CURIOSITIES RESPECTING ANIMALS.—(Concluded.)

Remarkable Strength of Affection in Animals.—Mr. White, in his Natural History, &c. of Selborne, speaking of the natural affection of brutes, says, “The more I reflect on it, the more I am astonished at its effects. Nor is the violence of this affection more wonderful, than the shortness of its duration. Thus, every hen is in her turn the virago of the yard, in proportion to the helplessness of her brood; and will fly in the face of a dog or sow in defence of those chickens, which, in a few weeks, she will drive before her with relentless cruelty. This affection sublimes the passions, quickens the invention, and sharpens the sagacity, of the brute creation. Thus, a hen, just become a mother, is no longer that placid bird she used to be, but, with feathers standing on end, wings hovering, and clucking note, she runs about like one possessed. Dams will throw themselves in the way of the greatest danger, in order to avert it from their progeny. Thus a partridge will tumble along before a sportsman, in order to draw away the dogs from her helpless covey. In the time of nidification, the most feeble birds will assault the most rapacious. All the hirundines of a village are up in arms at the sight of a hawk, whom they will persecute till he leaves that district. A very exact observer has often remarked, that a pair of ravens, nestling in the rock of Gibraltar, would suffer no vulture or eagle to rest near their station, but would drive them from the hill with amazing fury; even the blue thrush, at the season of breeding, would dart out from the clefts of the rocks, to chase away the kestrel or the sparrow-hawk. If you stand near the nest of a bird that has young, she will not be induced to betray them by an inadvertent fondness, but will wait about at a distance with meat in her mouth for an hour together. The fly-catcher builds every year in the vines that grow on the walls of my house. A pair of these little birds had one year inadvertently placed their nest on a naked bough, perhaps in a shady time, not being aware of the inconvenience that followed; but a hot sunny season coming on before the brood was half fledged, the reflection of the wall became insupportable, and must inevitably have destroyed the tender young, had not affection suggested an expedient, and prompted the parent birds to hover over the nest all the hotter hours, while, with wings expanded and mouths gaping for breath, they screened off the heat from their suffering offspring. A farther instance I once saw of notable sagacity in a willow-wren, which had built in a bank in my fields. This bird, a friend and myself had observed as she sat in her nest; but we were particularly careful not to disturb her, though we saw she eyed us with some degree of jealousy. Some days after, as we passed that way, we were desirous of remarking how this brood went on; but no nest could be found, till I happened to take up a large bundle of long green moss as it were carelessly thrown over the nest, in order to deceive the eye of any impertinent intruder.”

Next in order is the account of Surprising Instances of Sociality in Animals.—A wonderful spirit of sociality in the brute creation, independent of sexual attachment, has been frequently remarked. Many horses, though quiet with company, will not stay one minute in a field by themselves; the strongest fences cannot restrain them. A horse has been known to leap out of a stable window, through which dung was thrown, after company; and yet in other respects was remarkably quiet. Oxen and cows will not fatten by themselves, but will neglect the finest pasture that is not recommended by society. It would be needless to instance in sheep, which constantly flock together. But this propensity seems not to be confined to animals of the same species. Mr. White mentions a doe that was brought up from a little fawn with a dairy of cows. “With them it goes to the field, and with them it returns to the yard. The dogs of the house take no notice of this doe, being used to her; but if strange dogs come by, a chase ensues; while the master smiles to see his favourite securely leading her pursuers over hedge, or gate, or style, till she returns to the cows, who with fierce lowings and menacing horns drive the assailants quite out of the pasture.”—Even great disparity of kind and size does not always prevent social advances and mutual fellowship. Of this the following remarkable instance is given by the same author.

“A very intelligent and observant person has assured me, that in the former part of his life, keeping but one horse, he happened also on a time to have but one solitary hen. These two incongruous animals spent much of their time together in a lonely orchard, where they saw no creature but each other. By degrees an apparent regard began to take place between these two sequestered individuals. The fowl would approach the quadruped with notes of complacency, rubbing herself gently against his legs; while the horse would look down with satisfaction, and move with the greatest caution and circumspection, lest he should trample on his diminutive companion. Thus by mutual good offices each seemed to console the vacant hours of the other.”

