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Games E Rice
MEMORIAL POULTRY LIBRARY

CORNELL

Be eee UNIVERSITY eT

: “THE GIFT OF
RAYMOND PATHO
 

ornell Universit

Tinian
 

 

 

CARRIER, FANTAIL, AND FANCY PIGEONS.
BEETON’S

BOOK OF POULTRY

AND

DOMESTIC ANIMALS:

SHOWING
HOW TO REAR AND MANAGE THEM

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH.

 

Aemerous Bllasirations,

 

LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO. WARWICK HOUSE,

‘DORSET BUILDINGS, oo SQUARE, E.C.
Ht
SF
T/

B4
1870

20364?
PREFACE.

oe

T is an aphorism of Brillat Savarin, the intelligent writer
on the pleasures of the palate, that in inviting a person
to your house, his comfort and happiness are in your hands so
long as he remains under your roof. No Englishman, unless
he is undeserving of the hospitable character our nation pos-
sesses, will hesitate to indorse the Frenchman’s precept, and
carry out with all earnestness the duties of a generous host.
The admission made, that we ought to care for the well-being
of our vguais who are with us as visitors only, and for a short
space of time, it will easily be allowed that to the humbler
creatures who are to pass their lives with us, we are bound to
be so much the more attentive, kind, and induigent. For no
one, upon whose cranium the bump of benevolence asserts
itself ever so modestly, will deny that we should be at least
as watchful to supply the wants of the little chirping chicken,
or the blind kitten, as to see that our human guest has his
hot water and slippers at the proper moment.

Believing that an acquaintance with the characters of those
you entertain is necessary to your fulfilling, with the happiest
effect, your devoir as host or keeper, we have, in this volume,
not contented ourselves with writing bare instructions as to

the practical treatment of the moulting hen or distempered
iv YREFACE,

dog. Whilst we have consulted our own. experience, and
searched the best authorities on the diseases vf the animals wa
have described, we have at the same time given, so to speak,
biographical sketches of our furred and feathered friends them

selves, with a view of discovering to the keepers of “ Pets”
those peculiar instincts which have been noted as characteristie
of the genera and species of those creatures which we include
amongst our domestic animals, A knowledge of the nature of
your pet may often enable you to prevent disease from visiting
it, and lengthen the term of life of a faithful and endeared
companion. ,

To provide clean and pleasant cottages for the poor is
properly considered an object of great importance. Inferior,
perhaps, but akin to that subject, is the consicleration of the
wise and fit manner to manage the houses and the feeding of
the live stock of the hutch, the dormer, the hon Bouse, the
kennel, the beehive, the equarinz.
ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS.

THE AQUARIUM.

The freshwater, 769; directions
for making, 770; Plants for, 772;
live stock for, 775; the marine,
789.

BEES,

The foundress, 707; arrangement
of cells, 708; the queen-bee, 709 ;
management of, 713; natural ene-
mies of, 715; structure of, 718;
the humble, 727.

THE CAT.

The wild, 641; antiquity of as a
home pet, 646 ; origin of the domes-
tic, 651; varieties of, 654; stories
of remarkable, 657 ; diseases of, and
their cure, 669.

DOGS.

Origin of, 545; varieties of, 553 ;
the wild dog, 355; the hunting, 554 ;
the Dhole, and the Buansuah, 556 ;
the Esquimaux, 559 ; the domestic,
560; Thibet mastiff, 564; Cuban
mastiff, 567; English mastiff, 569 ;
the bloodhound, 570 ; the staghound,
572; the foxhound, 573; the boar-
hound, 574; the Newfoundland, 575 ;
the greyhound, 577 ; the harrier, 579 ;
the beagle and water spaniel, 580 ;
the Labrador spaniel, and Peeler,
the dog of the Police, 582; the

 

setter, 584 ; the retriever, 586; the
pointer, 587; the King Charles
spaniel, 589; the terrier, 590; thr
poodle, 593; stories of intelligent
dogs, 595; management of puppies,
615 ; how to feed, 617 ; dog-washing,
621; parasites, 622; diseases of,
624; hydrophobia, 626; fits, 628;
indigestron, 630; paralysis, 635;
distemper, 636; laws respecting
dogs and dogkeeping, 639.

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

Their structure, 417 ; their origin
in Britain, 420; varieties: their
choice and management, 429 ; Ban-
tams and Dorkings, 481; black
Spanish, and Hamburgs,. 483; Po-
lands, and Cochin Chinas, 435;
Malays, and Bramahpootras, 437 ;
sultans, 439 ; feeding and fattening,
440; a night with the chickens,
445; concerning eggs and chicks,
446; the turkey, 449; the duck,—
call-ducks, 457; Aylesbury, 463;
Rouen and Buenos Ayres, 464 ; eider
duck, 465; geese, 467; diseases of
poultry and their cure, 475; swans,
478.

DOVES.

The turtle, 413 ; the ring, 415;
the stock, 416.
vi ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS,

THE GUINEA PIG.
Cage of, 699.

THE HARE,

Description of, 525; varieties of,
529.

THE HEDGEHOG.

Character of, 584; habitat of,
538; anecdote of, 540; food of,
542.

THE MOUSE,

The dormouse, 684 ; the harvest,
689 ; mouse stories, 691; pet mice
and their cages, 696.

PIGEONS.

Structure of birds in relation to
their flight, 853; foreign pigeons,
357; the aromatic vinago pigeon,
359 ; the bronze-wing, 361; gather-
ing a ‘pigeon crop,”’ 363; prodi-
gious flocks of, 365 ; the carrier, 367 ;
Antwerp carrier, 368; the dove-
house, 370; the blue rock, 371;
the tumbler, 373; ‘‘short-faced ”
tumblers, 376 ; rules for training a
flight of, 377 ; the pouter, 379; the
runt, 381; the trumpeter, 382; the
‘nun, 383; the archangel, 385; the
fantail and jacobite, 387; the turbit,
388; the barb, 389; the spot and
the helmet, 890; the magpie and
Mahomet, 39; ; the laugher, and owl,

 

392 ; how to train pigeons to fly,
393; the sport of pigeon-flying,
ancient and modern, 394; catching
in the Pyrenees, 398 ; pigeon-houses,
399; how to stock the, 403; pair-
ing and breeding, 404 ; feeding, 408 ;
pigeon parasites, 410; diseases of,
411,

PONIES, DONKEYS, AND
GOATS.

The pony, 787; history of, 739;
management of, 749; how to tel?
the age of, 747 ; shying, 752; the
ass, 757 ; anecdote of, 757; food of,
761; the goat, 763; Anecdotes of,
765.

THE RABBIT.

Description of, 481; concerning
the hutches, 497 ; varieties of, 504 ;
how to stock the hutches, 509:
feeding, 519 ; diseases of, and how
to cure them, 522; killing, 524,
laws respecting rabbit-snaring, 524
THE SILKWORM,

‘Origin of, 730; directions tes
keeping, 732.

THE SQUIRREL,

History of, 673; food of, 678,

THE TORTOISE,

Description of, 702,
LIST OF COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS,

FROM DESIGNS BY HARRISON WEIR, R. HUITULA, AND F, W. KEYL..

PRINTED FACSIMILE BY C. LEIGHTON AND W, DICKES,

COMMON, ANGORA, AND LOP-EARED RABBITS .......s.csessesvereeee Lage 481

PET PONIES, A SKETCH FROM NATURE,......csscesccsessenseeceeeneeneenens » 737

SKYE TERRIER, FRENCH POODLE, SPANIELS, ITALIAN GREYHOUND,
AND PUG DOGS ...... qaeneeMousasepeudeunaasnes prdsiesendesaenesetiaeesecas DAD

.
WHITE DORKING, GAME BANTAM, DECOY DUCK, AND SILVER-LACED

seavee 417

 

BANTAM .....-

YELLOW TURBIT, RED JACOBINE, CARRIER, AND FANTAIL PIGEONS 353
LIST OF WOODCUTS,

FROM DESIGNS BY HARRISON WEIR, BR. HUTTULA,

AND OTHBE EMINENT ARTISTS.

ENGRAVED BY H, N. WOODS AND W. M. RB. QUICK.

——tOt-ee

ANGORA RABBIT, THE oo secs ee cecceecrceccccsceceesseeee Page 508
ARRANGEMENT OF CELLS IN BEN-HIVE.... cc ce cece cesses cesees 108
AYLESBURY DUCKS .. 2... cece cece ee cece eect ee te ee ee ec enen se 463
BARB PIGEONS 4 sccssssaenevewiarewsnwwseis serous 890)
BEERIHIVES awa idiens daccinescde auntie salen saan ad KelMwaaswsues wines ALD
BELLIGERENT GAT, THE sxvcxawe vane oe se uy Oa te eae iG oe seve O71
BLACK (BANTAM) seducssusrs wiuwaeuata ve danger in ti eliae OE seis eae, AOE
BLACK SPANISH FOWLS sw xeseseaxae de Woe se 169485 esd sadeoe S80
BLOODHOUND), DHE sis.:o2i'sie sie oie.'sinig’s le sw logins oe Dee eis eee DIO
BLUE ‘ROCK PICHON i. i030 08.6% wide oceccuiee salen se aensievesene OFL
BOATMAN, THE .5cccccccssosccnes cece rcetssenseeseceserares 15
BOW- BILL) DUOKS eeicievin sis cis sic sedis he vie sd de nee slewese ee anes ELF
BUENOS AYRES DUCKS.....csccossscencreccsccssccsesesseves 464
BULL-DOG, THE ...e cc cccccc cece cs ce cc cese ects ceeteseeceerse SOR
GALL DUCES: sjaccrawrscgaressaieariuiluvaurecesiuialoransiiens cumeneearew seee BOT
CARRIER PIGEON, THE... cece eccce ste cect tree teen stereses BOG
OAT, THE ve ue risa geen se teewad eed or chek es voce es eed SS. 2 ». 641
CAT PREPARING TO FIGHT ws cece ae cece ster ee ee ee ee atet cease -. 657
CHAMOIS. Site Se ox dese vee Oe wh ob eRe EST ee Cee ete ae eden ee FES
COCHIN: CHINAS o's e's.e'te sedienoe Meade e Teed ee eoenwetea eaate ama AEP
COMBAT BETWEEN WASP AND SPIDER ....ce cece cece eeeeeeeees G19
TUR SS aie pees abc od Gta asus abe Sloss ee Rate See ote is Weer oNe oe orsstereeendepa aie OO
CROWNED GOURA PIGEON... cecccsce secs ecesseesectscveesscees B00
OVGNET 4 Sccesiie da WG 60 ow sGw@ 8 0 dee eae dial die se Oe eet de ey ew ATE
DALMATIAN DOG, THE vc ccccascccccecrccecencvsssvesescveses Gad
x LIST OF WOODOUTS

f
DINGO, THE 2.0... cece seen ccccceeneveceserecscnes sees Page 558
DOGS: AD BTA. ccs ssh ehiciais aye, has oy sat ehareiarsh axosaveiere: tO oveuragr@esje OO
DOG SCENTING GAME scsiwcecsvawseccasewsvavevevecsteasecse O17
TOG ssp cineca besathce shintaie Geisalsip viele taigie ete soe Senne tara we ee IOSD
DOMESTIO2D0G;, WHE... sacc-0d ieee we SRO ow eee eda ee BEL
DOMESTIC POULTRY ..cssceseesecescecreseseccsesesseesscese 417
DORKINGS, giwis dive vis Wan ed die wo aisiva aNeadawnieawsane cueaeenme Sol
DOVES .....06. cNdstlanetataate lsh fale, Ge aie a whee! at ews BGS wescse BIB
EMDEN GEESE 2... se ceeseeseee oO inh wanes 469
ENGLISH MASTIFF, THE ..... ees 569
ESQUIMAUX DOG, THE... anaes 059
FANTAIL PIGEONS 2... ce cssecsaees cvgvneese OOF
TEATHER-LEGGED BANTAMS we. 447
FOUNDRESS BEE, THE...... sae. VOT
FOX AND RABBIT....... .. 513
FOXHOUND, THE ....... . 573
FRESH-WATER WHELK, THE . 787
GAUSS POV cy ee deveexas . 429
GOEB Shs as anak ee tone » F69
GREYHOUND; MEE. can wewnsaxvaeye veseeoudwexemwnsrs sie BIT
GROUND PLAN OF RABBIT-PIT ....e..cee eee 489
GROUP OF DOGS: sc savaws + eradsanesteciemeaemaaerenewaca wee 545
QUINEA-FOWLS ...... Beans weingreanentn 280
QUINEA-PIG, THE ....... asp BO sae BOS
HARMLESS WATER-BEETLE, THE.......-. wee 784
HEDGEHOG’S CHOICEST PREY, THE....... .. 544
WRUIX BOMBER. «4c dqedu paseren ducsleuce «. 787
HIMALAYA RABBIT ....eeeeeeeee Lhe a ne ack tei ~ 518
‘HINDER LEG OF WORKING BEE, MAGNIFIED.........0.0eeeeeee5 721
HORSES FRIGHTENED BY FIRE 2.0.0... ee ceeeeeesceeuceccvces 737
HORSE-HUNTING, IN THE WILDERNESS ...... jammin 138
HUBER BRACELET, THE ...... sce ce ences Aawnbergpavernlinanemnee SOLS
HUBER, THE BLIND NATURALIST ........0.. iMwuterewenss £05
HUMBLE BEE, THE 2... ce cceccenreceeaees ap aiiasavauaGharencigley “FOS
HUNTER AND HOUND, THE............ sieccusce 614
JACOBIN PIGEONS........ in wees 888
KING CHARLES SPANIEL . aiwacenas O89
PEUTUGH) DEB ose gic Ga ea eieiscsos dna irensiace'e sal a Winns ntnieatouaroiganlnieay pater Dae

      
    
    
 

  

 

 

  

   

  
List oF WwooDoUTs, xi

LOP-EARED RABBIT ......cccceccseeceeeseesoeoesrais « Page BNE
MAGNIFIOENT PIGEON, THE...... cesses ee cseeeceensote ss cee, BBE
MAGNIFIED STING OF BEB ...... ce eee esse ores ee ccue nen sees 120
MALTBSE DOG). THE. as sé 6 00 cs code ee eee ce eeae secitents caer 628
MARINE AQUARIUM, THE... csc essecseencececvecgererarse ss 189
MESS 54.6 vess ae oe wea dla Kaen Mts Sie oe Bednar Goals eeimeceny S94
MICE cia cicieaiads eee news we Rea Ge wnneiasine wae areie aw Sa ee OOD
MOUNT ST, BERNARD MASTIFF, THE .......0.esecescceceeeseee 609
MULBERRY, THE ........005. as Sie aay Shavaveveeet eteiiaja aha. din. ava: teelewiow ees POO,
NEWFOUNDLAND DOG, THE .. cc ee ce cca scsceececcccesee + 001, 575
NON (BIGHONS: nicas yalesieu are are nave onas Yakasraeneyonadinte pete ged O84
OLD-FASHIONED RABBIT-HUTCH ..
OWL PIGEONS ....
OYSTER, THE...--....00e eee
PENCILLED HAMBURGS........-.s.005
PIGHON-CATCHING IN THE PYRENEES .....cse cc eeecscersdaves S99
POET'S PETS, THE. .........+. Maite tis ageieniade winamagieeienearees O20
POINTER TER) «5. giesareisui ar svate aavsianias aomentua umnsueseelSerag ep S sigtsiediany OST
POMERANIAN DOG, THE ..yccseccccecsacaseraccecvcaseccress Oi
POODLE), THE cscs sean eqomiereee i iatiunee me eioweieenss BOS
POUTER PIGEON, THE ...c cess cvcsccccccescsecescsserensedae OID
PUPPIES pos iaieigciaharcih es isi ieee erred aes eee aialmeiieieeeapegceg ONG
QUEEN BER; THE) icceiecide sens Seew ae WER GSO ae aekMinwee eee ZO
BABBITS........ naar as Yous ta taite done ywlanté wiTEa OOS Wie raed. wietedesieayenvess “LOL
BING-DOVE, THE wc .ccccceccenccccven tase rtasesccseccccesee 416
ROUEN DUCKS ........es00.-
RUNT PIGEONS 2... scence scscece
SEBRIGHT BANTAMS .. eeeey

PEPPER THE i csse sien aes igiase. gs siaveve a
SHEEP-DOG, THE ......
SIE WORMS. siecsie see's pee as0 ois 6.0 aie oie 6909.6 S00 eae eee ae se ewee ee 200
BKELETON OF THE HORSE ...cecsccecscccescaccccccsccesecce TAT
SKYE TERRIER, THE. . 1... ccescecccccconcccsscecccccsccsscee O39)
AMALL WATER-LILY ....-.-sccenescccacerarcsrcersessecesesa S44
SOLDIER CRAB, THE.... ce. csccctccecvcccceccsssctussccesces 194
SOLDIER-PLANT, THE cc ccccescccccccceveesccvecsecssscinees 779
GPANGLED POLANDS.. cecccccccncracccasccccsscctecsasssseae 439
BPLCKLED HAMBURGS es cscecsssscsceeescsceccsseccsesateees 424

      

     
xif fist oF WooDcUTts.

SQUIRREL, THE se ee cece cece ce ceeseecesenesceseeserseses Page 673
BTAGHOUND, THE oo cscs sc ccccceeeeeccenseecesseceseaseseces STA
SULTANS winctesvesaasdeineneaneoe nese GeeeSF dv ce deaere ens eae ABP
SYPHON) @HE dipitesiision ose seateeedeteeasuesracdiasncce JOS
TENCH,, THE cescciscaewtnecasiavise eee 68S a0 4058 7
TERRIER, THE sa coseweas veins sees de sees ees ee 591
TOP OF RABBIT-PIT ......0eececenecveeee 496
TORTOISE, THE .....e000+ 700
TRUMPETER PIGEONS ... 384
TRUMPET-SNAIL, THE ... 784
TUMBLER PIGEONS ..c.ccscecsececncccacceeassescsscsaverse Old
TURBIT PIGEONS: v4 id sa edo veeswe ewe ernwedeavederereneseces BBE
PUREBY, THEA. vs sos doce ate hae 40 5 SO ce aesdadewseataaewenw te 4E
WATER-BEETLE, THE. ccs. sees eseece seer ccereceesescsserecen 104
WATER-SPANIEL, THE ..cccesecsceeeteesescccceessencssscecs 58]
WATER-SPIDER, THE.........00
OVER Do sci dea. on gsbias ev aiacvee gts CNR Ae SRY oes te sate Ria. Oe anal Stole nearer awe: OBE
WILD DUCKS ssc ce se ivei ve vdiwiwaawe veaw ce ea ew eee voles sees 45
WILD HORSES AND WILD RIDERS .. 75(
WILD RABBITS oe. Seo ass ewe ee 50:
BERRA ......... 76:

    
    

  
    
 

THE CROWNED GOURA PIGEON,

PIGEONS.

—10——

STRUCTURE OF BIRDS IN RELATION TO THEIR FLIGHT,

It may not be out of place here to offer a few remarks on
the wonderful mechanism which enables birds to wing their
course so rapidly through the air. The feathers are so placed
as to overlap each other, like the slates or the tiles on the roof
of a house. They are also arranged from the fore-part back-
wards; by which the animals are enabled the more conve-
niently to cut their way through the air. Their bones are
tubular or hollow, and extremely light compared with those
of terrestrial animals. This greatly facilitates their rising from
the earth, whilst their heads, being comparatively small, their
bills shaped like a wedge, their bodies slender, sharp below,
and round above,—all these present a union-of conditions,
favourable, in every way, to cutting a passage through
the aérial element, to which they are considered as more
peculiarly to belong. With all these conditions, however, birds
could not fly without wings. These, therefore, are the instru-
ments by which they have the power of rapid locomotion, and

1

 
PIGEONS.

are constructed in such a manner as to be capable of great
expansion when struck in a downward direction. If we except,
in this action, the slight hollow which takes place on the
under-side, they become almost two planes. In order that
the downward action may be accomplished to the necessary
extent, the muscles which move the wings have been made
exceedingly large; so large, indeed, that, in some instances,
they have been estimated at not less than a sixth of the weight
of the whole body. Therefore, when a bird is on the ground
and intends to fly, it takes a leap, and immediately stretching
its wings, strikes them out with great force. By this act these
are brought into an oblique direction, being turned partly
upwards and partly horizontally forwards. That part of the
force which has the upward tendency is neutralized by the
weight of the bird, whilst the horizontal force serves to carry
it forward. The stroke being completed, it moves upon its
wings, which, being contracted and having their edges turned.
upwards, obviate, in a great measure, the resistance of the air.
When it is sufficiently elevated, it makes a second stroke
downwards, and the impulse of the air again moves it for-
ward. These successive strokes may be regarded as so many
leaps taken in the air. When the bird desires to direct its
course to the right or the left, it strikes strongly with the
opposite wing, which impels it to the proper side. In the
motions of the animal, too, the tail takes a prominent part,
and acts like the rudder of a ship, except that, instead of
sideways, it moves upwards and downwards. If the bird
wishes to rise, it raises its tail; and if to fall, it depresses it;
and, whilst in a horizontal position, it keeps it steady. There
are few who have not observed a pigeon or a crow preserve, for
some time, a horizontal flight without any apparent motion of
the wings. This is accomplished by the bird having already
acquired sufficient velocity, and its wings being parallel to the
horizon, meeting, with but small resistance from the atmo-
sphere. If it begins to fall, it can easily steer itself upward
by means of its tail, till the motion it had acquired is nearly
spent, when it must be renewed by a few more strokes of the
wings. On alighting, a bird expands its wings and tail fully
against the air, as a ship, in tacking round, backs her sails, in
order that: they may meet with all the resistance possible.

“ The anterior extremities of birds,” says Macegillivray, “ are
modified so as to render them subservient to aérial progression.
‘They are converted into wings by having appended to them a

 
 

STRUCTURE OF BIRDS.

series of long stiff feathers, variously proportioned, according
to the kind of flight required by the species. This adaptation
of the form and structure of birds to flying, or progression in
the air, is obvious and intelligible. Their body is oval, with
the larger end forwards, and the more powerful muscles placed
on the breast, so that when the horizontal direction is assumed,
the centre of gravity comes between the wings, and is kept
near the lower part by the weight of the pectoral muscles,
The length and flexibility of the neck enable the bird to make
the necessary changes in the centre of gravity, while the solidity
of the dorsal spine gives advantage to the action of the muscles ;
the head is terminated by a pointed bill, which aids in cleaving
the air; the feet, when short, are drawn up and concealed
under the feathers; when long, stretched out beneath or
beyond the tail, which is more or less expanded, and helps
to support the body in the air, as well as, by acting in the
manner of a rudder, to change its direction, or, by being
stretched out, to break its descent. In proportion to their
bulk, birds are also much lighter than other vertebrate
animals, and their lightness is produced by the introduction
of air into their tissue, and even into the bones, as well as by
the great bulk of the feathers, which, in those having a very
buoyant flight, as owls and gulls, is much greater than that of
the body.

“ When a bird intends to fly, it loosens its wings from their
ordinary position, throws its body forward, and gives it a
sudden impulse by means of the legs, which would merely
produce a leap, but the wings, being in the meantime spread
out and elevated, they are again brought down with force, so
that their points generally strike against the ground.’ Whether
or not, they act as levers, and, by repeated strokes, carry the
bird upwards. Were its ascent vertical, the rapid action of
the wings in the same plane would suffice to raise it, provided
the downward stroke “were much more powerful than the
upward, the wing, moreover, being drawn in during the latter,
and stretched out during the former. But, for progression in a
horizontal direction, it is necessary that the downward stroke
should be modified by the elevation, in a certain degree, of the
free extremities of the quills, and that the pinion should be
pulled backwards. The best subject in which to study the
motions of the wings during flight is one of the larger gulls,
in which the wings being very long and the flight remarkably
buoyant, and performed by slow beats, one may nace their

’
 

PIGEONS.

alternations with ease, provided he be near enough; the wings
are never extended to their full length, the elbow-joint being
always more or less bent, and the hand or pinion always
inclined backwards.”

Of a feather’s lightness, we may form some idea, when we
find that the largest quill of a golden eagle weighs only sixty-
five grains, and that seven such quills barely turn the beam
against a copper penny. The feathers of a common fowl,
weighing more than two pounds, weigh only two ounces; and
the whole of an owl’s plumage weighs but one ounce and a
half. “ Meant, as they are,” says Bishop Stanley, “ some for
covering and some for strength, we shall find them, on exami-
nation, very differently put together. The light downy part,
when examined through a microscope, will be found to bear
little resemblance to the flat part, or blade of the quill. IEf it.
were not so, a bird would scarcely be able to fly at all; for
when the flat of the wing was pressed down, the air would
pass through it, yielding little or no resistance. The fibres of
the downy parts have, we see, little connection with each
other; they have short and loose side shoots, just sufficient ‘to
meet them together when pressed close to the skin; whereas
the side shoots of the quill-feather hook and grapple with one
another, so as to make one firm and united surface. It is
clear, that if water could soak into the soft feathery covering
of a bird, every shower of rain would be the death of thou-
sands; inasmuch as it would increase their weight considerably,
and at the same time, by destroying the fine elastic nature of
the feathers, entirely disable them from flying, and they must
remain in a helpless state upon the ground, either to perish
through hunger or become the prey to men or animals, who
would catch them without trouble.”

The air bones in young birds are described as being filled with
marrow, which becomes gradually absorbed, to make room for
the admission of air. This gradual expansion of the air-cells
and absorption of the marrow can nowhere be observed so
well as in young tame geese, when killed in different periods of
the autumn and winter. The limits to the air-cells may be
clearly seen without, from the transparency of the bony walls.
From week to week the marrow disappears, and the air-vessels
increase in size, till, towards the close of the season, they
become transparent.

“To give some idea of the duration and continuity of
motion in birds,” says an English naturalist, “ and lkewise

 

t
 

 

FOREIGN PIGEONS.

of the proportion of time and space which their courses occupy,
their swiftness has been often compared with that of quadru-
peds in their great progressions, whether natural or forced. The
stag, the reindeer, and the elk, can traverse forty leagues in a
single day; the reindeer, harnessed to a sledge, can make a journey
of thirty leagues, and can continue so for many days in succes-
sion; the camel can travel three, hundred leagues in eight
days; the horse, trained for the race, and chosen from among
the lightest and most vigorous, can perform a league in six or
seven minutes; but his speed soon relaxes, and he would be
incapable of supporting a longer career with the spirit and
celerity with which he set out. But the swiftness of birds
is considerably greater than that of such animals. In less
than three minutes we lose sight of a large bird; of a kite,
for example, which proceeds horizontally, or an eagle, which
flies vertically, and the diameter of whose extent on the wing is
more than four feet. From this we may infer that the bird
traverses more than a space of four thousand five hundred feet
in a minute, and that he can fly twenty leagues in an hour.
Pietro della Valle says, that in Persia the carrier pigeon makes
greater way in one day than the swiftest human runner can in
six.” :

 

FOREIGN PIGEONS.

The Columbide, or pigeon family, are distinguished from
the poultry and the gallinaceous birds in general by the pos-
session of certain peculiarities, of which the following may be
said to be the chief:—Bill arched towards the tip, and with a
convex swelling at the base, caused by a sort of gristly patch,
which covers the nostrils, and which, in some species, is curi-
ously developed. Again, nearly all the gallinaceous birds are
polygamous, and lay a great number of eggs each time they
incubate, which, in the temperate zones, is rarely more than
twice a year, while the true pigeons lay only two eggs each
time and incubate frequently during the year. Finally, in the
yallinaceous birds, the hind toe is articulated on the tarsus
higher than the others, and only touches the ground with
its claws; whereas, the pigeons possess a ‘posterior toe, upon
the same plan as the anterior toe, touching the ground
throughout its length in walking and embracing the perch
when the bird is at roost.

The distribution of the pigeon family is very Smrennayes the

 
 

PIGEONS.

form recurring, indeed, almost all over the world, except. within
the frigid zones. We will open the list with the largest and
most unpigeon-like of the tribe, the Crowned Goura Pigeon,
found in the Indian archipelago and most of the Mollucca
Islands. From head to tail, this bird measures nearly two
and a half feet. Its beak, which is two inches long, is black,
and its head surmounted by a large semicircular compressed
crest of narrow straight feathers, of a delicate light blue
colour. Light blue, or rather grey-blue, marks the under
part of the bird’s plumage. The feathers of the back,
scapulars, and smaller wing-coverts, black at the base, and
rich purple-brown at the tips; greater coverts of the same
colour, but barred with white in the centre, so that, when the
wings are closed, a single transverse band appears across
them. It builds its nest in trees, lays two eggs, and feeds
chiefly on berries and seeds. Its flesh ig said to be of excellent
flavour. Speaking of the splendid specimens of this bird to be
seen in the Zoological Gardens, J. G. Wood says, “ Their
walk is quite of a royal character—stately and majestic, and
well according with the beautiful feathered crown they wear
on their heads. The crest seems to be always held expanded.
They have a quaint habit of sunning themselves upon the hot
pavement of their prison, by lying on one side, laying the head
flat on the ground, tucking the lower wing over them, and
‘spreading the other over their bodies, so as to form a very
shallow tent, each quill feather being separated from its neigh-
bour and radiating round the body. Sometimes the bird varies
this attitude, by stretching the other wing to its full extent,
and holding it from the ground at an angle of 20 degrees or
so, as if to take advantage of every sunbeam and every waft of
air. While lying in this unique attitude, it might easily pass,
at a little distance, for a moss-covered stone, a heap of withered
leaves, or a ragged tree-stump, with one broken branch pro-
jecting to the side.”

They are easily tamed, and in the Hast Indies are fre-
quently kept in the farmyard, among the ducks and geese.
They have all the habits of the common little pigeon, and
bill and coo like the most ordinary “runt.” The cooing,
however, is a trifle more violent than that of the English
species. Indeed, M. Bougainville relates that his sailors were
greatly alarmed on hearing it, for the first time, in the wild
and unfrequented spots of some of the islands visited by him,
epprehending that the mysterious sounds proceeded from tribes

 
 

THE AROMATIC VINAGO PIGEON.

of lurking savages lying in ambush, presently to fall on and
devour them.

Although of smaller size, the Nicobar pigeon is equally
curious, and worthy of description as the stately Goura, king
of pigeons, by virtue of his crown as well.as his bulk. The
Nicobar is a native of the island of that name, as well as of
the isles of Java and Sumatra. It is about fifteen inches in
length, its beak about an inch and a quarter in length, and
slightly bent downward at the tip. Its head is slaty blue,
with a purplish cast, and adorning its neck and breast are a
profusion of long pointed feathers, glowing with resplendent
green, bronze, and slaty blue. These long feathers are much
like the hackles of the game-cock; and as the light falls on
them, their colours come and go, and glow with orange and
copper colour and gorgeous purple in a way impossible to
describe. The back of the bird, indeed the whole of its upper
surface, is glowing green, with bronze and steel-blue reflections ;
the tail is short and square, and pure white. Authors differ
about the habits of this bird. Some assert that its nest is
placed on the ground, and that the female lays several eggs,
the young running as soon as hatched; but Mr. Bennet, who
saw some in an aviary at Macao, says ‘that they were usually
seen perched on trees, even upon the loftiest branches; and
adds, that they build their rude nests and rear their young
upon trees, similar to all the pigeon tribe.

‘We will next describe a beautiful member of this family,
known by the somewhat singular title of Aromatic Vinago.
It is an inhabitant of India, Java, and other adjacent islands.
It is a bird of mild and timid disposition, and is generally seen
in large companies, except during the period of reproduction,
when they pair, and retire to the depths of the forest. The
back of the aromatic vinago and a part of the lesser wing-
coverts are of a rich brownish-red, “ shot,” as the modern term
is, with purple; the forehead is of a bright siskin green, the
crown greenish grey, the throat rich yellow, and the under
parts faint green. The greater wing-coverts and secondary
quills are greenish black, with a vivid yellow edging through-
out their entire length; the tail is a blending of blue-grey and
brown, and white and green. In Selby’s description of this bird
we read :— This beautiful bird has brilliant red eyes, the feet
are something like the parrot’s, and it climbs in the same way
as that bird. It is very difficult to find; for, although a flock

is marked into a tree, yet its colour is so similar to the leaf of
359

 
 

PIGEONS.

the banyan (on the small red fig of which it feeds), that if a
bird does not move you may look for many minutes before you
see one, although there may be fifty in the tree,”

There is a pigeon found in the Mollucca and Pacific Islands,
which, though not of very splendid appearance, has attractions
of a far more substantial nature. It is the Carunculated Ground
Pigeon, or the “ Oceanic Fruit Pigeon,” as it is sometimes
called. In size it about equals the-common turtle, but is a
bulkier bird. ‘The base of the bill and forehead is covered with
a naked red skin, and the chin bears a good-sized wattle, which
turns upwards on each side towards the ears. The head,
cheeks, neck, and breast, are of a purplish grey, and the
remainder of the plumage dingy grey, margined with white.

In a natural history of birds, of some repute, we find the
following singular notice of the ground pigeon :—* These birds
inhabit the forests of the Molluccas, Celebes, Australia, and
the Pacific islands. Their food consists of fruit and berries.
That of the precious nutmeg, or rather of its soft covering,
known to us by the name of mace, affords, at certain seasons,
a favourable repast to some species; and upon this luxurious
diet they become so loaded with fat, as frequently, when shot,
to burst asunder when they fall to the ground. And here we
may observe the remarkable provision nature has made for the
propagation as well as dissemination of this valuable spice;
for the: nutmeg itself, which is generally swallowed with the
whole of its pulpy covering, passes uninjured through the
digestive organs of the birds, and is thus dispersed through the
group of the Molluccas and other islands of the East. Indeed,
from repeated experiments, it appears that an artificial prepa-
ration, analogous to that which it undergoes in its passage
through the bird, is necessary to insure the growth and fertility
of the nut; and it was not till after many unsuccessful attempts
had been made, that a lixivium of lime, in which the nuts were
steeped for a certain time, was found to have the wished-for
effect, and to induce the germinating tendency.”

The Topknot Pigeon is another of the handsome Columbide.
It isa native of Southern and Eastern Australia, and is most
plentifully found in the bushes of the Ilawarra and Hunter
rivers. Jt is about seventeen inches long, and, as its powerful
feet and general structure betoken, is a tree dweller, and of the
loftiest pretensions; for it is seldom or never seen to make its
nest except in the topmost branches. Its prevailing colour is
silver-grey; its eyes are orange colour, ringed with crimson ;

360

 
 

THE BRONZE-WING PIGEON,

the base of its bill is blue, and the tip red; its feet are
purple. Its wings, which are long and powerful, are edged with
black, and its tail has a broad black band crossing its centra,
and the extremities of the feathers marked with the same
colour. Its chief characteristic, however, is a curious crest
that surmounts its head. The possession of an occipital crest
is nothing uncommon; but this bird has, in addition, a fore-
head-crest, composed of long soft feathers, of a silver-grey
colour, while the crest on the back of the head is russet.

The Bronze-wing Pigeon of Australia is another “ foreigner ”
worthy of special mention. It is about fifteen inches long. In
colour, the forehead is buff, the head is dark brown, changing to
deep plum colour at the sides; the sides of the neck are grey, and
there is a white waved line under the eye, and running partly
down the chin; the upper surface is dark brown; the coverts
are marked with bronze-green spots, and the tertiaries have a
large oblong shining green spot, edged with buff; the two
central feathers are brown, and the rest grey, banded with
black near the tip; the breast is purple-brown, fading into
grey on the abdomen; the eyes are reddish-brown, and the legs
and feet crimson. The bronze-wing is a great water-drinker,
and, by reason of this, is often of incalculable service to the
Australian traveller, in showing’ the way to springs and water-
holes. Mr. Gould says, “ With a knowledge of the habits of
this bird, the weary traveller may always perceive when he is
in the vicinity of water; and, however arid the appearance of
the country may be, if he observes the bronze-wing wending its
way from all quarters to a given point, he may be certain to
procure a supply of food and water. When rain has fallen in
abundance, and the rivers and lagoons are filled, not only to the
brim, but overflowing and spread over the surface of the surround-
ing country, the case is materially altered; then the bronze-
wing and many other birds are not so easily procured, the
abundant supply of the element so requisite to their existence
rendering it no longer necessary that they should brave every
danger in procuring it.” ‘The same clever and interesting
author and naturalist relates, that in the droughty summer of
1839-40, when encamped at the northern extremity of the
Brezi range, his tent was pitched near a sort of natural basin
in the rock, and which still contained a scanty quantity of
water from last season’s rains; this water, the natives assured
Mr. Gould, was the only supply for several miles round, and
so the traveller speedily found; for in the evening, and despite

 
 

PIGEONS.

the presence of a body of men with their clamour and cooking-
fires and undisguised hostile intentions, flocks of timid birds,
including the bronze-wing, came boldty to the water, all their
natural apprehensions blunted by torturing thirst.

The Magnificent Pigeon is deserving of his name. What do
my readers think of a pigeon of the following description :—
“In size it equals or rather surpasses the common ring-pigeon ;
the tail being longer in proportion. The bill, which is rather slen-
der, has the soft or membranous part of a brownish orange; the
horny top, which is yellowish white, is slightly arched, but hard
and compressed. ‘The head,,the cheeks, and the upper part of
the neck are of a fine pale bluish grey, which passes into pale
green towards the lower part of the neck and back. The upper
parts of the body are of a rich golden green, assuming various
shades of intensity as viewed in different lights; the wing-
coverts are spotted with rich king’s yellow, forming an oblique
bar across the wings. The quills and tail are of the richest
shining green, changing in effect with every motion of the bird.
From the chin downwards proceeds a streak of the finest aricula
purple (the base of the feathers being of a deep sapphire green) ;
this line gradually expands as it descends, and covers the whole
breast and abdomen. The lower belly, thighs, and under wing-
coverts are of the richest king’s yellow. The feet are bluish
black, the tarse short, and clothed with yellow feathers half way
down their front and sides.” The Magnificent pigeon is found
only in Australia, where it lives in trees, and subsists on fruit
and seeds.

We now come to a “foreigner” more resembling in shape,
size, and colour that with which we are acquainted than any
other —the Passenger-pigeon of North America. Through-
out those regions it is enormously abundant, and is remark-
able for its migration in immense flocks from one part of the
United States to another. Their arrival at their roosting-
places is eagerly watched for by the inhabitants, who anxiously
look out for their coming; and no wonder, as the following
Spee of the gathering of a “:pigeon-crop,” by Wilson, will
ShOW :—

“As soon as the young were fully grown, and before they
left the nest, numerous parties of the inhabitants from all parts
of the adjacent country came with waggons, axes, beds, and
cooking utensils; many of them accompanied by the greater
part of their families, and encamped for several days at this
immense DUIBEry. Several of them stated that the noise was

 

+

 
 

GATHERING OF 4 “ PIGEON-CROP.”

so. great as to terrify their horses, and that it was difficult for
any .person to hear another speak withont bawling in his ear.
The ground was strewed with broken limbs of trees, eggs, and
young squab pigeons, which had been precipitated from above,
and on which herds of hogs were fattening. Hawks, buzzards,
and eagles were sailing about and seizing the squabs from the
nests at pleasure; while from twenty feet upward to the top
of the trees the view through the woods presented a perpetual
tumult of crowding and fluttering multitudes of pigeons, their
wings roaring like thunder, mingled with the frequent crash of
falling timber; for now the axemen were at work cutting down
those trees that seemed to be most crowded with nests, and
contriving to fell them in such a manner that in their descent
they might bring down several others; by which means the
falling one large tree sometimes produced two hundred
squabs little inferior in size to the old ones, and almost one
heap of fat. On some single trees upwards of one hundred
nests were found, each containing one squab only. It was
dangerous to walk under these flying and fluttering millions,
from the frequent fall of large branches, broken down by the
weight of the multitudes above, and which in their descent often
destroyed numbers of the birds themselves ;. whilst the clothes
of those engaged in traversing the woods were completely
covered with the excrements of the pigeons.”

Audubon gives the following animated description of one of
these nocturnal battwes :—“'The sun,” he says, “was lost to
our view, yet nota pigeon had arrived; but, suddenly, there
burst forth a general cry of, ‘Here they come!’ The noise
which they made, though yet distant, reminded me of a hard
gale at sea passing through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel.
As the birds arrived and passed over me, I felt a current of
air that surprised me. Thousands were soon knocked down
by the men provided with poles. The current of birds, how-
ever, kept still increasing. ‘The fires were lighted, and a most
magnificent, as well as a wonderful and terrifying sight, pre-
sented itself. The pigeons, coming in by thousands, alighted
everywhere, one above another, until solid masses of them,
resembling hanging swarms of bees, as large as hogsheads,
were formed on every tree, in all directions. Here and there
the perches gave way under the weight with a crash, and, fall-
ing to the ground, destroyed hundreds of birds beneath, forcing
down the dense groups with which every stick was loaded. It
was a scene of uproar and confusion. I found it aie useless

 
 

PIGEONS.

to speak, or even to shout, to those persons nearest me. The
reports even of the nearest guns were seldom heard, and I
knew only of the firing by seeing the shooters reloading. No
person dared venture within the line of devastation; the hogs
had been penned up in due time, the picking up of the dead
and wounded being left for the next morning’s employment.
Still the pigeons were constantly coming, and it was past
midnight before I perceived a decrease in the number of those
that arrived. The. uproar continued, however, the whole
night; and, as I was anxious to know to what distance the
sound reached, I sent off a man accustomed to perambulate
the forest, who, returning two hours afterwards, informed me
he had heard it distinctly when three miles from the spot.”
Towards daybreak, according to the same authority, the
pigeons again move off, and various nocturnal beasts of prey
are seen sneaking away from the ground, where they have
~found a plentiful and accessible meal; the human devastators
then go in to collect their share of the plunder, and when they
have selected all that they have occasion for, the hogs are let
loose to feed upon the remainder.

“Tt is extremely interesting,” says the above quoted author-
ity, “to see flock after flock performing exactly the same evo-
lutions which had been traced in the air, as it were, by a
preceding flock. Thus, should a hawk have charged on a
group at a certain spot, the angles, curves, and undulations
that have been described by the birds in their efforts to escape
from the dreaded talons of the plunderer, are undeviatingly
followed by the next group that comes up.”

The accounts of the prodigious numbers in which these
pigeons assemble would be open to doubt were they not made
by naturalists of the highest note. For instance, if less an
authority than Wilson narrated the following it would cer-
tainly have been voted an “ Americanism.” “I passed for
several miles through the same breeding place, where every
tree was spotted with nests, the remains of those above de-
scribed. In many instances, I counted upwards of ninety
nests on a single tree; but the pigeons had abandoned this
place for another, sixty or eighty miles off, toward Green
River, where they were said at that time to be equally nume-
rous. From the great numbers that were constantly passing
over our heads to and from that quarter, I had no doubt of the
truth of this statement. The mast had been chiefly consumed
in Kentnoky ; and the pigeons every morning a little before

 
 

PRODIGIOUS FLOCKS OF PIGEONS.

sunrise set out for the Indiana territory, the nearest part of
which was about sixty miles distant. Many of these returned
before ten o’clock, and the great body generally appeared on
their return a little after noon. I had left the public road to
visit the remains of the breeding-place near Shelbyville, and
was traversing the woods with my gun on my way to Frank-
fort, when, about ten o’clock, the pigeons which I had observed
flying the greater part of the morning northerly, began to
return in such immense numbers as I never before had wit-
nessed.

“ Coming to an opening by the side of a creek called the
Benson, where I had a more uninterrupted view, I was
astonished at their appearance; they were flying with great
steadiness and rapidity, at a height beyond gun-shot, in several
strata deep, and so close together that, could shot have reached
them, one discharge could not have failed of bringing down
several individuals. From right to left, as far as the eye could
reach, the breadth of this vast procession extended, seeming
everywhere equally crowded. Curious to determine how long
this appearance would continue, I took out my watch to note
the time, and sat down to observe them. It was then half-
past one; I sat for more than an hour, but, instead of a dimi-
nution of this prodigious procession, it seemed rather to increase
both in numbers and rapidity ; and anxious to reach Frankfort
before night, I rose and went on. About four o’clock in the
afternoon I crossed Kentucky river, at the town of Frankfort,
at which time the living torrent above my head seemed as
numerous and asextensive as ever. Long after this I observed
them in large bodies, that continued to pass for six or eight
minutes, and these again were followed by other detached
bodies, all moving in the same south-east direction till after
six in the evening. The great breadth of front which this
mighty multitude preserved, would seem to intimate a corre-
sponding breadth of their breeding-place, which, by several
gentlemen, who had lately passed through part of it, was
stated to me at several miles.”

Wilson then enters into a rough calculation of the numbers
of this mass, and he comes to the conclusion, that its whole length
was 240 miles, and that the numbers composing it amounted
to 2,280,272,000 pigeons, observing, that this is probably far
below the actual amount. He adds, that allowing each pigeon
to consume half a pint of food daily, the whole quantity would
equal 17,424,000 bushels daily. Audubon confirms Wilson in

36!

 
 

PIGEONS.

every point, excepting when he states that a smgle egg only is
laid. Audubon insists, that the bird lays two eggs of a pure
white, and that each brood generally consists of a male and
female.

 

DOMESTIC PIGEONS.
THE CARRIER.

The carrier pigeon occupies, as he ought, the highest place
among the domestic columbide. With the exception, perhaps,
of the “blue rack,” or, more
properly, the dove-house pigeon,
no domestic fowl can be traced
to such antiquity. Long before
Rome became a mighty city the
carrier was a “home pet;” and
at the celebration of the Olym-
pian games this bird was fre-
quently employed to carry to

CARRIER PIGEON. distant parts the names of the
victors.

During the “ Holy War,” when Acre was besieged by King
Richard, Saladin habitually corresponded with the besieged by
means of carrier pigeons. A shaft from an English crossbow,
however, happened to bring one of these feathered messengers
to the ground, and the stratagem being discovered and the
designs of the mighty pagan monarch revealed, the tables were
turned and Acre was in the hands of the besiegers before the
wily Saladin dreamed of such a thing.

The carrier is rather larger than the general run of pigeons,
Most writers consider them as descendants from the Persian
or Turkish variety. Their form is, however, much altered from
those birds, and it is believed to be owing to an admixture with
the Egyptian variety known as Bagdads, Scandaroons, or
Horsemen, and from which cross they, in all probability, obtain
the long beak considered so great a point in this breed, while
the true Turkish or Persian is not remarkable for the length of
this member; that the Turkish and Egyptian varieties have
‘been much confused; and that from their mixture, with careful
oe this breed has been produced, there can he little

oubt.

To be thorough-bred the carrier should possess the “twelve

 

 
 

THE CARRIER PIGEON.

points,” as it is termed, viz., three of the head, three of the
beak, three of the wattle, and three of the eye. The head
should be long and straight, and flat on the top; the beak
should be straight, and long, and thick; the wattle should be
broad at the base, short from the head ie the bill, and leaning
forward ; and the eye should be large, and round, and uniform.
A bird possessing all these qualifications, and being only of
one colour, and that dark blue, may be esteemed a, first-class
bird, that is, taking a “fancier’s” view of the subject. Dun-
coloured birds, “cinnamons,” are the least valued, though,
without doubt, they possess as much sagacity and power of
flight as any. Firmness of: feather is an unerring sign of a
good constitution, and a long wing of speed and endurance.
As the carrier grows old he loses his lithe, active appearance,
and his wattle increases in bulk. By these tokens you may
judge of a bird’s age. Their genuine plumage is black, and the
feathers set remarkably close to the body. These lacks occa-
sionally throw a dun, which duns are thought generally to have
the best heads. Other colours are sometimes to be met with,
but are rarely so good, and have almost invariably the
great blemish of black eyes. They should be trained while
young, and afterwards kept in exercise, or they become fat and
idle, and their organ of “locality,” or whatever it may be that
enables them so marvellously to track their way, becomes
weakened from want of use. They are shy, rather unfriendly
birds, and excellent breeders and nurses, if kept in a natural
‘state, but if allowed to become too fat they are less careful of
their offspring.

The way of sending a despatch, or attaching the letter, is
simply to write that which it is desired to communicate on a
small piece of light paper,—say about three or four ‘inches
square. This is rolled up about the size of a goose-quill, and
laid between two of the tail feathers, where it is secured by
means of a -piece of fine binding wire, which is pushed into
one or both the shafts of the feathers. Their vanes are then
wrapped about the paper by twisting the wire round and
round, so thatthe pigeon carries it without being in the least
inconvenienced in its flight. Some persons, I believe, wind the
paper round the shank of the foot, or leg, and fasten it with
worsted.

The Belgians have always been remarkable for their fond-
ness of pigeon sports. It is recorded that in the year 1826,
“The Society of Amateurs,” at Antwerp, sent ninety Carriers

 
 

PIGEONS.

to fly for a prize. They were started from the French capital
at seven o’clock in the morning, and by noon of the same day
thirteen of them had reached home. The first arrived at half-
past eleven o’clock.

The true Antwerp carrier is comparatively a rare bird. It
is 36t supposed to be indigenous to the country where ié is
found, but to be simply the descendant of tame pigeons who
have lost their homes, and betaking themselves to such se-
cluded and airy sites as the ancient towers and steeples the
city of Antwerp affords, have there increased and multiplied.
The size of the Antwerp carrier is nearly that of our familiar
blue rock; its plumage is mostly mealy, with bright brown
bars across the wings, and the neck of a reddish tint. The
beak is slender and dove-shaped; the eye full and glittering,
like two pink-tinted pearls. The forehead is rather full and
round.

As already mentioned, this bird is seldom met with. Says
Mr. Brent, “so choice are the few persons that keep them
that they rarely can be induced to part with them, and so wild
and restless are the birds in a strange place that it would be a
rare occurrence for them to breed there ; their wild nature and
the indomitable desire to return to their native home cause
them to be ever on the alert to escape; and should they be
confined securely for a year, or even more, they will frequently
at the expiration of that time, from their shy, restless disposi-
tion, be found willing and capable of returning to their old
abode, though the journey may be one or two hundred miles.”

The Liege, or “ short-faced Antwerp,” although not quite so
clever as his cousin, who owns the proud title of “ the true,” is
more desirable, inasmuch as it will sooner get reconciled to a
new home. It is supposed to be a cross between the owl and
the turbit, two sorts of pigeon very common in the Low
Countries, where the Liege is more prevalent than elsewhere.
It is very sober in plumage, chiefly whole coloured, mealy blue,
or blue chequered. In July, 1828, fifty-six carriers, brought to
London from Liege, were flown in the neighbourhood of Al-
dersgate-street, at thirty-four minutes pest four o’clock, a.m.
One of them reached its destination, a distance of about three
hundred miles, at twenty-four minutes past ten o’clock the
same morning, having thus accomplished its journey in five
hours and fifty minutes. The other pigeons followed in suc-
cession, and all of them reached Liege at noon. In July,
1829, in a fight “ against time,” forty-one birds were loosed at

 
 

Sig
THE CARRIER PIGEON.

Maestricht, and to show what speed was expected of the little
aérial travellers, the foremost one lost, although its speed had
averaged more than forty-five miles an hour.

Among other given purposes for which this bird of speedy
fight has been used, is that of assisting in the capture of
smugglers. Captain Gouland who, some years ago, was won-
derfully successful in arresting the contrabandists trading in
the vicinity of Dover, kept a large flight, and had agents on
the continent, who despatched, his birds with the intelligence
when cargoes of contraband goods might be expected. This
having been practised for some time, the smugglers procured
hawks to kill the pigeons when let off, thus destroying many
of the captain’s winged scouts.

“The carrier pigeon fancy,” says good “old English”
Mowbray, writing thirty years ago, “has never since been
so prevalent in this country as it was sixty years ago.
Men’s minds have assumed a direction entirely opposite to
that of sportive amusements; political reform and the re-
dress of ancient grievances are now the popular substitute
for pigeon flying.” It is, of course, like my impertinence
to question the sentiments of a writer who so wrote about the
period of my weaning; but, with all due respect to Mr. Mow-
bray, I must think that reform and the redress of national
grievances is no mean substitute for pigeon flying. My advice
to the amateur pigeon-keeper is, that he had better take to
politics or even worse, than meddle with “carriers.” Be
careful in your dealings with the “swift messenger,” or even
with his immediate cross-bred progeny. Carriers are not the
most prolific breeders, and certainly not the most affectionate’
parents. They will frequently turn their eggs out of the nest,
ar wantonly break them, rather than be troubled with the
cares of hatching. If, however, the amateur is bent on keep-
ing carriers, the best course he can pursue is, first to discover
that rara avis, a trustworthy bird-dealer, and then to purchase
of him some newly-laid carrier’s eggs. These he may place
under a she “ dragon,” who, belying her name, is the most
careful of pigeon-mothers. By all means avoid the purchase
of old carriers; he who is sc rash may depend he has seen the
last of them the very first time he lets them loose.

I have a valuable bit of advice to give respecting breeding
generally, and it may as well be given here as elsewhere.
Never breed “in and im.” That is, never attempt to stock
your dormer from a single pair. If you do attempt it, the

24

 
 

PIGEONS.

resalt will be a zace of weak, pigmy birds, always ailing, and
not worth the food they consume. There is really no reason
why you should, as any pigeon keeper will exchange equals of
the same breed with you.

THE DOVE-HOUSE PIGEON.

This is the commonest of all the varieties of pigeon, and is
widely spread through this country, as well as in other parts
of Europe and Asia. They are often found in a state of nature,
haunting rocks and cliffs like the blue rock, and are mistaken
for that pigeon, but their difference in plumage and greater
susceptibility of domestication mark them as distinct.

The dove-house pigeon is the sort most usually used for
shooting-matches, and are better known to cockney sportsmen
as “blue rocks,” “ duffers,” and “ rockies.” They are too well
known, however, to require a minute description. They may
be taken as the standard size of pigeons generally, most of the
same kinds being rather larger. Their beaks are thin, dark
horn coloured, and dove shaped; their eyes gravelly red; the
feet smooth, scaled, and deep red coloured, though the young
ones have the scales of the feet of a blackish shade. The
general colour of their plumage is a blackish slate colour, the
greater wing coverts being tipped with bluish slate, so as to
give them the mottled aspect from which they derive their
name. The necks are glossed with green and purple reflections,
the rump slate coloured, the tail barred with black, the external
feather on each side has a bluish white mark on the outer web.

They are very prolific, and will rear, if well cared for, as
many as eight, and even ten, broods in the year. If the young
are brought up by hand they can be made exceedingly tame
With the exception of the tumbler, no kind is capable of being
made so docile. In an untutored state, moreover, they are
exceedingly wild and shy, which, combined with their quickness
and great power of wing, causes them to be favourites with
pigeon-shooters.

“ Although, if much disturbed in their lodging,” says a
modern pigeon authority, “or their abode becomes uncomfort-
able from some other cause, they will occasionally desert it
(but such occurrences are rare), these houseless pigeons fre-
quently jom a neighbouring dovecot, where they feel more at
ease ; or, joined by any pigeons that may have lost their home
(probably some brought from a distance, and let out by some
Sa pigeon-keeper before they have become acqnainted

 
 

THE RUUE ROCK PIGEON. &

with their new dwelling), they betake themselves to some ruin,
tower, or steeple, or even to the eaves and cornices of some
publ building, where birds of this description may frequently
be met with; or, in mountainous districts, they will betake
themselves to the rocks, and join any colony of wild birds that
may happen to be there. Although a naturally timid bird, the
dove-house pigeon does not, like the blue rock, shun the abode
of man.”

Respecting the theory that the entire family of British
pigeons claim as their progenitors
the dove-house pigeon, the same
authority observes :—‘ I believe
that the blue rock is a distinct
species from the dove-house. I
have not, however, had any op-
portunity of trying to what ex-
tent the two will breed together,
or if their produce would be pro-
ductive inter se, as I have never
been able to procure the blue rock pigeon in all its purity; but
its wild unreclaimable nature, and its shunning so completely
the abodes or neighbourhood of man, lead me to suspect that
such is the case.

“ The dove-house pigeon is, on the other hand, a bird eminently
susceptible of domestication—is everywhere found in that state ;
and a great many of the varieties of toys, or the lower class
fancy pigeons, are evidently of this sort, little or nothing
changed except in the colour of their plumage, while many
others appear to be derived from the same source, but crossed
with the other fancy kinds, or showing, more or less, the effect
of careful breeding and selection. Thus far I am willing to
admit of their descent from one original stock, viz. the
chequered dove-house pigeon, Columba agrestis —Columba
afinis of some. But when we come to examine the varied
forms and distinct properties of many of the higher class fancy
pigeons, I feel a great disinclination to assign them one com-
mon origin; nor do I think that even the admission of the
blue rock (supposing that pigeon will produce fertile offspring
with the dove-house pigeon) is sufficient to account for the
many varied and marked peculiarities, or that domestication
could so alter the form, and even nature, of the different breeds
which continue to present the same peculiarities through so
many geverations. Of course, I do not deny the Possibility

 

BLUE ROCK PIGEON,

 
 

PIGEONS.

of such a thing, but I think it very improbable, and I cannot
divest my mind of the idea, that at least some of the so-called
varieties are something more. I allude to the wattled pigeons,
the fantails, the trumpeters, the jacobins, the croppers, and the
tumblers. These birds have all certain peculiarities by which
they may be known and distinguished, under whatever circum-
stances of form or colour they may be bred. These properties
are fixed, and do not appear among other varieties; nor are
they liable to be lost, unless cross-breeding is resorted to.
Neither have I ever heard of their appearing suddenly, or
from any particular plan of breeding, which we might expect
if they were, as some suppose, owing to taking advantage of
some freak of nature or accidental malformation. I should
incline to the belief that the various fancy pigeons owe their
origin, oot to one particular stock, but to the domestication
and mingling of some five or six varieties, or uearly-allied
species. These original families have long since become lost
and obliterated, while from their mixture our present numerous
varieties arise, the result of long domestication, and careful
selection and breeding.”

THE TUMBLER PIGEON.

This aérial acrobat is one of the most favoured of the
pigeon tribes. He deserves to be. Whether spinning about
among the clouds, turning back summersaults, unsurpassed for
neatness by anything ever attempted in that line at Astley’s,
or sitting at hand, his plump little body firmly set on his
sturdy little legs, and his intelligent-looking head well set on
his handsome neck, a more desirable pigeon cannot be found.
Moreover, they are among the most prolific of their kind.

There are several varieties of the tumbler breed: the old
English tumbler, the German feather-footed breed, the common
flying tumbler, and several others. The old English variety is
nearly extinct. They are smaller than the ordinary sort, with
short beaks and round heads, and are extremely high flyers.
The ordinary colour of this breed is blue. The German feather-
footed are large, handsome birds, and good breeders. The
general plumage of these birds is black, while the feather
festoons about their feet (slippers they are called) are white.

“T once,” says an experienced pigeon fancier, “ kept a
considerable flight of them, and can speak from experience
that, notwithstanding their size, they would soar and tumble
as well as the English birds; but, though they flew lightiy

 
 

THE TUMBLER PIGEON.

and remaiaed long up, yet their flight is not swift, and eonse-
quently they are frequently taken by hawks. They are most
remarkable for the quantity and length of feathers on the feet.
I have had some with feathers six inches long, which stuck out
almost like a small pair of wings when the birds flew.”

The variety best known, however, is the common flying
tumbler; and of the sub-varieties of this kind there is
scarcely a colour common io the
domestic pigeon that may not be
found among the “ common fliers.”
Of the “whole” coloured ones,
there are blacks, blues, checquers,

There is a white sort, but these are
rare. In the mixed coloured birds,
however, nearly all of them show TUMBLER PIGEONS.
some of the rare plumage. These

variegated birds are variously known. A mottled is a whole-
coloured pigeon, barring white feathers sprinkled over the head,
neck, and shoulders; and according to the colour, so is it called
a black, red, or mealy mottled. A gay mottle is one that re-
verses this order, except in tail and flight, which must be dark;
the remainder of the plumage white, with a few dark feathers
interspersed. These, when regularly mottled, are sometimes
called ermine tumblers. A grizzle is one in which in each
feather is a mixture of white with some other colour, and is
termed a blue grizzle or black grizzle, according to the
“ sround.” Red grizzle and strawberry are synonymous. A
haggle is a bird whose colours are between those of a mottle
and a grizzle. A splashed is something similar—between a
mottled and a pied. A pied is a pigeon whose colour is divided
into patches, which give rise to distinctive names. There is
the beard pied, or blue-beard, or black-beard, &c., according to
the ground colour.

“ To be accurate in marking, the under mandible should be
light, with a white patch under the beak, reaching from the
corners of the mouth to the eyes, and being nearly a fnger’s
breadth under the bill, and gradually dwindling to a point at
the eyes, so as to give the appearance of a white beard, from
which the name is derived. From seven to ten extreme
pinion or flight feathers must be white on each side, as also
the whole tail, upper and uvrder tail coverts, and the feathers

272

 

 
 

PIGEONS.

on the rump, vent, and thighs, the rest of the body being of
ane colour; blues and silvers, however, having black bars on
their wings. On the accuracy and evenness tf their marking
does their proportionate value consist. If dark feathers occur
on the thighs, they are termed foul-thighed. If too much
white down the neck, it is said to be slobbered.

“ The piebald, or bald-headed tumbler, called for shortness a
baldpate, resembles the preceding except the head, which is all
white. The line passes a little below the beak and eye, and
must be straight and even all round the head, when it is said
to be clean cut; if otherwise, slobbered or foul-headed, and|
accordingly depreciated in value. Flght, tail, rump, vent,
and thighs, white, like the beards. Both must have clear
pearl eyes. Indeed, this is essential for all tumblers.”

One of the most favourite among the “ short-faced”
tumblers is the “ almond.” To be perfect it should be tri-
coloured, yellow, black, and white, every feather partaking
of the three tints. Yellow, however, should predominate. If
you are desirous of founding a breed of almond tumblers, you
must match a black with a yellow bird, and they should be as
near four years old as possible, as then they are in their prime.

If it is your intention to purchase almond tumblers in their
squeakerhood, your best plan will be first to see the squeakers’
parents, and let their appearance guide your purchase, as
little can be judged from the squeakers’ plumage previous to
its first moult. You will find it murky and dingy as un-
polished gold, and indeed it is not till the bird has reached
his third year that he attains his true colours. As a rule, if
the parents are perfect in colour, you may venture to purchase
the progeny.

For my part, however, I see little sense in breeding birds as
fantastically coloured as parrots, whose proper province is the
clear blue heavens. Where is the use of it? What becomes
of the pretty colour it has cost you so much time and patience
to cultivate when the birds are properly disporting half a mile
above your head? They are simply clay-coloured. A flock of
“ silvers,” or “‘ magpies” even, look ten times as handsome. It
only becomes worth while to breed variegated pigeons when
you possess sufficient cruelty to immure them in cages, like
canaries, and keep them for exhibition. Besides, the artificial
colouring won’t stand. As the bird grows old, Nature asserts
her right, the gay plumage gradually fades, the yellow blends
with the black, and becomes dirty grey, and finally the over-

 
 

THE TUMBLER PIGEON.

taxed feathers assume the natural black or cinnamon, and the
handsome “ almond” becomes a common “ kite.”

Therefore, good reader, set not your heart on “ perfect
almonds.” If you want variety, match blachs with cream-
colour, and breed magpies; or cinnamon w.th black, and
produce cinnamon-splash. Let your first aim, however, be
to procure well-shaped birds. The breast should be full, the
body short, the neck slender, the eye pearly, and the beak
as straight as a goldfinch’s.

Tumblers are specially addicted to making a loud clapping
noise with their wings on rising into the air; indeed, the better
“ clappers ” they are, the better they are liked. There is little
doubt that this peculiarity earned for this pigeon the ancient
appellation of Smiter. Speaking of them, quaint old Willughby
says:—“ I take these to be those which the forementioned
Hollander told Aldrovandus that his countrymen called
Draiiers. These do not only shake their wings as they fly,
but also, flying round about in a ring, especially over their
females, clap them so strongly, that they make a greater sound
than two battledores or other boards struck one against
another. Whence it comes to pass that their quill-feathers
are almost wholly broken and shattered, and sometimes so
bad that they cannot fly.” Smiters, or something very like
them, must have been known and kept so long back even
as Pliny’s time; for we find him writing about some variety
of pigeon as follows: —‘“ You would think they were
conscious of their own colours, and the variety with which
they are disposed; nay, they even attempt to make their
flight a means of clapping in the air, and tracing various
courses in it. By which ostentation they are betrayed to the
power of the hawk, as if bound, their feathers being entangled
in the action of making the noise, which is produced only by
the actual shoulders of their wings.”

Never let your tumbler fly with other pigeons. They will
not be able to fly near so high as he, and he, being a sociable
bird, will descend and fly with them for the sake of company ;
consequently his flight will be spoiled. A well-behaved bird
never tumbles, except while ascending or when coming down to.
pitch. You may judge of the health of your birds by their
aérial performance. Ii the bird is not perfectly well, he will
not tumble at all.

To break in young tumblers to a good flight, they should be
let out as soon after sunrise as possible, in company of two or

 
 

PIGEONS.

three experienced birds, and very curious it is to see the young
novices endeavouring to imitate the manceuvres of their elders.
Let them stay out for a couple of hours, and then recall them
by strewing their board (which, as before mentioned, must be
painted a bright white) with canary-seed. Never let them out
on foggy or very windy days, as they are very apt to lose
themselves under such circumstances.

Respecting “short-faced ” tumblers, a variety high in favour
with fanciers, no more need be said, than that it matters little
what their colour may be, so that, like a satisfied Chartist, they
possess the “ five points.” These points are, one of the eye,
one of the beak, one of the head, one of feather, and one of
carriage. The head should be round, broad, and high; that is|
to say, having a full forehead, rising abruptly, and rather
overhanging the beak, so as to form an acute angle where
the head and beak join, or, as the fanciers say, have a good
stop.

Fanciers resort occasionally to the shameful practice of
breaking the beak or nose, when young, to improve the
“ stop;” but this often gives the birds an up-beaked appear-
ance.

The wattle must be very fine and narrow, so as to leave but
little space between the beak and the feathers of the head,
which should show a sudden rise from the base of the beak.

The beak should not exceed five-eighths of an inch, measured
trom the iris of the eye to the end of the quick of the beak, but
the shorter the better, straight, and fine, and it has been com-
pared to that of a goldfinch. Paring or cutting the beak is
resorted to by some dishonest persons; but it is generally
easily to be detected by practised eyes, and spoils the appear-
ance. Ifthe young are reared by too coarse nurses, they often
have their backs wrenched or twisted, which makes them
unsightly or parrot-beaked. The eye should be of a bright
clear pearly white, the fuller and more prominent the better;
and there must be no naked skin or cere round it. “n the
best-headed birds the eye often appears rather Lelow the
centre of the head. A broken or muddy eye spoils the pret-
tiest face.

The form of the bird should be small and compact, short
thin ne2k, full chest, short back, tail and pinion feathers also
short, and feet small, the carriage mincing, or, as it is vulgarly
but expressively termed, * gingerly,” head well thrown back,

neck curved, chest up, pinions sweeping below the tail, the bird
376

 
 

THE TUMBLER PIGEON.

strutting on its toes as if it were walking tiptoe to make the
most of itself.

As regards feather, the same rules apply to the short-faced
as to the other sorts. For the following directions as to the
way in which a “ flight ” of tumblers should be trained, we are
indebted to Mr. B. P. Brent, published by that gentleman in
his admirable little “ pigeon-book ” :—

“ Procure, if possible, a few high-flying birds, to train the
young ones to rise high when out. This is of much import-
ance, and will save much trouble. The flying tumblers should
be kept in a roomy loft by themselves. A trap, or area, as I
have before described, is indispensable, in order to manage the
pigeons successfully, Once a day they should be turned out
to fly; the fore part of the day is the best, as, when the sun
shines too hot, they do not fly so willingly. When in practice
they will mount at once high into the sky, occasionally clapping
their wings, and turning over backwards till they rise to their
fall height or “ pitch,” often going quite out of sight, but
keeping pretty much over their abode. They will thus con-
tinue on the wing for two or three hours; when they begin to
descend, they tumble very much. When down they should be
entived in, and kept confined for the rest of the day, and not
allowed to loiter about outside, or associate with other pigeons.
Their loft should be made as comfortable as possible, and be
provided with everything they require,—such as clean wster,
a bath, the well-filled hopper, a salt-cat, grits, green foou, and
materials for nesting, so as to prevent any desire to roam
about, when out, to obtain these enjoyments; if not, it will
soon be found that, instead of flying off at once, and mounting
high in the air, they will make for some roof, or other spot,
where they can find that for which they are longing ; therefore,
it is of great importance to remove any temptation, by supply-
ing all their wants im their own loft. By this means, they will
at once soar when let out, though, perhaps, at first it may be
necessary to drive them up, by waving a flag, or otherwise
frightening them. A few used to high-flying assist much in
teaching the young ones, as they become strong on the wing,
to soa; but it is very difficult, or almost impossible, to teach
those that have long been accustomed to fly about at random,
to fly high regularly. The best way to proceed with such is,
after they are accustomed to the place, to send them off by a
servant to the distance of half a mile or so, while the othera
are out; they will then most likely rise very high and join

 
 

 

Se
YIGEONS.

them. By continuing this for some weeks, they will get accus
tomed to fly. Any that are determined not to rise need not be
let out with the flight, or even at all.

“When in full practice, they will start off from the trap
directly it is opened; and, after rising high, and flying a good
time, according to the state of the air, will descend and sit on
the roof, gradually going in through tipping holes and bolt-
wires, as the trap ought to be closed, and not opened till the
next day.”

Should your tumblers be troubled with scouring, give them
whole rice, mixed with their ordinary food; or should the
scouring be obstinate, give them a pill three times a day,
composed of powdered chalk kneaded with syrup of poppies.

THE POUTER.

This is also a very favourite pigeon, and, without doubt, the
most curious of his species. He is a tall, strong bird, as he
had need be, to carry about his great inflated crop, frequently
as large and as round as a middling-sized turnip. A perfect
pouter seen on a windy day is certainly a ludicrous sight.
His feathered legs have the appearance of white trousers; his
tapering tail looks like a swallow-tail coat; his head is en-
tirely concealed by his immense windy protruberance, and
altogether he reminds you of a little “ swell” of a past cen-
tury, staggering under a bale of linen.

A great pigeon authority says of the pouter, that to be
reckoned 2 handsome bird, it should possess the following
qualifications :—

“ His tail should be spread out, and not touch the ground,
nor droop close to or between his legs, and, above all, he must
not rest upon his rump, which is called rumping, and a very
great fault. The shoulders of his wings should be kept close
to his body, and rather high up towards his neck; he should
also show the lower ends of the wings removed from the tail,
and keep his feet near together, walking chiefly on his toes.
He should measure eighteen inches from the point of the beak
to the tip of the tail, and the body of the bird should slope off
taper fram the shoulders. The yellow-pied pouter should be
m-trked as follows:—The front and higher part of the crop
should be white, encircled with a shining green, mixed with the
colours with which he is pied, but the white should not reach
the back of. the head, for then he is called “ rimg-headed,”
there being a patch, in the shape of a half-moon, falling upon

 

 

 
 

THE POUTER PIGEON.

the side of the neck of the same colour with which he is pied;
when this is wanting, he is called swallow-throated. The head,
neck, back, and tail, should be uniform. A blue-pied pigeon
should have two black streaks or bars, near the end of both
wings; if these be of a brown colour, the bird is not worth
nearly as much, and he is termed kite-barred. When the
pinion of the wing is speckled with white, in the form of a
rose, it is called a rose-pinion, and is highly esteemed; when
the pinion has a large dash of white on the outer edge of the
wing, he is said to be bishoped, or lawn-sleeved. They should
not be naked about the thighs nor spindle-shanked, but the
legs and thighs ought to be stout, straight, and well covered
with white, soft, downy feathers; if the feathers of these parts
be of any other colour, the bird is much .

less valuable. The nine larger wing-
feathers ought also to be white; if not, he
is called foul-flighted; and if only some of
them are white, he is called sword-flighted.”

The pouter is not a prolitic breeder, is
a bad nurse, and more likely to degenerate,
if not repeatedly crossed and recrossed with
fresh stock, than any other pigeon; never-
theless, it is a useful bird to keep, especially
if you are founding a new colony, as it is
much attached to its home, and little apt
to stray; consequently, it is calculated to
induce more restless birds to settle down,
and make themselves comfortable. If you wish to breed
pouters, you cannot do worse than entrust them with their
own eggs. They should be set under a dragon; but you
must be sure to supply the hen-pouter with other eggs, or
she will go on repeatedly laying, and so weaken her constitu-
tion as to kill herself in a very short time.

The most common pouters are the blues, buffs, and whites,
or an intermixture of all these various colours, I never saw
the experiment tried, but it is asserted, on good authority, that
if you pair a chestnut-coloured cock with a blr.e hen, the result
will be a chestnut hen and a blue cock; and if this coupie are
again paired, the progeny will each take the colour of their
respective grand-parents.

If the pouter is kept too long from grain, the chances are
that, the first time he has the opportunity, he will so gorge his
crop with it that some will mildew and decay hefore he hay

Se

       

POUTER PIGEON.

 
 

PIGEONS.

time to consume it. If this state of things is not altered, the
greedy pouter will certainly die. The following, however, is an
old-fashioned and good remedy :— :

Put the bird, feet downwards, into a worsted stocking, and
stroke the crop upwards. Then hang up the stocking, and do
no more than supply the imprisoned pouter with water, in
moderation, till he has digested the contents of his crop.
When you release them, however, don’t give them their
liberty, or their empty bellies may tempt them to surfeit
themselves again. Put them under a coop, and feed them
for two or three days sparingly.

The hen-pouter has not so extensive a crop as the cock,
nor is she so upright in her gait. A certain sign of the
pouter’s being out of health is the hanging of his crop,
like an empty bag. It is customary to keep them separate
during the most severe winter months. The apartment devoted
to each bird should be at least two feet high, else the bird will
contract an ugly habit of stooping.

As one of the greatest defects a pouter can possess is in-
ability to control his inflated crop, it may be as well, before
you purchase an old bird, to see the wind-bag filled, and to
observe how the bird then behaves. This the bird-dealer will
do for you, or if you like you can do it yourself. Take the
pigeon in your hands, and hold his wings to his sides; then
take his beak into your mouth, and blow gently. So far from
objecting to the operation, the pouter will enjoy it, and close
his eyes in a satisfied manner while his crop is puffed out for
him like a balloon. Then stand him on the ground; if he
walks steadily, and evinces no disposition to totter while the
crop rema'ns fully distended, you may safely buy the bird, and
be under n> apprehension that he will one day come to an
untimely end, by toppling down a chimney or plumping into
the jaws of a cat.

THE RUNT.

Despite all that has ,en written to the contrary, experience
warrants me in strongly recommending runts to the amateur
pigeon-keeper; indeed, one circumstance alone entitles them
to be considered the “ boy’s first pigeons,” and that is, that
they are almost as unlikely to fly away as are your chickens.
They are very heavy birds, and when well fed will find it
difficult to mount, even as high as a house. They require no
loft or d weoot, and, if properly tended, would thrive as well

 
 

THE RUNT PIGEON.

in a rabbit-hutch as anywhere. They are capital birds to
breed for the table, being very prolific. I have known as many
as fifteen young ones produced in a year by a single pair; and
I have dined off many a plump squeaker runt, whose flavour
has been exquisite, and whose weight, when ready for the spit,
has exceeded a pound and a quarter.

There are several varieties of runts,—the Roman, the Leg-
horn, the Spanish, and the Friesland, being among the number.
The Roman is the largest, and easiest to manage of any. The
Leghorn comes next, and is one of the most favoured by
fanciers. It is shaped much like the tumbler, but im size
and habit is very different. It is remarkably short from the
base of the back of the neck to the root of the tail, and very
full and broad bosomed. It has a round head and sunken eyes,
surrounded by a tough skin. A small wattle surrounds the
base of the beak, which is slightly hooked. The most favourite
colours with the “ fancy” are dark slate and red. If they he
bred specially for the table, however, I should recommend that
the lighter colours be chosen,—white, mottled, or pure white;
for the general rule of colour affecting quality in the flesh
holds good in tame pigeons.
The black and dark feathered
are proportionally dark or
brown fleshed, of high flavour,
inclining to the game bitter
of the wild pigeon. The light
colour of the feathers denotes
light and delicate flesh.

The Spanish runt is the
smallest, with a long body
and very short tail and neck.
The most curious runt of RUNT PIGEONS,
all is he of Friesland, his fea-
thers being all set the contrary way; so that if you wish to
smooth and caress him, you must begin at his tail and bring
your hand forward towards his neck. This peculiarity greatly
interferes with the bird’s flight ; and whereas every other pigeon,
when at large, roosts with his face to the wind, so that his
plumage may not be ruffled, the Friesland runt, for the same
reason, turns his tail to the breeze.

The “ frill-back ” is another favourite, though rather scarce
variety. He is invariably white or cream-coloured, and the
peculiarity of plumage, from which its name is derived, con-

 

 
 

 

PIGEONS.

sists of all its feathers curling upwards, so that the point of
each stands out, and the whole has the appearance of a plaited
frill.

The runt is rather more subject than any other pigeon to
the disease known as “ wet roup;” when this is the case, give
him a pepper-corn every day till he is better.

THE TRUMPETER.

This should be a favourite, either in the dovecot, or loft, as
it possesses almost every quality desirable in a pigeon. It is
hardy, a good breeder, a moderate flyer, has an uncommon and
attractive appearance, fattens easily, and eats very tender.

He may be known by the moustache that decorates the
upper half of his beak, by his “ runty” shape, by his legs
being thickly feathered to the very heels, and by a little bunch
of curled feathers on the summit of his head. All birds of this
species, however, have not this latter peculiarity, and when
they have they are specially known as crested trumpeters.
Yellowish white is the trumpeter’s most ordinary colour, though
they may not unfrequently be found beautifully speckled black
and white. From a “ fancier’s” point of view, the trumpeter
should possess a big round head—the bigger and rounder the
better; a full and bushy moustache, too, is especially stipulated
for, and paid for, too, handsomely. For my part, however, I
should always be content to see my birds moderately mous-
tached, and not over big-headed, and to pay eighteenpence or
a couple of shillings each for them, instead of a guinea, as I
otherwise should.

It is said that the bird derives its name from the fact of its
emitting a sound like the
blowing of a trumpet.
However, like many other
things that are “ said,” this
seems to me an exaggera-
tion. The bird in question
coos rather more sonorously
than most of his brethren,
and that, as far as my
experience goes, is all.

Says Mr. Brent, “ The

TRUMPETER PIGEONS, trumpeter is regarded by
naturalists as one of the
purest varieties of our domestic pigeons, and they affirm,

 

 

 
 

THE NUN PIGEON,

that if once crossed, the breed cannot be bred back again;
hence, these cross-bred birds are always deficient in some
point—either the voice or one of the turns is wanting.
As a case in point, my father, many years back, was very
desirous of obtaining some trumpeter pigeons, and could then
only procure one cock, and his half-bred daughter, from which
he bred, matching the cock again with his daughters of the
second and third generations, without obtaining one young
bird with the tuft over the beak. At the fourth generation
he reared a hanasume, black-mottled yousg cock with the
desired tuft; but, to his great disappointment, he did not
trumpet, although he was fifteen-sixteenths pure bred, and
breeding so close stopped reproduction. Surely such experi-
ments go far to prove the distinctness of what are sometimes
called mere varieties.”

THE NUN.

This is an extremely pretty little bird. In shape it is some-
thing like the tumbler, and, like the latter bird, it has a tuft of
feathers rising from the back of the head. “ To be perfect,”
says a writer who has made this bird his peculiar study, “ the
head, flight-feathers, and tail, should be of some dark colour,
either yellow, red, or black. The breast, belly, upper part of
the wings, back, and neck, should be pure white, and there
should be a frill of white feathers over the head. According to
the colour of the head, it is called the red, black, or yellow-
headed nun. If the bird have foul feathers, that is, if he have
white or speckled feathers, where they should be one of these
colours, whether it be on the wings, head, or tail, it is called
foul-feathered, and the value of the bird is much less than it
would have been if the feathers were pure in colour. He
should have a small head and beak, and the larger the tuft or
hood is the handsomer does the bird appear, and the more
valuable it is reckoned by the fancy.”

On the continent there are two sub-varieties of the nun, the
one called the beard pigeon, both in France and Germany; but
it differs only in having white flights, the head and tail being
the only coloured part; the other having the tail also white,
the head only coloured. By the French amateurs, this is called
the death’s-head pigeon.

“The most beautiful specimens of nuns,” says Temminck,
-* are those which are black, but have the quill-feathers and the
head white: they are called Nonnains Mourins.” The most

 
PIGEONS.

useful sort, however—and excesdingly charming birds they are
—are what Buffon styles Coquille Hollandaise, or Dutch shell-
pigeons, “ because they have, at the back of their head, re-
versed feathers, which form a sort of shell. They are also of
short stature. They have the head black, the tail and the ends
of the wings also black, and all the rest cf the body white.
This black-headed variety so strongly resembles the Tern
(hirondelle de mer), that some persons have given it that
name.” Several other fanciful names have been bestowed
upon it, but none appears so appropriate as that of Nun,
especially in the black-headed variety. The best-marked birds
will sometimes throw out a few foul feathers; from such birds,
bowever, though not so much valued in themselves, can often
de obtained as clean-feathered birds as those that are not,

 
 

 

THE MAGNIFICENT.

PIGEONS.—PART ITI.

ee
DOMESTIC PIGEONS.

THE ARCHANGEL.

No bird is more rich and unique in its colouring than this.
It is a steady breeder and a handsome flyer; but from some
oversight the stock is so little cultivated, that first-rate arch-
angels will fetch almost enough money to stock a dove-cot
with tumblers, or other of the commoner sorts.

The head of the archangel (his name would bespeak him a
Russian) is decorated with a little plume much like that of the
crested trumpeter; his head—indeed the whole fore part of his
body—is copper-coloured ; the tail, wings, and hinder parts of
the body, of a dark blue; the iris orange-red, and the feet
crimson. Altogether the archangel is a bird whose acquaint-
ance is desirable. A person accustomed to pigeons can tell
almost to a certainty which are the cocks and which are the
hens. The cock has a thicker neck, a stouter bill, and is fuller
about the cheeks. The hen looks milder; has a more timid
expression of face; is thinner about the neck, base of the beak,
and cheeks.

The age of pigeons is more difficult to determine than
their sex. Young birds that have. not yet moulted may be

3 385

 
 

PIGEONS.

{mown by their duller plumage, owing to the nest feathers of
dark birds being edged with brown. Their wing-pinion fea-
thers are also smaller, more pointed, and frequently brown-
ish at the tip. Even if they have moulted, these, the se-
condary wing-feathers, are usually retained till the next sum-
mer, and appear smaller, dingier, and of less substantial fabric
to what they assume afterwards.

Old age shows itself in the wrinkling of the nostril covers,
the sunken eye, the rough and thickened appearance of the
eyelids, and the rough feet.

It will, however, be found more difficult to discriminate
between the sexes among fancy pigeons than among the com-
mon dove-cot stock, where all the birds are of a certain stamp.
It will be, therefore, as well—as regards fancy pigeons espe-
cially, considering the extra pecuniary loss a mistake in
selection may involve—to lay down more explicit directions to
tell a cock from a hen bird, whatever may be the breed. The
following are the rules observed by one of the most successful
of modern pigeon breeders, and laid down by. him for the
benefit of his kind :—

“The cock’s breastbone is longer than the hen’s; her vent
bones are set wider apart; but this, also, varies with age. The
oo of the cock is also louder, and more sonorous, than that of
the hen, which is shorter, and somewhat hurried in manner;
neither does the hen generally coo so much as the cock.
Lastly, their gestures are the most certain signs. Place the
‘doubtful bird in the matching-pen, away from all others, for a
few days, till it gets tolerably used to its new abode, which
will much depend upon the bird’s being wild or tame. Secrete
yourself where you may not be noticed, if the bird is wild, but
where you can see its manners and movements; then introduce
@ merry cock, who will at once play up to the stranger, and, if
a hen, she will acknowledge his advances by the twinkling of
her eyes, nodding her head, an action of the throat as if swal-
lowing, slightly fluttering her wings, and, as she moves before
him, making a curtsey, at the same time raising the shoulders
of the wings, and slightly spreading her tail. On the other
hand, if a cock, a battle will most likely be the result, from
which the later-introduced bird generally tries to escape. In
this case, remove him, and put in a hen, to which, if he is at
all inclined to mate, he will at once play up in a merry tone,
bowing his head, sweeping the ground with his spread tail,
and. pomiehinies spinning round and round, or jumping after her.”

 
THE FANTAIL AND JACOBITE PIGEONS.

THE FANTAIL,

Like the runt, this beautiful bird will be better suited in a
house a few feet from the ground, than in one perched at a
great height. In my opinion, it is the most elegant of all
pigeons. It is most commonly pure white, has a long and
delicately-curved neck, and altogether much resembles the
‘swan, both in its formation and gait.

To approach perfection, the fantail should possess a tapering
neck, and so long, that at times -~y
the bird’s head will nestle amongst
the tail-feathers;the breastshould
be very full and prominent, and _
the tail should be always erect. S\i
‘The tail should never number less **- =
than twenty-four, or more than * ~sS™&
thirty-six feathers; otherwise,
from sheer weight, the tail will FANTAIL PIGEONS.
droop, and the beauty of the bird be considerably marred.

The fantail is likewise called, by writers, the “ broad-tailed
shaker. Willughby calls it so. ‘ They are called shakers,”
says he, “ because they do almost constantly shake or wag
their heads up and down; broad-tailed, from the great number
of feathers they have in their tails; they say not fewer than
twenty-six. When they walk up and down, they do for the
most part hold their tails erect like a hen or turkey-cock.”

If you breed the fantail with another Species of pigeons, the
fantail will, either wholly or in part, disappear ; if only in part,
then it is called a “ half fantail,” or “ narrow-tailed shaker.”
It is possible, however, to restore the true breed by matching
an entire fantail with a “ narrow-tailed shaker.” /

   
  

THE JACOBITE.

This bird is variously known as the “ jack,” the * ruff,” and
the “ capuchin,” as well as by its proper title. Its chief pecu-
larity is a frill of inverted feathers, the back of the head
resembling, to a fanciful imagination, the cowl of a monk,
whence its name. ‘This frill is called the “ hood,” and the
closer and more compact it grows the greater the bird is prized.
The lower part of the hood-feathers is called the chain, and
they should be of such length as to admit of their being lapped

over in front of the bird. i

 
 

PIGEONS.

“ Jacobines,’ says Willughby, “are called by the Low
Dutch cappers, because, on the hinder part of the head, or
nape of the neck, certain feathers reflected upwards encompass
the head behind, almost after the fashion of a monk’s hood,
when he puts it back to uncover his head. These are called
Cyprus pigeons by Aldrovandus, and some of them are rough-
footed. Aldrovandus hath set forth three or four either species
or accidental varieties of this kind. Their bill is short; the
irides of their eyes of a pearl-colour, and the head in all
white.” They are variously coloured: white and blue, and white

te and black,and mottled. Whatever

colour they may be, however, to
‘be considered handsome, they
~_ should have a white head, a white
tail, and white flight-feathers.
The head, should be very small,
and the beak short and spindled.
The feet of some jacobites are
feathered to the toes, while those
of others are bare; this, however,

 

JACOBIN PIGEONS.

is of little consequence.

A good authority says, “ The ruff is a pigeon very much
like the jacobite, and one which is often sold for it; but the
true ruff is altogether a larger bird. It has a larger head and
longer beak; the chain of feathers does not flow down so near
to its shoulders, but it is longer, and not so thick. The capu-
chin may be considered as merely a variety of the same breed.
The capuchin is larger than the jacobite, and has a longer
beak; it has a ruff, or hood, but the feathers do not come
down in the same manner, and form a chain, as in the other
varieties.”

