush of their full strength, but on a few of the
middle-aged workmen, whose constitutions seemed undermined by a previous
course of dissipation and debauchery. The conversation became very loud,
very involved, and though highly seasoned with emphatic oaths, very
insipid; and leaving with Cha--who seemed somewhat uneasy that my eye
should be upon their meeting in its hour of weakness--money enough to
clear off my share of the reckoning, I stole out to the King's Park, and
passed an hour to better purpose among the trap rocks than I could
possibly have spent it beside the trap-door of that tavern party. I am
not aware that a single individual, save the writer, is now living; its
very dog did not live out half his days. His owner was alarmed one
morning, shortly after this time, by the intelligence that a dozen of
sheep had been worried during the night on a neighbouring farm, and that
a dog very like his had been seen prowling about the fold; but in order
to determine the point, he would be visited, it was added, in the course
of the day, by the shepherd and a law-officer. The dog meanwhile,
however, conscious of guilt,--for dogs do seem to have consciences in
such matters,--was nowhere to be found, though, after the lapse of
nearly a week, he again appeared at the work; and his master, slipping a
rope round his neck, brought him to a deserted coal-pit half-filled with
water, that opened in an adjacent field, and flinging him in, left the
authorities no clue by which to establish his identity with the robber
and assassin of the fold."[43]
THE LAIRD OF BALNAMOON AND THE BROCK.
The laird, so Dean Ramsay had the story sent him, once riding past a
high steep bank, stopped opposite a hole in it, and said, "John, I saw a
brock gang in there."--"Did ye?" said John; "wull ye haud my horse,
sir?"--"Certainly," said the laird, and away rushed John for a spade.
After digging for half an hour, he came back, nigh speechless to the
laird, who had regarded him musingly. "I canna find him, sir," said
John.--"'Deed," said the laird, very coolly, "I wad ha' wondered if ye
had, for it's ten years sin' I saw him gang in there."[44]
FOOTNOTES:
[42] Poems, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, 1787, p. 14, "The Twa
Dogs."
FERRET.
A truly blood-thirsty member of that slim-bodied but active race, the
weasel tribe. He is certainly an inhabitant of a warmer climate than
this, being very sensitive to cold. He is used in killing rats and
_ferreting out_ rabbits, a verb indeed derived from his name. He has
been known to attack sleeping infants.
COLLINS AND THE RAT-CATCHERS _grip_ OF HIS FERRETS.
That delightful painter of cottage life, says his son,[45] often found
cottagers who gloried in being painted, and who sat like professional
models, under an erroneous impression that it was for their personal
beauties and perfections that their likenesses were portrayed. The
remarks of these and other good people, who sat to the painter in
perfect ignorance of the use or object of his labours, were often
exquisitely original. He used to quote the criticism of a celebrated
country rat-catcher, on the study he had made from him, with hearty
triumph and delight. When asked whether he thought his portrait like,
the rat-catcher, who--perhaps in virtue of his calling--was a gruff and
unhesitating man, immediately declared that the face was "not a morsel
like," but vowed with a great oath, that nothing could ever be equal to
the correctness of the _dirt shine on his old leather breeches_, and the
_grip_ that he had of _the necks of his ferrets_!
FOOTNOTES:
[43] "My Schools and Schoolmasters; or, The Story of my Education," by
Hugh Miller, fifth edition, 1856, pp. 321-323.
[44] "Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character," tenth edition,
1864, p. 183.
POLE-CAT.
An equally blood-thirsty member of the weasel family, with the subject
of the preceding paragraph.
FOX AND THE POLE-CAT.--(POLL-CAT.[46])
Francis Grose relates the following as having happened during one of the
famous Westminster elections:--"During the poll, a dead cat being thrown
on the hustings, one of Sir Cecil Wray's party observed it stunk worse
than a fox, to which Mr Fox replied, there was nothing extraordinary in
that, considering it was a poll-cat."
FOOTNOTES:
[45] "Memoirs of the Life of William Collins, R.A," by his son, W.
Wilkie Collins, i. p. 222.
DOGS.
One who seems to love the race of dogs, and who has written a most
readable book on them,[47] remarks, that the dog "even now is rarely the
companion of a Jew, or the inmate of his house." He quotes various terms
of reproach still common among us, and which seem to have originated
from a similar feeling to that of the Jew. For instance, we say of a
very cheap article, that it is "dog cheap." To call a person "a dog," or
"a cur," or "a hound," means something the very opposite of
complimentary. A surly person is said to have "a dogged disposition."
Any one very much fatigued is said to be "dog weary." A wretched room or
house is often called "a dog hole," or said to be only fit for "a dog."
Very poor verse is "doggerel." It is told of Lady Mary Wortley
Montague, that when a young nobleman refused to translate some
inscription over an alcove, because it was in "dog-latin," she observed,
"How strange a puppy shouldn't understand his mother tongue."
What, too, can be more expressive of a man being on the verge of ruin,
than the common phrase, that "such a one is going to the dogs." Of
modern describers of the very life and feelings of dogs, who can surpass
Dr John Brown of Edinburgh? His "Rab," and his "Our Dogs," are worthy of
the brush of Sir Edwin Landseer. Who has not heard the answer _said_ to
have been given by Sydney Smith to the great painter, when he wanted to
make a portrait of the witty canon, "_Is thy servant a dog, that he
should do this thing?_"
There is great diversity of standard in matters of taste. In China, a
well-roasted pup, of any variety of the very variable _Canis
familiaris_, is a dainty dish. In London the greatest exquisite delights
in the taste of a half-cooked woodcock, but would scruple to eat a
lady's lap-dog, even though descended, by indubitable pedigree, from a
genuine "liver-and-tan" spaniel, that followed King Charles II. in his
strolls through St James's Park; and which was given to her ladyship's
ancestress on a day recorded, perhaps, in the diary of Mr Samuel Pepys.