In the Gentleman’s Magazine for March, 1788, we have the following anecdotes of a raven, communicated by a correspondent who does not sign his name, but says it is at the service of the doubtful. The raven alluded to lived at the Red Lion at Hungerford; his name was Ralph. “You must know then, (says the writer,) that coming into that inn, my chaise ran over or bruised the leg of my Newfoundland dog, and while we were examining the injury done to the dog’s foot, Ralph was evidently a concerned spectator; for, the minute the dog was tied up under the manger with my horse, Ralph not only visited him, but fetched him bones, and attended upon him with particular and repeated proofs of kindness. The bird’s notice of the dog was so marked, that I observed it to the hostler; for I had not heard a word before of the history of this benevolent creature. John then told me, that he had been bred from his pin-feather in intimacy with a dog; that the affection between them was mutual; and that all the neighbourhood had often been witnesses of the innumerable acts of kindness they had conferred upon each other. Ralph’s poor dog, after a while, unfortunately broke his leg; and during the long time he was confined, Ralph waited upon him constantly, carried him provisions daily, and scarcely ever left him alone! One night by accident the hostler had shut the stable-door, and Ralph was deprived of his friend the whole night; but the hostler found in the morning the bottom of the door so pecked away, that had it not been opened, Ralph would in another hour have made his own entrance-port. I then inquired of my landlady, (a sensible woman,) and heard what I have related confirmed by her, with several other singular traits of the kindnesses this bird shews to all dogs in general, but particularly to maimed or wounded ones. I hope and believe, however, Ralph is still living; and the traveller will find I have not over-rated this wonderful bird’s merit.”

To these instances of attachment between incongruous animals from a spirit of sociality, or the feelings of sympathy, may be added the following instance of fondness from a different motive, recounted by Mr. White, in the work already so often quoted.

“My friend had a little helpless leveret brought to him, which the servants fed with milk in a spoon; and about the same time his cat kittened, and the young were dispatched and buried. The hare was soon lost, and supposed to be gone the way of most foundlings, or to be killed by some dog or cat. However, in about a fortnight, as the master was sitting in his garden in the dusk of the evening, he observed his cat, with tail erect, trotting towards him, and calling with little short inward notes of complacency, such as they use towards their kittens, and something gambolling after, which proved to be the leveret, which the cat had supported with her milk, and continued to support with great affection. Thus was a graminivorous animal nurtured by a carnivorous and predacious one! Why so cruel and sanguinary a beast as a cat, of the ferocious genus of Felis, the murian leo, (the lion of the mice,) as LinnÆus calls it, should be affected with any tenderness towards an animal which is its natural prey, is not so easy to determine. The strange affection probably was occasioned by that sympathy, and those tender maternal feelings, which the loss of her kittens had awakened in her breast; and by the complacency and ease she derived to herself from the procuring her teats to be drawn, which were too much distended with milk; till from habit she became as much delighted with this foundling, as if it had been her real offspring. This incident is no bad solution of that strange circumstance which grave historians, as well as poets, assert, of exposed children being sometimes nurtured by female wild beasts, that probably had lost their young; for it is not one whit more marvellous that Romulus and Remus, in their infant state, should be nursed by a she-wolf, than that a poor little suckling leveret should be fostered and cherished by a bloody grimalkin.”

We shall now give the history of the Unaccountable Faculties possessed by some Animals.—Besides reflection and sagacity, often in an astonishing degree, and besides the sentiments and actions prompted by social or natural attachments, brutes seem on many occasions inspired with a superior faculty, a kind of presentiment or second sight, as it were, with regard to events and designs altogether unforeseen by the rational beings whom they concern. The following account is of unquestionable authenticity.