THE TURBIT.

The turbit in shape much resembles the jacobite; but it has
not the head-covering that distinguishes the latter bird. It is
not, however, without finery, and may boast of a finely-frilled
shirt-front. This is occasioned by the breast-feather leaning
contrary ways and standing straight out.

Turbits are classed according to the colour of their shoulders,
much in the same way as nuns are from the colour of their
heads. There is the blue and blue and yellow shouldered
turbit. aos these, there are birds of this species all of

 
THE TURBIT AND BARB PIGEONS,

one colour. A turbit’s chief points of goodness are a short
bill, a full frill, and a small round head.

“ Wholly white turbits,” says a recent authority, “ have
been also written of, but I have <—
never seen any that might not be aw
with as much propriety called SS
owls; for the distinction between
-the owl and turbit consists in the
head, beak, gullet, and frill, and
though slight and scarcely ob-
servable to an uninitiated eye, yet
there is sufficient difference to
constitute them separate varieties
independently of colour. The beak of the owl is more hooked,
the upper mandible bending over the lower, which, combined
with their shy and wild nature and their prominent-looking
eyes, has given rise to their English name of owl pigeon.
The eye, too, is of a pearl or gravel colour, very different from
the turbit’s, the head is rounder, and the frill rarely so long.
The old writers describe it as opening and reflecting both ways
like a rose, which could not be said of the turbit’s frill.

“The points of the owl may be enumerated as follows :—
Beak short and hooked; head round; eye pearl-coloured and
bolting ; gullet well developed; frill rose-shaped; size small;
general appearance wild; colour blue or silver; with black bars
across the wings, and a light powdery cast of colour about the
neck. I am not aware that this variety is known in France,
though. they have a white variety of turbit, Pigeon Cravate
Blane.”

      

is

TURBIT PIGEONS.

THE BARB.

As its name implies, this bird is originally a native of
Barbary. It is a pretty little creature, a fertile breeder, and
a good nurse. Seen at a short distance, it is easily mistaken
for the carrier. It has a short back and a small wattle. Its
chief feature, however, is a spongy pinky skin round the eyes,
which increases in size till the bird is three or four years old.
In young birds, this wrinkled skin round the eyes is hardly
perceived, ;

The best colour for barbs is an entire black. In such, the
prismatic shadings of the neck are particularly beautiful, and
the scarlet circle round the eye forms a very handsome con-

trast.’ Dun-coloured barbs are also met with occasionally,
389

 
 

PIGEONS.

Pied, mottled, or fowl-feathered, are of the commonest. The
mahomet, or | chanel pigeon; as it is called, is probably
nothing but a white or cream-
coloured barb, with a cross of
the turbit in many instances.
Aldrovandus says that the eyes
. should be crocus-coloured, but
yee <= English fanciers prefer them
SS pearl, surrounded by a broad
: cere of naked, red skin—the
broader, evener, and redder it is,
the more are the birds esteemed ;
the neck long and thin; the chest full; the body long; the
feet rather stout, and the pinion-feathers very long.

  
 
 
 

BARB PIGEONS.

THE SPOT.

The spot, one of our oldest-established “ toy ” pigeons, is
supposed to have been first introduced into this country from
Holland. The name is derived from a coloured spot on the
head.

In size, form, and manners, they resemble the common
dove-house pigeons. They are pretty, very productive, and
well adapted to find their living in the fields. They are
sometimes turn-crowned, though generally smooth-headed, and
clean-footed; the eye is dark, as is the upper mandible, and
the lower is white; on the front of the head, above the beak,
is an oval-coloured spot, from which they derive their name ;
and the tail is also coloured; the rest of the plumage is a clear
white. Spot and tail are of the same colour, either black,
blue, red, or yellow. They are designated black, blue, or red
spots, accordingly. °

THE HELMET.

This bird, at one time very common in this country, is now
but seldom seen. The upper mandible is dark, the lower light ;
the top of the head, in a line from the corners of the mouth
across the eyes, is coloured, giving the bird the appearance of
wearing a cap or helmet; the tail is also coloured, the rest
of the body being white, except in‘those that are feather-
footed, in which the feathers on the feet, from the heels or
hocks down the toes, are coloured like the head and tail; the
irides are often black, though very frequently broken or half.

coloured.
an

 
THE MAGPIE AND MAHOMET PIGEONS.

Moore, in his “ Columbarium,” in describing this variety
of toy pigeon, says, “ This pigeon is much about the size
of a nun, or somewhat bigger. The head, tail, and flight-
feathers of the wings, are always of one colour, as black, red,
or yellow; and I have been informed there are some blue, and
all the rest of the body white, so that the chief difference
between them and the nun is, that they haye no hood on the
hinder part of the head, and are gravel-eyed.” He further re-
marks, “ They are called helmets, from their heads being coveréd.
with a plumage which is distinct in colour from the body, and
appears somewhat like a helmet to cover the head.”

THE MAGPIE.

This pigeon, a descendant of the once celebrated German
magpie-tumbler, has been of late years so neglected as to have
lost all pretension to gymnastic’ ability, and has altogether
sunk to the insignificant level of a “ toy.” The head, neck,
crop, the scapular feathers, and the tail, are coloured,—as
black, blue, red, yellow, &c. . The wings, the lower part of the
breast and thighs, are white; and in the accuracy of their
marking their value consists. The scapular feathers, being
dark, overlay the upper part of the wings, which cause them
to appear somewhat narrow. They are called, according to
colour, Black Magpies or Red Magpies.

THE MAHOMET.

In a treatise on Pigeons published in 1795, this old fashioned
member of the pigeon family is described as “ nearly of a
cream colour, with bars across the wings as black as ebony,
the feathers very particular, being of two colours: the upper
part or surface of them appearing of a cream, and underneath
a kind of sooty colour, nearly approaching to black, as are,
likewise, the flue feathers, and even the skin, which I never
observed in any other pigeons but these; its size much like
‘that of a turbit, with a fine gullet, and in lieu of a frill the fea-
thers appear like a seam; the head is short, and inclined to be
thick, hath an orange eye, and a small, naked circle of black
flesh round the same, and a beak something resembling a bull-
finch’s, with a small black wattle on it.”

Naturalists are, it would seem, not at all agreed as to the
classification of this pigeon. There is in Germany a breed of
pigeons between the Turkish and the Scandaroon, and, accord-
ing to Bechstien, when these “ are of a particular pleckmottlod,

 
 

PIGEONS.

they are called Mahomets.” In France again, a cross between
the Barb and Scandaroon is called after the infidel prophet,
into whose ear—so the heathenish legend runs—a white pigeon
whispered the heavenly orders it had just received. Sceptics
accuse Mahomet of enticing the pigeon by filling his ears with
peas. .

THE LAUGHER.

“ This pigeon,” wrote Moore, nearly seventy years ago, “is
about the size of a middling runt, and much of the same make,
and-I am informed has a very bright pearl eye, almost white.
As for its feather, it is red mottled, and some tell me they have
seen blues. They are said to come from'the Holy Land, near
Jerusalem. "When the cock plays to his hen he has a hoarse
coo, not unlike the gurgling of a bottle of water when poured
out, and then makes a noise which very much imitates a soft
laughter, and from thence this bird has its name.”

For many years after the above was written, this peculiar
breed was allowed to die out. Recently, however, a few have
been introduced into this country from Mecca, where they are
much esteemed. In form they closely resemble the dovehouse
pigeon, with the addition of a tiny feathery peak surmounting
the crown of its head. In colour they are a light “ haggle,”
that is, something between a grey mottle and a grizzle.

“The great peculiarity of this variety of domestic pigeon,”
says a modern authority, “ consists in their strange voice,
which baffles description. It is prolonged, broken, and gurg-
ling in utterance, not so sonorous as that of the trumpeter, but
more varied, sometimes resembling what we might i imagine an
almond tumbler to say if he stammered, and, again, rather
resembling the purring coo of the turtle dove. It is, too, often
interrupted by one or more inspiratory ‘ahs,’ from which,
perhaps, they obtain the name of Laughers.”

THE OWL.

As nee mentioned, this bird closely resembles the Turbit,
and should have the same short
round head and stunted beak.

According to Mr. Brent, al-
though blue and silver are the
==~ chief and best colours for the
owl pigeon, yet other colours,
>,-5 as white, black, or even yellow,

S are sometimes met with, and I
OWL PIGEONS. have seen some recently in Lon-

   
  

 
 

HOW TO TRAIN PIGEONS TO “ FLY.”

don white with black tails. It has been recommended that
the breeding-places for these birds should be private and se-
cluded, as from their wild nature they are liable to be dis-
turbed.

HOW TO TRAIN PIGEONS TO “ FLY.”

Having selected the sort of pigeons you wish to train, your
first aim must be to not only instil in them a fondness for their
home, but to make them familiar with the appearance of its
exterior, a8 well as of the surrounding neighbourhood generally.
By-the-by, it should have been mentioned that it is almost
useless to attempt to train adult pigeons to the flying business.
Pigeons have curiously tenacious memories, and if it should
happen, even a year after they come into your possession, that
they, in the course of a journey, catch sight of their old abode,
or even of a “flight” with which they were once familiar, it’is
a chance if you ever see them again. To return, however, to
the subject of training. After keeping your pigeon well fed in
the loft for about a fortnight, during which time you will have
paired him with a sober and thoroughly settled hen bird of your
establishment, you may allow him, under her charge, to go into
the trap or area, and look about him. After a few days more
you may let him fly at his will. When he-seems to fly “ strong,”
he may be carried out on a bright day to a distance of, say a
mile, to essay his first “homing.” It should be borne in mind
that the earlier the bird is taught to rely on his own “ homing”
instincts, the greater proficient he is likely to become.

The box or basket in which pigeons are carried out to be let
off or “ tossed ” should be constructed with a view to the bird’s
ease during the journey. If your box is large enough to con-
tain more than one bird, it should be divided into compart-
ments. “It may be from six to eight inches deep, and ten or
twelve inches broad; the length will depend on the number of
compartments. These may be five inches broad in front, and
may either be made straight, or the partitions may be put in
obliquely, leaving only one inch width at the tail end, the wide
end of the open spaces coming alternately. Thus the pigeons
are placed in it alternately head to tail, side by side, by which
arrangement much space is economized. The lid is made in
pieces, or so jointed that only one bird is let out at atime. A
stout leather strap passes over all, and is secured by a buckle or
padlock. The boxes should have an air-hole above the head of
each pigeon, as well as in the front end of each compartment.

 
 

PIGEONS.

The bottom of the box or basket should be strewn with chaff,
to keep their flights and tails clean and dry. Carrying in the
hand cramps the birds, and causes diarrhoea; crowding in
a bag or basket soils their tails and wings, while the pocket is
equally objectionable.”

In training the young pigeon to fly, care should be taken that
he is neither too full nor too empty. In the first case the weight
of his crop will make the bird heavy and lazy, and induce him,
perhaps, to settle at the least excuse; and, in the second case,
he may be compelled to halt in his flight through sheer faint-
ness and exhaustion. The time most favoured by professional
flyers to fly their birds is in the case of a hen when she has
very young squabs at home, and with the cock when he is
“ driving to nest.” \

An able writer on this subject asserts that a high range of
hills, or a fog or mist, intervening between a pigeon and its
home, will so confuse the bird as to cause it to swerve from
its true course, so much even as to cause it to be lost. This,
however, is open to question, as London pigeons seldom or
never have a chance of a clear day fora fly. Besides, if the
birds were so dependent on their visual organs, how is it that
night matches are so frequently and successfully flown P

Finally, “Great care is necessary to keep them in continual
practice, as also in good flying condition—strong, healthy, and
clean—by means of good food and plenty of exercise ; otherwise
they may one day bé missing, although they may have per-
formed the same distance often before.”

THE SPORT OF PIGEON-FLYING—-ANCIENT AND MODERN.

In nothing does man display so much ingenuity as in pro-
viding himself with amusement, or, what is infinitely worse,
with an excuse for indulging in that pernicious passion,
gambling. THe has called on nearly every animal on earth to
pay him toll in this respect. Horses run races for him; dogs
fight bulls, or bears, or badgers, or cats, or rats, or, lacking
other material, each other, for his delectation. From time
-immemorial donkeys have been pressed into the service, and
even the harmless pig must not be excluded because of the fun
that may be manufactured by greasing his tail, letting him
loose, and then endeavouring to recapture him by that unhandy
appendage. Cock-fighting dates from the period when that
bird first became subject to man’s dominion, and for want of
larger game, the Asiaties pit quails against each other.

 
 

THE SPORT OF PIGEON-FLYING.

Pigeons are not excepted from the rule, and pigeon-flying
has been a British sport from time immemorial. Up to the
close of the last century it was an ordinary ,occurrence for men
to stake hundreds of pounds on the result of a “ prize flight.”
Carriers of the best breed were brought in hundreds from
France and Germany, and then released in one great flock to
find their way back across ‘the sea.

As late as 1828, we read that, “ fifty-six carriers brought to
London from Lvege were flown in the neighbourhood of Alders-
gate-street, at thirty-four minutes past four am. One of them
called Napoleon reached its destination—a distance of three
hundred miles—at twenty-four minutes past ten the same
morning, having thus accomplished its journey in five hours
and fifty minutes, being at the rate of forty-five miles an hour.”

About the same period “Mr. Atwood made a bet of one
hundred pounds that he would fly six pigeons from the high
ground near Crostwick, in Norfolk, one hundred and fourteen
miles, and that one should arrive at his loft im the Sanctuary,
St. George’s Fields, within four hours and a‘ half.”

Folks of the present generation, however, are too wise to
cast hundreds of pounds to the mercy of the winds—at least
as regards pigeons. It is seldom now that they are made the
subjects of wholesale wagering, though a briskish business is
still carried on in low neighbourhoods, the stakes ranging from
half-a-crown to five pounds.

Bethnal Green is the head-quarters of the London “ Fancy.”
There is a long straggling street there known as Hare-street,
and it is no exaggeration to say that the roofs of at least two-
thirds of the houses are decorated with a dormer, and equally
true that, protruding from almost every trap-door appertaining
thereto, is the shock-head and the ragged shoulders of some
dirty idle scamp whistling through his fingers, or “hishing”
and shouting while he waves a long wand with a rag tied to
the end.

The pigeons most favourite for match-flying among the
vulgar “fancy” are known by the uneuphonious name of “ skin-
nems,” and are a cross-breed between the dragon and the
tumbler. The “skinnem” is not a respectable-looking bird.
With the litheness of the carrier, he possesses none of that
graceful bird’s gentle—not to say aristocratic—mien ; he looks
like the disreputable member of a highly respectable ‘family,
addicted to pot-houses and evil company, and altogether gone
to the bad.

395

 
 

PIGEONS.

Nor is the “ skinnem’s” a solitary instance of how the brute
creution may be influenced, their very natures and complexions
perverted, by low human associations. Take the St. Giles’s
dog. Is he for a moment to be compared with the dog of St.
James’s? Isn’t he a rakish-looking brute, with an insolent
curl of the upper lip and an unpleasant scowl? Isn’t he a
gutter prowler and a worrier of sheep? Then, again, the
costermonger’s dopkey; is he anything like the sleek and
decent suburban. animal who draws invalid chaises? It may
be argued that stripes and bruises are not calculated to im-
prove the personal appearance; but I maintain that stripes
and bruises alone would never give to the costermonger’s
donkey the air of dissipation, the short pipe and beery ex-
pression so peculiar‘to him. Look at the fowl—the cocks and
hens of our rookeries! Isn’t the cock always an untidy little
wretch, with a ragged comb and spurs broken to splinters ?
How is it possible to believe that a bird of this sort rises and
crows at daybreak? Then the hens, the slovenly creatures,
with their tail feathers all mud-bedraggled; it may be, cer-
tainly, that they are driven to recklessness by their husbands’
misbehaviour, but there is no denying that they one and all
look ¢apable of larcenously disposing: of their own eggs and
buying barley with the proceeds. So it is with all sorts of
song-birds that are trained to sing against each other (espe-
cially the chaffinch) for the benefit of their blackguardly mas-
ters. And lastly, but by no means least, so it is with the low-
neighbourhood sparrows. To my certain knowledge—but,
there, everybody knows the saucy scamp the London sparrow
is!

To return, however, to the subject of pigeon-flying and
pigeon-filyers. I had lost some pigeons of a valuable sort
from my dormer, and while I was still disconsolate for the same,
the postman brought me the following missive :—

“Str,—Seein’ the reward as you have offered for some pigins as flowed
away from your dormer, I rite to tell you as you might get aint about
*em if you cum and brought the reward with you to the Bald Pye Public
’ouse, Bethnal Green, on Sunday night at 8.

“Pea Hs, Arks for Mr. Stickle.”

As requested, I repaired to the “Bald Pye,” and there,
through Mr. Stickle’s instrumentality, obtained my strayed
pets. I suppose I paid rather more for their recovery than
was expected, for Mr. Stickle became suddenly extremely
good-navited, offered to show me his stock, and, finally, in-

 
 

THE SPORT OF PIGEON-ILYING.

formed me that if I took any interest in flying matches, a
“ first-rate ” one was coming off in the morning, and that if I
liked to come up to his house I was welcome to a seat on the
roof thereof to witness the start and the return.

The start was a tame affair, and consisted merely of the
owners of the pigeons setting out from the “Bald Pye” with
their birds, attended by a troop of tattered bird-gamesters,
From Highgate-hill home were the terms of the match—
“home” being a dormer adjoining Mr. Stickle’s. One of the
contending birds belonged to a gentleman named Tinker, the
other to “Phil.” Phil what, didn’t transpire.

As the time approached at which the birds were expected to
return, Mr. Stickle and I mounted his dormer. Presently a
triumphant shout from the man on the opposite roof an-
nounced the coming of at least one of the birds.

“ Here he comes!” roared Mr. Tinker; “ I knows him; here
he comes, and the other ain’t no-wheres !”

Yes, there he came, fair and promising enough, till he got
within a few yards of his home, and then in the coolest and
most aggravating way, he settled on a neighbouring chimney
stack.

“The appearance of Mr. Tinker’s face at this moment was
terrible. He fairly champed his teeth together, and wagged
his head at the refractory ‘skinnem’ till his hair was like a
trundled mop. He clenched his great fists, and sparred at the
little pigeon, as though it werea man. Finally, as the shout-
ing of Phil’s friends smote his ears, ‘ Here comes Phil’s ! Phew-
phew-whew-whew! here she comes!’ he caught up a brick
that was lying handy, and flung it at the ‘skinnem’ with all
his might.

“The cruel act was more successful in its results than he
deserved it should have been. The ‘skinnem’ rose to avoid
the missile, wheeled round, and then settled within a foot of
My. Tinker’s head.

“ Grabbing at it eagerly, that gentleman disappeared down
the trap; and the next moment, peeping over the coping of the
house, we saw him skimming down the street, the pigeon in his
cap, and the cap in his mouth, and his long coat tail spread
abroad like wings. At the same moment, Philip, with his cap
in his hand, dodged out of a side street. Tinker, however, had
the advantage, and spurred to his utmost speed by the sight of
his approaching rival, he dashed over the threshold of the Bald

Pye, winning the match by rather more than two seconds.”
397

 
 

PIGEONS.

PIGEON CATCHING IN THE PYRENEES.

Once, while the late Angus B. Reach was travelling in the
south of France, he had an opportunity of witnessing, if not
the actual performance of pigeon-catching by the professional
catchers, a clear insight into the way in which the business
was managed. He thus describes it :—

“Stretching manfully uphill, by a path like the bed of a
muddy torrent, I was rewarded by a watery blink of sunshine.
Then the wind began to blow, and vast rolling masses of mist
to move before it. At length, however, I reached the Palombiére,
situated upon the ridge of the hill, which cost a good hour and
a half’s climb. Here grow a long row of fine old trees, and on
the northern side rise two or three very high, mast-like poles
of liberty, notched so as to allow a boy, as supple and as sure-
footed as a monkey, to climb to the top, and ensconce himself
in a sort of cage, like the ‘crow’s nest’ which whalers carry at
their mast heads for the look-out.

“ T found the fowlers gathered in a hovel at the foot of a tree;
they said the wind was too high for the pigeons to be abroad;
but for a couple of francs they offered to make believe that a
flock was coming, and show me the process of catching. The
bargain made, away went one of the urchins up the bending
pole into the crow’s nest, a feat which I have a great notion
the smartest topman in all her Majesty’s navy would have
shirked, considering that there were neither foot-ropes nor man-
ropes to hold on by. Then, on certain cords being pulled, a
whole screen of net rose from tree to tree, so that all passage
through the row was blocked.

“* Now,’ said the chief pigeon catcher, ‘the birds at this
season come flying from the north to go to Spain, and they
keep near the tops of the hills. Well, suppose a flock coming
now; they see the trees, and will fly over them—if it wasn’t
for the pigeoneer’ (pigeonier).

“«« The pigeoneer ! what is that P’

“* We're going to show you,’ and he shouted to the boy in
the crow’s nest, ‘Now, Jacques!’

“Up immediately sprang the urchin, shouting like a pos-
sessed person, waving his arms, and at length launching into
the air a missile which made an odd series of eccentric flights,
like a bird in a fit.

“That is the pigeoneer,’ said the fowler; ‘it breaks the
flight of _ birds, and they sweep down and dash between the

 
 

THE PIGEON-HOUSE,

   

 

trees—so.” He gave a tug to a short
cord, and immediately the wall of
nets, which was balanced with
great stones, fell in a mass to the
F ground.
“* Monsieur will be good enough
= to imagine that the birds are fiut-
tering in the meshes.’ ”

THE PIGEON-HOUSE.

If the number of pigeons you intend keeping be but few, say
ten or a dozen, a very good habitation may be constructed by
securely fixing a light flour barrel on the end of a stout pole
You can hardly have the pole too high, but very good shift
may be made with one measuring twenty-five feet, which will
allow of six or seven feet of the stout end being sunk in the
ground. Stout rails of beeth should be nailed at intervals of
nine inches to the summit of the pole, projecting six inches on
either side so asto formaladder. Securely fixed to’ the top of
the pole, and pendant on either side of it to the ground, should
bea substantial ropeto make ascent and descent more easy. A
much more secure and easy way, however, and one less likely
to lead to awkward tumbling, is to have a capacious tube, say
a sufficient length of ironing-stove pipe run through the length
of the barrel, so that it will slide easily up and down the sup-
porting pole. Across the top of the pole should be screwed a
cross piece, to each end of which must be attached a pulley.
A rope passes over each pulley and is attached to each side of
the barrel by a staple. By this means the barrel may be easily

hauled up or lowered at pleasure.
390

 
 

PIGEONS

Every pigeon, male and female, must have a separate apart-
ment. Without this precaution your pigeon tower will be a
very tower of Babel, rife with anarchy and confusion. Hggs
will be smashed and infant “ squeakers” (as baby pigeons ave
called) trodden under foot. So that if your pigeon-house is|
designed for twelve lodgers, it must be divided into twelve com-
partments. It is as well to fix a small tin hood above the
doorway of each chamber as a security against inclement wea-
ther. The barrel should stand on a platform eighteen inches
wide, and the whole should be painted white. This is especi-
ally important, because you thus provide your young and
inexperienced birds with a conspicuous mark to direct their
homeward flight. Even your old birds may be glad of such a
beacon should they happen to be out in one of those sudden
glooms which sometimes precede violent stotms. The white of
zinc paint is the most durable and brilliant. Once a month at
least the separate chambers should be lime-washed.

If it is your intention to keep a large number of pigeons
(and it is a well-known fact, that he who has a large number
is much more likely to keep them than he who possesses but a
few) the space afforded by a barrel will be of little use. You
will require a loft, or a house specially built for the purpose.
The attic of a lofty house makes a capital pigeon-loft, especi-
ally if the window be in the roof, or if in the side wall opening
towards the south. Even in this case you must not forget the
necessity of a beacon,—the nearest gable or chimney-stack
should be frequently whitewashed. Bear in mind, likewise,
that much light is not vitally important to pigeons, it being
their nature to prefer gloomy and solitary places.

Outside the window, and hinged to the window ledge, you
should have a moveable flap capable of covering the aperture
(made by opening the window, or taking it out altogether)
when it is pulled up, and of forming a platform parallel with
the window ledge when it is let down. This flap should be
painted white. The trap-string attached to the outer edge of
the trap, should pass through the top of the window frame
into the room. Inside the chamber, and covering half the
window,—that is, covering the space created by raising the
lower half of the sash,—a square box should be fixed. At
the back of the box are two or three holes to admit the pigeons
into the chamber, and each hole is so covered on the outer side
by a hinged lath as to easily yield to the bird’s endeavours to
join his miata in the chamber, but to entirely prevent him

 
 

THE PIGEON-HOUSE.

passing out of the window again without his master’s assist-
ance.

For your guidance as to the proper arrangement of the
pigeon-loft for breeding purposes, I will give you the opinion
of a sound and experienced writer on the subject.

“You may erect shelves of about twenty inches broad for
breeding-places, allowing eighteen inches’ between shelf and
shelf, that pouters may not be under the necessity of stooping
for want of height; for in that case they would contract a habit
of playing low, which spoils their carriage. In these shelves
partitions should be fixed at about three feet distance, making
a blind by a board nailed against the front on each side of
every partition, which will make two nests in the extent of
every three feet; and the pigeons will not be liable to be dis-
turbed, as they will then sit in private. Some fix a low parti-
tion between each nest, which prevents the young ones from
running to the hen sitting at the other end, and thereby cooling
her eggs; for in breeding-time, when the young ones are about
a fortnight or three weeks old, the hen, if a good breeder, will
lay again, and leave the care of the young ones to the cock.
Others let them breed in partitions entirely open in front, for
the greater convenience of cleaning out their nests. I find by
experience that nests made on the floor are much more conve-
nient than otherwise, if the loft will admit of it, for it prevents
the young ones from failing out of their nests,—which sometimes
breaks a leg, and very often lames them,—and gives them a
chance of being fed by other pigeons as well as their parents,
which frequently happens.

“In every nest there should be placed a straw basket or
earthen pan that has not been glazed, which prevents the straw
from slipping about. The size of the pan must be in propor-
tion to the pigeons you breed. For instance, a pan fit for a
tumbler or other small pigeon should be about three inches
high and eight inches over the top, and sloping to the bottom
like a washhand-basin, and that in proportion for other larger
pigeons, remembering to put a brick close to the pan, that they
may with greater safety get upon their eggs; and by means of
this pan the eggs are not only prevented from rolling out of the
nest, but your young pigeons from being handled when you
choose to look at them, which often puts them into a scouring.”

Extreme cleanliness is absolutely necessary to the health—
aay to the very existence of the pigeons. They possess remark-
able warmth of body, so that, if you allow dirt of any kind to

26 oe

 
 

PIGEONS.

accumulate on or near them, sickness will be the inevitable
result. Sweep out their house every morning, an‘ at least
twice a week garnish the floor with some bright sifted gravel.
Don’t forget that first essential in all households—ciean water !
Let them have a broad shallow pan full of it, and let the pan
be replenished every morning. In the hottest summer months
twice a day will not be a bit too frequent. This will entail
some little trouble, of course, but the pigeon keeper will find
himself amply compensated if he will take the pains to watch
through a chink, and see the grateful little creatures washing
and pluming and plunging about in their refreshing bath.
Besides this, they will require a constant supply to drink, and
to guard against its becoming fouled by their excrement (as
would speedily be the case if the water was contained in an
uncovered vessel) a little ingenuity is necessary. No end of
elaborate and expensive vessels have been invented, but the
following will be found more thoroughly effective than any one
of them, and certainly least expensive. Procure a big bottle
with a longish neck, and an ordinary garden-pot saucer of a
small size; fill the bottle to the brim, cork it up, and then
suspend it in a convenient corner, mouth downwards, and with
the nozzle of the bottle in the saucer, and within an inch of the
bottom of it, half fill the saucer with water, and take the cork
out of the bottle; you will find, that, replenished from the
bottle, the saucer will be always full, but will never run over.
Mr. B. P. Brent gives the following instructions for the con-
struction of an excellent pigeon-house for common pigeons and
toys :— The end of the roof of a barn, stable, granary, or dwell-
ing-house, is equally available for the purpose. The entrance
for the pigeons should be towards the south, south-west, or
south-east ; and, whether situated on the roof, or at the end of
the building, must be well secnred against the inroads of cats
or rats. 1t should have some device by which the pigeons can
be shut in when necessary ; for instance, when the entrance is
through a number of pigeon-holes, then a wired, or latticed
frame, should let down in front, on hinges, by a string and
pulley. If it is through a window, or opening in the wall or
roof, a small platform, or alighting board, should be placed
outside, and a lattice-door may be made to pull up, and close
the space, so as to secure all the pigeons in the loft and yet
admit light. The floor of the loft must be well secured, to prevent
rats or mice getting in; and a door, well fitted, for the same
reason, is Seceeeae to enter the loft to inspect the birds or

 
HOW TO STOCK THE PIGEON-HOUSE,

take the young ones. Nest places may be arranged all round,
against the upright walls, by nailing up boards eight or nine
inches wide, like shelves, fifteen inches above each other, and
dividing these by partitions at every three feet, and nailing a
board up in front at each end of these divisions, so as to form
a recess at each end for the nests. A small slip of wood,
running from back to front, completes the nests, which are
thus divided into pairs; or, failing the upright walls, boards
may be nailed along the rafters, like shelves, one over the other.
Small pieces of board should be nailed in behind, between the
rafters, and a long slip in front of the board; thus converting
the shelf into a sort of trough, which can be divided into nests
ee nailing an upright piece of board against each
r 2

A bag-net, on a short pole, something like a landing-net, is
also very useful for catching the pigeons, if their loft is large.

HOW TO STOCK THE PIGEON-HOUSE.

In the first place, avoid purchasing old birds. They may be
more immediately valuable on the score of breeding, but as a
set off to this advantage it is almost ten to one that their first
flight from your dormer will be their last. True, by plucking
out their larger quill feathers they may be induced to “ haunt,”
or accommodate themselves to their new abode, on much the
same principle as that you may induce the most wrong-headed
dog to stay with you if you chop one of his legs off! Such
barbarity, however, is not to my taste, aud, I am quite sure,
not to the tastes of my readers. Besides, I much doubt if
this wing-maiming process is at all conducive to security.
Beyond a doubt, the pigeon is possessed of at least average
sagacity, and it is only natural to conclude that its horror of
the perpetrator of the outrage will survive even after its ill
effects have ceased, and that the first work of the pigeon’s
healed wings will be to carry him far away from the torture-
house.

Apart from the humane view of the subject, wing clipping
is otherwise objectionable. You reduce him at once from a
handsome bird to a scare-crow. Nor is this all. You will
discover when the moulting period arrives, that the ugly stumps
will cling with unnatural tenacity to the skin, and if not im-
mediately observed and rectified, inflammation, mortification,
and death will rapidly follow each other.

8

 
 

PIGEONS,

It is advisable, therefore, to purchase “ squeakers,” that is,
pigeons that are from a month to five or six weeks old, ‘be-
fore which latter time they will have attained but little strength
of wing. They begin to peck for themselves when they are
five or six weeks old, and the sooner after that they come into
your keeping the greater will be your chance of keeping them.
Until, however, you are sure the pairs have really mated—un-
til, indeed, they have laid their first eggs, it would be unsafe
to trust them abroad. They would almost surely be inveigled
away by the knowing old pigeons of the neighbourhood.

To distinguish the sexes during squeakerhood is rather a
difficult matter to a new hand. In half a dozen birds, of the
same age, the cocks may be known by their superior size, and
the female squeaker has a more prolonged squeak than her
male companion.

The sorts to be selected entirely depends on the taste of the
keeper. If amusement be his only aim, then he should pur-
chase tumblers. If he be determined to have none but highly
respectable and graceful birds about his premises, he should
buy archangels, or nuns, or owls. If profit be the sole consi-
deration, then, I unhesitatingly, recommend runts. They are
neither handsome nor good flyers, but they are wonderfully
prolific, and substantial fellows for the spit or pie. They, how-
ever, are careless of their eggs, so that it is as well to turn
their embryo progeny over to a careful nurse—the dragoon for
instance.

But there can be no doubt that to start with the cheapest
and commonest sorts is the best plan. If they abscond, the
loss will be but trifling, and if they stay with you a month or so,
not only will you have a better chance of retaining any of the
more valuable sorts you may afterwards introduce, but the old
lodgers will be useful as egg hatchers to their aristocratic neigh-
bours should such service be required. The best time to begin
to found a colony is about July, as pigeons are then cheapest.

PAIRING AND BREEDING.

When your squeakers have reached six months, you may
“put them up for breeding;” that is, you must enclose the
pair—the cock and hen—in a cage, out of sight of any other
pigeon. At the expiration of two days you may give them
their liherty again.

For a few days after this, the newly-married couple will
give their quinds solely to enjoyment, keeping always together,

 
 

PAIRING AND BREEDING.

end disporting themselves according to their natures. Pre-
sently, however, they will grow more sedate, and the hen will
set about egg-laying. First she lays one, which she keeps
faithful guard over, and next day she lays the other—always
two, never more nor less.

At this period no husband is more faithful than the he-
pigeon. He feeds his hen while she is sitting; he fills his
crop with water, and from it she quenches her thirst. Towards
the middle of the day she goes abroad for necessary air and
exercise, while he contentedly cuddles the promising eggs be-
neath him. If, indeed, she should prove so callous a mother
as to think more of taking her pleasure than hatching her eggs,
father pigeon will meekly keep his seat, and comfort the eggs
till the shells burst and the chicks emerge.

This will occur at the expiration of seventeen days from the
laying of the second egg. On this point, as well as on another
equally important, writers of pigeon books seem agreed to
countenance a delusion. One author, whose information in all
other particulars is tolerably correct, confidently asserts that
the hatching will take place on the twentieth day from the
laying of the second egg. Several others, with equal gravity,
tell us that exactly nineteen days must transpire between the
second laying and the birth, whereas the truth is—and every-
body that has kept as few as half-a-dozen pigeons must be
aware of it—that seventeen days, within a few hours, is the
invariable time consumed by incubation.

Again, trusting entirely to information and instruction de-
rived from writers whom, we presume, to be perfect masters of
the subject, the amateur is subject to great disappointment as
regards the number of hatchings he may reasonably expect in
the course of a year. He is told that by proper management “ he
may raise as many as twelve broods in a single year.” With all
due deference to those who make the assertion, I declare that
they are utterly mistaken. With proper management, if you
are very lucky, you may count on a hatching once in every six
weeks through the year, which will give you nime hatchings in
the twelve months. Even this, however, is the exception and
not the rule, and I should advise my readers to rest contented
if they are enabled to raise seven broods in the time.

The writers in question would have been nearer truth if they
had declared that a hatching or two more than usual might be
obtained by improper management, that is, by stuffing the poor
birds during the chilly months with hemp-seed. They certainly

 
 

PIGEONS.

may breed the faster for this treatment, and if the pigeon:
keeper does not object to see his birds afflicted with unsightly
skin disease, and liable to sudden death, I will guarantee them
at least two more broods a year than their neighbours. One
chick will be hatched six or eight hours before the other.
I know of nothing so perfectly helpless as a baby pigeon.
They have just sufficient instinct to hold up their ttle naked
heads and wave it about feebly in search of the mother’s bill,
and that is all.

During the last few days of sitting, the crops of both male
and female pigeon gradually fill with “soft meat,” or, as it
might with propriety be termed, milk—pigeon’s milk! Al-
though not a marketable commodity, we have the authority of
Doctor Hunter that there really is such a liquid as pigeon’s
milk. The learned doctor says, “I have, in my inquiries
concerning the various modes in which young animals are
nourished, discovered that all the dove-kind are endowed with
a similar power. The young pigeon, like the young quad-
ruped, till it is capable of digesting the common food of its
kind, is fed with a substance, secreted for that purpose, by the
parent animal; not as in the mammalia, by the female alone,
but also by the male, which, perhaps, furnishes the nourish-
ment in a degree more abundant. It is a common property of
birds, that both male and female are equally employed in
hatching and feeding their young in the second stage; but
this mode of nourishment, by means of a substance secreted
in their own bodies, is peculiar to certain kinds, and is carried
on in the crop. Whatever may be the consistence of this
substance when just secreted, it must probably soon be coagu-
lated into a granulated white curd, for in such a form I
have always found it in the crop; and if an old pigeon is
killed, just as the young ones are hatched, the crop will be
found as above described, and in its cavity pieces of white curd
mixed with some of the common food of the pigeon. If we
allow either of the parents to feed the young, its crop, when
examined, will be discovered to contain the same curdled sub-j
stance, which passes thence into the stomach, where it is to be
digested.

“The young pigeon is fed for some time with this substance
alone, and about the third day, some of the common food is
found mitigled with it; and as the pigeon grows older, the
proportion of common food is increased; so that by the time
it is seven, eight, or nine days old, the secretion of the curd

 
PAIRING AND BREEDING.

ceases in the old ones. It is a curious fact, that the parent
pigeon has at first the power to throw up this curd without
any mixture of common food, although afterwards both are
thrown up according to the proportion required for the young
ones. I have called this substance curd, not as being literally
so, but as resembling that more than anything I know. It
may, however, have a greater resemblance to curd than we
are, perhaps, aware of; for neither this secretion, nor the curd
from which the whey has been pressed, seems to contain any
sugar, and does not run into acetous fermentation. The pro-
perty of coagulating is confined to the substance itself, as it
produces no such effect when mixed with milk.” It is to be
hoped, after this explanation, that big stupids will, in future,
cease to send little stupids on that venerable first-of-April
errand, “a pen’orth of pigeon’s milk.”

Inserting their own beaks into those of their infants, the
parent pigeons proceed to pacify the hungry little maws with
this nourishment ;—pure, for the first five or six days, and then
gradually amalgamated with hard food, until their stomachs
grow strong enough to digest whole grains.

If the chicks, from some unhappy accident, should be left
orphans, you may—if you are not over-delicate—rear them
by hand, or rather by mouth! This may be done by manu-
facturing a pap of beans or corn by grinding it up with your
teeth, and then taking the squab’s beak between your lips and
letting him feed. I don’t know what my readers will think of
this, but my deliberate opinion is that it is extremely nasty,
and I would see the most valuable squab, that ever was born,
dead, and buried in a pasty, before I would wet-nurse him in
the way above described.

If the squab should die, it will be necessary to provide the
old birds with, at least, one belonging to a neighbour, other-
wise, the nourishment in their crops will turn sour and make
them ill. If, however, a strange squab is not at hand, the
next best thing is to keep the bereaved parents on the wing
as much as possible, supply them, when at home, with a mix-
ture of bread crumbs and salt, and strew their house with good
sharp gravel.

Sometimes the new-born bird will not have sufficient strength
to break entirely from the shell: you may, in such a case,
gently assist him with some convenient instrument—say the
blade of an ivory paper-knife. Should both parents chance
to desert their eggs, you may throw them away ao the expi-

 
 

PIGEONS.

ration of thirty hours, as by that time they will certainly have
become spoiled.

Tf from any accident or caprice, the hen should one day fly
off and not return to her mate, you had best not let more than
two days elapse before you supply the bereaved husband with
a fresh spouse; otherwise he will set off in search of his lost
partner, and, probably, never return. If it is the cock-bird
who mysteriously vanishes, you need not be so much alarmed ;
the mourning of the widowed pigeon will be but of short
duration ; she will lay wait for the first flock that comes along,
make love to some good-looking single male, and at once in-
vite him home. Instances are on record, of wild male-pigeons
being enticed into bondage after this fashion.

FEEDING.

The staple of their food should be gray peas. They will,
however, thrive well on wheat, or oats, or barley, separately
or mixed. The smallest of beans, known as pigeon’s beans,
may also be given, but I should prefer to mix it with
some milder grain. Care should be taken that the pigeon-
beans are not newer than a year old, or they will scour the
birds. Seeds are sometimes given as stimulants, and many
use hemp-seed for the purpose. Rape-seed is, however, far
preferable. Hemp-seed is of an exceedingly heating nature,
and apt to induce skin disease. Equal care should be taken
that whatever food you give them is not decayed, and full of
mites. If you have the least doubt on the subject, bake the
suspected grain for half an hour. Mites swallowed alive and
vemaining alive in the stomach have destroyed many a bird.

On this subject of pigeon diet, a reliable authority states,
“Green food may be provided for pigeons, that do not have
their liberty, in the form of lettuce; or salad may be sown in
troughs, or boxes, for them to peck off; any smooth-leaved
greens will be relished, but it requires to be fast or fixed, to
enable them to pick little pieces out. Cress, rape-seed, or any
of the cabbage tribe, may thus be sown for the pigeons. The
dovehouse pigeons are usually fed in the poultry-yard; and
the fancy pigeons, that are not to fly out, are fed from the
hopper in their aviary, to which they always have free accoss.
The same plan is usually adopted in lofts; but where other
kinds are kept in pigeon-houses, or lockers, it is usual to call
them by a whistle, or some other known signal, to be fed at
game quiet apot t near at hand; and on account of the fondness

 
 

FEEDING.

of the birds for a young salad, not so much as food, but simply
as a relish, I would advise the amateur not to entice them
into the kitchen garden, or they may cause annoyance among
the young crops.

“There is hardly any kind of grain or corn which pigeons
will refuse, but their preference seems to be given to bsmp-
seed over every other ; yet too much of it is injurious to them ;
and it has been found, in Germany, that, after the linseed
harvest, pigeons are frequently ill, and die of diarrhcea..

“ Although pigeons are granivorous birds, yet they will eat,
and apparently enjoy, an occasional change of boiled potatoes,
soaked bread, and bacon or ham fat, cut in small pieces; and
there is a particular grub, or larva, which they find in old
pastures, and eat when other food is scarce.”

Pigeons are wonderfully fond of powerful odours, and, pro-
vided it is powerful, they are by no means particular as to its
quality. Sprinkle their floor with lavender or assafcetida, and
they will appreciate one equally with the other. It is reckoned
a good plan to scent a pigeon-house previous to stocking it.

I am aware it will be accounted rank heresy amongst the
“ fancy,” but I really cannot help speaking my mind concerning
that abomination, the “salt cat.’ Ask nine-tenths of the most
experienced pigeon-keepers, and they will tell you that without
the “cat” luck will not abide in the dormer. Does the reader
know how a “ cat” is manufactured ? I will tell him. You
take half a peck each of brick-rubbish, gravel, and stiff clay,
and add a quarter of a pound of anise-seed, and as much salt-
petre. You put this mixture into a tub, and add sufficient stale
chamber-ley to work it into mortar. This odoriferous compound
you put into old pots and kettles, and stick about your loft!
Ignorant and nasty fanciers will tell you that a better “cat”
still is, a goat’s head, stuffed with salt and hemp-seed and
anise, and boiled in urine!

The simple fact is, it is necessary to the pigeon’s health
that he should be well supplied with lime and salt, and it is
on these ingredients alone that the entire “ cat” rests its claim
for admittance into the pigeon loft. For all practical purposes, it
will be sufficient to have in one corner a box containing old
mortar, and in another corner a pan filled with nine parts
common salt and one part saltpetre. It does not always do
to follow “ good old customs.” In the time of our grandfather’s
father, the salt cat was a real cat, baked with salt and various

Bpices !
P 400

 
 

PIGEONS.

To fatten young pigeons, the reader cannot do better than
follow the following advice, given by a clever naturalist.

“When the squabs are about eighteen or nineteen days old,
and their wing-feathers begin to sprout, take them out of the
dove-house and place them in a nest in another room, covering
them with an inverted hamper, which will keep out the light,
and yet leave a free passage for the air. It is well known
that all animals which are to be fattened artificially ought to
be kept in the dark. Have ready a quantity of ‘maize, which
has been steeped in water four-and-twenty hours; twice a day,
namely, early in the morning, and in the evening before night-
fall, take each squeaker out of the nest, open its bill dex-
terously, and at each meal cause it to swallow, according to its
breed and size, from fifty to eighty and even a hundred grains
of steeped maize. Continue this treatment for ten days or a
fortnight, and you will have pigeons as fat as the very best
poultry. The only difference will be in their colour.”

PIGEON PARASITES.

Unless the most scrupulous cleanliness be observed there will
be bred among your birds’ plumage a host of unpleasant in-
sects, of the tick, mite, and flea orders. The most troublesome
and common of these pests is the mite. It is the smallest of
the pigeons’ parasites, being no larger than grains of poppy-
seed, of a black colour, with white streaks over their bodies.
It does not seem to be their nabit to infest the bodies of the
pigeons constantly, but to hide in the chinks and dark nooks
of the nesting-places, and when the unlucky birds retire for the
night, then to issue out in myriads and commence their depre-
dations, and continue them until they assume a totally different
complexion to that worn at starting—being, in fact, red, instead
of black and white. Squabs suffer much more than old birds
from these predatory little creatures. They get into the ears
of squabs, making them lean and miserable, and not unfre-
quently causing thew death. Lime wash they defy; mercurial
cintment they seem rather to relish. There seems to be no
means of killing them, or of stopping their increase, when once
they effect a substantial footing. One of the pigeon-wise men
I know is compelled to confess that he scarcely knows how to
treat them. “Iam not sure,” he says, “that I can offer a
perfect cure for their attacks; but a drop of oil on the ears,
under the wings, or anywhere else they may appear, will pre-
vent their annoying the young ones. Powdered sulphur strewn
 

PIGEON PARASITES

in the nests, and dusted among the feathers of the old birds,
is the best plan I know of. As a preventive means I would
advise cleanliness ; stop all cracks and chinks; let the wood-
work be planed and painted, and do not give the pigeons hay
for nests. Heath and birch-twigs are the best. Washing the
walls, painting the woodwork so as to stop all cracks, however
minute, and perhaps the addition of powdered sulphur in the
lime-wash, may be a good precaution.”

Ticks, to my thinking, are even more objectionable than mites,
although they are not nearly so plentiful. They grow some-
times as large as tares, so that the bird’s depth of feather is
insufficient to hide them. They are very quick in their move-
ments. They generally infest the head and back of the pigeon.
Cleanliness and powdered sulphur are the only effective weapons
against them.

Feather-lice frequently swarm beneath the vanes of the
pigeon’s feathers. They, however, do not seem to cause the
bird much inconvenience. Indeed, the theory has been ven-
tured, that, so far from being inimical to the bird’s well-doing,
they are positive conducers to its comfort. ‘ Their food being
the down at the quill end of the feathers,” say the advocates of
this doctrine, “it seems almost as if they were intended to
reduce the warmth of the bird’s covering in summer; for their
numbers must be very much decreased at moulting-time by the
quantity cast off with the old feathers, and not until spring can
they increase sufficiently to thin the warm under-covering of
down which in summer is not so necessary for the pigeons as in
the cold months of winter.” It is pretty well ascertained, how-
ever, that their numbers may at least be thinned by a strict
observance of cleanliness; and as cleanliness was never yet
proved to be erroneous, the theory is in a slight degree shaken
by that fact.

DISEASES OF PIGEONS.

If properly fed and cleansed and cared for, few birds are less
liable to disease thun the pigeon.

Their chief ailment is “ canker,” a very ugly disease, attack-
ing the head, and causing cheesy-looking and evil-smelling
swellings. The disease is attributed to various causes, to im-
pure water, to drinking from a tin vessel, to a bad state of
blood, and sometimes to the attacks of mites. An excess of
food of a fatty nature will be likely to produce canker. The
cure is spare diet, plenty of exercise after the excrescence has
 

PIGEONS.

been cut away and the place rubbed with caustic. Tt is gene-
rally thought to be contagious, so it will be as well to separate
a bird so afflicted from the rest as soon as possible.

Some pigeons are afflicted with internal weakness, bringing
on a disease known to pigeon-breeders as “ gizzard-falling.”
This is nearly incurable, so the sooner you get rid of the poor
bird the better.

If your pigeon should be affected with atrophy, or wasting
of flesh, he should be supplied liberally with his most favourite
food. A rusty iron nail placed in his drinking-vessel will
strengthen his stomach. Birds afflicted with this complaint
have usually a large appetite for green food, and uo less an
authority than Bechstien asserts that watercress is a certain
cure for atrophy.

It will sometimes happen that a pigeon will have a difficulty
in moulting his wing-feathers. When this is the case, take the
bird in your hand, and see if there are anv feather-stumps still
clinging in the sockets. If so, extract them tenderly with a
smal pair of tweezers.

 
 

 

THE DOVES.
THE TURTLE DOVE.

The old proverb concerning the dog, that if you give that
animal an ill name you may as well hang him, for all the
chance he has of retrieving his character, is no more true than
that dogs and birds and even men frequently acquire fair
reputation, how no one particularly knows, or cares to inquire,
but, like sheep following the bell-wether, steadfastly uphold
it, and all because it is a much easier matter to lend your
shoulder to a thing already securely upheld, and safe from
falling, than to doubt its stability, and to pull and shake at it
with no better reward than presently to bring down on you a
burden you can scarce stand under.

The Turtle Dove is an example of this, and though it is,
undoubtedly, a very nice little bird, and one quite worthy to
be made a home-pet, there can be little doubt but that its
surpassing virtues are better known to poets than to pigeon-
breeders. Indeed, I am bound to say, being at the same time
very sorry to have to say, that, from inquiry and personal
observation, I am convinced that the turtle dove is no more

aa

 
 

 

DOVES.

deserving the respect of mankind than the veriest runt or
“ skinnem ” that ever fluttered on a dormer or flavoured a pie.
As to its being the type of matrimonial perfection, we have
only to recollect for half a moment, and we recall to mind one
of ‘the most savage animals that ever wore fangs or talons—
the butcher bird ; and again, the ravening eagle; and, once again,
the ominous, croaking raven ; each of which, as regards constancy
and conjugal affection, will bear comparison with the gentlest
turtle that ever coo’d. However, as before stated, the present
generation are not responsible for the turtle dove’s fame; we find
the bird in question pretty and well-behaved, and these surely
are credentials sufficient to ensure, at least, a kindly toleration
in this rough-and-tumble world to their possessor.

It is the smallest of our native doves, and is found throughout
temperate Europe and Asia. They arrive in this country about
the beginning of May, breed here,and leave again early in autumn.
They measure about ten or eleven inches in length, and about
eighteen inches in breadth from tip to tip of the expanded
wings; the beak is long and thin, measuring about three
quarters of an inch, and dark horn-coloured ; the coverings of
the nostrils reddish-white ; the irides of the eyes a bright
orange-red, and the edges of the eyelids form .a reddish thread-
like circle round the eyes; the feet and toes are a deep red,
and the nails dull black. The general colour of the plumage
is a rufous-brown, having an ashen-grey tinge in the male,
and varying in depth of colour in different parts of the body;
on each side of the neck is a square black spot, some of the
feathers forming it have white tips, which give it a pretty
chequered appearance; the covert feathers of the wings, too,
are black, bordered with rufous-brown, which also add to their
beauty; the pinion feathers are dark; the tail long in propor-
tion to the bird, the two centre feathers of a rufous-brown colour,
the others of a slaty-black, tapped with white, the outer feathers
having a white margin; those large white spots form a half-
circle on the spread tail as the bird flies; the belly and under
tail coverts are white. The young ones do not have the spots
on the neck till the first moult, and are more of a uniform
brown colour. The slender neck, round, plump form of body,
and large tail, give the turtle dove a very elegant appearance.

The food of the turtle dove consists chiefly of seeds, such as
corn, peas, and rape. In its wild state, it is an exceedingly
shy bird, confining itself to the depths of the forest, where it
builds a nest on the forked branch of a tree, usually about ten

414

 

 
THE RING DOVE.

feet. from the ground. Its eggs can but with difficulty be
distinguished from those of the wood pigeon, but they are
rather more pointed. It seldom produces more than one brood
in the year, or more than two young at a brood. It may not
be superfluous to add, that the turtle dove must be regarded
strictly as a cage bird. It does not seem to be susceptible of
that attachment to its home which distinguishes the common
or dovecote pigeon, and will almost certainly take advantage
of the door of its cage or aviary being left opex to escape,
no more to return.

THE RING DOVE.

This, the largest of our native doves, is also known as the
Ring Pigeon, Cushat, Wood-
Queen, and Great Wood
Pigeon. It is widely dis-
seminated throughout HEu-
rope, either as a,permanent
resident, or as a periodical
visitant. Its general plu-
mage is of a dark ashy-grey ;
on each side of the neck is a
half-moon-shaped white spot
that nearly encircles the
neck, from which circum-
stance they derive the name of Ring Dove; across the middle
of the wing there is also a white mark, formed by the covert
feathers of that part, which are white, so that when the wing
is closed the lower edge appears white; the breast has a violet
brown tinge; the neck is glossed on the sides, but not so much
as is usual with the house pigeons; the flight feathers are
a dull black, having a narrow white edge; the tail is dark
slate-coloured, having a black bar at the extremity, with a
light, ashy-grey band across the centre, on the under side
of the feathers; the belly is dull white; the beak is a little
more than an inch long, of the same form, but rather stouter
than a common pigeon’s, of a delicate flesh colour, and
about the nostrils of a red colour, the coverings of which are
white; the irides of the eyes are an opaque white or pearl
colour; the feet, or shanks, are short, of a dull red, the
feathers covermg about half their length; the toes rather
long and well adapted for perching; the nails dark horn-
coloured ; from the tip of the beak to the end of the tail they

Os

 

RING DOVE.

 
 

DOVER.

measure about seventeen inches, and from tip to tip of the
expanded wings twenty-nine inches. .
Various attempts have been made to domesticate the ring-
dove, but hitherto without much success. Not only do they
decline to breed with our common pigeons, but it is very rare
that they will produce a brood among themselves. After a
few weeks’ confinement they appear to be thoroughly tamed,
but should an opportunity occur they cannot resist the invi-
tation of liberty, and though they may for awhile hover about
your premises, will seldom come close enough to be recaptured.

THE STOCK DOVE.

It would seem that the name given to this bird, and which
is derived from the circumstance of its building its nest in the
stocks or stumps of trees, has led to the erroneous idea that
it is to this bird that the whole tribe of pigeons owe their
origin. In size it is about the same as a common pigeon.
The beak is about an inch long, dove-shaped, and of a
whitish flesh-colour, having a purplish tinge at the nostrils.
In the young the beaks are at first dark horn-coloured, but be-
come white as they gain maturity; the forehead is full and
rounded ; the iris of the eye dark brown; the neck is shorter
and thicker in appearance than the common pigeon’s; the
shanks are short and dull red, feathered slightly over the hocks;
the toes flexible, and the nails black. There are two black spots
on the wings, which do not run across the wings in two distinct
bars as in most blue house pigeons; the rump is greyish-blue ;
the tail barred with black at the extremity; and has the light band
across the underside of the feathers like the ring-dove; and the
marginal edge of the outer tail feathers is not so white as in
the tame pigeons; in other respects they differ much from the
house-pigeons.

If taken from the nest within a fortnight of being hatched it
is possible to tame them, but to tame an adult wild stock-dove
would be about as easy as domesticating a water-rat. Placed
with other pigeons with whom they have been reared from the
nest, they will settle comfortably enough till the autumn, and
the season for migrating approaches, and then off and away
never to return.

 
 

 

 

THE POULTRY YARD, THE DUCK POND, AND THE PIGEON HOUSE.
 

 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

——1oe——

THEIR STRUCTURE.

Unner the term Domestic Poultry are included three distinct
orders of the class Aves. The first is the rasore, or gallina-
ceous birds, the type of which is the common fowl. This order
is distinguished by having a rounded, heavy body, covered with
loose feathers, which sometimes, on the neck and rump, assume
the character of plumes or hackles ; by having the wings short,
round, and concave underneath. The latter members are by
no means so useful for the purpose of locomotion as the legs;
for short distances, rasorial birds fly tolerably swift, but, as a
rule, are more at home on terra firma. Indeed, the legs of the
fowl are well adapted for constant use, being remarkably strong
and firm. The thighs are very powerful, and the tendons of
the muscles are of an osseous nature. The tarsi, or shanks,
are prolonged and stout, and covered with hard scales. In
some species, these are armed with a spur—occasionally a
27 a

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

double spur occurs; in the females, also, the spar often is
considerably developed. Of toes, they possess four, one of
which is seated high up on the tarsus, and Little used in pro-'
gression ; the other three are united, at their base by a short
membrane, and covered above with scales, the under part beings’
protected by hard granulations. The claws are exireme:,

hard, and particularly suited to the bird’s mode of living—
enabling it to dig and scratch up the earth in search ot its
food, which consists principally of seeds, roots, and insects.
It may be imagined, from seeing a fowl at rust, that these
claws have considerable grasping powers; but in fact they
do not hold very tenaciously. The real secret wf the fowl
resting so securely consists in the nicely-balanved body,
which of course greatly facilitates the bird’s equilibrium. In
many of the rasores we find the head furnished with naked
membranes, taking the form of a comb; also with wattles on
the cheeks or over the eyes. The beak is strong and stout, the
base of which, in some species, is surrounded by a naked mem-
brane ; in others, the top of the head is provided with a crest
of feathers, and sometimes with an helmet. The digestive
organs of the gallinaceous birds are very curious, and worthy
of particular observation, as success in rearing poultry de-
pends greatly upon proper feeding; and this cannot be cor-
rectly understood, unless we are acquainted with the character
of the organs which receive the food. Many a fowl is lost
through the crop becoming over-gorged with grain, through a

lamentable ignorance either of its ailment or the cause.

When the fowl receives its food, it passes from the cesophagus
or gullet into a more extended cavity, which is called the crop,
or inglwies ; this is situated near the breast-bone. It is fur-
nished with several glands, which exude the mucous and salivary
matter used in softening the food. Sometimes this crop will
be over-distended with grain, and in such a case a very simple
and speedy remedy may be applied. This is merely to cut it
open with a sharp penknife, and thus relieve the poor bird, and
perform a kind action for Nature, who will speedily heal the
wound which you inflict, as the crop is by no means of a sen-
sitive character. From the crop the food passes into a narrower
portion, scientifically termed ventriculus succenturiatus, the
linmg membrane of which is covered with glandular orifices;
these are said to pour out a copious secretion of gastric juice
into the food in the gizzard, which immediately succeeds the
ahaa succenturiatus. This is the most remarkable of the

 
 

THEIR STRUCTURE.

digestive organs—and, in fact, forms a wonderful grinding-
mill, The gizzard is composed of numerous powerful muscles,
and is lined with a membrane of a tough, leathery nature.

The grinding is performed by two large and thick hemisphe-
rical muscles, opposed to each other, and working in the same
nanner as two millstones; these reduce the grain to a certain
consistency, after which the gastric juices take up the dissolving
process and finish the digestion of the food. To assist in the
grinding, the birds swallow numerous small stones or pebbles;
these are, of course, absolutely essential to the existence of
fowls. Sir Everard Home, in his “Comparative Anatomy,”
makes the following observations on the gizzard of the turkey :—

“ When the external form of this organ is first attentively
examined, viewing that side which is anterior in the living
bird, and on which the two bellies of the muscle and middle
are more distinct, there being no other part to obstruct the
view, the belly of the muscle on the left side is seen to be larger
than on the right. This appears, on reflection, to be of great
advantage in producing the necessary motion; for if the two
muscles were of equal strength, they must keep a greater de-
gree of exertion than is necessary; while in the present case,
the principal effect is produced by that of the left side, and a
smaller force is used by that on the right to bring the parts
back again.

“The two bellies of the muscle, by their alternate action,
produce two effects,—the one, a constant friction on the con-
tents of the cavity; the other, a pressure on them. This last
arises from a swelling of the muscle inwards, which readily ex-
plains all the instances which have been given by Spallanzani
and others, of the force of the gizzard upon substances intro-
duced into it—a force which is found by their experiments
always to act in an oblique direction. The internal cavity,
when opened in this distended state, is found to be of aw oval
form, the long diameter being in the line of the body; its capa-
city nearly equal to the size of a pullet’s egg ; and on the sides
there are ridges in their horny coat (limmg membrane) in the
long direction of the oval.

“When the horny coat is examined in its internal structure,
the fibres of which it is formed are not found in a direction
perpendicular to the ligamentous substance behind it; but in
the upper portion of the cavity they have a direction obliquely
apwards.

“From this form of cavity it is evident that no part of the

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

sides is ever intended to be brought in contact, and that the
food is triturated by being mixed with hard bodies, and acted
on by the powerful muscles which form the gizzard.”

Numerous experiments, some of them not of the most
refined nature, have been made to test the extraordinary
solvent powers of the gizzard. Spallanzani, Magallo, and other
men of science, have administered bullets, stuck over with
needles, by way of rendering them digestible, and they have
afterwards been found. broken into pieces and partly ground
into powder. Other ingenious naturalists have for a time fed
their fowls on glass, and even this has been found smoothed
and rounded. A more extravagant theorist gave his hen a
louis d’or, who returned it him minus some sixteen grains in
weight. The same gentleman (utterly disregarding the moral
injunction not to cast pearls before swine), also, on another
occasion, tried the effect of a fowl swallowing an onyx, and
found, in four days, that the bird’s gizzard had diminished the
value of his gem one-fourth. Notwithstanding the success of
these experiments, I earnestly advise every owner of poultry
not to be deluded into trying their innocent hands in any such
unprofitable business. Glass is not nearly so good a diet aa
barley !

THE ORIGIN OF DOMESTIC FOWL IN BRITAIN.

At what period of the world’s history renowned Chanticleer
condescended to quit his native wilds and become gallus domes-
ticus, no authority, ancient or modern, pretends to declare. It
is certain, however, that hens “ clucked” in ancient Rome, and
that the crowing of the cock was familiar to the Athenians.
Indeed, when Themistocles, the Athenian king, went to war
with the Persians, he took advantage of the fighting of two old
chickens attached tothe camp, to harangue his troops, with the
view of inspiring them with some of the valour of the too-pugna-
cious bantams. I wonder what would be the effect, if Field
Marshal the Duke of Cambridge were to choose such a subject
for haranguing the Scots Fusileers !

He has been a bird of note from the most remote periods.
Several allusions are made to him in the Old Scriptures: a
most pertinent one, for instance, in Nehemiah, who lived about
four hundred and fifty years before Christ. He says:—* Now
that which was prepared for me daily was one ox and six
choice sheep; also fowls were prepared for me.” The ancient
Greeks practised divination through the medium of the cocke

420

 
THEIR ORIGIN IN BRITAIN

bird—the process being curiously similar to that observed in
the case of the modern Learned Pig. The letters of the alphabet
were arranged in a circle; on these were placed a grain of wheat
or barley; and a cock, consecrated or provided for the occasion,
was placed within the circle. The required information was
obtained by placing together those letters from which the bird
had pecked the ears of corn. On one occasion, however, a
person inimical to priestly interest, officiously examined the
grains, and found that those lying on the letters which were
not wanted, were made of wax. It is needless to add that,
after this, divination—at least through the medium of cocks
and grain—fell out of fashion.

Only one degree less cruel than cock-fighting, was the an-
cient and popular sport of cock-shying. Thank goodness it is
an affair of the past, and as every boy knows, anything in these
days to be thrown at with a view to dislodging it, is termed a
cock-shy. But there was a time when at fairs, and other
joyful congregations, a real live fowl, tied by the leg to a stick,
was set up as a mark for brutal bipeds to fling at with sticks
and stones. It was “a penny a shy ;” and as the poor fright-
ened chicken fluttered considerably, it was by no means an
easy matter to hit it. He, however, who was able to accom-
plish his laudable intention, and struck the bird dead, received
the carcass as his reward; if he merely lamed it—broke a leg
or a wing, or staved in a few riks, maybe—he received a groat.
Good old times !

The only explanation as to the origin of the pastime is to
be found in the works of an old German writer named Cranen-
stien. He informs us that while the Danes were masters of
England, their behaviour to the natives grew so cruel and
outrageous that the oppressed Britons formed a conspiracy,
and resolved at one stroke to sever the throats of the tyrants
and their own bonds. Shrove Tuesday morning was the time
appointed for the execution of the sanguinary design. The
town-hall was to be entered by stratagem, the guards surprised
and slain, the arms appropriated, and then the carnage was to
begin, and to be carried out with the utmost neatness and
dispatch. They had reckoned, however, without their host, or
rather, without the roost, for while they were stealthily ga-
thering in the street preparatory to investing the town-hall, the
watchful cocks of the neighbourhood were aroused on their
perches, and set up such a crowing as speedily awoke the
devoted Danes. Thus was the conspiracy frustrated and the

ai

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

conspirators made to suffer for their abortive attempt at whole-
sale murder. The brave Britons, however, were not to be
entirely baulked of their revenge. They treasured up their
spite against their dunghill betrayers till the Danes were, in
their turn, beaten and made to flee; and then they inaugurated
the institution ever after known as “ cock-shying,” and ever
after upheld manfully on the anniversary of the betrayal of the
conspiracy.

For the sake of ancient English valour and chivalry, I hope
that the legend has no sounder foundation than the imagination
of the old German writer Cranenstien.

As to the origin of the introduction of the domestic cock
into Britain, we are unable to fix the precise date. When
Julius Czesar invaded the country, he found both the goose and
fowl in a state of domestication; and they seem to have been
held in some kind of religious reverence, as they were forbidden
to be eaten. It is common all over the world; and it is very
singular that the common fowl, in every way resembling that
of our own country, was found domesticated amongst the South
Sea Islanders when first Europeans visited them.

The Game Cock we seem to owe to the Romans, as there is
no instance on record of cock-fighting being practised by the
ancient Britons. It is very probable that while the Romans
remained in the conquered country, certain of the game breed
were sent over for their amusement, and hence cock-fighting
became an institution of the country. Several choice breeds
were kept by the ancient Greeks, Medians, and Persians. The
anecdote of Themistocles, the Athenian king, who flourished
two thousand years ago—already given—shows that they were
common amongst the Athenians. What he then remarked of
the two fighting-cocks in his camp may at the present time be
equally applicable to our own specimens of the species. To this
day its courage has not degenerated.’ The bird still preserves
his bold and elegant gait, and his sparkling eye, while his wedge-
shaped beak and cruel spurs are ever ready to support his
defiant crow. It is no wonder that the breed is not plentiful;
—first, on account of the few eggs laid by the hen; and
secondly, from the incurable pugnacity of the chicks. Half.
fledged broods may be found blind as bats from fighting, and
only waiting for the least glimmer of sight to be at it again.

The fighting of cocks, however, survived the practice of
“shying ” at them by many years. No barbarism, ancient or

modern, was ever more favourite or more universally patronized.
422

 
 

THEIR ORIGIN IN BRITAIN.

The vostermonger kept his cock, and fought it for a crown
against the one owned by his neighbour the sweep; and Lord
Noodle kept his cock, and fought it for fifty pounds against my
Lord Boodle’s, in the cock-pit at Westminster. The practice
was even defended, or at least excused, by writers who, if
they will pardon me, ought to have known better. Even that
humane and creditable writer, Bonington Mowbray, goes out
of his way to admire the ruffianly “sport.” He suys,—

“ Philanthropists are in the habit of declaiming much against
the practice of cock-pit battles; but, on reflection, the cruelty
of that sport will be found to be among the least wherein
the feelings of animals are concerned, since fighting, in the
game cock, is a natural and irresistible passion, and can never
take place against his will, and since those engaged in combat
upon the arena would do so voluntarily, and with equal ardour,
did they meet in the desert. Another and a similar mistake
is the supposed additional cruelty of arming the heels of the
cock with steel, which, on the contrary, conduces to shorten the
period of their sufferings.”

If the first part of Mr. Mowbray’s argument is sound, why
then, for the delectation of folk of sanguinary mind, let us
revive bull-baiting and dog-fighting, and the imperial Roman
pastime of setting tigers and lions by the ears. They are all
“animals of irresistible passions.’ Let us even give our
countenance to that remaining relic of ancient barbarism,
man-fighting. But the argument is not sound. Will the dog
worry the bull if not hounded on by his master? Do bears
and lions, in private life, continually give their minds to growl-
ing and fighting? No. Inspite of Doctor Watts’s testimony
to the contrary, I insist it is not so: no more than Mr. Sayers
will enter the prize-ring unless a substantial sum is to be his
reward for beating his antagonist to jelly. With regard to the
desirability of arming the heels of the birds with steel spikes,
“because they conduce to shorten the sufferings” of the poor
creatures, comment would be an insult to the reader.

I have had some conversation lately with a person whose
father was a breeder of game cocks, and he assures me that to
prepare a bird for the pit the utmost care was required. He
was fed on the richest food, made to take so much exercise
each day, his limbs were bathed once a day, and his beak sand-
papered to needle-like sharpness. He related that on one
occasion he was present at a cock-fight at Birmingham, where
one celebrated fighting bird was pitted against five others. They

a3

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

were let at him one at a time, and one at a tine the valorous
bird beat four out of his five antagonists. His great exertions,
however, left him in a pitiable condition, so that his fifth and
last enemy, on entering the pit, found him lying on his side,
quite worn out. His pugnacity, however, was by no means
subdued. He allowed the new comer to approach, even to flap
his wings and crow over his bloodless victory; and then, still
prostrate, he struck out with his terrible steel-tipped heel,
piercing the brain of his last adversary. The savage stroke,
however, cost him his life, and both birds were taken up dead.

He likewise told me the terrible story of John Ardesoif, who,
in the spring of 1789, fought his game cock, “ Hercules,”
against another. Hercules, however, declined to fight, which
so infuriated the wicked Ardesoif that he swore a terrible oath
to roast the recreant cock alive. He even proceeded to execute
his diabolical threat, and, when interfered with, became a raving
madman, and fell down dead !

No one will dispute that for beauty, animation, plumage,
and courage, the bantam is entitled to rank next to the game-
fowl. The bantam is undoubtedly a descendant of the Banksia
Jungle-fowl of Java, to which bird it bears a strong resem-
blance. In 1608 the English erected a factory at Bantam in
Java, which was our first possession in the Hast Indies.
While there, the natives brought, and sold to the British, se-
veral specimens of the wild-fowl above-mentioned, which were
much admired for their liliputian-like elegance, and were sent
to England under the appellation of bantam-towl. They soon
became great favourites here, and the name, which was at first
exclusively given to these birds was, after a time, given to all
domestic and dwarf fowls. The choicest sorts are the buff-co-
loured, and those that are entirely black. A year-old bantam
cock of pure breed will not weigh more than sixteen ounces.
Despite its small size, however,
_it is marvellously bold, especially
in defence of its progeny. A
friend of the writer’s, residing at
Kensington, possessed a pair of
thorough-bred bantams, that’
were allowed the range of a yard
where a fierce bull-terrier was
kennelled. The hen had chicks ;
and, when about three weeks old,
one of them strayed into the dog-kennel. The grim beast within

424

mS

BLACK BANTAMS,

 

 
 

THEIR ORIGIN IN BRITAIN.

took no notice of the tiny fledgeling ; but, when the anxious
mother ventured in to fetch out the truant, with a growl the
dog woke, and nearly snapped her asunder in his great jaws.
The cock bird saw the tragic fate of his partner; but, nothing
daunted, flew at the dog with a fierce cry, and pecked savagely
at its face. The odds, however, were too great; and, when
the terrier had sufficiently recovered from the astonishment
caused by the sudden and unexpected attack, he seized the au-
dacious bantam, and shook him to death; and, in five minutes,
the devoted couple were entombed in Pincher’s capacious maw.

There are now several varieties of the bantam fowls, many
of which are but slight improvements upon the original; and
some have certainly degenerated in the attempt to improve the
stock. In the selection of these we shall presently give the
reader some useful information.

The origin of the Dorking Fowl has been the subject of
much discussion and controversy. Some supposed that the
Poland fowl could lay claim to its parentage; on the other
hand, the men of Sussex stoutly maintained that the bird be-
longed to them, and that it was a distinct species; and in proof
thereof, produced several birds indigenous to their weald, which
possessed all the fine points and peculiarities of the Dorking.
It takes its name from that of a town in Surrey, and it is
commonly believed that this branch of poultry was found at
Dorking as long ago as the Roman era.

The Brahma Pootra fowl was, it is said, introduced into
England, somewhere about nine or ten years ago. Of its origin
little or nothing is positively known. It was brought to this
country from America, and to the latter country from India.
They were brought to New York by some sailors,and immediately
created a great sensation, and fetched large prices. Some have
reported them to have come from the neighbourhood of the
river in India, from which their name is taken; another au-
thority states that he saw the birds in Ceylon. When they
were first introduced, it was supposed by some to be only
another variety of the Cochin-China fowl, but as there is a
total dissimilarity between the two, both in their structure and
habits, this ill-founded conclusion has been abandoned. Stilt
their origin is as much a matter of doubt as formerly. Perhaps,
it suffices that the bird is a hardy, useful fowl, and more easily
reared than many others, and that its native home is a matter
of little consequence so long as we have obtained so important

an addition to our domestic poultry. a

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

Another im portant member of the poultry-yard is the Spanish
fc wl, which, us its name indicates, was imported from Spain.
He is a proud, gallant-looking bird, and is generally a favourite.
The only drawback in rearing these fowls is the delicacy of
the young chicks, which renders it necessary to be very careful
in bringing them up. There are several varieties of the Spanish
fowl, of which we shall presently treat.

Of all the breeds of fowls, none has ever created so great an
excitement as the Cochin-China. Its introduction toe this
country was the signal for a mania more closely resembling what
might be rather expected of the landing of a French host than
of an over-grown, ill-shaped specimen of poultry. In the
year 1846, the first pair that was brought to this country from
Shanghai were presented to the Queen, who exhibited them
at the Dublin poultry show. Immediately the “ Cochin”
furore commenced. As soon as it was discovered, despite the
most strenuous efforts to keep the secret, that a certain dealer
was poscessed of a pair of these birds, straightway the avenues
to that dealer’s shop were blocked by broughams, chariots, and
hack-cabs, until the sly poulterer had been tempted by a suffi-
ciently high sum to part with his treasures. Bank notes were
exchanged for Cochin chicks, and Cochin eggs were in as great
demand as though they had been laid by the fabled golden
goose. Philosophers, poets, merchants, and sweeps, had alike
partook of the mania, and although the latter could hardly
come up to the price of a real “ Cochin,” there were plenty
of vagabond dealers about, with counterfeit birds of all kinds,
which were advertised to be the genuine article, For to such
a pitch did the excitement rise, that they who never kept a
fowl in their lives, and would hardly know a bantam from a
Dorking, puzzled their shallow brains as to the proper place
to keep them, and the proper diet to feed them on. An ac-
quaintance of mine related to me an anecdote, connected
with the “ Cochin” mania, in which the interest of a whole
family were involved, and the nicely-balanced order of the
household shockingly disturbed by the entrée of one of these
formidable birds.

In the year 1846 (he says), he was living at the west end of
London, with an uncle, a retired merchant, who had amassed
a considerable fortune in the opium trade. He was a man of
great shrewdness, and one who prided himself on never being
“taken in” all his life. He visited the Dublin poultry show
that year, and was, in common with others, greatly fascinated

 
 

THEIR ORIGIN IN BRITAIN.

with the appearance of the Cochin-China visitcrs, and he re-
solved to have a pair. He had to pay a large price—some-
thing like twenty guineas—but the purchase was, not with-
out some difficulty, at last made, and the precious treasures
conveyed to his residence in a large wicker-basket. The next
day the fowl-house was erected by the carpenter, and taken
possession of by the two ungainly birds. Prior to this arrange-
ment, however, there was a very animated discussion about the
propriety of putting them into a fowl-house at all. One mem-
ber of the family suggested that perhaps it was a house-bird,
and ought to have a cage like a starling or canary; another
small branch thought they were to run about the house as the
eat or dog, and what a “ lark,” said he, “ it will be with them
and ‘ Tim ’ ”—a, favourite canine friend of his. Papa’s decisions
ultimately ruled all opposition ; there was no doubt they were
fowls, and should be treated accordingly. Such was the last
bulletin received by the servants; and forthwith a carpenter
was engaged to erect the birds a domicile, The next thing to
be decided was, who was going to look after them. This was
quite as much a subject of discussion in the kitchen as in the
parlour ; indeed, to such a pitch did they arrive in the latter
quarter, that the servants, one and all, protested against
having anything to do with the “ narsety furrin creatures!”
and uttered hurried threats of at once leaving the house if they
were requested to so demean themselves. My friend says, that
just at this critical time, the subject of engaging an extra
hand in the capacity of page, was mooted at the breakfast-
table one morning, and was, after some little discussion, agreed
to. There seemed to be a tacit understanding between his
aunt and uncle about this arrangement; it was not so much
that a page was required as some one to look after the
“Cochins.” Forthwith, a respectable youth was engaged, and
the secret of his employment imparted to him. From the very
first morning of his arrival, a visible change took place in the
birds ;—whether the livery of their keeper (bright blue, with
yellow lace and gold buttons,) was offensive to the Cochins, or
the behuviour of the page was not of the most amiable kind,
my friend says he cannot determine. They grew morose,
sullen, and even spiteful; pecked at his hands while giving
tkem their food, and one morning fairly knocked him on his
back while engaged in cleaning out their house. At last,
things grew so bad, that he was obliged to arm himself with

a broom whenever he went near them. They would chase him
427

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

round and round the garden, and seemed to enjoy the fan
mightily. Poor Thomas was oftentimes nearly driven mad with
their obstreperous behaviour ; and, says my unmerciful friend, he
has often had a hearty laugh at the poor lad’s expense, for
very often he was so hardly pressed by the birds, that he had
nothing to do but to stand with his back to the wall and shove
them away with the broom. But one day—the birds being
unusually wild, and attacking the page in a most furious man-
ner—the poor fellow was so frightened that he jumped over
the garden wall, and, unfortunately, alighted on a rusty spade
on the other side, bruising himself in a most severe manner.
After this little episode, my friend’s uncle—hitherto stoically
indifferent to his poor page’s sufferings, and blindly enamoured
of the beautiful Cochins—was aroused from his apathy, and
determined to sell them at once, which he accordingly did,
to the unbounded joy and unfeigned pleasure of the wretched
Thomas.

 

 
 

 

GAME FOWLS.

VARIETIES: THEIR CHOICE AND MANAGEMENT.

In the choice of fowls, no inconsiderable amount of knows
ledge of the characters of the different varieties is necessary to
insure success to the amateur breeder. From my own expe-
rience, and that of the most eminent poultry-keepers, I have
attempted to jot down such information as may be found useful
in the selection and management of these really useful and ele-
gant pets, and moreover, prevent any honest, but ignorant,
person becoming amenable to the laws so rigidly enforced by
the “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,”
through a lamentable misuse of the creatures under their
control.

The Game Fowr justly claims notice. All breeders are
unanimous in their opinion of this splendid species, and good
authority says:—‘It is not only for its pugnacious qualities
that the game fowl is to be noticed. It yields to no breed,—
nay, perhaps is superior to most in the whiteness and solidity
of its flesh ; the hens are excellent layers, and the eggs, though
of moderate size only, are remarkable for the delicacy of their
flavour. The game cock is very attentive to his female train,
and ever ready to do battle in their defence.” Notwithstanding
the game varieties advantage in so many points over the rest
of the family, one of its noblest traits—its high spirit—is
often a source of great trouble and loss to its possessor. Such
an announcement as the following, which I found in an old
newspaper, is certainly very discouraging to those who are
ambitious of keeping fowls. ‘Mr. Johnson, a farmer in the
west riding of Yorkshire, and who has a famous breed of the

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTBY.

game fowl, has had the great misfortune to lose his little son,
a boy of three years’ old, who was attacked by a game cock,
and so severely injured that he died shortly afterwards.” The
writer before quoted says:—“ Size is not a point of merit in
the game fowl; the cocks weigh three and a half pounds and
upwards, and the hens are in proportion. When in good con-
dition, the plumage is hard, crisp, close-fitting, and glossy.”
Another well-known breeder gives us the following rules to be
observed in the selection of this species. Of these fowl, he
says :— The hen’s head should be long, mandible very strong
and fairly set in the head, eyes very prominent, neck long and
graceful, square shoulders, broad chest, point of wings almost
meeting under the tail,—the latter adornment must be close
and compact, not carried too erect or loose over the back,—
thigh short and muscular, legs long and free from feather, toes
well spread, feathers short and hard. These are the points of
a good game hen. We now come to her mate, the game cock.
Some breeders fancy cne weight and some another; but I pre-
fer my stock-bird of about five or six pounds weight. Choose
a bird of bold, defiant carriage, of good cvlour, head long and
slender, mandible strong, curved and well set in the head, very
stout at the base, full breast, round body, broad between the
shoulders, and tapering to the tail. In fact, he must resemble
the hen in all points, except in colour.”

Since the introduction of the bantam into Europe it has
ramified into many varieties, none of which are destitute of
elegance, while some, indeed, are remarkably beautiful. All
are, or ought to be, of small size, but lively and vigorous,
exhibiting in their movements both grace and stateliness. The
feather-legged bantam is remarkable for the tarsi, or beams of
the legs, being plumed to the toes with stiff, long feathers,
which brush the ground. Owing, possibly, to the little care
taken to preserve this variety from admixture, it is now not
frequently seen. Another variety is often red, with a black
breast and single dentated comb. The tarsi are smooth, and
of a dusky blue. When this sort of bantam is pure, it yields
in courage and spirit to none, and is, in fact, a game-fowl in
miniature, being as beautiful and graceful as it is brave. A
pure white bantam, possessing all the qualifications just
named, is also bred in the royal aviary at Windsor.

Above all bantams is placed the celebrated and beautiful
breed called Sir John Sebright’s silver bantams. This breed,
which Sir J ohn brought to perfection after years of careful

a

 
 

BANTAMS ; DORKINGS.

training, is very small, with unfeathered legs, and a rose comb
and short hackles. The plumage is gold or silver, spangled,
every feather being of a golden orange, or of a silver white,
with a glossy jet-black margin; the cocks have the tail folded
like that of the hen, with the sickle feathers shortened straight,
or nearly so, and broader than usual. The term hen-cacke is,
in consequence, often applied to :

them; but, although the sickle
feathers are thus modified, no
bird possesses higher courage,
or a more gallant carriage.
The attitude of the cock is, in
truth, singularly proud; and
he is often seen to bear himself
so haughtily, that his head,
thrown back as if in disdain,
nearly touches the two upper feathers—sickles they can
scarcely be called—of his tail. Half-bred birds of this kind
are not uncommon, but birds of the pure breed are not to be
obtained without trouble and expense; indeed, some time ago,
it was almost impossible to procure either a fowl or an egg.
“The finest we have ever seen,” says the writer whom we have
consulted as to this breed, “were in Sir John’s poultry-yard,
adjacent to Turnham-Green Common, in the byroad leading
to Acton.”

We have already alluded to the mystery which enshrouds
the origin of the Dorxine fowl; that we do possess so useful a
member of the poultry-yard is, perhaps, sufficient to satisfy
most people, without diving into musty records to trace the
worthy bird’s pedigree, for
the purpose of finding what
kind of animal his progeni-
tor was. It has good claim J
to be considered a gennine (iN
British bird, and displays its
nationality by its great love
of liberty. Consequently, it
is essential that the keepers
of Dorkings must provide
a good long rum for the
chickens, which must be
on clay or gravel soil, but never on wooden or brick floors,
If this particular is carefully attended to, the chickens will

 

SEBRIGHT BANTAMS.

 
 

DOME6TIC POULTRY.

thrive and grow well; but otherwise, as they are ~ery

delicate, no success with this breed can be attained. The

constitution of the Dorking is more incidental to disease than

many other varieties, more especially is it subject to croup.

The remedy usually prescribed in the Jatter case is to mix the

fowl’s food with ale or beer, and a small quantity of cayenne

pepper. Of this species there are two kinds,—the white

Dorking and the coloured. The former is the favourite bird of
old fanciers, and a writer in the Poultry Chronicle makes the

following remarks on this breed :—“ The old Dorking, the pure

Dorking, the only Dorking, is the White Dorking. It is of
good size, compact and plump form, with short neck, short

white legs, fine toes, a full comb, a large breast, and a plumage

of spotless white. The practice of crossing with a game cock

was much in vogue with the old breeders, to improve a worn-

out stock (which, however, would have been better accom-

plished by procuring a fresh bird of the same kind, but not

related) ; this cross shows itself in single combs, loss of a claw,

or an occasional red feather, but, what is still more objection-|
able, in pale yellow legs, and a yellow circle about the beak,

which also indicate a yellowish skin: these, then, are faults

to be avoided. As regards size, the white Dorking is gene-|
rally inferior to the Sussex fowl (or ‘coloured Dorking’),

but in this respect it only requires attention and careful

breeding.”

Another good authority says,—“I find the white Dorkings
hardy—quite as prolific as the coloured: they lay well, and are
excellent sitters and mothers.” ‘The coloured Dorking is a
handsome bird, and in high esteem at all exhibitions of poultry.
Of their breed, the writer before quoted (the champion of the
white species) remarks,—‘ To the breeders and admirers of the
so-called ‘ coloured Dorkings’ I would say, continue to improve
the fowl of your choice, but let him be known by his right title;
do not support him on another’s fame, nor yet deny that the
rose comb or fifth toe is essential to a Dorking, because your
favourites are not constant to those points. The absence of the
fifth claw to the Dorking would be a great defect, but to
the Sussex fowl (erroneously called a ‘ coloured Dorking’) it is
my opinion it would be an improvement, provided the leg did
not get longer with the loss.”

The real Spanish Fows is recognized by its uniformly black
colour, burnished with tints of green; its peculiar white face,
and the large development of its comb and wattle. The

 
 

* BLACK SPANISH : HAMBURGS.

hens are excellent layers, and their ees are of a very large
size. They are, however, bad
nurses; consequently their
eggs should be placed in the
nest of other varieties to be
hatched. The Dorking is the
most suitable for this purpose,
the hensof thisspecies remain-
ing longer with their chicks
than any other. “In pur-
chasing Spanish fowls,” says
an authority, “ blue legs, the
entire absence of white or coloured feathers in the plumage,
and a large white face, with a very large high comb, which
should be erect in the cock, though pendent i in the hens, should
be insisted on.” The flesh of this fowl is esteemed; but, from
the smallness of its body when compared with that of the
Dorking, it is not placed on an equality with it for the table.
Otherwise, however, they are profitable birds, and their hand-
some carriage, and striking contrast of colour in the comb, face,
and plumage, are a high recommendation to them. For a town
fowl, they are, perhaps, better adapted than any other variety.
The Hamsure Fow1 is a very useful and important denizen
of our poultry-yard. The hen lays nearly every day until the
moulting season; hence they have obtained the name of “ ever-
lasting layers ;” but they very seldom sit. This, in all proba-
bility, is owing to their confined condition in this country, for
it is said that when the birds have a free woodland range, they
frequently set themselves to the task of incubation with as
much diligence as other fowls. Mrs. Blair says,—* If not inter-
fered with, like the pheasant, in a fine season the hen will rear
all her brood, but like her, is
quite dependent on weather.
If confined to a yard, I have
never found the Hamburgsit ;
and their range, even if tes,
must be wild, to induce a de-
sireto perpetuateher species.”
Of this fowl we have three
varieties. The first is the Pen-
UILLED Hampunre, which is of 3
two colours, golden and sil- Sancti RD HAE URGAL
ver, and is very minutely és
28

 

BLACK SPANISH,

 

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

marked, The hers of both should have the body clearly pen-
cilled across with several bars of black, and the hackle in both
sexes should be perfectly free from dark marks. The cocks do
not exhibit the pencillings, but are white or brown in the
golden or silver birds respectively. Their form is compact, and
their attitudes graceful and sprightly. In addition to their
common appellative, they are also known in different parts of
the country, as chitteprats, creoles, or corals, Bolton bays and
grays, and, in some parts of Yorkshire, by the wrong name
of Corsican fowls. They are imported in large numbers from
Holland, but those bred in this country are greatly superior
in size.