Again, in the country of the Esquimaux, who has not read in the
intensely interesting narratives of the Moravian missionaries, how the
dogs of the "Innuit"--of "the men," as they call themselves--are, in
winter, indispensable to their very existence? Parry, Lyon, Franklin,
Richardson, Ross, Rae, Penny, Sutherland, Inglefield, and Kane, have
told us what excellent "carriage"-pullers these hardy children of the
snow become from early infancy; and how the more they work, like the
wives of savages in Australia, the more they are kicked. Passing over
the dogs of the Indian tribes of North America and the gaunt race in
Patagonia, the reader may remember that the Roman youth, like the young
Briton, had, in the days of Horace, his outer marks--one was, that he
loved to have a dog, or a whole pack beside him--"_gaudet canibus_."
This attachment to the dog is given us "from above," and is one of the
many "good gifts" which proceed from Him, who made man and dog
"familiar," as the apt specific name of Linnaeus denominates the latter.
One of our greatly-gifted poets, in a cynical mood, could write an
epitaph on a favourite Newfoundlander, and end it with the dismal lines
on his views of "earthly friends"--
"He never knew but one,--and here he lies."
Our genial and home-loving Cowper has made his dog Beau classical. We
must beg our readers to refresh their memories, by looking into the
Olney bard's exquisite story,
"My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree,"
and they will find that _that_ story of "The Dog and the Water-lily" was
"no fable," and that Beau really understood his master's wish when he
fetched him a water-lily out of "Ouse's silent tide." How graceful are
the last two stanzas of that sweet little poem--
"Charm'd with the sight, 'The world,' I cried,
'Shall hear of this thy deed;
My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed.
'But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.'"[48]
[Illustration: BEAU.]
That the world might know the very "mark and figure" of this spaniel,
the late able illustrator of so many topographical works (Mr James
Storer) published in his "Rural Walks of Cowper"[49] a figure of Beau,
from the stuffed skin in the possession of Cowper's kinsman, the Rev.
Dr Johnson.
Mr Montague, in a letter to the son and biographer of Sir James
Mackintosh,[50] gives many reminiscences of that eminent man, who was
much attached to the memory of Cowper. He says, "We reached Dereham
about mid-day (it was in 1801), and wrote to Mr Johnson, the clergyman,
who had protected Cowper in the last years of his life, and in whose
house he died. He instantly called upon us, and we accompanied him to
his house. In the hall, we were introduced to a little red and white
spaniel, in a glass case--the little dog Beau, who, seeing the
water-lily which Cowper could not reach, 'plunging, left the shore.'"
"I saw him with that lily cropp'd,
Impatient swim to meet
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd
The treasure at my feet."
We saw the room where Cowper died, and the bell which he last touched.
We went to his grave, and to Mrs Unwin's, who is buried at some
distance. I lamented this, "Do not live in the visible, but the
invisible," said your father,--"his attainments, his tenderness, his
affections, his sufferings, and his hardships, will live long after both
their graves are no more."
We could linger over a prized octavo volume, published in Edinburgh in
1787; the first poem of this, "The Twa Dogs, a Tale," occupies some
thirteen pages, written with that "rare felicity" so common to _the_
Bard of Scotland. We mention it, because of the peculiar happiness with
which the collie, or Scottish shepherd-dog, is described in lines that
Sir Edwin Landseer alone has equalled on canvas, or his brother Thomas
with the graver--
"He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sonsie, bawsn't[51] face,
Aye gat him friends in ilka place.
His breast was white, his touzie back
Weel clad wi' coat of glossy black;
His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl."
_That's_ the shepherd-dog, as we have heard him described from a
specimen, which was the friend and follower of a valued one, who, when a
boy ('tis many years ago), frisked with the dog, over _one_ of the many
ferny haughs that margin the lovely Tweed above and below Peebles. It is
_the_ collie we have seen, on one of the sheep-farms of Lanarkshire,
obey its young master by a word or two, as unintelligible to us as
Japanese. But to the Culter "Luath," to hear was to obey; and in a
quarter of an hour a flock of sheep, which had been feeding on a
hillSide half a mile off, were brought back, driven by this faithful
"bit doggie." We wonder not that shepherds love their dogs. Why, even
the New Smithfield cattle-drovers, who drive sheep along the streets of
London on a Monday or Friday, never even require to urge their faithful
partners. Well may the gifted authoress of "The Dream" address "the
faithful guardian"--
"Oh, tried and trusted! thou whose love
Ne'er changes nor forsakes,
Thou proof, how perfect God hath stamp'd
The meanest thing He makes;
Thou, whom no snare entraps to serve,
No art is used to tame
(Train'd, like ourselves, thy path to know,
By words of love and blame);
Friend! who beside the cottage door,
Or in the rich man's hall,
With steadfast faith still answerest
The one familiar call;
Well by poor hearth and lordly home
Thy couchant form may rest,
And Prince and Peasant trust thee still,
To guard what they love best."
_Hon. Mrs Norton, "The Dream," &c._, p. 192.
No ordinary-sized volume, much less a short article, could give a tithe
of the true anecdotes of members of the dog race. Mere references to
their biography would take up a volume of Bibliography itself, just as
their forms, and character, and "pose," give endless subject to the
painter. Of modern authors, no one loved dogs more truly than Sir Walter
Scott, as the reader of his writings and of his biography is well
aware;[52] but it may not be generally known that, on the only occasion
when the great novelist met the Ayrshire peasant,--
"Virgilium tantum vidi,"--
the poem, which had made Burns a wonder to the boy then "unknown," was
that of "The Twa Dogs;" so that, even then, Scott had commenced to show
his attachment to these faithful followers. It was in the house of Sir
Adam Ferguson, when Scott was a mere lad; and the scene was described
most vividly to the writer by the late Scottish knight, after whose
battle in South Italy the author of "Marmion" named his pet staghound
Maida, or, as Scott pronounced it, "Myda." It was as the author of "The
Twa Dogs" that young Ferguson and Scott regarded Burns on his entrance
into the room with such wistful attention. The story is told in
Lockhart, and we will not quote it further; but, leaving dogs of our own
days and lands to Mr Jesse, who has given an interesting volume on them,
we will close with a few paragraphs on the dog of the East--a very
differently treated animal to that generally prized and esteemed
"friend" of man in these lands of the West.