At the seat of the late Earl of Litchfield, three miles from Blenheim, there is a portrait in the dining-room of Sir Henry Lee, by Johnston, with that of a mastiff dog which saved his life. A servant had formed the design of assassinating his master, and robbing the house; but the night he had fixed on, the dog, which had never been much noticed by Sir Henry, for the first time followed him up stairs, got under his bed, and could not be got from thence by either master or man: in the dead of night, the same servant entered the room to execute his horrid design, but was instantly seized by the dog, and, being secured, confessed his intentions. Upon what hypothesis can we account for a degree of foresight and penetration such as this? Will it be suggested, as a solution of the difficulty, that a dog may possibly become capable in a great measure of understanding human discourse, and of reasoning and acting accordingly; and that, in the present instance, the villain had either uttered his design in soliloquy, or imparted it to an accomplice, in the hearing of the animal?

It has been disputed whether the brutes have any language whereby they can express their minds to each other; or whether all the noise they make consists only of cries, inarticulate and unintelligible even to themselves. Father Bougeant gives the following instance, among others, to prove that brutes are capable of forming designs, and of communicating those designs to others.—A sparrow, finding a nest that a martin had just built, standing very conveniently for him, possessed himself of it. The martin, seeing the usurper in her house, called for help to expel him. A thousand martins came full speed, and attacked the sparrow; but the latter being covered on every side, and presenting only his large beak at the entrance of the nest, was invulnerable, and made the boldest of them who durst approach him repent of their temerity. After a quarter of an hour’s combat, all the martins disappeared: the sparrow thought he had got the better, and the spectators judged that the martins had abandoned the undertaking. Not in the least; immediately they returned to the charge, and each of them having procured a little of that tempered earth with which they make their nests, they all at once fell upon the sparrow, and enclosed him in the nest, to perish there, though they could not drive him thence.—Can it be imagined that the martins could have been able to hatch and concert this design all of them together, without speaking to each other, or without some medium of communication equivalent to language?

Remarkable Instances of Fasting in Animals.—The following remarkable instances of brutes being able to live long without food, are related by Sir William Hamilton, in his account of the earthquakes in Italy, (Phil. Trans. vol. 73.) “At Soriano, two fattened hogs, that had remained buried under a heap of ruins, were taken out alive the 42d day; they were lean and weak, but soon recovered.—At Messina, two mules belonging to the Duke de Belviso, remained under a heap of ruins, one of them 22 days, and the other 23: they would not eat for some days, but drank water plentifully, and are now recovered.—There are numberless instances of dogs remaining many days in the same situation; and a hen belonging to the British vice-consul at Messina, that had been closely shut up under the ruins of his house, was taken out the 22d day, and is now recovered: it did not eat for some days, but drank freely; it was emaciated, and shewed little signs of life at first. From these instances, and several others of the same kind that have been related to me, but which, being less remarkable, I omit, one may conclude, that long fasting is always attended with great thirst and total loss of appetite.”

An instance not less remarkable than any of these, we find in the Gent. Mag. for Jan. 1785. “During the heavy snow which fell in the night of the 7th of January, 1776, a parcel of sheep belonging to Mr. John Wolley, of Matlock, in Derbyshire, which were pastured on that part of the East Moor that lies within the manor of Matlock, were covered with the drifted snow. In the course of a day or two all the sheep that were covered with the snow were found again, except two, which were consequently given up as lost, but on the 14th of Feb. following (some time after the break of the snow in the valleys, and 38 days after the fall) as a servant was walking over a large parcel of drifted snow, which remained on the declivity of a hill, a dog he had with him discovered one of the two sheep that had been lost, by winding (or scenting) it, through a small aperture which the breath of the sheep had made in the snow. The servant thereupon dug away the snow, and released the captive from its prison; it immediately ran to a neighbouring spring, at which it drank for a considerable time, and afterwards rejoined its old companions, as though no such accident had befallen it. On inspecting the place where it was found, it appeared to have stood between two stones which lay parallel with each other, at about two feet and a half distance, and probably were the means of protecting it from the great weight of the snow, which in that place lay several yards thick: from the number of stones around it, it did not appear that the sheep had been able to pick up any food during its confinement. Soon afterwards its owner removed it to some low lands; but as it had nearly lost its appetite, it was fed with bread and milk for some time: in about a fortnight after its enlargement, it lost its sight and wool; but in a few weeks afterwards they both returned again, and in the course of the following summer it was quite recovered. The remaining sheep was found dead, about a week after the discovery of the other.”