Of the Spzcxizp, or SpancLeD Hamsure, which is a favourite
breed with many persons, there are two kinds—the golden-
speckled and the silver-speckled. The general colour of the
former is golden, or orange-yellow, each feather having a glossy
dark brown or black tip, particularly remarkable on the hackles
of the cock and the wing-coverts, and also on the darker feathers
of the breast. The female is yellow, or orange-brown, the
feathers in like manner being margined with black. The silver-
speckled variety is distinguished by the ground colour of the
plumage being of a silver-white, with perhaps a tinge of straw-
yellow, every feather being margined with glossy black. Both
of these varieties are extremely beautiful, the hens laymg
freely. First-rate birds command a high price.

A third variety is the Brack Hampure, the plumage of
which is a beautiful black with metallic lustre. It possesses
the twofold advantage of being a noble-looking bird and an
exceeding good layer. On the whole the Hamburg is a capital
fowl, and one which is deservedly highly valued. To the young
poultry-keeper, I especially recommend this bird; it has a good
robust constitution, and the purchaser is pretty sure to get his
full equivalent of fowl for the price paid. It is true it is an
expensive bird, but the purchase once made, it will cost little
more, except for food, and the number of eggs it lays will repay
the whole.

One »f the greatest favourites of the fowl-keepers, especially
those who have an eye to profit rather than to amusement, is the
Potanpd Fowt. The golden and silver Polands are the handsomest
varieties of this bird. The plumage of the first is gold and brown,
and the other black and white. The common black Poland is a
less interesting-looking bird, but is quite as useful. Of this kind
the most esteemed) are those which are without a comb, and

 
 

POLANDS : COCHIN CHINAS.

possessing a perfectly white tuft on the head. Its great value
lies in the number of eggs produced, indeed in many parts
they are as well known as “everlasting layers” as by their
proper name. However, the experienced breeder would take
good care to send the eggs
of his everlasting layers to
market, and not use them
for home consumption, as,
although they may be as
large as those laid by other
hens, the amount of nutri-
ment contained in them is
not nearly so great. Mr.
Mowbray once kept an ac-
count of the number of eggs
produced by this prolifie bird, SPANGLED POLANDS.
with the following result :—
From the 25th of October to the 25th of the following September
five hens laid 503 eggs; the average weight of each egg was one
ounce five drachms, and the total weight of the whole, exclusive
of the shells, 503 pounds. Taking the weight of the birds at
the fair average of five pounds each, we thus see them pro-
ducing within a year double their weight of egg alone; and,
supposing every egg to contain a chick, and allowing the chick
to grow, in less than eighteen months from the laying of the
first egg, two thousand fwe hundred pounds of chicken-meat
would be the result. The Poland is easily fattened, and its
flesh is generally considered juicier and of richer flavour than
most others.

As regards the Cocuin Curva Fowt, there is little
doubt that it has several very ne
good qualities, and, in fact,
is a useful and important
member of the poultry-yard.
The same fowl—the same
in every respect—that ob-
tained so large a share of (4
popular favour on its arrival
in this country in 1846, is
at the present day the sub- =
ject of more ignorant ridi- ;
‘als than ever poor bird pas

had to bear; and why? simply because the creature was
436

 

 

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTBY.

found to be no better than it should, or nature intended
it to be. A writer in the Poultry Chronicle says :—“ These
fowls were sent to provide food for man; by many they are
not thought good table-fowls, but, when others fail, if you
keep them, you shall never want the luxury of a really
new-laid egg on your breakfast-table. The snow may fall, the
frost may be thick on your window, when you first look out on
a December morning, but your Cochin will provide you eggs.

“They are fallen in price because they were unnaturally
exalted, but their sun is not eclipsed—they have good qualities
and valuable. They shall now be within the reach of all, and will
make the delight of many by their domestic habits, which will
allow them to be kept where others would be an annoyance.”
“They have fallen in value as absurdly as they rose,” says
Miss Watts; “but they have been bred so completely with
an eye to mere fancy qualities, that it is as difficult to get
a really good well-formed cock or hen ag when an absurdly
high price was a bar to purchasing. A great hue and
cry has been raised against them as fowls for the table,
but I believe none have bestowed attention on breeding
them with a view to this valuable consideration. Square,
eompact, short-legged birds have been neglected for a certain
colour of feather, and a broad chest was given up for the wedge-
form, at the very time that that was pronounced a fault in the
fowl. It is said that yellow-legged fowls are yellow also in the
skin, and that white skin and white legs accompany each other,
but how pertinaciously the yellow leg of the Cochin is adhered
to; yet all who have bred them will attest that a little careful
breeding would perpetuate white-legged Cochins. Exhibitions
are generally excellent, but to this fowl I think they have only
been injurious by exaggerating useless and fancy qualities at
the expense of those which are solid and useful. Who-would
favour, or even sanction, a Dorking in which size and shape,
and every property we value in them, was sacrificed to an
endeavour to breed to a particular colour? and this is what we
have been doing with the Cachin-China.”

The Cochin is a very hardy bird and a capital layer, giving
us eggs when they are most expensive, and indeed, with regard
to new-laid eggs, when they are almost impossible to be got at all.
The chickens of such healthy fowls are, of course, easy to rear.
A good Cochin should be compact’and large and square-built,
with a full chest and broad hinder quarters. In the “ Hen-
wife,” a luke work purporting to be a correct accoun of the

 
 

MALAY: BRAHMA POOTRA,

habits of domestic fowls, some useful information is given
concerning the Cochin-China. ‘“ From her experience of this
species,” the “ Henwife” says, “‘Cochins ldy regularly, and, if
not too highly fed, are productive of very fine chickens. The
hens are more exemplary in their maternal duties, and from
their abundance of soft and downy feather, are peculiarly
adapted for the purpose of hatching. They enjoy the honour
of maternity ; their love of this task seems their idiosyncrasy.
For them a mother’s joys is ‘ blessed with those sweet cares,’
&c.” From asea of poetryour author again emerges intothe poul-
try-yard, and continues :—“ This variety is very hardy, and may
be kept in a smaller space than almost any other; cockerels,
however, must have ample range, if intended to become superior
specimens. It is remarkably. free from liability to any disease,
if well provided with green food, which is indispensable.

“T consider the Cochin a more beautiful bird, and capable of
comparison with the most graceful and high-coloured of our
poultry; its exquisite feathering and lovely tints, from the
palest buff to deep orange, make this bird peculiarly the lady’s
own.

“ All must appreciate its massive build, small head, rich, full
hackle, and majestic carriage—true types of the high-caste
Cochin.”

A somewhat rare variety is the Matay Fow1, which possesses
many good qualities. It is a large, heavy bird, with long
legs, which are stout and firm, enabling their owner to stand
very erecb; some specimens of this fowl have been known to
measure over three feet in height, and weigh more than ten
pounds. Crossed with the Spanish fowl, the Malay produces
excellent birds for table. Like the game fowl, it is terribly
pugnacious, and in its native home is specially trained for
fighting. In captivity, it will assault its companions indis-
criminately ; and, it is said, that at exhibitions, “Before the show
opens, and even before the judges have performed their duties,
the committee are called in to keep the peace; the combatants
are separated, and, instead of occupying decorated pens, each
fowl, perhaps thrust into a spare pigeon-cage, stands in solitary
wretchedness, looking as fowls generally do look after they
have been fighting.” The same authority informs us that—
“I have heard an amateur relate how he has had his window
broken by his Malay cock doing battle with his own reflec-
tion.”

The Brauma-Poorra has not long been introduced into thia

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

country, and is found to be one of the most useful and hardiest
fowls we possess. It is a good layer, a good setter, and a
kind, attentive mother. The following directions, with regard
to the choice of this bird, are recommended.

The Brahma should be a large and weighty fowl, of a free,
majestic bearing, alike removed from the waddle of the Cochin-
China and the upright carriage of the Malay ; short in the leg
and neck, wide and full in the breast, and wide and deep in
make.

Legs, yellow and well feathered, but not smothered in fea-
thers like the most admired specimens of Covhins.

Head, with a slight fulness over the eye, which gives a
certain breadth to the top of the head. We admire a full pearl
eye; but it is far from common.

Tail, short, but otherwise full in size and spread; that of
the cock opening into a fan.

Comb, either a small single comb, or a pea-comb.

The latest species introduced into England is the Szrai
Taook, or, Fowl of the Sultan. They arrived here in 1854; and
Miss Watts, to whom they were consigned, gives their history
as follows :—

“ They were sent to me by a friend living at Constantinople,
in January, 1854. A year before, we had sent him some
Cochin-China fowls, with which he was very much pleased ;
and when his son soon after came to England, he said he
could send from Turkey some fowls with which I should be
pleased. Scraps of information about muffs, and divers
beauties and decorations, arrived before the fowls, and led to
expectations of something much prettier than the pretty ptar-
migan, in which I had always noticed a certain uncertainty in
tuft and comb.

“In January, they arrived in a steamer chiefly manned by
Turks. The voyage had been long and rough; and poor fowls
so rolled over and glued into one mass with filth were never
seen. Months afterwards, with the aid of one of the first
fanciers in the country, we spent an hour in trying to ascer
tain whether the feathers of the cock were white or striped,
and almost concluded that the last was the true state of the
case, although they had been described by our friend as bellis-
simi galt bianchi,

“Tat once saw enough to make me very unwilling to be
entirely dependent for the breed on the one sad-looking gentle-
man with ae tuft heavy with dirt—dirt for a mantle, and his

 
 

SULTANS,

long clogged tail hanging round on one side. I wrote directly
for another importation, especially for a cock, and to ask the
name they had at home In answer to the first request, I
found that good fowls of the kind are difficult to get there;
our friends have ever since been trying to get us two or three
more, but cannot succeed either in Constantinople, or other
parts of Turkey: the first he can meet with will be sent.
With regard to the name, he told us they are called ‘ Sarai-
Taook.’ Serai, as is known by every reader of eastern lore, is
the name of the Sultan’s palace; Taook is Turkish for fowl;
the simplest translation of this is, ‘ Sultan’s fowls,’ or ‘ fowls
of the Sultan ;’ a name which has the double advantage of
being the nearest to be found to that by which they have been
known in their own country, and of designating the country
from which they came.

“ Time very soon restored the fowls to perfect health and
partial cleanliness ; but it was not until after the moulting-
season that they showed themselves as the bellissimi galli
bianchi described by our Constantinople friend.

“ They rather resemble our white Polands, but with more
furnishing, and shorter legs, which are vulture-hocked, and
feathered to the toes.

“In general habits, they are brisk, and happy-tempered ;
but not kept in so easily as Cochin-Chinas. They are very
good layers; their eggs are large and white: they are non-
sitters, and small eaters. A grass run with them will remain
green long after the crop would have been cleared by either
Brahmas or Cochins; and, with scattered food, they soon
become satisfied, and walk away.”

 

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

FEEDING AND FATTENING.

A year or so ago, that sound-headed, matter-of-fact lady,
Miss Harriet Martineau, presented to the world, through the
medium of a popular journal, her experiences of farming on
two acres. The poultry-yard comes in for a considerable share
of the lady-farmer’s attention, and, as the remarks thereto
pertaining are of the most valuable kind, we make no scruple
of selecting a few of them for the edification and instruction of
our readers :-—

“Tt becomes,” she truthfully says, “an interesting wonder
every year why the rural cottagers of the United Kingdom do
not rear fowls almost universally, seeing how little the cost
would be and how great the demand. We import many
millions of eggs annually. Why should we import any? After
passing dozens of cottages on commous or in lanes in England
where the children have nothing to do, and would be glad of
pets, you meet a man with gold rings in his ears, who asks
you in broken English to buy eggs from the Continent.
‘Wherever there is a cottage family living on potatoes or better
fare, and grass growing anywhere near them, it would be worth
while to nail up a little pent-house, and make nests of clean
straw, and go in for a speculation in eggs and chickens. Seeds,
worms, and insects go a great way in feeding poultry in such
places; and then there are the small and refuse potatoes from
the heap, and the outside cabbage-leaves, and the scraps of all
sorts. Very small purchases of broken rice (which is extremely
cheap), inferior grain, and mixed meal would do all else that
is necessary. There would be probably larger losses from
‘vermin’ than in better guarded places; but these could be
well afforded as a mere deduction from considerable gains. It
is understood that the keeping of poultry is largely on the
increase in the country generally, and even among cottagers;
but the prevailing idea is of competition as to races and speci-
mens for the poultry-yard, rather than of meeting the demand
for eggs and fowls for the table.”

The chicks most likely to fatten well are those first hatched
im the brood, and those with the shortest legs. Long-legged
fowls, as a rule, are by far the most difficult to fatten. The
most delicate sort are those which are put up to fatten as soon
as the hen forsakes them; for, as says an old writer, “then
they will be in fine condition, and full of flesh, which flesh is
afterwards 3 expended in the exercise of foraging for food, and in

 
 

FEEDING AND FATIENING.

the increase of stature; and it may be a work of some weeks
to recover it,—especially with young cocks.”

But whether you take them in hand as chicks, or not till
they are older, the three prime rules to be observed are, sound
and various food, warmth, and cleanliness. There is nothing
that a fatting fowl grows so fastidious about as his water. If
water any way foul be offered him, he will not drink it, but
sulk with his food, and pine, and you all the while wondering
the reason why. Keep them separate, allowing to each bird
as much space as you can spare; spread the ground with sharp,
sandy gravel; and take care that they are not disturbed. In
addition to their regular diet of good corn, make them a cake
of ground oats or beans, brown sugar, milk, and mutton suet.
Let the cake lie till it is stale, then crumble it, and give each
bird a gill-measureful morning and evening. No entire grain
should be given to fowls during the time they are fattening;
indeed, the seeret of success lies in supplying them with the
most nutritious food without stint, and in such a form that
their digestive mills shall find no difficulty in grinding it.

It would, I think, be a difficult matter to find, among the
entire fraternity of fowl-keepers, a dozen whose mode of fatten-
ing “stock” is the same. Some say that the grand secret is
to give them abundance of saccharine food; others say nothing
beats heavy corn steeped in milk; while another breeder, cele-
brated in his day, and the recipient of a gold medal from a
learned society, says, “ The best method is as follows :—The
chickens are to be taken from the hen the night after they are
hatched, and fed with eggs hardboiled, chopped, and mixed
with crumbs of bread, as larks and other small birds are fed,
for the first fortnight; after which give them oatmeal and
treacle mixed so as to crumble, of which the chickens are very
fond, and thrive so fast that, at the end of two months, they
will be as large as full-grown fowls.”

Others there are who insist that nothing beats oleaginous
diet, and cram their birds with ground oats and suet. But,
whatever the course of diet favoured, on one point they seem
agreed ; and that is, that, while fattening, the fowls should be
kept im the dark. Supposing the reader to be a dealer,—a
breeder of gross chicken-meat for the market (against which
supposition the chances are ten thousand to one), and beset
with as few scruples as generally trouble the huckster, the ad-
vice is valuable. “ Laugh and grow fat” is a good maxim
enough; but “Sleep and grow fat” is, as is w_ll known to

441

 
 

DOMESTIC FOULTRY.

folks ot porcine attributes, a better and more easy of accom.
plishment. The poor birds, immured in their dark dun-
geons, ignorant that there is light and sunshine abroad,
tuck their heads under their wings and make a long
night of it; while their digestive organs, having no harder
work than to pile up fat, have an easy time enough. But,
unless we are mistaken, he who breeds poultry for his own
eating, bargains for a more substantial reward than the ques-
tionable pleasure of burying his carving-knife in chicken-grease.
Tender, delicate, and nutritious flesh is the great aim; and
these qualities, I can affirm without fear of contradiction, were
never attained by a dungeon-fatted chicken; perpetual gloom
and darkness is as incompatible with chicken-life as it is with
human. If you wish to be convinced of the absurdity of en-
deavouring to thwart Nature’s laws, plant a tuft of grass, or a
cabbage-plant, in the darkest corner of your coal-cellar. The
plant or the tuft may increase in length and breadth, but its
colour will be as wan and pale, almost, as would be your own
face under the circumstances.

The barn-door fowl is in itself a complete refutation of the
cramming and dungeon policy of feeding practised by some.
This fowl, which has the common run of the farm-yard, living
on dairy-scraps and offal from the stable, begins to grow fat at
threshing-time. He has his fill of the finest corn: he has his
fill of fresh air and. natural exercise; and at last he comes
smoking to the table,—a dish for the gods.

In the matter of unnaturally stuffing and confining fowls,
Mowbray is exactly of our opinion. He says: “The London
chicken-butchers, as they are termed, 7. e., poulterers, are said
to be, of all others, the most expeditious and dextrous feeders,
putting up a coop of fowls, and making them thoroughly fat
within the space of a fortnight; using much grease, and that
perhaps not of the most delicate kind, im the food. In this
way I have no boasts to make, having always found it neces-
sary to allow a considerable number of weeks for the purpose
of making fowls fat in coops. In the common way this busi-
ness is often badly managed, fowls being huddled together in a
small coop, tearing each other to pieces, instead of enjoying
that repose which alone can insure the wished-for object; irre-
gularly fed and cleaned, until they become so stenched and
poisoned in their own excrement, that their flesh actually smells
and tastes of it when smoking upon the table.”

Sussex produces the fattest and largest poultry of any county

 
 

FEEDING AND FATTENING.

in England, and the fatting process there most common is to
give them a gruel made of pot liquor and bruised oats, with
which are mixed hog’s grease, sugar, and milk. The fowls are
kept very warm, and crammed morning and night. They are
put into the coop, and kept there two or three days before the
cramming begins, and then it is continued for a fortnight, and
the birds are sent to market.

The lady poultry-breeder before-mentioned summarizes, m an
admirable manner, the way in which fowls should be kept by
those who are not stinted for space, and who are desirous of
deriving profit as well as pleasure from their “ fancy,” as the
vulgar phrase is.

“The most expensive of all food we find to be barley, au
naturel. Not only is a considerable proportion thrown about
and wasted, but much that is swallowed is never digested. We,
therefore, give it as a change and an indulgence; and by no
means as the staple of their food. Indian meal is the best
staple, according to our experience. It is well scalded, that
the swelling may be done before eating, instead of after, thus
avoiding various maladies and perils from over-eatmg. Broken
rice, well boiled, is good to a certain extent. Malt-dust is a
valuable resource. The demand is becoming so great, that
probably it will soon cease to be a cheap food; but while it
remains so it is a real boon both to the fowls and their owners.
They will eat almost anything that is sprinkled with malt-dust;
and a 6s. sack of it goes a long way. A certain proportion of
green food, and also of animal food, is indispensable. Lettuce-
leaves, turnip-tops, cabbage-leaves, celery, should be thrown
tothem. They should have access to grass, to pick seeds and
insects ; and it is well to put a fresh sod into the poultry-yard
whenever such a valuable thing may be spared. All the worms
and insects that come in the gardener’s way should be presented
to them ; and when insects are scarce, scraps of raw meat, minced
as fine as pin’s heads, should be given. Add finely-chopped
eggs for infant chicks, and I think the bill of fare is complete.
As for the pepper-corn which old wives recommend as the first
thing to be swallowed, we reprobate the notion as we should in
the case of any other new-born creature. In fact, it irritates
the crop very mischievously if it gives out its savour, and it it
does not dissolve it is nothing.”

In a strictly business point of view, the results of this
management were not particularly brilliant; yet we have nut
the least doubt that the majority of poultry keepers—into

«ag

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

whose calculations, by-the-by, the question of money gain does
not enter very considerably—would be well pleased to have
their endeavours so kindly seconded by Dame Fortune. How-
ever, we will lay the lady’s “statement of accounts” before
the reader, assuring him beforehand that he need not fear the
least shadow of exaggeration, and let him judge for himself.

“In 1857, we paid for food £17 1s. 8d., and for improve-
ments in the hen-house £1 15s.—that is, our expenses were
£18 16s.8d.; eggs and fowls used and soldwere worth £18 4s. 2d.,
ten chickens and one young cock in stock, £1 5s. making
£19 9s. 2d.; which shows our profits to have been 12s. 6d.
In 1858, the cost of food was £16 8s. 2d., and improvements
in stock 11s. 9d., together making £16 9s. 11d.; our profits,
therefore, being 10s. 7d. London prices would have enriched
us mightily, for we had 3,039 eggs, and killed sixty-three fowls
(including a few ducks). Within a dozen miles of the General
Post-office, our produce would have been worth £30. But it
must be remembered that, in regard to our domestic consump-
tion, we have the benefit of the country prices. As it is, we
have a balance on the right side, instead of on the wrong, after
all accidents and misfortunes are accounted for.”

“ Aye, aye,” the desponding reader may exclaim, “ it’s all
very well for folks who have luck.” ‘We can, however, assure
him for his consolation, that Miss Martineau did not have a
superabundance of good fortune with her “ feathered friends.”
The cocks ate the ivy leaves, and were found dead and cold;
ducklings lost themselvee in the tall grass and perished miser-
ably; chicks committed suicide by drowning in shallow water-
pans; a hawk haunted the neighbourhood and grew fat on the
callow broods; and as to cats—as many as eight chickens
were snatched off in a single day by freebooting grimalkins.
Indeed, so formidable became this last-mentioned grievance,
that the good lady was driven to invent a means of conquering
the marauders. As it may be useful to our readers we publish
it. ‘“ When a cat is seen to catch a chicken, tie it round her
neck and make her wear it for two or three days; fasten it
securely, for she will make incredible efforts to get rid of it.
Be firm for that time and the cat is cured.” It is probable
that the celebrated Mrs. Glasse’s axioms may occur to the
reader— First catch your cat!” With her heart hardened by
tong persecution, however, Miss Martineau is equal to this
difficulty. “Wild, homeless, hungry, ragged, savage cats,”
says she, “are more difficult to catch; but they are outlaws,

 
 

A NIGHT WITH THE CHICKENS.

and may be shut, with the certainty that all neighbours will ba
thankful.”

Not only for the sake of telling a good story, but further to
impress on the reader’s mind that our lady poultry-keeper had
not quite “all the luck to herself,” and furthermore to illus-
trate the advantage of prompt action in sudden difficulties, we
will relate, in Miss Martineau’s own language, a most memo-
rable “night with the chickens,” endured by herself and her
friend M. i .

“My entire poultry-yard, except a few old hens on the
perches, was in danger of destruction by an accident one sum-
mer night, and was saved by what I cannot but consider a
remarkable exercise of energy on the part of my companion
M. Few persons in the north of England will ever forget
the thunder-storm on the night of the 24th of July, 1859. At
eleven p.m. the rain came down in one sheet, instantly flooding
the level ground to the depth of more than a foot, and the
continuous thunder seemed to crack on one’s very skull, while
the blue lightning never intermitted for two seconds for above
an hour. The heat was almost intolerable. Our maids, how-
ever, who kept very early hours, were sleeping through it all;
when M. escorted me (very feeble through illness) upstairs,
settled me with my book in my easy chair, and bade me good
night.

“ Presently I drew up a window-blind to see the lightning
better from my seat. In the midst of its blue blazes there was
more than once a yellow flicker on the window-frame which I
could not understand. I went to look out and saw a yellow
light whisking about far below, sometimes in the quarry, and
then mounting or descending the terrace steps. It was M.
saving the fowls. She would not allow the maids, who were
striving enough now, to go straight from their beds into the
storm; and she knew it was useless to call the maa from the
cottage, who was a mere incumbrance on critical uccasions.
In fact, he and his wife were at that moment entirely per-
suaded that the end of the world was come. It was
no form or speech, but their real conviction; and it could not
Lave been asked of them to care about ducks and chickens.
The maids were lighting a fire in the back kitchen, and strew-
ing the floor with straw, while M was out in dress that
could not be spoiled, lantern, basket and apron. Some of the
hens and chickens were too cramped to move, sitting in the
water. Some were taking refuge in the shrubs. Two duck-

5

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

lings were dead, and two more died afterwards. M- went
again and again, and to both the poultry-yards, and brought
up forty fowls—all that were in danger—every one of which
would have been dead before morning. Of course she had not
a dry thread about her, nor a dry hair on her head; but the
wetting was a trifle in comparison with the bewildering effects
of the thunder and lightning in such a midnight. She did
not, however, suffer from it more nor less, and our poultry-
yard was saved.”

 

CONCERNING EGGS AND CHICKS.

Eggs intended for hatching should be removed as soon as
laid, and placed in bran in a dry, cool place. Choose those
that are near of a size; and, as a rule, avoid those that are
equally thick at both ends,—such, probably, contain a double
yolk, and will come to no good. Eggs intended for hatching
should never be stored longer than a month, as much less
the better. Nine eggs may be placed under a Bantam hen,
and as many as fifteen under a Dorking. The odd number is
considered preferable, as more easily packed. It will be as well
to mark the eggs you give the hen to sit on, so that you may
know if she lays any more: if she does, you must remove them ;
for, if hatched at all, they would be too late for the brood. If
during incubation an egg should be broken, remove it, and take
out the remainder, and cleanse them in luke-warm water, or it
is probable the sticky nature of the contents of the broken egg
will make the others cling to the hen’s feathers ; and they, too,
may be fractured.

Some hens are very capricious as regards sitting ; they will
make a great fuss, and keep pining for the nest, and when they
are permitted to take to it, they will sit just long enough to
addle the eggs, and then they are off again. The safest way
to guard against such annoyance, is to supply the hen with
some hard boiled eggs;. if she sits on them a reasonable time,
and seems steadily inclined, like a good matron, you may theny
give her proper eggs, and let her set about the business in
earnest,

Sometimes the chick within the shell is unable to break away
fiom its prison ; for the white of the egg will occasionally harden
in the air to the consistence of joiners’ glue, when the poor
chick is in a terrible fix. An able writer says: “ Assistance in
hatching must not be rendered prematurely, and thence unne-
cessarily, bt only in the case of the chick being plainly unable

 
 

CONCERNING EGGS AND CHICKs,

to release itself; then, indeed, an addition may probably be
made to the brood, as great numbers are always lost in this
way. The chick makes a circular fracture at the big end of the
egg, and a section of about one-third of the length of the shell
being separated, delivers the prisoner, provided there is no
obstruction from adhesion of the body to the membrane which
lines the shell. Between the body of the chick and the mem-
brane of the shell there exists a viscous fluid, the white of the
egg thickened with the intense heat of incubation, until it
becomes a positive glue. When this happens, the feathers stick
fast to the shell, and the chicks remain confined, and must
perish if not released.”

The method of assistance to be rendered to chicks which
have a difficulty in releasing themselves from the shell, is to
take the egg in the hand, and dipping the finger or a piece of
linen rag in warm water, to apply it to the fastened parts until
they are loosened by the gluey substance becoming dissolved
and separated from the feathers. The chick then being re-
turned to the nest, will extricate itself,—a mode generally to be
observed, since, if violence were used, it would prove fatal.
Nevertheless, breaking the shell may sometimes be necessary ;
and separating with the fingers, as gently as may be, the
membrane from the feathers, which are still to be moistened as
mentioned above, to facilitate the operation. The points of
small scissors may be useful, and when there is much resist-
ance, as also apparent pain to the bird, the process must be
conducted in the gentlest manner, and the shell separated into
a number of small pieces. The signs of a need of assistance
are the egg being partly pecked and chipped, and the chick
discontinuing its efforts for five or six hours. Weakness from
cold may disable the chicken from commencing the operation of
pecking the shell, which must then be artificially performed
with a circular fracture, such as is made by the bird itself.

The chicks that are first hatched must be taken from the
hen, or she may think her task at an end, and leave the re-
maining eggs to spoil. As soon as the young birds are taken
from the mother, they must be placed in a basket lined with
soft wool or hay, and stood in the sun in the summer, or by the
fire if the weather be cold. Jt is a common pactice to cram
young chicks with food as soon as they are born. This is
qaite unnecessary ; they will, so Jong as they be kept warm,
come to no harm if they take no food during the twenty-four
hours following their birth. Should any of the brood remain

ws

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

unhutched after that time, those that are born may be fed
with bread soaked in milk, and the yolk of hard-boiled egg.

When the whole brood is hatched it should be placed along
with the mother, under a coop, in a warm, dry spot. If you
happen to have two hens at brood at the same time, be sure and
keep the respective chicks separate, as if they get mixed the hens
will probably maim or destroy those that do not belong to them.

After being kept snug beneath the coop for a week, the
chicks may be turned loose for an hour or so in the warmest
part of the day. They must be gradually weaned from the
soaked bread and chopped egg, and boiled barley or groats
given instead, and in eight or ten days their stomachs will be
strong enough to receive bruised barley, and at the end of
three weeks, if your chicks be healthy, they will be able to take
care of themselves. It will be well, however, to keep your eye
on them a week or so longer as the elder chicks may drive
them from their food.

Great care should be taken that the very young chicks be
prevented from running about the wet ground, or on damp
grass. Recollect that this is the most prominent and fatal
cause of disease. I should have mentioned, that while under
the coop with their mother, they should be provided with a
shallow pan or plate of water, as they are very liable to drench
themselves and to take cold, if provided with no other drinking
vessel than the one proper for the parent bird.

 

FEATHER-LEGGED BANTAMS,

 
 

 

THE TURKEY.

t
Roast turkey is one among the many good things for which
the world has to thank Columbus; for, prior to the discovery
of America, it was a “dainty dish” that had never been set
before even the king. Cynics and misanthropes may curve
their profound noses at a man who could waste a word about
so trifling an affair; but for that I don’t care. To discard
turkey, is to knock away one of the prime buttresses of Christ-
mas, and to do damage to that venerated institution is, as
every Englishman is prepared to vouch, ultra-paganish, and
deserving of the stocks at the very least. Trifling, indeed!
To pacify ten thousand hungry bellies, to make twenty thou-
sand eyes twinkle again, is a worthy achievement. Were I a
descendant of Columbus, I would insist on adding a turkey
to my armorial bearings. ‘
The wild American fellow was, however, of more gigantic
stature than is meleagius domesticus—the domestic turkey.
The former bird measured five feet from his beak to his tail’s
tip; when he spread his wings they covered full six feet of
ground. In a “Perfect Description of Virginia,” a quaint
volume, printed by hands that two hutidred years ago had gone
to dust, we are told the colonists of the new world had
“wilde turkies, some weighing sixtie pound weight.” Even at;
the present day, they abound in great flocks in the vicinity of!
the Ohio and Mississippi, though they either have dwindled in
29 =

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

size, or else the compiler of the “Perfect Description” told
dreadful stories, for all modern travellers agree that the “wilde
turkie” is never found to exceed thirty-five pounds in weight

Speaking of the habits of the wild turkey, a reliable writer
says, “ The males associate in parties of from ten toa hundred,
and seek their food apart from the females, which either go
about singly with their young, at that time aboat two-thirds
grown, or form troops with other females and their families,
sometimes to the amount of seventy or eighty. These all avoid
the old males, who attack and destroy the young whenever
they can by reiterated blows on the skull.

“But all parties travel in the same direction, and on foot,
unless the hunter’s dog, or a river on their line of march,
compels them to take wing. When about to cross a river,
they select the highest eminences, that their flight may be
more sure, and in such positions they sometimes stay for a day
or more, as if in consultation. The males on such occasions
gobble obstreperously, strutting with extraordinary importance,
as if to animate their companions; and the females and young
assume much of the pompous air of the males, and spread their
tails as they move silently around.

“ At length, having mounted to the top of “he highest trees,
the assembled multitude, at the signal-note of their leader,
wing their way to the opposite shore. The old and fat birds,
contrary to what might be expected, cross without difficulty
even. when the river is a mile in width; but the wings of the
young and meagre, and of course those who are weak, fre-
quently fail them before they have completed their passage,
when in they drop and are forced to swim for their lives. This
they do cleverly enough, spreading their tails for support,
closing their wings, stretching out their necks, and striking
out quickly and strongly with their feet. All however do not
succeed in such attempts, and the weaker often perish.”

Mr. Jesse relates, on what he considers good authority, that
in the reign of George the Second a flock of wild turkeys, three
thousand strong, formed part of the live stock of Richmond
Park. The worthy naturalist tells us that in the autumn and
winter they fed on acorns, of which they must have had x
considerable supply, since the park was then almost en-
tirely wooded with oak, with a thick cover of furze; and that
stacks of barley were put up in different places in the park for
their support. Considering this liberal arrangement, we are
not much Surprised to hear that some of the old cock birds

 
THE TURKEY.

attained an enormous weight, as much, indeed, as thirty pounds,
These wild turkeys of Richmond, says Mr. Jesse, “ were hunted
with dogs, and made to take refuge in the trees, where they were
frequently shot by George the Second. I have not been able
to learn how long they had been there preserved before his
reign, but they were totally destroyed towards the latter end
of it, in consequence of the dangers to which the keepers were
exposed in protecting them from poachers, with whom they had
many bloody fights, being frequently overpowered by them.”

Besides the American turkey (from which the bird of modern
Leadenhall directly descends), there are two smaller sorts,—
one peculiar to Honduras, and the other (the Brush Turkey)
to New South Wales. One of the most remarkable circum-
stances connected with the economy of the latter bird is that,
instead of hatching its own eggs, it constructs an artificial
incubator. Having laid fifteen or twenty eggs, it collects a
quantity of decaying vegetable matter, and piles it over them,
trusting to the heat engendered during decomposition for the
production of its progeny. According to Gould, the naturalist,
“the heap employed for this purpose is collected by the birds
during several weeks previous to the period of laying; it varies
in size from two to four cartloads, and is of a perfectly pyra-
midal form. The construction of the work is not the task of
one pair of birds, but is effected by the united labours of several.
The same site appears to me, from the great size and the
entire decomposition of the lower part, to be resorted to for
several years in succession, the birds adding a fresh supply of
materials previous to laying.

“The mode in which the material composing these mounds is
accumulated is equally singular, the bird never using the beak,
but always grasping a quantity in its foot, throwing it back-
wards to one common centre, and thus clearing the surface of
the ground for a considerable distance so completely, that
scarcely a leaf or a blade of grass is left.

“The heap being accumulated, and time allowed for sufficien*
heat to be engendered, the eggs are deposited, not side by side,
as is ordinarily the case, but planted at the distance of nine or
twelve inches from each other, and buried at nearly an arm’s
depth, perfectly upright, and with the large end upward. They
are covered up as they are laid, and allowed to remain till they
are hatched.”

The same indefatigable explorer was informed by the native
inhabitants that it was customary with the hen turkeys to

451

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

lurk about in the neighbourhood of the egg-heaps, with the
view of assisting the chicks out of the shells as soon as they
evince an inclination to break cover. Mr. Gould, however, dis-
credits this, grounding his disbelief on the fact that he on one
occasion, while turning out one of those egg-stores, discovered
the remains of a young bird, evidently recently’ from the shell.
With all due deference to so great an authority, I submit that
this evidence is not absolutely conclusive. The mother of
the precocious chick might not have known that it was out;
and the fact of its being found dead rather favours the suppo-
sition that the assistance of a friendly beak is necessary to
release them from their imprisonment.

We will now consider the turkey in its domestic aspect.
Before, however, I say a word as to its feeding and breeding,
I would impress on my readers that unless they have an ample
piece of land attached to their dwelling, they had best not set
up as turkey breeders. It is bad enough for fowls to be cribbed
up in cockney “ yards” and wash-houses, but to treat turkeys
so is worse than useless, inasmuch as it is cruel. The turkey
hen must have room to stretch her long legs. Beware, how-
ever, of letting her out of your sight, especially when she has
a little family. She is partial to taking long walks, and on
she will go, mile after mile, with the greatest complacency,
never once turning her head to see how her panting chicks are
getting on,—not the least affected even when they squat down
on the road and implore her plaintively to come back; not she;
on she goes, over common and highway and meadow, as long
as a single chick has strength to follow her.

This, however, arises from sheer heedlessness, and not from
want of affection. She will fight for her brood as valiantly as
will the pheasant for hers. She, moreover, preserves her instinc-
tive dread of birds of prey in a remarkable way. A friend of
mine tells me that on one occasion the turkey-hens in his yard
exhibited great fright, screaming, and calling their chicks to
them frantically. On looking about for the cause, he dis-
covered it in a boy’s kite that was floating high over head.

Writing on the same subject, a French naturalist says,“ I have
heard a turkey-hen, when at the head of her brood, send forth
the most hideous screams, without my being able to perceive
the cause; her young ones, however, immediately when the
warning was given, skulked under the bushes, the grass, or
whatever eise seemed to offer shelter and protection. They
even atretched themselves, at full-length, upon the ground,

 
 

"HE TURKEY.

and continued motionless, as if dead. In the mean time, the
mother with her eyes directed upwards, continued her cries and
screaming as before. On looking up in the direction in which
she seemed to gaze, I discovered a black spot, just under the
clouds, but was unable at first to distinguish what it was;
however, it soon proved to be a bird of prey, though at first
at too great a distance to be distinguished. I have seen one
of these birds continue in this agitated state, and her whole
brood pinned down, as it were, to the ground, for hours toge-
ther, whilst their formidable foe has taken his circuits and
mounted and hovered directly over their heads. At last, on
his disappearing the parent changed her note and sent forth
another cry, which in an instant gave life to the whole trem-
bling tribe, and they all flocked round her with expressions of
pleasure as if conscious of their happy escape from danger.”

If you have an obliging neighbour, owning a cock-turkey,
and living within a reasonable distance, keep nothing but hens,
for it very frequently happens that his lordship will quite lose
his patience at the length of time his spouse occupies for in-
cubation, and will endeavour to eject her from the nest by
main force, and the consequence is that the eggs get broken.

According to her size, the turkey-hen will cover from nine
to fifteen eggs, and while she is sitting it will be necessary to
see that she is well provided with food and water, as, rather
than quit her precious charge for a moment, she will almost
starve.

As soon as the chicks are hatched, they must be taken from
the nest and placed in a box, snugly lined with wool or flannel.
An old and very general practice, is to plunge them into cold
water, on the day of their birth, and to give each a pepper-
corn, in a little warm milk. The reason assigned for serving
them so is, that of all young birds, they are most likely to take
cold, and that this early cold-bath and peppering tends to
harden their constitutions ; “and, despite even this precaution,”
says an old writer, “the young turkey chicks who perish
annually may be reckoned by thousands.” It seems to me,
however, to be a question whether the mortality would not be
lessened were the “ precaution” avoided. I know that farmers’
wives, to a woman, will look on this suggestion as rank
heresy; but I cannot banish from my mind the various tor-
tures poultry are made to endure at the hands of these well-
Meaning but superstitious dames. For example, there are
poultry wives who insist that the proper way to Cue hen of

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTKY.

sitting is to plunge her in cold water; others, to force ker to
sit, “thrust a feather through her nostrils, give her half a glass
of gin, then swing her round until seemingly dead, and confine
her in a pot, during a day or two, leaving her only a small
breathing hole.”

The hen and her brood must be kept under cover for a
month if the weather be very fine, but do not hurry them out
at an inclement season of the year. The first food should be
barley-meal, kneaded into dough with milk, and eggs boiled
hard and chopped. When they are two or three weeks old,
boiled beef or mutton, pulled to shreds, may be cast about
their feeding ground. A fresh turf daily (be sure it is free
from snails and slugs) will be gratefully acknowledged.

If the turkey chick should evince symptoms of weakness, or if
he should take cold, the best medicine is pounded carraway-seeds.
The third day from its birth is reckoned a perilous time for the
young turkey, as is the period when they throw out what is
called the red-head, which happens when they are six or eight
weeks old. At this latter period a few old split beans may,
with advantage, be mixed with the‘r food.

 
 

 

THE WILD DUOK.

THE DUCK.

THe duck in its wild state is found throughout Europe, Asia,
end America. He is a magnificent fellow, and it is as hard
to understand how the symmetry of his shape should have so
entirely departed, and his gay coat—green and violet and
orange and brown—should have faded to such draggle-tail
dinginess as distinguishes the domestic duck of the modern
poultry market, as it is to believe that the lithe, long-limbed
wild ass of the desert and the donkey belonging to Welter the
sweep are of the same family.

There are several ingenious modes of capturing the wild
duck, peculiar to different parts of the world in which it is
found; but the most ingenious is that of the Indians who dwell
on the great lake of Maracaibo, on the north coast of South
America.

A number of calabashes, prepared from the rind of some
fruit, and resembling an empty gourd, ure always kept floating
up and down the lake, on which swarm innumerable quantities
of wild ducks. From habit, the ducks take no notice of the
calabashes, but allow them to drift in and among their flocks
without causing any stir. The Indian then prepares a cala-
bash, in which he cuts holes for seeing and breathing, and
places it over his head; with this, and a kind of belt round
his waist, he starts on his duck-catching expedition. He is
almost as used to the water as the birds he is in quest of, and
easily steals quietly down towards the flock; and when within

a5

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

an arm’s length of a duck, catches it by the leg, and before it has
time to utter a solitary “ quack,” he whips it under the surface
and hangs it to his belt. And in this way, before a half-
hour, our duck-catcher has a full belt, and returns to his com-
panions. On another part of the coast there is a similar expe-
dient practised, only that the head-piece, instead of bemg a
calabash, is a kind of cap, made of rushes, which answers the
same purpose, a number of them being kept continually float-
ing up and down the water: this completely eludes the vigi-
lance of the water-fowl, and they are as easily captured as with
the above-mentioned trap. The same practice of snaring
ducks prevails in China.

On the American rivers the modes of capture are various.
Sometimes half a dozen artificial birds are fastened to a little
raft, which is so weighted that the sham birds squat naturally
on the water. This is quite sufficient to attract the attention
of the passing flock who descend to cultivate the acquaintance
of the isolated few, when the concealed hunter with his fowling-
piece scatters a deadly leaden shower amongst them. In the
winter, when the water is covered with rubble ice, the fowler
of the Delaware paints his canoe entirely white, lies flat in the
bottom of it, and floats with the broken ice, from which the
aquatic inhabitants fail to distinguish it; so floats the canoe
till he within it understands by the quacking and flutter, and
whirring of wings, that he is in the midst of a flock, when he
i3 up in a moment with the murderous piece, and dying quacks
and lamentations rend the still air.

The following account of how duck-snaring used to be ma-
naged in the fens of Lincolnshire will be found interesting :—

“In the lakes to which they resorted, their favourite haunts
were observed, and in the most sequestered part of a haunt a
pipe or ditch was cut across the entrance, decreasing gradually
in width from the entrance to the further end, which was not
more than two feet wide. The ditch was of a circular form,
but did not bend much for the first ten yards. The banks of
the lake, on each side of the ditch, were kept clear from reeds
and close herbage, in order that the ducks might get on them
to sit and dress themselves. Along the ditch poles were driven
into the ground, close to the edge, on each side, and the tops
were bent over across the ditch and tied together.

“The poles then bent forward at the entrance of the ditch
and formed an arch, the top of which was ten feet distant
from the surface of the water; the arch was made to decrease

 
 

THE DUCK.

in height as the ditch decreased in. width, so that the remate
end was not more than eighteen inches in height. The poles
were placed about six feet from each other, and connected by
poles laid lengthwise across the arch and tied together Over
the whole was thrown a net which was made fast tu a reed
fence at the entrance, and nine or ten yards up the ditch, and
afterwards strongly pegged to the ground.

“ At the end of the ditch furthest from the. entrance, was
fixed what was called a ‘tunnel-net,’ of about four yards in
length, of a round form, and kept open by.a number of hoops,
about eighteen inches in diameter,
placed at a small distance from
each other to keep it distended.
Supposing the circular bend of °
the ditch to be to the right, when
one stands with his back to the
lake, then on the left hand side, é
a number of reed fences were con-
structed, called ‘shootings,’ for
the purpose of screening the decoy
man from observation, and in such a manner that the fowl in
the decoy might not be alarmed, while he was driving those
that were in the pipe. These shootings, which were ten in
number, were about four yards in length, and about six feet
high. From the end of the last shooting, a person could not
see the lake, owing to the bend of the ditch, and there was
then no further occasion for shelter. Were it not for these
shootings, the fowls that remained about the mouth of the
ditch would have been alarmed if the person driving the fowls,
already under the net, should have been exposed, and would
have become so shy as entirely to forsake the place.

“The first thing the decoy man did, on approaching the
ditch, was to take a piece of lighted turf or peat and to hold
it near his mouth to prevent the birds from smelling him. He
was attended by a dog trained to render him assistance. He
walked very silently about half way up the shootings, where a
small piece of wood was thrust through the reed-fence, which
made an aperture just large enough to enable him to see if
there were any fowls within ; if not, he walked forwaid to see
if any were about the entrance of the ditch. If there were he
stopped, made a motion to his dog, and gave him a piece of
cheese to eat; when the dog went directly to a hole in the
reed-tence, and the birds immediately flew off the bunk into

an?

 

CALL DUCKS.

 
 

 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

the water. The dog returned along the bank, between the
reed-fences, and came out to his master at another hole. The
man then gave the dog something more to encourage him, and
the dog repeated his rounds, till the birds were attracted by
his motions, and followed him into the’ mouth of the ditch ;—
an operation which was called ‘ working them.’

“The man now retreated further back, working the dog at
different holes, until the ducks were sufficiently under the net.
He then commanded his dog to lie down under the fence, and,
going himself forward to the end of the ditch next the lake, he
took off his hat, and gave it a wave between the shooting. All
the birds that were under the net could then see him, but
none that were in the lake could. The former flew forward,
and the man then ran to the next shooting and waved his hat,
and so on, driving them along until they came to the tunnel-
net, into which they crept. When they were all in the man
gave the net a twist so as to prevent them getting back. He
then took the net off from the end of the ditch and taking out,
one by one, the ducks that were in it, dislocated their necks.”

Duck shooting is another sport, once a very common and
lucrative employment, but of late years almost entirely gone
out of fashion. Profitable as the business may have been,
the life of a duck-shooter was anything but an enviable one.
Only in the winter could it be carried on at all, and then either
late at night or very early in the morning, on wet, marshy
places, surrounded by the sea. The wild duck is remarkable
for the fineness of its scent, in addition to being exceedingly
wary and timid, so thatthe duck-shooter could only approach
them to leeward, with a piece of burning turf in his hand. He
waw obliged to have a pair of huge wooden pattens or he would
not be able to proceed a hundred yards without sinking up to
his waist. Indeed, so altogether comfortless and tiresome was
the sport, that, purely out of charity, many duck-shooters
would even deny themselves the company of a dog on their
expedition. To show how precarious this sport must have been,
an eminent naturalist, some years ago, wrote the following :—

On the Cheshire side of the mouth of the river Dee, runs a
ridge of three small rocky islands, called Great Helbree, Little
Helbree, and, at the southern extremity, at a somewhat greater
distance, forming the termination of the ridge, the Little Eye.
At low water, the passage between these rocks and the mainland
is entirely dry. At this time, therefore, those who were inclined

to take the chance of one single shot, for a second loading was
ae

 

 
 

THE DUCK.

out of the question, bent their way to the Little Eye, and took
possession of a sort of excavated hovel, where, under cover of a
few rough stones piled together, they were prepared to remain
till high water; when, if they were fortunate (but this was by
no means to be calculated upon with anything like certainty),
a floating flock of ducks and other sea-fowl would drift within
reach, and a well-directed fire might do prodigious execution.”

On the coast of Hampshire this sport is still in vogue. The
duck-shooter conceals himself till nightfall, and waits anxiously
till a flock has descended to feed. He then gets as near to
them as possible, and fires into the midst, and if he has another
gun snatches it up and fires again, and then hastens to the
spot and gathers up the spoil.

One of the most remarkable stories of .duck-shooting ‘is
related by Stanley, in his “ History of Birds.” “On one of
these expeditions,” says he, “a duck-shooter, in Hampshire,
met with a perilous adventure. Mounted on his mud-pattens,
he was traversing one of these oozy plains, and being intent
only on his game, suddenly found the water rising with the
tide. Aware of his danger, he looked round, but his retreat
was already cut off; he was surrounded by the flowing sea,
and death stared him in the face. But in this desperate situa-
tion his presence of mind remained, and an idea struck him
which might yet be the means of his preservation. He gazed
round to see if any part of the mud-desert was higher than
the rest, and observing a small portion still a foot or two above
the water, he hastened towards it, and when there, striking
the barrel of his long gun deep into the ooze, he resolved to
hold fast by it, as a prop to secure himself against the buffet-
ings of the waves, which were breaking angrily around him,
and had now reached his feet, and, at the same time, as an
anchor, to which he might cling, and not, be carried away by
the current of the flowing or ebbing tide; or, at all events, that
if it was to be his sad fate to perish, his body might be found
by those friends who might venture out to search for him.
Well acquainted with the usual rise of the tide, he had every
reason to suppose that it would not reach above his middle,
and that if he could endure the cold of six hours’ immersion,
he might be saved. Unfortunately, however, he had not taken
into account the state of the wind, or some other causes, which
had not only brought the waters up more rapidly than usual,
but would also add to their height. Accordingly, having first
felt the chill and deadly sensation of ripple after mpple, now

ao

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

covering his feet, then bathing him knee-deep, and then advan-
cing beyond his waist, he was horror-struck at finding that,
instead of receding, it still crept upwards, and reached his
shoulders; the spray lburst over his head; upon another
minute’s rise or fall of tide his life depended ; but still, though
he gave himself up for lost, he firmly grasped his gun-barrel
The mainland. was too far distant to admit of his shouts being
heard, and it was equally vain to hope that any looker-out
could descry such a speck upon the waves as the head of a
human being. In this awful moment of suspense, on looking
downwards he thought he saw the wopermost button of his
waistcoat beginning to appear! Intensely he watched it, but
for some time without any well-founded assurance that. he was
right. At length, however, hopes increased to certainty—he
saw button after button rising slowly into view—an infalli-
ble sign that the height of the tide was over, and that it was
now upon the ebb. Though chilled with cold, and almost
fainting, this welcome prospect raised his spirits, and acting
like a cordial, enabled him to endure the remaining hours of
his fearful imprisonment.”

There is, however, another adventure related by the same
authority, in which the party concerned were placed in the
same terrible position, but all, unhappily, perished.

“Off the north-west point of the hundred of Wirral, in
Cheshire, extends a wide tract of sand, forming a dangerous
shoal, called Holyebank, which has proved the grave of many
a shipwrecked mariner. To this bank, always dry at low
water, the fishermen of the neighbourhood are in the frequent
habit of going to collect mussels. One evening, a party having
ventured as usual, before separating, agreed upon a particular
point where they were to meet again when the tide began to
vome in. Dusk came on, and those who first returned to the
boat rowed to the point of rendezvous, there to await the arri-
val of their comrades; but hour after hour passed, and some
were yet missing. The boat-keepers began to fear the worst;
the avsentees had either lost their way on the wide desert of
sand, and were now wandering about hopelessly in darkness,
or they had perished in one of the many quicksands which
abounded on the shoal. Still they hung upon the anchor, and
waited till, at its appointed hour, the tide had covered the
whole bank, and not a doubt could remain as to the fate of
their friends. They then returned to reveal the sad tidings to

their relatives on shore, and at early dawn repaired once more
eo

 
 

4

THE DUCK,

w the bank, now dry as when they first landed. One body
alone was found, and he, like the duck-shooter, had resorted to
the same lost and forlorn hope. He had firmly fixed a boat-
hook on the highest ridge of sand, and, having Inshed himself
to it with his handkerchief, had determined there to await the
rising of the last tide he was ever destined to behold. The
bodies of his companions were never seen again, and had
probably found a resting-place:in the deep channels of the
surrounding sea.”

In the poultry-yard, the duck is no mean tenant; and is
fond of asserting its supremacy. Many are the skirmishes
that take place for a supply of food betwixt it and the fowls,
and even Gallus domesticus—stately and terrible as he is—is
no match for the impudence and cunning of this homely species
of the genus Anas. The Rev. J. G. Wood, in his own clear
way, thus vividly portrays a battle of the ducks and fowls
as witnessed by him :—

“In a farm-yard with which I was once intimately con-
nected, there were several ducks who were shut up at night in
a very spacious coop, but who were not at all satisfied with
the provender given to them, but yearned for some of that
given to the fowls. So impatient were they of their imprison-
ment that directly they saw any of their acquaintances in the
farm-yard, they used to set up a most clamorous quacking,
in hopes of being released. There were several grand battles
between the ducks and the master-cock of the yard, which
invariably terminated in the victory of the ducks. The mode
of combat was as follows :—The poultry would be pecking up
the grain thrown to them, when in would rush a duck, scoop-
ing up with its broad beak more at one sweep than the fowl
would take in a dozen pecks. This behaviour naturally in-
censes the cock, who accordingly flies at the duck and pecks
it. The duck crouches down and makes no resistance, but
contrives to get behind the cock, and to give him a very hard
geck, at the same time turning round and looking innocent.
Round jumps the cock, imtent upon vengeance, but seeing
nothing to account for the blow that he has just received, he
puts it down to the charge of a stray stone, or such other mis-
fortune, and returns to his meal. No sooner has uis attention
been fixed upon his food, when he receives another hard peck,
jumps round, and sees the duck looking innocent as before.
This time, however, he suspects something, and, while he pecks
at the barley, keeps a look out from ihe corner ee his eye.

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

Soon comes another peck; but this time the duck is seen, and
aggrieved chanticleer dashes at him with all the anger of
three assaults combined. Down flops the duck on the ground,
tucking his head under his wing; the cock runs over him in
triumph, walking once or twice over his prostrate enemy, and
returns to his meal in high spirits. Presently the duck draws
out his head, opens first one eye, then: the other, gets up cau-
tiously, saunters behind the cock, and salutes him with ano-
ther peck. The irritated bird again attacks his foe, again
meets with no opposition, again returns to his food, and is
again attacked in a similar manner, until he is completely
wearied out, and finally takes to flight, pursued by the trium-
phant duck, who has won, like Fabius, by delay.”

Several anecdotes are related of the attachment of the duck
to its young, some of which are rather remarkable and inter-
esting. Says a well-known naturalist :—“ A farmer’s wife had
a young duck, which by some acvident was deprived of its
companions, and from that’ moment. seemed to concentrate all
its affections on her. Wherever she woved, it followed her so
closely that she was in constant fear of treading upon and
crushing it to death. As it grew older, its affections seemed
to strengthen rather than diminish; it laid itself by the fire
and basked on the hearth, and when noticed seemed delighted.
This continued till some other ducks were procured, when,
being constantly driven out of the house, it gradually associated
itself with its more natural companions.”

The same authority relates a singular instance of a fierce
house-dog being greatly attached to a brood of ducks, “ who,
notwithstanding his apparently savage disposition, soon became
so fond of him, that whenever, from his barking, they appre-
hended danger, they would rush towards him for protection,
and seek shelter in his kennel.”

Naturalists count nearly a hundred species of the duck
genus, scattered over all parts of the world; and there is little
doubt that the intending keeper of this profitable bird may
take his choice from at least twenty different sorts. No great
amount of knowledge neither is necessary in purchasing them,
as there is very little difference in the whole family, either as
regards hardiness, laying, or hatching, so that the most igno-
rant may indulge his fancy without being afraid of making a
bad bargain.

The white Aylesbury duck is, and deservedly, a universal
favourite. Its snowy plumage and comfortable comportment

462

 
 

THE DUCK.

make it « credit to the poultry-yard, while its broad and deep
breast, and its ample back, convey the assurance that your
satisfaction will not cease at its death. In parts of Bucking-
hamshire, this member of the duck family is bred on an exten-
sive scale; not, however, as might be naturally imagined, cn
plains and commons, but in the abodes of the cottagers. Round
the walls of the living-rooms, and of the bed-rooms even, are
fixed rows of wooden boxes, lined with hay ; and it is the busi-
ness of the wife and children to nurse and comfort the feathered
lodgers, to feed the little ducklings, and to take the old ones
out for an airing. Sometimes the “stock” ducks are the cot-
tager’s own property, but it more frequently happens that
they are intrusted to his care by a wholesale breeder, who
pays tim so much per score for all ducklings properly
raised. To be perfect, the Aylesbury duck should be plump,
pure white, with yellow feet, and a flesh-coloured beak.

Every one knows how awkward are the Anatide, waddling
along on their unelastic webbed toes, and their short legs,
which, being placed consi-
derably backward, make the
fore part of the body pre-
ponderate. Some, however,
are formed more adapted to
terrestrial habitsthan others,
and notably amongst these
may be named Dendronessa
sponsa, the summer duck of
America. This beautiful bird
rears her young in the holes
of trees, generally overhang-
ing the water. When strong enough, the young scramble to
the mouth of the hole, launch into the air with their little
wings and feet spread out, and drop into their favourite ele-
ment. Whenever their birthplace is at some distance from the
water, the mother carries them tv it, one by one, in her bill,
holding them so as not to injure their yet tender frame. On
several occasions, however, when the hole was 30, 40, or more
yards from a piece of water, Audubon observed that the mother
suffered the young to fall on the grass and dried leaves beneath
the tree, and afterwards led them directly to the nearest edge
of the next pool or creek. There are some curious varieties of
the domestic duck, which only appear interesting from their
singularity, for there does not seem to be anything of use or

 

AYLESBURY DUCKS.

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTBY.

value in the unusual characteristics which distinguish them ;
thus, the bow-bill duck, as shown in the engraving, called by
some writers the hook-bill, is remarkable for the peculiarly
strange distortion of its beak, and the tuft on the top of its
head. The penguin duck, again, waddles in an upright posi-
tion, like the penguin, on account of the unnatural situation
of its legs. These odd peculiarities add nothing of value to the
various breeds, and would seem to be the result of accidental
malformation, transmitted from generation to generation.

The Rouen, or Rhone duck, is a large and somewhat hand-
some variety, of French extraction. The plumage of the Rouen
duck is somewhat sombre ;
its flesh is also much darker,
and, though of higher fla-
vour, not near so delicate as
that of our own Aylesbury.
It is with this latter breed
that the Rouen duck is ge-
nerally mated; and the re-
sult is said to be increase of
size and strength. In Nor-
mandy and Brittany, these
ducks, as well as other sorts,
greatly abound; and the “duck-liver pdtés” are there almost
as popular as the pdté de foie gras of Strasburg.

The Buenos Ayres duck is of East Indian birth, and is

chiefly valuable as an ornament ;
for we suppose one would as soon
think of picking a Chinese teal
for luncheon, or a gold fish for
breakfast, as to consign the
handsome Buenos Ayres to the
spit. The prevailing colour of
this bird is black, with a me-
tallic lustre, and a gleaming of
blue steel about its breast and

 

ROUEN DUCES.

  

BUENOS AYRES DUCKS,

wings.

A valuable species of the duck family is the Hider-duck,
which is found in the most dreary and desolate regions of the
uorth. Iceland is a favourite resort of these birds during the
breeding season; and here, owing to the little interruption on
the part of the inhabitants, they are remarkably tame. “ On
approaching them,” it is said, “the drakes, indeed, often take

 
 

THE DUCK.

alarm, and plunge with great precipitancy into the water; but
the ducks generally remain sitting on their nests. or merely fly
to the distance of a yard or two, and on an attempt to touch
their eggs, return in a rage. Many of them suffer themselves
to be handled, and can only be removed by actual force from
their nests. In some parts of the island, where they are more
particularly attended to, they build their nests on the roofs of
the houses, and become quite familiar with the inhabitants.”

The nest of the bird, which is carefully made of its own
down, is plundered by the natives as soon as the duck has laid
its first eggs, which are all taken. This is again repeated once
or twice; but generally, if the nest is robbed more than two or
three times, the birds leave the spot altogether. It must be a
lucrative business for the Icelanders, for the merchants will
give from twelve to fourteen shillings a pound for the down,
and the eggs are the staple food of many a poor cottager. The
down is remarkable for lightness and warmth ; and is princi-
pally manufactured into coverings for beds. Thus, many of us
lay on the feathers plucked from the back of a living bird;
and are covered with the down that is robbed from the nest of
another.

The way in which the eider-duck initiates her young brood
in the art of swimming, is by carrying them out on her back
and, suddenly diving, leaves them to their own resources, ap-
pearing again a little distance further on, and encouraging
them to swim towards her.

Light-coloured ducks are always of milder flavour than their
darker brethren; and those which are reared exclusively on
vegetable diet will have whiter and more delicate flesh than
those allowed to feast on animal offal. The flesh of birds fat-
tened on animal food will be firmer than the other, and have a
gamy flavour. The ancient notion that ducks whose beaks
have a tendency to curve upward are better layers than another
sort is simply absurd—all ducks are good layers if they are
carefully fed and tended. Ducks generally lay in the night or
early in the morning. While she is in perfect health she will
do this; and one of the surest signs of indisposition among’
birds of this class is irregularity in laying.

The eggs laid will invariably nearly approach the colour of
the layer,—light-coloured ducks laying white eggs, and brown
ducks greenish-blue eggs. Dark-coloured ducks lay the largest
eggs. One time of day the notion was prevalent that a duck
would hatch no other eggs than her own; this is not true;

4s

30

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

nevertheless it will be ay well to match the duck’s own eggs as
nearly as possible, for I have known instances where the duck
has turned out of the nest and destroyed eggs differing from
her own in size and colour.

Concerning incubation a practical writer says :—‘ The duck
requires a secret and safe place rather than any attendance,
and will at Nature’s call cover her eggs and seek her food. On
hatching there is not often a necessity for taking away any of
the brood; and, having hatched, let the duck retain her young
ones upon the nest her own time. On her moving with her
brood, prepare a coop upon the short grass if the weather be
fine, or under shelter if otherwise, a wide and flat dish of water,
often to be renewed, standing at hand; barley, or any other meal,
should be the first food. In wet weather particularly, it is
needful to clip the tails of the ducklings, or they will otherwise
be apt to draggle and weaken the bird. Brood ducks should
be cooped some distance from any other.”

The period of her confinement to the coop depends on the
weather and the strength of the ducklings. A fortnight seems
the longest time necessary, and they may sometimes be per-
mitted to enjoy the luxury of a swim at the end of a week. If,
however, they be allowed to stay too long in the water at first
they will be ill, their feathers will go rough, and they will have
looseness of the bowels. If this should be the case, coop them
close for a few days, and mix bean-meal or oatmeal with their
ordinary food. Many duck-keepers give their birds nothing in
the shape of food, letting them wander about and pick up a
living for themselves. They will even seem to grow fat with
this precarious feeding, but unless, besides this chance food,
you take care morning and evening to supply them with a
liberal feed of solid corn, their flesh will be flabby and insipid.

The simple way to fatten ducks is to let them have as much
substantial food as they will eat. They will require no cram-
ming, as does the turkey and some other poultry,—they will
cram themselves to the verge of suffocation; they should, at
the same time, be allowed plenty of exercise and clean water.
pg oats and pea-meal is the standard fattening food for
ducks,

 
 

 

GEESE.

THE common goose has long been one of our most useful do+
mestic animals; so long, indeed, that history is altogether
silent on the subject, and fails to record the date when it first
became a companion of man in this country. Julius Cesar
found the goose as well as the Briton when he visited us; and
there is an old legend which relates that one of the former gave
him more disquiet than all the hosts of his enemies. One night,
while the Romans were encamped in great numbers, and the
general was alone in his tent, reading some secret document,
which, if perused by any other eye, might have cost him his
head, he was suddenly startled by some one at his elbow, and,
turning round in the utmost dismay, found a goose gravely
conning the traitorous document.

Amongst the ancients, the goose was reckoned a sacred bird,
and dedicated to that interesting mythological personage,
Queen Juno, Pliny makes mention of the goose, and relates
an instance of its affection, which is very interesting. A phi-
losopher, named Lacydes, possessed one of these birds, which
was remarkably attached to him; and when at study, in his
own house, the faithful creature was always at his side. If he
ventured abroad, to the public disputations or elocutions, the
goose followed him, remained near him while delivering his
orations, or paying his addresses to his fellow-citizens, and
then returned home with him. At last the goose died, much
to the sorrow of the unhappy philosopher, who, imagining that
this extraordinary devotedness was connected with religious

ws

 

 
DOMESTIC POULTRY.

feeling, conceived that his defunct friend was worthy of Chris-
tian sepulture, and accordingly caused it to be interred in a
magnificent manner,

I do not wish to depreciate the bird’s excellent qualities, aud
can seriously refer for the hundredth time to the oft-told
story of the goose and the Roman capitol,—of the shrewd bird
who wanted to save an egg, and did the same service towards
acity. At the same time, it is in connection with a greater
event than even that, owing to the important part it plays in
a famous Christian festival, that we all ought, I think, to re-
verence the goose. The former story is but traditional, and,
true or false, of little importance to us at the present: time;
the latter affords an annual proof of the goose being a public
benefactor, and so deserving of acknowledgment.

In the time of the crusades, a goose was engraven on the
banner at the head of one of the bands proceeding to Palestine
to deliver the Holy Land from the dominion of the Saracens. It
has been wickedly insinuated that the said banner was emblem-
atical of many of the performances of the crusaders; certainly, it
brings to one’s mind the story of the fanatic who always walked
to church on his hands, instead of his feet. Men’s minds were
much puzzled in endeavouring to account for so curious a mode
of locomotion. One day, a bystander, who witnessed the pious
gymuast performing this feat, mildly suggested as a reason for
such extraordinary conduct, that “ perhaps he liked the sensa-
tion ;” and probably he was very nigh the truth.

The goose family is extensive. There is the Canada goose
(the largest, and, according to many eminent naturalists, the
most sagacious of the tribe), the Snow goose of Russia, the
Laughing goose of North America (the Indians, who hunt this
jocular creature, imitate its cry, or laugh, by ejaculating the
syllable wah, at the same time slapping the mouth sharply),
the common wild goose of Britain, the Bean goose, and the
“ Bernicle,” or “ Barnacle” goose. Concerning this last-men-
tioned animal a curious belief was once prevalent. ‘ There is,”
says Gerard (who lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth), “a
small island in Lancashire called the Pile of Foulders (on the
west side of the entrance into Morecombe bay, about fifteen
tiles south of Ulverston), wherein are found the broken pieces
of old and bruised ships, and also the trunks and bodies, with
the branches of old and rotten trees cast up their likeness,
whereon is found a certain spume or froth, that in time hard-
eneth unto certain shells in shape like those of the muskle but

468

 
 

THE GOOSE.

sharper pointed and of a whitish color, wherein is contained a
thing in form like a lace of silke finely woven as it were toge-
ther; one end whereof is fastened into the inside of the shell
even as the fish of oisters and muskles are; the other end
is made fast into the belly of a rude mass or lump which in
time cometh to the shape and form of a bird: when it is per-
fectly formed the shell gapeth open and the first thing that
appeareth is the aforesaid lace or string, next come the legs of
the bird hanging out, and as it groweth greater it openeth the
shell by degrees, till at length it is all come forth and hangeth
only by the bill. In short space after it cometh to full matu-
ritie and falleth into the sea, where it gathereth feathers and
groweth to a fowl bigger than a mallard and lesser than a
goose, which the people of Lancashire call by no other name
than a ‘ tree-goose ;’ which place aforesaid and all those parts
adjoining do so abound therewith that one of the best is bought
for three pence.”

Notwithstanding sage Gerard’s emphatic declaration, “ If
any doubt, may it please them to repair unto me, and I shall
satisfy them by the testimony of good witnesses,” it is to be
hoped the “people of Lancashire,” and of every other shire,
are no longer guilty of such credulity.

The Canada goose is a bird of considerable importance in
the United States. In the Hudson’s Bay territories, this
animal is periodically anxiously looked for, and the Indian
tribes of the neighbourhood call the mouth in which these birds
arrive, the goose-moon. Dr. Richardson, in his “ Fauna
Boreali Americani,” has the following notice of this bird, the
Canada goose, and its migrations :—“ The arrival of this well-
known bird is anxiously looked for, and hailed with great joy
by the natives of the woody and swampy districts, who depend
principally on it for subsistence during the summer. It makes
its first appearance in flocks of twenty or thirty, which are
readily decoyed within gunshot by the hunters, who conceal
themselves and imitate its call. Two, three, or more, are so
frequently killed at a shot, that, the usual price of a goose is
the single charge of ammunition. One goose, which when fat
weighs about nine pounds, is the daily ration of one of the
Company’s (Hudson Bay) servants during the season, and is
reckoned equivalent to two Snow geese (Anas hyperborea), or
three ducks, or eight pounds of buffalo and moose-meat, or two
pounds of ptarmigan,—or a pint of maize and four ounces ot

suet,
489

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

* About three weeks after their first appearance, the Canada
geese disperse in pairs throughout the country, between the
50th and 67th parallels, to breed, retiring at the same time
from the shore of Hudson’s Bay. They are seldom or never
seen on the coasts of the Arctic sea. In July, after the young
birds are hatched, the parents moult, and vast numbers are
killed in the rivers and lakes, when (from the loss of their
quill. feathers) they are unable to fly. When chased by a
canoe, and obliged to dive frequently, they soon become fa-
tigued, and make for-the shore for the purpose of hiding them-
selves, but as they are not fleet, they fall an easy prey to their
pursuers. In the autumn they again assemble in flocks, on
the shores of Hudson’s Bay, for three weeks or a month previous
to their departure southwards.”

Many of this species are now domesticated in this country,
although not to such an extent as it clearly deserves. It will
breed with the common grey goose, and by many it is consi-
dered that the hybrid progeny of this cross-breed is far superior
in the flavour and quality of the flesh than that of the pure
common breed. Buffon, the naturalist, says, that in his
time many hundreds of the Canada geese inhabited the great
canal at Versailles, where they bred familiarly with the
swans. The Canada goose is more of a monogamist in a
wild state than he is under domestication; but, as has been
truly observed, “this may result from the plan of keeping but
few males, and those in association with a flock of females, so
that the ordinary results of pairing,—that is, retiring from the
rest to a secluded spot, which the mated pair exclusively oc-
cupy,—are interfered with.” Still, he does not altogether
neglect the respectable example of his progenitors, but usually
confines his attention much more to one particular female of
the flock than 1o all the rest.

A popular writer on poultry has some very judicious remarks
on the impropriety of excluding this species of the genus Anser
from the poultry-yard, which opinion I can readily. endorse
from my own experience. “It is a question worth attention,”
says he, “ whether the Canada goose might not with advantage
be more extensively kept in our country than it is at present.
It is common as an ornament to sheets of water in parks,
gardens, and pleasure-grounds, but is too much neglected as a
bird of utility ; it is alike valuable for flesh and feathers ; it is
not so decided a grazer as is the common goose; the precincts
of marshes and ponds which abound in aquatic vegetation, for

470

 
 

THE GOOSE.

the procuring of which its strong bill and swan-like neck afford
it facility, offer the most advantageous sites for its establish-
ment, and in such localities we strongly recommend its adop-
tidn.”

It is decidedly the most interesting and handsome bird of
its tribe; its head, greater part of the neck, rump, and tail,
are quite black; the beak and .wings brown; and the under-
plumage brownish-grey ; its bill and feet are also black. The
Canada goose is also remarkable for its extraordinary sagacity,
and several anecdotes are related which go a long way to prove
its attachment to man. On the whole, I can, with great plea-
sure, recommend this bird to the reader as a very important
member of the poultry-yard.

Lincolnshire has long been noted ‘as a goose-breeding county.
In the fens, it is no uncommon circumstance to find breeders‘
owning from five to fifteen thousand geese. Among the poorer
inhabitants prevails the curious custom of taking hatching
geese to nurse. In every room, not excluding the bed-chambers,
there is ranged round the walls, and one above the other, three
rows of coarse wicker pens, which are subdivided into little
cribs, each large enough to accommodate a goose. Twice a day
an individual with a long rag-tipped stick, who calls himself a
“ gozzard” (probably a handy abbreviation of goose-herd),
calls at the different houses for the feathered patients, takes
them to water, and then brings them back again.

Were I a believer in apparitions and things supernatural, 1
would for ever eschew the use of a goose-feather bed. I should
dread that the many geese that had suffered torture and death
that I might lie lazily, would surround my pillow and keep
my conscience a quake by quacking to me the anguish they
endured for my sake whilst in the flesh; for, be it known to
the Michaelmas reveller, be it known to him, who on a winter’s
night punches up his pillow and cuddles down cosily, that the
creature to whom he is indebted for his gratification led but a
wretched life, and that the first act of kindness shown to liim
was the wringing of his neck. For why? “ Geese are plucked
five times in the year. The first plucking is for quills and fea-
thers, and takes place on Lady-day; and between that time
and Michaelmas they undergo four more pluckings for feathers
only. Six weeks old goslings even are not spared—their tail-
feathers are plucked out, to habituate them to what they are
to come to.

© Sitting rovn? w a circle, with a hundred or so a geese en-

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

closed, the pluckers,—each with a coarse apron tied up to her
chin,—go at their work as stolidly as though they were picking
‘gooseberries off a bush, rather than feathers from a living
creature. The old geese,—their skins having doubtless grown
callous from constant plucking,—bear the operation as content-
edly as one does having his hair cut; it is the goslings, with
their tender baby-flesh, who make the noise: no one, indeed,
but an experienced and granite-hearted plucker, could indif-
ferently listen to the poor little things’ plaintive ‘ quack, quack’
for mercy. If the season prove cold, the mortality amongst
the poor naked things is something alarming.”

The only excuse for this barbarity is that feathers plucked
from a live bird retain their elasticity, whereas feathers from a
dead bird have no more life in them than there is in the carcase
from which they are drawn.

It is, however, satisfactory to find that the poor geese who
thus suffer so much pain at the hands of the myrmidons of the
all-potent monarch, Fashion, are not entirely without cham-
pions, who, moreover, not only denounce the barbarous custom,
but also suggest a remedy. Foremost amongst these may be
mentioned a writer, now somewhat old, but whose “ Treatise
on Poultry ” is a standard work of reference at the present
time; I allude to Bonington Mowbray, who makes the following
remarks on the practice of plucking geese: “ A writer in the
Monthly Magazine, December, 1832, remarks humanely on the
cruelty of plucking the living goose, proposing a remedy which
I should rejoice exceedingly to find practicable and effective.
He remarks on the additional torture experienced by the poor
fowl, from the too frequent unskilfulness and want of dexterity
of the operator—generallty a woman. The skin and flesh are
sometimes so torn as to occasion the death of the victim; and
even when the fowls are plucked in the most careful manner,
they lose their flesh and appetite; their eyes become dull, and
they languish in a most pitiable state, during a longer or a
shorter period. Mortality has also been periodically very ex-
tensive in the flocks of geese, from sudden and imprudent
exposure of them to the cold, after being stripped, and more
especially during severe seasons and sudden atmospheric
vicissitudes. There are many instances, in bleak and cold
situations, of hundreds being lost in a single night, from neg-
lect of the due precaution of comfortable shelter for so long a
time as it may appear to be required. The remedy propnsed,
on the above authority, is as follows: Feathers are but of a

3

 
 

THE GOOSE.

year’s growth, and in the moulting season they spontaneously
fall off, and are supplied by a fresh fleece; when, therefore, the
geese are in full feather, let the plumage be removed, close to
the skin, by sharp scissors. The produce would not be much
reduced in quantity, whilst the quality would be greatly im-
proved, and an indemnification be experienced in the uninjured
health of the fowl, and the benefit obtained to the succeeding
crop. Labour also would be saved in dressing, since the quilly
portion of the feathers, when forcibly detached from the skin,
is generally in such a state, as, after all, to require the employ-
ment of scissors. After this operation shall have been per-
formed, the down from the breast may be removed by the same
manner.”

Our neighbours, the French, have little appetite for goose.
They say it is coarse and unwholesome, and are as much amazed
that apple-sauce should be served with the bird, as some of us are
that frogs and dandelions should be found agreeable to French
palates. They, however, do not object to a wing or a thigh
nicely baked in a pasty, and are passionately fond of pdté de
foie gras, or fat liver pie. And how do you think the material
for this savory pdté is obtained? “The wretched geese are
nailed by the feet to a board, placed before a hot fire, crammed
with food and supplied with drink; and it is in this dreadful
condition, that while fear wastes away their flesh, the liver
becomes enormously large!” Bear this in mind, O English
visitor to the “most elegant city in the world,” and when in
a bill of fare your eyes encovanter pdté de foie gras, think of
the poor brute roasting alive and pass on to the next item.

My experience in goose-breeding has been but limited,—it
has been successful, however. I have a friend whose dealings
in goose-flesh have been extensive, and no less successful than
mine own The system we pursue is not original; it is not
old—no older indeed, than Bonington Mowbray’s “ Practical
Treatise.” To Mr. Mowbray have we stood indebted for many
a delicate “green” goose, and many a fine-flavoured full-
grown bird; therefore, in this case, I can do the reader no
better service than place before him my own lesson.

“A gander and five geese comprise a single breeding stock.
The goose sits upon her eggs twenty-seven to thirty days,
covering from eleven to fifteen eggs. A nest should be pre-
pared for her in a secure place, as soon as carrying straw in
her bill, and other tokens, declare her readiness to lay. The
earliness and warmth of the spring are the general causes of

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

the early laying of geese, which is of consequence, since there
may be time for two broods within the season, not, however,
a common occurrence; and which happen successively for two
or three seasons, has occasioned some persons formerly to set
a high price upon their stock as if a peculiar and more valuable
breed than the common. The method to attain this advantage
is, to feed breeding-geese high throughout the winter, with
solid corn, and on the commencement of the breeding season
to allow them boiled barley, malt, fresh grains and fine pollard,
mixed up with ale and other stimulants....... With a
gander present no mischief can happen to the sitting geese—
he sitting sentinel at the chamber-door of his wives. With
respect to feeding the goose or duck upon the nest, it may be
occasionally required, but is not a thing of much account, since
they will generally repair to the water sufficiently often from
their natural inclination. ‘The goose will not quit before she
has completed her hatch, nor will it be practicable to take any
of the goslings from her were it necessary, as she is too strong
and resolute, and might kill some in the struggle.

“Tt has been formerly recommended to keep the newly-
hatched in the house during a week, lest they get cramp from the
damp earth, to which they are indeed liable; but we did not find
this indoor confinement necessary, penning the goose and her
brood between four hurdles, upon a piece of dry grass, well
sheltered, putting them out late in the morning, or not at all
in severe weather, and even taking them in im the evening.
Sometimes we have pitched double the number of hurdles for
the convenience of two broods, there being no quarrels among
this social and harmless part of the feathered race, so unlike
those quarrelsome and murderous fellows the common fowls,
We did not even find it necessary to interpose a parting hurdle,
which, on occasion, may always conveniently be done.

“The first food, similar to that of the duck, but with some
cooling greens, clivers, or the like intermixed,—namely, barley-
meal, bruised oats, or fine pollard.

“For the first range, a convenient field containing water is
to be preferred to an extensive common, over which the gulls
of goslings are dragged by the goose, until they become
cramped or tired, some of them squatting down and remaining
behind. It is also necessary to destroy all the hemlock or
deadly nightshade within the range of the young geese, many
of which drop off annually from ‘eating that poison when the
cauve is not suspected. I know not that the elder geese will

474

 
 

THE DUCK.

eat hemlock, but I believe that both the young and old have
been occasionally killed by swallowing slips of yew.

“The young becoming pretty well feathered will also be too
large to be contained or brooded beneath the mother’s wings,
and will then sleep in groups by her side, and must be supplied
with good and renewed straw beds, which they convert into
excellent dung. Being now able to frequent the pond, and
range the common at large, the young geese will obtain their
living, and few people, favourably situated, allow them any-
thing more except the vegetable produce of the garden.

“It has, however, been my constant practice always to dis-
pense a moderate quantity of any solid corn or pulse at hand,
both morning and evening, and the going out and returning of
the geese, together with such greens as happened to be at
command: cabbage, mangold leaves, lucerne, tares, and, occa-
sionally, sliced carrots and turnips. By such full-keeping our
geese were ever in a fleshy state, and attained a large size.

“Geese managed after the above mode will be speedily
fattened green, that is, at a month or six weeks old, or after
the run of the corn stubble. Two or three weeks after the
latter must be sufficient to make them thoroughly fat ; indeed,
I prefer a goose fattened entirely in the stubbles, granting
it to have been previously in good case, and be full-fed in the
field. But when needful to fatten them, the feeding-houses
already recommended are most convenient. With clean and re-
newed beds of straw, and plenty of clean water; oats, crushed
or otherwise, pea or bean-meal or pollard; the articles mixed
up with skimmed milk, where the article can be obtained, will
fatten geese pleasantly and speedily. Very little greens of
any kind should be given to fattenmg geese as being too laxa-
tive, and occasioning them to throw off their corn too quickly ;
whence their flesh will prove less substantial and of inferior
flavour.’...... It may be added, that oat-meal, or pea-meal
mixed with oatmeal, form an excellent feeding article for ducks
and geese.”

DISEASES OF POULTRY AND THEIR CURE.

Amerg the chief diseases to which poultry of all kinds are
liable may be mentioned the following :—

Inflammation of the rump-gland or rowp.—Let the swelling
be opened by a lancet, and the matter gently squeezed out;
afterwards foment well with warm water; put the bird upon
a diet of oatmeal and green vegetables, and, if necessary, give

475

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

cd
a teaspoonful of castor-oil. Be sure that the roosting-place
is clean and well ventilated.

Gapes (inflammation of the trachea) is a disease to which
all our domestic gallinaceous birds are subject, and which often
oceasions great mortality. It is indicated by running at the
nostrils, watery eyes, alteration of voice, and loss of appetite
and spirits. If the bird dies and the trachea be examined, it
will be found replete with narrow worms, about half an inch
in length. “This singular worm,” says a recent writer, “is
the Syngamus trachealis, or Distoma lineare. It consists of a
long and a short body united together; the long body is the
female, the short body the male; each, were it not that they
are permanently united together, being an animal distinct and
perfect in itself. Whether these parasitic worms are the cause
or consequence of the disease, we pretend not to say, nor can
we tell how they become introduced into the trachea: this,
however, seems certain, that their removal is requisite to give
the feathered patient a chance of recovery. This can be done
by means of a feather, neatly trimmed, which is to be intro-
duced into the windpipe, and turned round once or twice, and
then drawn out. It will dislodge the worms, and bring back
many of them adhering with slime unto it. This plan requires
great dexterity, and some knowledge of the anatomy of the
parts: a slow, unskilful operator may kill the already half-
suffocated bird, instead of curing it. Another mode of de-
stroying these worms is, by putting the birds in a box, and
making them inhale the fumes of tobacco, thrown into it
through the stalk of a tobacco-pipe. Some recommend the
forcing of tobacco-smoke down the bird’s throat, and others
that the mouth be crammed with snuff; while many place
faith in the efficacy of a pinch of salt, introduced into the back
part of the mouth. Something like a scientific mode of treat-
ment may, however, be suggested. Give a grain of calomel,
made up with bread into a pill, or two or three grains of Plum-
mer’s pill (pil. hydr. submur. co., London Pharmacopeeia) ;
after which let flour of sulphur be administered, with a little
ginger, in pultaceous food composed of barley-meal. In the
mean time, let the bird be kept in a dry warm shed or room,
apart from the rest of the fowls, as the disease may be in-
fectious. Let the mouth and beak be washed with a weak
solution of chloride of lime.”

Asthma.— When fowls are affected with this complaint, it ia
evidenced by difficulty of breathing and a wheezing, rattling

6

 
 

THEIR DISEASES AND CURE.

noise on inspiration. It is the result of a thickening of th
bronchial tubes from previous inflammation, often accompanied
by an alteration in the structure of the cellular tissue of a
portion of the lungs. There is little hope for an asthmatic
fowl.

Diarrhoea may be generally cured by a change of diet, and
a little chalk given in gruel.

Constipation of the bowels will yield to castor-oil, and a diet
upon oatmeal porridge and green vegetables.

Moulting. — This process is natural, and consists in the
gradual exchange of old feathers for new ones.. Nevertheless
it often happens that birds in a state of domestication have
not sufficient vital energy for the accomplishment of the
change. They require improved diet, warmth, and good water.
Of course their roosting-place must be properly sheltered and
ventilated. A grain or two of cayenne pepper, made into a
pill with bread, may be given daily with advantage. Saffron
is useless; but a nail, or any bit of iron, may be put into the
drinking-trough, in order to render the water chalybeate.

 

BOW-BILL DUCKS.

 
 

 

THE OYGNET.

SWANS.

AxrnoveH these handsome birds bear some resemblance to the
geese and duck family, they have been by modern naturalists
separated from the rest of the genus Anas into a distinct group
of their own. There are six varieties of the swan known in
England: The Mute Swan, the Whooper ‘or Whistling Swan,
the Bewick’s Swan, the Polish Swan, and the Australian and
Chilian, or Peruvian Swan. The mute swan is the most com-
mon in this country, and it is this bird which is usually seen
on park-waters and pleasure-grounds. It is a large bird,
measuring four feet and a half in height, and seven feet from
the tip of one wing to the other. Its plumage, as is well
known, is snowy white. During the first year the feet are
black, in the second year they change to leaden-grey, and lastly,
reddish-grey. Jesse, in his “Gleanings,” well describes the
habitat of the swans on the river Thames, with which birds my
readers are no doubt familiar. He says :—‘ Living on the
banks of the Thames, I have often been pleased with seeing
the care taken of the young swans by the parent birds. Where
the stream is strong, the old swan Swill sink herself sufficiently
low to bring her back on a level with the water, when cygnets
will get upon it, and in this manner are conveyed to the other
side of the river, or into stiller water. Hach family of swans
on the river has its own district; and if the limits of that
district are encroached upon by other swans, a vindication of
local rights immediately takes place, and the intruders are
driven away. Except in this instance, colonies of swans appear

to live in a state of the most perfect harmony. The male is
<78

 
 

SWANS.

very attentive to the female, assists in making the nest, and,
when 2 sudden rise of the tide takes place, joins her with great:
assiduity in raising the nest sufficiently high to prevent the
eggs being chilled by the action of the water, though sometimes
its rise is so rapid that the whole nest is washed away and
destroyed.”

Of its attachment to its young there can be little doubt.
I have often, while boating on the Thames, amused myself
with attempting to get at its nest. The female and male have
always combined to resist the seeming attempt at depredation,
sailing round and round the boat, and snapping most angrily
at the sculls, seeming to know that they were the principle
objects of dread..

The mute swan builds its nest of rushes, reeds, and various
plants; and lays about six or seven eggs. The amount of food
that should be given to this bird varies, of course, in propor-
tion to its own opportunities of foraging for itself. Says a
good authority :—‘ When in a great measure dependent on
given food, each will eat the eighth part of a peck of barley
daily ; this may be now and then varied with oats.” <A writer
in the Poultry Chronicle, above referred to, states that they
relish the sweepings of the pigeon loft, in which the peas and
beans, if thrown into the water at the edge, soon become clean.
He also states that they like a little grass when the lawns
are Thown, and once a year a wheelbarrowful of watercress.
When the cygnets first take to the water, they may be fed
with oatmeal scattered on the surface.

The other varieties of swans are by no means so common.
The whooper or whistling swan is a native of northern countries,
and in Iceland is a great favourite; as the cry of the cuckoo
is in this country an indication of the approach of spring, so,
in those cold and cheerless regions, the cry of the swan is
hailed as the harbinger of more genial weather. Bewick’s
swan is still more uncommon, and also a native of northern
latitudes. The Polish swan bears some resemblance to our
common tame swan, only that the cygnets are white instead
of grey. The black swan is peculiar to Australia and New
Holland, and is a very hardy bird, which will breed and thrive
well in this country. Some good specimens may be seen in
the Regent’s Park grounds.

The Chilian swan is a native of South America; its plu-
mage is white, with black head and neck; and is rather a
pretty species.

 
 

DOMESTIC POULTRY.

The swan must not only be regarded as an ornament to
pleasure-grounds and parks, but also as a bird of great utility.
For the discovery of the latter quality, it is said,-we are in-
debted to the late Marquis of Exeter. On the estate of this
nobleman, at Burgh*ey, there was a sheet of water which was
so overrun with weeds, that their destruction gave employ-
ment to three men six months of the year. At last, in 1796,
two pair of swans were introduced by the marquis, and soon a
great and remarkable change took place: in one year the
whole expanse of water was completely cleared of weeds, and
so remained ; the swans devouring the weeds as soon as they
began to spring up.