The Holy Scriptures show us that dogs were generally despised. We select
three, out of many instances. "Is thy servant a _dog_ that he should do
this thing?" was the question with which Hazael, ignorant of the
deceitfulness of his own heart, indignantly replied to Elisha, when the
prophet told him of the evil that he would yet do unto the children of
Israel (2 Kings viii. 13). He, "who spake as never man spake," knowing
the faith of the Syrophoenician woman, and giving her an opportunity
of manifesting it "for our example," said, in the Syriac fashion of
thought, "It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to
_the dogs_" (Mark vii. 27). And the apostle John, in that wondrous close
of the prophetical writings, says, "For without," _i.e._, outside of the
New Jerusalem, "are _dogs_" (Rev. xxii. 5). In the East up to the
present day, with but few exceptions, dogs are treated with great
dislike. We might quote passages in proof from almost every Eastern
traveller, and may venture to extract one from the graphic page of the
Rev. W. Graham, who lived five years in Syria, and who has given some
noble word-pictures of men, and streets, and scenes in Damascus and
other Turkish towns. Writing of Damascus,[53] he remarks, "The dogs are
considered unclean, and are never domesticated in the East. They are
thin, lean, fox-like animals, and always at the starving point. They
live, breed, and die in the streets. They are useful as scavengers. They
are neither fondled nor persecuted, but simply tolerated; and no dog has
an owner, or ever follows and accompanies a man as the sheep do. I once
went out in the evening at Beyrout, with my teacher to enjoy the fresh
air and talk Arabic. My little English dog, the gift of a friend,
followed us. We passed through a garden, where a venerable Moslem was
sitting on a stone, silently and solemnly engaged in smoking his pipe.
He observed the dog _following_ us, and was astonished at it, as
something new and extraordinary; and rising, and making out of the way,
he cried out, 'May his father be accursed! Is that a dog or a fox?'"
Again, in Damascus, should a worn-out horse, donkey, or camel die in the
streets, in a few hours the dogs have devoured it; and the powerful rays
of the sun dry up all corrupt matter. Mr Graham tells us that the dogs
of Damascus are brown, blackish, or of an ash colour, and that he saw no
white or spotted specimens. He never saw a case of hydrophobia, nor did
he hear a _bark_. The dogs "howl, and make noise enough," he continues,
"but the fine, well-defined _bow-wow_ is entirely wanting." With a quiet
humour, he hints at the bark being a mark of the civilised, domesticated
dog, and as denoting, apparently, "the refinement of canine education."
We have been struck with the attempts of Penny's Esquimaux dogs,
deposited by the gallant Arctic mariner in the Zoological Gardens, to
_get up_ a bark somewhat like the "well-bred" dogs in the cages near
them. Mr Graham tells us of the Damascus dogs having established a kind
of police among themselves, and, like the rooks, driving all intruders
far from their district.
Dogs were not always disregarded in the East. Herodotus informs us,[54]
during the Persian occupation the number of Indian dogs kept in the
province of Babylon for the use of the governor was so great, that four
cities were exempted from taxes for maintaining them. In the mountain
parts of India, travellers describe the great dogs of Thibet and
Cashmere as being much prized.
"The domestic dog of Ladak," says Major Cunningham,[55] "is the
well-known shepherd's dog, or Thibetan mastiff. They have shaggy coats,
generally quite black, or black and tan; but I have seen some of a light
brown colour. They are usually ill-tempered to strangers; but I have
never found one that would face a stick, although they can fight well
when attacked. The only peculiarity that I have noticed about them is,
that the tail is nearly always curled upward on to the back, where the
hair is displaced by the constant rubbing of the tail." And that the
same massive variety was also prized in ancient times we know, by a
singularly fine, small bas-relief in baked clay, found in 1849 in the
Birs-i-Nimrud, Babylon, by Sir Henry Rawlinson, which is preserved in
the British Museum, to which it was presented by the late Prince Albert,
and an outline of which, reduced one-half, will convey a good idea to
the reader of its form. We may add that this bas-relief was first
noticed and figured, in 1851, in the third edition of a truly learned
and excellent work on "Nineveh and Persepolis," by Mr Vaux of the
British Museum (p. 183). These dogs, then, were nothing else than big,
"low jowled" Thibetan mastiffs, such as we occasionally see brought over
by some Indian officer; and the use for which they were employed by the
ancient kings and their attendants is strikingly exhibited on some slabs
from a chamber in the north palace of Koujunjik, a part of the great
Nineveh. On some of these slabs, dogs are seen engaged in pulling down
wild asses, deer, and other animals; and they were evidently kept also
to assist in securing nobler game--"the king of beasts;"--the sport of
which animals shows how truly the Assyrian king was named "Nimrod, the
mighty hunter before the Lord."--_Adam White, in "Excelsior" (with
additions)._
[Illustration]
BISHOP BLOMFIELD BITTEN BY A DOG.
His natural temperament was quick, and he was fond of authority. "A
saying of Sydney Smith's has been preserved, humorously illustrative of
the view which he took of Bishop Blomfield's character. The bishop had
been bitten by a dog in the calf of the leg, and fearing possible
hydrophobia in consequence, he went, with characteristic promptitude, to
have the injured piece of flesh cut out by a surgeon before he returned
home. Two or three on whom he called were not at home; but, at last, the
operation was effected by the eminent surgeon, Mr Keate. The same
evening the bishop was to have dined with a party where Sydney Smith was
a guest. Just before dinner, a note arrived, saying that he was unable
to keep his engagement, a dog having rushed out from the crowd and
bitten him in the leg. When this note was read aloud to the company,
Sydney Smith's comment was, '_I should like to hear the dog's account of
the story_.'
"When this accident occurred to him, Bishop Blomfield happened to be
walking with Dr D'Oyly, the rector of Lambeth. A lady of strong
Protestant principles, mistaking Dr D'Oyly for Dr Doyle, said that she
considered it was a judgment upon the bishop for keeping such
company."[56]
"PUPPIES NEVER SEE TILL THEY ARE NINE DAYS OLD."
It is related, that when a former Bishop of Bristol held the office of
Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, he one day met a couple
of under-graduates, who neglected to pay the accustomed compliment of
_capping_. The bishop inquired the reason of the neglect. The two men
begged his lordship's pardon, observing they were _freshmen_, and did
not know him. "How long have you been in Cambridge?" asked his lordship.