The following authentic history of the Extraordinary Adventures of a Sheep, which was transmitted to a respectable periodical journal, from Salisbury, where the animal died, will, we doubt not, prove interesting to our readers, as it affords an instance of animal sagacity, in that species on which Nature has bestowed it with a sparing hand.

She was born in the North Highlands of Scotland; embarked, in 1804, in the Arab, and visited Iceland, Greenland, and Norway: here she was sent on shore to graze; the next day, seeing the boat row past the place where she was feeding, she leaped into the water, and swam to the boat: this circumstance protected her ever after from the butcher, and her life was one scene of gratitude. She was in fourteen different actions with the enemy’s flotilla and batteries off Boulogne, in the last of which she lost part of one of her horns. After that she traversed the whole of the western extent of Africa, across the equator to the Brazils, and along the Guiana coast of South America to the West Indies; from thence to Ireland, and then home. She was so tame as to feed from the hand, and, like the dog, followed her protector; would dance for a cabbage leaf; preferred the house and fire-side to the stable; for several months was never known to touch hay or grass, living with the sailors on pudding and grog, and nibbling the ends of rope or canvass. The paring of an apple or a potato was her highest luxury. The docility of the animal was highly amusing: putting her head under your arm, she would eat off your plate at dinner; would drink wine or spirits, and tea, if well sweetened; run up and down the stairs; and, if she got into the kitchen, would take the cover from the pot, and peep into it. Her wool was of a soft and silky nature.

After having weathered so many storms and hardships, she was brought as a present by Lieut. Bagnold, of the royal navy, to a lady in Salisbury; where, alas! their fleecy friend died of a bowel complaint the second day after her arrival, most sincerely lamented, the 22d of January, 1808.Lines written on the preceding most remarkable Sheep.

Scarce thirty suns had brighten’d o’er her head,
When to Arab’s deck young Jack[9] was led;
Here from her master’s side she ne’er would stray,
Ate of his meat, and on his hammock lay.
Grateful for this, when left on Norway’s beach,
She brav’d the sea, the distant ship to reach.
This act heroic stays the murd’rous knife,
And all the crew demand to save her life.
Thus spar’d, she visits each far distant main:
In fourteen battles, amid heroes slain.
She ’scapes unhurt; save that the whizzing lead
Bears off one horn, then gently graz’d her head.
All perils past, she reach’d her native shore,
To tempt the rage of war and seas no more.—
“Go, my dear Jack,” her grateful master said,
(As on her snow-white head his hand he laid;)
“Go seek the shady grove, the verdant mead;
There rest securely, and securely feed.
A thousand joys shall thy long life attend,
Blest with that greatest good, a faithful friend.—
Vain were these hopes! at Sarum safe arriv’d,
Sudden she sicken’d, and as sudden died.—
Well, then, dear Jack, since fate has seal’d thy doom,
Be thine the honours of the sculptur’d tomb.
There too shall this just eulogy appear,
“A sheep, a much-lov’d sheep, reposes here.”
Merits in thee some future bard shall trace,
Such as ne’er yet adorn’d the fleecy race.
A patient temper, to all ills resign’d,
Sense almost human, to good nature join’d.
No charms for her had flow’ry lawn or grove,
’Twas man she sought—to man gave all her love.
Had she but liv’d in fiction’s classic days,
The muse had sung her fame in deathless lays;
Had fondly told, that her not mortal frame
Return’d from earth to heav’n, from whence it came;
Advanc’d to share with Aries on high,
The space assign’d him in her native sky.

The following is a notable instance of the Sagacity of a Monkey.—Some strolling showmen, being at Stonin, a town of Lithuania, belonging to Count Ogienski, grand general of that province, diverted the inhabitants by exhibiting the tricks and gambols of half a dozen monkeys they had along with them: this new spectacle roused the curiosity of people of all degrees, insomuch that the overseers of the improvements which were carrying on in that neighbourhood saw themselves deserted by all their workmen. Desirous to recall them to their duty, yet unwilling to drive the strollers away by main force, they offered the chief a round sum of money, on condition of his leaving the town immediately: the man agreed to this; and, with his two assistants, and company of four-footed comedians, set off from Stonin.They had hardly proceeded out of town, when they were beset by some banditti, who robbed and murdered not only them, but all their harmless followers, except one, who escaped the general slaughter, and, unperceived, climbed up a tree, whence he could spy all the proceedings of the villains, who had no sooner made sure of their spoils, than they proceeded to inter the bodies, both of the men and beasts, covering the place with earth and boughs, and then made off.