The cygnet, or the young swan, was formerly much es-
teemed; but it has “fallen from its high estate,” and is
now rarely seen upon the table. We are not sure that it
is not still fattened at Norwich for the corporation of that
place. Persons who have property on the river there
take the young birds, and send them to some one who is em-
ployed by the corporation, to be fed; and for this trouble he is
paid, or was wont to be paid, about a half a guinea a bird.
It is as the future bird of elegance and grace that the young
swan is mostly admired; when it has become old enough to
grace the waters, then it is that all admire her,—when she
with— .

“ Arched neck,

Between her white wings mantling, proudly rows
Her state with oary feet.”

 

@UINEA-FOWLS.

 
“LIVE GFUVa-dOl ALIA
QNVY MOVId V ‘LIGGVH WIOONV ALIHM DHL ‘LIddVU NMOUM NONITOD TAL

 

 
 

 

THE RABBIT.

—+oo—

Tue value of this little animal to man is much more consi-
derable than at first sight appears. Its fur is used in the
manufacture of hats, and in place of down and feathers, as
stuffing for beds; its skin is of use to the glove-makers and the
glue-maker, and its flesh forms no trifling item of the amount
of animal food consumed annually in England. Home produce
has, however, but very little to do with this latter business.
Belgium would seem to be the rabbit-field of Europe. Judging
from the immense quantities shipped weekly from Ostend, one
might imagine the whole surrounding country one vast warren,
and the inhabitants warreners to a man. I know at the pre- .
sent time one London firm whose weekly consignment in the
season is fifteen tons of rabbits; not, it must be borne in mind,
encumbered by skins and offal, but skinned, gutted, and trimmed
ready for the spit or pot. Take these rabbit carcases as aver-
aging in weight four pounds each, and we have something
over four thousand animals each week. Taking the season to
last six months, this gives us eighty-fowr thousand rabbits
killed and consigned to one among many existing London rabbit
importers.

As fur as may be gathered from arithmetical calculation,
rabbit breeding must be a very profitable business. Pennant

31

 
THE RABBIT.

says, “ Rabbits will breed seven times @ year, and bring eight
young ones each time. On a supposition that this happens
regularly during four years, their numbers will amount +o
1,274,840.” Supposing these rabbits, little and big, to be wortu
no more than sixpence each, here is an opportunity of realizing
a princely fortune in four years—on the supposition that so
many rabbits would in that short period spring from the inex-
pensive buck and doe by which the business was started. It
would, however, be altogether out of the scheme of nature that
such a result should come about. Neither the seven litters a
year nor the eight young ones at a litter could be guaranteed,
and rabbit flesh is surely “heir” to as many ills as human.
Pennant should have taken the pains to calculate what a differ-
ence to the grand total would have appeared, had only ten out
of his growing multitude of rabbits died during the first six
months—a much more fair supposition than that they should
all live and do well. The. above-mentioned is, however, by no
means a solitary instance of fortunes guaranteed (on paper) to
rabbit-breeders. A few years ago there was published in Paris,
by one M. Despouy, a pamphlet clearly demonstrating that it
needed but an outlay of twenty pounds per annum to insure to
a rabbit farmer at least £800 a year.’

' About fifty years ago, there existed in this country two or
three wholesale breeders of rabbits, each of whom kept from
fifteen hundred to two thousand breeding does. The specula-
tion was, however, discontinued, partly on account of the sheer
unprofitableness of the speculation, and partly through the
complaints of the surrounding farmers, whose properties were
in a fair way to ruin on account of the nightly ravages of the
furry multitude. Mowbray, who wrote about thirty years ago,
says, “ The only considerable rabbit-feeders of whom I Heard
were two gentlemen, the one resident in Oxfordshire, the other
in Berks. The former fed some hundreds, and then it was
said intended to double his stock. The huts were placed in a
small building set apart for that purpose. The then stock
produced one load of dung per week, two loads of which were
sufficient to manure one acre of land. Three dozen of rabbits
per week were sent to the London markets, but, keep and
attendance reckoned, no other profit accrued, excepting the
dung, the price of which used to be eightpence per bushel, and
I believe thirty-six bushels are reckoned a load. The Berks
gentleman, according to the custom of that county, fed white
rabbits on account of the superior value of their skins.” The

a
 

THE RABBIT.

same authority declares his opinion, that rabbits at large must
always suffer in point of profit by loss of number than they
gain by cheaper feeding, exclusive of the mischief they do;
and that this principle operates proportionally in limited en-
largement, as in the unlimited upon the warren.

Dr. Alfred Smee, speaking of the nest of the wild rabbit,
says, “The female, when about to give birth to young, leaves
the warren and goes to some distance, perhaps one, two, or
three fields. She then scratches a hole, two, three, four, five,
or even more feet in length ; but still it is a mere hole in the
ground and would be quite unfit to receive the little rabbits at
birth. To make the bed suitable, she pulls off from her own
body a good hatful of down, which makes a nest as warm and
snug as may be desired. She does not stop continually with
the young, but lives in the warren. In the dusk of the even-
ing she stealthily runs‘to the nest to suckle her young ones.
Before she returns she carefully covers over the hole, leaving a
very small space for the air to enter; and she has to remove
the covering whenever she visits her offspring. I have often
been delighted in watching these precautionary measures: and,
on one occasion, a rabbit wandered into the garden-of a house
where I was stopping, and so I had a capital opportunity of
watching her proceedings as she returned nightly to visit the
nest. When I judged that the young ones were sufficiently
strong, I took the nest. In the evening the old rabbit came as
before, went into the hole, saw that all her little ones were
gone, took one look round, and ran away as fast as her legs
would carry her to the warren, and never returned to the
spot.” If the nest of the rabbits is the least disturbed, the old
one finds it out on her next visit, and for ever deserts her pro-
geny. ‘The worthy Doctor goes on to argue that, since what-
ever number of rabbits’ “ nests”? we examine, they all exhibit
the same design, and that even in the domestic state, where
from being confined in hutches the rabbit cannot burrow,
she makes her nest in a dark chamber, and still pulls off
the down; it cannot be doubted that the proceeding is a
purely instinctive operation, and not in any way derived from
experience.

The reason of the doe’s quitting the warren to build a sly
cradle for her coming young ones would appear to be the un-
natural and bloodthirsty disposition of the buck. He seems to
entertain the notion that baby rabbits—no matter though they
be his own—are troublesome little wretches, and much better

a3

 
 

THE RABBIT,

out of the world than in it, and seconds his opinion with his
cruel teeth whenever he finds a chance.

I never myself had the pleasure of observing the behaviour
of rabbits when in a wild condition; the following description,
however, by the Rev. J. G. Wood, will give the reader a capital
notion of what a rabbit warren is like:

“To see rabbits at their best, it is necessary to be con-
cealed closely in their immediate vicinity, and watch them in
the early morning or the fall of the evening. No one can form
any true conception of the rabbit nature until he has observed
the little creatures in their native home, and, when he has done
so, he will seize the earliest opportunity of renewing his
acquaintance with the droll little creatures. To describe the
manifold antics of a rabbit warren would occupy a considerable
space. The little animals are such quaint, ludicrous beings,
and are full of such comical little coquetries, and such absurd
airs of assumed dignity, that they sorely try the gravity of the
concealed observer, and sometimes cause him to burst into irre-
pressible laughter to their profound dismay.

“ At one time they are gravely pattering about the doors of
the subterransan homes, occasionally sitting upright and gazing
in every direction as if fearful of a surprise, and all behaving
with the profoundest gravity; next moment some one gets
angry, and stamps his feet upon the ground, as a preliminary
observation before engaging in a regular fight. Suddenly a
whole party rush at full speed, scampering over the ground as
if they meant to run for a mile at least, but, unexpectedly, stop
short at an inviting tuft of herbage, and nibble it composedly
as if they had not run a yard. Then a sudden panic will flash
through the whole party, and, with a rush and a scurry, every
rabbit leaps into its burrow, and vanishes from sight like
magic. The spot that was so full of life a moment since is now
deserted as though it had been uninhabited for ages; but in
a few minutes one little nose is seen cautiously poked out of a
burrow, the head and ears follow, and in a very few minutes
the frightened rabbits have come again into the light of day,
and have recommenced their interrupted pastime.”

In its native state the rabbit is of a uniform brown colour.
It exists exclusively on vegetable food, and, as everybody
knows who resides near a warren, most destructive and wan-
tonly mischievous neighbour. Not only do the smaller green
things suffer fiom their depredations, but young trees are often
utterly ruined through the destruction of the bark about their

“

 
 

THE RABBIT

fower parts. It would somewhat abate the annoyance if they
were known to be passionately fond of tree bark and ate of it
whenever they found a chance, but it must be admitted as
somewhat exasperating to find your promising trees naked as
high as a rabbit standing on his hind legs could reach, and all
the bark lying in ribands about the ground. It is possible that
they may sometimes eat the bark, but it would seem that the
chief ¢bject is to trim and sharpen the claws, as cats trim theirs
against the legs of our chairs and tables.

It may not be here out of place to put the reader in pos-
session of a hint on the above subject, some time ago presented
to the world by a naturalist and rabbit-keeper of some repute.
“When the rabbits have begun to devastate a plantation, they
will continue their destructive amusement till they have killed
every tree in the place unless they are effectually checked.
There are only two methois of saving the trees, one of killing
all the rabbits, and the other of making them disgusted with
their employment. The latter plan is generally the most
feasible, and can be done by painting each tree with a strong
infusion of tobacco mixed with a sufficiency of clay and other
substances to make it adhere to the bark. This mixture
should be copiously applied to the first three feet of the root
of every tree, so that the rabbit cannot find any portion of the
bark that is not impregnated with the nauseous compound,
and is an effectual preservative against their attacks.”

The burrow of the rabbit is an irregular and complicated
contrivance, as it had need be, considering the number of ene-
mies continually on the alert to work his destruction. Stoats,
weasels, and ferrets, are among the rabbit’s most deadly and
bloodthirsty enemics ; indeed, when the latter animal is em-
ployed by the professional warrener to hunt rabbits out of
their burrows, it is necessary to muzzle its sharp jaws with a
leather muzzle or a loop of cord. If this should happen to
slip off during the hunt, the warrener will see no more of his
ferret; it will take up its abode in the warren, living like a
prince—that is, like a Dahomian prince—till the approach of
winter, when the poor rabbits are relieved of their sanguinary
foe, who one morning is found frozen to death. Foxes, tov,
are particularly fond of young rabbits, and though they cannot
follow them into their burrows like the stoat and the ferret,
have a very ingenious method of digging them out. Cats
have been known to yield to the temptation of a rabbit warren
in the vicinity of their master’s house, to turn =o peaceful

 
 

THE RABBIT.

and domestic ways and, taking to the woods, become vaga-
bonds and rabbit poachers till the end of their days. Terrier
dogs will sometimes be bold enough to enter a burrow to give
chase to its furry occupant. Not invariably with impunity,
however. There have been known cases where from one part
of its burrow the rabbit has watched the dog enter at another,
and stealthily coming behind, blocked up the passage with
earth so effectually, that had it not been dug out, the dog
would certainly have starved to death in its dark prison.

It is generally supposed that the rabbit has a great anti-
pathy to the hare, and that a “cross” between the species was
not possible. There has, however, been introduced to French
tables an animal called the “Hare-rabbit,” partaking of the
nature, characteristics, and qualifications of both the hare and
the rabbit. It is highly spoken of, both as regards flesh and
flavour; and it is said to be the only hybrid which is able to
perpetuate its race. We hope that some enterprising indivi-
dual will soon secure for English tables what would seem to be
a really valuable addition to our other game and poultry
dishes ; although it will be rather’ difficult to exactly assign its
proper position, as within or without the meaning of “ game,”
as by law established. Only a few specimens have been seen
in England at present; but there is no reason to doubt that
our rabbit-fanciers will prove equal to the occasion, and cope
successfully in the kitchen matter, as in all others, with our
neighbours across the Channel.

Where natural warrens do not exist, artificial ones are some-
times constructed; but this can, of course, only be done in
situations where the soil is favourable. As the author of
“ British Husbandry,” however, observes, that though warrens
are found to return a large per centage on the capital em-
ployed, the animals are so destructive of fences and growing
crops, that the land on which they are maintained appears in
a state of desolation; and that they are notoriously such bad
neighbours, that however profitable they may be, they are con-
sidered as a public nuisance, and efforts are constantly made
to annihilate them. The expenses attending the maintenance
of a warren are very considerable. There are warreners’
wages, cost of traps and nets, repair of fences, and the
destruction of such vermin as are inimical to the well doing of
the stock.

“In Glamorganshire,” says a recent writer, “there is an
enclosed warren of 1,600 or 1,700 acres within a wall. It is

456

 
 

 

THE RABBIT.

etocked with various kinds of rabbits, and produces a very
good income, probably as much as £1,600 a year. One foreign
customer has paid as much as £800 per annum for skins of
one particular variety, for the German fairs, whence they
travel into Russia and the East.”

In another county, according to the same authority, on a
farm of two thousand six hundred acres, a portion only of
which was warren, the skins and flesh of the rabbits paid the
rent, beside the expense of the warreners. Of those officials
there were seven, with dogs and implements in abundance.
Besides wages, they were allowed all the rabbits they could
eat, and bread, bacon, vegetables, beer, &c., from the farm-
house, to be consumed in their huts on the warren, where they
cooked, in hermitlike solitude, for themselves. During the
killing season they worked in the night, finishing off at about
two in the morning. This took place every night, Sundays
excepted. The catch was immediately “hulked,” or disem-
bowelled, coupled, and then sent off to London in regular
vans. During the day false burrows were dug in the portion
of the warren to be worked in the evening, which was after-
wards partially encircled with a net. When the rabbits came
out to feed, they were driven by dogs and beaters into the
enclosure. Taking refuge by droves in the false burrows, they
were easily caught by the men; those that escaped thence
were intercepted by the nets. One bright moonlight night,
when we witnessed the chase, two hundred couple were taken.
The dogs not being allowed to touch them, very few rabbits,
indeed, were mangled or torn. Stretching their necks was the
mode of death. In some existing warrens, rabbit-traps,' like
large rat-traps, are made use of, and were occasionally em-
ployed here. Five hundred acres: of the warren were subse-
quently broken up and cultivated, which materially diminished
the value of the farm.

The warren is, however, an affair of too great magnitude to
tempt many of my readers to embark in such a speculation,
despite the profit to be made. Before, however, we come to the
modest and familiar hutch, it will be proper to make mention
of two other contrivances for the maintenance of rabbits, and
which may have attractions for such as have plenty of money
and enough love’ for rabbit-keeping to devote thereto a goodly -
share of it, together with a few spare hours each day. The
following is the description of a “ rabbit court,” planned by a
gentleman who should know all about such matters.

 

 
 

THE RABBIT.

“Two sides of a paved court-yard may be bounded by tall
buildings, as houses or stabling; if they stand to the north-east
so much the better. The other two sides should consist of a
wall, not more than five feet high, to admit air and sunshine.
For security from intrusion without, and to confine any fowls
that may be kept within, palings may be fixed to the top of
these low walls without any inconvenience arising. The great
object is to have the court at once airy, sunshiny, sheltered,
and secure. In one or two corners of the court, or against one
or two of its sides, there should be thrown a broad heap of
earth and rubbish, eighteen inches lower than the top of the
wall. In this the rabbits will burrow and amuse themselves,
though it is better to prevent the does from nesting there, for
fear of the attacks of cats and rats. The buck, if one is kept,
must be retained a close prisoner in a box of his own. The
breeding does, when their time of kindling approaches, will be
comfortably settled in separate hutches, to be described here-
after. The day when each doe is to bring forth will be known
from the stud book, even if it is not indicated by the prepara-
tions she makes, such as carrying about straws and haulm in
her mouth, and biting them into separate lengths. The rest of
the stock will associate indiscriminately in the court, with the
gole exception that all the males will be withdrawn as soon as
they get to such an age as to prove troublesome, and that
young ones, just weaned, i.e. from six to eight weeks old, will
be kept in a hutch by themselves till they grow strong enough
to join the general herd. For the rabbits which remain at
large in the coart, a few small brick houses at the foot of the
wall, with their doors constantly open, and the burrows they
will make in the earth, will prove a sufficient shelter at night
and during bad weather. They will also make a similar use of
any logs of wood, hen-coops, or faggots that may be lying or
standing about the place at random.

“The easy management of such a rabbit-court as this is
obvious. Food, either green or dry, has only to be scattered
on the pavement of the court. The small proportion of
individuals in confinement will, of course, require extra
attention. The chief thing, however, is to attend to them
regularly and unfailingly. Rabbits so kept are much more
amusing objects than when they are constantly hidden from
sight in their hutches. Their gambols are seen—their cleanly
habits in brushing their fur coats—and even the petty
quarrels and jealousies which continually arise from tha

438

 
 

THE RABBIT.

elder ones striving for mastery. They will become as tame as
to eat out of the hand, and to flock round their feeder when he
enters with a bundle of vegetables or straw. The whole stud
should be so liberally supplied with provender that those in.
tended to be eaten may be able to fatten upon it, and the
growing and the breeding rabbits will amply repay the share
they consume of this liberal diet by the rapidity with which
they come to hand, and the strength and shapeliness of the
litters they bring forth. A rabbit-court like this is particularly
convenient for consuming the refuse and sweepings of a large
kitchen-garden and flower-garden, and even a portion of the
scourings of the stable. Forkfuls of litter, which a neat groom
will cast out of doors, will be nibbled over and relished by his
minor charges. In short, we strongly recommend a rabbit-
court to those whose premises and situation allow of such a
plan being adopted.”

Another artificial structure, imitating in some degree the
natural rabbit-warren, is the “ rabbit-pit.” Various forms have
been suggested for this, but the most practicable is that of a
correspondent of the Agricultural Gazette :—

“In the Isle of Thanet, on the east coast of Kent, the writer
witnessed and superintended on his own property the method
which he now proceeds cursorily to describe, and the annexed
diagram will tend to define the limits of the spaces required.

4ft

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GROUND PLAN OF RABBIT-PIT.

No.1 represents a pit four feet on each side of the square;
2 is an oblong, four feet long and about two feet broad. Both
are dug to the depth of six feet, perfectly level at the bottom
and sides, the latter so much wider than the wooden curbs as
to admit of a facing of four-inch brickwork in cement, except-
ing the spaces to admit of about six arched openings (as
marked), of dimensions sufficient for the passage of the largest

 
 

THE RABBIT.

rabbit. 2 is the feeding department; 3 is only an arched
passage tunnelied at the ground level of the bottom of the two
pits, about a foot wide and broad, to serve as a communication
between the pits. This is also bricked and arched, but is not
seen at the top. A covering of oil-cloth is added to the curb
of each pit, and the cloth extends over the frame ‘several inches
beyond the curb, in order to prevent the entry of the heaviest
rain. At the place, op, the arched passage is always open;
and so itis also at the other extremity marked ¢ r, excepting
only when any of the rabbits are to be taken. Dryness is
essential to the prosperity of this animal; therefore the soil
should not only be naturally dry, but must be protected above,
and kept secure at the sides and bottoms of the pit by the
best brickwork. From what has been stated, it will be under-
stood that a sound chalky or sandstone rock forms by far
the most appropriate medium for the warren, which the rabbits
burrow into, and excavate according to their own requirements.
Four does and a buck may be reckoned a good breeding stock;
and something of the kind was found when the writer pur-
chased the property in the Isle of Thanet. The experience of
about two and a half years proved the correctness of the facts
thus stated; and little more remains to be said on the avail-
ability of a practice which, while it secures the rabbits, pre-
serves something of their wild nature. The variety generally
introduced by the Thanet people was the one called brown:
the hardy silver-haired would be desirable, if it could be pro-
cured. Sometimes a black rabbit was produced among the young
ones of alitter. In feeding twice a day, the cabbage-leaves and
carrot-tops of the garden were thrown into the feeding-pit, always
free from wet, but not particularly air-dried ur contracted by
exposure. Some coarse pollard and a few oats, mixed, were let
down in a trough attached to a long handle. The opening, ¢7, was
fitted with a trap-door, working freely in grooves, and fur-
nished with a string and loop to keep it up. To this a much
longer string was tied, and made to act perpendicularly, when
any were to be taken, previously to which a meal or two was
omitted. The simple machinery being then adapted, hunger in-
duced a rush to seize the green food thrown down; and after
waiting a few minutes it rarely happened that a sufficient
nuxuber was not secured by the fall of the trap to admit of a
proper selection for table use. Some cautions suggest them-
selves. No useless trappings must be indulged in; the man
who holds 3 the long string must not be seen, The passage

 
 

THE RASBIT.

should always be open at other times, and the covering-sereen
kept on constantly, unless some operation be going on.”

That the wild rabbit—at least, if taken in hand when very
young—is capabiv of speedy domestication, is proved in a pa-
thetic story sent by a lady to Mr. Jesse. “One evening last
spring my dog barked at something behind a flower-pot that
stood in the door-porch. I thought a toad was there, but it
proved to be a very young rabbit—a wild one. The poor thing
was in a state of great exhaustion, as if it had been chased
and had been a long while without food. It was quiet in the
hand, and allowed alittle warm milk to be put into its mouth.
Upon being wrapped in flannel and placed in a basket by the
fire it soon went to sleep. When it awoke more milk was
offered in a small spoon, which this time was sucked with right
good-will; and the little creature continued to take the milk
in this way for several days until strong enough to help itself
out of a cup. It appeared to become tame immediately, soon
learnt its name, and I never saw a happier or a merrier pet.
Its gambols on the carpet were full of fun. When tired with
play, it would feed on the green food and nice bits placed
there for it, and when satisfied it used to climb up the skirt of
the dress, nestle in the lap or under the arm, and go to sleep.
If this indulgence could not be permitted, then Bunny (as we
called it) would spring into my work-basket, and take a nap
there. At midday it liked to sit im the sun on the window-
seat, then it would clean its fur and long ears, each being
separately drawn down and held by one foot while brushed by
the other. This duty performed, it would stretch at full length,
and, basking in the sun, fall asleep. Strange to tell, all this
was going on with the dog in the room, who had been made
to understand that the rabbit was not to be touched. Stranger
still, the rabbit ceased to show any fear of the dog, but, on the
contrary, delighted in jumping on the dog’s back, and running
after its tail. These liberties, however, were not pleasing to
Jewel; they were evidently only endured in obedience to the
commands of his mistress. Not approving of one favourite
being made happy at another’s expense I was obliged on these
occasinns to interfere and call Bunny to order.

“Being frequently told that a wild rabbit could not be so
thoroughly domesticated, but that it would return to the woods
if it regained its liberty, I feared that if mine got loose it would
certainly run away; yet I wished it should be sometimes in the
garden, to feed upon such green food as it liked best; for this

 
 

THE RABBIT

purpose I fastened it with a collar and a small chain, and thus
securely led it about. One evening the chain unfortunately
broke, and Bunny was free. At first we saw it running from
place to place with wild delight, but after a little while we could
not see it, and we hunted in vain under the shrubs, calling it
by name, until it became dark; we then ceased to search any
longer, and I concluded that my pretty pet was gone.

“ Before retiring for the night I gave a last look out of the
window, in the hope I might chance to see it once more. The
moon was then shining brightly, and I distinctly saw my little
rabbit sitting at the door, with head and ears erect, as if
listening for its friends within, anxious, perhaps, for its accus-
tomed nice supper and soft warm bed. I hastened down stairs
to let it in, calling it by name, when the moment I opened the
door a strange cat darted forward, seized it by the neck, and
bore it screaming away. Of course effort of mine was useless
to overtake the cat.”

Only that the above-mentioned unfortunate rabbit was taken
unaware, and considering that it was four months old, and had
an ample share of wild blood in its veins, savage grimalkin
might have come off but second best. I know of a case of a
cat who lived at a house where fancy rabbits were kept. Being
creatures of meek spirits and much subdued, a mere glance
from puss towards the rabbit-hutch was enough almost to
make the hair of every butterfly-smut and oarlop stand on end,
and emboldened by these evidences of their terror, she never
lost an opportunity of approaching their hutches, and spitting
and using all sorts of abusive language through the bars. This
little amusement was, of course, checked as much as possible
by the rabbit-keeper, who, to cure the cat, was accustomed to
rasp her unlucky nose against the door-wires whenever she was
eaught close thereto; but this only seemed to increase her spite,
and with her smelling-organ in process of excoriation, she wonld
thrust her leg between the bars, and endeavour to maul the
creatures within. One day, however, there arrived at the rabbit-
keepers’ abode a three-quarters grown wild rabbit from Lincoln-
shire. The animal came in a hamper, and having no convenient
hutch to put it in, it was allowed to remain in the basket till
the next morning; that is, an opportunity of so doing was
afforded it, but it was not the wild young buck’s nature to
submit to imprisonment while he had sharp teeth in his head,
and only osier bars between himself and liberty.

He set to work, and just at daylight succeeded in gnawing &

2

 
 

THE BABBIT.

hole of sufficient size to squeeze through. This latter operation
was just concluded when the rabbit-keeper happened to look
into the room. The emancipated rabbit was not alone; a few
feet off was that deadly enemy to rabbit-kind, the cat, evidently
not yet quite recovered from her joyful surprise, that here was
one of her foes—all alone, plump, and tender, delivered fairly
into her claws. She lay flat on the ground, ag does a tiger
when he makes comfortably sure of his prey; and, like the
tiger, she leisurely waved her tail from side to side. As for the
young buck from the country, he too seemed rather astonished,
and sat upright, regarding puss with eyes wide open, and with
an air of amusement rather than fear. Presently the cat,
thinking it time to proceed to business, made a swift and
sadden leap; but the buck, equally nimble, sprung up at the
identical moment, and cleared the cat’s back, striking out with
his horny hind feet, and striking his enemy sv smart a blow as
sent her flue flying. The cat, evidently unprepared for anything
like fight in an animal shaped like those among which she was
accustomed to play the tyrant, seemed taken considerably aback,
and for the next few mites confined her pugnacious demon-
strations to snarling, stiffening her bushy tail, and showing her
teeth ; while the buck, sitting at the end of the room, rubbed
his nose with his fore-paws, and seemed to regard the entire
business as rather a good joke. Still, on mischief bent, the cat
dropped flat to her belly, and keeping her green eyes on the
rabbit, commenced to draw herself along the floor towards her
enemy. Her enemy was nothing averse to another round.
Before she had nearly reached him, he made another spring,
and this time having a fairer chance than before, gave her such
a tremendous double kick that she uttered a short, sharp cry,
and bolted into an empty barrel that stood in the room.
Finding that she evinced no disposition to renew the combat,
my friend opened the door, when, in a moment, the cat leaped
from the barrel, and scuttled off as though she had a squib at
ner tail.

A correspondent sends me a little narrative of how he
“cured” a cat of rabbit-stealing, which certainly is com-
mendable for ingenuity rather than humanity. Haunting the
garden where his rabbit-hutches stood, was a gaunt, grey tom
cat, of ruffianly habits, whom nobody owned, and who, doubt-
less, had been a burglar and a thief from his kittenhood. Ha
was known to be wonderfully good at rats, and might, doubt-
less, had he chosen to turn his mind to honest pursuits, have

 
 

THE RABBIT.

become a respectable and valued member of society. House-
dwellings, however, were not to his taste. Where he stowed
himself all day nobody knew, but as certain as sunset he might
be seen prowling on ridges and roofs seeking something to
devour. He generally found it. Sometimes it was a prime
chick from the hen-roost, sometimes it was a couple of tender
“ squeakers” from a dormer, sometimes it was a little rabbit;
very often it was a little rabbit—the property of my corre-
spondent.

How the larceny was effected it was hard to tell. Every
hutch was furnished with a hig wooden button, and every
button properly secured at night; but sure as ever one of the
rabbits littered, the door of that hutch was found ajar in the
morning, and at least one of the little ones gone. The mys-
tery was inexplicable to my young friend, and one night he
kept watch. The first night all remained secure; the second
aight passed with the same result: but on the third night,
from the window, the watcher saw stealing up the pathway
the grim grey cat. It approached the row of hutches, and
going straight to that where the young ones were lodged,
sprung on to the stand, and by a succession of rapid pats of
its strong paw upon the button that fastened the door, it
swung open, the grim grey cat walked in, and in a moment
jumped out again with a little rabbit in her jaws, and off and
away before the watcher could believe his senses. There
could be no mistake, however; there was the swinging hutch-
door, and there was the cat with her booty cantering over the
tiles.

Revenge! Had it been an ordinary case—say of a cat
making a snatch at an unprotected pet, and carrying it away—
the hurling of half a brick might, if it hit him, sufficiently
punish the delinquent ;:but here was a strategetic cat, who knew
how to force doors—a sort of feline Jack Sheppard; it was
worth while going a little out of one’s way to concoct a fitting
retribution for so renowned a rascal. My youthful corre-
spondent’s powers of invention were equal to the occasion. A
neighbour of his father possessed a delightfully savage bull-
terrier, a dog with considerably more bite than bark in him,
and wonderfully sure of jaw. Moreover, his antipathy to cats
was one of his chief characteristics.

As twilight of the following day approached, the remainder
of the litter was removed from the hutch, and the bull-terrier
installed in their place, while the concoctor of this diabolical

 
 

THE RABBIT.

scheme, with a select party of friends, all more or less grudges
owers to the grim grey cat, posted themselves at the windows,
By-and-by, when all was dark and quiet, and snug, a cat-like
form was seen looming on the ridge of a distant washhouse.
Stealthily it approached ; it was the grim grey cat! Without
a moment’s delay it approaches the terrible trap ; as before, it
leaps on the stand and is presently patting the. button round.
The door swings ajar, and simultaneously with the swing, a
sharp thrilling cry rends the air, the savage bull-terrier has
pinned the unfortunate grim grey cat by the throat; his
wicked career is at an end,—he is a dead cat.

But it is not always “the cat” that robs people’s rabbit-
hutches. The Rev. Mr. Wood, when a boy, kept some rabbits
in an unused stable, and from time to time the said rabbits
vanished mysteriously. “We had been told,” says he, “that
cats were the delinquents—a very reasonable suggestion, as
the stable stood in a garden where cats swarmed at night, and
we therefore determined to take summary vengeance on the
first cat that entered the stable. We had been lately reading
an account of the first French Revolution, and had been
greatly impressed with the description of the guillotine. A
self-acting guillotine was consequently determined on as the
best method of punishing the thief. So we carefully closed
every entrance to the stable, merely leaving a hole in the
window-shutter about six inches square. Above this we sus-
pended a bill-hook, to the back of which was attached a brick
and some pieces of iron, the bill being retained in its place by
a slender stick that crossed the aperture. When the stick
was moved the bill-hook descended with great force, forming
an are of a circle passing over the square aperture. On the
whole, it was not a bad piece of workmanship for three chil-
dren, the eldest being ten years of age. The trap was accord-
ingly set, and we retired for the night in great expectation of
discovering next morning a decapitated cat outside the window
and a detruncated head within.

“Morning came, and we remained long in anxious expecta-
tion of the permission to rise. This given, we scampered off
as fast as possible to the stable, where we found the trap
down, several spots of blood, but no cat. On entering the
stable, appearances were more mysterious, for the bill-hook was
covered with blood and a considerable amount of blood had run
down the wall, but still no cat. However, the rabbits were all
safe, and the cats never stole any more. The only a

 
 

THE RABBIT.

that seemed to explain the mystery was that a lad who had
taken some pains about our rabbits, and who used to advise us
as to the best method of fastening the stable at night, wore his
arm in a sling for several weeks afterwards.”

Instances are not wanting to prove that the tame as well as
the wild rabbit will sometimes exhibit considerable courage.
The following paragraph, taken from a recent namber of the
Times, is no bad illustration of this :—

“A few evenings ago, Mr. Parfrey, of Clutton, who is an
amateur breeder of rabbits, heard an unusual noise, and, on
going to the spot whence the sound proceeded, saw a desperate
battle fought in the rabbit-hutch, between one of his rabbits
and a large-sized rat. He watched the combatants for a few
moments with great interest, and saw the rabbit catch hold of
the rat by the back of its neck, turn it upside down, and then
with its forepaws rip up its antagonist, and nearly sever its
head from the body. The rabbit, however, did not escape
with a whole skin, for, after the fight, it was discovered that
it had received several bites about the breast and head, but not
of a severe character. The rat was one of the largest barn rats
ever seen in the neighbourhood. The rabbit was a fully-grown
one, with young ones.”

 

TOP OF RABBIT-PIT.

 
 

THE OLD-FASHIONED RABBIT-HUTOH.

CONCERNING RABBIT HUTCHES.

It is quite time that some one ventured to champion the
eause of this much maligned and unjustly contemned littie
animal. “ Unjustly contemned!” I think I hear some youth-
ful reader exclaim. “Not at all. We have tried it, and can
state, without fear of contradiction, that rabbit-keeping can
never be made either a profitable business or an agreeable pas-
time, and that the only return for your industry and capital is
disgust and disappointment. We built a most comfortable
hutch, and furnished it after the approved fashion. We stocked
it with sound, lively animals, and fed them with all their
hearts could desire. What was the result? The bucks grew
gaunt and ragged, and fought and mauled each other like
tigers; while the does either turned cannibals and devoured
their chiléren as fast as they were born, or else starved the
majority of them through sheer indolence. They ate like
wolves, and as to the house they lived in, it was an offence: to
the nose to approach it.”

Alas! a pity it is that an animal of this abused species—
some experienced, motherly old doe, for instance—could not for
a little time be endowed with reason and speech, that she
might remonstrate with her prejudiced keeper, uud show him
the other side of the picture. “Anybody,” says Cobbett,
“knows how to knock up a rabbit-hutch ;” and we shall tell

32

 
 

THE RABBIT.

the misery this doctrine has brought on rabbitkind? No one
but the endurers of the misery. Oh! how the above-men-
tioned matronly doe, who through her long life had reared
great troops of sons and daughters in the wretchedest of
houses—some old tea-chest, or abandoned portmanteau, or
leaky tub—how she would astound many a rabbit-keeping boy
by a recital of her wrongs! How, if she were an eloquent doe,
she would overwhelm him with shame and remorse by the
narrative of her life-long troubles! I think I hear her: “ My
dear young master, blame not me that I am lean or that my
little ones are few in number and pot-bellied. The fault lies
with yourself. Doubtless you consider mine a very comfort-
able abode, but then you are a strong robust boy, and incapable
of taking a rabbit’s-eye view of the case. Comfortable! Why,
my house is wretched. How would you like to live in such an
one? How would you like to sleep in an apartment through
the chinks of the walls of which the wind came whistling through
with force enough to turn the sails of a windmill, and through
the roof of which, in wet weather, the rain came drip, drip,
patter, patter, spoiling the snug bed you had made for your
helpless little family, and wetting their naked little bodies, and
giving them snuffles in such a shocking way that it goes to
one’s heart to hear their troubled breathing P How would you
like to be pent up, as many of us are, in a damp wash-house,
shivering with cold during six days, and parboiled and steamed
on the seventh, that is, on washing-day ? How would you
like to be condemned to perpetual imprisonment in a dark,
draughty, ill-drained den, with no ventilation, and about the
same amount of drainageP All these things I am compelled
to endure, and at the same time expected to be jolly and grow
fat, to be the most fruitful of mothers, and the most unexcep-
tionable of nurses. It can’t be done, my master. It can no
more be accomplished than you yourself could be sleek and
jolly, living in a tool-shed, and subsisting entirely on green
stuff.”

Nothing can be more fallacious than the doctrine that every-
body knows how to knock up a rabbit-hutch. It simply means
that any sort of box with four sides and a roof and a floor, is
good enough for a rabbit to live in. This, however, is so con-
trary to common sense, to say nothing of common humanity,
that it is past argument. “Anything” will not do for a
rabbit-house, and a rabbit will no more thrive in a crazy, ugly
box, than = canary would sing if housed in an old hat, or ime

 
 

THE RABBIT.

mured within the narrow walls of a mouse-trap. There can be
little doubt that the erroneous notion arises from the fact of
the rabbit being naturally a burrowing animal, and perhaps it
is excusable that ignorance should conclude that any sort of
wooden structure is more comfortable than a hole in the damp
earth. Very little inquiry into the matter will show that a
rabbit burrow is considerably more than “a hole in the
ground.” The principles of rabbit architecture are of no mean
order. As says a recent writer on the subject—

“To learn these, we must go to the warren. There we find
that the rabbit makes its dwellings in a sandy soil, and there-
fore well drained; in hillocks and mounds, in preference to
hollow bottoms, and therefore dry. The burrows frequently
communicate with each other, and therefore allow a certain
amount of ventilation, the wind blowing into the mouth of the
hole being often sufficient to insure that. The thick stratum
of light earth which covers the habitations of a colony of
rabbits causes coolness in summer and warmth in winter. In
the depth of a burrow it never freezes, and is never oppres-
sively hot. In short, with the exception of the absence of light,
which is of little importance in a sleeping-place, a rabbit's
burrow, magnified to corresponding proportions, would make,
at a pinch, a very bearable dwelling for human beings devoid
of other shelter; the nest which a doe prepares for her young
is soft and warm enough for a baby to lie in, if sufficiently
enlarged. And, in truth, many thousands of our fellow-crea-
tures spend their lives, are born, and die, in cellars which are
less wholesome than a rabbit’s burrow on this large imaginary
seale would be.”

We now come to the familiar “ hutch.” Every young rabbit-
keeper should bear in mind that his stock will be exactly what
he makes them. Domestication has the same effect on brute
kind as civilization has on human kind. The ancient British
savage, from whom sprang the nineteenth century British
* swell,” lived in a cave, was by no means particular whether
his steak or chop was raw or cooked, and thought himself
amply clothed in a coat of red and blue paint. This is a fact
to be thought of whenever the rabbit-keeper finds himself
wearying of the task of hutch-tending, and sliding back to the
old delusion that so to fuss about an animal whose natural
dwelling is a hole in the cold ground is something like housing
a donkey in a drawing-room. Without doubt the rabbit's
natural dwelling is a hole in the ground; but, then, 1 recollect it

 
 

THE RABBIT.

is in a natural condition. It is to “the manner born,” and
prefers its snug, gloomy, comfortable burrow to the most
splendid prison you may contrive for him. If you insist on his
compulsory companionship, and put him in a prison (hutch,
you call it) with barred doors, that you may work your will
with him, however absurd and fantastic that will may be—till
his. comfortable and decent russet suit assumes tints and
colours unheard of in rabbitdom, till his ears grow inches
longer than nature designed, and his lithe spine becomes crooked,
or “fashionably arched;”—if you practise thus on his helpless
carcase, and on the carcases of his descendants through many
generations, till the result is no more like a wild free-living
rabbit, than if it were of a totally different species, it is rather
unjust to think hardly of the poor creature because it cannot
content itself in a box, possessing all the disadvantages
of cold and damp, and none of the advantages of ventilation,
drainage, and pure air to be found in its native warren.

Let your first care, therefore, be to provide comfortable lodg-
ing for your rabbits. After all, the trouble and expense will
really exceed by very little what it would cost you to build a
make-shift residence, and once accomplished, you may depend
that you have saved yourself an amount of future vexation and
disgust, worth ten times the extra expenditure. How many
rabbits do you intend keeping? If the number is not to exceed
half a dozen, then, before all others, the “portable hutch” is
to be recommended. It possesses many advantages, not least
among which are the following : it is not the least unsightly —
it may, indeed, be made rather a pretty object than an eyesore;
it may be kept clean with as little difficulty as a bird-cage or a
dog-kennel ; its inmates may most easily be rendered secure
from the attacks of cats and rats; and its site may be accom-
modated to shade or sun as occasion may require; and last,
doubtless to the minds of .most boy rabbit-keepers, it may be
built easily by the perspective rabbit-owner, provided he has or
can borrow a few carpenter’s tools, and a moderate stock of
that which, unfortunately, must be a natural possession and
cannot be borrowed—patience, and a few planks. As I dissent
from Mr. Cobbett’s opinion that “any one can knock up a
rabbit hutch,” I will describe how the portable hutch should be
constructed.

In shape it should be straight, sided and backed and floored,
with a roof slanting equally on either side. The shape is pre-
sented by the common‘ dog-kennel, or more familiar, the gene-

00

 
 

THE RABBIT,

rally accepted form of Noah’s ark. From front to back it
should measure six feet, from side to side three feet six inches,
and from roof to floor twenty-six inches—measuring from the
commencement of the slope, and not at its apex. Your roof
should, if possible, contain but two pieces, as you will then
have a better chance of rendering it waterproof than if it is in

. four or more pieces. The slanting roof-pieces should eave
beyond the upright walls of your house. Thus you have your
“carcase,” as housebuilders say. Now for the interior. Down
the centre must be erected a light partition, rismg to within
four inches of the ridge of the roof, and falling short of the
entire length of the hutch to the extent of a foot at either end.
Next fix across the middle of your house another partition, or
rather two partitions, one on either side of your first divisional
piece. Thus you have four’ chambers to your house, but at
present they are open at the ends, and must be walled in by
means of two other partitions stretching across and fixed at
either side to the edge of the long centre partition. Thus you
get in addition to your four rooms the two commodious end
compartments which will serve admirably for weaning pur-
poses.

I may assume that your roof, for obvious reasons, although
“roughed out,” is not yet fixed. It will be seen that at present
we have six rooms mightily snug, but furnished with no means
of egress or ingress. The chamber doors must be in the roof
of your house. This is, I am aware, at variance with ordinary
notions of architecture, but will be found better than any other
arrangement for your four-footed tenants; they may be more
easily lifted through a roof door than through a wall door; they
may be more easily supplied with food and bedding, and the
ventilation of the compartments may, if proper care be taken,
be secured. There should be as many doors or slides in the
roof as there are rooms below. They must not be hinged like
a box-lid, but made to slide in grooves, after the same fashion,
to use a homely comparison, as the door that guards the vent
of an ordinary dust-bin. I have seen these slides of glass, but
it is not advisable to use that material. In the first place,
rabbits are not partial to overmuch light, and, in the second, a
cat mounting the roof of your rabbit-house, although she would
be unable to get at’ the inmates, would probably indulge in
such awful grimaces as to send a weak-minded doe into fits, or
at, least lead her to devour her little ones as fast as she could,
if only to ‘put them out of reach of the threatened danger.

 
 

THE KABBIT.

Near the top of the wall of each compartment holes large
enough to admit the tip of the little finger, and inclining
towards the roof, may be bored. Six to the foot will not be
too close for these air-holes. Be sure that the lappets of the
grooves of your roof-doors are wide enough, and that the slides
work so exactly in them that rain will not find its way through.

The floor of your rabbit-house is a very important considera-
tion. It should be of beech, or some other equally hard wood.
On this will greatly depend whether your rabbit-house is to be a
standing nuisance, and a reason for grasping the nose whenever
one approaches it, or whether it shall be as incdorous and sweet
as a corn-bin. Provided your rabbits are well and properly fed,
their evacuations will be chiefly of a dry character, but not
entirely, and, though insignificant in quantity, their liquid
waste is evil smelling, and pungent in the extreme. Therefore,
if the floor of the hutch be of soft wood, it will in a very
short time be impregnated with a disgusting effluvia, which it
will retain in spite of all the scrubbing and scraping you may
give it. The hard wood floor should be slightly tilted from
front to back, and close along the back some small holes should
be bored. If this precaution is taken, you will hear no com-
plaints about “ that nasty-smelling rabbit-hutch.”

All that I have to add respecting the construction of the
portable hutch is, that it should stand on four legs, a foot
high, and that there should be at either end an ordinary stout
iron box-handle, so that it may be easily lifted about by two
persons. By-the-bye, there is one thing else, and of importance
too: take care that the edges of the food-troughs be bound
with tin, otherwise, especially if the rabbit is kept short of dry
food, he will bite it into splinters and devour it piecemeal.

Where a considerable number of rabbits are kept, the port-
able hutch will not be sufficiently commodious. In such cases,
the ordinary square hutches are generally placed one above
another to the height required by the number of rabbits and
the extent of the room. Where a large stock is kept, to make
the most of room, the hutches may be placed in rows, with a
sufficient interval between for feeding and cleaning, instead of
being, in the usual way, joined to the wall. It is preferable to
rest the hutches upon stands, about a foot above the ground,
for the convenience of cleaning under them. Each of the
hutches intended for breeding should have two rooms—a feed-
ing and a bed room. Those are single tor the use of the
weaned rabbits, or for the bucks, which are always kept sepa-

503

 
 

THE BABBIT.

rate. The floors should be planed smooth, that wet may run
off, and a common hoe, with a short handle, and a short broom,
are most convenient implements for cleaning these houses.
Ever bear in mind, that exposure to rain, whether externally or
internally, is fatal to rabbits, which, like sheep, are liable to the
rot, springing from the same causes. Thorough ventilation
and good air are indispensable where many rabbits are kept, or
they will neither prosper nor remain healthy for any length of
time. A thorough draught or passage for the air is, therefore,
absolutely necessary, and should be so contrived as to be checked
in cold or wet weather by the closing or shutting of opposite
doors or windows.

A cheaper hutch for a less number of rabbits may be con-
structed according to the directions of the author of “ British
Husbandry.” The breeding-hutch, as being the lodging of the
doe, is always the larger, and contains a double apartment—
one for the nest, and the other for the feeding-room of the
brood when old enough to come into it. The best size is about
four feet long by two and a half wide, and eighteen inches to
two feet high ; but they are often made smaller, and those not
meant for breeding are seldom more than two-thirds that size.
They are latticed with wire in the front of each, as, if made of
laths, the rabbits would gnaw them; but the division parted off
for the reception of the breeding-nest is closed both at the front
and sides, leaving only a small door in the interior for the
entrance of the doe: indeed, an inner division, with a sliding-
door, is useful for confining the rabbits while the outer part is
cleaned. There should also be a moveable feeding-trough,
which should be regularly taken away after every meal; for
rabbits, like horses, if allowed to blow upon their food, will not
afterwards eat it, unless pressed by serious hunger. The
troughs should be made of tin or iron, to allow of their being
easily cleaned; and should have separate compartments of not
more than four inches long, both for different sorts of food as
well as to prevent the rabbits from getting their feet into the
trough and throwing out the corn. Some persons even add a
small sack at one end of the hutch for the purpose of contain-
ing the hay on which they feed; but the small quantity usually
given is more commonly left upon the floor. The trough should
either be inserted as a drawer, or, if placed outside the hutch,
should be covered by a hinged flap, to shut and open in either
the front or one end. The floor is commonly pierced with
holes to allow the escape of urine; but, as the pretest atten-

503

 
 

THE RABBIT.

tion is necessary to be observed in the cleansing, it is a good
plan to have a false bottom which may be drawn out, like that
of a bird-cage, for the removal of the excrements, and ought to
be every morning scraped and strewed, with a little sand, or in
cold weather covered slightly with refuse hay ; for rabbits will
never thrive unless kept dry and clean.

To these directions for hutch building may properly be
added the following hint provided by Mr. Delamer :—

“Breeding does, when kept in hutches, are much better
each in a hutch to herself, than inhabiting one common dwel-
ling, however roomy it may be. When a number of does live
in the same hutch, the consequences are sometimes quite as
unfortunate as if the buck were in company with them. If a
doe kindles, and leaves her little ones a moment to feed, the
other does immediately crowd round the nest through an
instinct of curiosity, peep into it, and not seldom disturb it
with their fore-paws. The mother rushes up to drive the
other does away; a battle ensues; and half the little rabbits
are either killed or wounded for life. The pregnant does
which take part in these skirmishes, generally suffer abortion
in consequence of their excitement, and the blows which they
give and receive in the combat. Their owner may read the
Riot Act afterwards, but the mischief is done.”

 

VARIETIES OF RABBITS,

Rabbits are divided into four kinds, distinguished as war-
reners, parkers, hedgehogs, and sweethearts. The warrener, as
his name implies, is a member of a subterranean community,
and is less effeminate than his kindred who dwell upon the
earth and have “the world at their will,” and his fur is the
most esteemed. After him comes the parker, whose favourite
resort is = gentleman’s pleasure-ground, where he usually

 
 

THE RABBIT.

breeds in great numbers, and from which he frequently drives
away the hares. The hedgehog is a sort of vagabond rabbit,
that, tinker-like, roams about the country, and would have a
much better coat on his back if he was more settled in his
habits, and remained more at home. The sweetheart is a:
tame rabbit, with its fur so sleek, soft, and silky that it is also
used to some extent in the important branch of hat-making.

Another variety of the rabbit family, known as the “ silver-
sprigged,” has lately been introduced into this country, and
may be reckoned—commercially speaking—among the most
valuable. Its colour is a black ground, thickly interspersed
with grey hairs.

There is a very large species of the hare-colour, having much
bone, length, and depth of carcase, large and long ears, with
full eyes, resembling those of the hare; it might be taken for a
hybrid or mule. Its flesh is high-coloured, substantial, and
more savoury than that of the common rabbit; and, cooked
like the hare, it makes a good dish. The large white, and
yellow and white species, have whiter and more delicate flesh,
and, cooked in the same way, will rival the turkey.

Those above-mentioned, however, are but the plebeians of
rabbitdom. They may be fat and sturdy, but as the worthy
secretary of a rabbit club informed the author of “ Farming
for Ladies,” brute weight formed no consideration with the
club. The first “point” looked to by the fancier is the
“fancy” animal’s ears. Sometimes, instead of drooping down,
they slope backwards: a rabbit with this characteristic is
scarcely admitted into a fancy lot, and is not considered worth
more than the common variety. The next position is when
one ear lops outwards, and the other stands erect; rabbits of
this kind possess but little value, however fine the shape and
beautiful the colour, although they sometimes breed as gond
specimens as finer ones.

The forward or horn-lop is one degree nearer perfection
than the half-lop; the ears, in this case. slope forward and
down. over the forehead. Rabbits with this peculiarity are
often perfect in other respects, with the exception of the droop
of the ears, and often become the parents of perfect young
ones; does of this kind often have the power of lifting an ear
erect. In the oar-lop, the ears spread out in an horizontal
position, like the wings of a bird in flight, or the arms of a
man swimming. A great many excellent does have this cha-
racteristic, and some of the best-bred bucks in the fancy are

 
 

 

THE RABBIT.

entirely so. Sometimes a rabbit drops one ear completely,
but raises the other so nearly horizontally as to constitute an
oar-lop; this is superior to all others, except the perfect fall,
which is so rarely to be met with, that those which are merely
oar-lopped are considered as valuable rabbits, if well bred and
with other good qualities. ;

The real lop has ears that hang down by the side of the
cheek, slanting somewhat outward in their descent, with the
open part of the ear inward, and sometimes either backwards
or forwards instead of perpendicular; when the animals stand
in an easy position, the tips of the ears touch the ground.
The hollows of the ears, in a fancy rabbit of a first-rate kind,
should be turned so completely backwards that only the outer
part of them should remain in front; they should match
exactly in their descent, and should slant outwards as little as
possible.

 

LOP-EARED RABBIT.

Perfect lops are so rare that a breeder possessing twenty of
the handsomest and most perfect does would consider himself
lucky if, in the course of a year, he managed to raise twelve
full-lopped rabbits out of them all.

The “dewlop” is a consideration of vast importance with
rabbit-fanciers. This is, as the reader is doubtlessly aware, a
bulky sort of appendage pendant beneath the chin. The
thicker the dewlop grows the more is it admired; indeed, when
the animal is lying on all fours, asleep, it should support her
head like a cushion. The dewlop does not attain its full size
till some time after the animal has otherwise ceased to grow.

Colour is another important feature. As regards variety
and purity of colour, an experienced breeder says :—

“The fur of fancy-rabbits may be blue, or rather lead-colour,
and white, or black and white, or tawny and white, that is,
tortoiseshell-coloured. But it is not of so much importance

ms

 

 
 

THE RABBIT,

what colours the coat of a rabbit displays as it is that those
colours shall be arranged in a particular manner, forming im-
aginary figures or fancied resemblances to certain objects;
hence the peculiarities of their markings have been denoted by
distinctive designations. What is termed ‘the blue butterfly
smut’ was, for some time, considered the most valuable of fancy
rabbits. It is thus named on account of having bluish or lead-
coloured spots on either side of the nose, having some resem-
blance to the spread-wings of a butterfly, what may be termed
the groundwork of the rabbit’s face being white. A black and
white rabbit may also have the face marked in a similar manner,
constituting a ‘black butterfly smut.’

“ But a good fancy rabbit must likewise have other marks,
without which it cannot be considered a perfect model of its
kind. There should be a black or blue patch on its back, called
the saddle; the tail must be of the same colour witi. the back
and snout, while the legs should be all white; and there ought
to be dark stripes on beth sides of the body in front, passing
backwards to meet the saddle and uniting on the top of the
shoulders at the part called the withers in a horse. These
stripes form what is termed the ‘chain,’ having somewhat the
appearance of a chain or collar hanging round the neck.

“ Among thoroughbred fancy rabbits, perhaps not one in a
hundred will have all these markings clearly and exactly dis-
played on the coat; but the more nearly the figures on the
coat of a rabbit approach to the pattern described, the greater
will be its value, so far at least as relates to colour. The beauty
and consequent worth of a fancy rabbit, however, depends a good
deal on its shape, or what is styled its carriage. A rabbit is
said to have a good carriage when its back is finely arched,
rising full two inches ahove the top of its head, which must be
held so low as for the muzzle and the points of the ears to reach
almost to the ground.”

Fancy rabbits fetch a very high price; so much as five and
ten guineas, and even more, is sometimes given for a first-rate
doe. If young ones are first procured from a good family, the
foundation of an excellent stock cea be procured for a much
smaller sum.

Compare a thoroughbred “fancy” rabbit, say a true “lop,”
with the neat little “hedgehog” or “ warrener,” and it is really
very hard to believe that any amount of cultivation could bring
about a change so radical. It is denied by some naturalists
that the two races are identical, and any one who | has endea-

 
 

THE RABBIT.

voured to bring up from the nest a litter of wild rabbits must
be inclined to the same opinion. “ Fancy rabbits,” says Mr.
Rogers, in his treatise, “ are not, as is generally supposed, the
result of an improvement (P) in the English breed of rabbits,
but were originally brought from Tartary, Persia, and Asia
Minor, and have been made the means of improving the
domestic breeds in this country. They require more warmth
than the common English domestic rabbit, and thrive best in
an atmosphere the warmth of which varies from temperate to
summer-heat. The common domestic rabbit will do in colder
and more exposed situations, but the fancy rabbit: degenerates
unless carefully attended and kept from cold and wet.”
Without, however, declaring that Mr. Rogers is wrong, as
unceremoniously as he asserts that he is right, it must be ad-
mitted that his argument cannot be accepted without question.
Even more flagrant instances of the utter perversion of an
animal’s' shape and fur, nay, of its very nature, may be quoted
against the case of the rabbit. Look at the dog. Compare
the Blenheim spaniel with the bloodhound, or the Skye terrier
with the bulldog. Whatever diversity of opinion may exist
respecting the dog’s origin, nobody entertains the notion that
the animal is derived from more than one source. A certain

 

ANGORA RABBIT.

animal, whatever its name, wolf, fox, or jackal, is without
doubt the founder of the dog tribe, with its more than fifty
different shapes and habits, and this allowed, one need not
damagingly strain one’s imagination in tracing even the long-
haired Angora rabbit back to the humble warrener. Nature is
wonderfully elastic. The arctic bear, imported to a warmer
climate, loses the snowy whiteness that, assimilating with all
its surroundings, at once secured to it its prey and saved it
frequently from the hands of the hunter ; the kangaroo confined
in a cage, andl having no further need for its wonderful pouch

 
 

THE RABBIT.

as a refuge for 1ts young, that appendage grows gradually less
capacious, while from almost incessantly mounting on its tall
springy hind legs, the better to look out for enemies and be
ready for instant flight, it descends to all fours like the most
ordinary quadruped.

HOW TO STOCK THE HUTCHES.

THERE are two modes of setting up as a rabbit-keeper ; one
by procuring a, full-grown buck and three or four does, and the
other by purchasing ten or a dozen young rabbits, say from
eight to ten weeks old, and through them founding a stock.
There is a third mode, purchasing a doe ready or nearly ready
for kindling. Assuming, however, that I am addressing ama-
teurs, I will simply say im reference to this system, don’t
adopt it. ‘No animal is more whimsical than the rabbit. It
may breed well when used to its residence and the sight of its
residence, but should a change occur nothing is more likely
than that she will, if near littering at the time, cast her young
prematurely, or waiting till they are born, either eat them up
or refuse to afford them any attention. Hither of these mis-
fortunes may happen where the animal has a fair chance of
doing well, where it is left undisturbed and only visited to be
fed and have its house cleaned up; but how many boy-pur-
chasers of such a doe would be content with so tame a proceed:
ing? The impatienee which prompted the purchase will
surely manifest itself none the less now that the longed-for
treasure is obtained. He will ever be taking “just a peep,”
and in his solicitude for the doe’s comfort, make and unmake
her bed a dozen times a day; a mistaken kindness, enough to
drive an experienced doe clean out of her senses in a very
short time.

Besides this, let your intentions be ever so good, you may,
by such a purchase, be led to disappointment and regret through
the dishonesty of a dealer. You may be offered a doe hand-
some looking, and certainly to all appearance well worth the
moderate price asked; at the same time, in the vendor’s eyes,
she may be “ dear at a gift,” as the saying is, through some
affliction she possesses, but which does not at present manifest
itself, and which may render it equally unfit to live or die.

The plan of keeping a buck and several does has its objec-
tiowable features. In the first place they are costly, and in the
second, they are animals that know “ what life ee and may

 
 

THE RABBIT.

suffer by coming into your inexperienced hands. It would be
better, if adult rabbits are purchased, to have only does. True,
if you mean cultivating a stock, a buck will be indispensable ;
but he is a fellow who may always be induced to look in and
see how your does are getting on by making a trifling present
to his master. This plan will be found cheaper and much less
troublesome. Bucks are always quarrelsome fellows, have
enormous appetites, and after all, supposing you to keep no
more than half a dozen does, will be useful but a very few
times in the course of a year.

Without doubt the best plan the beginner can adopt is to
procure eight or ten healthy rabbits as soon as they are fairly
weaned. They will not cost more—unless they be of a fancy
sort—than sixpence each; and that will be the only loss should
one die,—as probably it will; more, perhaps. Any how, by
the time they have reached the breeding age of six months you
must indeed have been very unlucky, or very imprudent, if
there is not still remaining a tolerable number of sturdy young
rabbits, and with’ whose habits and peculiarities you are by
this time well acquainted. Let them remain till your prospect
of three or four litters is put beyond a doubt, and then make
your selection, turning over the discarded ones either to the
cook or the dealer.

If you purchase adult animals, take care that the doe has a
broad chest, that her legs are wide apart and sturdy, that her
ears are wide and long, and have a fine silky feel when passed
between the fingers, that her head is wedge-shaped, and that
her teats are well developed and of a pinky hue. As for the
buck, the first essential is, that he be bright-eyed and quick in
his movements. Pass your hand over his limbs: if his knees
and other joints feel hard and “ knobby ” it is a bad sign; if his
belly has a paunchy appearance, and his nails are long and
thick, you will find it a good plan to decline his further ac-
quaintance. His symptoms declare him to be too old to breed,
and if you kill him for the pot or spit, you will find it a sheer
waste of stuffing, he will be so tough.

As already mentioned, at six months the doe is old enough
for breeding, and on no account should you allow her to begin
earlier. True she will have young, if allowed, by the time she
ig five months old, and they may be healthy and numerous
enough; the next litter, too, may turn out tolerably satisfac-
tory; but ever afterwards you may depend on her presenting
you with a miserable lot of pigmies you will be ashamed to see.

510

 
THE RABBIT.

They will be lank and scraggy, and consequently as voracious
as so many young wolves, while the poor mother will be scant
of milk and altogether unable to meet their increasing demands.
Thirty or thirty-one days is the period of the does going with
young. The buck should be allowed to visit her a fortnight
after she has littered—never within a less time. Be as par-
ticular as regards this as with the time at which you allow her
to commence breeding, or the consequences may be equally
disastrous.

It is a common thing with folks whose business with rabbits
is bounded by describing their habits in utterly impracticable
books, to assert that the animal in question will have eight
litters within the year. So she may, supposing her to enjoy the
most perfect health, and supposing her never to be frightened by
a stray cat or a sudden gun-shot, or the violent slamming of a
door, and supposing that her food invariably agrees with her,
and supposing at least twenty other doubtful circumstances, so
she may; but the chances are that she will not litter satisfac-
torily more than six times a year. Even five times will yield
you a round number of young ones in twelve months; for if she
be a compact little doe (always bear in mind that as a rule
little rabbits have more young at a litter than big ones), she
will fairly average ten at a litter, and there you have a grand
total of fifty. The fruitfulness of this animal has been the
subject of wonder to all naturalists. In a wild state it breeds
seven times in the year, and generally begets seven or eight
young ones ata time. If we suppose this to happen regularly
for a period of four years, the progeny that would spring from
a single pair would amount to more than a million. As
the rabbit, however, has many enemies, it never can be per-
mitted to increase in numbers to such an extent as to prove
injurious to mankind; for it not only furnishes man with
an article of food, but is, by carnivorous animals of every
description, mercilessly sacrificed. Notwithstanding this, how-
ever, in the time of the Roman power, they once infested the
Balearic Islands to such an extent, that the inhabitants were
obliged to implore the assistance of a military force from
Augustus to exterminate them.

To return to our doe. After a night’s absence from her
fortnight-old youngsters, she should be returned to them and
allowed to suckle them a week or ten days longer. By ob-
serving these rules, as well as the others laid down in this
volume, your doe will breed summer and winter, and deserve

 
 

THE RABBIT.

the character of a tender and devoted parent. If within three
or four weeks of the visit from the buck something should un-
luckily happen to blight your prospects of a litter, nutritious
and stimulating food should be given to the doe—parsley,
fennel, thyme, &c., with unlimited supply of oats, pollard, and
fresh hay; in a few days she will be again well enough to
receive company.

Assuming that you know to within a day or so when the
“little strangers” will arrive, you will, a few days before the
auspicious event, provide the doe with a good handful of sweet
hay. Never fear that she will not know what to do with it.
If you peep in in the course of a day or so you will find that
she has constructed a snug bed; the outside being of the hay
with which you provided her, and the inside of the delicate
down of her breast and belly, and of which she has generously
stripped herself that her babies may not lie cold. By the bye,
I should have remarked that before you provide her with ma-
terials for bedding, you should clean her hutch out thoroughly,
because you will not be able to do her this kind office again for
a considerable time. Even after her bed is made she will be
much vexed at any disturbance, and of course after the young
are born to meddle with them is out of the question. Of course
there will occur cases in which the removal at once is the
only chance of saving their lives. If the hutch were swamped
in a thunder-storm, for instance. Then you must move them
not one ata time, but taking their whole numbers together
with the nest in your two hands, having taken care to provide
a snug berth for their reception. Even if there should happen
to be a very damp corner in the hutch, and the doe should
select it as her bedding-place, you will be justified in moving
it. Says Mr. Delamer, “ One little act of disturbance may be
ventured upon with due precaution. A few days after the
birth of the rabbits, it will be advisable to ascertain whether
their mother has deposited them in a dry spot; for if their
nest is at all damp, they will infallibly perish. In such a case,
the nest must be cautiously moved, in a lump, and shifted to
the driest corner of the hutch. Experience has proved that
this operation, if judiciously executed, caused no injury what-
ever to the young, and also gave no offence to the mother;
but, after all, the expedient must be used with caution. The
inconvenience which compels the rabbit-keeper to have recourse
to it ought to be avoided by cleaning the hutches at regular
periods, so that there shall be no necessity to intrude upon the

oa

 
 

 

 

 

FOX AND RABBIT.

privacy of the doe’s nursery at the time when she is likely ta
be of a susceptible and jealous disposition, For this purpose
it is requisite to note accurately the date of the doe’s visits to
the buck, in order to be able to change the litter in good tire,
and also to remove a first set of young ones when there is a
prospect of their soon being followed by a second.”

It will sometimes happen that a doe will bring forth a larger
number of young ones than she can maintain; in this case she
will probably kill what she considers the superfluous ones.
You should endeavour to meet this. Unless the doe is very
strong and in perfect health, more than eight sucklings will
impoverish her, and she may have as many as fourteen. In
such a case you may as well destroy the extra ones yourself ang
profit by the advantage of selection, as leave it for her to do.
Not that she will invariably kill the strong ones and retain the
weak. In the promulgation of Nature’s laws anything so weak
as what is commonly known as “sentiment” cannot possibly ba
tolerated. Tt is not in the scheme of Nature that weak and
puny ereatures should come into the world, and wns such an

33

 
 

THE RABBIT.

event happens we may depend that the Great Mother has been
wantonly or designedly thwarted in her designs. We have
abundant evidence of this, but more especially in the dog.
When, to suit the monstrous whims of “ fanciers,” canine crea-
tures are encouraged in the production of fantastic abortions—
wonderful either for dwarfishness, or baldness, or hairiness—
the mother will invariably be inclined to neglect and refuse to
maintain the most absolute specimen of ugliness in the litter.
«The debilitated hope of particular litters,” says Dr. Mayhew,
“comes off but badly; it is pushed aside by its brothers and
sisters, whose vigorous greediness seems to endear them to their
mother. For the boisterous gluttons she will accommodate her
position, and fondly lick them for their energetic appetites; but to
the poor sickly thing she has given life to, she lends no assistance
and bestows no attention. She seems to be ashamed of, and.
disgusted with, its degeneracy; and while the others grow fat
and sleek from positive repletion, it becomes thin and dirty
from actual starvation. Where it is desirable to rear the
smallest of the litter, the mother must frequently be held, in
order that the little thing may suck her.”

A doe’s first meal after kindling should consist of a gruel
made of barley-meal and milk. According to no less an
authority than Mr. Mowbray, should the doe exhibit, extreme
weakness after the litter has made its appearance, or happen
to catch cold, “ she will drink beer-caudle as well as any other
lady,” or warm fresh grains will comfort her, as will a mash,
composed of scalded fine pollard or barley-meal, and in which
is mixed a small quantity of cordial horse-ball.

Rabbits, it is well known, will occasionally so far seem to
forget their nature as to devour their progeny, and this failing
has been ascribed to various causes. It has been said that
fright will so operate on the doe as to induce her to become a
cannibal. One naturalist speculates on the probability of the
tuimal’s brain becoming deranged at the birth of her. young
ones, and that on the ground of insanity she is irresponsible for
her acts. The most favourite and modern theory, however, is
that the tiny creatures ara devoured that the mother may
assuage her raging thirst. Mr. Mayhew, the celebrated veteri-
‘nary surgeon, gives the following evidence in support of this
‘theory :—‘ A doe was sold to me very cheap, and was in litter
at the time of purchase. A week after she came into my pos-
session, she plucked her fur and made her bed. One morning
q distingtly aay a nest full of young; but looking again at noon,
f ol

 
 

THE RABBIT.

not a single one of the progeny was to be seen. Soma little
bioud and a mangled leg told their history ; and the arumal a
fortnight after was again put to the buck. I by chance as-
covered while the doe was breeding that she had an inordinate
thirst. At first it amused me to see the creature lap the water
I presented to her; but at last I placed within her hutch a cup,
and had it constantly filled. Her desire for liquid was not
easily quenched, and it became to me a source of some pain
when I reflected how much agony the craving must have caused
prior to my being conscious of its existence. The next litter,
however, was not eaten by the mother. She brought them up,
and they likewise did well, drinking as much as they please4.
‘he disposition of the doe appeared to undergo a complete
change: from having been savage, that is, from always endea-
vouring to bite and scratch the hand that cleaned her residence.
or even supplied her table, she became gentle and familiar.
allowing herself to be caressed and her progeny to be inspected.
She was at last as good ay she was beautiful, and I parted
with her for a sum exactly four times that which she had
vost me.”

Another instance is related of a doe rabbit who had a litter
of seven young ones a week old. “ It was high summer time,
and the hutch stood in such a position that the noonday sun
olazed full on the roof of it. The proprietor of the hutch and
1ts contents happening to come into the garden, peeped in at a
chink at the back of the hutch, and there saw the poor doe
with her tongue protruding from her mouth hurrying to and
tro, while her little ones lay huddled in a corner. Now sha
would pause and lick the iron lattice-work forming the door,
and then look abqut her with a bewildered air as though pain-
fully at a loss for something not in sight. The watcher noticed
that instead of caressing and lying close to the little ones she
seemed to get as far from them as possible. Presently, how-
ever, she turned suddenly round and eyed the corner where her
babies were in a most ferocious manner, at the same time paw-
ing the floor with her fore feet, as angry rabbits will, ‘he
animal’s appearance—its rolling tongue and flashing eyes—all
at once made it apparent to the rabbit-keeper that the poor
creature was enduring the agony of thirst, and he at once bur-
ried into the house and fetched a basin of water. When he
again approached the hutch, however, he was horrified tu see
the doe in the very act of tearing one of her progeny to pieces.
As soon, however, as the water was placed within her reavh

 
 

THE RABBIT,

she abandoned the mutilated carcase and lapped greedily at the
basin till she had drained it dry. She then returned tu her
young, and, so far from renewing her sanguinary repast, com-
menced licking the little mangled body and expressing as
plainly as a rabbit could her regret at what had taken place.”

So far, then, it would seem that the true solution of the
mystery has been discovered; but before the thirsty doctrine
is entirely accepted, it would be as well to inquire why it is
that other animals, having free access to drink, and as much
of it as they can possibly require, occasionally devour their
young? The propensity is common, not only among rats and
mice and hedgehogs, but among dogs and cats, who are not
so incommoded by the birth of young but that they can usually
get about the house again in the course of a very few hours.
As regards these animals, therefore, some other cause thar
thirst must exist. An authority of considerable repute says,
“TT have observed annoyance or ill health precede or accompany
this act in animals. If the rabbit be looked at, alarm seems
to change her nature; and the bitch that devours her pups
will, upon inquiry, generally be found to have suffered some
species of persecution. That the brain is affected there can be
no doabt,—the unnatural propensity is of itself a proof; but
the strange appearance and the altered looks of the creature
sufficiently denote her state. She is not then savage—her fero-
city has been gratified; and she seems rather to be afflicted
with the remembrance of the act she was unable to resist. She
is the picture of shame; she slinks away at our approach;
her aspect is dejected, but I think more with sorrow than
crime.”

Besides the causes mentioned, hunger will induce a rabbit
mother to eat her young. Taking the number of reliable cases
here and there quoted, however, the majority are in favour of
ascribing too eager meddling with her young as the chief cause
of her cannibalism. A very curious instance of this occurs in
a pleasing volume, “ Anecdotes of Animal Life.” The mother
of a very young family was displeased at the curiosity evinced
by several children respecting her little ones, who were very
comfortably lying in the day-room. She therefore carried them
off, one by one, into the bed-chamber, picking them up with
her teeth. One unfortunate little creature was seized by one
of its ears, and in the struggle between its parent and itself,
the ear was fairly pulled off. The mother took the misfortune
very philosophically : she ate the severed ear, and then seizing.

: née

 
 

THE KABBIT,

ber child by the ear that remained, deagged it into the bed-
chamber with the rest.

However averse one may be to such a course, it is only fair
to set against the modern theory that rabbits are cruelly used
if denied drink, the arguments of a host of breeders on the old-
fashioned system, who persist that water is injurious. Writing
to me on the subject, a rabbit-breeder says, “ That the rabbit
will live and thrive without other liquid aliment than may be
derived from green leaves, is a question that might be answered
affirmatively by hundreds of rabbit-keepers, and if they were
endowed with speech, by rabbits themselves, in a million cases.
To my thinking there is no getting over the fact, that the
rabbit by nature possesses the capability of existing almost
entirely without drink. Domestication and culture may alter
the form of the animal, or even his tastes and appetites, but
that it could ever so completely revolutionize the laws of nature
as to make a drinking animal a non-drinking one, is more than
the maddest philosopher dare assert. Here is the case: the
rabbit eats, and does do without drink. I have scores of animals
of my own, and am acquainted with people who have each ten
times my number, and never is such a thing as a water-vessel
seen within my hutches or theirs. All the liquid they require
they obtain from the green meats with which they are regularly
provided. It is seldom I have sickness in my hutches. Of
course I have, as has every other rabbit-keeper, a few does in
my collection who are given occasionally to cannibalism; but
surely it is too hard on the ‘ no water-trough’ party to attribute
the continuation of the horrible propensity to their old-fashioned
system. All the world—at least, all the rabbit-keeping world—
knows that anything that tends to fright or suspicion on the
part of a doe, will induce her to devour her young. Will she
not do so if a cat happens suddenly to look in on her and her
progeny, or if the noise of a gun-shot startles her, or even—as
once was my experience—should a mouse creep into the hutch P
And may not all or either of these things occur, even if an
entire water-works were at the animal’s command? There is
no denying that the practice of allowing rabbits to drink at
their will has seeming humanity to back it, and I must say
that if I found that my rabbits would thrive as well with as
without water, they should have it; but as I only want to see
the animals in my care healthy and thriving, and as to the
best of my belief they are both, I have no present hydropathic

intentions.”
517

 
 

SHS RABBIT,

Ali things considered, however, there can be little doubt
that the ancient maxim, that water given to rabbits will kill
them, or at least afflict them with pot-belly as long as they
live, is a delusion. Let them drink, but moderately. If how-
ever, despite this precaution, your doe continues to eat her
chiidren, get rid of her. Should a doe more than once or
twice be guilty of the unaccountable carelessness of “ over
lying” and smothering her children, you had best get rid of
her.

While the doe is suckling, take care that she is not only
plentifully but also regularly fed; a postponement of her supper
for two hours may check her milk, and cause the sucklings to
suffer very materially. Six weeks is the longest period the
little ones should be allowed the teat; after that they must: be
weaned. Turn them out of their mother’s apartment, and
provide them a warm and snug hutch to themselves. Feed
them for a few days on two-thirds corn and hay and one-third
sliced carrot or mangel-wurzel: this they will devour very
readily. Beware of giving the weanlings wef greenstuff; a
little of this sort of food is all very well, but that little should
be perfectly dry. This is of the utmost importanve ; and there
is little doubt that thousands of sucklings come to an untimely
end through scouring from this cause. It will be as well to
make a rule never to allow your rabbits to have green meat
that has not been previously dried, either in the sunshine or
before the fire. That is, of course, dried till all surface moisture
has evaporated ; if you bake the leaves till they are brown, you
may as well give your rabbits a few wood shavings.

 

RIMALAYA RABBITS.

 
 

THE RABBIT,

cs FEEDING.

Turns is a great diversity of opinion as to the best mode of
feeding rabbits. Mr. Young thinks that carrots and parsley are
what the rabbits are most fond of, but that oats and hay should
always be given along with as much green food as they can
possibly consume. By adopting this system, he declares that
at the age of five or six months they may easily be brought to
the weight of a full-sized hare—that is, to a weight of five or
six pounds. Mowbray says, “I killed a buck which weighed
three pounds, fit for the spit; it was put up in good case, and
was only one month in feeding, consuming not quite four
quarts of oats, with hay, cabbage, lucerne, and chicory.”

It should be remembered “that the rabbit is naturally an
animal of nocturnal, or we ought rather to say of crepuscular,
that is, twilight habits. It is, therefore, an error to believe
that it is requisite to give them a substantial meal at noon; on
the contrary, nature and observation indicate that they ought
to be left in quiet at that hour, when they are almost always in
a state of repose, especially during summer. The best feeding
times are very early indeed in the morning, and about sunset
in the evening. They usually eat with the greatest appetite
during the night.”

The author of “ British Husbandry” gives the following tes-
timony relative to the expediency of feeding rabbits chiefly ou
oats :— Having heard that a full-grown rabbit, of four or tive
months old, will eat a quart of oats in eight days, we resolved
on trying the experiment. We therefore purchased a fine buck
of that age, and had him fed entirely upon oats, with only a
little green vegetables just to improve his sppetite, and found
that in six weeks he ate six quarts of good oats, weighing at
least forty pounds to the bushel. He was then killed and
dressed in the iranner of a brown fricasree ; but though of re-
markably fine flavour, he only weighed, when trussed, three
pounds two ounces. With regard to the éxpense of this sort of
feeding : assuming that a rabbit is to be fed with both garden
stuff and corn after being weaued, little more than half the
above quantity of oats will be sufficient; and if continued at
that rate for four months from his being weaned, the quantity
of cats which he will consume will perhaps not exceed ten
pounds, the cost of which, if hought at three-and-sixpence per

 
THE RABBIT.

bushel, wiJl only be a shilling and a penny; and as the garden-
stu will be merely refuse, the only additional expense will be
a trifle for hay: so that the whole amount may probably be
about one shilling and fourpence; and a well-fed rabbit will
generally weigh from two to three pounds when trussed for the
table, for which the poulterer will charge at least two shillings,
besides keeping the skin, which, if in season—that is to say, in
winter—is usually worth a few pence.”

Turning from the author of “ British Husbandry” to Mr.
Cobbett, we find that renowned authority thus expressing him-
self on the subject :—

* Abundant food is the main thing; and what is there that
& rabbit will not eat? I know of nothing green that they will
not eat; and if hard pushed, they will eat bark, and even wood.
A variety of food is a great thing; and, surely, the fields and
gardens and hedges furnish this variety—all sorts of grasses,
strawberry-leaves, and ivy. They should have oats once a day.
When the doe has young ones, feed her most abundantly with
all sorts of greens and herbage, and with carrots, and the other
things mentioned before, besides giving her a few oats once a
day. This is the way to have fine healthy young ones, which,
if they come from the mother in good case, will very seldom die.
But do not think that, Secause she is a small animal, a little
feeding, or a little care, is sufficient. To those gentlemen who
keep rabbits for the use of their family (and a very useful and
convenient article they are), I would observe, that when they
find their rabbits die, they may depend on it that ninety-nine
times out of the hundred starvation is the malady. And par-
ticularly short feeding of the doe while and before she has
young ones; that is to say, short feeding of her at all times ;
for, if she be poor, the young ones will be good for nothing.
She will live, being poor, but she will not, and cannot, breed up
fine young ones.”

There can be no doubt that Cobbett is right when he says,
that variety of food is of the utmost importance as affecting the
rabbit’s bill of fare. There is scarcely a green thing that grows
that may not be given them at certain times and in modera-
tion. Let it be borne in mind, that if rabbits be supplied with
as much corn as they can eat, you need have no reluctance in.
giving them vegetables. The great harm is to give them green-
meat as victuals, instead of as medicine. When 1 say corn,
I mean dry corn: such as oats, peas, wheat, indian-corn, or
buck-wheat—and not grains. To give a rabbit grains, as well as

520

 
 

THE RABBIT,

green-meat, is to condemn him to certain scouring, and probably
to death. Their green food should consist chiefly of carrots,
turnips, artichokes, the stumps and ribs of cabbage, cooked
potatoes (better baked than any other way), grass, strawberry-
leaves, cow-parsley, and dandelion. Some folks seriously re-
commend wild parsnip or hog-weed for rabbits ; but hear what
Mr. Mowbray says on the subject :-—

“On moving out of Middlesex to Hants, I took with me a
favourite stock of rabbits in the highest condition. Being par-
ticularly engaged for the first fortnight I scarcely bestowed a
look on my rabbits. When I saw them, instead of the well-fed,
merry, gamesome creatures, as they formerly were, I beheld a
parcel of moping, pot-bellied, and scouring creatures, which had
lost all the fine solid flesh put upon them by former high-
keeping. On demanding the cause of this unfavourable change,
T discovered it to be in the quantity of hog-weed with which
they had been daily supplied. This being ae, they
soon recovered their pristine condition.” :

On the subject of feeding, a clever writer Poe “Too
much food at a time is as bad as too little. Twice a day is
often enough to supply them with food, except in the case of
breeding does, whose trough should be replenished just as often
as she empties it. To a breeding doe of full size may be given
in the morning a handful of sweet dry hay and half a pound
of wholesome vegetables, at noon a pint of good oats should be
put into her trough, and the last thing at night a piece of
carrot or parsnip, and a handful of clover, or a cold baked
potato and some beans. Grey peas may be given them occa-
sionally instead of corn, and if the peas are old, soak them*in
cold water for a quarter of an hour. Tea-leaves and such
kind of victual should scarcely be reckoned, serving, as they do,
rather to amuse the animal than to stanch his hunger. I have
heard it asserted that no food is more highly relished by the
rabbit than brewery grains and tea-leaves, yet I have always
found, when corn and these things have together been placed
in his house, the rabbit, like a sensible fellow, no more deigned
to notice the soft messes than an hungry Englishman would
desert English beef for French kickshaws.

It would seem, then, that the advice concerning rabbit-
feeding as given by both ancient and modern keepers may be
summed up as follows.

There can be no doubt that a judicious supply of vegetable
diet not only improves the health of rabbits, but also adds to

 
 

THE RABBIT.

the juiciness of their flesh. Both extremes must be avoided.
Rabbits fed largely on green-meat become flabby and soft-
fleshed, while, on the other hand, those that are fed entirely on
dry food—corn and hay—become unpalatable on account of
the closeness and dryness of their flesh. Let corn be the
standard diet and green-meat the corrective of this last-men-
tioned objectionable quality in rabbit meat.

 

DISEASES OF THE RABBIT AND HOW TO CURE THEM.

Ir is an wholesome maxim, and one that as well applies to
four as to two-legged animals, that diseases are more easily
avoided than cured. * There is no such thing as running in debt
with nature and shirking payment. So surely as seeds fruc-
tify in the earth will the seeds of disease planted im living
creatures—whether wantonly, carelessly, or with brute obsti-
nacy—grow up apace and flourish. If we can stave off the
grim reaper, so much the better.

If I had as many guineas as there are rabbits brought to an
unéimely end in a single year through sheer neglect of their
keepers, I should be as rich as a Jew—as rich as that golden
Hebrew, Baron Rothschild. I’m sure I should be half as rich
if I had but the hides of the sacrificed animals, and sold the
sheared fleece to the hatters and to the bed-makers, and the
skins to the makers of fine glue.

The disease called the “rot” is the rabbit’s greatest enemy,
and he who delights to feed his rabbits on decaying green stuff,
is the best patron of the disease in question. You will know
that your animals have this malady by their growing lean, and
by unsightly sores appearing on them, especially on their noses
and ears. If you set vigorously to work as soon as you observe
these symptoms you may effecta cure. Feed them entirely on
food of a dry and absorbent nature. Ground mult is a good
thing, as is ship biscuit, toasted bread, crushed beans, oak-

 
 

THE RABBIT.

leaves, split peas, and oatmeal. Sweet herbs are excellent,
marjoram, sage, &c. Morning and evening let them have a
yuarter of a gill of water that has been boiled and got cold.

Unless, however, the malady is detected at its outset, it will
be worse than useless to attempt to cure it; for if the scabbi-
ness of the ears and nose be allowed to get fast hold on the
poor creature, cure is hopeless. Worse still, it becomes con-
tagious, and your rabbit hutch will assume the character of a
pest-house. So irradicable is this disease, that I have known
scabbiness to lie dormant in the progeny of a doe so afflicted
for two and even three years, and then suddenly break out
most virulently.

Pot-Lelly dropsy is occasioned by wet vegetable diet. The
importance of this subject is my excuse for again alluding to it.
Arsenic is hardly more inimical to human life than is wet green
stuff to rabbit life. It is a well-authenticated fact that even
in a wild state an indulgence in such food is fatal to these ani-
mals, for in very wet seasons they may be found lying dead in
all directions in the neighbourhood of their warrens,

Pot-belly is incurable. You may patch up an animal for a
month or so, but you may depend on the disease again making
its appearance. The best plan, therefore, is to get rid of animals
so afflicted.

Liver complaint is another ill to which rabbit flesh is heir.
You may know when an animal is so affected, by its breathing
hard and short. It in no way interferes with a rabbit’s yood
looks, and hardly with its chance of longevity. It would be
folly, however, to breed from a liver-diseased doe, as the certain
result would be unhealthy little ones. A rabbit with this dis-
ease will eat as hearty as any, and his flesh will be not a bit
the worse. If I had an animal so circumstanced I should.
fatten him for killing, bearing in mind, however, that if I
loaded him extravagantly with fat, he would be sure to die
suddenly.

Snufiles is to the rabbit pretty much what a cold in the head
is to us, and arises from the same causes—cold, wet, or draught,
Make the sick rabbit as comfortable as you can, by covering
him in snug, and providing him with warm, food, such as aro-
matic herbs, oats, and bran. Some keepers recommend the
use of hemp-seed in such cases, but really I have lost so many
pets—furred and feathered—by the use of this heating and
oleaginous seed, that I am loth to indorse the recommendation.

For “ red-water” (occasioned chiefly by sour food), the best

525

 
 

THE RABBIT.

remedy is mild muecilngi:cus foud, such as dandelion and
emuve. For diarrhoea, sound dry corn, ship biscuit, and baked
potato skins.

As soon as an -animal evinces symptoms of any discase,
part it from the rest and keep it alone, till the clearness of its
eye, the brightness of its coat, and its dry and well pelieted
“dung convince you that it is restored to perfect health.

RABBIT KILLING,

Tae most usual mode of killing the rabbit—as being the
most sudden and the least painful—is to strike it with the edge
of the open palm on the neck immediately behind the poll.
After this is done, the throat should be perforated upwards
towards the jaws with a small-pointed knife, in order that the
blood may drain from the carcase; otherwise the head and
neck will, when the creature is hung up, speedily become dis-
coloured from the blood settling in those regions. If the rabbit
is not to be dressed at once, it should be hung up by the fore
feet, and not, as commonly done, by the hind legs.

LAW RESPECTING RABBIT-SNARING.

By 7 & 8 Geo. IV., if any person unlawfully and wilfully in
the night take any hare or cony in any warren or ground law-
fully used for the keeping thereof, whether enclosed or not,
every such person shall be guilty of a misdemeanour; and
persons guilty uf the same offence in the daytime, or using any
sLare or engine, are subject to a penalty of five pounds. But
this does not extend to the taking in the daytime any coniee
op any sea bank, or river bank in Lincolnshire, so far as the
tage shall extend, or within a furlong of such bank.

 
 

   

oS

THE PORT'S PETS.

THE HARE.

Tris emblem of swiftness and timidity is easily distinguish-
able from the rabbit by the great length of its ears, its long
hind legs, its prominent eyes, and the colour of its fur, which
is reddish-brown above and white beneath ; the tips of the ears
are black, as is the upper part of the tail, while underneath it
is white : its upper lip is cleft in the centre, and its feet covered
beneath as well as above with fur. The total length when full-
grown is rather over two feet, and of this the tail occupies
three inches.

The favourite abiding-place of the English hare is in the
vicinity of rich flat lands; indeed it is rarely discovered in hilly
or mountainous districts. Its “form,” or nest, is usually be-
neath some bush or growth of underwood, where it usually
lies concealed all day, and comes eut at night to feed. The
affection of the hare for its “ form” iis proverbial ; and if, when
away from it on a love-making or victualling excursion, it is
surprised and chased, it will brave almost any danger in making

525

 
 

THE HARE.

for home, rather than take advantage of any nearer shelter
that may present itself.

It is a very prolific animal, breeding almost as manv timea
in the year as the rabbit, and producing three or four young
ones at a birth. The eyes of the young are open at tirtn.
They remain with their mother about twenty days, durmg
which time she suckles them; and after that they start .a
business on their own account. The food of the hare conusts
of herbage of almost overy kind; but it prefers vegetables of a
milky and succulent nature, and, like the rabbit, is very fond of|
parsley. They are by no means desirable as neighbours, esne-
cally to vegetable and corn growers. The havoc a hundred or
su ot visitors from a “ preserve” will make in a field ot newly-
sprang wheat, in a single night, is incredible; indeed, mary
extensive farms, owing to their contiguity to a preserve, are
worth a less rental by fully half on that account.