"Only _eight_ days," was the reply. "Very good," said the bishop;
"_puppies_ never see till they are _nine_ days old."[57]
MRS ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING'S DOG FLUSH.
Few have written so lovingly on the dog as this gifted poetess. Her dog
Flush is described so well that Landseer could paint the creature almost
to a hair. She has entered into the very feeling created in us by this
favoured pet of our race. The beautiful stanzas[58] I have copied give
also many little touches of her autobiography. This gifted lady was long
an invalid. She could enter with rare sympathy into Cowper's attachments
to animals. Her experience of the friendship of Flush is well told in
the following lines, so different from Lord Byron's misanthropic verses
on his dog:--
TO FLUSH, MY DOG.
Loving friend, the gift of one
Who her own true faith has run
Through her lower nature,
Be my benediction said
With my hand upon thy head,
Gentle fellow-creature!
Like a lady's ringlets brown
Flow thy silken ears adown
Either side demurely
Of thy silver-suited breast,
Shining out from all the rest
Of thy body purely.
Darkly brown thy body is,
Till the sunshine, striking this,
Alchemise its dulness,
When the sleek curls manifold
Flash all over into gold
With a burnish'd fulness.
Underneath my stroking hand,
Startled eyes of hazel bland
Kindling, growing larger,
Up thou leapest with a spring,
Full of prank and curveting
Leaping like a charger.
Leap! thy broad tail waves a light;
Leap! thy slender feet are bright,
Canopied in fringes;
Leap! those tassell'd ears of thine
Flicker strangely, fair and fine,
Down their golden inches.
Yet, my pretty, sporting friend,
Little is 't to such an end
That I praise thy rareness;
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears
And this glossy fairness.
But of _thee_ it shall be said,
This dog watch'd beside a bed
Day and night unweary--
Watch'd within a curtain'd room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom,
Round the sick and dreary.
Roses gather'd for a vase
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning;
This dog only waited on,
Knowing that, when light is gone,
Love remains for shining.
Other dogs in thymy dew
Track'd the hares, and follow'd through
Sunny moor or meadow;
This dog only crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing;
This dog only watch'd in reach
Of a faintly-utter'd speech,
Or a louder sighing.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropp'd upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double,
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast
In a tender trouble
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale, thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping,
Which he push'd his nose within,
After--platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
This dog, if a friendly voice
Call him now to blither choice
Than such chamber-keeping,
"Come out!" praying from the door,
Presseth backward as before,
Up against me leaping.
Therefore to this dog will I,
Tenderly, not scornfully,
Render praise and favour:
With my hand upon his head
Is my benediction said,
Therefore, and for ever.
And because he loved me so,
Better than his kind will do,
Often man or woman,
Give I back more love again
Than dogs often take of men,
Leaning from my Human.
Blessings on thee, dog of mine,
Pretty collars make thee fine,
Sugar'd milk make fat thee!
Pleasures wag on in thy tail,
Hands of gentle motion fail
Nevermore to pat thee!
Downy pillow take thy head,
Silken coverlet bestead,
Sunshine help thy sleeping!
No fly's buzzing wake thee up,
No man break thy purple cup
Set for drinking deep in.
Whisker'd cats arointed flee,
Sturdy stoppers keep from thee
Cologne distillations;
Nuts lie in thy path for stones,
And thy feast-day macaroons
Turn to daily rations!
Mock I thee in wishing weal?
Tears are in my eyes to feel
Thou art made so straightly;
Blessing needs must straighten too;
Little canst thou joy or do,
Thou who lovest _greatly_.
Yet be blessed to the height
Of all good and all delight
Pervious to thy nature;
Only _loved_ beyond that line,
With a love that answers thine,
Loving fellow-creature!
SIR THOMAS FOWELL BUXTON, BART., AND HIS DOG "SPEAKER."
Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton was very fond of dogs; his son[59] tells an
anecdote of the singular manner in which one of his pets came into his
possession. "He was standing at the door of the House of Commons talking
to a friend, when a beautiful black and tan terrier rushed between them,
and immediately began barking furiously at Mr Joseph Pease, who was
speaking. All the members jumped up, shouting and laughing, while the
officers of the house chased the dog round and round, till at last he
took refuge with Mr Buxton, who, as he could find no traces of an owner,
carried him home. He proved to be quite an original. One of his whims
was, that he would never go into the kitchen nor yet into a poor man's
cottage; but he formed a habit of visiting by himself at the country
houses in the neighbourhood of Cromer, and his refined manners and
intelligence made 'Speaker' a welcome guest wherever he pleased to go."
LORD BYRON AND HIS DOG BOATSWAIN.
In November 1808 Lord Byron lost his favourite dog Boatswain; the poor
animal having been seized with a fit of madness, at the commencement of
which so little aware was Byron of the nature of the malady, that he
more than once, with his bare hand, wiped away the slaver from the dog's
lips during the paroxysms. In a letter to his friend Mr Hodson, he thus
announces this event:--"Boatswain is dead! he expired in a state of
madness on the 18th, after suffering much, yet retaining all the
gentleness of his nature to the last, never attempting to do the least
injury to any one near him. I have now lost everything except old
Murray."
The monument raised by him to this dog--the most memorable tribute of
the kind since the dog's grave, of old, at Salamis--is still a
conspicuous ornament of the gardens of Newstead. The misanthropic verses
engraved upon it may be found among his poems, and the following is the
inscription by which they are introduced:--
"Near this spot Are deposited the remains of one Who
possessed beauty without vanity, Strength without insolence, Courage
without ferocity, And all the virtues of man without his vices. This
praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the memory of BOATSWAIN, a dog, Who was born at
Newfoundland, May 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, November 18, 1805."