Sometime after, a coach-and-four approached; which the surviving monkey no sooner descried, than he set up a most dismal yell. The gentleman, who, as it afterwards proved, was going on a visit to the grand-general, amazed at so unusual a noise, ordered the coachman to stop, when, alighting, he was still more surprised to see the animal coming down the tree, and making towards him; the monkey, taught perhaps to reverence people of rank, began to lick his feet, and, by several gestures, seemed to intimate that he had something extraordinary to discover; the animal led the way, and the gentleman followed with his servant. As soon as they came to the place, the monkey rent the air with the most piteous accents; then taking up some of the branches, he began to scratch the earth, and throw it up with all his might: the gentleman seeing this, ordered his man to fall to work, and in a few minutes the whole scene of horror opened to his view.

Fearing a similar fate, the Lithuanian, forgetting the sagacious animal, got into his carriage, and posted to the grand-general as fast as his horses could carry him. Poor pug, rather than be left behind, fastened about the coach as well as he could, and arrived likewise at the count’s, who, having heard the gentleman’s report, sent a proper force after the banditti: they were overtaken, and committed to prison. The grand-general ordered the monkey to be taken into his palace, and kept with the greatest care. This surprising mark of instinct and gratitude is deemed the more wonderful, as that animal generally turns his natural sagacity to mischief and treachery.

We shall in the next place give an astonishing instance of Sagacity in a Horse.

At Chepstow, in Monmouthshire, there is a bridge, the construction of which is extremely curious, as the planks that form the floor rise with the tide, which, at certain times, is said to attain to the height of seventy feet.

This floor of the bridge it was necessary at one time to remove; which was accordingly done, and only one or two of the planks remained for the convenience of the foot passengers. This way was well lighted, and a man placed at the end to warn those that approached of their danger. But it so happened, that one dreadful stormy night the lamps blew out, and the monitor, supposing that no one would in such a hurricane attempt to pass, wisely retired to shelter.

After midnight, a traveller knocked at the door of an inn at Chepstow.

“Who is there?” said the landlord, who had long retired to rest, and was now called out of bed.

The traveller mentioned his name, which was well known.

“How did you come?” said the landlord.

“How did I come? Why, over the bridge to be sure!”

“What! on horseback?”

“Yes.”

“No!” said the landlord, “that is impossible! however, as you are here, I’ll let you in.”

The host, when the traveller repeated his assertion, was staggered. He was certain that he must have come over the bridge, because there was no other way; but also knowing the state in which the passage was, he could only attribute the escape of the traveller and his horse to witchcraft. He, however, said nothing to him that night; but the next morning took him to the bridge, and showed him the plank that his horse must have passed over, at the same time that he pointed to the raging torrent beneath.

Struck with this circumstance, the traveller, it is said, was seized with an illness from which he did not speedily recover.

It is from a respectable source that we insert the following narrative of the Sagacity of Dogs.

M. La Valee, in his Journey through the Departments of France, published in 1792, gives the following curious account of the manner in which the country people, in the neighbourhood of Peronne and Doulens, had trained their dogs to elude the vigilance of the officers of the revenue.—At night, these animals were laden, each with a parcel of goods proportioned to its size; except one alone, who was their leader, and went without any burden. A crack of a whip was a signal for them to set out. The leader travelled a little distance before the rest; and, if he perceived the traces of any stranger, he returned to the other dogs: these either took a different way, or, if the danger was pressing, concealed themselves behind the hedges, and lay close till the patrole had passed. When they arrived at the habitation of their master’s associate, they hid themselves in the neighbouring fields and hedges, while their leader went to the house, and scratched at the door, or barked, till he was admitted, when he lay quietly down, as at home: by this the smuggler knew that the caravan was come; and, if the coast was clear, he went out, when he gave a loud whistle, and the dogs came running to him from their several hiding-places!