‘he hare does not burrow like the rabbit, but scrapes out a
slight depression, so that when she lies in it half-buried in earth
and dried herbage, it is a very difficult matter to distinguish
kur. In countries, however, where the snow lies deep in winter,
the animal displays considerable ingenuity in making herself
a comfortable domicile. “She does not attempt,” says Mr.
Woud, “to leave her form as the snow falls heavily around
her, but only pushes it backwards and forwards by the move-
ments of her body, so as to leave a small space between herself
and the snow. By degrees the feathery flakes are formed into
a kind of domed chamber, which entirely encloses the imhabit-
ant, with the exception of a little round hole, which is preserved
by the warm breath, and which serves as a ventilating aper-
ture. This air-hole is often the means of her destruction as
well as of her safety; for the scent which issues from the aper-
ture betrays her presence to the keen nostrils of the dogs wriwh
accompany the solitary hare-hunter, and which are trained +o
search for these air-holes, and stand sentinels over them until
tueir master arrives and captures the hidden victim.”

The hare pairs in February, and very seldom migrates tar
from the spot where it is born. It seldom utters any crv. gud
when it does it is a shrill and sharp noise like that of a baby
suddenly hurt. As to the charge of timidity so constantly
brought against it, it is more than doubtful if it deserves it.
Sorely the fact of its taking fright at the tramping of an army
of hu.sen:en and a troop cf dogs is no proof of cowardice. ithe
vny prvot of a man’s pluck is as compared with that ui nis

 
 

THE HARE.

kind. A man who declined a “set-to” with a gorilla, would
not be scouted as a poltroon, but rather—unless he were well
armed, which, of course, puts quite another complexion on the
matter—be commended for his discretion. The same man,
however, would be expected to resist a human foe—nay, if he
were au Engiishman and the said toes Chinamen, he might
reasonably be expected successtully to resist five uf them.
Judged by this standard, the hare is a very plucky animal in-
deed; for, among themselves, the most sanguinary encounters
are continually taking place; and it is no uncommon thing to
find a hare with its ears torn to ribands by the teeth of its
brethren. Besides, we have not far to search for instances
wherein the timid hare has shown itself fearless of man him-
self. Here is one, viewed and related by no less credible a
person than the Rev. J. G. Wood :—‘“ A countryman had cap-
tured a young leveret in a furrow, and was proceeding to mark
it by notching her ears, when he was interrupted in his work
by the mother hare, which flew at him with singular courage,
and struck so fiercely with her feet that she tore his hands
rather severely, Finding that she could not release her child,
she stood within a few feet of the captor, and waited patiently
until he liberated the little hare, with which she went off.”
Whatever may be said of its courage, no one will impeach
its cunning. For this quality even master fox himself may
own that he is no match for the hare. When the animal hears
the terrible voices of the approaching dogs, she at once sets
off, nor pauses till she gains some sort of eminence from which
she may get a fair view. Her length of ear enables her to
catch sounds at a very great distance, and her peculiarly pro-
minent eyes, placed as they are far back, enable her to see
almost as distinctly behind as before her. When she pauses
to listen for the coming of her enemies, she rears on her lung
hind-legs and so obtains a tolerably extended view. Wnoen
hard pressed, she is capable of the most crafty manceuvres for
tine nuxpose of throwing the dogs off the scent. It has oevn
known to leap to the top of a clugocat helga,and t sun
aiong for a censiderab's distance; to hetake itself te furze
bushes, and to leap trom one to the other without touching
the ground; to run forwards for a considerable distance, and
then, after returning for a few hundred yards on the same
track, to make a great leap at right anzles to its former course,
and lie quietly hidden while the hounds ran past its place of!
concealment; then to jump back again to its track, and steal

 
THE HARE.

quietly out of sight in one direction while the dogs pursue
another. It has even been known to start a fresh hare, leav-
ing it to the tender mercies of the hunters, while she squats
securely in the deluded creature’s form.

Length of limb and freedom from fat enable the hare to
make tremendous speed, and to venture leaps calculated to
daunt the most enthusiastic dog. It has been seen to leap a
perpendicular wall eight feet in height. They, however, are
not methodical in running, and frequently exhaust their strength
with the first burst.

Hares take to the water with the greatest readiness. Tn-
stances of their crossing brooks and rivulets, in their endea-
vours to balk their pursuers, are plentiful enough; but here is
a story—Mr. Yarrel tells it—of hares putting out to sea for
the fun of the thing :—‘‘ A harbour of great extent on our
southern coast has an island near the middle, of considerable
size, the nearest point of which is a mile distant from the
mainland at high water, and with which point there is frequent
communication by a ferry. Early one morning in spring, two
hares were observed to come down from the hills of the main-
land towards the sea-side; one of which from time to time left
its companion, and proceeding to the very edge of the water,
stopped there a minute or two and then returned to its mate.
The tide was rising; and after waiting some time, one of them,
exactly at high water, took to the sea, and swam rapidly over
in a straight line to the opposite projecting point of land.
The observer on this occasion, who was near to the spot, but
remained unperceived by the hares, had no doubt they were
of different sexes, and that it was the male that had swam
across the water, as he had doubtless done many times before.
It was remarkable that the hares remained on the shore nearly
half an hour; one of them occasionally examining the state of
the current, and ultimately taking to the sea at that precise
period of the tide called slack water, when the passage across
could be effected without being carried by the foree of the
stream either above or below the desired point of landing. The
other hare then cantered back to the hills.”

Who will dare speak against the hare after thisP Who
will impeach his courage, or deny that he is a gallant fellow ?
What a catalogue of virtues the above little narrative—nay,
romance—reveals this hare to possess! That he was a hare
respected by his friends—and doubtlessly deservedly respected
—is shown ey the fact that his father or brother—nay, per-

52.

 
 

THE HARE.

haps his mother—came, down. to the shore to see him off; that
he was a bold hare is clear by his taking to the water without
a moment’s hesitation, although a mile of dreary ocean was
before him; and that he was an affectionate hare is evidenced
by the purpose that led him to undertake the perilous voyage.
It is really quite nice to find that the noble fellow’s love was
appreciated, and that his sweetheart came down to the beach
to receive him. Did he press his hare-lip to hers, and did
their happy tears mingle on the strand? The narrator saith
not; but that such was the case there is little doubt, and that
it was from these tokens that Mr. Yarrell’s informant gathered
the inference that they were sweethearts long attached, and
had “ met many times before.”

Animals of the hare species are found throughout Europe
and America, and indeed in other parts of the world; but none
of them exactly resemble that with which we are familiar. The
hare found in Ireland, for example, was long thought to be
merely a variety of the English animal; but the indefatigable
Mr. Bell detects the following differences. The Irish hare is
somewhat larger; the head is somewhat shorter; the ears are
even shorter than the head, while those of the English hare
are fully an inch longer; the limbs are proportionally rather
shorter, and the hinder limbs do not much exceed the fore-legs
in length. The fur is also remarkably different: it is com-
posed. exclusively of the uniform soft and shorter hair which in
the English species is mixed with the black-tipped long hairs
that give the peculiar mottled appearance of that animal; it
is, therefore, of a uniform brownish colour on the back and
sides. The ears are reddish grey, blackish at the tip, with a
dark line near the outer margin. The tail is nearly of the
same relative length as in the common species.

Distributed through Norway, Sweden, Russia, and Kams-
chatka is an animal called the Varying hare. The fur, which
is full and soft, is in summer grey intermixed with silky hair
of a yellowish brown; the ears are tipped with black, and the
under parts are light grey. The tail is white beneath and grey
above. As the winter approaches, the fur gradually becomes
white, except that on the lips and the tips of the ears, which
remains black. In the “ Edinburgh Philosophical Journal,”
vol. ii., is an interesting account of the process as it occurs in
Scotland, from which it would seem that the winter change of
colour takes place without any removal of the hair. “ About
the middle of September,” says the writer in the © Journal,”

34

 
 

 

THE HARE,

“the grey feet begin to be white, and before the month ends
all the four feet are white, and the ears and muzzle are of a
brighter colour. The white colour gradually ascends the legs
and thighs, and we observe under the grey hairs whitish spots,
which continue to increase till the end of October; but still the:
back continues of a grey colour, while the eyebrows and ears
are nearly white. From this period the change of colour ad-
vances very rapidly, and by the middle of November the whole
fur, with the exception of the tips of the ears, which remain
black, is of a fine shining white. The back becomes white within
eight days. During the whole of this remarkable change in
the fur no hair falls from the animal; hence it appears that
the hair actually changes its colour, and that there is no renewal
of it. The fur retains its white colour until the month of
March, or even later, depending on the temperature of the
atmosphere; and by the middle of May it has again a grey
colour. But the spring change is different from the winter, as
the hair is completely shed.”

The American hare is not much larger than the common
rabbit, by which name, indeed, it is only known throughout the
northern parts of America. The Summer hare is dark brown
on the upper part of the head, lighter on the sides, and of an
ash-colour below. The ears are wide, edged with white, tipped
with brown, and dark-coloured behind; tail dark above, white
underneath, having the under surface turned up; the fore legs
are shorter and the hinder longer in proportion to the Euro-
pean. In the middle and southern States the change in the
colour of the hair is by no means as remarkable as it is further
north, where it becomes nearly white. It is not hunted in
America, according to the English acceptation of the term, but
started by a dog and shot, or it is caught in various sorts of
traps. It has the same kind of leaping gait as the European
hare; and, like that animal, it breeds several times in the
course of a year. It is not of a migratory nature, but always
continues to haunt the same places, taking occasional refuge
under the roots of trees, or in the hollows near the roots.

Mr. Gosse, in the “ Canadian Naturalist,” gives the follow-
ing information respecting the American hare, together with
how the noble Canadian performs the sport of “ twisting” a
hare: “ The American hare is found pretty generally over North
America, from this province even to the Gulf of Mexico, where
it is more common than it is with us. Here its winter coat
is nearly white, but in the summer it is of a yellowish brown,

530 »

 

 
2.

THE HARE.

with a white tail. It makes a nest or bed of moss or leaves
in some hollow tree or old log, whence it issues chiefly at night.
Though not so much addicted to gnawing as the squirrels, yet,
as its teeth are formed in the same manner, it probably resem-
bles them in its food, eating various kinds of nuts and seeds,
as well as green herbs. It is said also occasionally to peel off
the bark from apple and other trees. A singular mode of
taking furred animals out of logs, hollow trees, &c., is prac-
tised in the South, called ‘ twisting.” I once saw it per-
formed on a rabbit (so called). The dogs had tracked him, and
driven him to his hole at the bottom of a hickory-tree. The
hole was ‘too small to admit the hunter’s hand with conve-
nience, so we made the negroes cut down the tree, which was
soon accomplished. When it fell, we watched the hole to sed
that the rabbit did not run out, but he did not make his ap-
pearance. The hunter then got some long slender switches, and
probing the hollow, found that the rabbit was at the further
‘end, several feet up the trunk. He now commenced turning
the switch round in one direction a great many times, until
the top of it had become so entangled in the animal’s fur as
to bear a strong pull. He then began to pull steadily out,
but the rabbit held on as well as he could, and made consider-
able resistance, crying most piteously like a child; at last the
skin gave way, and a great mass of fur and skin came out
attached to the switch, pulled off by main force. He now took a
new switch, and commenced twisting again, and this time pulled
the little thing down ; but the skin was torn almost completely
off the loins, and so tightly twisted round the end of tks
sticks that they were forced to cut it to set the poor animal
free.”

There exist. several animals of the Rodent genus that have
little or nothing of the “hare” about them but the name.
Such are the Calling hare, the Ogotona hare, and the Cape
hare. The first of these is a little animal barely so large as a
rat, inhabiting the deserts of Chinese Tartary. It burrows like
the rabbit, and constructs a warm nest at a little depth from
the rurface. They are curiously prudential in their habits,
and 1.0t only at the fall of the year accumulate various herbs
against hard times, but—or the accounts of travellers are not
worthy of credit—* construct hemispherical ricks of hay about
a foot high for their support during the inclement season.”

The Oalling hare comewhat resembles the Ogotona, but is
even smaller. Its head is comparatively longer than the true

532

 
 

 

THE HABR,

(are’s, and is thickly covered with fur even to the tip of the
nose. It is an inhabitant of the south-east parts of Russia,
and is an animal of so solitary a nature as to be seldom seen
even in places most frequented by it. They burrow, and the
mouth of their den is little more than two inches in diametei.
The voice of the Cape hare is said to resemble the piping of a
quail, but is so loud as to be heard at the distance of half a
mile. Both the male and female emit this note, but the latter
is silent for some time after she has given birth (in May) to her
young, which are born naked and blind, and are carefully
attended to by the mother, who covers them up warm with the
cosy materials of her nest.

The Cape Leaping hare, or Spring hare, or Jumping hare,
is certainly more like a kangaroo than what we are accustomed
to think should be a hare’s shape. It is a native of Southern
Africa ; the hinder legs are very long, and the fore-legs remark-
ably short; the tail, which is thickly covered with bristly
hairs, is as long as its body. The fore-legs have each five
toes armed with strong claws, by means of which the animal
digs its burrow. The hinder feet are furnished with four claws,
less heavy than those on the anterior toes, but sharper. Its
leaping powers are prodigious; it will clear from twenty to
thirty feet at a jump, and keep this up for a considerable time.|
It resembles our hare in the shape of the head (except that the
ears are shorter) and in the texture of the fur. It is of nocturnal.
habits, saw @ seldom seen abroad. “The natives,” says a
naturalist, * wno set some value on the flesh, take advantage,
of this habit, and being sure of finding the Spring hare at home
during the daytime, take their measures accordingly. Placing
a sentinel at the mouth of the burrow, they force the inmate to
evacuate the premises by pouring a deluge of water into the
hole, and as it rushes into the open air it is seized or struck
down. by the ready hand of the sentinel.”

To return, however, to Lepus timidus, the common English
hare. Why a “Home Pet?” One has heard of frogs
responding to a friendly whistle ; of “ death-watches” cheer-
{nily responding to the tap of an acquaintance at the wainscotl
hehind which they reside; of poisonous serpents reposing
peaceably in the bosom of an Indian family ; but whenever was
the shy, nervous, solitude-loving hare known to afford to a
home delight in any other shape but jugged or roastedP My
dear reader, you have only to try your hand with a very young
leveret, and you will possibly alter your opinion. You may

53a

 
 

TYE HANE,

experience some difficulty in taming the wild little creature, but
KINDNEss must conquer. Under the influence of this virtue,
wolves may be brought to lick the hand with innocent tongue,
and even lions and tigers be made grateful. One of the oldest
and most experienced of living hunters says, “ without doubt
the two most savage beasts in the world—the most crafty and
unconquerable—are the wild boar and the panther ;” yet this
latter animal was so effectually tamed by Kean the tragedian,
as to follow him about like a dog.

Instances are not wanting of the hare’s tamability. Some
time ago there was exhibited in Liverpool a troop of performing
hares, seven in number. They would sit round a table with
napkins tucked under their chins, and partake of dinner in the
most decorous manner; five of them harnessed to a little car-
riage, in which sat a little girl, galloped round the circus, while
a hare with a cocked hat drove, and a hare in scarlet breeches
and powdered wig stood behind. They played a game of hare-
hunting; one animal representing the hunted, and the other
six the dogs; the first hare doubling and hiding behind baskets
and stuffed sacks, and leaping and dodging in all sorts of ways
to throw her pursuers “off the scent,” and consented to be
touselled and laid as dead when the make-believe dogs over-
took her. Many other tricks were performed by these animals,
plainly showing that they are capable of considerable educa-
tion. Why not? Surely they possess all the elements—
cunning, impetuosity, daring, and affection; and if the culti-
vation of these qualities will not make an animal entertaining
and companionable, why, then there is an end of pet-keeping.

The celebrated poet Cowper kept hares among the pets that
cheered the solitude of his summer residence at Olney. Puss,
Bess, and Tiny were the names of the animals whose associa-
tion with the poet has rendered them famous. That so gentle-
minded a man should have been able to obtain such perfect
control over the animals in question is surely proof sufficient
that hare-taming is a simple business, after all.

 
 

 

 

THE HEDGEHOG.

—eoo——_

Desprre his spiky suit, our friend the hedgehog claims a
place in our category of Home Pets. Why not? His spikes
are for his enemies, not for his friends; he is of a peaceable
disposition and easy of domestication; his habits are highly
curious as well as instructive and amusing, and he is able to
repay with ample interest the kindness you may bestow on
him.

He bears a bad character; bears it because he cannot help
himself; but he deserves it no more than many other harm-
less creatures against whom superstition sets its thick head.
The farmer detests the hedgehog. “ Doesn’t it steal my poultry,
and rob my hens of the very eggs they are sitting on?” asks
the indignant man; “ doesn’t the prickly little thing milk my
cows in the night?” To the first question it may be replied,
that the hedgehog is guilty. He does steal eggs; but he never
steals more than he can eat, and those which he does eat are
consumed in a decent and clever way. He does not break the
egg and lick up all that may be saved, as would a bungling
animal ; he takes it gingerly between his forepaws, bites off the
small end, and sucks out all that the shell contains, without
wasting a drop. To the question, “ Doesn’t he milk my cows?”
No, may be distinctly given as answer. It is impossible. It

could no more take the cow’s large teat into its tiny mouth
534

 

 
THE HEDGEHOG.

than it could fe'ch a milking-stool and a pail, and relieve the
animal’s udder milkmaid-fashion. Not but that it is very
fond of cow’s milk, and never loses an opportunity to satisfy
its craving; if the milkers are tardy, and the cows are allowed
to lie about with the luscious liquid trickling from their teem-
ing udders, any hedgehog that may happen to be in the neigh-
bourhood will certainly scent out the circumstance, and possibly
be found busily licking and lapping close to the teat. There
can be no doubt that the delusion concerning the cow-sucking
habit of the hedgehog is founded on this fact.

The hedgehog has been likewise accused of being an orchard-
robber. He has been seen trudging home to his family with
his spines loaded with pippins. It is supposed to climb up a
tree, bite off the fruit at the stalks till a goodish many fall
and accumulate at the foot of the tree, and then descending,
roll itself over the fruit till a load is impaled. For this delusion,
as well as the above-mentioned, there is ample ground; as,
says Mr. Wood, “hedgehogs do occasionally walk about with
apples on their spines, for I have been told so by az sve-witness
to the fact, a man who was rather given to the study of natural
history, and who had been much struck with tke ci'cumstance.
But although they may be occasionally seen with an apple or
so sticking on their backs, yet the apples most probably came
there accidentally. It is a very common thing to find a hedge-
hog covered with leaves, through which its spines are thrust,
but we do not therefore accuse it of eating leaves. In all pro-
bability the creature had been alarmed, and had hastily rolled
itself up in a spot where apples were lying, and in that case
some of them would be nearly certain to adhere to the spines.”

Nothing comes amiss to the hedgehog in the shape of food:
fish, flesh, fowl, vegetables, grubs, worms, and insects, all are
devoured with more or less relish. It has been denied that the
animal in question will eat vegetables, but it is sufficient to
know that so creditable an authority as the author of the
“ Natural History of Selborne” declares the contrary. Wild
fruit, crabs, haws, &c., says Mr. White, form part of its
diet; and the same gentleman enters into a long and curious
account of the manner in which a hedgehog in his possession
rontrived to devour the roots of a plantain without injuring
the leaves. It devours large quantities of worms, and its mode
of operation is deserving of observation. The Rev. L. Jenyns
thus describes the business :—“ I fell in with a hedgehog to-
day in my walks, in a sheltered part of the garden, which I

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG.

was enabled to watch unobserved, and which afforded me an
opportunity of seeing a little into their habits and mode of
feeding. It was creeping up and down a grass walk, appa-
rently in busy search for worms. It carried its snout very
low, insinuating it among the roots of the herbage, and sniffing
under the dead leaves which lay about. After a time it
commenced scratching at a particular spot to which it seemed
directed by the scent, and drew out a very large worm from
just beneath the surface of the ground. This it immediately
began to devour, taking it into the mouth by one extremity,
and gradually eating its way to the other—an operation which
lasted some time, and was attended by an incessant action of
the teeth, which grated upon each other with a peculiar noise.
After the worm was all gone, as I thought, I was surprised to
seo the whole put out of the mouth again, and from the ap-
pearance of the earth I was led to believe that it had only been
subjected to the action of the teeth for the purpose of being
bruised, and squeezing out the soft internal parts of the body,
which alone were eaten in the first instance. The skin itself,
however, was shortly retaken into the mouth, and the whole
clean devoured. From the above observation, it is probable
worms form no inconsiderable part of the food of the hedgehog,
and that they are enabled to detect them by the smell and to
extract them from the ground with their snout, after the same
manner that the hog uses his in searching for buried food. In
the instance observed by me no attempt was made to kill the
worm before eating it, but that part of the poor creature that
was still out of the mouth of the hedgehog kept up a continued
writhing as the nibbling of its other extremity proceeded.”

Clumsy as it appears, it somehow manages to capture such
swift creatures as the hare and rabbit. Some time ago, in
Cumberland, a hedgehog was caught in the act of killmg a
hare, on which it had inflicted such injuries that it died shortly
after it was rescued. The insect tribe, however, form the
staple of its food. It is very partial to bees, and, thanks to
its impenetrable armour, it is not afraid of the sharp stings of
the outraged honeymaker. With its spiky hide covered with
indignant and furious bees, the hedgehog, having effected bur-
glarious entry into a nest, calmly munches away at the grubs
and the honey, and then trots off unscathed as little in body
as in conscience.

The stomach of the hedgehog would seem to be invulnerable
to poison. | Carrosive sublimate it devours with a relish, and

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG,

the same with hydrocyanic acid and cantharides. More sin-
gular still, it can bear the bites of the most venomous snakes with-
out experiencing any ill effect. Dr. Buckland tested this property
of the hedgehog. In the same box he placed one of the animals
in question with a common snake. For a time the snake crept
about as though unaware of the hedgehog’s presence, while the
latter experienced, or effected, the same ignorance of the close
proximity of its fanged enemy, and remained coiled up like a
ball. The hedgehog was then laid on the snake; but still it
maintained its apathy till the snake moved slightly, when the
hedgehog untucked its head, and seeing—seemingly for the
first time—the snake, gave it a severe nip with its teeth, and
at once resumed its coiled-up attitude. Three times the snake
wriggled, and three times the hedgehog put out its head and
bit it—the third time so hard that the poor reptile’s back was
broken. Its immediate behaviour, on finding that its enemy
was powerless, certainly went to contradict its previous assumed
indifference. It no longer remained coiled up, but waking to
sudden activity, it took the tail of the unlucky snake in its
mouth and deliberately bit it from one end to the other, just
as Dr. Jenyns saw the worm served, only in this case the body
of the snake was too large to be contained in the hedgehog’s
mouth. Having mumbled the snake thoroughly, it began to
eat it, and by the next morning it was totally consumed.
Another naturalist relates the case of a viper and a hedge-
hog being boxed up together. The hedgehog was the first to
commence hostilities, and the snake being irritated, rose up
and bit its assailant smartly on the under lip. The hedgehog:
took little notice of the incident, but, after licking the wounded
spot once or twice, returned to the charge. At last it succeeded.
in killing the viper; and, after having done so, ate its van-
quished enemy, beginning at the tail, and so working upwards.
That the hedgehog is an hybernating animal is beyond dis-
pute, and may be said to be more completely so than even
the dormouse, for the latter will rouse a few times from its
long sleep and partake of the store of food it has laid up; but
in the case of the hedgehog, such hoarding is impracticable, on
account of its flesh-eating habit. It is a burrowing animal,
preferring crevices in rocky ground, or among the stones of some
ruined building. Sometimes it bores itself a snug nest beneath
the roots of a tree, or, should the tree be hollow, it will have
no objection to take its abode within. Some hedgehogs are too
lazy to provide a house of their own building, and will take

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG.

liberties with the abode of the mole or some other burrowing
animal. A rabbit-burrow is not considered by the hedgehog
to be bad lodging; or perhaps, and considering the many young
rabbits running about, it would be more correct to say board
and lodging.

The nest of the hedgehog is a curious edifice, and so admir-
ably contrived with a thatching of leaves, that during the
heaviest rains the tiny hedgehogs within remain snug and dry.
The young come into the world about May, and look certainly
as though they would never grow up to be like their parents.
They are very little, and, when born, deaf as well as blind.
The quills on their backs are soft and delicately white, and
beneath them the tender pink skin plainly shows. While still
in its babyhood, the hedgehog’s tail plainly shows, because its
bristles are not sufficiently long to cover it; in the adult ani-
mal, however, unless the tail be searched for, it is not apparent
—it is very short, not exceeding three quarters of an inch in
length.

The hedgehog’s spines are of very singular character; their
elasticity is marvellous. Mr. Bell relates that a hedgehog be-
longing to him was in the habit of fearlessly throwing itself
off a wall fourteen feet in height, trusting to the elasticity of
its spines to save it from injury: it made no stop or hesitation,
but threw itself over at once, contracting into a ball as it fell,
and, after it reached the ground, it would lie quiet for a few
moments, and then unfold itself and run off.

The way in which the spines of the hedgehog are attached
to its skin is very remarkable; thanks, however, to the Rev. J.
G, Wood, the reader may be made easily to comprehend the
manner in which the spines are set, “through the medium of
a piece of leather and a few pins: Take a piece of tolerably
stout leather, and push a dozen pins through it up to the very
head. ‘Now bend all the pins so that their points will form
an angle of about 45° with the leather. That is the way in
which the spines are fixed to the skins; but if we wish to see
how the hedgehog is enabled to raise these spines, we must do
something more. Take a piece of linen and lay it against the
inner side of the leather, fastening all the heads of the pins to
it. Now if you draw the linen towards the direction in which
the points of the pins lie, you will find that all the pins will
stand upright, the pins forming levers of which the skin is the
fulcrum. The linen will represent that extraordinary muscle
which lies puter the skin of most animals, and is developed to

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG.

such an’ extent in the hedgehog. By means of this muscle the
hedgehog is enabled to retain its position when it has curled
itself into a ball. The muscle is not so very powerful on tha
back, but is enormously large along the sides. When, there-
fore, the hedgehog fears an enemy, it tucks its head under its
breast, at the same time drawing its legs within the scope of
this muscle, which, by its contraction, forms a complete rope
round the body, binding it together with such force that the
animal cannot be opened without rending asunder this muscle:
however, there are no animals who would attempt auch a feat;
for, at the same time that the animal curls itself round, the
contraction of the muscle draws all the spines upright, and
offers a chevaux-de-frise which few wish to encounter.”

Gipsies and that sort of folk declare that, for eating, the
hedgehog is to be preferred to the duck or chicken; and it
should be borne in mind that evidence derived from such a
source should by no means be despised. Were honest house-
dwellers the witnesses, it might be supposed that economy had
to do with the choice; but, as a rule, hedgehogs and fowls cost
the gipsy the one no more than the other, and therefore his
judgment may be regarded as impartial. The gipsy cooks his
hedgehog in the same way as he cooks any duck or chicken
that; may wander into his tent. The bristles are first singed
off, or nearly, and then the carcase, encased in a pasty of fine
clay, is buried in the glowing. ashes of the camp fire. When
the clay cracks, the hedgehog is known to be done, and on being
disentombed, it is reeking and delicious; the outer skin has
peeled off, leaving it delicately white, and though, as may have
been observed, the process of embowelling has not been per-
formed, if it is opened now, the whole of the intestines will be
found to have shrivelled together, and come away in a dry mass.
Persons who have had an opportunity of tasting a fowl cooked
in this way, declare that stove-cooked poultry bears no sort of
comparison with it for excellence.

Should the reader, hitherto hedgehogless, be inclined to keep
one of these interesting creatures, he must be prepared at first
for some little trouble. It will be as shy as a strange cat, and
as inclined to hostility, making its appearance only when hungry,
and then vanishing, goodness knows where—under the floor-
boards, probably, or up the chimney. This state of things,
however, will not continue, especially if it be fed by one person,
and with tolerable regularity. It is popularly believed that if
the hedgehog is once rendere? “drunk and incapable,” he will

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG.

ever after be docile and obedient. This has been regarded aa
one of those funny double-edged sayings for which our forefathers
were so remarkable: “ Mustard too well mixed is poison;” “A
stab in the throat is a sure cure for toothache,” &c.; and as it
is held impossible to mix mustard too well, or to be conscious
of any pain, toothache included, after a severance of the wind-
pipe, so it was held with regard to the hedgehog, if you could
make him tipsy through strong drink (no easy matter, it would
seem, with a creature with a relish for corrosive sublimate), he
would be straightway rendered tame. The celebrated Dr. Ball
resolved to test the hedgehog’s invulnerability to strong drinks,
and presented him with a saucer of stiff whisky-and-water.
The doctor himself shall tell the result.

“Like the beasts that so indulge, he was anything but him-
self, and his inane leaden eye was rendered still less pleasing by
its inane drunken expression. He staggered towards us with
a ridiculous get-out-of-my-way sort of manner; however, he
had not gone far before his potation produced all its effects—
he tottered, then fell on his side; he was drunk in the full
sense of the word, for he couldn’t even hold by the ground. We
could then pull him about, open his mouth, twitch his whiskers,
&c., for he was unresisting. There was a strange expression
in his face of that self-confidence which we see in cowards in-
spired by drinking. We put him away, and in some twelve
hours afterwards found him running about, and, as was pre-
dicted, quite tame; his spines lying so smoothly and regularly
that he could be stroked down the back and handled freely.
We turned him into the kitchen to kill cockroaches, and knew
nothing further about him.”

It is a pity that so interesting a narrative should end so un-
satisfactorily. Was he turned straight into the kitchen as soon
as he had partially recovered from his tipsy bout? If so, but
little reliance can be placed in his meak demeanour. It is
possible that the recovering grog-drinker was merely qualmish,
and headachy, and ashamed. I have seen human hedgehogs
the morning following a debauch so prostrate and penitent ‘as
even to submit to the mild reproaches of their well-meaning
wives without in any way “setting up their backs:” but, alas!
they have relapsed, as might—for all Doctor Ball knows to the
contrary—the hedgehog in question, and remained throughout
his life a dissipated hedgehog, given rather to draining beer-
jugs and tumblers, and dozing under the cask in the cellar,
than to sobriety and beetle-catching.

540

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG-

Apropos of the hedgehog’s talents as a bestle-catcher, rather
a curious story is told of one that lived in the house of a cele-
brated naturalist. Like good Dr. Ball, the gentleman in question
having purchased the hedgehog, turned it into the kitchen and
*‘ knew no more about it.” He, however, was doomed to meet
it again, and under very peculiar circumstances. In a cabinet
in his library he had stored a valuable collection of tropical
beetles, which suddenly took to vanishing in the most mysterious
manner. Thatthey were as “dead as door-nails” there could
be no doubt, and, moreover, each was impaled in its proper
place; but sure as the morning came an examination of the
cabinet—which was locked—showed that a dozen or so had
decamped after having adroitly withdrawn the spike from their
bodies. Who was the culprit? Had a brother naturalist lived
in the house, it might have been suspected that sheer pro-
fessional envy might have led to the theft; but as it happened,
there was beside himself nobody on the premises but an old
housekeeper, whose horror of beetles was only equalled by her
aversion to mice. Still the purloining continued, and there
was nothing left but to watch for the delinquent. One night
the owner of the cabinet having hidden behind a screen and
blown out the light, remained very quiet, when about midnight
his wakeful ears were aware of a scratching and creaking evi-
dently proceeding from the precious cabinet, which, on this
occasion, had been left unlocked. It was too dark to see, but
without doubt the burglar was at that moment in the room ; so
grasping the sword with which he had provided himself, the
indignant naturalist crept from his hiding and cautiously ad-
vanced towards the cabinet. He came close to it, passed his
hand over it; still no midnight thief was leaning over it or
crouched beneath, and still the rasping and crackling continued.
The thief then mast be inside. Swiftly raising the lid, the
worthy man made a sweep within with both his hands, which
was followed by a loud squeak and a terrible sensation of a
hundred pins entering his fingers and palms, and which in-
stantly convinced him that the thief was the hedgehog from the
kitchen, which in a lucky moment had discovered the treasure-
door open, and at once established himself in a dark corner.

With regard to the way in which the hedgehog should be
treated when installed as beetle-catcher in your kitchen, many
important hints may be gleaned from the following narrative
supplied by acorrespondent to a popular journal :—

** London houses are usually infested with beetles and cock.

Sal

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG.

roaches, not unfrequently with rats, and mice, and spiders. Now
all your beetle-traps, rat-traps, mouse ditto, poisons, or infalli-
ble insect-powders are as nothing compared to the services of
a hedgehog, who will clear the kitchen and cellars in a very
short space of time.. Londoners have become aware of the ser-
viceable nature of this creature; but when, in answer to some
complaint of a neighbour about being tormented with black
beetles, we have advised the keeping of a hedgehog, we have
generally met with the reply, ‘But we never can get one to
live, they always die in a month.’

“ At first, this used to perplex us greatly; and when we,
in our turn, began to suffer under this beetle grievance, the
experience of our neighbours deterred us from trying our own
remedy. At length, the enemy grew so bold and increased so
greatly in force, that one day, in pure desperation, we deter-
mined to provide a hedgehog, and bought one accordingly in
Leadenhall Market. When we got him home, we christened
him Peter, and gave him a mansion beneath a disused kitchen
copper, with plenty of hay, a large supply of water, and a good
supper of bread-and-milk, which we had always been told
was amply sufficient to satisfy the cravings of the creature’s
appetite.

“We soon discovered why our acquaintance could not keep
their hedgehog alive. Belonging to the order Carnivora,
these animals, when in a domestic state, rarely have any meat
given them. Many persons, indeed, have a fixed notion that
the vermin they destroy is sufficient to sustain life, or they
vaguely attribute to the hedgehog the fabled chameleon ability
of living on air.

“One of our family who has a passion for every creature
belonging to animal nature, undertook to tame Peter, and
ascertain hig likings, tastes, and habits. Of course she fed
him; that is the first key to animal affection. He soon came
to recognize the hand on which he depended for daily food.|
He makes but one meal per diem, and that about one o’clock
p-m.; and if the hour goes by without his food being placed,
he utters a peculiar noise, resembling a grunt, sneezes fre-
quently with the force and fervency of a cat, and testifies much
uneasiness. He requires meat pretty frequently, and is very
partial to a bone with a good deal on it. He unrolls himself
at the touch of his mistress, and places his bristles down, so
that she can stroke him; he will even play occasionally,
stretching out his paws—so like a monkey’s-~and will some

aa :

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG.

times lick the hand of his feeder; though it is not be denied
that he has his tempers, and is sometimes surly, and conse-
quently very prickly. He was extremely light when he first
came into our possession, but after a course of good feeding
he became quite fat, and spread considerably in his propor-
tions. In a fortnight he had cleared away every beetle on
the premises, though previously we had tried every known anti-
dote to destroy these pests. Cucumber-parings, which they
devoured, and which did not kill them—as we had been assured
they would; pans of beer, with little ladders to give them access
to the liquor, which they drank and ran away again, the topers,
instead of, as we fondly hoped, drowning themselves in the strong
drink. Peter knocked them all off, and: wanted more, judging
from the noise he made every night after dark, resembling a
cat walking about in walnut-shells; indeed, Peter at first
alarmed us considerably by knocking about the saucepans and
kitchen utensils with a force which once or twice convinced
us that housebreakers were on a visit. He made these noises,
we found, in researches after rats and mice, with which, in its
free state, the hedgehog satisfies its carnivorous instincts.
It is, indeed, more valuable in the destruction of rats than
either cat or dog. Descending one morning early into the
kitchen inhabited by Peter, we were horrified on seeing the
floor soiled with large spots of blood, and markings of claw-
like feet in the same sanguine colour. We examined the vat, who
was suspected of being secretly an enemy to Peter; but puss was
perfectly serene and unwounded. Then the hedgehog was
dragged out of his hole, and, to our dismay, we found the
poor creature’s eyes were closed, one of them being apparently
torn out. The carcase of a rat, half-devoured, being dis-
eovered, we came to the conclusion that the creatures had been
engaged in mortal conflict, in which poor Peter had lost his
beautiful eyes—eyes of dark blue, which, though not over
bright, were nice intelligent eyes. We were sorry to think
that for the rest of his days he must grope in the dark; but,
in a month’s time Peter had perfectly recovered his eyesight,
even the orb where only a vacuum could be seen.

“ Peter has become a household pet; but truth demands that
we should not conceal his faults. He is by no means cleanly
in his habits; he is untidy in his eating, and is positively
addicted to thieving. In winter he never appears to be warm
enough, but goes about foraging for bedclothes—stealing all
the stray towels, house-flannels, and pieces of cloth and

ba

 
 

THE HEDGEHOG.

carpet which fall in his way. ‘These are faults intolerable in
the sight of tidy housewives ; but somehow Peter has grown to
be a necessary evil, for he keeps the house free from vermin,
and is therefore quite worth the trouble he gives.”

Animals of the hedgehog species are found in other parts
of the world besides Britain. In Asiatic Russia the long-
eared hedgehog is found. This is smaller than that with which
we are familiar, and its ears are curiously broad and long, and
give to the creature’s head an even more piggish appearance
than that borne by the common hedgehog. The prickly cover-
ing of the Russian animal does not extend over the body, as
with the British, but rather sits on it like a load of quills
hanging over the rump and sides. Then there is the Mada-
gascar hedgehog, or Tamec. Its body is well covered with
spines; its food, as with the British species, consists of worms,
insects, reptiles, &c.; it hybernates like the common hedgehog ;
yet in many respects it is different. It cannot roll itself into
a ball; its snout and legs are very much longer in comparison,
and it has no tail. It possesses a powerful odour of musk,
but is as much esteemed as an article of food among the natives
of Madagascar as is our common hedgehog among the skulkers
im our own woods and forests.

 

SHE HEDGEHOG’S OHOICEST PEBY,

 
W. DICKES,

 

 

 
  

- oe

It has happened, in
writing of certain ani-
mals included in this
series, that some sort
of justification, or, at least, explanation, was necessary for
including them among Home Pets. As regards the creature
now unGer consideration, however, he claims his right to
the title of Home Pet,—nay, as something infinitely more
dignified—as Home friend and protector. He has proved
his right. It has been acknowledged more than two thousand
years, and doubtless would have been a very, very long time.
bfore, but at that early period, he was only common to
astern countries, whose inhabitants, as is the case even to this.
day,as a rule treatthe faithful fellow with unjustifiable contumely
and contempt. As truly says Cuvier, “the dog is the most
complete, the most singular, and the most useful conquest ever
made by man. The dog, far more than any other animal,
becomes a humble friend and companion of man, oben seeming

35

 

  
 

THE DOG.

actually to know and sympathize with the joys and sorrows of
his master; and on this account it is that he is alike the pam-
pered menial of royalty and the half-starved partaker of the
beggar’s crust.” When the anecdotal chapter of this section is
arrived at, I have no doubt that the reader will be of the same
opinion with the great Cuvier.

There is so much to say about the dog, that to the impor-
tant subject, the origin of the domestic dog, much too little
space can be spared. All sorts of theories have been started.
According to some, all domestic dogs are to be regarded as one
species; and, as that species is not certainly known to exist ina
truly wild state, all the wild dogs, which must be admitted to
belong to the same species, being viewed as the offspring of do-
mestic dogs, which have returned to a wild state; while, however,
it is supposed that the original type or characteristics of the
species modified by domestication have in a great measure
disappeared. Other writers insist that there are numerous
species of, dog, originally distinct, and differing, to a notable
extent, not only in size and other physical characters, but also
in disposition and instincts. A clever writer of this latter
way of thinking, says: “It seems to have been too hastily
taken for granted, in favour of the opinion that there is only
one species of dog, that all the wild races, even the Dholes
(Kholsun is this animal’s native name, and it inhabits the
western frontiers of British India), and the dingo, have sprung
from domestic progenitors. There is certainly no evidence of
this; and the fact that wild races exist, exhibiting marked
diversities of character in countries widely remote and of very
different climates, is referred to with confidence on the other
side, as affording a strong presumption in favour of the sup-
position that man has in different countries domesticated the
different species which he found there. We do not yet know
enough of the amount and limits of the changes which circum-
stances may produce to warrant any confident conclusions on
that ground; and if we were to adopt the views of those who
ascribe least to such causes, we might yet demand them to
show why, although from certain original types no mixed race
can originate, there may not yet be other original types capable
of such combination, or why the limits must be held equally
impossible between all that were framed by an original act of
creation. That there was only one original pair of the human
race, may be held without one, of necessity, holding that there
was originally but one pair of dogs.”

546

 
 

THE DOG.

One of the most able of modern naturalists, Mr. Bell, ascribes
to the dog and the wolf specific identity. The period of gesta-
tion—sixty-three days—is the same in both animals. One of
the most forcible arguments against the dog’s wolfish origin is
the obliquity of the eyes of the latter compared with the former.
Mr. Bell, however, meets this objection by a reasoning decidedly
ingenious, if not conclusive. “It may result from the animals’
constant habit, for many successive generations, of looking for-
ward to their master and obeying his voice.”

Against the identity of the dog and the wolf, the difference
of disposition has been strongly urged. The last-quoted autho-
rity, however, is prepared for this objection, and rebuts it by
relating two anecdotes,—one on his own authority, and the
other on that of Cuvier. The first occurred in the gardens of
the Zoological Society, and was exhibited in the person of a she-
wolf, who came forward to be caressed, and even brought her
pups to be caressed also, whenever Mr. Bell, or any one whom
she knew, approached her den. Indeed, she killed all her un-
fortunate young ones in succession, by rubbing them against
the bars of the cage in her zeal to have them caressed by her
friends. The second happened in the Ménagerie du Roi, at
Paris, and no faithful dog could show more affecting instances
of attachment to its master, or distress on account of his ab-
sence, than did the male wolf, the subject of Cuvier’s touching
account. ‘With all these analogous properties of form and
structure,” continues Mr. Bell, “as well as of disposition, I
cannot but incline at least to the opinion that the wolf is the
original source from which all our domestic dogs have sprung ;
nor do I see, in the great variety which exists in the different
races, sufficient ground for concluding that they may not all of
them have descended from one common stock. The turnspit
and the mastiff, the pug and the greyhound, are, perhaps, more
unlike each other than any of the varieties of other domestic
animals; but if it be true that variation depends on habit and
education, the very different employment to which dogs, in all
ages, have been trained, and the various climates to which they
have been naturalized, must not be lost sight of as collateral
agents in producing these different forms. The care, too, with
which dogs of particular breeds are watched with smaller ones,
for the purpose of keeping the progeny as pure «8 possible,
has, doubtless, its effect in promoting such distinctions.
Upor the whole, the argument in favour of the view which I
have taken, that the wolf is probably the origin of all the

cw

 
 

THE DOG,

canine races, may be thus stated: the structure of the anima!
is identical, or so nearly, as to afford the strongest a priori
evidence in its favour. The dog must have been derived from
an animal susceptible in the highest degree of domestication,
and capable of great affection for mankind; which has’ been
abundantly proved by the wolf. Dogs having returned to a
wild state, and continued in that condition through many gene-
rations, exhibit characters which approximate more and more
to those of the wolf, in proportion as the influence of domestica-
tion ceases to act.”

One of the most decided objectors to the above theory is
Mr. Richardson, and though that gentleman may not be so
profound a naturalist as Bell or Cuvier, he gives instances
as well as opinions, and, on that account, at least, his evidence
is valuable. His arguments are terse, energetic, and to the
point :—

“T positively deny this assumed identity of structure. The
intestines of the wolf are considerably shorter than those of the
dog, evidently marking him as an animal of more strictly car-
nivorous habits. The orbits are placed higher and more forward
in the skull. The proportion between the bones of the hind
legs differs ; so does the number of toes. The structure of the
teeth is different, these being in the wolf much larger, and the
molar teeth of the “upper and under jaw being adapted to each
other, in the wolf, in a peculiar scissors-like manner, rendering
them infinitely more serviceable for breaking bones—a structure
not found in the dog.

“The wolf is not ‘susceptible of the highest degree of domes-
tication, and capable of great affection for mankind, which has
been abundantly proved of the dog.’ When has it been proved ?
I have seen many so-called ‘ tame wolves,’ but never one that
might be trusted, or that did not, when opportunity offered,
return to his fierce nature and wild habits. The whelps, too,
‘produced by these partially domesticated wolves, are not in the
smallest degree influenced by the domestication of their parents.
The Royal Zoological Society of Ireland had, some years ago,
in their gardens in the Phoenix Park, a pair of very tame wolves.
These produced young, which became tame likewise, and, in
their turn, produced cubs. The society very kindly presented
me with one of the last-mentioned cubs, which, though only
five weeks old when I took him from his dam, was as fierce
and violent in his own little way as the most savage denizen
of the forest. I brought up this animal among my dogs; for

 
 

THE DOG.

them he conceived a considerable degree of affection, or respect
perhaps, for submission was the most striking feature of his
conduct towards them, and was, doubtless, induced by the fre-
quent and substantial castigations he received. He never, it is
true, exactly dared to attack me in front, but he once showed
a disposition to do so, when I pulled him down by the tail as
he was endeavouring to get over the garden-wall. He, how-
ever, on several occasions charged at me from behind, when he
thought my attention was otherwise engaged. He once only
succeeded in inflicting a severe bite; and as by this time I had
utterly despaired of making anything of him,—he was about
eighteen months old,—I sent him about his business. He
subsequently fell into the hands of a showman, and assumed
his proper character in the caravan.

“How does it happen that the dog is to be met with in
every quarter of the globe to which man has penetrated, while
the true wolf has never yet been met with south of the equator P
Further, are not several distinct species of wolf admitted to
existP Is there not more than one distinct species of wolf
admitted by naturalists to exist in North America alone? It
has not even been attempted to be proved that these species
are identical; their distinctness has been more than tacitly
admitted. Yet they resemble each other far more closely than
any wolf does the dog. Has the dog, then, been derived from
each and all of these wolves; or has the original wolf, origin
alike of wolf and dog, been yet properly indicated P Should
not this fact be duly ascertained prior to that in question P”

In a note to his translation of Cuvier’s “ Regne Animal,”
Mr. Blyth thus expresses his opinion respecting the domestic
dog’s origin :—

“ If the idea, which I conceive there is every reason to enter-
tain, respecting the origin of the domestic dog be well founded,
it is clear that a recurrence to a single wild type would be im-
possible. The dog is apparently a blended race, derived prin-
cipally from the wolf, and partly from various other allied
species. In the Museum of the Zoological Society of London,
there is a specimen of an Esquimaux dog (C. mubilus), which
resembles the large American wolf so closely, that there can
scarcely be any doubt of the connexion which subsists between.
them; and it is well known, of the American wolves in parti-
cular, that if a young animal be surprised by a hunter, and
suddenly menaced by his voice and manner, it will crouch to
him and implore his mercy in precisely the manner of a spa-

 
 

THE DOG.

niel; so that only a little encouragement and kindness are
required to gain its permanent attachment; indeed many of
thém are killed to obtain a proffered reward, by taking this
(assuredly unworthy) advantage of their natural submissive-
ness. That the wolf possesses the mental qualities, and is
capable of the same strong attachment to man as the most
faithful dog, has been abundantly proved by the observations
of M. F. Cuvier and others; and the unremitting persecution
to which it has been necessarily subjected in Europe, for so
many years, will sufficiently account for the savage and dis-
trustful character which it exhibits when unreclaimed ; though
even then the germs of a better disposition are traceable in the
permanent attachment of the male and female, and sociality of
the young, till urgent necessity, or the annual period of domi-
nant sexual excitement, subdues every milder propensity and
acquired sentiment of friendship or disinterested affection. In-
stances occasionally happen of the dog returning by choice to
a state of wildness, and assuming then, of necessity, the cha-
racter ascribed to the wolf. I have known this to occur in a
male pointer, and in a female greyhound: the latter was so
fine a specimen of the breed, that on being entrapped, it was
thought desirable to obtain a litter from her, which was accord-
ingly effected; but while her puppies were very young she
managed to escape to the woods, and never returned. Three
of her progeny grew to be excellent hounds; but two others
proved quite irreclaimable, and, escaping from servitude like
their dam, were finally shot for their destructive propensities.”

Some naturalists take the jackal as the dog’s progenitor,
and others, to account for the numerous species, suggest that
the breed of jackals and wolves may be mixed in some of the
domestic races with that of the original dogs. Dr. Hunter
proved beyond doubt that the wolf and the jackal will breed
with the dog; but he had not sufficient data for coming to the
conclusion that all three were identical as species. In the
course of the doctor’s experiments it was ascertained that the
jackal went fifty-nine days with young, whilst the wolf went
sixty-three days.

1t would be useless, however, to proceed further into the
controversy. On either side the argument is equally strong
that victory has not yet been declared for one or the other, and
after all we are compelled to take the dog as we find him; and
let his antecedents be what they may, he is none the less
worthy our everlasting respect and admiration. “The whole

850

 
 

THE DOG.

species is become our property; each individual is entirely de-
voted to his master, adopts his manner, distinguishes and de-
fends his property, and remains attached to him even unto
death ; and all this springs not from mere necessity nor from
constraint, but simply from true friendship. The swiftness,
the strength, and the highly-developed power of smelling of the
dog, have made him a powerful ally of man against the other
animals, and were perhaps necessary to the establishment of
society. It is the only animal that has followed man all over
the earth.” And all this since that remote period when the
Israelites were captives in Egypt, and when it was recorded
in sacred Scripture, “ But against Israel shall not a dog raise
his tongue.”

That this animal has ever been held in the highest esteem in
all countries except the East, requires but little research to
prove. The ancient fire-worshippers of Persia recognized the
dog as the “good principle,” by which they were enabled to
resist the assaults of the evil powers. They symbolized
Ormord, their god, in the form of a dog; for, to a nomad race,
there is no animal so dear, no type of a divine watchfulness so
true, as the protector of the herd. A thousand lashes was the
punishment for maiming any able dog, and it was a capital
offence to kill one. The sight of a dog by dying men was said
to comfort them with bodings of the conquest of all evil, and
of their immortal peace. In later times, the Persians held it
to be a good token for the dead, if a dog approached the corpse
and ate from between the lips a bit of bread that had been
placed there; but, if no dog would approach the body, that
was held to be a sign of evil for the soul.

Among the old Franks, Suabians, and Saxons, a dog was
held in small esteem ; nevertheless, and, indeed, for that cause,
he was not seldom set over the highest nobles of the land. If
a great dignitary had, by broken faith, disturbed the peace of
the realm, a dog was put upon his shoulder by the Emperor.
To carry a dog for a certain distance was, in the time of Otto
the First, and after it, one of the severest punishments inflicted
on unruly prisoners. Nobles of lower rank carried, instead of
the dog, a chain ; peasants, a plough wheel. The Peruvians both
worshipped the dog and ate it at their most solemn sacrifices.
According to Kaempfer, the Japanese regard the dog with re-
ligious awe. Among ancient as well as modern Britons, the
dog was an honoured companion. Cu, in the ancient British
language, signified a dog, and among the ancient mighty Bri-

51

 
 

THE poG.

tish chiefs are found Cunobelin and Canute. Of the opmion of
modern poets respecting, the faithful animal we are aware;
and that he was equally esteemed by poets of old Virgil
attests :-—

**Nor, last, forget thy faithful dogs: but feed
With fattening whey the mastiff’s generous breed,
And Spartan race, who, for the fold’s relief,

Will prosecute with cries the nightly thief,
Repulse the prowling wolf, and hold at bay

The mountain robbers rushing to the prey.

With cries of hounds thou may’st pursue the fear
Of flying hares, and chase the fallow deer,

Rouse from their desert dens the bristled rage

Of boars, and beamy stags in toils engage.”

i

   
  

i

 

es
yaw

 
 

 

THE DINGO,

VARIETIES OF THE DOG.

 

WILD DOGS.—THE DINGO.

One of the most remarkable of this genus is the Australian
dog, or Dingo. It is described as of wolf-like appearance, and
standing when rect about two feet in height, and measuring
two and a hast feet in length. The head is formed much
like that of the fox, the ears short, and with whiskers from
one to two inches in length on the muzzle. The general colour
of the upper parts pale brown, lighter under the belly. The
hind part of the fore legs and the fore part of the hinder ones
are white, as are all the feet; the tail is of a moderate length
and somewhat bushy, but in a less degree than that of the fox.
“Tt has,” says a recent writer in reference to a female of the spe-
cies, “much of the manners of the dog, but is of a very savage
nature, and not likely to change in this particular. It laps
like other dogs, but neither barks nor growls when teased ; in-
stead of which it erects the hairs of the whole body like bristles

553

 
 

THE DOG.

and seems furious; it is very eager after its prey, and will eat
rabbits or chickens raw, but will not touch dressed meat. From
its fierceness and agility it has greatly the advantage over
animals of superior size; a very fine French dog being put
to it, it at once seized it by the loins, and would have soon put
an end to its existence had not help been at hand. With the
utmost ease it can leap over the back of an ass, and was very
near worrying one to death, having fastened on it so that the
creature was unable to disengage himself without assistance.”

A high degree of organization is observable among the din-
goes. They form into packs, and each pack takes an allotment
of country and keeps to it, never interfering with another. So
formidable were the ravages committed by these savages on the
flocks of sheep and lambs of the early colonists, that it was
found necessary to band together for mutual protection; an
ariangement, the policy of which will at once be seen, when, as
was proved at the time, twelve hundred sheep and lambs were
seized and devoured in the space of three months.

The dingo’s tenacity of life is extraordinary. Instances have
occurred where it has been overtaken and clubbed till it lay an
inanimate mass—as an observer might suppose mere amalga-
mated flesh and bone cased in dog-hide. Scarcely, however,
have its triumphant beaters turned their backs, when the
dingo, opening an eye at a time to see that the coast is clear,
gets up and limps home. Mr. Bennet, in his “ Wanderings,”
mentions the case of a dingo that, supposed to be dead, was
carried to a tent to undergo the process of flaying, and actu-
ally suffered the skin to be cut from one cheek before he
wriggled to his feet and scampered off.

THE HUNTING DOG, OR “ WILD HONDEN.”

This animal, which would seem to be a connecting link be-
tween the dog and the hyzna, is a native of Southern Africa.
Its general colour is reddish or yellowish brown, marked at
intervals with large patches of black and white. The nose and
muzzle are black, and the central line of the head is marked
with a well-defined black stripe, which reaches to the back of
the head. The ears are extremely large, and covered with
short black hairs. From their inside edge arises a large tuft
of long white hair, which spreads over and nearly fills the
cavity of the ear. They hunt in packs, and when in pursuit
of game are very wolf-like in their behaviour, and for a wonder-
tally long period maintain a long-strided leisurely gallop.

 
 

THE boG.

Their females bring forth their whelps in holes and underground
burrows.
They have three different cries, each being used on different
occasions. One of these cries is a sharp angry bark, usually
uttered when they behold an object they cannot exactly make
out; another resembles a number of monkeys chattering toge-
ther, or men conversing with their teeth clashing with cold.
This cry is emitted at night, when large numbers of them are
together, and they are excited by any particular occurrence,
such as hearing the voice of the domestic dog. The third cry,
and that most commonly used among them, is a sort of rally-
ing note to bring the various members of the pack together.
They hunt in packs, fifty or sixty strong, the leading hounds,
when fatigued, falling in the rear, while others, who have been
“saving their wind,” take their place, and the entire troop, in-
spired anew, utter their appalling yell and lengthen their strides.
Let the object of pursuit be what it may—eland, gnoo, or
gemsbok—he will surely succumb to the dogged perseverance
of the wild honden, and, being once brought to bay, the busi-
ness is speedily settled. Now you have the panting and be-
draggled antelope; helplessly contending against the death that
awaits him in each of the fifty pairs of sanguinary jaws by
which he is encircled, and within ten minutes not a trace of
him, except it be a few of the larger bones—not a strip of skin,
or a scrap of flesh, or a smear of blood—all vanished, and
nothing to betoken the tragedy lately performed but a posse of
blinking, weary, pot-bellied “‘ hondens” lying here and there.
Should the huntsman approach a horde of these wild dogs,
nothing of the fear displayed by other carnivorous animals is
apparent. They will merely emerge from their holes or rise
from the ground on which they are reclining, yawn, shake
themselves, and slowly make off, stopping at every few steps
to look back, as though not quite sure that the intruder is an
enemy, and inclined to parley with him. But against the
hunter’s dogs they bear the deadliest animosity, seeming to
regard them as renegades and voluntary slaves, deserving the
hatred of every free cur in the country. Singly, however, the
“wild honden” would be no match against the trained hunting-
dog, and with this fact the former seems to possess an in-
stinctive knowledge, and is never rash enough to forget. Should
the hunter or the Boer, whose defenceless flock has been
ravaged, loose his watch-dogs and urge them to combat with
the “honden,” the latter will not budge an inch, lest, in the
555

 
 

THE DOG.

flight, one of these weak creatures may fall in the rear and
come to grief. Steadily they keep their ground, and when the
avenging farm-dogs approach, open on either side to admit
them, and then as suddenly closing up again, tear them limb
from limb, and, devouring their carcasses, trot off merrily.

THE DHOLE.

The Dhole, or Kholsun, inhabits the western frontiers of
British India. Its colour is bright bay, deeper on the muzzle,
ears, feet, and tip of tail, than elsewhere. It is under two feet
in height, and rather slim in build. It is a very shy animal,
abiding in the depths of the jungles, and never venturing near
the abode of man.

Like the other wild dogs it forms packs, and hunts down its
game, both large and small. The dhole is a brave dog, and
has no fear even of the terrible tiger. “From the observations
which have been made,” writes a naturalist, “ it seems that hardly
any native Indian animal, with the exception of the elephant
and the rhinoceros, can cope with the dhole; that the fierce boar
falls a victim, despite his sharp tusks; and that the swift deer
fails to escape these persevering animals. The leopard is toler-
ably safe, because the dogs cannot follow their spotted quarry
among the tree-branches, in which he fortifies himself from
their attacks ; but if he were deprived of his arboreal refuge,
he would run but a poor chance of escaping with life from
his foes. It is true, that in their attacks upon as powerfully
armed animals as the tiger and the boar, the pack is rapidly
thinned by the swift blows of the tiger’s paw or the repeated
stabs of the boar’s tusks ; but the courage of the survivors is
so great, and they leap on their prey with such audacity, that
it surely yields at last from sheer weariness and loss of blood.”

THE BUANSUAH.

This animal, found throughout Northern India, in habit
closely resembles the dhole. Like the latter animal, it is shy,
bold, and hunts in packs. Unlike the dhole, however, it is
capable of uttering a sort of bark, which, though quite distinct
from that of the domestic dog, can be described by no other
term. It is a bulkier dog than the dhole. When captured
during its puppy-hood, the buansuah may be trained to obey
its keeper, to help him in the chase, and to come and go at
command.. Having, however, succumbed to one human being,
the animal evidently regards it as by no means a natural ton-

 
 

THE boc.

sequence that he is to be regarded by the commuaity at large
as a tame dog. The individual who has tamed him is welcome to
his services; but to the rest of the world he is a wild dog still,
and willing to substantiate the title against any one rash enough
to dispute it. For this reason, it would seem improbable that
the buansuah will ever be numbered among canis familiaris.

There exist in different countries animals of the dog species
that, while they may repudiate utter savagery, cannot claim to
be considered as domesticated. Among these may be classed
the Asiatic street, dogs, that possess no inconsiderable semblance
to the wolf, both in appearance and habit. These dogs are not
at all scrupulous about attacking a lone man, should the sun
be down and all snug and quiet. It is said that these pariahs
divide into bodies, and, portioning the city into lots, each body
keeps to its own ground. Should a dog of one body pass the
boundary and trespass on the ground of another body, he will
infallibly be fallen on and devoured. A modern writer relates,
that not long ago a traveller, who was well accustomed to the
East, was rather in a hurry, and took a short cut through
some bye-way. As commonly happens, the short cut proved
a very long one, for a number of these dogs, resenting the in-
trusion of a stranger on their particular territories, immediately
assaulted him. He was forced to stand at bay with his back
against a wall, exerting all his energies, to the discomfiture of
the leader of the pack, a ferocious-looking cur, scarred in all
parts of his body by the numerous battles in which he had been
engaged. In this position he waited until help arrived, and
took this as a warning never again to go by a short cut in an
Oriental city. .

Among the North American Indians, hordes of semi-savage
dogs prowl in the neighbourhood of the tents, literally snatch-
ing a living from the cooking-pots and offal cast out by the
natives. Although, however, the Indian will not feed his dog,
he has not the least objection to feed on him; in fact, dog-flesh
is considered a delicacy, and one that is never missing from the
board whenever an extraordinary feast is in progress. The
manner -f conducting these dog-meat orgies is peculiar. In
one of them, the liver of the dog is tied to a pole, and the
savages, gorgeously attired in feathers and red and yellow ochre,
perform a sort of maypole dance round it, each dancer snatch-
ing with his teeth a little bit of the liver, until the last morsel
is consumed.

One of their religious ceremonies has dog’s-meat attached to

357

 
 

THE DOG.

it. The Rev. J. G. Wood thus describes it. “There is a very
peculiar god of the Indians who is always hot when the
weather is cold, and cold when the weather is hot. He then
has to be worshipped in his own peculiar fashion. The wor-
shippers dress themselves in long pointed caps, not unlike those
worn by the unfortunate wretches under the power of the In-
quisitior. They then kindle a large fire, and hang over ita
cauldron containing dog’s-meat. While the water is boiling
they perform a mystic dance, and when it is bubbling up most
furiously, each, as he passes, dips his hand in the boiling
water, and exclaims, ‘How cold it is!* The next time that
the circuit is completed, the same process is repeated ; but this
time each one throws the boiling water over his naked shoulders,
again exclaiming, ‘How cold it is!’ After some time con-
sumed in these ceremonies, the meat is supposed to be tho-
roughly boiled. Each then takes a piece of the scalding meat
out of the pot and swallows it, again exclaiming, ‘How cold
it is 1?”

“There are no wild dogs in Ceylon,” writes Tennent, “ but
every village and town is haunted by mongrels of European
descent, who are known by the generic description of Pariahs.
They are a miserable race, unacknowledged by owners, living on
the garbage of the streets and sewers, lean, wretched, and
mangy, and if spoken to unexpectedly, shrinking with an al-
most involuntary cry. Yet in these persecuted outcasts, there
survives that germ of instinctive affection which binds the dog
to the human race, and a gentle word, even a look of com-
passionate kindness, is sufficient foundation for a lasting
attachment. The Singhalese, from their aversion to taking
away life in any form, permit the increase of these desolate
creatures, till, in the hot season, they become so numerous as
to be a nuisance; and the only expedient hitherto devised by
the civil government to reduce their numbers, is, once in eacn
year, to offer a reward for their destruction, when the Tamils
and Malays pursue them in the streets with clubs, and the un-
resisting dogs are beaten to death on the side-paths and door-
steps where they have been taught to resort for food. Lord
Torrington, during his tenure of office, attempted the more
civilized expertment of putting some check on their numbers by
imposing a dog-tax, the effect of which would have been to lead
to the drowning of puppies; whereas there is reason to believe
that dogs are, at present, bred by the horsekeepers to be killed

for the sake of the reward.”
ABe

 
 

 

THE ESQUIMAUX DOG.

The sledge-drawing Esquimaux dog can be regarded as little
less than a canine barbarian. Despite its long hair and bushy
tail, it has the oblique eyes and elongated muzzle of the wolf.
It is not a large dog, measuring | but twenty-two inches from toe
to shoulders. Yet the work it is compelled to do is dreadfully
heavy, six or eight of them attached to a heavy sledge ‘fre-
quently accomplishing sixty miles a day, for several days in suc-
cession. The Esquimaux is, as a rule, as untamed a savage as
his dog; so it may be easily understood that there occasionally
oceurs a roughish tussle between the reasoning and unreasoning
brute. Says Mr. Hooper, in his “Tents of the Tuski,” “ When
ordinary modes of chastisement have failed, the proceedings then
instituted are very curiousindeed. The driver gets off his sledge,
seizes tl.e dog which has misconducted himself, and makes a nice
little hole in the snow, in which he arranges the unfortunate
wretch’s nose with the greatest care and attention to its suit-
able position. Having thus made due preparations, he pounds
away at the snout of his victim with the butt-end of his whip,
which is generally a piece of heavy flat ivory, in the most re-
morseless manner. I used at first, particularly on viewing
this novel punishment, to be under great fear that the noses of
the poor beasts must inevitably be broken or crushed; but no
such consequence ensued, nor had our remonstrances any effect.
If the snow was too soft for the purpose (of forming a ledge on
which the dog’s nose might be rested), the driver's foot was

 
 

THE DOG.

substituted. The dogs do not make any noise while they are
receiving the dreadful punishment, and only make an occa-
sional short yell as they run away when they are released.”

DOMESTIC .DOGS.

Compared with what they were at a no more remote period
than when our parents were little girls and boys, the present are
piping times for dogs. Less than fifty years ago a man might
with impunity train and educate dogs to the end that they
might, by way of public show, maul and tear each other to
death. The brutal pastime may not have flourished under the
open gaze of the law, but flourish it did, and if the law disco-
vered it, it merely winked. Less than fifty years ago, it was
a common thing to see dogs harnessed to vehicles—to hawkers’
vans, to costermongers’ trucks, and to dog’s-meat barrows. I
think this practice has not been abolished more than twenty
years ; at all events, I, who am barely aged thirty, have a dis-|
tinct recollection of enjoying the acquaintance and friendship
of an old gentleman who hawked brushes and brooms about
the country, and to whose large light van were harnessed four
tremendous shaggy dogs. Wonderfully strong these dogs
must have been. As for the van and the stock, they could
wag their tails while they ran away with it; and even when
their good-natured master invited a few stout boys to have a
ride, their speed never relaxed to anything short of a comfort-
able trot.

Amongst the doggy reminiscences of my childhood, there is
one other of an unlucky old brown dog that used to draw the
cat’s-meat barrow of an old woman, who supplied food to the
feline of our district. As might have been expected, the
barrow was ordinarily attended on its “rounds” by at least
three or four hungry vagabond curs, ever watchful for a chance
to crib a tempting mouthful when the old woman turned her
back to serve a customer. The brown dog in the shafts was
evidently conscious of the peril of the stock behind him, and
yet -was so helpless to avert it, that it was only by swiftly)
“backing” the barrow that he could ever get a bite at the
lurking villains. One among the hungry ones gave more
trouble to the brown dog than any other. This was a lank,
short-cropped animal, of a sort of mixture of common street-
cur and Scotch terrier, with perhaps a dash of Punch and Judy
breed. He was the bane of the brown dog’s barrow-life. He

would run under the barrow and bite the brown dog’s heels ;
560

 
 

THE DOG.

he would carry every scrap he could filch from the barrow and
coolly devour it before the eyes of the outraged quadruped.
One day he served him a trick that eclipsed all his previous
impudence. There were four rearward vagabonds on this ocea-
sion, and it being Monday, the old meat-woman was detained
somewhat longer than usual at the area gates, collecting her
weekly bills. The four brigands, led by him of the mixed breed,
trotted behind the barrow, stopping when it stopped. Presently

   

\ RASS we XS
it, leaving a substantial slice on the cutting-board. This evi-
dently was the opportunity the mixed-breed (who I have not.
the least doubt planned the whole trick) had been watching for.
Rearing on his hind legs he seized the slice, and, instead of re-
treating with it, carried it to within three yards of the brown
dog’s face, where he stood with it in his mouth in the most
daring way, and wagging his tail defiantly. For a moment
the brown dog seemed stupefied. That the mixed-breed had
obtained the meat dishonestly was not for a moment to be
Joubted. Giving a tremendous growl, and forgetful of his
burden, the faithful fellow sct off after the thief, | who, being
36

 

  
 

THE DOG.

Eght and fean, found no difficulty in keeping a-head. So the
chase continued for about a quarter of a mile, when the wheels
of the barrow encountered a stone, and the vehicle was capsized
on the spot. Now was the mixed-breed’s chance. By a sudden
wheel he doubled on the pursuing brown dog, and in another
moment had selected a choice piece from the spilt treasure, from
which his three confederates had already helped themselves.

It was a common thing in those days to see dogs harnessed
to carts belonging to bakers, butchers, cat’s-meat vendors, and
costermongers of all grades. And when the week’s work was
over, the proprietors of the said animals went out on little
excursions to Richmond, Kew, and other favourite Cockney
holiday resorts, on the Sunday, for a “treat.” Kind, hospi-
table ‘‘ costers” would invite a select party of friends, and
decorate their barrows and dogs and themselves in gay style,
and then drive out for a day’s holiday. Great excitement some-
times was occasioned by a race between the dogs of these
worthies, the poor brutes, in their eagerness to serve their
masters, often outstripping the mail-coach.

Such proceedings naturally called forth much sympathy for
the overworked dogs, and several philanthropic persons did
their utmost to put a stop to them. Representations were
made to the “ Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani-
mals,” and that institution prevailed on a Mr. Hawes to endea-
vour to obtain some legal interference. That kind-hearted
gentleman brought a bill into the House of Commons for the
abolition wf London dog-slavery. Whether the “ House”
at that time was so dreadfully in want of a question
that this canine one was at once eagerly caught, or that
“emancipation” in all guises and shapes was acceptable to
the British public, I am not prepared to state. Certain it
js, however, that with more zeal than judgment the bill was
passed, making it illegal to use the dog as a beast of burden.
No provision was made for the maintenance of the emancipated
canine “ niggers” of London. Nevertheless, great were the re-
joicings of those who influenced the passing of the bill, and “they
commemorated the event by a picture representing the dogs in
council,—the president, a mastiff, reading the Act, while a
terrier stood ready, document in paw, to move a vote of thanks
to Mr. Hawes. In the distance a procession of costermongers,
&e., was seen drawing their own carts, while the emancipated
dogs were looking on, laughing at them.”

But, alas! the shortsightedness of politicians. and the mise

863

 
 

THE DOG,

guided generosity of philanthropists, had provided a remedy
which (so far as the dogs were concerned) was a hundred times
more lamentable than the evil itself. Let the reader imagine
an edict being passed to-morrow, prohibiting the application of
manual labour to all the donkeys in London, and he will at
once get an idea of the result of the above Act in relation to
draught dogs. The interesting question probably never occurred
to the ingenious Mr. Hawes and his colleagues :—what is to
become of the animals thus precluded from earning their main-
tenance P An indulgent master here and there, perhaps, pen-
sioned his old canine servant, but what became of the majority
of the less fortunate ones? A creditable authority says :—
“We saw, one morning, upwards of fifty of them being drowned
in the Surrey canal.” Indeed, on the very next day that the
Act was passed, hundreds of these fine muscular animals, some
of them nearly as large as young donkeys, were bung, shot,
stoned, drowned, or otherwise put to death; and within a
month, there was scarcely one of these useful dogs to be seen
in the streets of London.

To return, however, to the dog-working question. It was
not only as a beast of draught that the animal was employed.
Before the invention of that useful roasting apparatus the
“ smoke-jack,” there was attached to all kitchens where much
meat was cooked a couple of long, low, bandy dogs, known as
“turn-spits.” At one end of the meat-spit was fastened a long
wooden cylinder with bars on the inside to secure foothold,
Into this wheel one of the dogs was put, and there he trod with
a walking action, which spun the cylinders and consequently
the spit round. The two dogs worked in spells of say fifteen
minutes each, and sure as the clock, if the “relief” did not
make his appearance at the end of a quarter of an hour, his
mate would either stand still and refuse to go another round, or
else he would leap out and hunt for the skulker. Singularly
enough, and as though they were fit to turn a meat-spit and
for nothing else, since the invention of modern cooking appli-
ances the turnspit-dog hay been gradually vanishing from
amongst us. As says the Rev. J.G. Wood: “Just as tha
invention of the spinning-jenny abolished the use of distaff and
wheel, which was formerly the occupation of every well-ordered
English cottage, so the invention of automaton roasting-jacks
has destroyed the occupation of the turnspit-dog, and by de-
grees has almost annihilated its very existence. Here and
there a solitary turnspit may be seen, just as a spinning-wheel

a3

 
 

THE DOG.

or a distaff may be seen in a few isolated cottages ; but both
the dog and the implement are exceptions to the general rule,
and are only worthy of notice as curious relics of a bygone
age.”

As before observed, the “ good time” for dogs has arrived.
In the days of their oppression and servitude, the advent of a
“day,”—that is, a day of uncontrolled liberty and freedom of
action,— was a circumstance of such rare occurrence that only
one such could be—according to the old proverb—guaranteed
to each dog in the course of its existence. Now, however, every
dog hag not only his “day,” but all the days of his life. Gaol
is the doom of the man who sets dogs to fight each other.
Should he set the biggest mastiff to draw even so light a thing
as a perambulator, the same fate will inevitably overtake him.
Acts of Parliament have been made rendering him an article to
purloin which is a transportable offence; and that he may not,
when lame, and grey, and useless, die, as did his forefathers, in
a ditch, a hospital has been established at the north of
London, where night and day patients are admitted without
inquiry or recommendation.

THE THIBET MASTIFF.

We will begin with this dog, not only because he is one of
the largest, if not the largest, dog in the world, but because he,
standing alone among his tribe, holds Europeans in the utmost
detestation: a white face at once rouses the Thibet’s ire as
effectually as a rat displayed to a terrier. He may be a very
good and faithful animal, but still the last-mentioned fact is not
of a pleasant character, and the sooner he is dismissed the
better.

Speaking of the Thibet dog, Mr. Broderip observes: “ These
noble animals are the watch-dogs of the table-land of the
Himalaya mountains about Thibet. Their masters, the Bhoteas,
to whom they are most strongly attached, are a singular race,
of a ruddy copper colour, indicating the bracing air which they
breathe, rather reserved, but of an excellent disposition. The men
till the ground and keep sheep, and at certain seasons come
down to trade, bringing borax, tinctal, musk, &c., for sale. On
these occasions the women remain at home with the dogs, and
the encampment is watched by the latter, which have an almost
irreconcileable hatred to Europeans, and generally fly fero-
ciously at a white face.” They are of a black colour, with a
tawny patch over each eye. Their skin seems to hang loosely,

 
 

THE DOG

end their upper lips are curiously pendulous. Several of these
animals have been brought to England, but in almost every
instance they have in the course of a short period either dwin-
dled to a miserable condition or died outright. No other
climate but the very coldest seems to agree with the Thibet
dog.

 

TOE BULL-DOG.

This creature, next to the game-cock, bears the reputation
of being the most courageous animal in the world. In one
respect he is decidedly the game-cock’s inferior, for whereas to
whatever part of the world the latter combination of pluck and
feathers be carried, it remains Jauntless as ever, the bull-dog
in India is the merest cur, fit only to loll its tongue and lie in
the shade.

The shape of the bull-dog is somewhat remarkable. ‘“ The
fore-quarters are particularly strong, massive, and muscu-
lar; and the chest wide and roomy. The hind-quarters,
on the contrary, are very thin, and comparatively feeble.
All the vigour of the animal seems to settle in its fore-legs,
shest, and head. The little fierce eyes that gleam savagely
from the round combative head, have a latent fire in them
that gives cause for much suspicion on the part of a stranger
who comes unwarily within reach of one of these dogs.
The underhung jaw, with its row of white glittering teeth,
seems to be watering with desire to take a good bite at the
stranger’s leg; and the matter is not improved hy the well-

 
 

THE poG.

known custom of the bull-dog to bite without giving the least
vocal indication of his purpose.”

The notion that the bull-dog is by nature a dull and brutish
animal is wide from the fact. As he occasionally makes his
appearance before us he is stolid and hideous enough, in all
conscience. But it must be borne in mind that this is not the
true bull-dog ; this is a creature taught and trained, or what is
worse, whose great grandfather was taught and trained only to
fight its kind, and to pin bulls. It is housed to this end, and
fed and educated to it. No other canine animal has so little
liberty. It is fettered to its dismal kennel in many ways in
which other dogs are exempt. It is preparing for a “ match,”
and must, therefore, be kept quiet; it is recovering from a
“match ” (look at its poor throat and ears), and must not leave
the kennel for a moment. Even when neither of these causes
of imprisonment exists there are two others that are as firmly
attached to it as its own tail. It is dangerous to let it out—it
might bite somebody: it is impolitic to let it out, as it is an
animal of choice breed, and to let it ran with common street
dogs might spoil its manners at the very least. So it is kept
a prisoner; a surly savage, feeding—not too heartily—on
raw meat, with an occasional bone to whet its fangs on while
it cogitates its last battle and battles to come. <A pretty spe-
cimen of humanity a man would turn out if he were subjected
to similar treatment. Goodness knows, with liberty allowed
him, when his mind is fully bent on fighting—when he delibe-
rately steeps himself in blackguardism, and studies the trade ot
prize-fighting as a means of existence. a man converts himself
into no mean likeness of the jowled brute.

As has been truly said, “the bull-dog ranks as an entirely
artificial creation. In proof of this stands the well-known fact,
that unless the breed be sedulously kept up, it is apt to dege-
nerate, or to become extinct. Old breeders even now say, the
ancient kind of English bull-dog is nowhere to be found. But
take another proof. We want no anatomical knowledge or
prejudice: in him formation is to be judged. Look at the head
of the animal. Is not the cranium a malformation? Do not
the habits of the animal prove it to be a pampered creation P
It is not generally known, that the disposition of the genuine
bull-dog is too fond. It will fondle upon any stranger; and
yet, contrary to the general custom of its race, it displays small
preference for its master. It will fondle a human being as
though its heart would burst with affection; but upon the

366

 

 
 

THE pog.

slightest excitement—often upon a sudden sound—it will fly
at and mangle the hand that was caressing it. Then the hold
taken by this animal is more retentive, that is, strictly natural.
It will fix upon an object, and frequently suffer itself to be
dismembered before it will let go its hold, although its master’s
voice be energetically raised to command it. Do not these
traits bespeak the being formed rather by man’s malice, than
created by Nature’s goodness? Look at the likeness of the
beast, and say how far it resembles the mild, graceful, and
generous race to which it outwardly belongs.”

According to Stonehenge, to be well-bred, the bull-dog
should present the following characteristics : “The head should
be round, the skull high, the eye of moderate size, and the fore-
head well sunk between the eyes; the ears semi-erect and
small, well placed on the top of the head, and rather close
together than otherwise; the muzzle short, truncate, and well
furnished with chop; the back should be short, well arched
towards the stern, which should be fine and of moderate
length. Many bull-dogs have what is called a crooked stern,
as though the vertebra, or tail, were dislocated or broken. I
am disposed to attribute this to ill-breeding. The coat should
be fine, though many superior strains are very woolly-coated ;
the chest should be deep and broad, the legs strong and mus-
cular, and the foot narrow, and well split up like a hare’s.”

There is scarcely a sporting dog in Europe into whose blood
has not been imported some of that of the bull-dog. It is not
only as a fighter that the animal excels. Perseverance is as
much its characteristic as pugnacity, and many a time it has
easily beaten another dog in a feat supposed to be its antago-
nist’s speciality. For instance, a bull-dog was lately matched
by its owner to swim a match against a large Newfoundland
dog. The owners of the competing quadrupeds threw them
out of a boat at a given signal, and then rowed away as fast
as possible. The two dogs followed the boat, and the bull-dog
won the given distance by a hundred yards. It was remarked
that while the whole of the Newfoundland’s body was sub-
merged, showing only the upper part of his head above the
surface, the whole of the bull-dog’s head and its neck were
visible the whole distance.

THE CUBAN MASTIFF.

This animal is supposed to be a cross between the true
English mastiff and the bloodhound. The aversion to white
Se?

 
 

THE DOG.

folks, that distinguishes the Thibet dog, is in this case exactly
reversed, if not by nature, at least as far as the teachings of
brutal men may prevail. Sometimes this mastiff is called the
“ Nigger ” hound, a term the application of which will render
any explanation as to this dog’s pursuits almost unnecessary.
When, in reading slave romances or realities, the reader comes
across a runaway-nigger hunt, he may bear in mind that the
dog in question is the foremost brute in the chase. When the
Spaniards invaded America, the ravages and blood-thirstiess
of these creatures astonished the simple natives no less than
the “ thunder and lightning ” of the Spanish arms.

THE ENGLISH MASTIFF,

This, the largest of the dogs indigenous to this country, is a
creature whose chief characteristics might be emulated by not
a few bipeds. In times of peace, and when not disturbed by a
sense of responsibility, the huge fellow is just as mild as a
kitten. No puppy is too young for him to try a game with;
and should the waspish little brute turn and snap at his huge
patron, he will merely blink his eyes good-humouredly and wag
his tail, as though he thought it rather a good joke, or, better
still, remembering his own strength, as an act of pluck on the
part of the pigmy, and a thing he admired.

All this may happen in the daytime, when the sun is shining,
and all men have their eyes open to watch over their goods.
But stay till nightfall, when the mastiff “mounts guard” in
the yard or warehouse. Then his whole faculties are his
master’s. In any one else’s interest, or in his own, he has
neither ears nor jaws nor limbs, and should his oldest canine
chum approach with no worse intention than a gossip, he will
be warned off surlily; if he comes any closer, he will be bit.
His discrimination between friend and foe is seldom at fault,
and even in cases that reasoning mortals would regard as a
“ fix,” the mastiff manages sometimes to pull through cle-
verly.

My grandfather used to tell me a dog story illustrative of
this. At the time in question he lived at Yarmouth, and had
for a neighbour a tanner, whose manufacturing premises were
close at hand. The tanner had a mastiff that guarded his yard
by night. The tanner had a foreman, who lived with him
many years—before the purchase of the mastiff, indeed. As
tte foreman was more about the premises than any one else,|
and as, moreover, it was his business to see that the dog was

568

 
 

THE DOG.

regularly fed, the greatest good feeling existed between them.
It happened, however, that the foreman’s integrity was doubted,
and he was summarily discharged, and another man taken on
in his place.

Tt seemed that there was ample ground for suspecting the
honesty of the old foreman; for, within a month of being dis-
charged, he conceived the notion of robbing his late employer,
by removing a cartload of hides in the night, he assuming that.
his intimate acquaintance with the yard dog would protect him
from difficulty in that quarter. So, in the dead of night, he
drove his cart just under the walls of the tan-yard, and stand-
ing on the top edge of his cart, clambered to the top of the
gate and dropped into the yard. The mastiff, instantly know-
ing the man, offered no resistance, nor in any way betokened
his surprise at the nocturnal ‘visit beyond following the visitor

 

about pretty closely. ‘The hides were selected, and tossed, one
by one, over the wall and into the cart; and then the thief,
patting the dog’s head by way of thanking him for his non-
interference, began to scale the gate. ‘This act, however,
seemed to convince the dog that something must certainly be
wrong; for although there might be a reason for climbing in,
there could be no excuse for climbing out, when there was the
gate, a touch at the bolt of which would give easy and proper
exit; so, without troubling his head further about the matter,
he seized the ex-foreman by the leg, and there held him till the
arrival of the tanners in the morning.

The height of this animal is usually from twenty-five to

 
 

THE DOG.

twenty-eight inches at the shoulder, and its weight above a
hundred pounds. The shape of the mastiff breed is such as
might be expected from a crossing of the bulldog and the blood-
hound. Like the former, the under jaw is generally slightly
protruded; but the teeth are constantly covered, as is never
the case with the thorough-bred “bull.” The mastiff’s coat is
smooth, and its most common colour light liver-colour, and
different, brindlings, with black and white patches

 

THE BLOODHOUND.

This dog with a dreavful name was, in ancient times, very
common in England, and very commonly employed. Let not
the innocent reader, however, imagine that human blood is the
only sort this hound’s nose is quick at scenting. They were
chiefly used for the detection of sheepstealers, it being the
common custom for the delinquent to slaughter the animals
before conveying them away, that their carriage might be the
easier. Little more than fifty years ago, however, we read of
the Thrapston Association, who, “for the detection of felons
in Northamptonshire, have provided and trained a bloodhound
for the detection of sheepstealers. To demonstrate the ua-
erring infallibility of this animal, a day was appointed for
public trial; the person he was intended to hunt started, in
the presence of a great concourse of people, about ten o’clock
in the forenoon, and at about eleven o’clock the hound was
laid on. After a chase of an hour and a half, notwithstanding
a very indifferent scent, the hound ran up to a tree iu which

570

 
 

THE DOG.

he was secreted, at the distance of fifteen miles from the place
of starting, to the admiration and perfect satisfaction of the
large number of persons assembled.”

The ancient mode of training a young bloodhound was to lead
it, accompanied by an experienced old hound, to the spot whence
a deer or other animal had been taken on a mile or two; the
hounds were then “laid on” and encouraged, and after hunt-
ing this “drag” successfully, were rewarded with a portion ot
the venison which composed it. The next step was to take
the young hound, with his seasoned tutor, to a spot whence a
man, whose shoes had been rubbed with the blood of a deer,
had started on a circuit of two or three miles; during his
progress, the man was instructed to renew the blood from time
to time, to keep the scent alive. His circuit was gradually
enlarged at each succeeding lesson, and the young hound thus
entered and trained, became at last fully equal to hunt by
itself, either for the purposes of wood-craft or war.

A thoroughbred bloodhound stands about twenty-exght inches
high, and is muscular, compact, and strong; the forehead is
broad, and the face narrowed towards the muzzle; the nostrils
sre wide and well developed ; the ears are pendulous and broad
at the base. The general aspect of the hound is one of self-
possession and sagacity. Its voice is deep and sonorous, and
may be heard at a very great distance. The colour of the true
breed is said to be reddish tan, darkening gradually towards
the upper parts, till it becomes mixed with black on the back;
the lower parts, limbs, and tail, being of a lighter shade, and
the muzzle tawny.

The only chance for either man or beast hunted by the
bloodhound is to take to the water,—to start a jump three or
four feet of the water’s edge, and to leap far and fairly in.
Water holds no scent; therefore, when the hound comes to the
jumping-place, he will be puzzled, and double back on the
track, and altogether become so confused as to be for the
time useless. Should blood in any quantity be spilt on the
tracks, the hound often refuses to proceed beyond it; and so it
has happened in slave-breeding countries, that a runaway has
purposely gashed his leg or arm, so that the ground might be
saturated and further chase baulked.

The Cuban bloodhound has been already alluded to. It is
certainly the must terrible of the family, including the African
species. Here is an anecdote of a Cuban hound told by Dal-
las :—“ One of the dogs that had been unmuzzled to drmk

57)

 
 

THE pPoG.

when there was not the least apprehension of any mischief,
went up to an old woman who was sitting attending a pot, in
which she was preparing a mess. The dog smelled at it and
was troublesome; this provoked her; she took up a stick and
began to beat him, on which he seized her by the throat, which
he would not leave till his head was severed from his body by
his master.”

 

THE STAGHOUND.

This now rare hound is said to derive its origin from the
bloodhound and the greyhound—a mixture resulting in the
most exquisite scent combined with great endurance. Of late
years the sport of stag-chasing has in a great measure given
place to fox-hunting; and even where the royal and ancient
sport is still followed, the dogs employed are generally a large
and powerful species of foxhound. These dogs, of which men-
tion will be found in another page, rank among the swift and
most enduring dogs in the world. They have been known to
maintain, without flagging, a stag-chase of fifty miles’ duration,
and in old sporting chronicles may be found an account of a
hurt of so protracted a nature that the whole pack of dcgs
excepting two fell off the trail, and that at last the huntsmen
came up to their game dead from sheer exhaustion, and the two
hounds within a short space dead too.