The poet Pope, when about the same age as the writer of this
inscription, passed a similar eulogy on his dog, at the expense of human
nature; adding that "histories are more full of examples of the fidelity
of dogs than of friends." In a still sadder and bitterer spirit, Lord
Byron writes of his favourite:--
"To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but _one_, and _here_ he lies."[60]
Moore relates a story of this dog, indicative, not only of intelligence,
but of a generosity of spirit, which might well win for him the
affections of such a master as Byron. A fox-terrier of his mother's,
called Gilpin, was an object of dislike to Boatswain, who worried him
nearly to the death. Gilpin was sent off and Boatswain was missed for a
day. To the surprise of the servants, towards evening Gilpin and
Boatswain were in company, the former led by the latter, who led him to
the kitchen fire, licked him and lavished on him every possible
demonstration of joy. He had been away to fetch him, and ever after
caressed him, and defended him from the attacks of other dogs. (P. 44.)
"PERCHANCE"--A LADY'S _reason_ FOR SO NAMING HER DOG.
A lady had a favourite lap-dog, which she called Perchance. "A singular
name," said somebody, "for a beautiful pet, madam; where did you find
it?"--"Oh," drawled she, "it was named from Byron's dog. You remember
where he says, '_Perchance_ my dog will howl.'"[61]
COLLINS THE ARTIST AND HIS DOG "PRINNY"--A MODEL OF "_a model_."
William Wilkie Collins, after a most graphic account of the companions
of his artist-father's home,[62] notices "one who was ever as ready to
offer his small aid and humble obedience as were any of his superiors,
to confer the benefit of their penetrating advice." I refer to Mr
Collins's dog "Prinny" (Prince). This docile and affectionate animal had
been trained by his master to sit in any attitude, which the
introduction of a dog in his picture (a frequent occurrence) might
happen to demand. So strict was "Prinny's" sense of duty, that he never
ventured to move from his set position until his master's signal gave
him permission to approach his chair, when he was generally rewarded
with a lump of sugar, placed, not between his teeth, but on his nose,
where he continued to balance it, until he was desired to throw it into
the air and catch it in his mouth, a feat which he very seldom failed to
perform. On one occasion his extraordinary integrity in the performance
of his duties was thus pleasantly exemplified:--"My father had placed
him on the backs of two chairs, his fore-legs on the rails of one, and
his hind-legs on the rails of the other; and in this rather arduous
position had painted from him for a considerable time, when a friend was
announced as waiting for him in another apartment. Particularly desirous
of seeing this visitor immediately, the painter hurried from the room,
entirely forgetting to tell 'Prinny' to get down, and remained in
conversation with his friend for full half an hour. On returning to his
study the first object that greeted him was poor 'Prinny,' standing on
his 'bad eminence' exactly in the position in which he had been left,
trembling with fatigue, and occasionally vending his anguish and
distress in a low piteous moan, but not moving a limb, or venturing even
to turn his head. Not having received the usual signal he had never once
attempted to get down, but had remained disconsolate in his position
'sitting' hard, with nobody to paint him, during the long half hour that
had delayed his master's return."
THE SOLDIER AND THE MASTIFF.
A soldier passing through a meadow, a large mastiff ran at him, and he
stabbed the dog with a bayonet. The master of the dog asked him why he
had not rather struck the dog with the butt-end of his weapon? "So I
should," said the soldier, "if he had run at me with his tail!"[63]
BARK AND BITE.
Lord Clare, who was much opposed to Curran, one day brought a
Newfoundland dog upon the bench, and during Curran's speech turned
himself aside and caressed the animal. Curran stopped. "Go on, go on, Mr
Curran," said Lord Clare.--"Oh, I beg a thousand pardons," was the
rejoinder. "I really thought your lordship was employed in
_consultation_."[64]
MRS DREW AND THE TWO DOGS.
(A CURIOUSLY NEAR APPROACH TO MORAL PERCEPTION.)
In the biography of Samuel Drew, A.M., a great name among the
metaphysical writers of this country, we read a very interesting
anecdote of two dogs.
His father, a farmer and mail-carrier in Cornwall, had procured a
Newfoundland dog for protection on his journeys, having been attacked by
highwaymen. There was a smaller dog which had been bred in the house.
The son was living at Poplea, in Cornwall, when the following
circumstance occurred, and he witnessed it:[65]--
"Our dairy was under a room which was used occasionally as a barn and
apple-chamber, into which the fowls sometimes found their way; and, in
scratching among the chaff, scattered the dust on the pans of milk
below, to the great annoyance of my mother-in-law. In this a favourite
cock of hers was the chief transgressor. One day in harvest she went
into the dairy, followed by the little dog, and finding dust again on
her milk-pans, she exclaimed, 'I wish that cock were dead!' Not long
after, she being with us in the harvest field, we observed the little
dog dragging along the cock, just killed, which, with an air of triumph,
he laid at my mother-in-law's feet. Highly exasperated at the literal
fulfilment of her hastily-uttered wish, she snatched a stick from the
hedge, and attempted to give the dog a beating. The luckless animal,
seeing the reception he was likely to meet with, where he expected marks
of approbation, left the bird and ran off, she brandishing her stick,
and saying, in a loud angry tone, 'I'll pay thee for this by and by.' In
the evening, when about to put her threat into execution, she found the
little dog established in a corner of the room, and the large one
standing before it. Endeavouring to fulfil her intention by first
driving off the large dog, he gave her plainly to understand that he was
not at all disposed to relinquish his post. She then sought to get at
the small dog behind the other, but the threatening gesture, and fiercer
growl of the large one, sufficiently indicated that the attempt would be
not a little perilous. The result was that she was obliged to abandon
her design. In killing the cock I can scarcely think that the dog
understood the precise import of my stepmother's wish, as his immediate
execution of it would seem to imply. The cock was a more recent
favourite, and had received some attentions which had previously been
bestowed upon himself. This, I think, had led him to entertain a feeling
of hostility to the bird, which he did not presume to indulge, until my
mother's tone and manner indicated that the cock was no longer under her
protection. In the power of communicating with each other, which these
dogs evidently possess, and which, in some instances, has been displayed
by other species of animals, a faculty seems to be developed of which we
know very little. On the whole, I never remember to have met with a case
in which to human appearance there was a nearer approach to moral
perception than in that of my father's two dogs."
THE DIFFERENCE OF EXCHANGE.--"DOG-CHEAP."
