By Rev. J. G. WOOD, M.A.

We have to consider those creatures who are deprived of food by climate, but who are able to pass to other places where food still exists. Travel for this purpose is called migration, and it may be accomplished in two ways, namely, upon the earth by means of feet, or over it by means of wings. We will first take migration on foot.

Again, I put aside man, because his migrations (and we English are the most migratory race on the earth) are the result of reason and not of instinct. Man migrates for a definite purpose. He knows beforehand the object of his travel, and if he should prefer staying in one country he can do so. But these papers do not deal with human reason, but with animal instinct, which is, in fact, Divine wisdom brought into visible action without the exercise of free will on the part of the agent.

In many cases migration has a strong influence on man. To uncivilized man it is mostly an unmixed benefit, as he lives upon the migrators. But to civilized man it is almost invariably an unmixed evil, as the migrators destroy the crops which he is cultivating, in order to supply food for the coming year. We shall see examples with both these influences.

As might naturally be expected, food is more apt to fail toward the poles than in the temperate zones, and so we find many examples of migration in northern Europe. One of them has the curious result that it involves the migration of man. I allude to the annual migration of the vast herds of reindeer possessed by the Lapps. Forced by instinct, the reindeers are obliged to migrate in search of food, and unless their owners wish to lose all their property, they must needs accompany the deer.

Now, to the Lapp the reindeer is what cows are to the Kaffir, or land and funded property to us. A Lapp of moderate wealth must possess at least a thousand reindeer. Half that number are required to make a man recognized as one of the well-to-do middle class, while those who only have forty or fifty are nothing but servants, who are forced to mingle their deer with those of their masters.

From these details the reader can form some idea of the vast herds of tame reindeer possessed by the Lapps alone. The annual incursion of these herds into more civilized countries can at the best be considered only a nuisance, and as the herds increase in numbers year by year their migration becomes an intolerable pest.

For example, the Globe newspaper lately made the following remarks:

“Every year, Tromsoe is the meeting point of upward of a hundred thousand reindeer, the property of the nomads, who follow them from Sweden. The herd is rather ‘nice’ in the selection of pasturage, and the absence of everything save a mere superficial control gives it the most complete freedom of choice.

“Wandering about at their own sweet will, the reindeer do damage indiscriminately in meadow, plowed land, and forest. The farmer may protest, but he is powerless to prevent the destruction of his young wood or the trampling down of his crops.

“If he appeals to the authorities he is baffled by the practical impossibility of fixing responsibility for damage upon the right owner. Only the Lapps know the offender, and a verdict with damages often enough serves no other purpose than that of bringing Scandinavian justice into ridicule, for, before it can be carried into effect, the defendant has gone on another of his annual migrations.”

This pest has at last reached such dimensions that special laws were made about a year ago to meet it. Norway and Sweden have therefore been divided into districts, and if damage be done, and the owners of the offending animals not be given up, the entire district has to make good the damage, each family having to pay in proportion to the number of reindeer which they own.

Now we will take another example of migration from the same country.

As we have seen, the migration of the reindeer occurs at regular intervals, and can be provided against, especially as it is possible to make the owners of the migrators responsible for the damage which they do. But there is one animal of northern Europe which has no special time for migration, against whose approach it is impossible to provide, whom it is almost equally impossible to resist when it is on the march, and for whom no one can be responsible. It is therefore far more baneful to civilized man.

This is the lemming, a little, short-tailed, round-eared rodent, somewhat resembling our common water-rat in shape and size. In its ordinary life it is nothing more than a small, rather voracious, very prolific, and unintellectual rodent. It is too stupid to get out the way of anything, and if met by a cart its only idea would be to bite the wheel. Mr. Metcalfe mentions that two or three lemmings might be indulging in their favorite habit of sitting on a stump. If a traveler accompanied by dogs passed by them, the dogs were sure to fly at the lemmings. Yet the stupid creatures would not think of escaping, though there might be plenty of time to do so, but would merely sit on the stumps and try to bite the dogs’ noses. This remarkable stupidity will account for the way in which the migration invariably ends.