Tt is said, however, that the modern substitute, although
equal in fleetness and strength to the old English staghound,
is not its match for courage. It would seem at first sight
that no particular amount of bravery was requisite to face the

o72 ‘

 
THE DOG.

“gentle™ stag, but it should be remembered that that animal
when brought to bay becomes a rather formidable opponent: its
neck is curiously lith, its antlers sharp and hard ap steel
prongs, and its active hoofs by no means to be despised.

 

THE FOXHOUND.

There can be no doubt that the foxhound is one of the most
highly-prized dogs in Europe. Palatial kennels are erected for
its reception, and thousands of pounds spent every year with
a view to the maintenance of its present excellence, with im-
provements if practicable. It is commonly agreed that the
fox-hound originated with the ancient English hound, improved
by judicious crossings. That the greyhound enters into its
composition is pretty evident as it is one of the speediest of
dogs. This was tested some years ago on the Beacon Course
at Newmarket. “ The length of the course is 4 miles 1 furlong
and 132 yards, and this distance was run by the winning dog
in eight minutes and a few seconds. The famous race-horse
‘ Flying Childers,’ in running over the same ground, was little
more than half a minute ahead of the hound. Now, if wecom-
pare the dimensions of the horse and the hound, we shall arrive
at a tolerably accurate conception of the extraordimary swift-
ness to which the latter animal can attain. In that match no
less than sixty horses started together with the competitors, bu
of the sixty only twelve were with the dogs at the end of the
run.”

Fox-hounds are kept with the severest discipline. At nome

o78

 
 

THE DOG.

it is customary to call them from the kennel by name, and one
at a time when feeding-time arrives, and among a well-trained
pack the circumstance of one dog answering to another’s name,
or one coming uncalled would be regarded as a heinous offence,
and one that would certainly earn for the transgressor a tremen-
dous thrashing. The result of this severe training is, that
when in the hunting-field the foxhound will instantly obey the
most hurried order or gesture of the huntsman.

The foxhound is not a particularly large dog, its average
height being under two feet, and of proportionate length. The
female is smaller than the male.

THE BOARHOUND.

This brave and valuable dog is the result of a careful blend-
ing of other species. To. successfully overtake and assail so
tremendous and savage a creature as the boar—concerning
which one of the most eminent of modern Indian hunters,
Captain Shakspear, says that, as dangerous game, it certainly
ranks before the tiger and leopard,—to successfully meet this
tusked monster three qualities are essential: first, speed;
second, quick scent and swift action; and third, indomitable
pluck. The first is supplied by the pure greyhound, and by
crossing it with the English mastiff two of the three demands—
speed and pluck—are met; for scent and quick movement,
what better than the nimble, fiery terrier? With the latter,
then, the progeny of the greyhound and the mastiff is crossed,
and the result is the boarhound.

The reader may glean some notion of the sort of animal the
wild boar is to face from the following summary that terminates
one of Captain Shakspear’s hunting narrations :— ... “ I have
stated that the boar is the most courageous animal in the jungle.
There he lay, with a broken spear in his withers, the shaft
sticking up a foot and a half from the blade—-knocking over a
horseman and wounding his horse; receiving two bullets, ten
to the pound—the first in the neck and throat, the second
breaking his jaw, and fired within a few feet of his muzzle;
making geod his charge, cutting down his enemy like grass,
wounding him, knocking over a second man armed with a
spear, defying the dogs, and then, when in the act of charging,
receiving a shot in the brain, and dying without a groan.”

Boar-hunting is happily but a thing of the past in England.
In other parts of Europe, however—in Germany, for instance—
the dense forests still afford a stronghold to the “long-tusked

574

 
 

THE DOG.

hog,” aud in that country boar-hunting is still a common sport,
and the boar-hound generally bred for use. In appearance the
dog in question is rather formidable; it is taller at the shoulders
than the mastiff, the colour of which it usually assumes. The
limbs are very stout and long, and the shape of the head, which
is rather large, partakes of the squareness of the mastiff and
the ferretty sharpness of the terrier. When the boar is brought
to bay, it is the business of the hound so to manceuvre that the
animal’s attention shall be fixed on it while the hunter is left at
liberty to attack.

 

THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.

This, the largest, of the spaniels, is, as it deserves to be, one
of the most favourite dogs in England. In its native land,
however, whatever its deservings may be (it is just possible
that, ruled by cruelty, he is not quite the model animal we find
him), he is treated villanously. “He is converted into a beast
of burden, and forced to suffer even greater hardships than
those which generally fall to the lot of animals which are used
for the carriage of goods or the traction of vehicles. The life
of a hewer of wood is proverbially one of privation, but the
existence of the native Newfoundland dog is still less to be
envied, being that of a servant of the wood-hewer. In the
winter, the chief employment of the inhabitants is to cut fuel,
and the occupation of the dog is to draw it in carts. The poor
animals are not only urged beyond their strength but are
meagerly fed on putrid salt fish, the produce of some preceding
summers. Many of these noble dogs sink el the joint

; om

 
 

THE DOG.

effects of fatigue and starvation, and many of the survivors
commit sad depredations on the neighbouring flocks as soon as
the summer commences and they are freed from their daily
toils.”

There are two kinds of Newfoundland dog. One is con-
siderably larger than the other, measuring about two feet nine
inches in height, while the smaller (sometimes called ue La-
brador or St. John’s dog) rarely measures higher than two
feet. The Newfoundland is evidently a water dog. Not only
does he freely enter the unstable element at the least bidding,
but if he should happen to live near the sea or a river, and
can find a playfellow of his own kind, their swimming matches
and aquatic gambols are a good thing to witness. No doubt
this dog owes its swimming powers in a great measure to its
broad feet and strong legs.

Its sagacity in assisting a drowning person is wonderful.
It is not content with seizing any part of the person or dress
and endeavouring to paddle shoreward; it will shift and
shift its hold till it secures a grip on anything that may
encircle the neck, and there hold on as though aware that as
long as a man’s head was out of the water no harm could come
to him. On shore his intelligence is just as surprising. Take
the following as a sample, on the undoubted authority of the
Rev. J. G. Wood :—

“ One of these animals belonging to a workman was attacked
by a small and pugnacious bull-dog, which sprang upon the
unoffending canine giant, and after the manner of bull-dogs
‘pinned’ him by the nose, and there hung in spite of all
endeavours to shake it off. However, the big dog happened to
be a clever one, and, spying a pailful of boiling tar, he has-
tened towards it, and deliberately lowered his foe into the hot
and viscous material. The bull-dog had never calculated on
such a reception, and made its escape as fast as it could run.”

 

 
 

 

THE GREYHOUND.

This variety of dog is remarkable for its symmetry, speed,
and keenness of sight. It is found throughout Europe and in
parts of Asia, and would seem to have been a distinct variety
of the dog from a very early period. In ancient times it was
more valued even than now. To be the possessor of a grey-
hound was to be a distinguished person—a nobleman, or at
least a. gentleman. We find it recorded, that a fine paid to
king John consisted of “500 marks, 10 horses, and ten leashes
of grayhounds.”

The perfection of greyhound form is well described in the
following quaint lines :—

“ Headed lyke a snake,

Neckyed lyke a drake,

Footed lyke a satte,

Tayled lyke a ratte,

Syded lyke a teme,

And chyned lyke a bream.

The fyrst yere he must learne to fide,

The seconde yere to fild him lide,

The thyrde yere he is felon lyke,

The fourth yere there is none syk,

The fifth yere he is goode ynough,

The sixth yere he shall hold the plough,
37 577

 
 

THE DOG.

The seventh yere he will avayle

Grete bitches for to assayle ;

Bat when he is come to the ninth yere,
Have him than to the tannere ;

For the best hound that ever bytch had,
4t the ninth yere is full bad.”

Formerly the greyhound was principally employed in chasing
the stag; in modern times, however, its use appears in the
sport of hare-coursing. _ Swift as is the hare, the greyhound is
swifter; and if the former ran in a straight line it would be
overtaken in a very short space. The instincts of the hare,
however, teach it better. Its fore legs being very short, it is
enabled to turn an acute angle with little diminution of speed;
whereas the long-limbed and impetuous hound finds it impos-
sible to halt or make short turns at will, and so is carried be-
yond his mark, as it were, and has the chase to renew with a
fair start for the hare. Should the latter once gain cover,
it is tolerably safe, as the greyhound hunts solely by
sight. Its muzzle is so narrow in proportion to its length,
that the nasal nerves have no room for proper development,
the result being that the animal’s power of scent is very defi-
cient.

The largest of the species is the Irish greyhound, which
measures four feet in length, and is altogether rougher and
sturdier than the English greyhound. Like all good dogs, it
is peaceful enough when not angered or excited by the sight of
game. When this latter is the case, its ferocity is terrible. In
ancient times, when the Irish forests were infested by the wild
boar and wolf, the hound in question was wont to do good
service to its masters. There are very few of the genuine breed
existing at the present day.

The greyhound peculiar to Scotland is a shaggier creature
tuan the Irish one, but is not so large or so powerfully built.
This is the dog towards which Sir Walter Scott evinced so
much affection, and whose disputed intelligence and sagacity
he was at such pains to vindicate. The Scotch greyhound, or
deerhound as it is sometimes called, is used in the chase of
hares and deer.

The Russian greyhound, which is smaller than the others,
is used as a chaser of wild beasts, in which occupation he has
an advantage over his English and Scotch brethren, inasmuch
as he is gifted with the power of scent. Persia has its grey-
hound. ae is of rather slender build, and its ears are “ fea:

 
 

THE DOG.

thered ” spaniel fashion. It is bold, enduring, and marvellously
swift, With its aid, the Persians chase that speediest of
quadrupeds, the wild ass. It is used, too, against the antelope,
and, though no match for that animal, is often enabled to
overtake and pull it down, by what seems to fair-thinking folks
rather a mean “dodge.” The Persian antelope-hunters, be-
sides the dogs, are provided with a trained falcon, whose busi-
ness it is to hever about the antelope’s head, and to flap its
wings before its eyes, thus scaring the poor beast, and com-
pelling it so to deviate from its proper course that the dogs
are enabled to come up with it.

Last, but not least—that is, in the esteem of canine pet-
keepers—comes the diminutive, delicate Italian greyhound. It
derives its origin from the smooth old English greyhound, and
is indeed the same animal dwarfed. Its sole value is as a
“toy ;” for although its speed is sufficient to enable it to over-
take such small game as the rabbit, it would be too faint-
hearted to seize it ; or, even should it manage to screw its cou-
rage, too weak in the jaw to hold it. It dares not stir out on
a cold day without an overcoat and mittens, and even then a
shift of wind will give it ague.

The worst feature of Italian greyhound keeping is, that you
are never sure of the value of your dog. Fashion is more con-
stant even to ladies’ bonnets than to this dog. This year it
must be free from spots and of a uniform colour. Next year, to be
perfection, it must be “ starred ” on the breast. It may be said,
however, that golden fawn is a highly respectable tint for an
Italian hound, and that white dogs and red dogs of this
breed are held cheaper than any other.

THE HABRIER.

_ The description of the foxhound exactly applies to the harrier,
except that the latter is five or six inches less in height. They
derive their name from the circumstance that when hare-hunt-
ing was fashionable the dogs in question were used for the
sport. The harrier is not so swift an animal as the foxhound.
Beckford sums up the perfections of the harrier as follows, and
what was written and accepted in 1779 is, singular to relate,
endorsed by huntsmen of the present day: “ Let his legs be
straight as arrows; his feet round, and not too large; his
shoulders back; his breast rather wide than narrow; his chest
deep; his back broad; his hedd small; his neck thin; his tai
thick and bushy—if he carry it well so much the better. Such

 
THE DOG.

aovnds as are out at the elbows and such as are weak from the
knees to the foot should never be taken into the pack.”

THE BEAGLE,

‘The beagle (the bratch of ancient times) is the smallest of our
true hounds. In shape it is not unlike the harrier, but is
heavier about the throat, and its body and limbs are stouter.
The ordinary beagle measures about fourteen inches in height.
The animal known as the rough beagle is supposed to be a cross
between the original stock and the rough terrier. This opinion,
however, is prabably derived from the fact that its bark, which is
sharp and shrill, more nearly resembles the voice of the terrier
than any other, and that the quality ofits hair and its whiskers
resembles the terrier’s. Some writers regard the rough beagle
as a distinct variety. The smallest of the family is the dwarf
or rabbit beagle. It is said that at the time of Queen Hliza-
beth there was a breed of these beagles so small that one
might be hidden in a man’s glove. Perhaps, however, his
hawking-glove was meant; and although this would denote the
dog to be marvellously little, a dog that could be squeezed into
a modern “kid ” would be a much greater novelty, as an Irish-
man might observe.

THE WATER-SPANIEL.

This animal is of moderate size, measuring about twenty-two
inches in height at the shoulders, and proportionately stout in
make. Its forehead is lofty, its nose fine, its ears, which when
spread measure from tip to tip rather more than the dog’s
entire height, are deeply fringed. Its coat, which is close, curls
over the body in crisp curls. General colour, brown. Its tail
is not fringed, but covered with curly hair to the extremity.
That the water-spaniel was known to the Romans is proved by
the fact that his figure exists on many of their monuments,

No weather, be it ever so cold or boisterous, can daunt this
water-loving species of the genus canis. Indeed, it is admir-
ably formed for aquatic exercise. Its feet are very broad|
(webbed, it has been asserted, but this is an old woman’s tale),
and its coat is supplied with natural oil in such profusion that
it never becomes saturated; as soon as the dog leaves the
water, he gives himself a vigorous shake, and is at once dry.
This waterproof quality of the water-spaniel, however, debars
him the privilege of inhabiting the house, for should he happen

580
 

THE DOG.

 

to come near the fire the human organ of smell i is speedily and
unpleasantly made aware of the fact.

There is another dog of aquatic habits, known as the Great
Rough Water-Dog. It is about the height of a setter, but
more stoutly built. His coat is long and curled, and its colour
usually black and white, or brown and white. “TI recollect, a
says Mr. Richardson, “a singularly large dog of this breed
about ten years ago in the possession of Mr. Grierson, of North
Hanover-street, Edinburgh, near the foot of the mound, which
was possessed of unusual intelligence. Amongst other eccen-
tricities, this dog followed the proféssion of mendicancy, and
regularly solicited the charity of the passer-by. On receiving
a halfpenny, his habit was, if hungry, to proceed at once to the
shop of Mr. Nelson at the corner of Rose-street, and purchase
a biscuit; but it sometimes happened that he put by his half-
pence till the calls of appetite returned, and he would go to his
repository, take the money to the baker and make his pur-
chase. A servant of Mr. Grierson accidentally came upon this
sagacious and provident animal’s hoarding-place on one occa-
sion, where were found about fivepence halfpenny in halfpence.
The dog chanced to enter at the moment of the discovery, and,
with a growl of displeasure, he moved to the spot, and, snatch-
ing up his wealth, proceeded at full speed to the shop, and
dashed the money on the counter, barking yehemently at the
same time, probably deeming it safer at once to turn his money
into bread than risk being robbed by keeping it.” -

 
THE DOG.

COCKER-SPANIEL.

This little spaniel, whose weight averages twelve or fif-
teen pounds, is a favourite sporting dog. There are several
sorts: the “Welsh,” the “English,” the “ Devonshire,” and
many others. Captain Williamson (author of “ Oriental
Field Sports ”) once experienced an instance of the indomi-
table courage of a tiny coeker of his, called “Paris.” The
captain was shooting near some underwood, rather thinly
scattered among reedy grass, growing on the edge of a large
water-course, which took its rise at the foot of the large hill at
Mucknee Gunge (India), when suddenly the spaniel in ques-
tion, one of a brace that was present, ran round a large bush
greatly agitated, and apparently on some game which the
sportsman expected to put up. The captain followed as fast
as he could, but Paris was too quick for him, and before he
could well get round to the bush, which was about ten yards
from the brink of the ravine, had come to a stand, his ears
pricked, his tail wagging like lightning, and his whole frame in
a seeming state of ecstacy. “I expected that he had got a hare
under the bank, and as the situation was in favour of a shot, I
ran towards him with more speed than I should have done had
I known that instead of a hare I should find, as I did, a tiger
sitting on its rump, and staring Paris in the face. They were
not above two yards asunder.

“ As soon as the dog found me at his side, he barked, and.
giving a spring down, dashed at the tiger. What happened
for some moments I really cannot say; the surprise and
danger which suddenly affected me banished at once that
presence of mind which many boast to possess in all emergen-
cies. However, as soon as my fright had subsided, I began,
like a person waking from a dream, to look about, and saw the
tiger cantering away at about a hundred and fifty yards’ dis-
tance with his tail erect, and followed by Paris, who kept
barking.” The tiger, arriving at a thick cover, disappeared,
and the plucky little cocker returned to his dismayed master.

THE LABRADOR SPANIEL.

This dog presents an appearance intermediate between the
Newfoundland and the land spaniel As a swimmer and
diver he is almost unmatched. The Lzbrador spaniel may be
considered in the light of a “public character.” A number of
Saunders’s News-Letter vouches for the fact :—

“ PEELER, THE Doc oF THE Poxicz.—During a recent in-
582

 
 

THE DOG.

vestigation relative to the manner in which the policeman came
by his death at Kingstown, a little active and inquisitive dog,
of the Labrador breed, was seen from time to time during each
day running in and out of the room, as if he took a personal
interest in the inquiry. The dog was admired, and a gentle-
man in the police establishment was asked to whom it be-
longed. ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘don’t you know him? We thought
every one knew Peeler, the dog of the police.” The gentleman
then proceeded to give the interrogator the history of this sin-
gular dog. It appeared from the story, that a few years ago
poor little Peeler tempted the canine appetite of a Mount St.
Bernard, or Newfoundland dog, and was in peril of being
swallowed up by him for a luncheon, when a policeman inter-
posed, and, with a blow of his baton, levelled the assailant and
rescued the assailed. From that time, Peeler has united his
fortunes with those of the police: wherever they go, he fol-
lows; whether pacing with measured tread the tedious ‘ beat,’
or engaged in the energetic duty of arresting a disturber of the
public peace. He is a self-constituted general superintendent
of the police, visiting station after station, and, after he has
made his observations in one district, wending his way to the
next. He is frequently seen to enter a third-class carriage at
the Kingstown Railway, get out at Black Rock, visit the police-
station there, continue his tour of inspection to Booterstown,
reach there in time for the train as before, and go on to Dublin
to take a peep at the ‘metropolitans;’ and having satisfied
himself that ‘all is right,’ return by an early evening train to
Kingstown. He sometimes takes a dislike to an individual,
and shuns him as anxiously as he wags his tail at the approach,
and frisks about the feet, of another for whom he has a regard.
There is one man in the force for whom he has this antipathy ;
and a day or two ago, seeing him in ‘the train,’ he left the
carriage and waited for the next, preferring a delay of half an
hour to such company; and when the bell rang, with the
eagerness with which protracted joy is sought, he ran to his
accustomed seat in ‘the third class.’ His partiality for the
police is extraordinary ; wherever he sees a man in the garb of
a constable, he expresses his pleasure by walking near him,
rubbing against and dancing about him; nor does he forget
him in death, for he was at his post in the funeral of Daly, the
policeman who was killed in Kingstown. He is able to recog-
nize a few in plain clothes, but they must have been old friends
of his. Wherever he goes he gets a crust, a piece of meat, @ pat

 
 

THE DOG.

on the head, or a rub down upon his glossy back, from the hand
of a policeman; and he is as well known amongst the body as
any man in it: We have heard of the dog of Montargis, the
soldier’s dog, the blind beggar’s dog, and the dog of the monks
of St. Bernard, and been delighted by stories of their fidelity
and sagacity; but none are more interesting than ‘ Peeler, the
dog of the Police,’ ‘whose heart, enlarged with gratitude to
one, grows bountiful to all.’”

THE SETTER, OR LAND SPANIEL.

The setter partakes of the peculiarities of the pointer and
spaniel, and, as the former dog derives its name from its habit
of standing still and pointing at any game it may discover, the
setter is so called because of its custom of “ setting ” or crouch-
ing when marking down its game. There are several varieties of
setter. Respecting the common Old English Setter, an authority
on such matters gives the following as the points the thorough-
bred animal should possess :—‘ A moderately heavy head, but
not so much so as in the pointer; the muzzle not so broad nor
square in profile, the lower being nearly rounded off, but the
upper being still nearly a right angle. The eye is similar to
that of the pointer, but not so soft, being more sparkling, and
‘full of spirit; the ear long, but thin, and covered with soft
silky hair, slightly waved. The neck is long, but straighter
than that of the pointer, being also lighter, and very flexible.
The back and loins are as strong as those of the pointer, the
latter also being rather longer; the hips also are more ragged,
and the ribs not so round and barrel-like. The tail, or ‘ flag,’
is usually set on a little lower, is furnished with « fan-like
brush of long hair, and is slightly curled upward towards the
tip; but'it never should be carried over the back or raised above
the level of its root, excepting while standing, and then a slight
elevation is admired, every hair standing down with a stiff and
regular appearance. The elbow, when in perfection, is placed
so low as to be fully an inch below the brisket, making the
fore-arm appear very short. The hind feet and legs are clothed
with hair, or ‘feathered,’ as it is called, in the same way as
the fore-legs, and the amount of this beautiful provision is taken
into consideration in selecting a dog for his points.”

The setter has its peculiarities respecting water. To get
through a day’s work creditably, it should be enabled to wet
the whole of its body every half-hour or so. Moreover, it
cannot do Sashes water to drink so long as the pointer, though

 
 

 

having drunk its fill, it can endure heat and fatigue much longer
than the pointer. In wet or very cold weather the setter is to
be preferred before the pointer, the body of the former being
securely protected by a flowing coat, while the latter is short-
haired; consequently, in warm weather the pointer is prefer-
able. The setter hunts by “body scent,” as it is called, im
contradistinction to the power possessed by the beagle, harrier,
&c., who follow the foot-prints of their game, or hunt by
“ foot-scent.”

Mr. Bell, in his “ British Quadrupeds,” relates an anecdote
of the setter, that at once settles any question that may arise
as to the animal’s intelligence :—

“ By far the most interesting, and, if I may so employ the
term, amiable animal I have ever known, was a bitch of this
kind, formerly belonging to my father, which he had from a
puppy, and which, although never regularly broke, was the
best dog in the field that he ever possessed. The very expres-
sion of poor Juno’s countenance was full of sensibility and
affection. She appeared to be always on the watch to evince
her love and gratitude to those who were kind to her; and the
instinct of attachment was in her so powerful that it showed
itself in her conduct to other animals as well as to her human
friends. A kitten which had been lately taken from its mother
was sent to us, and on Juno’s approach showed the usual
horror of the cat towards dogs; but Juno seemed determined
to conquer the antipathy, and, by the most winning and perse-
vering kindness and forbearance, advancing or receding as she

 
 

THE DOG.

found the waywardness of her new friend’s temper required,
she completely attached the kitten to her; and as she had
lately lost her puppies, and still had some milk left, I have
often seen them lying together before the fire, the kitten suck-
ing her kind foster-mother, who was licking and caressing her
as her own offspring. She would alsc play with great gentle-
ness with some tame rabbits of mine, and would entice them
to familiarity by the kindness of her manner; and so fond was
she of caressing the young of her own species, that when a
spaniel bitch of my father’s had puppies, of which all excepting
one were destroyed, Juno would take every opportunity to steal
the remaining one from its mother’s nest and carry it to her
own, where she would lick and fondle it with the greatest ten-
derness. Poor Busy, the mother, also a good-tempered creature,
as soon as she had discovered the theft, hastened of course to
bring back her little one, which was again to be stolen on the
first favourable opportunity, until at length the two bitches
killed the poor puppy between them, as they were endeavouring
each to pull it from the other; and all this with the most per-
fect mutual good understanding. Juno lived to a good old age,
an unspoiled pet, after her master had shot to her for four-
teen seasons.”

The Scotch setter stands higher on his legs than the English
or Irish breed, and its hair is somewhat longer. The Irish
setter much resembles the English, but has thicker legs, and
“is distinguished,” says a modern writer, “from its English
relative by a certain Hibernian air that characterizes it, and
which, although conspicuous enough to the practised eye, is
not easy of description.” Russia claims a setter of its own, an
animal whose hair is long and woolly, and generally so matted
that the true form of the dog is not clear to the casual observer.
It is slower in its movements than the other breeds, but is pos-
sessed of a much more delicate scent, and is pronounced by
sportsmen who have had opportunities to test and compare their
merits, that in its peculiar way the Russian setter is unsur-
passed. The muzzle of this dog matches that of a Scotch
terrier for hairiness ; and its feet are likewise covered with hair,
which serves as an important protection in long and rough
travelling.

THE RETRIEVER.

Like the pointer and the setter, this dog derives its name
from its special utility—that of “retrieving” and recovering
586

 
 

THE DOG.

game that has fallen at a distance after being shot. In height
the retriever measures from twenty to twenty-four inches, and
is powerfully built. Its colour is almost invariably black, and
its fur of a moderate length and curled. There are many breeds
of retrievers, but the most favourite are those derived either
from the Newfoundland dog and setter or from the water-
spaniel and terrier. A smaller retriever is produced by the
beagle and terrier, and for stealth and quiet the smaller ir
superior to the larger sort in wild-game shooting.

As the animal is not born a retriever, but merely comes in its
puppyhood into its master’s hands an intelligent dog of pro-
mising parentage, some pains must be taken to teach it its
business. It must be taught, as its first lesson — how dread-
fully hard it must come to the uproarious little puppy— never
to bark in business hours. Such animpropriety would disturb
the game in the neighbourhood, and be to the sportsman the
unlucky means of saving their lives. It must be taught not
to eat the game as soon as it finds it, but to bring it straight
to its master, and lay it at his feet. Being sent for a thing,- it
must be charged with the errand over and over again till it
performs it, or it may be apt to infer that you are not very
particular about the recovery of your game, and — especially if
it be tired—shape its behaviour accordingly.

za \

YA hy X
Ww

> ANS

WSS

 

THE POINTER.

“A moderately large head, wide rather than long, with 8
high forehead and an intelligent eye of medium size. Muzzle

 
 

THE DOG.

broad, with its outline square in front, and not receding, as in
the hound. Flews (i.e. the overhanging lips) manifestly pre-
sent, but not pendant. The head should be well set on the
neck, with a peculiar form at the junction, only seen in the
pointer. The neck itself should be long, covered in its upper
outline, without any tendency to a dewlap or a ruff, as the
loose skin covered with long hair round the neck is called. The
body is of good length, with a strong loin, wide hips, and rather
arched ribs, the chest being well let down, but not in a hatchet-
shape, as in the greyhound, and the depth in the back ribs
being proportionably greater than in that dog. The tail, or
stern as it is technically called, is strong at the root, but, sud-
denly diminishing, it becomes very fine, and then continues
nearly of the same size to within two inches of the tip, where it
goes off to a point, looking as sharp as the sting of a wasp, and
giving the whole very much the appearance of that part of the
insect, but magnified, of course. This peculiar shape of the
stern characterizes the breed, and its absence shows a cross
with the hound or some other dog.” This, according to Stone-
henge, is a description every true-blooded pointer should answer,
and, according to the same authority, white dogs with lemon-
coloured heads are to be preferred before all others.

How faithful this dog is to its peculiar instinct will be found
illustrated among the “ Stories of Intelligent Dogs” in another
part of this volume. That it has considerable contempt for
anyone less enthusiastic in the chase than himself the following
incident furnished by Captain Brown will show :—

“A gentleman having requested the loan of a pointer dog
from a friend, was informed by him that the dog would behave
very well so long as he could kill his birds; but if he frequently
missed them, the dog would run home and leave him. The
pointer was accordingly sent, and the following day was fixed
for trial; but, unfortunately, his new master happened to be a
remarkably bad shot. Bird after bird rose and was fired at,
but still pursued its flight untouched, till at last the dog became
careless, and often missed his game. As if seemingly willing,
however, to give one chance more, he made a dead stop at a
fern-bush, with his nose pointed downward, the fore-foot bent,
and the tail straight and steady. In this position he remained
firm till the sportsman was close to him, with both barrels
cocked; then moving steadily forward for a few paces, he at last
stood still near a bunch of heather, the tail expressing the
anxiety of the mind by moving regularly backwards and for-

588

 
THE DOG.

wards. At last, out sprang a fine old blackcock. Bang, bang,
went ‘both barrels—but the bird escaped unhurt. The patience
of the dog was tow quite exhausted, and, instead of dropping
to the charge, he turned bodily round, placed his tail between
his legs, gave one howl, long and loud, and set off as fast as he
could to his own home.”

 

THE KING CHARLES SPANIEL.

This well-known animal, to be really a fine spectmen, should
not exceed six or seven pounds in weight. It is not want-
ing in courage or hunting instinct, but, as may be naturally
supposed of a dog leading so refined a life, its endurance is very
limited. It is a wonderfully clever little creature, and the
amusing ‘tricks recorded of it may be counted by scores. I
prefer, however, givirig my yeaders an instance of spaniel saga-
city wherein was exhibited something better than fun—curious
and wonderful affection. As regards the truth of the anecdote,
I need merely add that it is related by Mrs. 8. 'C. Hall :—
... “The King Charles named Chloe was my grandmother's
favourite. She was a meek, soft, fawning little creature, ‘blind
of one eye, and so gentle and faithful, refusing food except from
the one dear hand that was liberal cf kindness to her. Chiloe’s
puppies were in great demand, and it must be confessed her
supplies were very bountiful—too bountiful indeed, for out of
the four, which she considered a proper number at a birth, two
were generally drowned. My grandmother thought that Chloe
ought not to raise more than two. Chloe bene that she

 
 

THE DUG.

could educate four, and it was always difficult to abstract the
doomed ones from the watchful little mother. It so chanced
that once, after the two pups had been drowned by the stable-
man, poor Chloe discovered their little wet bodies in the stable-
yard, and brought them to the live ones that remained in the
basket. She licked them, cherished them, howled over them,
but they still remained damp and cold. Gentle at all other
times, she would not now permit even her mistress to remove
them, and no stratagem could draw her from the basket. At
last we suppose Chloe felt it was not good for the dead and the
living to be together, so she took one of the poor things in her
mouth, walked with it across the lawn to the spot where a
lovely red-thorn tree made a shady place, dug a hole, laid the
puppy in it, came back for the other, placed it with its little
relative, scraped the earth over them, and returned sadly and
slowly to her duties.”

The Blenheim spaniel is, when thorough bred, smaller even
than the King Charles. Like the latter, to be of value it should
possess a very short muzzle, very long silky ears falling close to
the head, and touching the ground as the dog walks. The legs
should be covered with long glossy hair to the toes, and the tail
should be well “feathered,” as the fanciers say. The eyes of
both these dogs are always extremely moist. The hair cover-
ing the whole body should be slightly “ wavy,” but should not
curl.

The Maltese is another dog of the “toy ” school. It is re-
markable for the extreme fineness, gloss, and length of its hair.
Maltese dogs barely exceeding three pounds in weight have
been known to measure fifteen inches in length of hair across
the shoulders. As its name implies, it originally came from
Malta. It is among the rarest of our canine pets.

THE TERRIER.

No dogs are so well known in England as these, and it may
be safely said that there is scarcely a mongrel, be he ever so
thorough a castaway and vagabond, but has terrier blood in
his lean body. ‘The more he has of it the better for him, espe-
cially if he have a living to pick up, and a lodging to procure,
and no master to help him. The dog with anything of the
terrier about him is sure to be a shrewd dog—a more or less
knowing reader of the human countenance, a quality by no
means to be despised in a houseless dog; it often—especially

when he finds himself late on a bitter winter night, with no
590

 
 

THE DOG.

better sanctuary against the north wind and the snow—pro-
cures the poor animal a lodging from a human pedestrian, who,
trudging along home to his bit of hot supper and comfortable
bed, is unable to resist the imploring eyes, and the meekly
insinuating wag of the tail. For my part, I must own to a

 

feeling of considerable satisfaction when one of these houseless
creatures so makes up to me. I comfort myself with the
reflection that I must carry about with me an air of charity
and goodwill, and am the better assured of it that it is a dog
that reveals it. I believe that there was never yet so consum-
mate a hypocrite but that a really clever dog would find him
out. At the same time, I am bound to state my conviction
that, giving effect to my vanity, I have several times been
taken in by artful dogs—dissipated canine scoundrels that have
been locked out, and that ungratefully and without the trifling
acknowledgment of a wag of the tail, bolt off as soon as the
gate is opened in the morning.

The English terrier is not a large dog. It seldom weighs
over ten pounds, and very frequently less. It is square-
chested, and its fore-legs are particuiarly muscular. Its muzzle
is sharp, its forehead high, and its eyes large, bright, and
intelligent. Its coat is sleek and smooth. The colours of the
pure breed are black and tan, the value of the animal much
depending on the richness of the two tints. To be perfect it
should have a small patch of tan colour over each eye; its nose
and palate should be black.

It is a very busy, intelligent, fussing little animal, but not

091

’

 
 

THE DOG

particularly courageous. If a dog is wanted to rout out a
rat colony, no dog can so effectually set them scampering as
the English terrier. Killing them, however, is a business
which this dog declines. While the rat runs, the dog will
run after it, but when the rat stops, so does the dog, and at
a respectful distance, too Should the rat show fight the
English terrier takes to his heels.

Not so his cousin, the bull terrier. He it is that delights in
carnage, and is never so thoroughly happy as when he is
literally up to his eyes in rats in a rat-pit. His courage is
wonderful. As many as five or six savage rats at one time
have been seen clinging with their sharp teeth to the ratter’s
lips and nose and eyebrows, but the dog has never once
winced nor paused in his attack. It is curious, too, how
little of bull-dog blood goes to furnish a dog with this con-
tempt for pain on the one hand, and fierce desire to inflict it
on the other. It is not too much to say that the most valu-
able of bull-terriers in London have been independent of the
bull-dog for six or seven generations. Some of these dogs,
while weighing no more than six pounds, will be matched
to kill large rats in a minute each, and that for an hour toge-
ther.

The Scotch terrier is a quaint-looking, clever little dog,
almost as remarkable for its animosity to vermin as the bull-
terrier. Its colours are, as a rule, the same as the English
terrier, mingled with grey. It was this dog that in ancient
times was used in the cruel sport of “ badger-drawing.” There
is, as says a popular writer, “A peculiar breed of Scotch
terriers, called the Dandy Dimmont, in honour of the character
of that name in Scott’s ‘Guy Mannering.’ These dogs are
of two colours; one a light brown, with a reddish tinge termed
‘mustard,’ and the other a bluish-gray on the body, and tan
on the legs, denominated ‘ pepper.’ These little animals are very
courageous; although they often exhibit no proof of their bold
nature until they have passed the age of two years, appearing
until that time to be rather cowardly than otherwise. This
conduct is supposed to be occasioned by their gentle and affec-
tionate disposition. The legs of this variety of terrier are
short in proportion to the length of the body, the hair is wiry
and abundant, and the ears are large, hanging closely over the
sides of the head.”

The “ Skye” is certainly the oddest terrier of the family.
1t would be worth inquiring how it is that this dog is so con-

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THE DOG.

stantly losing himself. That this is the case, any one taking
ordinary notice of window-bills and placards must have dis-
covered. Jt can’t be that the dog’s extraordinary value tempts
the dog-thief, for many dogs allowed as much freedom as the
Skye, are of much more value, and are but seldom “lost or
stolen.” Is it that the poor creature’s vision is so obstructed
by his hirsute furniture that he can but dimly make out where
he is going? Is it that he is a stupid blundering dog, who
ceally doesn’t care which way he goes, or what becomes of
him? Or is he a dog of so much intelligence and of such an
inquiring mind that he is impelled to investigate any and every
odd matter that may turn up in the course of a morning’s
walk P

It is generally regarded as a “‘toy” dog, and is usually
clever at learning tricks, and displays considerable affection.
It is, however, the largest, or, rather, the heaviest of the
“toys,” and can seldom be obtained weighing less than ten or
twelve pounds. When of pure breed the legs are very short,
and the body extremely long in proportion to the length of
limb ; the neck is powerfully made, but of considerable length,
and the head is also elongated, so that the total length of the
animal is three times as great as its height. The ‘“ duo-claws ”
are wanting in this variety of domestic dog. The hair is long
and straight, falling heavily over the body and limbs, and
hanging so thickly upon the face, that the eyes and nose are
hardly perceptible under their luxuriant covering. The quality
of the hair is rather harsh and wiry in the pure-bred Skye-
terrier, for the silky texture of the generality of “toy” Skyes
1s obtained by a cross with the spaniel. It is easy to detect
the presence of this cross by the scanty appearance of the hair
on the face.

THE POODLE.

This is certainly an intelligent dog, and it is possibly on this
account, because it is capable of performing extraordinary
tricks, that its master is at considerable pains to bestow on it
an extraordinary appearance. That the dog should be sub-
jected to such indignity, however, is no wonder, when we see
the same spirit actuating mountebanks, acrobats, and other
“performing” specimens of humanity. Since Signor Jacko
cannot possibly turn that tremendous number of somersaults
without he wears a girdle of spangles, and a gorgeous star or
crescent on his forehead, it is no wonder that he renders his

38 a

 
 

THE DOG.

performing poodle hideous by shaving off its coat, leaving
nothing but a few rags about its throat and toes.

There are few doggy tricks the poodle cannot be taught to
perform, in the water as well as on land. He is a cunning
rascal. Jessie, in his “ Gleanings,” mentions a poodle belong-
ing to a friend of his, for whom correction was found necessary ;
he being sometimes rather unruly, the gentleman bought a
whip, with which he corrected him once or twice when out
walking ; on his return he left the whip on the hall table, and
in the morning it was missing; having been found concealed
in an out-building, and, as before, used when occasion re-
quired, in correcting the dog, it was once more missed; but on
the dog, who was suspected of having stolen it, being watched,
he was seen to take it from the hall table, in order to hide it
as before.

“There was a story when we were in Heidelberg,” says the
“ Dublin University Magazine,” “ going about of a certain stu-
dent who had a remarkably fine white poodle, that used daily
to accompany his master to the lecture-room of a professor,
who was not very remarkable for the distinctness of his vision ;
he would regularly take his seat upon the bench beside his
master, and peer into his book, as if he understood every word.
of it. One wet morning, the lecture-room, never, at any time,
remarkable for its fulness, was deserted, save by the student
who owned the poodle. The dog, however, had somehow hap-
pened to remain at home. ‘ Gentlemen,’ said the short-sighted
professor, as he commenced his lecture, ‘I am sorry to notice,
that the very attentive student in the white coat, whose industry
I have not failed to observe, is, contrary to his usual custom,
absent to-day !’”

S

  

Pa
BATS
é

i

BENS

 
 

 

THE SHEEP-DOG.

STORIES OF INTELLIGENT DOGS,

There is such a host of them that the difficulty is where to
begin. There are celebrated water-dogs, which have saved
folks from death by drowning; and celebrated fire-dogs, that
have rescued human beings from that most terrible of all
deaths, burning. There are wide-awake men’s dogs, trained
to poach and to commit petty larceny in a way worthy of the
treadmill ; and blind men’s dogs, trained to pilot their helpless
masters through the most crowded thoroughfares, to carry
their contribution-box, and to appeal imploringly with their
eyes for a copper. There are dogs who funnily sham combat
with Mr. Punch ; and real warrior dogs, who have been through
all the perils of the battle-field, and returned home scarred
invalids. There are—

But this is not a catalogue, says the reader; the list you
have already furnished is quite long enough : we already know
there are such dogs as you have mentioned; what about
them F

First of all about a sheep-dog; and that the reader may
have not the least hesitation in accepting it as strictly true, I
may mention that Mr. Hogg—the Httrick Shepherd—was the
dog’s master. He gave a drover a guinea for the animal, be-
cause, “ notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn appearance,
I thought I discovered a sort of sullen intelligence in his coun-

tenance.”
bon

 
 

THE DOG.

“He was scarcely a year old, and knew so little of herding
that he had never turned a sheep in his life; but as soon as he
discovered that it was his duty to do so, and that it obliged
me, I can never forget with what eagerness and anxiety he
learned his evolutions. He would try every way deliberately,
till he found out what I wanted him to do; and when I once
made him to understand a direction he never forgot or mistook
it again. Well as I knew him he often astonished me, for
often, when pressed hard in accomplishing the tasks that he
was put to, he had expedients of the moment that bespoke a
great share of the reasoning faculty.

“ On one occasion, about seven hundred lambs, which were
under his care at feeding-time, broke up at midnight, and scam-
pered off in three divisions, across the neighbouring hills, in
spite of all that he and an assistant could do to keep them
together. The night was so dark that we could not see
‘Sirrah’ (the dog’s name), but the faithful animal heard his
master lament his absence in words which of all others were
sure to set him most on the alert, and without more ado he
silently set off in quest of the recreant flocks. Meanwhile the
shepherd aud his companions did not fail to do all in their
power to recover their lost charge. They spent the whole night.
in scouring the hills for miles round; but of neither the lambs
nor Sirrah could they find the slightest trace. They had
nothing for it, day having dawned, but to return to their master
and inform him that they had lost the whole flock of lambs,
and did not know what had become of one of them. On our
way home, however, we discovered a lot of lambs at the bottom
of a deep ravine, and the indefatigable Sirrah standing in front
of them looking round for some relief, but still true to his
charge. The sun was then up, and when we first came in
view we concluded it was one of the divisions, whick Sirrah
had been unable to manage till he arrived at that commanding
situation. But what was our astonishment when we discovered
that not one lamb of the entire flock was wanting! How he
had got all the divisions collected in the dark, is beyond my
comprehension. The charge was left to himself from midnight
till the rising sun, and if all the shepherds in the forest had
been there to have assisted him, he could not have effected it
with greater promptitude.”

The same gentleman likewise narrates a story in which a
sheep-dog, through over zeal, brought his master to the gallows.

The man had resolved to make an adventure in the crime of
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THE DOG.

sheep-stealing; and having selected some sheep from the flock
of a former master, he and his dog commenced driving them
away ; but before he had got them off the farm, he, whether
from the voice of conscience or the terror of possible conse-
quences, countermanded the execution of the project, and drove
the sheep tack again. He called his dog away, and, mounting
his pony, rode off at a gallop. But halting at the distance of
three miles, and looking round, he there saw the stolen sheep
at his heels, with his dog in their rear, driving them before
him at a furious rate. The young man, as soon as he reco-
vered from his amazement, severely whipped the dog for his
disobedience, and then again rode off. The dog, however, was
evidently quite in the dark as to what he had been whipped
for, for after trotting on before the pony some distance, he
once more slipped behind, and speedily fetched up the unlucky
sheep, sweating and panting from the rate at which they had
been made to travel. By this time day was beginning to dawn,
and the owner of the dog, feeling that it would be impossible
for him to make a defence against such overwhelming evidence,
and seeing that he could not wash his hands clean of the stolen
property, disposed of the sheep, for which he was shortly after-
wards condemned to death.

Despite the opinion of certain writers, that the greyhound
is a silly dog—that “ his flat forehead and elongated snout are
emblems of stupidity”—there are not wanting instances to
prove that he at times shows himself as shrewd as any of his
canine brethren. The well-known Mr. Youatt tells a story
corroborative of this. Two greyhounds were concerned, and
their chief weakness was, that whenever and wherever they
saw or scented meat, they felt bound at any risk to possess
themselves of it and devour it. This was a serious matter,
not so much on account of the value of the plunder, as that its
inordinate consumption made the dogs fat and lazy, and alto-
gether unfit for coursing. Adjoining the kennel there was a
room in which was suspended an iron caldron, in which the
dog’s-meat was cooked. It would have been supposed that the
meat once in the pot, and the pot surrounded by a blaze, the
cook might safely take his departure to attend to his other
duties. Such a course, however, could not be followed, inas-
much as the theft of the boilmg meat was certain to be the
result. One dog would rear against the side of the pot, pat
open the lid with his paw, and, taking any projecting scrap of
the joint within his teeth, whip the whole out and on to the

97

 
 

THE DOG.

floor, and as soon as it was sufficiently cool it was eaten to their
hearts’ content. ‘This plan having been discovered, the lid of
the boiler was furnished with an iron rod, passing under the
handle, and tied to the handle of the boiler on each side. Only
afew days elapsed before the dogs had learned to gnaw the cord
asunder, and to help themselves as before. Iron chains were
then substituted for the cords, and the meat cooked in safety
tor nearly a week. But the ingenuity of the dogs was not to
be baffled. They continued to raise themselves on their hind-
legs, and by applying their strength at the same moment,
pushed the boiler fairly off the fire, and set it rolling on the
floor ; when, although the iron chains prevented their getting
at the meat, they were enabled to lap up the broth as it
streamed on the floor.”

The above-mentioned dogs evinced so much unswerving de-
termination and defiance of burns and scalds, that in all
probability they were not of genuine greyhound breed, but
indebted for their courage to a dash of bull-dog blood. For
this blending of speed with pluck and endurance, the sporting
world is indebted to Lord Offord, who was the first to try this
crossing with his greyhounds. That the result was perfectly
satisfactory may be gathered from the following incident,
printed a short time back in a sporting newspaper :—“ A
gentleman of Worcester, paying a visit to a friend a few miles
distant, took with him a brace of greyhounds, for the purpose
of u day’s coursing. A hare was soon found, which the dogs
chased for several miles, and with such speed as to be very
soon out of sight of the party who pursued; but after a very
considerable search, both the dogs and the hare were found
dead within a few yards of each other; nor did it appear that
the former had caught the hare, as no marks of violence were
discovered on her.”

An anecdote, proving that too implicit confidence may be
placed in a dog’s sagacity, is related by Mr. Wood. That
gentleman was at the time a school-boy at Oxford, and,
in the warm weather, adopted the healthful custom of bathing.
While so engaged, however, on one occasion, along with his
mates, a thief was observed stealing off with the wearing
apparel of the entire company, and it was only after a smart
and interesting chase that he was overtaken and properly
ducked for his pains. Although on this occasion they reco-
vered their garments, they could scarce help reflecting on what
would have been the result if the thief had been too nimble

598

 
 

THE DOG,

for them, and set about devising some means of protection for
the future.

There happened to reside in the neighbourhood a great dog—
half mastiff, half blood-hound—called Nelson. The lads had
observed how satisfied the haymakers were to leave their jackets
and dinners even in the charge of a little cur-dog, and so
resolved to press Nelson as store-keeper.

“We took Nelson with us, being the only dog that we knew,
and when we had undressed we put him in charge. He laid
down in the most exemplary manner, and doubtless would have
made an excellent guardian had he not been disturbed by an
unexpected incident. The field was full of cows, and they,
seeing a great dog in the field, felt aggrieved and summoned a
council. In a very few minutes the whole body of cows set up
their tails and charged down upon Nelson. He lay in some
perplexity till one or two of them almost poked him with their
horns, when he lost his calmness of demeanour and dashed at
the nearest cow. His teeth, however, were nearly gone from
old age, and the cow easily shook him off. There was then a
grand battle, in which our clothes seemed likely to be trodden
to pieces, so we were forced to take them up and swim across
the river with them, and deposit them on the opposite bank,
where there were no cows. We then got Nelson away and
took him over; but we never afterwards trusted a big dog to
take care of our clothes.”

The same authority tells a singular dog-and-lamb story.
The dog was not of the sheep-herding breed, but a great
spotted Danish dog, commonly used to accompany carriages.
“One of these animals was of a very playful disposition, and
particularly rejoiced in chasing sheep, although he never hurt
them. He was one day amusing himself in this manner, and
making a flock of sheep scatter in all directions, when a black
lamb turned round and looked him in the face. The dog was
quite taken aback, and remained irresolute, until the black lamb
began to dance about and play with him. This generosity of
disposition quite overcame the dog, and he slunk away with his
tail between his legs, and seemed thoroughly confused. Pre-
sently his new-made acquaintance began to challenge him to a
game of play, by cutting all manner of capers round him. By
degrees the dog regained his composure of mind and accepted
the challenge. Off they went, tumbling over each other and
playing like a couple of kittens. They ran off at such a pace,
that tha boy who was in charge of the flock began to tie

599

 
 

THE DOG.

anxious about his lamb, and went to fetch it. The lamb, how-
ever, preferred the company of its new friend to that of the
boy, and refused to come. The owner of the dog then tried to
assist the shepherd by calling off the dog, but the latter paid
no more attention to his master than the lamb did to the
shepherd. For more than a mile and a half did these two
strange playfellows continue their sport; and, as they described
a large circle in so doing, the owner of the dog and the shep-
herd were enabled to cross a stream, by means of a plank,
before the dog and lamb came up. When they came to the
bridge, the shepherd, after repelling several attempts on the
part of the lamb to force the passage, succeeded in securing it
with his crook, and prevented its escape by tying it up in his
plaid. Finding his companion thus subducted, the dog reluc-
tantly obeyed the commands of his master, and slowly followed
him from the spot, while the lamb made every effort to follow
the dog, and tried to gain its pomt by jumping into the
stream. This adventure had rather a singular effect on the
dog, for he ever afterwards abstained from chasing sheep.”

Many curious stories might be told about bull-dogs, but,
unluckily, they are, as a rule, of « most shocking and barbar-
ous character, and to repeat them would be but to gratify the
brutal-minded, and shock those of harmonious intellect. The
following—the shortest, and really one of the least sanguinary
of the number—will serve as a specimen. Scene: a bull-ring,
Birmingham. Period: forty-five years ago.

“Mr. Jackson’s dog, Billy, having been declared the victor,
2 gentleman, well known for his extensive betting transactions,
stepped up to where the dog’s master and his friends were col-
lected round the exhausted Billy. ‘I'll wager fifty pounds to
ten,’ said the gentleman, ‘that he don’t pin another bull within
two hours of this.’ ‘Pshaw,’ replied Mr. Jackson, ‘you
would lose your money, sir. He could do it with his front
paw lopped orf.’ ‘TJ’ll wager five fifties to five tens he don't,’
laughed the gentleman. ‘Done!’ replied Mr. Jackson; and
calling for a cleaver he at a blow lopped off a paw, and, a fresh
bull being provided, the gallant ‘Billy,’ without a moment’s
hesitation, limped to the charge on his three legs. The applause
of the crowd was tremendous. ‘I'll double stakes that he
does the trick on two feet,’ exclaimed the delighted Mr. Jack-
son. ‘Done!’ said the gentleman; and again the cleaver was
called into operation, and poor Billy’s front props reduced to
stumps. Still the brave dog was nothing daunted, and tackled

600

 
 

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his bull as bravely as ever. ‘The cheers were deafening. ‘I'll
once more double stakes that he finishes him with no feet,’
roared Mr. Jackson. The wager was. accepted, and, to the
astonishment of all present, the poor creature hobbled to the
bull and made good his grip, thus winning for his master little
short of a thousand pounds.” Good old times!

The bull-terrier, next to the bull-dog, is more remarkable
than any other of the canine race for courage and unflinching
endurance of pain. It is this creature that is so famous for its
extermination of rats, and though, when full-bred, it weighs no
more than six or seven pounds, it has been known to destroy
fifty rats, each weighing nearly, or quite, a pound, in less than
half an hour. One of the most celebrated of this family was a
little creature whose weight was only five pounds and a half,
and who during his life was supposed to have killed at least
five thousand rats, the weight of which may be safely com-
puted at a ton and a half. He lived till a good old age, ané
died the death of a ratter. ‘“ He happened to hear or to smell
a rat which was in a cage in another room; and, being chained
in an adjoining apartment and unable even to see the rat, he
chafed and fretted himself into such feverish agitation that he
died a short time afterwards, although allowed to kill the rat.”

The behaviour of one of these ratting dogs in the rat-pit was
some time ago described by a writer in “ Fraser’s Magazine,”
and is so humorous, and at the same time so graphic, that I
will present the reader with an abridgment.

* At last Pincher is produced and handed over to his second
in the pit. He is a very lean dog, with a great development
of rib and jaw, calm and self-possessed, not in the least ner-
yous or excited, but treating the whole affair as a matter of
business. From the very arms of his ‘ second’ he looks down
on the rats with an eye professional and critical, settling in his
own mind what particular sewer they were bred in, making a
rough estimate of their average size and condition, and com-
paring them, considered as a lot, with the last batch he
disposed of On the signal being given, Pincher is placed on
the floor, and immediately plunges his snout into one of the
rat-heaps. For a few seconds there is a steady sound of snap,
crunch, craunch, snap, showing that he is doing good business ;
after which he raises his head a moment for breath, and then,
thinking he has done enough for the present in that quarter,
transfers his attention to the next heap. By this time the rata
are fully alive to the fact of their position, and are running:

 
 

THE DOG.

about with considerable liveliness, promoted in some degree
by the attendant who stirs them up with his foot. And now
I perceive in Pincher a want of generalship which makes me
very much inclined to back time, if I knew how to do it. In-
stead of steadily sticking to one heap, and finishing it off
before he begins on another, he allows himself to be seduced
into desultory dashes at loose and unattached rats which
sometimes lead him a long chase, and entail on him a con-
siderable waste of time and breath. I am afraid the excel-
lent dog has never read Coleridge’s useful little book on
Method.

“Meantime the clock, as Bon Gaultier says, is ‘ticking
onwards,’ and the tale of rats is far from complete. The floor
is strewn with the jerking bodies of the moribund, but the
living still muster pretty strong in the corners, and dodge
between Pincher’s legs with provoking activity, and now the
excitement becomes perfectly savage. The backers of time,
who were at first a little despondent, are in high feather, as
the minute-hand approaches the fatal point, while the sup-
porters of Pincher bang the sides of the pit with the frantic
energy of despair, and stimulate their champion with yells of
‘Hi, Pincher!’ ‘Ah, Pincher!’ ‘Yah, Pincher!’ ‘ Hurrah,
Pincher!’ Pincher himself looks as if it had dawned on him
that he has overrated himself. Still he buckles to his work
dogfully, and chops, and snaps, and crunches, with the perse-
vering pluck of a bull-terrier and a Briton. But no, my
Pincher ; it is not to be done—on this occasion, at least. The
decisive word is uttered; time is up. One more victory is
added to the triumphs of that calm old vanquisher of dogs-and
men; one more laurel is turned round his bald brow. Time
is the victor by nine rats; and Pincher the vanquished leaves
the pit a sadder and a wiser dog. As I go out I see him at
the bar in conversation with a rough Scotch-terrier. He is
evidently telling him how, after the sixty-fourth rat, he knew
he had no chance, and how he never could kill rats satisfac-
torily in that pit.”

Of course, it is only by constant attention to the breed of
the bull-terrier that it is reduced to its naturally light and
elegant shape, while it still retains in its blood all the “ bull.”
The first progeny of the true terrier and the bull-dog, although
decidedly far from beautiful, is excellent for activity and
indomitable pluck. It was one of these that Mr. Anderson—
of Lake Ngami celebrity—possessed, and in the praise of which

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he is so eloquent. Here is one of the little dog’s exploits.
Mr. Anderson had wounded a huge rhinoceros, which somehow
managed to escape a few hundred yards and then came to a
stand.

“At break of day my men were on his trail. He had still
strength enough to make a dash at them; and would pro-
bably have laid hold on some of them had not a small bitch
(half terrier and half bull-dog, and called Venus in derision of
her ugliness) caught the enraged animal by the lower lip,
where she stuck with such tenacity that the rhinoceros, with
all his fury, was unable to shake her off. She only relin-
quished her hold when her huge antagonist was fairly laid
-prostrate by a ball. The sagacity of this favourite dog was
as great as her courage. Being now in a game country, all
sorts of beasts of prey abounded, more especially jackals, which
might be seen running about by dozens. In order not to
frighten the elephant and other large animals, we were in the
habit of encamping some little way from the water, to which
Miss Venus regularly resorted to bathe and drink. On seeing
a jackal, she instantly crouched, looking very timid. Reynard
mistaking her posture for an indication of fear, and probably
thinking that from her diminutive size she would prove an
easy conquest, boldly approached the supposed victim. But
he had reckoned without his host; for the instant that the
cunning dog found her antagonist sufficiently near, she leapt
like a cat at his throat, and, once there, the beast had no
chance. She then returned to the camp, where her contented
looks and bleeding jaws soon attracted the attention of the men,
who immediately went on her track and brought in the jackal,
who was valued on account of his fur.”

“I once possessed a dog, a pointer,” writes a friend of the
Rev. J. G. Wood, “whose nose, sight, and instinct were well
developed; and, as he was my companion for many a day, and
my ouly friend for many months, some of his peculiarities
may not be uninteresting. ;

“The dog could point a partridge, but would eat it too if he
had a chance; and often when I could not take a day’s shoot-
ing I have observed my dog doing a little amateur work on hia
own account. Very successful also was he in this occupation,
and he frequently dined on a partridge or quail which he had
gained by means of his own skill. There was no concealing the
fact, however, that he was an arrant coward, and he himself

was perfectly conscious of this defect. As is usual amongst
603

 
eine a a ee
THE DOG,

men, he endeavoured to conceal his weakness by the aid of s
formidable exterior, and few who knew him not would ever
venture to insinuate that he was not brave as a lion. If he
happened to encounter any other dog with which he was unac-
quainted, he would immediately stand perfectly still, raise his
tail, and keep it very firmly in one position; he would then
elevate. the hair on his back, and, dragging up his jowls, would
exhibit a. formidable array of grinders. Thus exhibiting a by
nc means prepossessing appearance, he would merely growl,
whilst the other dog walked round him, and he thus frequently
prevented any liberties being taken with him. No sooner had
his visitor left him than his attitude would change, and with a
glance as much as to say ‘I did that very well,’ he would jog.
along before me. In spite of his warlike positions, he was once
terribly punished by a little terrier which resided in a butcher’s
shambles. Passing this locality, my dog was set upon before
he had time to study attitudes or assume a pose, so he made
good use of his legs and escaped with a few scratches.

“ Now it happened that among his friends he had one which
was a well-bred bull-terrier, and, after the mauling that he had
received from the butcher’s dog, I noticed that he was very
much oftener with this friend than he had been before. The
next time I attempted to take him past the shambles he
refused, and retreated home. I followed him, and by dint of
whistling, brought him out from his retreat, from which he was
followed by the bull-terrier. The two jogged along very plea-
santly and cheerfully, my dog evidently paying marked atten-
tion to his friend. When we approached the locality of the
shambles, my dog ran along in front, whilst the bull-terrier
followed behind, and both looked as though they were “up” to
something. Opposite the shambles the terrier rushed out at
my dog, which retreated with astonishing precipitancy behind
his friend, who at once collared the assailant, and tumbled him
over to the tune of the joyful barks of my old cur, which had
evidently made with his friend the preliminary arrangement for
this scene.”

That dogs are capable of scheming together, and of carrying
out their schemes jointly or separately, no end of evidence might
be collected. A curious instance of this was once witnessed by
my brother and myself. We were walking through a bye street
in Islington, when there came trotting up the street towards
us two ragged, mud-spattered, cross-bred curs, with “tramp”
and “ beggar” visibly written on their countenances. They were

604

 
 

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young dogs, however, and their poverty was no check on their
spirits, sc they came rollicking along, pushing and cuffing each
other, and performing such tricks as naturally suggest them-
selves to young and depraved minds resolved on vagabondage.
Presently, however, the rather bigger dog assumed a serious
deportment—a change which his companion no sooner observed
then he too became suddenly grave, and the two, instead of
reckless canine ruffians, appeared as slow-going, journey-worn,
poor little dogs, to whom ever so stale ‘a paunch would be a gift
for which to wag their tails till they were loose with gratitude.
Presently the bigger dog left the road, and took ‘to the pave-
ment, along which he slowly walked, while his friend trotted
‘ahead and then stretched himself in the shadow of the kerb,
with his nose on his paws. Meanwhile, dog number one slunk
along the pavement with a most cadger-like gait till he came
to some private houses whose areas were guarded by railings.
Down the first area the dog looked with a professional eye,
paused a moment, and passed on; so with the second; but on
reaching the third house, through the kitchen window of which
some of the inmates were visible, he reared on his hind legs,
and, crooking his front paws imploringly, there he stood for at
least a minute. The folks in the kitchen, however, either did
not observe the petitioner, or else, knowing him as an incor-
rigible beggar, did not think fit to encourage him. Anyhow, he
did not get any relief, though he waited long enough to tire his
mate’s patience, as was evident by the latter getting up and yawn-
ing frightfully. The beggar seemed, from his experience at the
stingy house, to augur ill of the entire street; so, joining his
friend, they ceased to be hypocrites, and renewed the “ larks ”
deferred by the calls of business.

Mr. Smee, in his “ Instinct and Reason,” tells a story in proof
of the assertion that the affection of the dog is natural, and not
dictated by selfish motives. Mr. Smee gives the names and
addresses of the parties concerned, as well as the exact locality in
Germany where the incident occurred. Three dogs were pre-
sent, two belonging to one gentleman and the other to another
gentleman. The three dogs, without the consent of their mas-
ters, started and pursued a rabbit, which finally took refuge in
a burrow, when one of the dogs, carried forward by the ardour
of pursuit, plunged so deeply into the subterraneous opening
that retreat became impossible. “ After having scratched to no
purpose in the hope of extricating him, the two companions
returned home in such a state of sadness and dejection as to bo

 
 

THE DOG.

noticed by their masters, who knew not to what to attribute the
cause. The next day came a fresh disappearance of the two
dogs, which had found a means of joining each other. They
were seen to return in the evening to their respective domiciles,
harassed with fatigue, to refuse every sort of nourishment,
their paws bloody, and their bodies covered with earth and
sweat. At first no attention was paid to what took place; but
the same procedure being repeated on the next and succeeding
days, and M. S. not finding his dog come home, together with
the daily disappearance of his other dog, and his nightly return
in such a dreadful condition, mentioned the circumstance to
M. P., who declared to him that his dog had done the same
thing for a week. Finally, the day following, M. S. was awakened
early in the morning by the cries of several dogs who scratched
at his door. He came down to see what was the matter, and
what was his astonishment, when he saw his dog, which he
thought lost, feeble, languid, and like a mere skeleton, escorted
by its two liberators to the house of its master, and which,
seeing it in his-care, went to sleep tranquilly on a bundle of
straw, scarcely able to move their stiffened limbs. M.S. made
a search to discover the place where this touching scene had
occurred. He discovered that the narrow opening into which
his dog had forced itself was transformed into a large cavity, |j
the working out of which was evidently due to the intelligence
of the two other dogs.”

Sporting dogs, as a whole, seem to discover much more
sagacity, combined with faithfulness to their leading instincts,
than household dogs. The pointer is a marvellous instance of
this. The moment he falls on a scent, he lifts one paw from
the g-ound, and stands on the remaining three, with his face,
back, and tail all forming a straight line. This is his regular
behaviour when the wind is as it should be, and no obstacles
present themselves. This, however, is not invariably the case:
an untoward circumstance sometimes turns up, and the dog is
brought suddenly close to the game. The heat of the chase,
however, is insufficient to disturb the pointer’s sense of duty.
Instantly the twitching muscles are still, and head, body, limbs,
seem suddenly converted into stone. Whatever may have been
the position of his body at the moment the discovery was made,
that position is retained. Sometimes it has happened that
when the pointer has been in the act of springing over a strong
fence, he has hit upon the scent of birds lying close to it, and
he has then been seen to halt suddenly on the top of the wall

608

 
 

THE DOG.

or fence, with his four feet collected together and his body
almost doubled up.

Some capital stories, illustrative of the undying affection of
the dog for its master, are related in a little work, “The Sports-
man’s Cabinet,” and from which the following is abbre-
viated :— f

At Halling, in Kent, there lived a farmer of the name of
Hankes, who had a dog that was remarkably attached to him,
and followed kim about wherever he went. One day he went
to Maidstone market, his faithful canine friend, as usual,
accompanying him. Having occasion to stop there till late in
the evening, he at last proceeded on his way home; but stop-
ping at Aylesford, he there drank so immoderately as to be
quite intoxicated before he again was on his journey home. It
was at a very bad season of the year—the roads, “ at the best
very dangerous to a drunken man,” were covered with snow—
and the night was intensely cold. Having passed the village
of Newhead in safety, he took his way over Snodland Brook.
He had proceeded in safety, till he came to the Willow Walk,
within half a mile of the church, when, by a sudden stagger,
he quitted the path, and passed over a ditch on his right hand.
Not apprehensive he was going astray, he took towards the
river, but having a high bank to mount, and being nearly ex-
hausted with wandering and the effect of the liquor, he was
most fortunately prevented from rising the mound, or he cer-
tainly must have precipitated himself into the Medway. At
this moment, completely overcome, he fell among the snow in
one of the coldest nights ever known, turning upon his back,
and was soon overpowered with sleep or cold.

In this situation the farmer must soon have slumbered in
death ; he was in a desolate country, where, in all probability,
he would never have received any human help. His sole help
depended upon his faithful companion, the dog; nor, in this
emergency, did he prove less sagacious than the most intelligent
human being could have been under the circumstances. The
snow was still falling heavily, and the man would soon have
been buried in it; but the dog cleared all the snow round the
helpless man, so as to form a kind of wall around him. Then,
rolling himself up, he lay on his master’s bosom, thereby pre-
serving the warmth and circulation of the blood; and: se
remained all night, doubtless without closing an eye. The
next morning a.person happened to be passing that way, in
search of wild-fowl, and stumbled across the body of the man—

 
 

THE DOG,

the dog still curled on his breast. Immediately on seeing the
stranger, however, it ran to his side, imploring, in the most
pathetic manner, his assistance for its master. The man was
by this time, to all appearance, perfectly lifeless ; but assistance
being procured, the body was removed to the nearest village,
and, various remedies being applied, he ultimately recovered,
and told the remarkable story of his escape.

In gratitude to his preserver, the farmer had a silver collar
made, to perpetuate the remembrance of this noble deed, which
the dog ever afterwards wore. To its master’s honour be it
recorded, that when, a little time after this event, a gentleman
offered him ten guineas for the animal, the farmer indignantly
refused. “So long,” he said, “as he had a bone to his meat,
or a crust to his bread, he would divide it with the faithful
friend who had preserved his life.”

 

POMERANIAN DOG.

 
 

MOUNT SAINT BERNARD MASTIFF.

One of the most wonderful dog stories ever related appeared
some time ago in that highly respectable medical journal the
Lancet,— a sufficient guarantee, it may be fairly assumed, for
its authenticity. It is an important feature of the narrative
that the owner of the dogs was a gentleman of good means,
who trained the animals solely for his amusement and that of
his friends :—

“Two fine dogs, of the Spanish breed, were introduced by
M. Léonard, with the customary French politesse—the largest,
by the name of M. Philax; the other, as M. Brac (or Spot).
The former had been in training three, the latter two years.
They were in vigorous health, and having bowed very grace-
fully, seated themselves on the hearth-rug side by side. M.
Léonard then gave a lively description of the means he had
employed to develop the cerebral system in these animals; how,
from having been fond of the chase, and ambitious of possess-
ing the best trained dogs, he had employed the usual course of
training—how the conviction had been impressed on his mind,
that by gentle usage, and steady perseverance in inducing the
animal to repeat again and again what was required — not
only would the dog be capable of performing that specific act,

but that part of the brain which was brought into activity by
17 sd
THE DOG.

the mental effort would become more largely developed, and
hence a permanent increase of mental power be obtained. This
reasoning is in accordance with the known laws of the physi-
ology of the nervous system, and is fraught with the most
important results. We may refer the reader interested in the
subject to the masterly little work of Doctor Verity, ‘Change
produced in the Nervous System by Civilization.’ After this
introduction, M. Léonard spoke to his dogs in French, in his
usual tone, and ordered one of them to walk, the other to lie
down, to run, to gallop, halt, crouch, &c., which they performed
as promptly and correctly as the most docile children. Then
he directed them to go through the usual exercises of the
manége, which they performed as well as the best-trained ponies
at Astley’s. He next placed six cards of different colours on
the floor, and, sitting with his back to the dogs, directed one to
pick up the blue card, and the other the white, &c., varying his
orders rapidly, and speaking in such a manner that it was
impossible the dogs could have executed his commands if
they had not a perfect knowledge of the words. For instance,
M. Léonard said, ‘Philax, take the red card and give it to
Brac; and Brac, take the white card and give it to Philax.’
The dogs instantly did this, and exchanged cards with each
other. He then said, ‘ Philax, put your card on the green;
and Brac, put yours on the blue,’ and this was instantly per-
formed. Pieces of bread and meat were placed on the floor,
with figured cards, and a variety of directions were given to the
dogs, so as to put their intelligence and obedience to a severe
test. They brought the meat, bread, or cards, as commanded,
but did not attempt to eat or to touch, unless ordered. Philax
was then ordered to bring a piece of meat and give it to Brac,
and then Brac was told to give it back to Philax, who was to
return it to its place. Philax was next told he might bring a
piece of bread and eat it; but, before he had time to swallow
it, his master forebade him, and directed him to show-that he
had not disobeyed, and the dog instantly protruded the crust
between his lips.”

This, however, was not the most curious of the performances
of the wonderful animals. The account proceeds —* Presently:
M. Léonard invited a gentleman to play a game of dominoes
with one of the animals. The younger and slighter dog then
seated himself on a chair at the table, and the writer and
M. Léonard seated themselves opposite. Six dominoes were
placed on their edges in the usual manner before the dog, and

10

 
 

THE DOG.

a like number before the writer. The dog having a double
number, took one up in his mouth, and put it in the middle of
the table; the writer played a corresponding piece on one
side; the dog immediately played another correctly ; and so on
till all the pieces were engaged. Other six dominoes were then
given to each, and the writer intentionally played a wrong
number. The dog looked surprised, stared very earnestly at
the writer, growled, and finally barked angrily. Finding that
no notice was taken of his remonstrance, he pushed away the
wrong domino with his nose, and taking up a suitable one from
his uwn pieces, played it instead. The writer then played
correctly; the dog followed, and won the game.”

The lady whose name has already been used in connection
with the King Charles spaniel story tells a pleasant anecdote
of dogs working in concert, though not in so peaceable a manner
as is revealed by the foregoing narrative. The lady possessed,
a small retriever—very pretty, but very hot tempered—named
Charger, and another dog—a tremendous mastiff — named
Neptune. Charger’s deportment towards his big relative was
no less insolent than towards the rest of the world, but the
great dog was a generous fellow, and either pretended not to
hear the petty abuse of the other, or else looked amused and
wagged his tail.

“ But,” says Mrs. Hall, “all dogs were not equally chari-
table, and Charger had a long-standing quarrel with a huge
bull-dog, I believe it was—for it was ugly and ferocious enough
to be a bull-dog—belonging to a butcher—the only butcher
within a circuit of five miles—who lived at Carrick, and was
called the Lad of Carrick. He was very nearly as authorita-
-tive as his bull-dog. It chanced that Charger and the bull-dog
had met somewhere, and the result was, that our beautiful
retriever was brought home so fearfully mangled that it was a
question whether it should not be shot at once, everything like
recovery seeming impossible.

“But I really think Neptune saved his life. The trusty
friend applied himself to carefully licking his wounds, hanging
over him with such tenderness, and gazing at his master with
such mute entreaty, that it was resolved to leave the dogs
together for that night. The devotion of the great dog knew
no change; he suffered any of the people to dress his friend’s
wounds, or feed him, but he growled if they attempted to
remove him, Although at the. end of ten or twelve days he
could limp to the sunny spots of the lawn—always attended

611

 
 

THE DOG.

by Neptune,—it was quite three months before Charger was
himself again, and his recovery was entirely attributed to Nep-
tune, who ever after that was called Doctor Neptune—a
distinction which he received with his usual gravity. Now,
here I must say that Neptune was never quarrelsome. He
was a very large liver-coloured dog, with huge firm jaws, and
those small cunning eyes which I always think detract from
the beauty of the head of the Newfoundland; his paws were
pillows, and his chest broad and firm. He was a dignified,
gentlemanly dog, who looked down on the ordinary run of
quarrels as quite beneath him. If grievously insulted he
would lift up the aggressor in his jaws, shake him, and let him
go—if he could go—that was all. But in his heart of hearts
he resented the treatment his friend had received.

“ So when Charger was fully recovered, the two dogs set of
together to the Hill of Carrick, a distance of more than a mile
from their home, and then and there set upon the bull-dog.
While we were at breakfast the butler came in with the infor-
mation that something had gone wrong, for both Neptune and
Charger had come home covered with blood and wounds, and
were licking each other in the little stable. This was quickly
followed by a visit from the bristly Lad of Carrick, crying like
a child,—the great rough-looking bear of a man—because our
dogs had gone up the Hill and killed his pup, “ Bluenose.”
‘The two fell on him,’ he said, ‘together, and now you could
hardly tell his head from his tail.’ It was a fearful retribution ;
but even his master confesscd that Bluenose deserved his fate,
and every cur in the country rejoiced that he was dead.”

Jesse relates a story of a dog of a sporting tendency, and
which belonged to a master of the same inclination. The gen-
tleman, however, was a very bad shot, a failing which the dog,
who usually accompanied him, took very much to heart. Once
or twice missing, the hound didn’t mind—that will happen to
the most accomplished sportsman—but if, after banging away
for half an hour, no fall of feathers resulted, the indignant
brute would grow more and more angry till at last he
would fly at the unlucky sportsman, and fiercely shake any
part of his raiment he could catch in his jaws. “ This,” says
Mr. Jesse, “is much the case with my old terrier, Peter. He
accompanies me when I am trolling, watches every throw with
much anxiety, and shows great impatience and some degree of
anger if I am a long time without taking a fish; when I do
he appears delighted.”

612

 
THE DOG.

The same authority relates an anecdote exhibiting the dog
in a new and not very creditable light. Here we have the
noble animal faithful unto death even to the shivering beggar,
turned wolf—not a savage wolf of the wilderness, but a polite
and polished wolf, growing fat on the bounty of the traveller,
instead of on the traveller’s carcase.

The gentlemen who related the story to Mr. Jesse were
riding from Geneva to Basle, when they discovered a fine-look-
ing dog following them. The coachman disclaimed any know-
ledge of the animal, which continued with the carriage through
the whole of the day’s journey. “When we stopped for the
night, by close attendance on us as we alighted, and sundry
wags of the tail, looking up into our faces, he installed himself
in our good graces, and claimed to be enrolled a regular
member of the cortége. ‘Give that poor dog a good supper,
for he has followed us all day,’ was the direction to the people
of the inn; and I took care to see it obeyed. This affair of
the dog furnished conversation after our dinner. We were
unanimous in the conviction that we had done nothing to
entice the animal, and washed our hands of any intention to
steal him. We concluded that he had lost his master, and, as
all well-educated and discriminating dogs will do in such a
dilemma, that he had adopted other protectors, and had shown
his good sense and taste in the selection. It was clear, there-
fore, that we were bound to take care of him.

“ He was a stout dog, with a cross of the mastiff in him;
an able-bodied trudger, well formed for scuffing in a market-
place. He was a dog also of much self-possession. In our
transits through the villages he paid but little attention to the
curs which now and then attacked him. He followed us to
Basle; we assigned to him the name of Carlo, which he had
already learned to answer readily; we became quite attached
to him, and the affection appeared to be mutual. At Basle
we told the innkeeper the story, and added, that we had now
nothing to do but to take the dog to England with us, as we
could not shake him off. The landlord smiled. ‘ Why,’ said
I, ‘is it your dogP’ ‘No,’ said he. ‘Does he belong to any
one you know?’ ‘No,’ replied the host. ‘Why do you smile
then?’ ‘Vous verrez.’? ‘Well, but explain.’ ‘ Well, then,’
said the landlord, ‘ this dog, which belongs to no one, is in the
habit of attaching himself to travellers passing between this
place and Geneva. He has often been at my house before. I
know the dog well. Be assured he will not go farther with

613
THE DOG.

you.’ We smiled in our turn: the dog’s affection was so very
marked.

“The next morning the dog was about as usual. He came
to us, and received a double portion of caresses for past ser-
vices, also some food in consideration of the long trot before
him. The horses were to—we sprang into the carriage, and
off we started. Hie Carlo! Carlo!—hie Carlo! Not a leg
did he wag, but only his tail. Carlo—Carlo—Carlo !—The
deuce a bit did he stir. He stood watching us with his eyes
for a few seconds, as we rolled along, and then, turning round,
walked leisurely up the inn-yard! ‘Whilst the confounded
landlord stood at his door, laughing!”

In cases where animals of totally different natures have
exhibited an undoubted affection for each other—as between
wolves and children, and cats and mice, naturalists, Jesse
among the number, have endeavoured to explain the matter in
a way more prosaic than pleasant. Of the wolf that carried
off the child and tenderly nursed it in its den, and of the gri-
malkin caught in the act of suckling a mouse, they say that
selfishness and not affection is at the bottom of it; that the
savage she-animals finding themselves, through the loss of their
young, or some other accident, incommoded by their teeming
udders, are content to sink their animosity for their proper
prey, in the relief and pleasure they experience in having their
teats drawn.

 
THE DOG.

IHE MANAGEMENT OF PUPPIES.

Should your canine she-pet have pups, it will be well to adopt
the following directions. Don’t handle them during the first
week any more than is absolutely necessary. The mother will
be spared consierable anxiety if you observe this. Beyond
making her a comfortable bed, or, rather, supplying her with
comfortable bedding material, and allowing her plenty of good
food, your attentions may be spared. You must, however, be
careful that excessive fondness for her progeny does not so far
lead her to neglect exercise as to injure her health. No doubt
she will, on the day following the birth of her family, be very
loth to respond to your whistle, and would much rather stay at
home and cuddle her babies than go a-walking. In this, how-
ever,—always assuming her to be a healthy animal,—she must
not be indulged. Take her a short walk—say of a mile’s
length, and then let her return to her family. Afterwards, she
may be expected to get about pretty much as usual.

Some she-dogs are averse to suckling the pups they give
birth to; others will, as is the case with cats, rabbits, and other
animals, eat them as soon as they come into the world. Both
sorts of dog are, of course, objectionable ; but, in my opinion,
the last-mentioned is least so. The she that evinces no in
clination to give suck to her pups, is, in all probability, physi-
cally incapable of performing that necessary function, and will
remain so, to the expense and perplexity of her owner, as long
as she lives; but the disposition to cannibalism is not likely to
be a fixed propensity. .As no satisfactory cause for the ap-
parently unnatural act has yet been assigned, one cannot be
wrong in choosing to ascribe it to benevolent, rather than to
malicious motives. One thing is certain, that the animal may
eat her pups once, and never, in the whole course of her life,
repeat the eccentricity. Indeed, it has been remarked that
such dogs are generally among the most affectionate and well
disposed. :

As before stated, the mother of the pups must be generously
fed. Healthy pups will, after the first few days, add at least
an ounce daily to their weight; and in cases where the un-
lucky mother has five or six youngsters, it may be easily
imagined that the drain on her system must be enormous—
five ounces of puppy-flesh and bone to be realized from her

teats! At the same time, it must of course be borne in mind
615
THE DOG.

that discrimination as regards feeding must be observed as
scrupulously now as at any other time.

With dogs of value, especially “toy ” dogs, there is a natural
desire on the part of the owner to save as many of each litter
as possible, and he need be in no fear but that the affectionate
parent will gladly second his designs,—frequently, however, with
lamentable results to all parties. Dogs of choice breeds, espe-
cially those of smaller size, are seldom particularly strong, and
cram them with as much nourishment as you please, they are
still unable to produce sufficient milk for the maintenance of
the little troop of gluttons. You may easily ascertain if her
strength is being over-taxed. While she is suckling, her coun-
tenance, instead of being expressive of unmistakable pleasure
and content, will wear a nervous, jaded air, and she will from
time to time “nose” among the restless suckers, as though
conveying the gentlest hint in the world that they have been
pulling a longish time, and now, perhaps, wouldn’t mind letting
mother have a bit of a rest. She does not recline easily with
her progeny at her dugs, but lies along the ground and pants,
as though, as is actually the case, her very life was being drained
out of her. She will get up and go creeping about the house
in the most anxious and melancholy way, and maternal care
presently conquering bodily pain, back she will go to the kennel,
to be at once seized by the hungry pups, who, of course, pull
all the harder for there being little to pull at. The end of this
is that the poor mother has fainting fits.

There is but one way of saving the poor animal. The fits
of themselves are not imminently dangerous, but they indicate
a state of such extreme weakness, that the dog may be said to
be bound straight for death, unless the existing condition of
things be altered. Tonics must be administered and the mother
at once removed from her progeny. As to the latter, you
must either bring them up by hand or provide them with a
foster parent.

As a rule, the hand-raised puppy will at the end of a month
be sufficiently established in life to be equal, in a certain degree,
to the business of self-feeding. Its tender mouth, however,
must not at first be too severely tasked. A mixture of finely-
shredded meat, mixed with soaked ship-biscuit or boiled rice,
1s as good food as any.
THE DOG.

 

TOW TO FEED THE DOG.

Not one among our catalogue of Home Pets stands so likely
a chance of being “killed by kindness” as the domestic dog ;
the gentle murder being rendered more easy of accomplishment
through the creature himself being only too happy, not only to
accept the “ forbidden fruit,” but most pertinaciously to solicit
it. I have heard the fair owners of “lap” dogs—those un-
fortunate canine wretches whose diminutive size, or the fashion-
able colour and texture of their coats, render fit and proper
occupants of the parlour and drawing-room—justify their
treatment of them in the most amusing ways: one persisting
that an animal of such a high order of intellect as the dog
would never choose to eat anything hurtful to its constitution ;
another, that since wholesome meat and milk were beneficial to
human beings, they must be good for dogs; another, that
it might be all very well, as regarded the dog’s health, to feed it
on such coarse and nasty food as paunch and plain rice, but
that it stood to sense that such feeding must tend to deterio-
rate the silkiness of “darling Floss’s” coat, and render his
body gross and unbearable.

This last, although, perhaps, the most ludicrous error, is
most serious, because it is most common. What, however, says
a sound and modern authority on this subject ? “‘ Animals not
worked, but kept as favourites, or allowed only to range at
pleasure, should not have any meat, or be permitted to consume
any large quantity of fatty substances. Butter, fat, or grease,
THE DOG.

soon renders the skin of the dog diseased, and its body gross.
Milk, fine bread, cakes, or sugar, are better fare for children ;
given to the brute, they are apt to generate disorder, which a
long course of medicine will not in every case eradicate. Nice
food, or that which a human being would so consider, is, in
fact, not fitted to support the dog in health. It may appear
offensive to ladies when they behold their favourites gorge
rankly, but Nature has wisely ordaivied that her numerous
children should, by their difference of appetite, consume the
produce of the earth. The dog, therefore, can enjoy and thrive
on that which man thinks of with disgust; but our reason sees
in this circumstance no fact worthy of our exclamation. The
animal seeking the provender its Creator formed it to relish is
not necessarily unclean... ... The spaniel which, bloated with
sweets, escapes from the drawing-room to amuse itself with a
bone picked from a dunghill, follows but the inclination of its
kind, and, while tearing with its teeth the dirt-begrimed morsel,
it is, according to its nature, daintily employed..... An
occasional bone, and even a little dirt, are beneficial to the
canine race; while food nicely minced, and served on plates, is
calculated to do harm. Rich and immoderate living fattens to
excess, destroys activity, renders the bowels costive, and causes
the teeth to be encrusted with tartar.”

First, concerning the sort of food that should be given to
house-dogs, little or big.

Meat, when allowed, cannot be of too coarse a quality; the
shin or the cheek of the ox being preferable to the ribs or but-
tocks; it should be lean. Paunch is excellent meat for dogs, and
to aristocratic bow-wows it may be given in the form of tripe.
Never allow your dog to eat what is commonly known as “ cat’s-
meat.” I am loth to say a word that may work ill towards any
branch of industry, but there is little doubt that the abolition
of the “cat’s-meat” business would be an immense benefit to
the canine and feline races. Consider the long odds that exist
against the chance of the horseflesh being nutritious P First,
it may be safely reckoned that at least a fourth of the number
of horses killed are diseased. Secondly, it is generally pitched
into the cauldron almost before it is cold; and as it does notin
the least. concern either the wholesale or the retail dealer,
whether the meat be lean or tough, very little attention is paid
to the boiling. Thirdly, the retail dealer—the peripatetic cat’s-
meat man—as a rule, brings the meat hot from the copper, and
though, perhaps, equally as a rule, yet by no means as an
THE DOG,

exception, souses it into cold water to make it cut “ firm.”
After these explanations, the owner of a dog may judge of the
nutriment to be derived from cat’s-meat.

Bullock’s liver is good for dogs, not as the staple of its food,
as it is laxative, but say twice a week, when its medicinal pro-
perties will be beneficial ; besides that, it breaks the monotony
of “paunch for dinner.” It is much more laxative in a raw
than a boiled state. It will be well to bear in mind that raw
meat is more stimulative than cooked meat; consequently, for
idle dogs the latter is preferable. Oatmeal porridge is good
for dogs, so is ship-biscuit. Rice is excellent, besides being
very cheap. <A pound of shin of beef boiled, and the broth
saved, and a pound of rice boiled the next day in the broth,
will serve a hearty dog nearly a week. Persons having lap-
dogs will find the keep upon rice, properly seasoned or soaked
in gravy, less likely to render them gross, and their bodies
inodorous, than dining them daily from the family-jomt. Never
give a dog warm meat; sooner or later, it will certainly en-
feeble digestion.

For dogs that are ill, food should be prepared with extreme
care. Sickness cannot be relieved without troubie, and in
many cases an animal requires as much attention as a child.
To gain success neither time nor labour must be spared. No-
thing smoked or burnt, no refuse or tainted flesh, must on any
account be made use of. The meat may be coarse, but it should
be fresh and wholesome. Dirty saucepans or dishes ought not
to be employed; and so very important are these circumstances,
that the practitioner who engages in dog-practice will often
surprise. his acquaintances by being seen at market, or busied
over the fire. Beef-tea is one of the articles which, in extreme
cases, is of great service. Few servants, however, make it
properly, and where a dog is concerned, there are fewer still
who will credit that any pains should be bestowed on the
decoction.

This is the way the beef-tea should be prepared. Take half-
a-pound of beef, cut from the neck or round is better than any
other part; but it does not matter how coarse the quality may
be. Divest the beef of every particle of skin and fat, and
mince it as fine as sausage-meat. Putitintoa clean saucepan,
with a pint of water, and stand it on the hob at such a dis-
tance from the fire that it will be half-an-hour before it boils.
Let it boil ten minutes; set it aside to cool; skim off what

fat there may be on the surface, and, without the addition of
619
THE DOG.

salt or any kind of seasoning, the beef-tea is ready for your
canine patients. However, we will say no more of sick dogs
at present ; they will be treated of presently.

Feed your dog once a day, and do not give him his food on a
plate. That is a politeness he can very well dispense with;
besides that, his health will be advantaged by a waiving of
such ceremony. Throw him his meat on the floor—not on to
a paved or plank floor, but on the earth. The quantity of
the latter he will swallow with his meat will not hurt him:
on the contrary, it will stimulate his intestines. Feed him
regularly. Reflect on your own case, and on what an annoying,
not to say painful, thing it is to be kept hungry two or three
hours after your customary dinner-time, and be merciful. As
to the quantity of food with which a dog should be supplied, |
it is impossible to direct, as, like men, no two dogs eat alike,
and many a healthy little dog will comfortably stow away
as much as would serve a big dog for two meais. The
owner of a dog, however, may easily ascertain the wholesome!
limit of his dog’s appetite. Set before him in a corner, where
he will not be disturbed, an ample allowance, or more, and,
unobserved, keep your eye on him. If he be in health, he’
will set to, and not abate his industry till he feels comfort-
ably full; then he will raise his head, and move away from
the remnants. Marking this, and to save him eating to re-
pletion, as he certainly will, if allowed, you will remove what
is left, and so learn what should be his regular allowance.