Dining at a nobleman's table, where the company were praising the
claret, his lordship told them that he had received that hogshead of
wine in return for a couple of hounds, which he sometime before
presented to Count Lauragais. "Why, then, my lord," cried Foote, "I not
only think your wine excellent, but _dog-cheap_."[66]
GAINSBOROUGH AND HIS WIFE AND THEIR DOGS.
Thomas Gainsborough, the rival of Sir Joshua in portraiture, wanted that
evenness of temper which the President of the Royal Academy so
abundantly possessed. He was easily angered, but as soon appeased, and
says his biographer,[67] "If he was the first to offend, he was the
first to atone. Whenever he spoke crossly to his wife, a remarkably
sweet-tempered woman, he would write a note of repentance, sign it with
the name of his favourite dog 'Fox,' and address it to his Margaret's
pet spaniel, 'Tristram.' Fox would take the note in his mouth, and duly
deliver it to Tristram. Margaret would then answer--'My own dear Fox,
you are always loving and good, and I am a naughty little female ever to
worry you, as I too often do, so we will kiss and say no more about it;
your own affectionate Tris.'" The writers of such a correspondence could
not have led what is called "a cat and dog life." Husbands and wives
might derive a hint from this anecdote; for we know, from the old
ballad, that they will be sulky and quarrel at times even about getting
"Up to bar the door, O!"
SIR WILLIAM GELL'S DOG.
The reviewer[68] of Sir Thomas Browne's works says--"We ourselves have
witnessed an example of the curious and credulous exaggeration which has
construed certain articulations in animals into rational speech. Some
time since, in travelling through Italy, we heard, in grave earnest,
from several Italians, of the prodigy of a Pomeranian dog that had been
taught to speak most intelligibly by Sir William Gell. Afterwards, in
visiting that accomplished and lamented gentleman at Naples, we
requested to hear an animal possessed of so unusual a gift. And, as the
friends of the urban scholar can bear witness, the dog undoubtedly could
utter a howl, which, assisted by the hand of the master in closing the
jaw at certain inflections, might be intelligibly construed into two
words not to be repeated. Such a dog, with such an anathema in his
vocabulary, would have hanged any witch in England three centuries ago."
ELIZABETH, THE LAST DUCHESS OF GORDON, AND THE WOLF-DOG KAISER.
The Rev. A. Moody Stuart, in his "Life of the last Duchess of
Gordon,"[69] that truly Christian lady, refers to some old pets of the
duke's and her own, which, on her becoming a widow, she took with her
from Gordon Castle to Huntly Lodge, a bullfinch, an immense Talbot
mastiff named Sall, and others. He adds--"To a stranger, the most
remarkable of the duke's old favourites was Kaiser, an Hungarian
wolf-dog, with a snow-white fleece, and most sheep-like aspect in the
distance, but at whose appearance out of doors, man, woman, and child
fled as from a wolf. The duchess called him 'The wolf in sheep's
clothing.' Her husband's tastes having brought her much into contact
with all sorts of dogs, she had learned to pat them confidently at their
first introduction, when a large space between their eyes betokened a
kindly temper. This open breadth of forehead was strongly marked in
Sall, a fine old mastiff that used at this time to walk round the
dining-room after breakfast, with her noble head reaching the level of
the table. But the duke had chosen Kaiser for other qualities. Two of
those wolf-dogs had been brought to him for sale when travelling on the
Continent; the other was the larger and handsomer animal; but Kaiser's
eyes, sunk deep in the head, and all but meeting under his shaggy hair,
at once fixed his choice on him as 'likest his work.' That work was to
defend the sheep from the wolves, and one mode of defence was by laying
a strange trap for the enemy. The dog was remarkably like a sheep, his
hair white without a dark speck, and he carried a great load of it, long
and fleecy like wool. In the Hungarian steppes four or five of those
dogs would lay themselves down on the grass in the evening, sleeping
there like so many harmless lambs, with their faces inward for the heat
of each other's breath. The keen eye of the wolf was soon attracted by
the white fleeces, with no shepherd near to guard them. Eager for blood,
he careered swiftly over the plain, and sprang unsuspecting into the
midst of the flock, only to find himself clenched in the relentless jaws
of Kaiser and his comrades, wolves more terrible than himself under the
clothing of timid sheep. A conversation once took place at the Lodge on
the character ascribed to dogs in Scripture. It slightly vexed the good
duchess that they were so often mentioned in the Bible, but only as
emblems of what is foul and fierce, except in a single instance, and
that not of commendation, but neutrality. This exception, she said,
occurred in the Book of Proverbs, where the greyhound is named, along
with the lion and the goat, as 'comely in going,' yet merely in praise
of his external beauty. But her difficulty was relieved by the reply,
that in Isaiah lvi. 10, the "dog" is really used in a good sense as
applied to the spiritual watchmen of the Lord's flock. For the
unfaithful shepherds, being there likened to dumb dogs that cannot bark,
were not censured under the simple image of watch-dogs, but because, as
such, they were faithless and useless; implying that the good watch-dog
is an honourable emblem of the true pastor, watching for the souls
committed to his care, and solemnly warning them of approaching danger."
FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS ITALIAN GREYHOUNDS.
Dr John Moore, when travelling with the Duke of Hamilton, saw and heard
a good deal of Frederick the Great, and has given in his second volume
of "A View of Society and Manners in France," &c., many interesting
particulars of his private and public life. Among these, he alludes to
his using "a very large gold snuff-box, the lid ornamented with
diamonds," and his taking "an immoderate quantity of Spanish snuff, the
marks of which very often appear on his waistcoat and breeches. These
are also liable to be soiled by the paws of two or three Italian
greyhounds, which he often caresses" (vol. ii. p. 236).
THE DOG AND THE FRENCH MURDERERS. (AN OCCURRENCE IN THE SPRING OF 1837.)
Thomas Raikes,[70] in his Journal 8th March 1837, records:--"Eight years
ago, a labouring man in the department of the Loire was found murdered
in a wood near his house, and his dog sitting near the body. No clue
could be gained to the perpetrators of the crime, and his widow
continued to live in the same cottage, accompanied always by the
faithful animal. Last week two men, apparently travellers, stopped at
the house, requesting shelter from the storm, which was granted; but no
sooner had the dog perceived them, than he flew at them with fury, and
could not be pacified. As they were quitting the house, one of them said
to the other, 'That rascally dog has not forgotten us.' This raised the
suspicion of the widow, who overheard it, and applying to the gendarmes
in the neighbourhood, they followed and arrested them. The result has
been that, after a long examination, one of them has confessed the
crime, and impeached his associate."