Owing to its fecundity, conjoined with its voracity, it sometimes fails to obtain food in its own district, and migrates southward.

The strangest point about this migration is its exceeding uncertainty. Fortunately, there is seldom an interval of less than seven years between the migrations, and seventeen years have been known to pass before the coming of the lemming. Yet, whatever the interval may be, the whole of the lemmings of vast northern districts begin their march southward through Norway and Sweden in search of food.

They are divided into two vast armies, which are kept apart by the Kiolens range; and it is very curious that they direct their course toward the southwest and southeast. Nothing seems to stop their progress. They only have one idea, namely, to press onward. If a wall or house be in their line of march they will try to climb it rather than go round it, and if they come upon a stack of corn they will eat it and then go forward.

Rivers, and even lakes, are swum by the lemmings, thousands of which are eaten by the fishes. They are admirable swimmers as long as the surface of the water is smooth, but the least ripple is too much for them, so that if the day be windy very few of those which enter the water are seen to leave it alive.

Their ranks are perpetually thinned by birds and beasts of prey which accompany their columns. These parasites are wolves, foxes, wild cats, stoats and other weasels, eagles, hawks and owls. It is said that even the reindeer feed upon them. Man eats them, and so obtains some trifling compensation for the destruction of his crops. But, while its invasion lasts, the lemming is nearly as destructive as the locust itself, not leaving even a blade of grass behind it. Despairing of checking this terrible foe by ordinary means, the people turned to religion, and had a special service of exorcism prepared against the lemmings.

The end of the migration is as unaccountable as its beginning. I have mentioned the instinct which forces the creature to proceed onward on the line which it has taken. Now, Norway and Sweden form a peninsula, toward the apex of which the course of the lemmings is directed. It follows that sooner or later the animals must arrive at the coast. And, having reached the shore, they still must needs go into the sea, where the waves almost immediately drown them.

Now we will turn from cold to heat, and imagine ourselves in South Africa. From the migrants of that country we will take the springbok as our example.

Many travelers in that country have mentioned the “trek-bokken,” as the Boers call these pilgrimages, but none have painted them more vividly than the late Captain Gordon Cumming, whose description I have had the pleasure of hearing as well as seeing.

One morning, as he had been lying awake in his wagon for some two hours before daybreak, he had heard the continual grunting of male springboks, but took no particular notice of the sound.

“On my rising, when it was clear, and looking about me, I beheld the ground to the northward of my camp actually covered with a dense living mass of springboks, marching steadily and slowly along, extending from an opening in a long range of hills on the west, through which they continued pouring like the flood of some great river, to a ridge about half a mile to the east, over which they disappeared. The breadth of the ground which they covered might have been somewhere about half a mile.

“I stood upon the fore-chest of my wagon for nearly two hours, lost in wonder at the novel and beautiful scene which was passing before me; and had some difficulty in convincing myself that it was a reality which I beheld, and not the wild and exaggerated picture of a hunter’s dream. During this time their vast legions continued streaming through the neck in the hills, in one unbroken, compact phalanx.”

It has sometimes happened that a flock of sheep has strayed into the line of march. In such cases the flock has been overlapped, enveloped in the springbok army, and forced to join in the march. A most astonishing example of the united power of the springbok was witnessed by a well known hunter.

Just as the lemming hosts are attended by the birds and beasts of prey of their own country, so it is with the springbok. These parasites do not attack the main body, but watch for the stragglers and pounce upon them. During the passage of one of these springbok armies a lion was seen in the midst of the antelopes, forced to take unwilling part in the march.

He had evidently miscalculated his leap and sprung too far, alighting upon the main body. Those upon whom he alighted must have recoiled sufficiently to allow him to reach the ground, and then the pressure from both flanks and the rear prevented him from escaping from his strange captivity.

As only the front ranks of these armies can put their heads to the ground, we very naturally wonder how those in the middle and rear can feed. The mode which is adopted is equally simple and efficacious.