A large, hard bone thrown to the dog very frequently will
be useful to him; not for the sake of what he may pick off
it—indeed, the less there is on it the better—but to keep
his teeth in order. Concerning bones generally, however, the
remarks of Mr. Edward Mayhew may be studied with profit.
“ A dog in strong health may digest an occasional meal of
bones; but the ‘pet’ has generally a weak, and often a
diseased stomach, which would be irritated by what would
otherwise do no harm. The animal, nevertheless, true to its
instincts, has always an inclination to swallow such substances,
provided its teeth can break off a piece of convenient size for
deglutition. Game and chicken bones, which are readily
crushed, should therefore be withheld, for not unfrequently is
choking caused by pieces sticking in the cesophagus; though
more often is vomiting induced by irritation of the stomach,
or serious impactment of the posterior intestine ensues upon
the feebleness of the digestion.”

820
THE DOG.

Concerning “ scraps,” too, the last-quoted authority has
something instructive to communicate. “ However strict may
be the orders, and however sincere may be the disposition to
observe them, scraps will fall; bits will be thrown down;
dishes will be placed on the ground; and sometimes affection
will venture to offer ‘just a little piece,’ which no one could
call feeding. It is astonishing how much will in this way be
picked up, for the dog that lies most before the kitchen fire
is generally the fattest, laziest, and at feeding-time the best
behaved of the company. Consequently, no dog should be
allowed to enter the kitchen, for their arts in working upon
mortal frailty can only be met by insisting on their absence.
The dog that is well fed and not crammed should not refuse
bread when it is offered. If this be rejected, while sugar is
snapped eagerly, it will be pretty certain either that the
animal is too much indulged, or that its health requires
attention.” ‘

DOG-WASHING.

Dogs if properly treated will but seldom require washing.
Frequent washing, especially where soap, soda, &c., is used,
renders the hair harsh and rough, and much more liable to
catch the dirt than the hair of the dog treated as arule by the
dry process. All that is required is a comb with a fine and
a coarse end, and a stiff brush. It should be combed and brushed
regularly every morning, and if it is allowed to get its coat
muddied the mud should stay on till it is quite dry, when it
may be dusted and brushed out without leaving a stain.

An occasional wash will be beneficial, but in the coldest
weather the chill only should be taken off the water, and the
yolk of an egg used instead of and in the same manner as soap.
Many a thin-skinned dog, could it but speak, might tell of the
agonies it had endured through the application of coarse soap
to ita sensitive body. His eyes smart, his skin burns, and if
in the event of your not thoroughly rinsing the latter from it
he attempts to finish off with a few licks of his tongue, he is
made sick and ill. If egg be used all these difficulties may be
obviated. As useful a lather as soap lather is produced, it
does not burn the animal’s skin, and if he wishes to “ plume”
himself, after his nature, he will not be made ill. A small
dog, say a Skye terrier, will not require more than the yolk of
a single egg.

Never use luke or even warm water in dog-washing ; nothing
THE DOG.

is more debilitating to the system; the animal will feel faint
and weak, and not at all disposed to frisk about after his
immersion. This is the worst part of the business, as it is
utterly impossible thoroughly to dry the coat of a long-haired
dog, and violent cold is the result.

A cold bath, which is of course altogether different from a
cold wash, will not hurt a robust dog even if it be practised
every morning. Here again, however, there are one or two
important rules to be observed. Do not allow the dog’s head
to be plunged under water; it does no sort of good, and inflicts
on it a certain amount of pain. Even if it be a stupid dog,
and unable to keep its head above water, a very little assist-
ance from you, applied to the nape of the neck, will effect the
purpose. With the other hand the dog’s coat should be stirred
and roughed so that it be thoroughly saturated.

In this case, as in washing, it is almost useless trying to dry
the animal by means of the towel; dried, however, he must be,
and that by his own bodily exertion. In all probability he will
be much more inclined to skulk by the kitchen fire than to
scamper about, in which case you must rouse him, and either
take or send him out fora run. A good plan, if you live in
the country, is to take him a mile or so out and then give him
a dip in a brook; if he take deep offence at the proceeding, and
scamper home as hard as his legs will carry him, so much the
better for his health. If, however, you would try the same
trick the next morning you had better pass a string through
his collar, otherwise he will never be induced to approach the
scene of yesterday’s discomfiture.

TARASITES.

For the destruction of fleas a well-known authority directs
as follows: “The dog must be taken from the place where it
has been accustomed to sleep. The bed must be entirely
removed and the kennel sluiced—not merely washed—with
boiling water, after which it should be painted with spirits of
turpentine. The dog itself ought to be washed with eggs and
water with a teaspoonful of turpentine to each egg-yolk.
After this the animal should have yellow-deal shavings to
sleep on, and if they are frequently renewed the annoyance will
seldom be again complained of: As, however, exceptional
cases will always start up, should the tribe not be entirely dis-
persed the washing must be repeated, or if from want of time

or other cause it be inconvenient to repeat the operation, a
628
THE DOG.

little powdered camphor rubbed into the coat will abate and
often eradicate the nuisance.”

For fleas and other skin-biting pests Mr. Wood recommends
“Persian Insect Destroying Powder” to be applied in the fol-
lowing manner: “ First dust the dog well with the substance
until every portion of him has received a few particles of the
powder, and then put him into a strong canvass bag in which
a handful of the powder has been placed and shake well about,
so as to distribute it equally over the interior of the bag.
Leave his head protruding from the bag, and put on his head
and neck a linen rag in which are holes for his nose and eyes,
and let the interior of the rag be well coated with the powder.
Lay him on the ground and let him tumble about as much
as he desires, the more the better. In an hour or two
let him out of the bag and scrub his coat well with a stiff
brush. In a week or so the operation should be repeated in
order to destroy the creatures that have been produced from
the unhatched eggs that always resist the power of the destruc-
tive powder.”

Another remedy is to take the dog into an apartment where
grease-spots on the floor are of no particular consequence and
saturate his coat completely with castor oil. Such is applied
with the hand, but it may be done with a brush. So leave it
for twelve hours, and then cleanse the animal with yolk of egg
and water. This, however, although an effective process, is a
troublesome and an expensive one, as a small dog will require
quite a pound of the oil, and a large dog, such as a Newfound-
land, four or five pounds.

  

MALTESK DOG.

 
THE DOG.

DISEASES OF THE DONG.

Let us start with the most terrible of all, Hydrophobia;
the most terrible, because, as says a celebrated dog-doctor,
“of the causes or treatment of the disorder we know nothing,
neither, considering the nature of the study, are we likely to
learn!” Where, then, is the use of writing on such a painful sub-
ject P More uses than one, good reader. To enable you to recognize
in your own pet the earlier stages of the disease, should it be
unluckily so afflicted ; to endeavour to demonstrate a fact which
it is to be feared is too little understood, that a rabid dog is not
a malicious enemy to mankind, but a poor, suffering brute, to
be regarded pitifully.

The most graphic account of the commencement, progress,
and termination of Hydrophobia in the dog ever written, is to
be found, together with a wealth of other canine information,
in a work lately published by Mr. Edward Mayhew, M.R.C.V.S.
The description is so thoroughly excellent, that I shall take the
liberty of quoting it entire.

“The dog that is going mad feels unwell for a long time prior
to the full development of the disease. He is very ill; but he
does not know what ails him. He feels nasty, dissatisfied with
everything, vexed without a reason, and, greatly against his
better nature, very snappish. Feeling thus, he longs to avoid
all annoyance by being alone. This makes him seem strange
to those unaccustomed to him. This sensation induces him to
seek solitude. But there is another reason that decides his
choice of a resting-place. The sun is to him an instrument of
torture, which he therefore studies to avoid, for his brain aches
and feels, as it were, a trembling jelly. This induces the poor
brute to find out the holes and corners where he is least likely
to be noticed, and into which the light is unable to enter. If
his retreat be discovered, and his master’s voice bid him come
forth, the countenance of the faithful creature brightens, his
tail beats the ground, and he leaves his hiding-place, anxious
to obey the loved authority; but before he has gone half the
distance, a kind of sensation comes over him which produces an
instantaneous change in his whole appearance. He seems to
say to himself, ‘ Why cannot you let me alone? Go away—
do go away! You trouble and pain me,’ and thereon he sud-
denly turns tail, and darts back to his dark corner. If let
alone, there he will remain, perhaps frothing a little at the

624
 

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mouth, and drinking w great deal of water, but not issuing
from his hiding-place to seek food.

“ His appetites are altered. Hair, straw, dirt, filth, tar,
shavings, stones, the most noisome and unnatural substances
are the delicacies for which the poor dog, changed by disease,
longs and swallows in hope to ease his burning stomach. Still,
he does not desire to bite mankind; he rather endeavours to
avoid society; he takes long journeys of thirty or forty miles in
extent, and lengthened by all kinds of accidents, to vent his
restless desire fo: motion. When on these journeys he does
not walk. This would be too formal and measured a pace for
an animal whose whole frame quivers with excitement. Ue
does not run. That would be too great an exertion for a
creature whose body is the abode of a deadly sickness. He pro-
ceeds in a slouching manner, in a kind of trot, a movement
neither run nor walk, and his aspect is dejected. His eyes do
not glare, but are dull and retracted. His appearance is very
characteristic, and if once séen can never afterwards be mis-
taken. In this state he will travel the most dusty roads, his
tongue hanging dry from his open mouth, from which, however,
there drops no foari. His course is not straight. How could
it be, since it is doubtful whether at these periods he can
see at all? “His desire is to journey unnoticed. If no one
notices him, he gladly passes on. He is very ill. He cannot
stay to bite. If, nevertheless, anything opposes his progress,
he will, as if by impulse, snap—as a man in a similar state
might strike, and | tell the person ‘to get out of his way.’ He
may take his road across a field, in which there are a flock of
sheep. Could these creatures only make room for him and
stand motionless, the dog would pass on and leave them behind
uninjured. But they begin to run, and at the sound the dog
pricks up his ears. His entire aspect changes. Rage takes
possession of him. What made that noise? He pursues it
with all the energy of madness. He flies at one; then at
another. He does not mangle, nor is his bite simply considered
terrible. He cannot pause to tear the creature he has bitten.
He snaps, and then rushes onward, till, fairly exhausted, and
unable longer to follow, he sinks down, and the sheep pass for-
ward to be no more molested.

“ He may be slain while on these excursions ; but if he escapes
he returns home and seeks the darkness and quiet of his for-
mer abode. His thirst increases, but with it comes the swelling
of the throat. He Pi plunge his head into water, so ravenous

 
 

THE pou.

is his desire; but not a drop of the+liquid can he swallow,
though its surface be covered with bubbles, in consequence of
the efforts he makes to gulp the smallest quantity. The throat
is enlarged to that extent which will permit nothing to pass.
His state of suffering is most pitiable. He has lost all self-
reliance ; even feeling has gone. He fiies at, pulls to pieces,
anything within his reach. An animal in this condition being
confined near a fire, flew at the burning mass, pulled out the
live coals, and, in his fury, crunched them. The noise he
makes is incessant and peculiar. It begins as a bark, which
sound being too torturing to be continued, is quickly changed
to a howl, which is suddenly cut short in the middle; and so
the poor wretch at last falls, worn out by a terrible disease.”

How Hydrophobia (literally, “ dread of water,” and altogether
a wrong name for the disease, as it is clearly proved that when
at the height of its madness the desire to drink is unabated,
the ability being frustrated by physical causes) is generated
is still a mystery. It is certain that the venom les in
the saliva, and that its application to the abrased skin of
another animal, without even a touch of the mad dog’s
teeth, is sufficient to impart the terrible disease. Hot weather
has been supposed to be favourable to the development of rabies
(see Mad Dog bills issued by the police in July). But dog
doctors generally agree that it is quite as prevalent in the
winter. Some writers attribute it to thirst, but the reply to
that suggestion is, that whereas in a well-watered country like
England hydrophobia is lamentably common, in scorching
Eastern cities it is unknown. Besides, the latter proposition
has been set aside, at least to their own entire satisfaction, by cer-
tain scientific Frenchmen, who, with an inhumanity that makes
one’s flesh creep, and which may not be excused on any ground
whatever, caused forty poor dogs to be shut up and kept with-
out water till they died. The result was that they (the men,
not the dogs), were enabled to show that at least not one out of
forty dogs go mad through thirst. One is almost inclined to
be cruel enough to wish that the biggest dog of the doomed
forty had gone mad and bitten the cruel wretch who proposed
the monstrous test.

Concerning the treatment of a wound caused by a rabid
animal, the patient’s fright should be allayed as far as pos-
sible. He should be impressed with the fact that a bite from
a mad dog is by no means certain to produce hydrophobia.
He must, however, make up his mind to a rather painful

 
 

THE DOG,

treatment of his wound. Washing the part is condemned by
many medical men; they opine that in the process the virus is
diluted and rednoed to a state to be the more easily absorbed
into the system. Some recommend the cupping-glase. This,
says the surgeon, only draws the blood about the wvand and
accelerates its mixture generally with the poison. The knife is
objected to, for “in using the knife that which runs from the
newly-made incision is apt to overflow into the poisoned locality
and so to convey the venom into the circulation by mixing with
the fast-flowing blood as it bathes the enlarged wound.

The simplest and safest mode of treatment is by burning.
If it is at hand, take a piece of lunar-caustic and scrape one
end of it as small and fine as a writing pencil, with this stab
the wound all over. If the caustic is not forthcoming hot-iron
will do nearly as well, the best instrument will be a steel fork.
It must be used in much the same manner as the caustic,
and it should be borne in mind that it is no tenderness to
the patient to make the fork “not too hot.” The hotter the
better for the eradication of the poison and the feelings of the
bitten person. It is well known that a burn from a substance
heated only to a dull-red inflicts considerably more pain that if
brought to a glowing white heat.

Some years ago there appeared in a Prussian newspaper, and
since then in various Huropean treatises on dog diseases, an
account of how fourteen people were simply and speedily cured
of this terrible disorder. As to the efficacy of the remedy em-
ployed, no guarantee can here be given. The reader must take
it as he finds it and form his own conclusions.

“ M. Maraschetti, an operator in the Moscow hospital, while
visiting the Ukraine, was applied to by fifteen persons for
relief on the same day, they having been bitten by a rabid dog.
Whilst the surgeon was preparing such remedies as suggested
themselves a deputation of several old men waited upon him
with a request that he would permit a peasant who had for
some time enjoyed considerable reputation for his success in
treating cases of hydrophobia to take these patients under his
care. The fame of this peasant and his skill were known to
M. Maraschetti, and he acceded to the request of the deputa-
tion on certain conditions: in the first place, that he himself
should be present and made cognizant of the mode of treat-
ment employed; secondly, that proof should be given him of
the dog that had injured the sufferers being really rabid—and
then that he, the surgeon, should select one of the patients to

aa?

 
 

THE mee

be treated by himself according to the ordinary course adopted
by the medical profession. This might, at a hasty view, be
deemed an improper tampering with human life on the part of
the Russian surgeon ; but when the admitted hopelessness of
all remedies is recollected, the réader will refrain from ani-
madversion. M. Maraschetti selected, as his own patient, a
little girl six years old; the other condition was duly complied
with; no doubt could exist of the genuine rabies of the dog,
which perished shortly afterwards in extreme agony. ‘

The peasant gave to his fourteen patients a decoction of the
tops and blossoms of the broom plant (Flor. Genistee lutew tinc-
toric), in the quantities of about a pound and a half daily ; twice
a day he examined beneath their tongues, where, he stated,
small knots, containing the virus, would form. Several of
these knots did eventually appear, and as soon as they did so,
they were carefully opened and cauterised with a red-hot wire,
after which the patients were made to rinse their mouths, and
gargle with the decoction. The result was, that all the
patients,—two of whom only, and these the last bitten, did not
show the knots,—were dismissed cured, at the expiration of six
weeks, during which time they had continued to drink the de-
coction. The poor little girl, who had been treatef according
to the usual medical formula, was attacked with hydro-
phobic symptoms on the seventh day, and died within eight
hours after the accession of the first paroxysm. M. Maraschetti
saw, three years afterwards, the other fourteen persons all
living and in good health.

The report goes on to say that the worthy Russian doctor
had, some time after, another opportunity of testing the value
of decoction of broom as a remedy for the terrible affliction.
In this case twenty-six persons were bitten by mad dogs, nine
were men, eleven women, and six children. The peasant’s
remedy was administered with the following results. Five
men, all the women, and three of the children exhibited the
knots; those most severely bitten, on the third day; others on
the fifth, seventh, and ninth; and one woman who had been
bitten only superficially on the leg, not until the twenty-first
day. The remaining seven showed no knots, but all continued
to drink the decoction; and in six weeks all the patients had
recovered.

FITS.

There can be no doubt that fits in a dog are often mistaken
408

 
 

THE DOG.

for hydrophobia, and that many a poor beast has been thus
summarily and wrongfully slaughtered. Not that fits are
harmless, either to the creature or to those who may by chance
come within reach of its spasmodically twitching jaws. It is
a very serious malady, and its symptoms decidedly lunatic
The dog, trotting before or behind his master, will suddenly
stand still and look round mazily, and then emitting a curious
cry that is neither a bark nor a howl, will fall on his side, conti-
nuing the curious noise, but more feebly As soon as he has
fallen his limbs assume a strong rigidity, but after a few mo-
ments they relax, the animal kicks violently, the eyes are wide
open and staring, and foam issues from the mouth. In this
condition he will eagerly bite and snap at anything that is put
near his mouth. Presently his convulsions will subside, he will
raise his head, and look about him, as though wondering what in
the name of goodness he does lying on the pavement in the midst
of a crowd of men and boys. No doubt in his present dreamy
condition he sees himself surrounded on every side by danger,
and is anxious to escape. This he is not long in attempting,
Starting to his feet, he makes a bolt at somebody’s legs, and
somebody is only too anxious to skip aside and let the animal
pass. He starts off. Never did dog look more mad. Never
did mad dog run faster. Hi! Hi! Maddog! Mad dog!
Boys bawl, men shout, women scream, stones are thrown, and
carters, secure in their vehicles, endeavour to club him, as he
dashes past, with the butt-end of their heavy whips. Presently
he receives a blow that stuns him, and tumbles him over in the.
mud, and he dies the death of a mad dog, however little he
may deserve it.

“The first thing to do,” says Mr. Mayhew, “ when out with
a dog which has a fit, is to secure the animal and prevent it
running away when the fit is over. The second thing is, for
the person who owns the dog stubbornly to close his ears to
the crowd who are certain to surround him. No matter what
advice may be given, he is to do nothing but get the animal
home as quickly as possible. He is neither to lance the mouth,
slit the ear, nor cut a piece of its tail off. He is on no account
to administer a full dose of salt and water, or a lump of to-
bacco, or to throw the animal into an adjacent pond; and of
all things he is to allow no man more acquainted with dogs
than the rest of the spectators to bleed the animal. Any offer
to rub the nose with syrup of buckthorn, however confidently
he who makes the proposal may recommend fay energetic

 
 

THE DOG.

mode of treatment, is to be unhesitatingly declined. The
friendly desire of any one who may express his willingness to
ram down the prostrate animal’s throat a choice and secret
specific must be strenuously declined. Get the dog home with
all speed.”

Arrived home, should the fit continue, send at once for a
veterinary surgeon, as any medicine you can administer will be
useless—or worse, because the animal being unconscious cannot
swallow, and you may chance to suffocate the creature for
whose welfare you are so solicitous. Should the fit be got over,
all you can do is to take care that the dog’s bowels are in good
working order, and keep it cool and quiet for a day or two,
on low diet.

. INDIGESTION.

From this malady arises the majority of the complaints that
afflict dog-kind. All kinds of skin diseases are bred therefrom,
and inflammation of the gums, foul teeth, and pestilent breath,
are produced from it. It is the origin of asthma, excessive fat,
cough, and endless other ailments.

Luckily the symptoms are not very obscure. “ A dislike for
wholesome food, and a craving for hotly-spiced or highly-
sweetened diet is an indication. Thirst and sickness are more
marked. A love for eating string, wood, thread, and paper
denotes the fact, and is wrongly put down to the prompting of
a more mischievous instinct; any want of natural appetite, or
any evidence of morbid desire in the case of food, declares the
stomach to be disordered. The dog that, when offered a piece
of bread, smells it with a sleepy eye, and, without taking it,
licks the fingers that present it, has an impaired digestion,
Such an animal will perhaps only take the morsel when it is
about to be withdrawn; and having got it, does not swallow
it, but places it on the ground and stands over it with an air
of peevish disgust. A healthy dog is always decided. It will
often take that which it cannot eat, but having done so, it
gither throws the needless possession away, or lies down, and
with a determined air watches the property. There is no
vexation in its looks, no captiousness in its manner. It eats
with decision, and there is purpose in what it does. The
reverse is the case with dogs suffering from indigestion.”

The old-fashioned remedy for this complaint—at least among
Jog-quacks—was to shut the pampered animal in a room by
himself, and give him nothing but water for two, three, or four

630

 
 

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days. Nothing can be farther from the proper course, or more
clearly display the operator’s ignorance. It would seem that
amorg these old-fashioned worthies, an impression prevailed
that so long as an animal’s body was burdened with fat, nothing
was better for him than a course of starving—regarding the
fat, indeed, as so much funded victuals, on which the animal
might draw at pleasure ; whereas the mere existence of the over-
loaded sides is evidence sufficient that the dog’s stomach is
weakly and unable properly to perform its functions; and
surely it requires no profound inquiry to discover that a weak
and infirm stomach is in much worse case to be trifled with
than one strong and vigorous, albeit lean as French beef.

The best mode of treatment is to diet the animal on sound
and plain food, taking care that moderation is observed. If he
has been in the habit of eating at any and every hour in the
day, divide his daily portion into three, and for the first two or
three days give him a meal morning, noon, and night. After
that his allowance may be cut in two, and only two daily meals
given—one at noon and the other before he retires to rest at
night. Dog-fanciers generally agree that a dog should be fed
but once a day.

While thus dieted the animal should have unlimited exercise
in the shape of running or walking. I think it as well to men-
tion the shape, as I have heard of a lady whose dog was ill
from indigestion, and to which exercise was recommended. At
the end of a week the creature’s health didn’t improve, and the
doctor was puzzled. “Is your ladyship quite sure that it has
the two hours’ daily exercise ordered P” ‘Quite sure, doctor.”
“Pray does it run by the side, or walk sluggishly P” “ What?
walk? Fido walk this nasty weather? How could you think
me so cruel, doctor? The pretty fellow is driven through the
parks im the brougham.” A cold bath, of the sort described
elsewhere in this book, is good for a dog suffering from indi-
gestion, as well as tonic sedatives and vegetable bitters.

As an ordinary stomach-pill for the dog, Mr. Edward Mayhew
recommends the following compound :—Extract of hyoscyamus,
sixteen grains; soda carb., half an ounce; extract of gentian,
half an ounce; ferri carb., half an ounce. To be made into
eight, sixteen, or twenty-two pills, according to the size of the
indisposed animal, and two to be given daily.

With very old dogs indigestion is accompanied by alarming
appearanees, The stomach becomes inflated to a degree almost

incredible. As the digestive organs are worn out a cure in
eal

 
 

THE DOG.

such a case cannot be expected, still relief may be given.
Liquid, but strengthening food, such as beef-tea, should be
given. A weak solution of chloride of lime, or the liquid potassz,
is as good medicine as any. You had better, however, before
administering it, let a veterinary surgeon see the dog, that he may
instruct you as to the strength and quantity of medicine to be
given at a dose. ;

It may be as well here to give some instruction as to the
proper way to give physic to a dog. To give it to a squalling,
kicking, refractory child is bad enough, but, in ordinary cases,
to see “Sambo” or “ Floss” taking its medicine is a sight
that would make the fortune of a farce could it be properly
put on the stage. It is usually a job for an adult individual,
the animal operated upon weighing from eight to twelve pounds :
there must be two to hold its feet, one to open its jaws and
keep them open, and the other to force the medicine down the
patient’s throat. The result is that the poor fellow grows
dreadfully alarmed and excited, no doubt fully believing that
the four ruffians about him are bent on his destruction, and
expecting every moment to be dragged limb from limb. In-
deed, I have no doubt that a stranger dropping suddenly on the
interesting group would have much the same impression. If
it is a pill that is to be administered it sticks in the patient’s
throat, and perhaps a quill-pen is caught up to “ push it down.”
If so the result is certain; how it would be with a human
being under such circumstances may be shrewdly guessed,
but with a dog the effect is inevitable. Then there is a
pretty consternation among the four doctors. If it is a
draught, the jaws are held open and the liquid poured in;
but there it remains at the buck of the mouth, not a drop
going down the throat, and the patient’s eyes growing wilder
and wilder every moment. “Let him go,” says the tender-
hearted person at the fore-legs, “he is being suffocated,” and
that he may have no hand in the murder he lets those mem-
bers free, whereon the patient makes the best of his fore-claws
on the jaw-holder’s hands, and he lets go; and all the time
and struggle and sixpenny draught have gone for nothing. By
the bye, it should be added, that, funny as this may read, it
is a dreadful business for “ Sambo,” who would, doubtless, if
he knew the nature of his ailment—indigestion, dropsy, mange,
—cheerfully endure it, or anything else short of hydrophobia,
rather than submit once more to the dreadful physicking,

All this fuss, however, may be avoided. There are several

32

 
 

 

DALMATIAN, OR PLUM-PUDDING DOG.

ways of managing, but the best of any are those recommended
by a gentleman to whom I have referred till I am almost
ashamed to do so once more. I allude to Mr. EH. Mayhew,
and unless all his kind-heartedness is devoted to the canine
race (and really it must be exhaustless if this be not the case),
T think I may tore for forgiveness.

“ A small dog should be taken into the lap, the person who
is to give the physic being seated. If the animal has learnt
to fight with its claws, an assistant must kneel by the side of
the chair and tightly hold them when the dog has been cast
upon his back. The left hand is then made to grasp the skull,
the thumb and fore finger being pressed against. the cheeks so
as to force them between the posterior molar teeth. A firm
hold of the head will thus be obtained, and the jaws are pre-
vented from being closed by the pain which every effort to shut
the mouth produces. No time should be lost, but the pill
ought to be dropped as far as possible into the mouth and,
with the finger of the right hand, it ought to be pushed the
entire length down the throat. This will not inconvenience
the dog. The epiglotis is of such a size that the finger does
-not excite a desire to vomit; and the pharynx and cesophagus
are so lax that the passage presents no obstruction.

“ When the finger is withdrawn the jaws ought to be clapped
together wd the attention of the creature diverted. The tongue
being protruded to lick the nose and lips will certify that the
substance has been swallowed, and after a caress or two the
‘dog may be released. Large brutes, however, are not thus

aa,
 

THE DOG.

easily mastered. Creatures of this description must be cheatad,
and they fortunately are not as naturally suspicious as those
of a smaller kind. The dog bolts its food, and unless the piece
is of unusual size is rarely masticated. The more tempting the
morsel the more easily is it gorged; and a bit of juicy or fat
meat, cut so as to contain or cover the pill, ensures its being
swallowed. Medicine which in this manner is to be adminis-
tered ought to be perfectly devoid of smell, or for a certainty
the trick will be discovered. Indeed, there are but few drugs
possessed of odour which can be long used in dog practice, and
even those that are endowed with much taste cannot be con-
tinually employed.

“Fluids are perhaps more readily given than solids to dogs.
To administer liquids the jaws should not be forced open and
the bottle emptied into the mouth, as when this method is
pursued the greater portion will be lost. The animal’s head
being gently raised, the corner of the mouth should be drawn
aside so as to pull the cheeks from the teeth. A kind of funnel
will thus be formed, and into this a quantity of medicine equal
to its capacity should be poured. After a little while the fluid
will, by its own gravity, trickle into the pharynx and oblige the
dog, however unwilling it may be, to swallow. A second por-
tion should then be given in the like way, and thus little by
little the full dose is consumed. Often dogs treated in this
fashion swallow a draught very expeditiously; but others will
remain a considerable time before they deglutate. Some, spite
of every precaution, will manage to reject the greater part,
while others will not waste a drop.

“Two pieces of tape, one passed behind the canine teeth of
the upper, and the other in like manner upon the lower jaw,
have been recommended. The tapes are given to an assistant,
who pulling on them forces the mouth open and holds it in
that position. In certain cases this may be adopted for pills;
indeed, every stratagem will be needed to meet the multifaricus
circumstances that will arise. For ordinary circumstances, how-
ever, the practice is not to be commended, and should never be
embraced when drinks are to be given: the animal cannot
swallow while the jaws are held asunder; but for solids the
plan answers better. There are several objections, however, to
be urged against its constant use. The operation is violent,
and the restraint it necessitates not alone prevents the poor
animal deglutating fluids, but also terrifies it, and on the next

occasion it will be more resistful. Difficulties therefore increase
634

 
 

THE DOG.

and the dog generally is not long before it baffles the efforts to
confine it. Moreover, unless the assistant be very well up to
his business his steadiness cannot be depended on, and the
hand often is wounded by the teeth of the patient.”

PARALYSIS.

This is another result of over-feeding, and before all others
affects those pets which are so pretty, so interesting, that freedom
of the dining and breakfast rooms is accorded them. The con-
sequence is they have never done eating. In just as many meals
as the family partake of they participate, and that almost with-
out the knowledge of a single person at the table; that is, with-
out a single person being aware that at each meal the dog eats
as plentifully as himself. Each one is ready to declare that
“ Fido” has only had “the least bit in the world,” and that—
allowing, of course, for the extravagance of common parlance—
is true as regards each individual’s experience. The secret, how-
ever, is that from each Fido has only received one—or two—of
the “least bits in the world,” but then the persevering little
mendicant has been the round of the board and obtained, per-
haps, six or seven contributions. He grows fat, monstrously
fat, he is such a funny little barrel of a dog it is quite ludicrous
to watch him.

Some fine day, however, the “funny little barrel” is dis-
covered floundering about the carpet, seemingly well enough in
all other respects, but with his hind legs trailing and benumbed
and evidently useless for locomotive purposes. The dog is
hurt, heen squeezed in a door, or had some piece of heavy fur-
niture thrown down on his loins! All a mistake; therefore
do not blame John or Mary for the calamity, or give them
warning for “concealing the truth.” The truth is patent: the
poor beast is paralyzed in its hind legs.

To cure this, have prepared the following prescription :—
Ol. Ricini, 4 parts; Ol. Olive, 2 parts; Ol. Anisi, q. s.; mix.

Administer this with a cathartic pill every day till the limbs
are restored to their healthy action, and for a few days after-
wards. Do not, however, be induced by the easy cure of the
first attack to renew the patient’s unnatural mode of feeding.
If you do, he will certainly be again attacked, and again and
again—the chances of recovery diminishing with every attack,
till there comes one that defies all the medical skill in the

kingdom. as

 
 

THE DOG.

YISTEMPER,

It unfortunat:-ty happens that this ugly disorder is uvt easy
of detection in its early stages. Sometimes it starts with
watery eyes and a short cough; at others, by the same sort of
desire to be alone and secluded, and the same peevishness that
heralds the all-dreaded disease, hydrophobia, marks its advent.
If, however, in addition to these or any other unusual symp-
toms, there should be a redness about the eyelids, and the dog’s
body should feel dry and feverish, you may make up your mind
as to what is about to happen.

As to the origin of distemper, doctors disagree. Some—in
fact, nearly all canine physicians of the old school—assert that
it is contagious. Modern men of science declare that such is
not the case. The old school doctrine, too, was that every dog
must have distemper, as infallibly as that every child has
measles and hooping-cough. This also is denied, and not with-
out sound proof by the wise men of the nineteenth century.
“Cold, wet, bad food, foul air, excessive exertion, fear, &c., are
grouped together and put forth as causes of this disorder; but
it has yet to be proved that these accepted terms have any
connection with it. Dogs that are starved, neglected, or cruelly
tortured ; animals that are judiciously fed, properly housed, and
sensibly treated—as well as favourites that are crammed,
nursed, and humoured—are equally its victims; and those that
are most cared for fall most frequently, while those that are
least prized most generally survive. If, therefore, privation
or exposure be cf any importance, the fact seems to infer their
tendencies are either to check or mitigate the evil.”

The symptoms the dog may exhibit during the prevalence of
the disease are wonderfully numerous. There is not a single
inch of his body, from his head to his tail, but may seem to be
the part suffering especially. The eyes sometimes, indeed
generally, are very bad. Indeed, it is by these organs that the
owner may tell whether his dog is really cured of distemper, or
whether the disease, instead of taking its departure, is merely
at rest to break out immediately with renewed fury. It will
frequently happen that after the dog has exhibited a few of the
milder characteristics of the disease it will disappear even more
rapidly than it developed itself, and, better than all, leave the
patient much better than it found him. His eyes look brilliant
and transparent, his nostrils are dry and comfortable, his coat
clean and glossy, and his spirits not only high, but actually

36

 
 

THE DOG.

boisterously unruly. He does not shiver, and eats like an Arctic
wolf. The dog’s master is rejoiced, and in the height of his
satisfaction he speaks scornfully of the disease that lately
afflicted his pet. ‘“ Pshaw! this is distemper, is it, that people
make such fuss about? Why, itis nothing at all; if anything,
just a salutary ailment that clears the system and sets the dog
up with a new stock of health.” Softly, good sir. Does your
dog, that grew so wofully thin over that “salutary” ailment,
grow fatP It is not sufficient that the diminution ceases ;
does he increase in bulk visibly and day by day? Look under
the upper eyelid; is it clear and healthy, or thickly marked
with minute red veinsP Unless these two questions can be
answered satisfactorily, do not say your dog is well; and if
within a week,or even within a month, he should grow suddenly
and dreadfully ill, and, after exhibiting a complication of per-
plexing symptoms, die, do not attribute the death to fits,to some
physical injury, or to the malicious and poisonous designs of
your servant or neighbour. The simple truth is, the supposed
poisoning was nothing but the second stage of distemper.

As before stated, the eyes sometimes suffer very much during
this disorder. The pupils seem to fade and blanch, the lids are
nearly closed, and the dog seems blind. Possibly it is. Its
lungs may be affected. On applying the ear to the animal’s
chest a harsh wheezing may be detected, denoting something
very wrong in the interior. The poor creature is constantly
shivering and has a wearying cough. A viscid matter impedes
the passage of breath through the nostrils, and the paws are
ever busy tapping and rasping at the unfortunate nose, some-
times coaxingly and sometimes irritably, as though the poor
wretch felt aggrieved that this, his leading organ, should serve
him so. Besides these there are many other dreadful symp-
tums, a description of which would look so far from pretty in
print that I must leave them for the dog-owner to discover.

Six weeks is the average continuance of the attack, though
the owner of the animal will know before that time if it will
live or die. The following are bad signs. Steady dwindling
of bulk, while at the same time the patient has a ravenous
uppetite. A very harsh and very imodorous coat, the latter
leaving a taint on the hand that is passed over it. The tongue
furred, almost lead-coloured, and red and dry at its tip and
edges. All these things are ominous. So is a prevalence of
vermin in the dog’s fur, especially if fleas or other parasites
appear very suddenly and swarm in: great Ser. The

 
 

THE DOG.

worst symptom of all is when the breath is exceedingly hot
and foul, and when the belly and the extremities feel cold to
the touch. Even then, however, so long as it keeps on its legs
and is able to walk there may be a chance of recovery.

“ During the recovery from distemper, small and delicate
animals, terriers and spaniels, are very liable to faint. The
dog is lively, perhaps excited, when suddenly it falls upon its
side and all its limbs stiffen. A series of these attacks may
follow one another, though generally one only occurs; when
numerous und rapid there is some danger, but as a general
rule little apprehension is to be entertained. The fainting fits
are of some consequence if they exist during a sickening for or
maturing of distemper. In pups that have not passed the
climax of the disease they are not unseldom the cause of death ;
but even in that case I [Mr. Mayhew] have never been con-
vinced that the measures adopted for the relief did not kill
quite as much or even more than the affliction. When the
symptom is mistaken and the wrong remedies are resorted to,
the fainting fits will often continue for hours or never be over-
come. When let alone the attack does not last, as a rule,
more than a quarter of an hour, and under judicious treatment
the consciousness almost immediately returns. When the
fainting fits occur during the progress or advance of the disease,
that is, before the symptoms have begun to amend, it is usually
preceded by signs of aggravation. For twelve or twenty-four
hours previously the dog is perceptibly worse; it may moan or
cry, and yet no organ seem to be more decidedly affected than be-
fore. I attribute the sounds made to headache, and, confirming
this opinion there is always some heat at the scalp. The un-
certain character of the disease renders it a difficult matter to
lay down laws for its treatment; there can be no doubt, how-
ever, that food and exercise have much influence over the
complaint, in whatever shape it may appear. Everything sweet
and everything fat must be rigorously withheld. Skim-milk
even is preferable to new, and ship-biscuit to be chosen before
wheaten bread. If these two latter articles can be procured a.
more wholesome dish of bread and milk may be prepared with
them than with any other. Boiled rice may be given in con-
siderable quantity, moistened—and this is the extreme limit as
regards animal food—with broth from which every particle of
fat has been skimmed. Whatever the sop consist of let it be
voLD before offered to the sick animal.”

Should the disease appear to be conquered your care of the

 
 

THE DOG.

animal must not cease. Its diet must still be scrupulously
regulated, and the following tonic pill prepared :—Disulphate
of quinine, one to four scruples; sulphate of iron, one to four
scruples; extract of gentian, two to eight drachms; powdered
quassia, a sufficiency. Make into twenty pills and give three
daily. This is Mr. Mayhew’s prescription, as indeed are all the
others contained in this chapter.

It will sometimes happen in distemper cases that the animal,
irritated beyond control by the violent itching of a parti-
cular member,—either of its feet or tail,—will commence to
nibble at it with his teeth. Nor will he stop at nibbling, but
proceed to downright gnawing. A dog has been thus known
to consume the first two jomts of his tail. Applications of
nauseous drugs to the itching parts are sometimes recom-
mended as a preventive, but the best remedy is to encase the
offending member in a socket of leather, of the same substance
say as gentlemen’s boot-tops are made.

With regard to the animal’s eyes, however bad they may
appear, do not meddle with them. According to the best au-
thority all water, either warm, tepid, or cold, every kind of
lotion, or any sort of salve or powder, will do harm, either by
weakening or irritating the organs of sight. Nature, if left to
herself, will probably restore the animal’s eyes to their former
perfection, but any meddling with them will certainly put it
to great pain and not improbably destroy the sight, or at least
leave on the eye a white seam to remind you of your folly.

LAWS RESPECTING DOGS AND DOG-KEEPING.

The keeping of vicious or destructive dogs, except under
proper precautions, is legal, and the owner of the offending
animal is liable for the damage done unless it can be clearly
shown that the fault lay with the party injured. Measures of
precaution may be enforced against dogs suspected to be savage.
If a man have a dog which hé suspects to be of a savage
nature and addicted to bite, and he allow it to go in a fre-
quented place without being muzzled or otherwise guarded, so
as to prevent its committing injury, he may be indicted, in
England, as for a common nuisance. If the dog be of a
ferocious kind, as a mastiff, it has been held that it must be
muzzled, and it will be no defence in an action of damages
against the master that the person injured trod on the dug’s
toes, for he would not have trod on them if they had not been

 
 

THE DOG.

there. The harbouring of a dog about one’s premises, or
allowing him to resort there, will warrant indictment. If a
dog known to his proprietor to have previously bitten a sheep
be retained by him, the proprietor will be liable for all other
imjuries even to any other animals, eg., a horse (“Burn’s
Justice of the Peace,” vol. ii., p. 333). An interdict may be
granted against a dog going loose pending a discussion of the
question as to whether or not he ought to be killed. Many
local police acts contain provisions as to shutting up or
muzzling dogs during the prevalence of weather likely to pro-
duce hydrophobia; and where such do not exist the subject
may be dealt with by a magistrate at common law. Dog-
stealing is a misdemeanour punishable, on summary conviction,
for the first offence by six calendar months’ imprisonment and
hard labour, or fine not exceeding twenty pounds above the
value of the dog. The second offence is an indictable one
punishable by fine and imprisonment and hard labour not ex-
ceeding eighteen months, or both. Similar punishment is pro-
vided for persons having in their possession dogs or dog-skins,
knowing them to be stolen. <A dog going intoa neighbour’s
field does not afford ground for an action of trespass unless he
does mischief; and even then the person who kills him may, in
certain circumstances, be liable for damage.

Any person, not being the owner, or acting under authority,
who administers a poisonous or injurious drug or substance to
a dog is liable to fine and imprisonment with hard labour; but
the magistrate may take into consideration any reasonable
cause or excuse.

The duty charged on every dog over six months old (with the
exceptions hereafter stated) 1s seven shillings and sixpence an-
nually, for which sum a licence is issued. Dogs used solely
for the guidance of a blind person are exempt. Dogs used for
the purpose of tending sheep or cattle on a farm and shepherds’
dogs are also exempt ; but the exemption only extends to three
dogs for four hundred sheep on common or unenclosed land, to
four dogs for a thousand sheep, and to an additional dog for
every five hundred sheep over that amount; but no more than
eight dogs altogether will be exempted. A shepherd can keep
only two dogs free of duty. A master of hounds may claim
exemption for whelps under a year old, which have never been
used for hunting.

 
 

 

THE WILD CAT.

Tuat the wild cat was in ancient times plentiful in Britain,
and moreover set down in the category of beasts of chase, is
proved by the fact that in a charter granted by Richard IT. to
the Abbot of Peterborough, permission is given him to hunt the
hare, fox, and wild cat. Except, however, in certain forests in
Cumberland and Westmorland, it is now seldom or never met
in England; and even in the districts mentioned, and where
some. few centuries back it abounded, it is a rare thing to meet
a wild cat. In Scotland, however, and certain parts of Ireland
it is still occasionally found. The following narrative, furnished
by Mr. St. John, will demonstrate the sort of creature it is
to encounter :—

“Once, when grouse shooting, I came suddenly, in a rough
and rocky part of the ground, upon a family of two old and
three half grown wild cats. In the hanging birch woods that
bordered some of the highland streams and rocks the wild cat is
still not uncommon; and I have heard their wild and unearthly
cries echo afar in the quiet night as they answer and call to
gach other. I do not know a more harsh and unpleasant cry

41 =

 
 

 

THE CAT.

than the cry of the wild cat, or one more likely to be the origin
of superstitious fears in the mind of an ignorant Highlander.
These animaly have great skill in finding their prey, and the
damage they do to the game must be very great, owing to the
quantity of food which they require. When caught in a trap
they fly without hesitation at any person who approaches
them, not waiting to be assailed. I have heard many stories
of their attacking and severely wounding a man when their
retreat has been cut off. Indeed, a wild cat once flew at me
in a most determined manner. I was fishing at a river in
Sutherlandshire, and in passing from one pool to another
had to climb over some rocky and broken ground. In doing
so I sank through some rotten moss and heather up to my
knees, almost upon a wild cat who was concealed under it. I
was quite as much startled as the animal herself could be
when I saw the wild looking beast rush out so unexpectedly
from between my legs with every hair on her body standing
on end, making her look twice as large as she really was. I
had three small sky-terriers with me, who immediately gave
chase and pursued her till she took refuge in a corner of the
rock, where, perched in a kind of recess out of reach of her
enemies, she stood with her hair bristled out, and spitting and
growling like a common cat. Having no weapon with me I
laid down my rod, cut a good sized stick, and proceeded to
dislodge her. As soon as I came within six or seven feet of
the place she sprang right at my face, over the dogs’ heads.
Had I not struck her in mid-air as she leapt at me I should
probably have got some severe wound. As it was, she fell
with her back half broken amongst the dogs, who with my
assistance dispatched her. JI never saw an animal fight so
desperately, or one so difficult to kill. If a tame cat has nine
lives a wild cat must have a dozen.”

_The colour of the wild cat’ is more uniform than that of the
domestic species. On a ground colour of pale reddish-yellow
are dark streaks extending over the body and limbs, forming
pretty much the sort of pattern exhibited on the tiger’s robe.
From the back of the neck to the spine a line of very dark
spots extend to the tail, which is short and bushy, and has a
black tip. The feet and insides of the legs are yellowish grey.
In the female—which is smaller than the male—the colours
are not as distinct. The medium size of a full-grown male
wild cat is as follows:—Length of head and body, 1 foot 10
inches; length of head, 34 inches; length of ears, 2 inches and

642

 

 
 

THE Cat.

an eighth; length of tail 11 inches. The wild cat affects rovky
and densely wooded districts, living in holes or in hollow trees.
According to Mr. St. John a wild cat will sometimes take up
its residence at no great distance from a house, and entering
the hen-houses and out-buildings carry off fowls or even lambs
in the most audacious manner. Like other vermin, the wild
cat haunts the shores of lakes and rivers, and it is therefore
easy to know where to lay a trap for it. Having caught and
killed one of the colony the rest of them are sure to be taken,
1f the body of their slain relative be left in some place not far
from their usual hunting ground, and surrounded with traps,
as every wild cat who passes within a considerable distance of
the place will toa certainty come to it.

The wild cat of Ireland would seem to be quite as savage a
fellow as his Scotch cousin. In Maxwell’s “ Wild Sports of
the West” is a story of one of these animals which was killed
after a severe battle. It was of a dirty grey colour, double the
size of the common house cat, and with formidable teeth and
claws. It was a female, and was tracked to its burrow under
a rock and caught with a rabbit net. So flimsy an affair,
however, was scorned by the fierce brute, which speedily rent
a hole with its teeth and claws and was about to run off, when
the lad who had set the snare seized it by the neck. He was
a brave lad, and there was a tremendous fight, the wild cat
being finally dispatched by a blow of an iron spade. The
lad, however, was so terribly wounded as to necessitate his
removal to an hospital, where he for some time remained under
terror of lock-jaw.

The wild cat is more plentiful in the wooded districts of
Germany, Russia, and Hungary, than in any other parte of
Europe. It is found also in the north of Asia and in
Nepaul.

Beside the true wild cat there are other species of Felis who,
on account of their resemblance to the tiger, are called tiger-
eats. They are found in all parts of the world with the excep-
tion of Europe. The largest of this family is the Rimau-Dahan,
an inhabitant of Sumatra. When full grown it measures over
seven feet from the nose to the tip of its tale, which append-
age, however, monopolizes three feet six of the whole. It is
nearly two feet high at the shoulders. Its colour is light
grey, striped and spotted with jet black. One of the first
specimens of this tiger cat seen in England was brought here
by Sir Stamford Raffles, who procured two of them from the

 
 

THE CAT.

banks of the Bencoolen river. “Both specimens,” writes this
gentleman, “while in a state of confinement were remarkable
for good temper and playfulness; no domestic kitten could be
more so; they were always courting intercourse with persons
passing by, and in the expression of their countenance, which
was always open and smiling, shewed the greatest delight when
noticed, throwing themselves on their backs and delighting in
being tickled and rubbed. On board the ship there was a
small dog who used to play round the cage and with the
animals, and it was amusing to observe the playfulness and
tenderness with which the latter came in contact with his
inferior sized companion. When fed with a fowl that died
he seized the prey, and after sucking the head, and tearing
it a little, he amused himself for hours in throwing it about
and jumping after it, in the manner that a cat plays with
a mouse before it is quite dead. He never seemed to look
on man or children as his prey; and the natives assert
that when wild they live chiefly on poultry, birds, and small
deer.”

The Colocolo is another tiger-cat. It is an inhabitant of
Guiana, and though not more than a third the size of the
Rimau-Dahan, is a most formidable enemy to the smaller
animals of the forests which it inhabits. It is related by Mr.
Wood that a specimen of this creature was shot on the banks
of a river in Guiana by an officer of rifles, who stuffed it and
placed the skin to dry on the awning of his boat. As the vessel
dropped down the river it passed under overhanging boughs
of large trees on which rested numerous monkeys. Generally
when a boat passed along a river the monkeys which inhabit
the trees that border its banks displayed great curiosity, and
ran along the boughs so as to obtain a close view of the strange
visitant. Before the Colocolo had been killed the passage of
the boat had been attended as usual by the inquisitive monkeys,
but when the stuffed skin was exhibited on the awning the
monkeys were horribly alarmed, and instead of approaching
the vessel as they had before done, trooped off with prodigious
yells of terror and rage. From this universal fear which the
sight of the animal occasioned to the monkeys, it may be con-
jectured that the Colocolo is in the habit of procuring its food
at the expense of the monkey tribes.

Of the tiger-cat of Africa, the Serval may be taken as the
type It is ahout two feet long, exclusive of the tail which
measures nine inches, and is a foot in height at the shoulders.

64d

 
 

THE CAT.

Tts upper parts aye clear yellow, and its under parts white, and
its entire body is spotted with black. Among the natives it is
known as bosch-katte, or bush cat. Itis an inoffensive crea-
ture, not easily irritated, and behaving generally like our own
familiar grimalkin.

America has several tiger-cats, foremost amongst which may
be mentioned the Ocelot. Two of these animals were kept at
the Tower of London at the time when that ancient fortress
counted a menagerie among its other attractions, and of one of
these Mr. Bennett gives the following description :—

“Body when full grown nearly three feet in length; tail
rather more than one foot; medium height about eighteen
inches. Ground-colour of fur gray, mingled with a slight tinge
of fawn, elegantly marked with numerous longitudinal bands,
the dorsal one continuous and entirely black, the lateral (six or
seven on each side) consisting for the most part of a series of
elongated spots with black margins, sometimes completely dis-
tinct, sometimes running together. The centre of each spot of
a deeper fawn than the ground-colour external to them; this
deeper tinge is also conspicuous on the head and neck, and on
the outside of the limbs, all of which parts are irregularly
marked with full black lines and spots of various sizes. From
the top of the head between the ears, there pass backwards,
towards the shoulders,two or more, frequently four uninterrupted
diverging bands, which inclose a narrow fawn-colour space
with a black margin; between these there is a single longi-
tudmal, somewhat interrupted, narrow black line, occupying
the centre of the neck above. Ears short and rounded, ex-
ternally margined with black, surrounding a large central
whitish spot. Under parts of the body whitish, spotted with
black, and the tail, which is of the same ground-colour with
the body, also covered with black spots.”

This animal is a native of Mexico and Paraguay. Its home
is the gloomiest depths of the forest, where all day long it lies
quiet but, as night advances, comes out to prey on birds and
small quadrupeds. It is said to be a particularly cunning
creature, and sometimes, when other stratagems to replenish
his larder have failed, to stretch himself all along the bough of
a tree and sham death. The monkeys of the neighbourhood
have no greater enemy than the ocelot; therefore, it is only
natural that when they find him dead they should be much
rejoiced, and call together their friends and relations to see the
pretty sight. The treacherous ocelot is, however, 1 meanwhile

 
 

THE CAT.

keeping sharp watch through a tiny chink of his eyelids, and
when the rejoicing is at its highest up he jumps, and, before
the monkey-revellers can recover from their fright, at least a
couple will feel the fatal weight of his paw.

There are several ocelots—the painted, the grey, and the com-
mon, among.others. In captivity few animals are more surly
and spiteful until they grow thoroughly well-acquainted with
their keepers, or others who court their notice. There is, how-
ever, one weapon keener than the sharpest sword, more potent
than the Armstrong gun, more powerful than all the gunpow-
der and bullets ever made, and yet so simple that the boy yet
in pinafores may direct it: to this weapon the suspicious
tiger-cat succumbs, and the name of this weapon is KINDNESS.
So armed, the Rev. J. G. Wood conquered a body of ocelots
exhibited at the menagerie. He says, “Several of these
animals, when I first made their acquaintance, were rather
crabbed in disposition, snarled at the sound of a strange
step, growled angrily at my approach, and behaved altogether
in a very unusual manner, in spite of many amicable overtures.

“ After a while, I discovered that these creatures were con-
tinually and vainly attempting the capture of certain flies
which buzzed about the cage. So I captured a few large
bluebottle flles, and poked them through a small aperture in
the cage, so that the ocelot’s paw might not be able to reach
my hand. At first the ocelots declined to make any advances
in return for the gift; but they soon became bolder, and at
last freely took the flies as fast as they were caught. The
ice was now broken, and in a very short time we were excel-
lent friends ; the angry snarl being exchanged for a complacent
purr, and the suspicious, lurking movement for a quiet and
composed demeanour. The climax to their change of character
was reached by giving them a few leaves of grass, for which
they were, as I thought they would be, more anxious than
for the flies. They tore the green blades out of my hand, and
retired to their sleeping-house for the purpose of devouring
the unaccustomed dainty undisturbed. After this, they were
quite at their ease, and came to the front of the cage when-
ever I passed.”

ANTIQUITY OF THE CAT AS A HOME PET.

Although cats appear to have been known in all parts of
the world from the most remote age, nowhere do they seem to
have neld so high a position as in Egypt. Says an ancient

646

 
 

THE cat.

scribe, “In Egypt the cat was held in the greatest veneration,
and when it died a natural death it was actually mourned for
with demonstrations of grief appointed for the event, and that
if the death were caused by malice the murderers were con-
demned to be given over to the rabble to be buffetted to death.”
And elsewhere we read that “Cambyses, who succeeded his
father Cyrus as king of Persia, about the year 530, availing
himself of the regard of the people for their favourite animals,
when he invaded Egypt to punish Amasis for an affront, made
himself master of Pelasis which had before successfully resisted
hisarms. The stratagem he adopted was certainly an ingenious
one; he gave a live cat to each of his soldiers instead of a
buckler, and the Egyptian soldiers rather than destroy these
objects of their veneration suffered themselves to be conquered.”
Mourief mentions that an insult offered to a cat by a Roman
was once the cause of an insurrection among the Egyptians,
even when the fact of their own vanquishment could not excite
them to rebel. If other evidence were wanting, the enormous
quantity of cat relics discovered in Egypt, buried with as much
care as though they had been grandees of the lard, or pre-
served by the tedious and expensive process of embalming,
would afford ample proof of a esteem in which the Egyptian
cat was held.

The Turks are great adiinivais of cat kind. When Baum.
garten visited Damascus he found a spacious hospital whose
sole inmates were sick cats and their nurses; and when he
inquired as to the origin of the institution he was informed
that Mahomed, when he had once lived there, brought with
him a favourite cat which he kept in the sleeve of his garment
and carefully fed with his own hands, taking off his sleeve
rather than disturb the repose of his pet; therefore his fol-
lowers paid superstitious respect to these animals, and
supported them in this manner by public alms, which were
found to be sufficient.

In this and the sister kingdom the cat has been held i in high
respect since a very early age. “ ‘Our ancestors,” says Pennant,
* seem to have had a high sense of the utility of this animal.
That excellent prince Howel Dda, or Howel the Good, did not
think it beneath him, among his laws relating to the prices,
&c., of animals, to include that of the cat, and to describe the
qualities it ought to have. The price of a kitling before it
could see was to be a penny; till it caught a mouse, twopence.
It was required besides that it should be perfect in its senses of

Raz

 
 

THE CAT.

hearing and see‘ng, be a good mouser, have the claws whole,
and be a good nurse; but if it failed in any of these qualities
the seller was to forfeit to the buyer the third part of its value.
If any one stole or killed the cat that guarded the prince’s
granary he was to forfeit a milch ewe, its fleece, and lamb; or
as much wheat as when poured on the cat suspended by its
tail (the head touching the floor) would form a heap high
enough to cover the tip of the former. This last quotation is
not only curious, as being an evidence of the simplicity of
ancient manners, but it almost proves to a demonstration that
cats are not aborigines of these islands, or known to the earliest
inhabitants. The large prices set on them (if we consider the
high value of specie at that time) and the great care taken of
the improvement and breed of an animal that multiplies so
fast, are almost certain proofs of their being little known at
that period.”

It was the custom of Cardinal Wolsey to accommodate his
favourite cat with part of his regal seat, and this even when
he held audiences or received princely company. Petrarch, the
great Italian poet, made a home pet of grimalkin, and after its
death paid it the questionable honour of embalming, and
placed it in a niche in his studio. Godefroi Mind, the cele-
brated painter, and who was styled the “Raphael of Cats,”
from his making them his almost constant study, maintained a
large staff of these animals, and it is related of him that when,
at one time, the hydrophobia was prevailing in Berne, so that
a vast number of the cats of the city were by order of the
magistrate put to death, poor Godefroi Mind was so deeply
affected that he was never afterwards completely consoled.
He contrived to hide his chief favourite until the panic was
passed, and he always worked at his easel talking to her, and
was generally found with her and her family, either on his
knees or on his chair, whenever his friends entered the room.

Great, wise, sour Doctor Johnson kept a cat. The doctor’s
cat ortce fell sick, and refused its diurnal cat’s-meat. In the
midst of his distress on pussy’s account, he discovered that the
dainty feline appetite might be tempted by an oyster. Acting
on the hint, he went out and bought oysters for his cat, and
continued to visit the oyster-stall every day till the animal
grew well.

The poet Gray had a cat that came to an untimely end.
She, however, was not allowed to go the way of other cat-flesh—
to be put into a hole and thought no more of. So much affec-

@48

 
THE CAT,

tion had the poet for his pet, that he composed to her memory
the following verses :

ON THE DEATH OF MY FAVOURITE OAT, DROWNED IN A VASE OF
GOLD FISH.

*Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s.gayest arts'had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

The conscious maid her joy declared ;

‘The fair round face and snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,

Her coat that with the tortoise vies,

The ears of jet, and em’rald eyes,
She saw, and purr’d applause.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish ;
She stretch’d.in vain to reach the prize—
What female heart can gold despise ?
What cat’s averse to fish ?
Presumptive maid! with looks intent,
Again she stretch’d, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
Malignant Fate sat by and smiled,
The slippery verge her feet beguiled—
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mewed to every watery god
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no neriad stirr’d,
No ‘cruel Tom nor Susan heard,—
A fav’rite has no friend.
Learn hence, ye beauties undeceived,
Know one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold;
Not all that tempts your wondering eyes
Nor heedless hearts, is lawful prize,—
Nor all that glitters gold.

In ancient times, much as the cat was esteemed in England,
it was certainly viewed with quite as much awe as admiration.
One is apt to smile when he reads that in Egypt, when the
family cat gave up the ghost, it was customary for the entire
household to shave off their eyebrows as a token of their poig-
nant grief; but surely this was not nearly ‘so absurd as to re-
gard grimalkin as the most favourite form assumed by the
prince of darkness when he happened to have business on the
face of the earth. If there lived in any part of the country a
solitary woman, who through ripe age had become wrinkled
 

THE CAT.

and lean and wizen-faced, it was to her the people looked
when a cow died, or a child took the croup, or the apple-trees
were blighted. The old woman would be watched, and if it
were discovered that the companion of her solitude was a cat,
especially a black cat, no further evidence was required. She
was a witch without a doubt; well versed in the black-art—
thanks to the teachings of the black cat—and capable of per-
forming equestrian exercise on a broomstick, or by a glance of
her poor old bleared eyes of killing a cow at a longer range
than could be accomplished by the most perfect of modern rifles.
This seems like a joke now, but, in sober earnest, there was a
time—Matthew Hopkins was then alive—when on no better
proof of witchery than above given, many a grey-beaded man and
woman has been strangled by drowning or consumed by fire.

Sailors are very superstitious as regards cats. Should the
ship cat be inclined for fun, and scud and bustle and rush
about as cats will, old mariners will wag their heads and
whisper of a coming storm. Nor may the landsman laugh at
Jack Tar; for how often may we hear—especially if grand-
mother is on a visit— see the cat is washing its face; we
shall shortly have rain.”

Our forefathers, in the wisdom which distinguished the
“good old times,” were firm believers in the medicinal proper-
ties of the cat ; and any part of the animal, from the tip of its
nose to the extremity of its caudal appendage, was considered
efficacious in the cure of diseases. If, for instance, a person
has a whitlow on the finger, he will find a sure remedy by
acting as follows :—Of course it is understood that the whitlow
is caused by a worm; then all you have to dois to put your fore-
finger into the ear of a cat for a quarter of an hour every day,
and in a few days, by this means, the worm which causes the
whitlow will not be able to wriggle, and, of course, if the worm
cannot wriggle, it must die, and the finger will then soon get
well! To the ingenious discoverer of the above remedy we
are perhaps indebted for the following “certain cure” for
epilepsy :—Take a penknife, cut the vein under a cat’s tail,
take three drops of blood therefrom, put it into a glass of water,
swallow it quickly, and in a few days all disease will have
vanished! To prevent weak eyes :—Take a black cat’s head,
burn it to ashes, and blow a little of the dust in the eyes three
times a day. Be careful in performing any of the above opera-
tions, for if a person swallow a single cat’s hair he will imme-
diately go into a fainting fit!

650

 
 

THE CAT.

In the apothecaries’ shop-windows of a century or two
ago might have been seen a label, on which was inscribed,
“Anungia cati sylvestris.” This, dear reader, simply meant.
that wild cat’s fat might be obtained within, as a certain cure
for lameness, epilepsy, &c.

There appears to be little doubt, however, that as a minister
to certain of the ills to which flesh is heir, the cat is not to be
despised; especially in cases where electricity is of good service.
The electrical character of the cat is a very well ascertained
fact. A cold bright day is the best time to convince oneself
of the truth of this. Not only will a crackling be heard, and
a spark seen, but, if the experiment be properly conducted, a
positive shock may be’obtained. The animal should be placed
on the knees, the operator placing one hand on its breast, while
the other hand is engaged stroking the fur of her back. Ina
short time crackling will be heard, and sparks seen, and the
person stroking the cat experiences a smart shock above the
wrists. I do not state this on my own experience—I have tried
it several times but never with any decided success. I am con-
vinced, however, that the fault lay with me and not with the
cat. The Rev. J. G. Wood attests that the above given direc-
tions, if faithfully followed, will be followed by satisfactory
results, and gives an instance of the electricity of the cat as
exhibited in his clever and interesting cat “Pret.” If a hair
of her mistress’s head were laid on Pret’s back, the cat would
writhe about on the floor and put her body into violent con-
tortions, and would endeavour with all her might to shake off
the object of her fears. Even the mere pointing of a finger at
her side was sufficient to make her fur bristle up and set her
trembling, though the obnoxious finger were at a distance of
six inches from her body.”

The same gentleman goes on to express an opinion that on
account of the superabundance of electricity which is developed
in the cat, the animal is found very useful to paralyzed persons,
who instinctively encourage the approach of a cat and derive
a gentle benefit from its touch. Those who are afflicted with
rheumatism often find their sufferings alleviated by the presence
of one of these electrically gifted animals.

ORIGIN OF THE DOMESTIC CAT.

The origin of the domestic cat is not at all clearly ascer-
tained. By many writers it is asserted to be a variety of the
wild cat of Europe and Northern Asia; and a talented writer

651

 
 

THE CAT.

in a series of popular books, published originally in 1836, lays
down the law as follows:—‘‘In this case” (the case of the
cat) “unlike that of the dog, there is no doubt which is the
original head of the domesticated stock. The wild cat of the
European forests is the tame cat of European houses. The
tame cat would become wild if turned into the woods. The
wild cat at some period has been domesticated, and its species
has been established in almost every family of the old and
new continent.” This argument is, however, not completely
correct. The tame cat will certainly “become wild ” if turned
into a forest; that is to say, it will cease to be gentle and re-
spond to the slavish epithet of “ puss;” but really it is no
more a wild cat than when it dozed on the hearth-rug and
drank milk from a saucer. One of the chief points of dis-
tinction between the wild and domestic cat is found in the
comparative size and length of their tails. In the domestic cat,
the tail is long and tapers to a fine point, whereas, in the wild
cat, the tail is short and bushy and blunt. Again, the domestic
cat is invariably of smaller size than the wild animal, and it is
well known that the effect of domestication on animals is to
increase their bulk.

The celebrated naturalist, M. Riippel, discovered in the
weedy and bushy regions of Ambukol, west of the Nile, a cat
whose size was that of the medium-sized domestic cat, or about
one-third smaller than the European wild cat, and having a
longer tail than the animal last mentioned. The hair of this
animal was long and in colour a blending of dirty-white and
yellow. It was M. Riippel’s opinion that this cat was descended
from the domestic cat of the ancient Egyptians, now to be
traced in the cat-mummies and their representations on the
monuments of Thebes. The domestic cat is “le chat” of the
French, “ Gatto” of the Italians, “Gats” of the Spanish
and Portuguese, “ Katze” of the Germans, “ Kat” of the
Dutch and the Danes, “Cath” of the Welsh. It is worthy of
remark that all these names are the same as the Latin Catus,
and this is somewhat in favour of all northern and western
Europe having received the cat through Roman navigators,
and we are thus brought nearer to Egypt and its probable
origin.

Riippel believed that the Egyptian cat and that which is
familiar to us were identical, and Temminck concurs with him.
Professor Owen, however, declares emphatically against this
doctrine, and gives as the reason this—that in the Egyptian

652

 
 

THE Cat.

cat the first deciduous molar-tooth has a relatively thicker
crown, and is supported by three roots, whilst the .correspond-
ing tooth both of the domestic and wild cat of Europe has a
thinner crown and only two roots.

Mr. Bell, in his “ History of Quadrupeds,” handles the cat
question with the same masterly hand as every other he
touches. With regard to the favourite belief that the common
wild cat is the father of the tame, he states his belief that there
are many reasons for believing that this opinion is entirely erro-
neous. In the first place, he observes, the general confor-
mation of the two animals is. considerably different, especially
in the length and form of the tail, which in the wild cat is
strong, robust, and at least as large towards the extremity as
at the base and middle, whilst that of the domestic cat tapers
towards the apex. The fur, too, of the former, he remarks, is
thicker and longer, and although the colours are somewhat
like those which occur in some individuals of the ordinary
species, there are, even in this respect, distinctions which can
scarcely be considered otherwise than as essentially specific, as,
for instance, the termination of the tail in a black tuft which
invariably marks the wild cat.

Referring to Sir William Jardine for his opinion on the
origin of Felis domestica, he suggests that since the intro-
duction of our house cat to this country there may have been.
an accidental cross with the wild native species, by which the
difference in form between the wild and tame cat may be
accounted for. ‘The domestic cat,” says Jardine, “is the
only one of this race which has been generally used in the
economy of man. Some of the other small species have shown
that they might be applied to similar purposes; and we have
seen that the general disposition of this family will not pre-
vent their training. Much pains would have been necessary
to effect this, and none of the European nations were likely to
have attempted it. The scarcity of cats in Europe in its
earlier ages is also well known, and in the tenth and eleventh
centuries a good mouser brought a high price.” Although,
however, our opinion coincides with that of Riippel, and we
think that we are indebted to the superstition of the ancient
Egyptians for having domesticated the species mentioned by
Riippel, we have no doubt that since its introduction to this
country, and more particularly to the north of Scotland, there
have been occasional crossings with our own native species, and
that the results of these crosses have been kept in our houses.

658

 
 

THE CAT,

We have seen many cats very closely resembling the wild cat
and one or two which could scarcely be distinguished from it,
There is, perhaps, no other animal that so soon loses its culti-
vation and returns apparently to a state completely wild. A
trifling neglect of proper feeding or attention will often cause
them to depend on their own resources; and the tasting of
some wild and living food will tempt them to seek it again,
and to leave their civilized home. They then prowl about in
the same manner as their conquerors, crouching among corn,
and carefully concealing themselves from all publicity. They
breed in the woods and thickets, and support themselves upon
birds or young animals. Few extensive rabbit-warrens want
two or three depredators of this kind, where they commit
great havoc, particularly among the young, in summer. They
sleep and repose in the holes, and are often taken in the snares
set for their prey. I once came upon a cat which had thus
left her home; she had recently kittened in the ridge of an un-
cut cornfield. Upon approaching she showed every disposition
to defend her progeny, and beside her lay dead two half-grown
leverets.

Looking towards the great Bell for an endorsement of these
sentiments we are disappointed. “ It is not without much re-
flection,” says he, “that I have come to the conclusion that
this opinion of their intermixture is erroneous, and has its
foundation in mistaken facts.” M. Riippel is as mercilessly
handled as Mr. Jardine. “The Nubian cat,” continues Mr.
Bell, “to which the high authority of Riippel has assigned
the origin of the house cat, is still farther removed from it in
essential zoological character than even the British wild cat, to
which it had been previously so generally referred; and that
as in the case of so many of our domesticated animals, we have
yet to seek for the true original of this useful, gentle, and
elegant animal.”

VARIETIES OF THE DOMESTIC CAT.

There are not many varieties of this animal in a state of do»
mestication, and they are nearly all enumerated by the mention
of the Tortoiseshell, the Chinese, the Blue or Chartreuse, the
Tabby, the Angola, and the Manx.

The last mentioned—the cat of Manx—is one of the most
singular. Its appearance is not prepossessing ; its limbs are
gaunt, its fur close-set, its eyes staring and restless, and it
possesses no tail, that is, no tail worthy to be so called; there

654

 
 

THE CAT.

certainly is, where the caudal appendage usually hangs, a sort
of knob, suggestive of amputation in early kittenhood; but it
is a well authenticated fact that the Manx cat has no tail, and,
so far as can be ascertained, never had one. As, says a
modern writer, “A black Manx cat, with its starmg eyes and
its stump of a tail, is a most unearthly looking beast, which
would find a more appropriate resting place at Kirk Alloway
or the Blocksburg than at the fire-side of a respectable house-
hold. So it might fitly be the quadrupedal form in which the
ancient sorcerers were wont to clothe themselves on their noc-
turnal excursions.”

The Angola is one of the most beautiful of cats. Its form
is ample, its fur long and silky, and its tail remarkably full
and brush-like. These cats are very intelligent, and, according
to Mr. Wood’s experience, possessed of capacious stomachs.
While that gentleman was staying at a café in Paris, he made
friends with a huge Angola that used to sit on the tables
and assist the Englishman in the consumption of his biscuits.
She devoured them with such apparent relish that Mr. Wood
ordered her a plate of almond biscuits for herself. The plate
was speedily emptied and replaced by another; this too was
leisurely cleared, the Angola’s eyes still beaming with expecta-
tion rather than satisfaction. Her worthy patron had, however,
settled the point that Angola cats will eat almond biscuits—
a very great quantity of them, and was in no humour to ex-
perimentalize further.

Hiertro dello Valli makes mention of a cat discovered by
him in Persia which exactly answers the description of the
Angola. ‘There is,’ he says, “in Persia—particularly in
the province of Charagan—of the figure and form of our ordi-
nary ones but infinitely more beautiful in the lustre and colour
of its skin. It is of a grey blue, and as soft and shining as
sik. The tail is of great length and covered with hair six
inches long, which the animal throws over its back after the
manner of a squirrel.”

The Chinese cat is of largish size, has fine glossy fur, and is
remarkable for its pendulous ears. Some assert that this is
not properly a cat at all but a “ Samxee,” whatever that may
be. Bosman, writing about the Chinese cat’s drooping ears,
remarks: “It is worthy of observation that there is in animals
evident signs of ancestry of their slavery. Long ears, long
and fine hair, are effects produced by time and civilization,
whilst all wild animals have straight round ears.” His re-

655

 
 

THE CAT,

marks would seem to apply only to such animals as, when in
a wild state, depend in a measure for their safety on their
acute hearing, but when reduced to domestication, and con-
sequent non-reliance on their own exertions, an exquisite ear
is no longer necessary, and so the organ from sheer laxity falls
out of shape. The rabbit is a good instance of this, as are
lap dogs of various sorts; but it cannot be so said of the cat
whose ears after centuries of domestication are as stiff and
alert as those of her ancestors, who ran wild in a wood and
listened for the stealthy footfall of the rabbit or the rustle of
the bird. So it is again with the horse, and evidently because
that in domestication they have as much need of their ears as
when in a wild condition.

The tortoiseshell, or Spanish cat, may be known from its
colours—white, black, and reddish brown—and from its elegant
and delicate form; the blue, or Chartreus, cat by its long slate
coloured fur, and the bushiness of its neck and tail. It is generally
supposed that the “Tabby” coloured cat has a shorter domestic
pedigree than any other.

It is the fashion to ascribe to the cat very few good qualities.
She is said to be selfish, cruel, greedy, and without an atom of
affection; indeed, to be in disposition the very reverse to the
dog. Popular opinion may be said to be fairly summarized in
the following effusion of a modern writer :—“TI do not love the
cat—his disposition is mean and suspicious. A friendship of
years is cancelled in a moment by an accidental tread on his
tail or foot. He instantly spits, raises his rump, twirls his
tail of malignity, and shuns you; turning back, as off he goes,
a staring vindictive face full of fury and unforgiveness, seeming
to say, ‘I hate you for ever.’ But the dog is my delight. Tread
on his tail or foot he expresses for a moment the uneasiness of
his feelings, but in an instant more the complaint is ended. He
runs around you, jumps up against you, seems to declare his
sorrow for complaining, as he was not intentionally hurt; nay,
to make himself the aggressor he begs by whinings and lickings
that his master will think no more of it.”

So much against the cat; now for evidence in favour of the
maligned animal, not hearsay evidence but that derived from
practical experience and furnished by living witnesses

 
 

   

3 Wa
STORIES OF REMARKABLE CATS.

The writer has, in his time, made the acquaintance of some
queerish cats. When quite a little boy there was attached to
our house a gaunt black and white cat, whose sole recommenda+
tion was that he was a magnificent mouser; nay to such
lengths would he carry his passion for hunting as regularly
to haunt a ditch that existed in the neighbourhood for the pur-
pose of pursuing and capturing water-rats, which class of
vermin it dispatched in a manner that at once secured the
death of the rat and himself immunity from the rat’s teeth.
Seizing the animal by the back of the neck, the cat, by a
sudden wriggle, threw himself on his back, at once transferred
the custody of the rat from his mouth to his fore-paws, holding
it neatly behind the shoulders, while with his hind talons he
cruelly assailed the unlucky animal’s loins and ribs till it
ceased to struggle. I have stated that the cat in question was
attached to our house, and that certainly was the extent of
his intimacy, for he was attached to nobody residing there.
Myself he particularly disliked, and although he never con-
sidered it beneath his dignity to steal any article of food from
me, would never accept my overtures of friendship. I have
reason to llieve that his special dislike for me arose out of a

42 6n7

 
 

THE CaT.

pair of boots possessed by me at that period. They were
creaky boots, and fastened with laces. Whether it was that the
creaking of the articles as I moved about the room in them
reminded him of the squeak of rats, and whether, not being a
particularly tidy boy, the before-mentioned laces were some-
times allowed to trail rat’s tail wise, aggravatingly heightening
the illusion, I can’t say; I only know that as sure as I hap-
pened to allow my small feet to swing loosely while seated at
breakfast or dinner, so surely would the black and white cat,
if he were in the room, make a sudden dash at the hated boots,
giving my leg a severe wrench in his endeavour to fling him-
self on his back for the purpose of tearing the life out of them
after his own peculiar mode.

My enemy was, however, finally subdued, and in rather a
curious way. Some one bought me one of those difficult
musical instruments known as a mouth organ, and delighted
with my new possession I was torturing it as I sat on a seat
in the garden. Suddenly there appeared in a tree just above
my head my foe, the black and white cat, with her tail waving
from side to side, her eyes staring, and her mouth twitching in
an odd sort of way. I must confess I was rather alarmed,
and in my nervous condition I might be excused if I construed
the expression of the cat’s countenance to intimate ‘“ Here you
are then with another hideous noise, a noise that is even more
suggestive of rat squeaking than your abominable boots; how-
ever, I’ve caught you by yourself this time, so look out for your
eyes.” I did not, however, cease playing my organ; my
enemy’s green eyes seemed to fascinate me, and my tremulous
breath continued to wail in the organ pipes. Slowly the black
and white cat descended the tree, and presently leapt at my
feet with a bound that thrilled through me, and expelled a
scream-like note from my instrument. But, to my astonish-
ment, my enemy did not attack me; on the contrary he
approached the offending boots humbly, and caressed them
with his head. Still I continued to play, and after every inch
of my bluchers had received homage from the cat’s hitherto
terrible muzzle, he sprang on to the seat beside me, and purred
and gently mewed, and finally crept up on to my shoulders,
and lovingly smelt at the mouth-organ as I played it. From
that day hostilities ceased between us. He would sit on my
shoulders for half an hour together and sing, after his fashion,
while I played, and I had only to strike up to lure him from
any part of the premises where he might happen to he.

58

 
 

THE CAT.

There used to come to our house a young man who played
the trombone, and having heard the story, insisted that there
was nothing in it—that all cats liked music, and that savage
as was our cat to strangers, he would be bound to conquer
him with a single blast of his favourite instrument. Next
time he came armed with the terrible-looking trombone, which
our cat no sooner saw than—as I now knew her nature better
than any one else could—she took a violent dislike to it.
Placing our cat in a favourable position, the young man blew a
blast on the trombone; the effect was, as he prognosticated,
instantaneous, though not perfectly satisfactory; the brazen
note was immediately responded to by one equally loud from
our cat, who appeared to regard it as a challenge to combat,
and thickened his tail and bared his teeth accordingly, at the
same time swearing and spitting dreadfully. I need not say
that the trombone player was discomfited, while my fame as a
cat-charmer was considerably augmented.

Apropos of cat charming, I have a vivid recollection of once
“ charming” a cat to within an inch of getting myself thoroughly
well thrashed. There lived in our neighbourhood a kind-hearted
old gentleman who was good enough to take a fancy to my un-
gratefal self and would frequently invite me—he was a bachelor
—to dine with him. The dining part of the business I had not
the least objection to, but after dinner, when we had chatted
till he fell into a doze, it became to a boy nine years old rather
tedious. It was on one such occasion that I behaved so dis-
gracefully. The old gentleman was nodding, with his slippered
feet crossed easily before the fire, and a fat tortoiseshell cat, his
property, lay along the rug placidly asleep too. Had I been a
good boy I should have sat still and turned the leaves of “ Fox’s
Book of Martyrs” till my friend awoke. But I was not a good
boy. I felt myself like a martyr, doomed to the dreadful
torture of sitting still. I felt in my pocket for a top-string I
had there, and for a minute or so amused myself by bobbing
the button at the end of the string on to the nose of the tor-
toiseshell cat, till I had roused that lazy animal to a state of
extreme irritability. This sport after a while grew tame, so I
shifted the string and allowed it to dangle within an inch of
my host’s feet. Really it was done with scarce a thought, but
the result was rather astonishing. The tortoiseshell cat, who
all the time kept her eye on the tormenting string, no sooner
saw it at a distance convenient to spring at, made a bound,
and missing the cord fiercely embraced one of the slippered

659

 
 

THE CAT.

members with ten of her talons. For the moment I was too
frightened to weigh the possible consequences of laughing, and
laughed outright, which, with the sudden bound the old
gentleman gave, so alarmed the tortoiseshell cat that she flew
towards the door like a mad cat. I doubt, however, whether
its utmost agility would have saved it from the tongs with
which its outraged master pursued it, had I not ashamedly
explained the matter and begged forgiveness.

I have at the present time about my house a cat that came
into my possession under rather singular circumstances. Befora
we knew her we had a cat that gave perfect satisfaction, was
a good mouser, and an affectionate mother. In the rear of our
house there is a shed commonly used as a wood store, and fre-
quented at least once a day. It is by no means a secluded
place, and the door, through a weakness in its hinges, is con-
stantly ajar. One morning there was discovered in the shed
not only a strange she cat but a strange kitten with its eyes
open, plump, and about a fortnight old. The strange cat made
no attempt to stir when the maid entered, but lay suckling her
baby, and looking up with an expression that said as plainly as
cat language could, “a persecuted cat and her kitten, at your
service; don’t drive us out, that’s a good creature.” More
singular still, before the person appealed to could consider the
case, our own cat peeped into the shed, and after deliberately
walking up to the refugees and giving them a kindly touch
with her nose, walked back to the servant and commenced to
rub against her, purring the while as though to manifest her
goodwill towards the strangers, and to recommend a favourable
consideration of their case. So they were taken in.

As soon, however, as the novelty of the affair wore off, it
began to dawn on us that we did not require a “housefull” of
cats—though for that matter the four lived happily enough
together. Which should we get rid ofP The strange cat’s
kitten was too big to drown. and too little to send adrift, our
own “Topsy” and her daughter must of course be retained, so
there was nothing left but to send away the strange she cat.
She was rather a good looking cat, and that, coupled with her
known cleverness, gave us good ground for supposing that she
would soon find another home. It appeared, however, that we
did not give her credit for being nearly so clever as she was.

It was arranged that she should be conveyed in a basket to
a certain square about a quarter of a mile distant, and there
left to seek her fortune. To the best of everybody’s belief this,

 
 

THE CAT.

arrangement was carried out to the letter; therefore the amaze-
ment of the entire household may be easily imagined when on
reference being made to the cat-cupboard to see how Topsy
and her two young charges were getting on, to find no Topsy
at all,—only the strange cat and the two kittens. How the
cheat had been accomplished it was impossible to say. That
Topsy was not the cat placed in the basket was vouched for by
two witnesses—one of whom had held the basket-lid open while
the other pushed the animal in. Perhaps in my own mind I
have little doubt how the business was so mulled, but I know
that in certain quarters there exists a belief either that by
some sort of witchery the strange cat put on so Topsical
an appearance as to deceive her would-be smugglers, or that
after she was basketed she managed to sneak out, and either
by persuasion or force induced the unlucky Topsy to take her
place.

However it came about, the result is that the strange cat
alone reigns at our house to the jealous exclusion of all her
species. No one, I believe, has any particular affection for
her, but that circumstance is not observed to prey on her
mind or to interfere with her appetite. She devours her
rations with the air of a cat who is conscious that she has
earned them, and as though she is aware, and rather gloried.
than otherwise in the knowledge that she is regarded as a
cunning and manceuvering beast, who first by hypocritical repre-
sentations induced an honest cat to obtain for her a situation,
and who afterwards ungratefully contrived to push out her
benefactress and progeny and install herself in their place.

In the form of a letter, a friend of the Rev. J. G. Wood fur-
nishes that gentleman with some interesting particulars of two
commercial cats of his acquaintance. “I must now tell you
something about our Mincing Lane cats. Their home was the
cellar, and their habits and surroundings, as you may imagine
from the locality, were decidedly.commercial. We had one
cunning old black fellow whose wisdom was acquired by sad
experience. In early youth he must have been very careless ;
he then was always getting in the way of the men and the
wine cases, and frequent were the disasters he suffered through
coming into collision with moving bodies. His ribs had often
been fractured, and when nature repaired them she must have
handed them over to the care of her ‘prentice hand,’ for the
work was done in rather a rough and knotty manner. This
battered and suffering pussy was at last assisted by a younger

gt

 
 

THE CAT.

hero, who, profiting by the teachings of his senior, managed to
avoid the scrapes which had tortured the one who was self
educated. These two cats, junior and senior, appeared vo
swear (cats will swear) eternal friendship at first sight An
interchange of good offices was at once established. Senior
taught junior to avoid men’s feet and wine cases in motion,
and pointed out the favourite hunting grounds, while junior
offered to his mentor the aid of his activity and physical
prowess. :

“ Senior had a cultivated and epicuréan taste for mice, which
he was too old to catch; he therefore entered into a solemn
league and covenant with junior to the following effect. It
was agreed between these two contracting powers that junior
should devote his energies to catching mice for the benefit of
senior, who in consideration of such feudal was to relin-
quish his claim to a certain daily allowance of cats’ meat in
favour of junior. This courteous compact was actually and
seriously carried out. It was an amusing and touching spec-
tacle to behold young pussy gravely laying at the feet of his
elder the contents of his ‘game bag;’ on the other hand, senior,
true to his bargain, licking his jaws and watching junior
steadily consuming a double allowance of cats’ meat.

“Senior had the rare talent of being able to carry a bottle of
champagne from one end of the cellar to the other, perhaps a
distance of a hundred and fifty feet. The performance was
managed inthis wise. You gently and lovingly approached
the cat, as if you did not mean to perpetrate anything wicked ;
having gained its confidence by fondly stroking its back, you
suddenly seized its tail, and by that member raised the animal
bodily from the ground; its fore-feet sprawling in the air
ready to catch hold of any object within reach. You then
quickly bring the bottle of wine to the seizing point; pussy
clutches the object with a kind of despairing grip. By means
of the aforesaid tail you carefully carry pussy, bottle and all,
from one part of the cellar to another. Pussy, however, soon
became disgusted with this manceuvre, and when he saw a
friend with a bottle of champagne looming, he used to beat a
precipitate retreat.”

The rev. gentleman before quoted had at one time in his
possession a marvellously clever little cat, which he called
“ Pret,” and concerning which he relates a host of anecdotes.
From them are culled the following :—

“ Pret” knew but one fear, and had but few hates. The

662

 
 

THE Cat.

booming sound of thunder smote her with terror, and she most
cordially hated grinding organs and singular costumes. At the
sound of a thunder-clap poor Pret would fly to her mistress
for succour, trembling in every limb. If the dreaded sound
occurred in the night or early morning, Pret would leap
on the bed and crawl under the clothes as far as the very foot.
If the thunder-storm came on by day, Pret would jump on her
mistress’s knees, put her paws round her neck, and hide her
face between them.

She disliked music of all kinds, but bore a special antipathy
to barrel-organs ; probably because the costume of the organ-
grinder was unpleasing to her eye as his doleful sounds to
her ears. But her indignation reached its highest bounds at
the sight of a Greenwich pensioner accoutred in those grotesque
habiliments with which the crippled defenders of their country
are forced to invest their battered frames. It was the first
time that so uncouth an apparition had presented itself to her
eyes, and her anger seemed only equalled by her astonishment.
She got on the window-sill, and there chafed and growled with
a sound resembling the miniature roar of a lion. When thus
excited she used to present a strange appearance, owing to a
crest or ridge of hair which used to erect itself on her back and
extend from the top of her head to the root of her tail, which
latter member was marvellously expanded. Gentle as she was
in her ordinary demeanour, Pret was a terrible cat when she
saw cause, and was undaunted by size or numbers.

She had a curious habit of catching mice by the very
tip of their tails, and of carrying the poor little animals about
the house dangling miserably from her jaws. Apparently her
object in so doing was to present her prey uninjured to her
mistress, whe, she evidently supposed, would enjoy a game with
@ mouse as well as herself; for, like human beings, she judged
tha character of others by her own.

This strange custom of tail-bearing was carried into the pri-
vacy of her own family, and caused rather ludicrous results.
When Pret became a mother, and desired to transport her
kittens from one spot to another, she followed her acquired
habit of porterage, and tried to carry her kittens about by the
tips of their tails. As might be supposed, they objected to this
mode of conveyance, and, sticking their claws in the carpet,
held firmly to the ground, mewing piteously, while their mother
was tugging at their tails. It was absolutely necessary to
release the kittens from their painful position, and to teach

eas

 
 

THE CAT.

Pret how a kitten ought to be carried. After a while, shs
seemed to comprehend the state of things, and ever afterwards
carried her offspring by the nape of the neck.

At one time, when she was yet in her kittenhood, another
kitten lived in the same house, and very much annoyed Pret
by coming into the room and eating the meat that had been
laid out for herself. However, Pret soon got over that diffi-
culty by going to the plate as soon as it was placed at her
accustomed spot, picking out all the large pieces of meat, and
hiding them under a table. She then sat quietly and placed
herself sentry over her hidden treasure, while the intruding cat
entered the room, walked up to the plate, and finished the little
scraps of meat that Pret had thought fit to leave, After the
obnoxious individual had left the room, Pret brought her con-
cealed treasures from their hiding-place, and quietly consumed
them.

Clever as Pret was, she sometimes displayed a most unex-
pected simplicity of character. After the fashion of the cat
tribe, she delighted in covering up the remnants of her food with
any substance that seemed most convenient. She was accus-
tomed, after taking her meals, to fetch a piece of paper and
lay it over the saucer, or to put her paw in her mistress’s
pocket and extract her handkerchief for the same purpose.
These little performances shewed some depth of reasoning in
the creature, but she would sometimes act in a manner totally
opposed to rational action. Paper and handkerchief failing,
she has been often seen, after partly finishing her meal, to fetch
one of her kittens, and to lay it over the plate for the purpose
of covering up the remaining food. When kitten, paper, and
handkerchief were all wanting, she did her best to scratch up
the carpet, and to lay the torn fragments over the plate. She
has been known, in her anxiety to find a covering for the super-
abundant food, to drag a table-cloth from its proper locality,
and to cause a sad demolition of the superincumbent fragile
ware.