* * * * *
Hannah More wrote an ode addressed to Garrick's famous house-dog Dragon.
A copy of this she gave to Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1777, while still
unprinted, under an oath neither to take nor give a copy of it, which
oath Sir Joshua had observed (she says) like a true knight, only reading
it to his visitors till some of them learned it by heart. The "charming
bagatelle" was afterwards printed, that posterity might be enabled to
wonder what a small expenditure of wit in metre sufficed to purchase a
large modicum of fame among the blues of that day.[71]
ROBERT HALL AND THE DOG.
The eloquent Robert Hall and Dr Leifchild were often in each other's
company when at Bristol, travelling and preaching together at
anniversaries and ordinations. The son and biographer of the latter
says:[72]--"I rode with them from Bristol to Wells, and can now, in
imagination, see Mr Hall smoking and reclining on one seat of the
carriage, while my father sat on the other. I can see Mr Hall descending
at a blacksmith's shop to re-light his pipe, making his way directly to
the forge, and jumping aside with unwonted agility, when a huge dog
growled at him. I can recall his look, when rallied on his agility,
after his return to the carriage. 'You seemed afraid of the dog, sir,'
said my father. 'Apostolic advice, sir--Beware of dogs,' rejoined Mr
Hall." Dr Leifchild, in another part of the memoir (p. 360), relates
that some housekeeper would exclaim to him, as he was about to enter the
house of friend or stranger, "Don't be afraid of the dog, sir, he never
bites."--"Are you quite sure he never bites?" was his prompt
question.--"Quite sure, sir," rejoined the servant.--"Then," rejoined
the good-humoured doctor, "if he never _bites_, how does he live?"
A QUEEN AND HER LAP-DOG.
Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I., on her return to Burlington Bay
with assistance for her husband, was attacked in the house where she
slept by the cannonade of five ships of war belonging to the
Parliament. She left the house amid the whistling of balls, one of which
killed one of her servants. When on her way to the shelter of a ditch,
she remembered that an aged lap-dog, called "Mitte," was left behind.
She was much attached to this old favourite, and returned to the house
she had left. Rushing up-stairs into her chamber, she caught up her old
pet, which was reposing on her bed, and carried her off in safety.
Having done this, the queen and her ladies gained the ditch, and
crouched down in it, while the cannon played furiously over their
heads.[73]
THE CLEVER DOG THAT BELONGED TO THE HUNTERS OF POLMOOD.
The estate of Polmood, in Peeblesshire, was the subject of extraordinary
litigation, and a volume of considerable bulk is devoted to its history.
This work contains much curious evidence from aged country folks in the
western parts of the country. Mr Chambers[74] tells us that in the
history "reminiscences concerning a wonderfully clever dog are put
forward as links in the line of propinquity." The deponent has heard his
father say that Robert Hunter had a remarkable dog called "Algiers;" and
that, when Robert lived at Woodend, he used to tie a napkin round the
dog's neck with money in it, and send him for snuff to Lammington, which
is about three miles from Woodend, and that the dog executed his
message faithfully, and prevented everybody from laying hold of or
stopping him. Another venerable deponent, aged eighty-nine, had heard
his mother tell many stories about a dog belonging to Uncle Robert,
which went by the name of "Algiers;" that they used to cut a fleece off
him every year sufficient to make a pair of stockings; and that Uncle
Robert used to tie a purse round his neck, with money in it, and the dog
then swam the Tweed, and brought back tobacco from the Crook! And a
third declares that "Algiers" could be sent to Edinburgh with a letter,
and bring back a letter to his master.
THE IRISH CLERGYMAN AND THE DOGS.
Mr Fitzpatrick, in his anecdotal memoirs of Archbishop Whately, tells a
story of an eccentric Irish parson. This person, when preaching, was
interrupted in his homily by two dogs, which began to fight in church.
He descended the pulpit, and endeavoured to separate them. On returning
to his place, the clergyman, who was rather an absent man, asked the
clerk, "Where was I a while ago?"--"Wasn't yer Riverence appaising the
dogs?" responded the other.[75]
WASHINGTON IRVING AND THE DOG.
Patrick Fraser Tytler, author of "The History of Scotland," in a letter
to his wife in 1830, says--"At Lady Morton's, one evening, I met with
Washington Irving. I had heard him described as a very silent man, who
was always observing others, but seldom opened his lips. Instead of
which, his tongue never lay still; and he gets out more wee wordies in a
minute than any ordinary converser does in five. But I found him a very
intelligent and agreeable man. I put him in mind of his travelling with
our dear Tommy. He had at first no recollection; but I brought it back
to his memory by the incident of the little black dog, who always went
before the horses in pulling up hill, and pretended to assist them. I
put him in mind of his own wit, 'that he wondered if the doggie mistook
himself for a horse;' at which he laughed, and added, 'Yes, and thought
it very hard that he was not rubbed down at the end of the
journey.'"[76]
DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS DOG.
Jerrold had a favourite dog that followed him everywhere. One day in the
country, a lady, who was passing, turned round and said audibly, "What
an ugly little brute!" Whereupon Jerrold, addressing the lady, replied,
"Oh, madam! I wonder what he thinks _about us_ at this moment."[77]
SHERIDAN AND THE DOG.
After witnessing the first representation of a dog-piece by Reynolds,
called the "Caravan," Sheridan suddenly came into the green-room, on
purpose, it was imagined, to wish the author joy. "Where is he?" was
the first question; "where is my guardian angel?"--"Here I am," answered
Reynolds.--"Pooh!" replied Sheridan, "I don't mean _you_, I mean _the
dog_."[78]
CHARLES LAMB AND HIS DOG.
Thomas Hood had a dog called "Dash." This dog he gave to Charles Lamb.