When the herd arrives at pasturage, those animals which occupy the front feed greedily until they can eat no more. Then, being ruminants, they need rest in order to enable them to chew the cud. So they fall out of the ranks and quietly chew the cud until the column has almost passed them, when they fall in at the rear, and gradually work their way to the front again.

As to water, they do not require it, many of these South African antelopes possessing the singular property of being able to exist for months together without drinking. Dr. Livingstone has offered a very remarkable theory on this subject, but the limited space will not permit me to cite it.

Let us again visit in imagination a different part of the world, and suppose ourselves to be on the prairies of North America. There we find another ruminant, the bison, wrongly called the buffalo.

This creature migrates with tolerable regularity, and not many years ago, when the red men possessed the vast expanses of North America, the native tribes were dependent upon the bison for their very existence. The bison was to the red Indian what the seal tribe is to the Esquimaux.

From the skins were made their tents or “wigwams,” their warm clothing for winter, and their shields; while the bones afforded rude tools, and handles for weapons, the sinews gave strength and toughness to their wonderful little bows, while there was scarcely a portion of the animal that was not put to some useful purpose.

The annual migrations brought the creatures within the reach of the various tribes, who, being in a state of perpetual warfare, did not dare to venture out of their own district in search of the bison.

So utterly dependent, indeed, were they upon the migrations of the bison, that if the coming of the animals was delayed a few weeks beyond the usual period, death from hunger would be an almost certain result. The reader may perhaps remember that several tribes of Esquimaux were lately exterminated by a similar failure, the walrus having deserted its usual haunts, and gone off to some land whither they could not follow it.

In some respects the bison resembles the lemming, being equally stupid, and equally determined to press forward. Nothing will stop the bison herd when it is “on the run.” The animals do not march slowly, like the springbok, but dash forward at full speed, their heads down, their long hair hanging over their eyes, and each only intent on following those which are in front of it.

The hunters, whether native or European, take advantage of this peculiarity. The country in which these creatures live is intersected here and there with ravines many hundreds of feet in depth, having nearly perpendicular sides. At a distance of a hundred yards these ravines are as invisible as the trenches of a modern fortress.

The hunters, however, know every inch of the country, and when they learn that a bison herd is on the run they contrive to frighten the leaders, who compose the front rank, until they are taking a direct course for a ravine.

Then, nothing is needed but to let the bisons alone. When they come within forty yards or so of the ravine, the leaders see the danger, and try to stop; but the pressure from behind is so irresistible that they are forced onward, and pushed over the edge of the precipice. The rest of the herd follow them, scarcely any of them even seeing the ravine until they are falling into it.

In this reckless way thousands of bisons are destroyed in less than an hour. Not one hundredth part of them can be used by the hunters, the remainder being left to feed the vultures, coyotes, and other scavengers. It is no wonder that the animal becomes gradually scarce, and that the hunters are obliged year by year to go farther afield in search of it.—London Sunday Magazine.

Every man must patiently bide his time. He must wait. More particularly in lands like my native land, where the pulse of life beats with such feverish and impatient throbs, is the lesson needful. Our national character wants the dignity of repose. We seem to live in the midst of a battle—there is such a din, such a hurrying to and fro. In the streets of a crowded city it is difficult to walk slowly. You feel the rushing of the crowd, and rush with it onward. In the press of our life it is difficult to be calm. In this stress of wind and tide, all professions seem to drag their anchors, and are swept out into the main. The voices of the present say, “Come!” But the voices of the past say, “Wait!” With calm and solemn footsteps the rising tide bears against the rushing torrent up stream, and pushes back the hurrying waters. With no less calm and solemn footsteps, nor less certainty, does a great mind bear up against public opinion, and push back its hurrying stream. Therefore should every man wait—should bide his time.—Longfellow’s “Hyperion.”

He is not dead who departs this life with high fame; dead is he, though still living, whose brow is branded with infamy.—Tieck.