Peltier, in his Annals of Paris, No. 164, for December, 1798, records the following anecdote:—At the beginning of the Revolution, a dog went daily to the parade before the palace of the Thuilleries, thrust himself between the legs of the musicians, marched with them, halted with them, and after the parade, disappeared until the next morning, when he resumed his occupation. The constant appearance of this dog, and the pleasure which he seemed to take in the music, made him a favourite with the band, who nicknamed him, Parade. One gave him food to-day, another to-morrow; and he understood, by a slight signal, and a word or two, whom he was to follow for his dinner; after which, faithful to his independence, the dog always withdrew, in spite of any caresses or threats. Sometimes he went to the opera, sometimes to the Comedie Italienne, and sometimes to the Theatre Feydeau; in each of which houses he found his way to the orchestra, and would lie down silently in one corner of it, until the performance was over. “I know not, (says Peltier) whether this dog be now alive: but I know many musicians, to whom his name, his figure, and the singularity of his habits, are perfectly familiar.”

In Petit’s Campaign of Italy, under the chief consul Buonaparte, published in 1800, we have the following anecdote, which places this animal in the most engaging light: “In traversing the Alps over the mountain Great St. Bernard, many people perish among the almost inaccessible rocks, whose summits are covered with eternal snow. At the time we crossed them, the chapel of the monastery of St. Bernard was filled with dead bodies, which their dogs had discovered suffocated and benumbed under the snow. With what emotions of pleasure did I caress these dogs, so useful to travellers! how can one speak of them without being moved by their charitable instinct! Notwithstanding the paucity of our eatables, there was not a French soldier who did not manifest an eagerness to give them some biscuit, some bread, and even a share of their meat. Morning and evening, these dogs go out on discovery; and if in the midst of their wandering courses the echo of some unfortunate creature ready to perish reaches their attentive ears, they run towards those who call out, express their joy, and seem to bid the sufferer take courage, till they have been to procure assistance; in fact, they hasten back to the convent, and, with an air of inquietude and sadness, announce in a very discernible manner what they have seen. In that case, a small basket is fastened round the dog’s neck, filled with food proper for reanimating life almost exhausted; and, by following the benevolent messenger, an unhappy creature is thus frequently snatched from impending destruction.”

A Florentine nobleman possessed a dog, which would attend his table, change his plates, and carry his wine to him, with the utmost steadiness, and the most accurate attention to his master’s notices.

It is related by the illustrious Leibnitz, that a Saxon peasant was in possession of a dog of the middling size, then about three years of age. The peasant’s son, perceiving accidentally, as he imagined, some resemblance in its sounds to those of the human voice, attempted to teach it to speak. By the perseverance of the lad, the dog acquired the power, we are told, of pronouncing about thirty words. It would, however, exercise this extraordinary faculty only with reluctance, the words being always first spoken by the preceptor, and then echoed by the pupil. This circumstance is attested by Leibnitz, who himself heard it speak; and it was communicated by him in a memoir to the Royal Academy of France.

In the theatre of Marcellus, a case occurred, which many will consider more probable, but which is almost as extraordinary, as mentioned by Plutarch.—“A dog was here exhibited which excelled in various dances of great complication and difficulty, and represented also the effects of disease and pain upon the frame, in all the contortions of countenance and writhings of the body, from the first access, to that paroxysm which often immediately precedes dissolution. Having thus apparently expired in agony, he would suffer himself to be carried about motionless, as in a state of death; and after a sufficient continuance of the jest, he would burst upon the spectators with an animation and sportiveness, which formed a very interesting conclusion of this curious interlude, by which the animal seemed to enjoy the success of his scenic efforts, and to be delighted with the admiration which was liberally and universally bestowed upon him.”

“A tinker (says Pezelius) brought a wonderful dog to Constantinople; and a number of people being assembled to behold him, many of them laid their rings in a heap confusedly before him. At the command of his master, he would restore to every man his own, without any mistake. Also, when his master asked him which of the company was a captain, which a poor man, which a wife, which a widow, and the like, he would discover all this without error, by taking the garment of the party inquired after in his mouth.”