The ready-witted Elia often took the creature out with him when walking
at Enfield. On one occasion, the dog dashed off to chase some young
sheep. The owner of the muttons came out quite indignant at the owner,
to expostulate with him on the assault of Lamb's dog on his sheep. Elia,
with his quiet ready wit, replied, "Hunt _Lambs_, sir?--why, he never
hunted _me_."[79]
FRENCH DOGS, TIME OF LOUIS XI.--HISTORY OF HIS DOG "RELAIS" BY LOUIS
XII.
Horace Walpole, in one of his gossiping letters to the Countess of
Ossory in 1781, writes, "You must not be surprised if I should send you
a collection of Tonton's _bons-mots_. I have found a precedent for such
a work. A grave author wrote a book on the 'Hunt of the Grand Senechal
of Normandy,' and of _les DITS du bon chien Souillard, qui fut au Roi
Loy de France onzieme du nom_. Louis XII., the reverse of the
predecessor of the same name, did not leave to his historian to
celebrate his dog "Relais," but did him the honour of being his
biographer himself; and for a reason that was becoming so excellent a
king. It was _pour animer les descendans d'un si brave chien a se rendre
aussi bons que lui, et encore meilleurs_. It was great pity the Cardinal
d'Amboise had no bastard puppies, or, to be sure, his Majesty would have
written his Prime Minister's life too, for a model to his
successors."[80]
MARTIN LUTHER OBSERVES A DOG AT LINTZ.
In the "Table Talk" of Martin Luther, it is recorded:--"I saw a dog at
Lintz, in Austria, that was taught to go with a hand-basket to the
butchers' shambles for meat. When other dogs came about him, and sought
to take the meat out of the basket, he set it down and fought lustily
with them; but when he saw they were too strong for him, he himself
would snatch out the first piece of meat, lest he should lose all. Even
so does now our Emperor Charles; who, after having long protected
spiritual benefices, seeing that every prince takes possession of
monasteries, himself takes possession of bishoprics, as just now he has
seized upon those of Utrecht and Liege."[81]
THE POOR DOG AT THE GROTTA DEL CANE.
Henry Matthews,[82] like other visitors of Naples, went to the
celebrated _Grotta del Cane_, or Dog Grotto, on the borders of Lake
Agnano, so called from the vapour in the cave, destructive to animal
life, being shown by means of a dog. In his diary, of March 3, 1818, he
records:--"Travellers have made a great display of sensibility in their
strictures upon the spectacle exhibited here; but to all appearance the
dog did not care much about it. It may be said, with truth of him, that
he is _used_ to it; for he dies many times a day, and he went to the
place of execution wagging his tail. He became insensible in two
minutes; but upon being laid on the grass, he revived from his trance in
a few seconds, without the process of immersion in the lake, which is
generally mentioned as necessary to his recovery. From the voracity with
which he bolted down a loaf of bread which I bought for him, the vapour
does not seem to injure the animal functions. Addison seems to have been
very particular in his experiments upon the vapour of this cavern. He
found that a pistol would not take fire in it; but upon laying a train
of gunpowder, and igniting it beyond the sphere of the vapour, he found
that it could not intercept the train of fire when it had once begun
flashing, nor hinder it from running to the very end. He subjected a dog
to a second trial in order to ascertain whether he was longer in
expiring the first than the second time; and he found there was no
sensible difference. A viper bore it _nine minutes_ the first time he
put it in, and _ten minutes_ the second; and he attributes the prolonged
duration of the second trial to the large provision of air that the
viper laid in after his first death, upon which stock he supposes it to
have existed a minute longer the second time."
DOG, A POSTMAN AND CARRIER.
Robert Southey says, that "near Moffat a dog used for many years to meet
the mail and receive the letters for a little post-town near."[83]
How often may you see a dog carrying a basket or a parcel. No
enticement, even of a dog-friend or of a great bone, will induce this
faithful servant to abandon his charge. Every one must have observed
this.
DOG-MATIC.
In the great dispute between South and Sherlock, the latter, who was a
great courtier, said--"His adversary reasoned well, but he barked like a
cur." To which the other replied, "That _fawning_ was the property of a
cur as well as barking."[84]
GENERAL MOREAU AND HIS GREYHOUND.
"The day after the battle of Dresden (27th Aug. 1812), a greyhound was
brought to the King of Saxony, the ally of Napoleon. The dog was moaning
piteously. On the collar were engraved the words, 'I belong to the
General Moreau.' Where was the dog's master? By the side of the Emperor
Alexander. Moreau had been mortally wounded. The dog had remained with
his master until his death. While Moreau was conversing with the Emperor
Alexander a cannon-shot nearly carried off both his legs. It is said
that throughout the five days during which he lingered he uttered not a
murmur of pain."[85]
* * * * *
At the battle of Solferino, where rifled cannon were first brought to
bear in warfare, a dog excited great attention by its attachment to the
body of its slain master. It became the chief object in a painting of
the circumstance, from which an engraving was executed.
A DUKE OF NORFOLK AND HIS SPANIELS.
In Southey's "Common-place Book," 4th ser. p. 479, he writes--"Our
Marlborough and King James's spaniels are unrivalled in beauty. The
latter breed (black and tan, with hair almost approaching to silk in
fineness, such as Vandyke loved to introduce into his portraits) were
solely in the possession of the late Duke of Norfolk. He never travelled
without two of his favourites in the carriage. When at Worksop he used
to feed his eagles with the pups; and a stranger to his exclusive pride
in the race, seeing him one day employed in thus destroying a whole
litter, told his grace how much he should be delighted to possess one of
them. The duke's reply was a characteristic one. 'Pray, sir, which of my
estates should you like to have?'"
There are shepherds who possess collies, such _proud_, useful servants
and friends, that no bribe would induce them to part with them. But what
old favourite dog or even bird is there that any one would part with?
Man, be he scavenger or duke, is very similar in this species of
attachment.
LORD NORTH AND THE DOG.
In several of the caricatures published about the year 1783, when Fox
and Burke had joined Lord North, and helped to form what is called the
Coalition Ministry, a dog is represented. This, says Mr Wright,[86] is
said to be an allusion to an occurrence in the House of Commons. During
the last defensive declamation of Lord North, on the eve of his
resignation, a dog, which had concealed itself under the benches, came
out and set up a hideous howling in
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