A year or two since, the budget of the Imperial Printing
Office in France, amongst other items, contained one for cats,
which caused some merriment in the legislative chamber during
its discussion. According to the “Pays” these cats are kent
for the purpose of destroying the numerous rats and mica
which infest the premises and cause considerable damage to
the large stock of paper which is always kept there. This

feline staff is fed twice a day, and a man is employed to look
66d

 
 

THE CAT.

after them: so that for cat’s meat and the keeper’s salary no
little expense is annually incurred; sufficient in fact to form
a special item in the national expenditure. Of these animals
a somewhat interesting anecdote is related.

It appears that near to the Imperial Printing Office is
situated the office of the Director ot the Archives, and the
gardens of the two establishments are adjacent. In that be-
longing to the latter gentleman, were kept a number of choice
aquatic birds, for whose convenience a small artificial river had
been constructed. Their owner suddenly discovered one day
that his favourites were diminishing in a mysterious manner,
and set a watch to ascertain the reason. Soon it was discovered
who were the marauders—the cats! The enraged Director,
acting in the spirit of the law, thought he had a perfect right
to shoot and otherwise destroy these feline burglars whenever
he found them on his grounds, and accordingly did so. Traps
were set, and soon half-a-dozen cats paid the penalty of their
crimes.

The keeper of the cats also, by this time, found that the
muster at meal times was much scantier than usual, and re-
ported to his superior, the Director of the Printing Office. At
first, the workmen were suspected of killmg them; but the
appearance, one day, of a cat with a broken snare round its
neck, put the keeper on a fresh scent, and ultimately led to
the discovery of the truth. The Director thereupon complained
to his brother official, who only replied by pointing to the thinly
tenanted pond, and saying that he would not have his birds
destroyed if he could help it. The result was that a fierce hostility
reigned between the two establishments, until an arrangement
was made by their respective heads. By this treaty it was stipu-
lated that the Director of the Imperial Printing Office should,
on his part, cause every outlet by which the cats gained access
to the gardens of the Director of the Archives to be carefully
closed, and every means taken to prevent such a contingency;
while on the other hand, Monsieur, the Director of the Archives,
agreed never to molest any cat belonging to the Imperial Print-
ing Office, who should, by some unforeseen accident, obtain
admittance into his garden. And thus, by this famous treaty,
the horrors of civil war were averted !

A curious instance of the attachment of animals totally dis-
similar in habits, is related in the Leiswre Hour as follows :—

“A lady of the writer’s acquaintance was once walking
amid the scenery of the Isle of Wight, when she observed a

665

 
 

THE CAT.

little kitten curled up on a mossy bank in all the security of a
mid-day nap. It was a beautiful little creature, and the lady
gently approached in order to stroke it, when suddenly down
swooped an hawk, pounced upon the sleeping kitten, and com-
pletely hid it from her sight. It was a kestrel. Our friend
was greatly shocked, and tried to rescue the little victim ; but the
kestrel stood at bay and refused to move. There he stood on
the bank, firmly facing her; and all her efforts to drive him
from his prey failed. The lady hurried on to a fisherman’s
cottage, which was near at hand, and told of the little tragedy
with the eloquence of real feeling. But the fisher-folk were
not so disconcerted, and, laughingly, said,—‘ It is always so;
that hawk always comes down if anybody goes near the kitten.
He has taken to the kitten, and he stays near at hand to watch
whenever it goes to sleep.’

“The case was so remarkable, that the lady inquired further
into its history, and learned that the kitten’s mother had died,
and that the fisherman’s family had suddenly missed the little
nurseling. After some time they observed a kestrel hawk
loitering about the cottage. They used to throw him scraps
of meat, and they observed that he always carried off a portion
of every meal, dragging even heavy bones away out of sight.
His movements were watched, and they saw that he carried
the stores to the roof of his cottage. A ladder was placed,
some one ascended, and there, nestling in a hole in the thatch,
lay the lost kitten, thriving prosperously under the tender care
of its strange foster-father. The foundling was brought down
and restored to civilized life; but the bandit protector was not
disposed to resign his charge, and ever kept at hand to fly to
the rescue, whenever dangerous ladies threatened it with a
caress.”

That a long course of domestic drill is insufficient to win a
cat from its native savagery is proved by the following scrap,
lately culled from the Swansea Herald :—

“ A fight of more than ordinary interest took place on the
bank of the canal near Kidwelly Quay, a few days ago. A
domestic cat, making her usual walk in search of prey along
the embankment, was attacked by an otter of no small dimen-
sions, and was in an instant tossed into. the middle of the
canal, and there had to fight, not for the ‘belt,’ but for her
life, in an uncongenial element. But very soon they were ob-
served by some sailors and shippers, employed not far from the

scene of contest, who hastened te witness the strange occur-
668

 
 

THE Cal.

1ence. Hither from fear of the men, or of its formidable anta-
gonist, the otter relinquished its hold, and poor puss safely
landed amidst hearty cheers and congratulations. But puss,
not being content with the laurels she bad won in the first
contest, went out again on the following day, and, strange to
say, the old combatants met again, and the otter, with undi-
minished pluck, attacked the cat on land. The contest became
very severe, but ultimately the otter was glad to regain its
watery refuge, and leave puss the victor the second time, with-
out suffering very considerably from an encounter with such a
formidable foe.”

Next comes the story of a traveller-cat, derived, like the
preceding, from a newspaper source :—

“Tn a parish in Norfolk, not six miles from the town of
Bungay, lived a clergyman who, having a cat, sentenced it to
transportation for life, because it had committed certain
depredations on his larder. But the worthy gentleman
found it far easier to pronounce that sentence than to carry
it into execution. Poor puss was first taken to Bungay,
but had hardly got there when she escaped, and was soon
at home again.” Her morals, however, had in no way improved,
and a felonious abstraction of butcher’s meat immediately
occurred. “This time her master determined to send the
hardened culprit away a distance, which, as he expressed.
it, ‘she would not walk in a hurry.’ He, accordingly, gave
her (generous man !) to a person living at Fakenham, distant
at least forty miles. The man called for her in the morning,
and carried her off in a bag, that she might not know by what
road he went. Vain hope! She knew well enough the way
home, as he found to his cost, when, directly the house-door
was opened the next morning, she rushed out, and he saw no
more of her.

“The night after, a faint mewing was heard outside the
minister’s dwelling, but, not being so rare an occurrence, no
attention was paid to it. However, on opening the door next
morning, there lay the very cat which he thought was forty
miles away, her feet all cut and blistered, from the hardness of
the road, and her silky fur all clotted and matted together with
dust and dirt. She had her reward. However her thievish
propensities might annoy him, the worthy vicar resolved never
again to send her away from the house she loved so well and
exerted herself so nobly to regain.”

There is a capital story told of a monastery-cat, which,

867

 
 

THE CAT.

albeit an old one, will very well bear telling again. Perhaps,
indeed, the ‘secret of its freshness lies in the séasoning—like
many another dish.

The legend runs thus :—In a certain monastery, in which
a cat was kept, the cook, one day, on laying the dinner, found
one of the holy inmate’s portions of meat missing, although
he thought he had cooked the proper quantity ; still the good
man was willing to believe he had miscalculated, and, without
making any ado about it, supplied the deficient dinner. Next
day, however, the same thing happened again—another monk’s
meat was gone. The cook began now to suspect treachery,
and resolved to watch. On the third day he took particular
care in apportioning the dinners, which were cooked, and
about to be served up, when he heard a ring of the gate-bell, and
hastened out to answer it. On his return, he discovered one
of the dinners was gone; but how, or by whom, it was taken
he could not imagine. He determined to discover the thief,
and next day took the utmost precaution in seeing that the
umber of dinners was quite correct. When all was ready to
dish up, the bell rang again. This time, however, he did not
go to the gate, but only just outside the kitchen, and, peeping
through the door, he saw the cat jump through -the window
and, seizing a piece of the meat, make his exit from the same
way as rapidly as he entered. So far the mystery was solved;
but who rang the bell P The next day the vigilant cook found
that this part of the performance was also played by the
ingenious felis domesticus, whose modus operandi was first to
jump at the bell-rope and pull it with its paw, then, watching
the cook out of the kitchen, to swiftly spring through the
window, seize the meat, and then, as swiftly, out again.

The cook told the story of the feline thief to the monks,
and those holy brethren, in full conclave assembled, after
hearing the evidence, came to the resolution that the cat
should enjoy uninterrupted the fruits of its predatory art so
long as it chose to practise it; and that the wondrous tale
should be published abroad. The result of this decision was
that tor a considerable time visitors continually poured to the
monastery, and were, for a small fee, admitted to witness the
excellent comedy, which paid for the extra rations of the
vat, and put a little money into the pockets of the monks as
well.

It is a curious fact that in countries liable to earthquakes
the cat is able to predict the coming event; and a very singular

668

 
 

THE CaT.

instance of this occurred at the great earthquake at Messina.
A short time before that awful catastrophe, a merchant living
in the town noticed that in the room in which he was sitting
his two cats were running about and scratching at the floor
and doors in a very excited manner. He opened the door and
let them out; but they only scampered off to the next door,
and there began scratching again in the same way. He was
convinced that they wanted to get fairly out of the house; so the
owner opened the other doors leading to the street, at all of which,
while he was unfastening them, they exhibited the utmost im-
patience. Struck with their uneasiness, he determined to follow
them and endeavour to find the cause of it. Once out in the
street, they rushed off in a frantic state through the town, out
of the gates, and never stopped till they were some distance
out in the country. The merchant, who had followed them
quietly, at last found them in a field, still very excited and
scratching at the ground with their feet. In a few minutes
the first shock of the earthquake came, which buried, in its
hungry jaws, many of the houses in the town, that belonging
to the merchant amongst the number.

DISEASES OF CATS AND THEIR CURE.

To cure a cat of her ailments it is in most cases necessary
to administer physic in some shape or another. This at the
very outset is enough to daunt at least nine-tenths of the lady
cat-owners in the kingdom. “As difficult as giving pills to a
sick cat,” is a familiar way of illustrating the extreme hardship
of any task, and yet when properly managed a sick cat may
be made to take pills or any other drug without risk of a
severe scratehing on your part, and danger of a dislocated neck
on the part of suffering Grimalkin.

If the cat and yourself are on good terms, you will experience
no difficulty in approaching her, whatever be her bodily condi-
tion. Have ready a large cloth—a vurumb cloth for instance—
and wrap the patient therein, wisping the cloth round and
round her body so that every part of her except the head is
well enveloped. Any one may then hold it between their knees
while you complete the operation. Put on a pair of stout
gloves, and then with a firm hand open the animal’s mouth
wide. Do not attempt to pour down the cat’s throat too much
at a time, or your object will be frustrated. A small spoon
should be used, and no more poured into the mouth ai a time

than may be easily swallowed.
rr)

 
 

THE CAT.

Be very careful to cleanse the fur of the animal’s face and
neck of any physic that may have been smeared thereon. The
cat of all things dislikes a dirty coat, and as the nastiness of
the medicine will prevent her licking herself clean she will go
about in a miserable condition, and one that will probably
counteract the good effects of your doctoring. After the dose
has been swallowed you may unswathe the patient and turn
her into a quiet room, where there is something soft for her to
lie on, and a cheerful fire. Do not offer her any food for at
least two hours after the administration of the physic.

Diarrhoea is a very common complaint with cats. It may
be known by the animal’s becoming thin, by her coat being
dirty, and by her dull eyes. Unless this be checked, dysentery
will set in, and the cat’s life be sacrificed. An ounce of fresh
mutton suet, dissolved in a quarter of a pint of new milk, will,
if the malady be taken in hand in its earlier stage, effect a
speedy cure. The milk should only be warm enough to melt
the shredded suet; and if it be too ill to lap, put one or two
spoonsful into its mouth every two hours. If the scouring do
not abate, a spoonful of chalk mixture, with eight drops of
tincture of rhubarb, had better be given.

Cats are sometimes attacked by fits of delirium. The animal
may be discovered with staring eyes and bristling fur, rushing
here and there in a way most terrible to see. Generally it
finishes by plunging into the darkest corner it can find,—into
a lumber-room or the coal-cellar may be,—and will there
remain to die unless attended to. There are several remedies
for this disorder, but that advised by Lady Cust is certainly
the most efficacious. “ Take a sharp pair of scissors and slightly
slit one of the ears, but not to disfigure the cat; it must be in
the thin part of the ear. Have ready some warm water,
and hold the ear in it, gently rubbing it and encouraging the
blood to flow; a few drops give relief. The most timid lady
need not fear to perform this slight operation, as during the
attack the animal does not feel, nor does it resist in any way ;
but I always use thick gloves in handling animals myself, and
I recommend them to others. When the attack is ovei, keep
the cat quiet, as you will observe it is very nervous after, and
alarmed with the slightest sound; and let its food be rather
less in quantity, and less nutritious in quality, till it is past
the time of fits.”

The lady above quoted makes some interesting remarks on
the subject of grass eaten by cats. ‘Cats will never prosper

«70

 
 

THE Cat.

without grass to eat! I have long observed and been con-
vineced of this; and was ridiculed for my opinion when I
asserted it, even by some learned members of the Zoological
Society, who would not believe that grass was necessary to the
felme tribe in general, or that they would even eat it, until
they witnessed the voracity with which it was devoured after
a deprivation of it for a few days. I am perfectly certain it is
essential for the maintenance of health and life in that species.
In the first place it cools the blood, preventing humours, and
contributes to the healthy condition of the skin, rendering the
for fine and glossy. It has also a material effect on the
general health. Every one must have observed the constant
licking bestowed on the coat, and the rough nature of the
tongue. Consequently, the loose hair is conveyed to the
stomach and intestines, where it remains in balls or long rolls,
causing dulness and loss of appetite, and ending in death.
The hair swallowed adheres to the rough grass and is then
digested, or if the mass is too large (as is often the case in
the moulting season, especially with Angora cats), it will be
seen thrown up: long rolls of hair with grass, perfectly
exclusive of any other substance; and the animal that a few
minutes previous was dying, will now be relieved, and take its
food as usual.”

In the spring and autumn cats are frequently afflicted with
a disease resembling chicken-pox in the human subject. The
head and throat are the parts chiefly attacked, the hair falls
off, and the animal’s appearance is very miserable. Rub the
places with flour of brimstone mixed with hogs’ lard.

‘When the cat has kittens never be so hard-hearted as to
carry off at one sweep the whole of her little family. There is
no animal on earth that exhibits more affection for its progeny
than the cat. It will go hungry that its young ones may eat,
and will face the most terrible dangers in their behalf. If her
children are taken from her, she goes for days stalking abont,
a lean and wretched cat, tilling the house with her melancholy
mewings. Therefore be merciful. If the entire litter must
be destroyed take them away one at a time, allowing a day or
two between. Motherless kittens may be reared by hand by
sweetening new milk with brown sugar and feeding them with
the mixture several times a day. The best substitute for the
healthfal licking afforded by the mother’s tongue is a soapy
sponge squeezed nearly dry.

“Cats,” writes Lady Cust, “have a very dangerous com-

671

 
 

THE Ca‘.

plaint, which I call distemper, though it is different to the
distemper in dogs. I do not think it occurs more than once;
and it is well it does not, as it requires every care and at-
tention to save the life of the sufferer. Sometimes it begins
with constant vomiting of a bright yellow frothy liquid, dia-
rrhoea then comes on, which ends in dysentery. If you see
the yellow vomiting, give the small dose of salt and water
before named; in this case it will act as an emetic. When
the stomach is cleared, then, as the vomiting will continue
from irritation, and reduce the strength to the last degree,
very painful to witness, stop it as soon as you can, by giving
half a teaspoonful of melted beef marrow, free from skin. One
dose is generally sufficient; but if it is not, another half-spoon-
ful may be given in half an hour. To allay vomiting from
irritation, I have never seen this simple remedy fail in either
the human or animal subject. I have tried it upon all species
of carnivora with equal success: the former should take it
upon toast, with salt without pepper, overcoming the great
repugnance it causes in sickness,”

 

 
 

 

THE SQUIRREL.

 

Tats pretty home pet, which is found generally throughout
Europe and Northern Asia, is well represented by this hand-
some, active, little fellow, whose home is among the branches
of British park and forest trees.

It is true that this prime favourite, especially with boys
and girls, comes to our homes unprovided with any special
recommendation, either on the score of utility or usefulness.
It cannot guard the house like the dog, or catch mice like
the cat, or wage war against black-beetles and cockroaches
like that prickly pet the hedge-hog: I am not sure, however,
that this incapacity to earn our regards is against his chances
of remaining a pet as long as any creature treated of in this
volume. By earning I mean to acquire a right,—to furnish an
equivalent for goods required, and on such terms as make it
downright dishonesty to fail to furnish the goods; which in
the case of the beetle-catcher, and the canine watchman, and
the expeller of mice, means food and drink and lodging. It
might. be argued by a sour philosopher that to retain. the
animals: above mentioned: and’ many others in this book
enumerated—the egg-producing hen, the pie-affording pigeon,
the Michaelmas feast-supplying goose—is no more pete

43 oa

 
 

THE SQUIRREL.

keeping and the animals specified no more pets than are
Mary Jane the all-work maid, or John the gardener; and that
while the keepers of these producing and working animals flatter
themselves that they are good-natured patrons of this hobby
or of that, they are in reality but hucksters and petty chapmen
in disguise. As the reader knows, I am altogether opposed to
this coarse and untrue doctrine. What I am inclined to
believe is this, that a creature, to be absolutely and purely a
pet, is it that has nothing but affection and gratitude to offer
<n return for any kindness vouchsafed. Nothing is so pitiful
as complete helplessness, and nothing so closely allied to pity
as love. Take the case of our baby——of your baby—of every-
body’s baby ;—I doubt if it would be half so precious if it
could demand its titty, and threaten to walk off and be some-
body else’s baby if it was not instantly supplied. At the same
time, however, be it understood that neither for the squirrel’s
sake, nor the sour philosopher’s sake, do I mean to retract
the title of pet, as applied to every creature treated of in this
book, and perhaps this entire rigmarole might better have been
compressed into these few words:—that pet-love, like every
other, has its degrees, and that that assigned to the squirrel is,
for reasons already mentioned, of rather a high order.

The following are the squirrel’s chief characteristics. Its
English name is a corruption of the scientific appellation
sciwrus, from skia a shade, and owra a tail, and no doubt
alludes to the animal’s habit of shading its entire body with
its tail when it isin a state of rest. Its common length from the
nose to the tip of the tail is about fifteen inches; the ears are
terminated by long tufts of hair; the colour of the head, body,
tail, and legs is a bright reddish-brown; the belly and breast
are white’; the eyes large, black, and sparkling; the fore-feet
strong, sharp, and well adapted to hold its food; the legs short
and muscular; the toes long, and the nails sharp and strong;
the upper lip is cleft; the fur short and silky; there are four
molar teeth on each side of the lower jaw, and five in the
upper. In each jaw there are two incisors.

They seem—at least the English squirrel—to prefer the
fir-tree to all others as a site for their nest. In forming the
nest they begin by gathering mouthfuls cf dry, heathy grass
in the way we see rabbits do, and of this grass they make a
vonsiderable deposit. The outside is afterwards protected with
4 number of sticks, giving the nest the appearance of a bird’s
nest. When the young are ready to be deposited, the female

674

 
 

THE SQUIRREL.

squirrel scratches off her fur in the manner of the rabbit, so
that its stomach is sometimes quite bare. This providential
arrangement, however, answers a two-fold purpose. While
the nest is thus rendered warm and snug for the little squirrels,
a space round the mother’s teats is cleared of the thick fur,
enabling the little ones to suck without difficulty. The num-
ber of young produced at a litter varies from three to five.
They are usually born in the middle of summer, and cut a very
odd appearance, on account of the extreme shortness of their
tails. Indeed, they scarcely attain full growth of this caudal
appendage till the following spring, when they leave the
paternal roof and commence business on their own account.

When free among its native boughs, its apparent reckless-
ness is certainly enough to startle the observer unacquainted
with squirrel nature. Without the least hesitation it will launch
itself into the air though there may not be a branch on which
it can alight for full twenty feet below; but, buoyant, almost, as
a bird, it alights on the branch, and, staying but an instant,
it makes another leap more tremendous than the last. It
rather seems to sink through the air as does a weight in water
than to fall, and there can be no doubt that the expanded tail
and spread feet opposing the air tends to this effect.

It may be easily imagined that a creature whose playground
is the top twigs of tall trees, where no human climber dare ven-
ture, is by no means easy to capture—especially as its hearing is
keen, and its vision remarkably acute. Still, among boys living
in the vicinity of large woods and copses, squirrel-hunting is a
favourite diversion, and none the less so because it is seldom
attended by success. “The only plan,” says the Rev. Mr. Wood,
igs to watch the animal until it has ascended an isolated tree,
or, by @ well-directed shower of missiles, to drive it into such a
place of refuge, and then to form a ring round the tree so as
to intercept the squirrel, should it try to escape by leaping to
the ground and running to another tree. The best climber is
then sent in chase of the squirrel, and endeavours, by violently
shaking the branches, to force the little animal to loose its
hold and fall to the earth. But it is by no means an easy
matter to shake a squirrel from a branch, especially as the
little creature takes refuge on the topmost and most slender
boughs, which even bend under the weight of its own small
body, and can in no way be trusted with the weight of a
human being. By dint, however, of perseverance, the squirrel]
is at last dislodged, and comes to the ground as jightly as a

8

 
 

THE SQUIRREL,

snow-flake. Hats, caps, sticks, and all available missiles are
immediately flung at the luckless animal as soon as it touches
the ground, and it is very probably struck and overwhelmed by
a cap. The successful hurler flings himself upon the cap, and
tries to seize the squirrel as it lies under his property. All his
companions gather round him, and great is the disappointment
to find the cap empty and to see the squirrel triumphantly
scampering up some tree where it would be useless to follow it.”

The squirrel is a hibernating animal, and providently antici-
pates the dearth of winter by accumulating a store of nuts and
acorns. About the first week in October is the time when the
squirrel may be seen in the oak and the nut trees, as busy as
a “ pole-puller” in a Kentish hop-garden. With a critical eye
he examines a bunch of nuts, picking out the brownest and the
ripest, and never, by any chance, is he guilty of the indiscre-
tion of taking home a nut into which, or, rather, out of which,
a maggot has bored. He seems, too, to be aware of that
excellent maxim,—* never trust all your eggs in one basket.”
He well knows that if all his hoard were trusted in one maga-
zine, and that magazine should be discovered and plundered,
there is nothing left but starvation; so he deposits his collec-
tion in ten or a dozen different holes and crevices, and such is
his wonderful power of memory, that though the snow may
fall and cover, to the depth of a foot, the place where his nuts
are, he knows their whereabouts to an inch, and scratches
straight down to them with a confidence that is invariably
rewarded with success.

That is, unless burglary has been perpetrated, which not
unfrequently happens. A gentleman residing in Hampshire
informed me that at the close of one autumn he lit on a squir-
rel busy at the stump of a tree, and on closely inspecting the
spot discovered in a hole in the bark as many nuts as would
fill a gill measure. He took no further notice at the time, but
passing the same spot the following week he had another peep
at the savings-bank, and found that there had been several
fresh deposits. He took out the whole of the treasure and
filled up the hole with pebbles. He thought no more about
the matter till the following January, when he chanced once
more to come near the same spot. It was a very hard winter,
and the snow lay at least ten inches deep ; he had no difficulty,
however, in finding the industrious little squirrel’s store-room,
for it was evident it had paid it a visit but a very little time

before. The snow was brushed clean from about it, and every
4768

 
 

THE SQUIRREL.

one of the pebbles was turned out of the hole on to the hard
earth. “TI never,” said the gentleman in question, “felt the
folly of practical joking so fully in all, my life. Fancy the poor
little fellow nipped up with cold and scanty food, but, foreseeing
a long winter, resolved to economize his little hoard as well as
possible ; fancy him at last determined to break this—perhaps
his last—magazine, and cheerily prushing away the snow, fully
confident that a good meal awaited him as the reward of his
cold job, and, after all, finding nothing but stones! I never
felt more mean and ashamed in all my life, and really would
have given a guinea to have known that injured squirrel’s
address. He should have had as fine a lot of nuts as would
have put him beyond the reach of poverty, had he lived to be
as old as Methuselah.”

The manner in which the squirrel takes its food is as pretty
as it is curious. It does not grub at its food with its head to
the ground like an ordinary quadruped, but takes it as if it had
a nut or an acorn between its fore paws as it squats on its
hind ones, and with its sharp chisel-like teeth cuts off the top
of the nut. The rest of the shell is soon demolished; and then,
retaining the kernel in its paws, turns it about rapidly, and
divests it of every particle of husk; it then leisurely and
complacently nibbles at it till it is devoured.

It exhibits great affection for its young. Mr. Jesse relates,
that in cutting down some trees on an estate at Petersham,
the axe was applied to the root of a tall tree, on the top of
which was a squirrel’s nest, and a rope was fastened to the
tree for the purpose of bringing it down more expeditiously.
The workmen cut at the roots; the rope was pulled; the tree
swayed backwards and forwards, and at last fell. During
all these operations the female squirrel never attempted to
desert her new-born young, but remained with them in the
nest. When the tree fell down she was thrown out of the nest,
and was secured unhurt and put in a cage with her young
ones. She suckled them for a short time, but refused to eat.
Her maternal affection, however, remained till the last moment
of her life, and she died in the act of affording all the nourish-
ment in her power to her offspring.

As regards the purchase of a squirrel, considerable care is
necessary, or the purchaser will be most lamentably taken in.
Many are sold by the dealers in dogs and birds, but the greater
part by men in smockfrocks, who go about the streets with a
squirrel or two to sell, and who assert that they have caught

 
 

THE SQUIRBEL.

and tamed them themselves. As to who caught them is, of
course, no business of yours; your object is to purchase a tame
squirrel, and, goodness knows, those that the countryman is
desirous of selling are tame enough. They allow their limbs
to be pulled about, their tails to be stroked and twisted all
sorts of ways, and will lie extended, as though dead, along the
countryman’s arm at word of command. Still, itis just about five
chances to one that the squirrel is really as savage as ever it
was in its life, but rendered intoxicated and incapable by the
use of strychnine. One of two things will certainly be the
result,—either the squirrel will within a few hours of its recep-
tion into the bosom of your family recover from the pernicious
dose, and, assuming its proper character, scamper off through
a door or window, or else it will die. Whether, as in the
hedgehop’s case, as tested by Dr. Ball, the squirrel would yield
its wild nature to a single attack of whisky or any other
spirituous thief that, put into the mouth, “steals away the
brains,” has not, to my knowledge, ever been tested.

The time to buy a squirrel is about the end of September,
‘for then the animal, if newly caught, will be fat, healthy, and
vigorous, and its fur in its prime. Never mind about the
creature’s tameness; if you wish to cultivate its friendship it
will be better to tame it yourself. The key to the squirrel’s
-heart is of the same old pattern, and is called by the same old
name as the key to every difficulty, little or big, that the world
may present—patient kindness. House him in a cage in which
is comprised a great revolving cylinder of zinc wire, and to
which is attached a snug little ante-room, to which he may
retire when he feels so disposed. Squirrel-cages being pretty
much of one pattern, and that -pattern being seemingly well
adapted to their habits, nothing further need be said on that
head, except it be—have your cage large enough.

As to the squirrel’s food, you must be guided by his habits
while in a state of freedom. He will enjoy any sort of small
nuts (it will be as well to avoid those of a very oily nature) or
some grains of wheat, or an acorn; a stale crust of bread will
‘be taken between his little hands with a deal of pleasure, and
as a treat a bit of boiled potato, and even a bit—a little bit, of
eourse—of fresh meat will do him no harm. This will not be
outraging the squirrel’s nature, as in a wild state he frequently
asserts his claim to be classed with the carnivora by robbing
‘irds’ nests, and carrying off members of the young brood.

Tn selecting a squirrel, see that his fur is sleek and glossy, his

 
 

THE SQUIRREL.

feet “ clean,” his eyes bright, and his teeth white: this latter
particularly. For if a squirrel’s teeth be yellow, be sure that
he is an old animal, used to liberty for many years, and, con-
sequently, all the harder to break in.

Besides the squirrel with which we are familiar, there are
so many others of the species, that to give any other than a
cursory notice of the most curious would be quite impracticable
in a volume like the present. There is the palm squirrel, a
little fellow of yellow colour, barred with black bars, found in
Africa, and which lives among the cocoa-trees, and is wonder-
fully fond of Sury, or palm wine, which, among other good things,
is yielded by the cocoa-tree. Then there is the squirrel that
haunts the plains (not the trees) in the neighbourhood of Lake
Winipeg, in America, and which the Cree Indians call Savoacka-
Wappiocoos; and the four-banded pouched squirrel, which,
as its name implies, has a pouch on either side of its jaws; and
the Great Malabar squirrel, measuring, from the nose to the
tip of its tail, nearly a yard, and richly tinted with chocolate
and chestnut and black. This species, like the palm squirrel,
builds its nest in the cocoa-tree, and, biting through the tough
husk with its sharp teeth, drinks the cocoa-milk and eats the
cocoa-flesh, and, altogether, seems to live a very jolly life
indeed.

The Chipping squirrel, or Hackee, as it is sometimes called,
is one of the prettiest of the species. It is but eleven inches
in length, of which the tail occupies four inches. Its colours
are brownish-grey on the neck, glowing into orange-brown on
the forehead and the hinder quarters. Along its back and
sides extend five black and two cream-coloured stripes, and the
throat and under parts are snowy-white. It may be easily
seen, from this description, that the Hackee is rather a nice-
looking little animal. It is a native of North America.

It is a burrowing animal, but would seem to be no more easy
of capture than those of arboreal habits. Audubon gives a
description of a Hackee hunt :— This species is, to a certain
extent, gregarious in its habit. We had in autumn marked
one of its burrows, which we conceived well adapted to our
purpose, which was to dig it out. It was in the woods, in a
sandy piece of ground, and the earth was strewed with leaves
to the depth of eight inches, which, we believed, would prevent
the frost penetrating to any considerable depth. We had the
place opened in January, when the ground was covered with

snow about five inches deep. The entrance of the burrow had
679

a. 3
 

THE SQUIRREL

been closed from within. We followed the course of the small
winding gallery with considerable difficulty. The hole descended
at first almost perpendicularly for about three feet; it then
continued, with one or two windings, rising a little nearer to
the surface, until it had advanced to about eight feet, when we
came to a large nest made of oak leaves and dried grasses.
Here lay snugly covered three Chipping squirrels. Another
was subsequently dug from one of the small lateral galleries, to
which it had evidently retreated to avoid us. They were not
dormant, and seemed ready to bite when taken in the hand;
but they were not very active, and appeared somewhat slug-
gish and benumbed, which, we conjectured, was owing to their
being exposed to sudden cold from our having opened their
burrow. There was about a gill of wheat and buck-wheat in
the nest ; but in the galleries, which we afterwards dug out, we
found about a quart of hazel-nuts, nearly a peck of acorns,
some grains of Indian corn, about two quarts of buck-wheat,
and a very small quantity of grass seeds.”

In Java is found another of this tribe, known as the Plantain
squirrel. Among the Javanese, this little animal is as commonly
domesticated as is the cat among ourselves. Mr. Adams, the
naturalist, says of a Plantain squirrel kept by him, that it was
an amusing little animal, full of frolic and playful as a kitten.
He never carried his tail over his back, like the greater number
of his family, but would trail it gracefully along the ground.
When angry, he would dilate this ornamental appendage and
bristle up the hairs like an irritated cat. His natural cry was
a weak chirping sound; but, when teased beyond his powers
of endurance, he would make a sharp, low, and passionate noise.
He seemed to court caresses, and would receive them with
pleasure. His food consisted of bananas and cocoa-nuts, which
he usually would nibble like a rat, though sometimes he would
place it between his paws. He was a remarkably cleanly little
creature, and was continually dressing his far. When he slept,
he rolled himself up like the dormouse, with his tail encircling
his body. Always active and blithe, he would sometimes per-
form feats of extraordinary agility, bounding to great distances
and clinging to every object within his reach.

The smallest of the squirrel tribe is one discovered by M.
Chaillu in Equatorial Africa. This is called by the natives
Kendo. Chaillu, in his wonderful gorilla book, gives an ac-
count of shooting this animal, and likewise its portrait, which,
he says, “ = its actual size, and taken from my stuffed speci-

 
 

THE SQUIBREL.

men.” According to this, the Kendo measures, from tail-stump
to nose-tip, two inches and five-eighths.

Besides burrowing squirrels, and squirrels which live entirely
in trees, there are squirrels which fly. To this family belongs
the Rocky-mountain squirrel, which, bat-like, lurks in the
gloom of the pine forests during the day, and rouses to activity
with the night. In an account of this species, Mr. Bermet
says: “They are principally distinguished from the common
squirrel by what is usually termed their flying membrane.
This apparatus consists of a folding of the skin along either
side, so as to form broad lateral expansions, supported ante-
riorly and posteriorly by the limbs, between which they are
extended, and by peculiar bony processes, arising from the feet.
These expansions are not naked and membranous, like those of
the bats, but are actual continuations of the skin, clothed ex-
ternally by a dense fur, similar to that which invests every
other part of the body; neither do they serve, like the flying
membranes of many of the bats, the purposes of wings, their
functions being limited to that of a parachute, giving to the
animal a considerable degree of buoyancy, and thus enabling
it to take leaps of almost incredible extent, and with the
velocity of an arrow.”

Flying squirrels are found in Ceylon. Sir Emerson Tennent
mentions two: one peculiar to Ceylon, and the other common
to Ceylon and India. He speaks of the former, which is the
larger, as being assisted in its prodigious leaps from tree to
tree by the parachute formed by the skin of the flanks, which,
on the extension of the limbs, front and rear, is laterally ex-
panded from foot to foot. Thus, buoyed up in its descent, the
spring which it is enabled to make from one lofty tree to
another resembles the flight of a bird rather than the bound of
@ guadruped.

 

 
 

    

==
THE MOUSE.

“Wuat next? Pray, Sir, have you not this time made a
slight mistake and substituted a pest for a pet; or are we to
have in due course instructions how to make the black-beetle
happy, how the domestic spider may be fattened and fondled,
and the cockroach rendered comfortable P”

My mind’s ear is conscious of these and many other sarcustic
queries from indignant lady-housekeepers, accompanied by a
chorus of ten thousand little screams from ten thousand other
ladies, old and young, who, though unafilicted by larder cares,
are thrown into as complete a state of panic at the mere
whisper of mouse! as men display at the dread mention of
“mad dog.” Nevertheless are we no way daunted, for reply-
ing to the taunts, and the sarcasm, and the httle screams,
there comes a burst of admiration for the bright-eyed, nimble
little mouse, in all its varieties of brown, and mottled, and
tawny, and white,—a very Babel of pleadings for it as an
amusing and instructive creature, and imploring that it may
not be banished from the circle of Home Pets. True the
voices raised in favour of the mouse are, as a rule, little
voices, whose owners, having no care as to the purchase of

the next cheese or box of candles, care nothing as to how tne
Os2

 

 
 

THE MOUSE.

last was consumed, and are seldom affected beyond risibility
when cook exhibits to indignant mamma the mutilated stilton,
or the loaf tunnelled as neatly as though the tiny operators
had studied under Sir Isambard Brunel. Never mind. The
careless rogues (the boys, not the mice) will know better somy
day. Meantime they retain the mouse cage and triumph.
Neither are they without a tolerably sound argument in favour
of mouse-keeping. ‘What satisfaction is it,” say they, “to
catch a mouse and kill himP That you inflict no punish-
ment on him is certain, as the instant a mouse is a dead mouse
there is, as far as he is concerned, no more a blank in mouse-
dom than though he had never lived at all. It must be a
more sensible thing to get what you can out of them as some
return for what they filch. What can they be made to render?
Nothing but amusement. ‘Very well; a very good thing too:
and let us exact of them as much of that commodity as
possible.”

There is really no telling the extent of the amusement and
instruction that may be gathered from close observation of the
habits and peculiarities of the common little brown mouse.
They have been known to emit musical sounds. I myself can
bear witness to this, having heard distinctly, and for as long a
time as seemed a minute, a low and continuous strain of mouse
music. It was in the middle of the night, and in my bed-room.
I was lying awake, when, preceded by a scratching of little
paws on the fender, the soft music began. My wife heard it
as well as myself. Once we whispered concerning it, but it was
not disturbed, but at a second whisper there was an unmusical,
squeak and a scamper, and the music was at an end.

I find in an edition of the Rev. J. G. Wood’s “ Natural
History” a letter from a clergyman friend of his—the Rev.
R. L. Bampfield, of Little Barfield, Hssex—giving an account
of a singing mouse, or of singing mice, and which in one parti-
cular coincides with my experience.

“In a former residence of mine,” says he, “ some mice took up
their abode behind the wainscot in the kitchen. From motives
which few housekeepers would appreciate we allowed them to
remain undisturbed: and most merry, cheerful little creatures
they were. It seemed to us that a young brood was being
carefully educated, but they did not learn all their accomplish-
ments from their parents. In the kitchen hung a good singing
canary, and by degrees the chirp of the mice changed into an

exact imitation of the canary’s song; at least, it was so with
we

 
 

THE MOUSE.

one, for though several attempted it, one considerably excelled
the rest. I am not sure that admiration of the music influ-
enced them, for, from the funny facetious way in which it was
done, I should rather say it was out of mockery, or at least,
from a love of imitation. Yet the result was very pleasing;
far inferior to the canary’s note in volume, strength, and sweet-
ness, it was perhaps superior to it in softness and delicacy.
Often have I listened to it with pleasure in the evening when
the canary was asleep, with its head beneath its wing; and
more than once have I observed a kitchen guest glance at the
canary, then look round in some astonishment and say, ‘Is that
a bird, sir, singing?’ One trustworthy person assured me that
he too had in his house a singing mouse. I have therefore little
doubt that if a young family of mice were brought up from the
first close to a canary, or some other songster, some of them
would learn to sing.”

In the case above quoted the mouse’s tutor was a canary:
as regards the case mentioned by myself there had been for
several months before the occurrence of the harmony in the
fender, two able-bodied goldfinches in a room below, in full
song. I may as well mention that we set a trap for our musical
mouse, and that we made a capture; whether it was the right
mouse and that the consciousness of being a prisoner put its
tiny pipes out, or whether it was just an ordinary mouse, we
had no means of ascertaining, as in spite of the most luxurious
feeding it never emitted anything more musical than a squeak.
The only fact in favour of the supposition that it was the
musician we had caught is, that we heard it no more.

Is it possible, then, to teach a mouse to sing, or at least to
utter notes, which, though inferior to those of the canary in
volume, are superior to them in softness and delicacy? It
would at least be worth the trouble of testing. A mouse about
to litter might be kept constantly in the same chamber with a
song bird, with little or no extra trouble; even if it cost a little
pains, surely so great a marvel as a singing quadruped would
amply repay it.

Before anything more, however, is said of the mouse’s abilities,
and the best mode of cultivating and realizing them, a short chat
about mice generally, with their various habits and peculiarities,
may not be out of place.

THE DORMOUSE,

This little animal is placed by Mr. Bell and some other
ee4

 
 

THE MOUSE.

nataralists with the squirrel, which animal it closely resembles
in its mode of feeding and in other ways; the arrangement of
its teeth, however, is more mouse than squirrel-like.

The common dormouse is of about the same size as the
common domestic species, but it is of plumper form, and its
nose blunter. Its eyes are black and full; its ears round and
semi-transparent; its tail two inches and a half long, and
more hairy at the tip than at any other part. Its upper parts
are reddish-brown, as is its belly, while its throat is white. Its
fur is remarkably fine and soft.

The habits of the dormouse are well described by the author

of “ British Quadrupeds.” “It takes its food holding it in its
hands and sitting on its haunches (as do the rats), and often
suspending itself by its hind feet, in which position it feeds as
easily and comfortably as in the ordinary position. Towards
the winter it becomes exceedingly fat, and having laid up a
store of food, retires to its little nest, and, coiling itself up into
a ball with the tail over the head and back, becomes completely
torpid. A mild day calls it into transient life; it then takes a
fresh supply of food and relapses into its former slumber; and
finally awakening in the spring, at which time it has lost much
of its fat, it enters upon its usual habits, and the enjoyment of
the conjugal and paternal’ affections. The young, which
generally are about four in number, are born blind, but in a
‘few days their eyes are opened, and in a short time they are
able to seek their food independently of the parents’ care.”
The same author states that he has reason to believe that, in
some cases at least, the dormouse lias a second brood early in
the autumn, and grounds his belief on the fact that he saw in
the month of September an adult one about half grown, evi-
dently of the spring brood, and three very young ones, appa-
rently not more than a fortnight or three weeks old.

The nest of the dormouse is generally built in the hollows
of trees near the root, or in the thickness of a low-growing
bush. The materials used in the construction of its dwelling
are moss, dead leaves, &c. It is by no means easy to catch a
wide-awake dormouse; it hops from this branch to that, and
worms itself so swiftly and unexpectedly through seemingly
impossible clefts and crevices, that its capture by hand is a
circumstance of rare occurrence. When, however, it composes
itself for its winter nap it offers but little opposition to being
made prisoner. In the third volume of the “ Naturalist”
there are several instances of this character quoted, and among

685

 
 

THE MOUSE.

them one of a dormouse having been taken in its nest in the
middle of December; the beat of its captor’s hand and the
warmth of the room completely revived it, and it nimbly scaled
the furniture, finding no difficulty m ascending and descend-
ing its polished surfaces, and leaping from chair to chair
with great agility. On being set at liberty, it sprang at
least two yards to a table. It did not seem alarmed at
being taken in the hand. In the evening it was placed with
its nest in a box, and the next morning had relapsed into
torpidity.

Another account in the same volume informs us that a
dormouse which had been sent a distance of 140 miles seemed
but little disturbed by the ride. “ From that time till the month
of April it slept in its snug dormitory, a deal box lined with
wool, when it awoke and readily ate of apples and nuts. It is
easily alarmed, being more timid than tame, but shows no sign
of anger on being taken in the hand. As it sleeps the greater
part of the day, I cannot then closely watch its habits; but in
the evening it wakes up and is very lively and frolicsome,
running, on being let out of its cage, up the bell-rope, where it
will sit for hours in the fold of the knot timidly watching our
movements.”

The dormouse is found not only in England, but throughout
the whole of Southern Europe.

Besides the common dormouse, there are the fat dormouse
and the garden dormouse. The latter is somewhat larger than
the common mouse, and closely resembles the common dor-
mouse in its habits, though with less activity. It hybernates
like the last-mentioned animal, but, curiously enough, grows fat
instead of thin during its protracted slumbers. It is, however,
hard to pin one’s faith to the ancient belief that the dormouse
grows fat on sleep, and that if its hybernation were by any
accident extraordinarily protracted, it would die of sheer obesity ;
it is more probable that it is more easily roused to life than
others of its brethren, and that each time it wakes it makes a
substantial meal and then tucks itself comfortably to sleep again.
This being the case, its inordinate fatness ceases to be a wonder.

The fat dormouse was highly esteemed by the ancient Romans
as a table delicacy ; there were established gliaria, or places
where dormice were bred and fattened for the table. The fur
of the fat dormouse is long and soft; ash-coloured above, and
dingy white beneath.

The garden dormouse, is so called from its habit of invading

668

 
 

THE MOUSE.

gardens and making free with the ripe fruit—especially wall-
fruit, amongst which its prime favourite is the peach. Except
that itis somewhat smaller, it much resembles the fat dormouse,
but it is not eatable. It makes its nest, like the rest of this
genus, in the hollows of trees, or in the crevices of garden-walls,
Its tota! length is about eight inches, and of this the tail occu-
pies about an inch and a half. Its general colour is grey,
deeply tinged with red upon the back, and becoming white
upon the abdomen. The eyes are set in a black patch, which
extends to some distance beyond each ear. Its tail is rather
wide towards the end and sharp at the extremity ; it is covered
with short black hair, changing abruptly to white at the tip.
It is common throughout the temperate parts of Europe and
Asia.

Although not exactly of the genus mus, it would be a pity
to exclude from these pages a short notice of that interesting
little creature the shrew mouse. During the autumn months
a walk along a country road will almost certainly discover one
or two shrew mice dead and cold, and without any wound or
other evidence to tell the reason why. As has been remarked
by Mr. Wood, the presence of these deceased creatures is the
more remarkable, because there are so many predatory animals
and birds, such as cats, weasels, stoats, owls, and hawks, which
would be very likely to kill such small prey, but having slain
them would be almost sure to eat them.

To account for this phenomenon it has been suggested that
the shrew, like the mole, is very impatient of hunger, and that
when the approach of winter drives the worms deep into the
earth, and the insects to their winter hiding-places, the unlucky
shrew-mouse goes about poking its sharp snout here and there
in search of a morsel, and not finding it falls down faint and
‘exhausted, and dies where it is found.

Scarcely the raven himself was more hated and feared in the
“ good old times” than the innocent little shrew. Did a shrew
run over a ploughman’s boot, as he plodded through a field,
the poor wretch instantly fancied himself “ shrew-struck,” and
ran home in a fright to impart the doleful news to his horror-
stricken family ; if a horse died in a meadow, and its master
discovered a shrew in the neighbourhood, he straightway cursed
the whole shrew tribe, and troubled himself no farther as to
the cause of his nag’s demise; if, while singing on her stool, a
little shrew-mouse rustled the petticoat of the milkmaid, her
cheeks grew white as the rich milk in the pail, and, lest some

ow

 
THE MOUSE.

horrid thing should happen to herself or the cow, she was a
miserable milkmaid for a week after.

But we cannot do our ancestors the injustice to assert that
they submitted like cowards to the malice of the shrew. No.
They invented all sorts of devices to meet their dreaded enemy.
Here is one described by the historian of Selborne :—“ At the
south corner of the plestor, or area near the church, there
stood about twenty years ago a very old grotesque pollard ash,
which for ages had been looked upon with no small veneration
as a shrew-ash. Now a shrew-ash is an ash whose twigs or
branches, when applied to the limbs of cattle, will immediately
relieve the pains which a beast suffers from the running of a
shrew-mouse over the parts affected; for it is supposed that a
shrew-mouse is of so baneful and deleterious a nature, that
wherever it creeps over a beast, be it horse, cow, or sheep, the
suffering animal is afflicted with cruel anguish, and threatened
with the loss of the use of the limb. Against this accident, to
which they were continually liable, our provident forefathers
always kept a shrew-ash at hand, which, when once medicated,
retained its virtue for ever. A shrew-ash was made thus:
into the body a hole was bored with an auger, and a poor
devoted shrew-mouse was thrust in alive and plugged: in, no
doubt with several quaint incantations long since forgotten.”

That this banter of good old Gilbert White’s was not unde-
served, may be fully proved from many an ancient Natural
History. Take, for instance, the “History of Four-footed
Beasts and Serpents,” published by Topsell, in the year 1658.
Says this old-fashioned zoologist, speaking of the shrew,—* It
is a ravening beast, feigning itself gentle and tame, but being
touched it biteth deep and poisoneth deadly. It beareth a cruel
minde, desiring to hurt anything ; neither is there any creature
that it loveth, or it loveth him, because it is feared of all. The
cats, as we have said, do hunt it and kill it, but they eat not
them, for if they do they consume away and die. They go very
slowly ; they are fraudulent and take their prey by deceit. Many
times they gnaw the ox’s hoofs in the stable. The shrew which
by falling by chance into a cart-road or track doth die upon the
same, being burned and afterwards beaten or dissolved into
dust and mixed with goose-grease, being rubhed or anointed
upon those which are troubled with the swelling coming by the
cause of some inflammation, doth bring unto them a wonderful
and most admirable cure and remedy. The shrew being slain
or killed hanging, so that neither then nor afterwards she may

688

 
 

THE MOUSE.

touch the ground, doth help those that are grieved or pained
in their bodies with sores or boils. The shrew which dyeth in
the furrow of a cart-wheel being found and rowled in potter’s
clay or a linnen cloth, or in crimson or in scarlet woollen cloth,
and three times marked about the imposthumes which. will
suddenly swell in any man’s body, will very speedily and effec-
tually help and cure the same. The tail of a shrew being cut
off and burned, and afterwards beaten into dust and applied or
anointed upon the sores of any man which came by the bite of
a greedy and ravenous dog, will in a very short space make
both whole and sound, so that the tail be cut from the shrew
when she is alive, not when she is dead, for then it hath neither
good operations nor efficacy in it.”

It is hard to conjecture how it came about that the poor
little shrew-mouse should be regarded as such a baneful mon-
ster. True, it will fight like afury with its own species—indeed,
it is impossible to keep two in the same cage—and will devour
its enemy should it have the luek to slay it; but that so small
a creature should be able to terrify mankind, it is not easy to
understand, especially considering its unoffending aspect and
unobtrusive habits.

The shrew, in the form of its body and the texture of its
fur, closely resembles the domestic mouse. The head, however,
is totally different ; the snout being long and tapering, the eyes
very minute and almost hidden in the surrounding hairs, and
the ears round and set very close to the head. The teeth are pe-
culiar, the incisors being extremely long, and those of the upper
jaw curved and notched at their base, while those of the lower
jaw project almost horizontally. The tips of all the teeth are
tinged with a reddish brown colour; which, by-the-by, as it
might pass for blood-stain, may after all be the secret of the
superstitious dread with which our forefathers regarded the
little animal. Worms and insects are shrews’ chief diet. The
nest, which is usually made in a hole in a bank, is composed
of dried herbage and is covered at the top, having an entrance
at the side. Spring is the time for the shrew-mouse to bring
forth its young, and usually five or seven is the number born.

THE HARVEST MOUSE,

It would seem that the indefatigable Gilbert White of Sel-
borne was the first to take special notice of this pigmy of the
genus Mus. Writing to his friend Pennant, he says: “I have

tA 689

 
THE MOUSE.

procured some of the mice mentioned in my former letter,—a
young one and a female with young, both of which I have pre-
served in brandy. From the colour, size, shape, and manner
of nesting, I make no doubt but that the species is nondescript.

They breed as many as eight at a litter, in a little
round nest, composed of the blades of grass or wheat. One of
these I procured this autumn, most artificially platted, and
composed of the blades of wheat, perfectly round, and about
the size of a cricket-ball, with the aperture so ingeniously
closed that there was no discovering to what part it belonged.
It was so compact and well fitted that it would roll across the
table without being decomposed, though it contained eight little
mice that were naked and blind. As this nest was perfectly
full, how could the dam come at her litter respectively, so as to
administer a teat to each? Perhaps she opens different places
for that purpose, adjusting them again when the business is
over; but she could not possibly be contained herself in the
hall with her young, which would, moreover, be daily increasing
in bulk. This wonderful procreant cradle—an elegant instance
of the efforts of instinct—was found in a wheat field, suspended
in the head of a thistle.”

Respecting the curious shape of the nest of the harvest-
mouse, Mr. Wood is inclined to suppose that the little builder
remained inside while engaged in its construction, and, after
weaving it around her, pushed her way out through the loosely |
woven wall and rearranged the gap from the outside. It may
be, he suggests, that the nest is the jomt work of both sexes,
one without the nest and the other within.

* As to the harvest mice,” continues Gilbert White, “I have
further to remark, that though they hang their nests for breed-
ing up amidst the straws of the standing corn above the ground,
yet I find that in the winter they burrow deep into the earth
and make warm beds of grass; but the grand rendezvous seems
to be in corn-ricks, into which they are carried at harvest. A
neighbour housed an oat-rick lately, under the thatch of which
were assembled nearly a hundred, most of which were taken,~
and some I saw I measured, and found that from nose to tail
they were just two inches and a quarter, and their tails just
two inches long. Two of them in a scale weighed down just
one copper halfpenny, which is about the third of an ounce
avoirdupois; so that I suppose they are the smallest quad-
tapeds in this island. A full-grown domestic mouse weighs, I
find, an ounce lumping weight, which is more than six times ag
 

THE MOUSE,

much as the mouse above, and measures. from nose to rump,
four inches and a quarter, and the same in its tail.”

It ‘is useless to attempt to breed harvest mice in a state of
bondage; it has been attempted many times, and with con-
siderably more care than any reader of this book will be dis-
posed to devote to the matter, and the invariable result has
been disappointment. The young are devoured as soon as they
are horn. So rarely is this the exception, that there is pre-
served in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons the
tiny offspring of a tame harvest-mouse, and it is justly re-
garded as one of the smallest placental quadrupeds that ever
breathed.

It was for a long time supposed that the harvest-mouse was
strictly granivorous in its habits; this error, however, was
abolished many years ago by Mr. Bingley. He says: “One
evening, as I was sitting at my writing-desk, and the animal was
playing about in the open part of its cage. a large blue-bottle
fly happened to buzz against the wires. The little creature,
although at twice or thrice her own length from it, sprang
along the wires with the greatest agility, and would certainly
have seized it, had the space between the wires been sufficiently
wide to have admitted her teeth or paws to reach it. I was
surprised at this occurrence, as I had been led to believe that
the harvest-mouse was merely a granivorous animal. I caught
the fly, and made it buzz in my fingers against the wires. The
mouse, though usually shy and timid, immediately came out of
her hiding-place, and, running to the spot, seized and devoured
it. From this time I fed her with insects whenever I could
get them, and she always preferred them to every other kind
of food I could offer her.”

MOUSE STORIES,

That mice as well as rats will desert a falling house we have
the authority of Topsell. “It is very certain,” he says, “that
mice which live in a house, if they perceive by the age of it it
ye ready to fall down, or subject to any other ruin, they fore-
know it and depart out of it, as may appear by this notable
story which happened to a town called Hellice, in Greece,
wherein the inhabitants committed this abominable act against,
their neighbours, the Greeks; for they slew them and sacrificed
them upon their altars; whereupon followed the ruin of the
city, which was permonstrated by this prodigious event. For
five days before the destruction thereof, all the mice, weasels,

 
 

THE MOUSE.

and serpents, and other reptile creatures went out of the same
in the presence of the inhabitants, every one assembling to his
own rank and company; whereat the people wondered much,
for they could not conceive any true cause of their departure,
and no marvail; for God, which had appointed to take vun-
geance on them for their wickedness, did not give them so
much knowledge, nor make them so wise as the beasts to avoid
his judgement and their own destruction; and, therefore,
mark what followed. For these beasts were no sooner out of
the city but suddenly in the night time came such a lament-
able earthquake and strong tempest, that all the houses did
not only fall down and not one of them stood upright to the
slaughter of many women and children contained in them, but
lest any of them should escape the strokes of the timber and
housetops, God sent also a great flood of waters by reason
of the tempestuous wind, which drove the waters out of the sea
upon the town, that swept them all away, leaving uo more
behind than naked and bare significations of former buildings.
And not only the city and citizens perished, but also there were
ten ships of the Lacedemonians in their port all drowned at
that instant.”

Jesse relates that soon after the completion of the new plan-
tation, made by order of Government in Dean Forest, Glouces-
tershire, the place was suddenly besieged by such immense
armies of long and short-tailed mice as to threaten the speedy
destruction of the whole of the young plants. Vast numbers,
accoraing to the above-mentioned naturalist, of the young trees
were killed, the mice having eaten through the roots of five-
year oaks and chestnuts generally just below the surface of the
ground. Hollies, also, which were five and six feet high, were
barked round the bottom; and, in some instances, the mice
had got up the tree, and were seen feeding on the bark of the
upper branches. In the report made to Government on the
subject, it appeared that the roots had been eaten through
wherever they obstructed the run of the mice; but that the
bark of the trees constituted their food was ascertained by con-
fining a number of the mice in cages and supplying them with
the fresh roots and bark of trees, when it was found that they
fed greedily on the latter and left the former untouched. Va-
rious plans were devised for their destruction; traps were set,
poison laid, and cats turned out, but nothing seemed to lesseu
their number. It was at last suggested that if holes were dug
into which the mice might be enticed, their destruction might

* 692

 
 

THE MOUSE.

be effected. Holes, therefore, were made about twenty yards
asunder in some of the Dean Forest plantations, being about
twelve in each acre of ground. These holes were from eighteen
to twenty inches in depth, and two feet one way by one and a
half the other; and they were much wider at the bottom than
the top, being excavated, or hollowed under, so that the animal
when once in could not easily get out again. In these holes
at least thirty thousand mice were caught in the course of
three or four months, that number having been counted out.
and paid for by the proper officers of the forest.

It was, however, calculated that a much greater number
were taken out of the holes by stoats, weasels, kites, hawks,
and owls; and also by crows, magpies, jays, &c. The cats,
also, which had been turned out resorted to these holes to feed
on the mice; and, in one instance, a dog was seen greedily
eating them. In another an owl had so gorged itself, that he
was secured by one of the keepers. As the mice increased in
number so did the birds of prey, of which, at last, there were
an incredible number. In addition to the quantity above men-
tioned, a vast number of mice were destroyed in traps, by
poison, and by animals and birds, and it was found that in the
winter, when their food fell short, they ate each other, so that
in Dean Forest alone the number which was destroyed in
various ways could not be calculated at lesd than one hundred
thousand, and in the New Forest the mortality was equally
great. These calculations are made from the official weekly
returns of the deputy-surveyors of the forest, and other
sources.

Next and last is a legend showing how insignificant is
the might of the most powerful man in the eyes of his just
Maker; and how that, if He wills it, the mightiest man in his
realm may flee before a little mouse, and that the little mouse
may slay him, and pick his arrogant bones :—

“Tt happened in the year 914 that there was an exceeding
great famine in Germany, at which time Otho, surnamed the
Great, was emperor. One Hatto, an abbot of Fulda, was arch-
bishop of Mentz, of the bishops after Crescens and Crescentius
the two-and-thirtieth, of the archbishops after Saint Bonifacius
the thirteenth. This Hatto, in the time of this great famine afore-
mentioned, when he saw the poor people of the country exceed-
ingly oppressed with famine, assembled a great company of
them into a barn, and, like a most accursed and merciless
catiffe, burnt up those poor innocent souls, that were so far

AA

 
 

THE MOUSE.

feom doubting any such matter that they rather hoped to
receive some comfort and relief at his hands.

“ The reason that moved the prelate to commit that execrable
impiety was becanse he thought the famine would the sooner
cease if these unprofitable beggars that consumed more bread
than they were worthy to eat were despatched out of this
world.; for he said that these poor folks were like to mice
that were good for nothing but to devour corne. But God
Almighty, the just avenger of the poor folk’s quarrel, did not
long suffer this hainous tyrany, this most detestable fact,
unpunished ; for He mustered up an army of mice against the
archbishop, and sent them to persecute him as his furious
Alastors, so that they afflicted him both day atid night, and
would not suffer him to take rest in any place. Whereupon
the prelate, thinking that he should be secure from the injury
of the mice if he were in a certain tower that standeth ih the
Rhine near to the towne, betook himself unto the said tower, as
safe refuge and sanctuary from his enemies, and locked himself
in; but the innumerable troops of mice chased him continually
very eagerly, and swamme unto him upon the top of the water
to execute the just judgement of God; and so at last he was
most miserably devoured by those sillie creatures, who pursued
him with such bitter hostility that it is recorded they scraped
and knawed out his very name from the walls and tapestry
wherein it was written, after they had so cruelly devoured his |
body. ‘Wherefore the tower wherein he is eaten up by the
mice is shown to this day for a perpetual monument to all
encceeding ages of the barbarous and inhuman tyrany of this
impious prelate, being situate in a little green island in the
midst of the Rhine, near to the town of Wingen, and is com-
monly called, in the German tongue, the Mouse-tower.”

The clever author of “ Animal Life” gives us a humorous
dissertation on mouse-catching, which I will take the liberty of
here reprinting, not that it is likely to be of much servite to
mouse-keepers, but rather as a peace-offering to thosé outraged
personages hinted at in the opening of this chapter.

It is not so easy to clear a house of micd as many peoplo
imagine, particularly if traps are used as a means of destruc-
tion. Many will be caught when the traps are fitst set, but
the numbers fall off and at last cease altogether, when tho
householder flatters himself that the mice are all gone. But
the fact is the little creatures have learned caution, and have
only avoided entering the trap while they continue their depre-

 
 

THE MOUSE.

ations. They not only take warning from seeing their fellows
caught, but if one that has been captured be suffered to make its
escape the trap may as well be removed, for no more mice will be
caught. After a month or two it may again be used with
success,

“ During my residence at college, the mice had been a fertile
source of annoyance. They nibbled ny candles in two, so that
they would not stand upright; they drank my milk; they
pattered with their little feet over my butter; they raced about
between the papered canvas and the stone wall until the wall
was riddled with holes, made by a toasting-fork thrust through
the paper in the vain hope of spedring them; they would run
across my carpet in the niost widisguised manner, until I
resolved to éxtirpate them. So I got a double trap, baited it
very temptingly, and set it itt the closet. Scarcely had the
door been closed when two smart blows told of the capture of
two mice. They were speedily immolated and the trap set
again. During the first two or three days the trap was con-
stantly going off, until I was tired of going and taking out
the mice. The others, however, took warning and came more
and more sparingly, until it was arare thirg to catch one young
mouse in a day, and after a week or so none were caught at
all, although the trap was baited with most savoury toasted
cheese, and my candlés suffered as before. I then bethought
me of changing the bait, so after suffering the trap to be well
aired and the scent of the cheese to evaporate, I substituted
a piece of tallow with great success, for the mice came nearly
as fast as ever. When they began to dreud the latter, a piece
of bacon was used as the bait, and by systematically changing
the bait great numbers were caught. At last; however, the
mice seemed to comprehend that the trap was in fault and not
the bait, and I had to substitute a four-trap, im which they
again came in multitudes, and as the descending weight was a
very large book several perished at once.”

The disadvantages of letting a captured mouse escape are
three-fold. In the first place he consumes your bait profitleasly ;
in the second he conveys to his friends the full particulars and
secret of your trap, and counsels them to avoid it; and in the
third place you may pretty safely rely that he himself will
never again be trapped, however artful may be the snare and
tempting the bait. Dr. Alfred Smee relates a curious instance
of this in his “ Instinct and Reason.” He captured a common
mouse, and instead of consigning it to the pail, or the jaws of

695

 
 

THE MOUSE.

the cat, preserved its life. At the time, Dr. Smee was attached
to the offices of the Bank of England, and oceupied a roo1,
the floor of which was stone and the walls bare and solid. The
mouse escaped, and as Dr. Smee says “as the presence of a wild
mouse in the room was undesirable I took measures to secue
it. There was no hoge for him that he would ultimately
escape, although there were abundant opnortnnities for hiding
I set the trap and baited it with a savoury morsel; but day
after day no mouse entered. The poor Jittle thing gan
unequivocal signs of extreme hunger by gnawing the bladder
from some of my chemical bottles. J gradually removed from
the room everything he could possibly eat, but still the old
proverb, ‘Once caught twice shy,’ so far applied thi’ he
would not enter my trap. After many days, on visiting the
apartment, the trap was down and the mouse caught; the
pangs of hunger were more intolerable than the terrors of
imprisonment. He did not, however, accept the unpleasant
alternative of entering the trap until he was so nearly starved
that his bones almost protruded through his skin, and he
freely took bits of food from my fingers through the bars of
his cage.”
PET MICE AND THEIR CAGE.

The keeping and breeding of “fancy ” mice is such a simyle
matter that very few lines will suffice for its treatment.

As to the best sort of mouse to “ pet,” this much may be
said, that whatever colour may be selected, none will be found
so docile and so easy to tame as the vulgar little brown mouse.
White mice, or grey and white, or cinnamon and grey, may
lay claim to greater personal attractions, but they are never
so healthy as the common brown mouse, never so tractable, and,
according to my experience, never so clever.

Supposing you to be on mouse-breeding bent, first of all pre-
pare the cage. Let it be a large cage, in which there are three
compartments : a large one, with wire sides and roof; asleeping-
room, with wooden walls and ceiling (the latter sliding in grooves),
and by the side of this a spare room, with an entry into the open
cage, but so contrived that egress may be stopped at pleasure.
This last-mentioned chamber, which should, like the other, be
furnished with a sliding roof, is for the temporary imprisonment
of the “ boar ” when his wife brings him a fresh troop of young
ones. Sometimes father mouse is amiable and good-natured,

but sometimes—capital fellow as he may be on ordinary occa-
696

 
 

THE MOUSE.

eions—he will, should mother mouse present him with a litter,
take on himself the behaviour of a ruffian—nay, of a cannibal,
and devour them, body and bones, before her eyes. Therefore,
when the interesting event is at hand, box him up straight off.

It is a mistake to swppose that the mouse delights in the
unpleasant odour his presence in a confined space is sure to
generate. You may depend he dislikes it as much as we do,
and is very delighted to have his house tidied up, and a fresh
bed laid. To ensure proper cleanliness, the entire dwelling
+hould have a double floor, and the upper floor should be drawn
out and scraped at least every other day. The perches and
tiny brackets round the open cage should be movable, and taken
out and cleaned as often as the false bottom. By the bye, it
should be mentioned that a goodly number of these perches
and bars and brackets should be adjusted in what may be
called the mouse’s day-room. The little creatures will be found
to take full advantage of these accessories to climbing and
swinging and leaping, and it is much better exercise for them
than struggling and panting and clutching at nothing in a
revolving cylinder. —

Always be careful, when you remove the bottom of the cage
to clean it, that it is perfectly dry before you replace it. As
to bedding, almost anything that is soft and easily spread—a
little cow-hair or white wadding will do; but there is one thing
that will not do, and that is wadding that has been dyed black.
Whatever your breed of mice may be, a night’s lodging on
black wadding will pretty certainly kill them.

Should the reader be induced to avoid the expense of pur-
chasing white or party-coloured mice, and to try his hand on
the common brown sort, he has nothing to do but to procure a
few mice not more than a month or six weeks old. They will,
of course, be savage enough at first, but a fast of two, or at
most three days, will generally reduce them to so tame a condi-
tion that they will come to the bars and eat from your hand.
Let them, after a moderate meal, fast again for a day, and,
when you approach the cage with some such sound as you used
when last you fed them, they scramble to the front, and squeak
their delight at renewing your acquaintance. If after this you
are not friends, do not blame the mice, but set yourself down as
an individual unpossessed of the knack of mouse-taming.

 
 

THE GUINEA PIG.

—oo—

Tus neat little animal has stood its ground as a “Homa
Pet” from as remote a period as the discovery of America by
Europeans. Never was an animal so misnamed, as it has not
the remotest connexion with the pig family, and instead of
being found in Guinea it is a native of South America
Domestication seems to have completely revolutionized the
appearance and habits of the Guinea pig. The colours borne by
the animal with which we are familiar, are never seen with the
wild animal busy with their domestic affairs among the
Bromelia Groves of Paraguay. Again, one of the chief cha
racteristics of the domesticated Guinea pig is its extreme
fecundity, six litters of eight each beg no uncommon number
for this little animal to produce in the course of a single year,
whereas, in a wild state, according to Dr. Reugger, it breeds
but once a year, and then brings forth but one, or at most two,
httle ones. Darwin relates that the wild Guinea pig is com-
mon in the neighbourhood of several towns on the banks of the
Rio Plata, where it is known as the Aperea. Where the soil
is dry it makes a burrow, but otherwise it lies concealed
among the herbage. It gerierally comes out to feed in the
evening, as do the rabbits, between which and the mice the
Guinea pig would seem to form a connecting link.

The Guinea pig is of little direct use to mankind. Its flesh
is unfit for food ; and its bide, on account of the slight attach-

ment of the fur to the skin, is unavailable for furriers’ pur-
698

 
 

THE GUINEA PIG.

poses. Nevertheless, it is a pretty pet, and an observance of
its habits, especially its scrupulous cleanliness as regards its
coat, will repay the attention it is necessary to lavish on it.
“There was formerly a prevalent idea,” writes a modern
naturalist, “that rats had a special antipathy # the Guinea
pig, and would not haunt any place where one of these animals
was kept. Rabbit-owners were therefore in the habit of placing
a Guinea pig in the same apartment with the hutches, in hopes
of scaring away the rats, which are the chief enemies of tame
rabbits. As, however, in several instances the Guinea pigs
were eaten by the rats instead of driving them from the pre-
mises, the custom has gradually fallen into deserved disrepute.”

The Guinea pig’s cage should be well defended against cold
and damp, as unless the animals are kept perfectly warm and
dry they will never thrive. Like the rabbits, they prefer gloom
to light, and thrive very well in a portable hutch built on the
same principle, but of lighter material and more elegantly, if
it were desired, than that recommended in this volume for
rabbits. As regards drink, the remarks made in the case of the
rabbits apply also to the Guinea pig. The animal is very
fond of milk. :

As regards food, any sort of vegetable food seems acceptable
to the Guinea pig; herbs of most kinds may be given it, not
forgetting an occasional sprig of parsley, of which it is specially
fond. Carrots and carrot-tops, apples, oats, and tea-leaves,
may be safely placed in the hutch.

The female goes with young three weeks, and after suckling
them for three weeks turns them off to shift for themselves.
When first born the little pigs have their eyes open, and are
covered with hair. They do not, however, attain perfect
growth till the age of eight months, soon after which they
will begin to reproduce their species.

 
 

 

 

oo

Tus is another creature whose claims to be “petted” rest
not at all on its merits or its utility, but solely on the fact that
on account of its curious structure and habits it has been kid-
napped from its native land, where, in a state of freedom, it
was quite competent to conduct the business of its life, and
brought to a foreign clime, and so placed that its natural
talents avail it nothing, and it is quite helpless and at our
mercy.

Without doubt, the tortoise belongs to a family the most
marvellous in the world. Their feet are little better than
stumps, the toes being only indicated externally by what may
be termed a collection of hoofs, placed, as in the elephant, on
the circumference of the apology for a foot, and which serves
so to speak, as a sort of grappling to hold on the surface of
the ground, and drag the armed trunk forwards; their pon-
derous shells, over which a waggon-wheel might roll with
impunity, are so sensitive that the pattering on them of a
shower of rain is an annoyance the creature will make pro-
digious exertions to escape; their tenacity of life is without
parallel ; indeed, they would seem almost impregnable against
the assaults of the most formidable enemies to existence. The
most auel experiments have been practised on the creature,
and with most singular results.

We are told that in a certain November, the celebrated Redi
made a large opening in the skull of a land-tortoise, extracted
the brains and cleaned out the cavity. He then set the animal

ven

 
 

THE TORTOISE.

at liberty, and it groped its way freely aboub wherever it
pleased, as if it had not been injured. Redi makes use of the
term “groping,” because, he says, that when the tortoise was
deprived of its brain it closed its eyes, which it never again
opened. The wound which was left open skinned over in three
days, and the tortoise, continuing to go about and execute
other movements, lived to the middle of May. On a post-mor-
tem examination the cavity which the brain had occupied was
found empty and clean, with the exception of a small dry and
black clot of blood. He repeated this experiment upon many
other land-tortoises in the months of November, January, Feb-
ruary, and March, with this difference, that some were locomo-
tive at their pleasure, whilst others, though they made other
motions, did not move about: he found the same results when
he treated fresh-water tortoises in the same manner, but they
did not live so long as the terrestrial species. He states his
belief that the marine tortoises would live a.long time with-
out their brain, for he received a turtle which he treated in
the same way, and though it was much spent and faint from
having been long out of the sea, it lived six days. In Novem-
ber he deprived a large tortoise of its head, without which it
continued to live twenty-three days: it did not move abont as
those did whose brain had been taken out, but when its fore or
hind legs were pricked or poked, it drew them up with great
strength, and executed many other movements. To assure
himself beyond all doubt that life, such as it was, continued in
such eases, he cut off the heads of four other tortoises, and on
opening two, twelve days afterwards, he saw the heart beat
and the blood enter and leave it.

The common tortoise, at least that; most common to us, is a
native of almost all the countries bordering on the Mediterra-
nean sea, and is more frequent in Greece than elsewhere. It
is found in the scattered islands of the Archipelago, and in
Corsica, and Sardinia; it occurs likewise in Africa. The
general length of the shell of this species is from six to eight
inches long; and the weight of the full-grown animal about
four or five pounds. The shell is of an oval form, extremely
convex on the upper part, and composed of thirteen middle
pieces, and about twenty-five marginal ones. The middle pieces
or those constituting the dise of the shield, are mostly of an
oblong-square form, and of a dark-brown colour, varied by a
broad yellow, or citron band running along one side of eavh,
and continued about half-way along the upper part; there is

“a

N

 
 

THE TORTOISE.

also an oblong patch of a similar colour running down the side
of each. The colours of the shell are more or less bright in
the various specimens, and are subject to some occasional
variations, as well as sometimes in the shape of the pieces
themselves. The under part of the shell is of a citron or pale
yellow colour, with a brown band on either side, and the centre
plain. The head is rather small; the eye small and black;
the mouth not extending beyond the eyes; the legs short with
broad feet strongly covered with scales, and furnished each with
four substantial claws. Sometimes, however, there are five
claws on the fore-feet. The tail, which is very short, is covered
with small scales, and terminates in a pointed tip, naked and
horny. As to the precise age the tortoise may attain nothing
is with certainty known. There is, however, still preserved in
the library at Lambeth Palace, the shell of a tortoise which
was familiar with the palace garden in the time of Archbishop
Laud, about the year 1633; and there it continued to reside in
perfect health till the year 1753, when, being ousted from its
winter quarters by a clumsy gardener, and left. exposed to a
bitter frost, it was next morning found dead.

The best advice that can be given to persons desirous of
keeping a tortoise is to allow it the run (it will not run
away) of a garden where grow plants of the juicy order, such
as the lettuce, the sow-thistle, and the dandelion, and then
leave it entirely to its own devices. During the summer
months it will crawl about in a lazy, happy way, eating mode-
rately, sleeping soundly, and troubling nobody. As winter
approaches if it is let alone it will probably dig itself a grave
in a flower-bed and bury itself comfortably till the sun’s re-
turning warmth rouses him from his lengthy nap, and he
scrambles out of bed to begin another summer. If any
further information is requisite it is to be found in Gilbert
White’s Journal, in which very frequent mention is made of
the tortoise Timothy, purchased by the good pastor of Selborne,
of old Mrs. Snooks. A few of the most pertinent remarks
about Timothy Tortoise will be very well worth while ex-
tracting from the said Journal and here printing.

“March 17. Brought away old Mrs. Snooks’s tortoise Timothy,
which she valued very much, and had treated kindly for nearly
forty years. When dug out of its hybernation it resented the
insult by hissing.

“May 14. Timothy travelled about the garden,

“May 2. Timothy eats,

709

 
 

THE TORTOJSE.

“ April 19. Timothy, who had withdrawn himself for seyeral
days, appears.

" “March 15, Timothy comes forth and weighs 6b. 5402.

“May 9. Timothy eats dandelion leaves and stalks. He
swallows his food almost whole.

“Sept. 19. Timothy forsakes the fruit wall and retires to
the laurel edge, where he will lay himself up hereafter.

“ April 14 ‘timothy has become very alert and marches
about the wate».

“Sept. 18. Timothy eats voraciously.

“Dec. 3. Timothy hag laid himself under the hedge against
Benham’s yard in a very comfortable, snug manner. A thick
tuft of grass shelters his back and he will have the warmth
of the winter’s sun.

“Sept. 29. Timothy eats grass. Token that the weather is
warm.

“June 4, Timothy took his usual rambles, and could not be
vonfined within the limits of the garden. His pursuits, which
are of the amorous kind, transport him beyond the bounds of
his usual gravity at this season. He was missing for some
days but found at last near the upper malt-house.

“Sept. 17. When we call loudly through the speaking-
trumpet to Timothy he does not seem to regard the voice.

« June 20. We put Timothy into a tub of water, and found
that he sank gradually and walked at the bottom of the tub.
He seemed quite out of his element and was much dismayed.

“ April 19. Timothy enlarges his breathing-hole and lifts up
the earth.

“ April 21. Timothy heaves up the earth and puts out his
head.

“ April 22. Timothy comes forth and walks about.

“May 2. Timothy marches about and eats a piece of
cucumber-paring.

“Nov. 27. Timothy sleeps in the fruit border under the wall,
covered with a hencoop, in which is a good armful of straw.
Here he will lie warm, secure, and dry. His back is partly
covered with mould.”

Darwin, in describing the reptiles:common to the Galapagos
Archipelago, makes mention of a gigantic tortoise found at a
place called Chatham Island. Six hundred men, he declares,
might subsist on them without any other provision, while they
are so fat and deliciously flavoured as to equal the best bred
chickens. These tortoises, he says, when moving towards any

‘0a

 
 

THE TURTOISE.

definite point, travel by night and dey, and arrive at their
journey’s end much sooner than would be expected. The in-
habitants of. the island, from observations on marked indivi-
duals, consider that they can move a distance of about eight
miles in two or three days. One large tortoise, which Darwin
watched, walked at the rate of sixty yards in ten minutes,
that is, three hundred and sixty in the hour, or four miles a
day—allowing it also a little time to eat on the road. The
flesh of this animal is largely employed by the natives, the fat
being stewed down for oil. When a tortoise is caught its
captor makes a slit in the skin near the tail, so as to see inside
its body whether the fat under the dorsal plate is thick. If
not, the animal is liberatel; and it is said to recover very
speedily from the unceremonious test to which it has been
subjected.

 

 
 

HUBER THE BLIND NATURALIST,

THE BEE.

—ior——

Herz we have a Home Pet of the very highest order; for not
only does its study bring teeming profit in the shape of so many
pages revealed of Nature’s wonderful economy, and, still more
profitable, of the infinite wisdom and goodness of the Creator,
but the bee-keeper has ever at hand a pattern of industry and
cheerfulness, of content, of proper submission to authority, which
is only another term for loyalty,—of thrift, and of valour. As
truly says a writer of a bygone age, “In their labour at home
and abroad, they may be a pattern with men; for unless they
are hindered by weather, weakness, or want of stuff to work
upon, their labour never ceaseth, and, for their order, it is such

43 7s

 
 

TUE BEX.

that they may well be said to have a commonwealth, since all
they do is in common, without respect to private interest: they
work for all, they watch for all, and they fight for all.

Of all the poets or prose writers that ever took up pen on
behalf of the little wax and honey-maker, not one ever accom-
plished his task with such compact beauty and completenesa
as Shakspeare in his play “ Henry V. :”—

“So work the honey bees,
Creatures that by a rule in nature teach
‘The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king and officers of sorts:
Where some like magistrates correct at home ;
Others like merchants venture trade abroad ;
Qthers like soldiers arméd in their stings,
Make boot upon the summer’s velvet buds ;
Which pillage they with merry march bring home—
To the tent royal of their emperor :
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold ;
The civil citizens kneading up the honey ;
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ;
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o’er to executors pale
The lazy, yawning drone.”

At the very outset, the bee question presents a marvellova
feature—how are bees generated? So long ago as the time of
Virgil the matter was discussed, and, by the last-mentioned
philosopher, thus quaintly accounted for :—“ First, there is
found a place, small and narrowed, for the very use, shut in by
a little tiled roof and closed walls, through which the light
comes in askant by four windows, facing the four points of the
compass. Next is found a two-year-old bull-calf, whose crooked
horns are just beginning to bud. In spite of his kicking, the
nose-holes of the beast are stopped, and after he has been
thumped to death, his entrails, bruised as they are, melt inside
his entire skin. This done, he is left in the place afore pre-
pared, and under his sides are put bits of boughs and thyme
and fresh-plucked rosemary. In time, the warm humour
begins to ferment within the soft bones of the carcase, and,
wonderful to tell, there appear creatures, footless at first, but
which, soon getting unto themselves wings, mingle together
and buzz about, joying more and more in the airy life. At
last burst they forth, thick as rain-drops from a summer cloud,

708

 
 

. THE BEE.

thick as arrows which leave the clanging strings of the Par.
thians when they make their first onslaught.”

Whether or no the efficacy of this mode of bee-breeding han
been tested in modern times, I can’t say ; in my opinion, how-
ever, a two-year-old bull-calf “in hand” is preferable to a
swarm of bees “in the bush.”

Another theory; much more elegant, but equally erroneous
with the above, was that they never generate, but spring from
the flowers. Many other theories, more or -less fanciful, have
been from time to time ventured on this subject; but it is
doubtful if the most imaginative man could have invented a
fiction half so bewildering as what appears to be the fact ; which
is this, that the queen bee is. capable of producing fertile eggs
in her virgin state, and without a union with the other sex!
This, be it borne in mind, is not the dream of a philosopher,
but the cool and deliberate opinion of profoundly learned men
and diligent experimentalists, among whom may be mentioned
Siebold, Cuvier, and Samuelson. It would seem, however, that
the only sort of bees who may justly claim never to have but
one parent, are the males, or drones; when the queen bee
mixes with drone society, the result is working bees, which,
although of the female sex, are incapable of perpetuating their
kind.. True, she does give birth to a limited number of fruit-
ful females; but of the entire number that may be born in a
single hive, only one (who, in her turn, takes the command of
the straw-encomp¢ssed. kingdom) is suffered to live.

Passing by, for the present, this interesting feature of bee-
life, we will endeavour to describe the ordinary business of
the beehive. Supposing a swarm, to-
gether with their queen, to have wintered
together, and to be transferred, when
the spring comes round, to a new hive. 2G
After spending a few hours in thoroughly ~
investigating the new premises, certain
bees of an architectural turn, and known as fowndress bees;
proceed to sketch out the shape the combs should be, and lay
the foundation-stone, as it were. This is accomplished by
applying a tiny mass of wax, properly kneaded and prepared
by the labourers, and plastering it against the roof, sides, or
floor of the hive ; more wax is added to the first slab, and
when enough is accumulated, the labourers come up, and with
their jaws make a little hollow where the top cell ought to be;
then they form two others a little below it, one right and left,

707

 

FOUNDRESS BEE.

 
 

THE BEE.

and so on, relieving each other from time to time through the
day, till the comb is completed. When finished, the combs
comprise a congeries of hexagonal cells, each comb being com-
posed of two ranges of cells, backed against each other, the
partition between each double row being so disposed as to form
a pyramidal cavity at the bottom of each. Between these
double combs there is a road just wide enough to admit the
passage of two busy bees without jostling.

As soon as the cells are in readiness, intimation of the fact
is conveyed to her majesty the queen bee, who at once proceeds
to lay her eggs. She has three sorts of eggs to deposit,—worker
eggs, drone eggs, and princess eggs, and the cells prepared tor
the reception of each differ in shape from the other. The
“worker ” cells are smaller and neater than the drone cells, and
those intended for the reception of royal eggs are more com-
modious still. Now, if her majesty the egg-laying queen had
the handling of each egg before it was put away, it would ac-
count for the fact that in no instance is a mistake ever made
in assigning the wrong cradle to this
insect or that; but as she, attended
by her obsequious body-guard, simply
inserts the hinder part of her body
into each cell, and at the rate, accord-
‘ing to Reaumur, of two hundred a day,
one does not exactly see how she dis-
tinguishes one egg from another with
such unerring accuracy. Huber once
tested this during her period of egg-
laying. He confined a queen bee, so that she could get at
nothing but drone cells: at once, she discontinued laying al-
together; and it was only when she had failed in her repeated
efforts to escape, and nature forbade her to retain the eggs any
longer, that she dropped them, letting them fall where they
might. After all, however, this is rather a matter for awe
than speculation; without doubt, the bee of itself knows no-
thing of this egg or that, and surely it is not more wonderful
that He who has all creation at His finger’s tip, should direct
the nature of the little bee as well as of the fierce rhinoceros
or the nervous ostrich,

The bee’s egg is a small colourless speck, and is deposited
at the very bottom of its cell. At the end of four days, there
emerges from this speck a little dingy-white worm, possessing,

as far as the naked eye can observe, no sign of external mem-
708

 

ARRANGEMENT OF CELLS.

 
 

THE BEE.

bers; and by this time, the bees whose duty it is to nurse tha
little strangers have poured into each cell a drop of diluted
honey, and in this the little maggot lies curled up. When the
nurses know that the fat little worm is approaching bee-hood,
they plaster over the mouth of its cell and leave it to itself,
Then the prisoner sets about spinning for itself a silken cocoon
(the queen larva accomplishes this task in about twenty-four
hours, the worker in not less than thirty-six hours), and in
this it lies enveloped till the metamorphosis is complete, and,
becoming a perfect bee, it first bursts its silken bonds, and then
the door of its dungeon, and another subject is added to the
hive. Its first journey is to the lighting-board in front of the
hive, that the sun may dry its damp little body; while an old
bee kindly busies itself to straighten and smooth the hairs that
cover its limbs, just as a chicken picks out the feathers of her
little one just emerged from the shell.

This is pretty much the way in which plebeian bees are
treated—with those of royal blood it is altogether different.
It should have been stated that the time occupied from the
deposition of the egg to the final appearance of the worker bee
is about twenty days, for the drone twenty-four days; but for
the princess bee sixteen days suffice. When one of the royal
brood is ready to emerge from her prison, there is a great
commotion in the hive, and the populace cease work, and for
a little time make holiday to welcome the auspicious stranger.
The queen-mother too approaches, but with quite different
feelings from those which actuate her subjects. Her designs
are of a sangainary character; she is eager for her daughter to
emerge, that she may fall on and murder her.

Luckily for the poor little princess, however, the devotion of
the populace is not so blind as to allow, without interference,
such cold-blooded atrocity. They gather round the royal cell,
and, instinctively knowing the queen’s
evil intent, guard the entrance, and in
the event of her majesty growing fero-
cious, or her daughter impetuous, do
not scruple to bring beams of wax and
erect a strong door; so keeping the
rivals apart till the old queen, unable
longer to control her royal indignation,
sweeps out of the hive, generally accompanied by a troop of
courtiers and a host of labourers, who are willing to follow the
fortunes of their sovereign, whatever they may be. ten this

 

QUEEN BEE.

 
 

THE BEE.

takes place, bee-keepers make ready fresh hives for the malcon-
tents, and say the bees are “ swarming.”

Sometimes, however, and by an unlucky coincidence, two
princesses will emerge from their embryo state at the same hour,
On such occasions the malicious old queen, knowing the pretty
quarrel there will presently ensue, takes herself off with her
friends, and leaves her children to settle their differences how
they please. There is only one way of settling them, Such a
thing as two queens in one hive was never yet known; they are
equally respected to the hiveites; but what they want is a queen
in place of her who has departed; either will do; let them
settle it between them. The princesses must fight for it.

While the inhabitants of the hive stand aside, the rival
queens advance, and gripping each other with their jaws com-
mence the deadly struggle ; finally the luckier one perceives a
chance for a thrust; it is given; of the two royal bees but one
is left alive, and while the multitude hail the assassin as their
queen and pay her homage, the body of her rival is thrown
out. If this account be not strictly and exactly true, the
responsibility rests with M. Vogt, the famous German natu-
ralist, and not with me.

It has been shown that two queens cannot reign in the same
hive; that law is, however, not more imperative than that
without a queen at all the hive cannot exist. This law would
seem to involve serious dilemmas. Queen bees, like the com-
monest of their subjects, are but mortal, are as liable to fatal
accident, and when they venture abroad may as likely never
return. Such things do happen, and, worse than all, when
there is not a single royal egg-cell tenanted. But by a wise
provision of nature the bereaved bees are equal to the emer-
gency. They make a queen out of a working bee.

Ignorant of bee-nature, the reader may see little reason for
italicising this last sentence. ‘ What can be easier P ” he may
say; “the same sort of thing has been done by ourselves, or at
least by our French neighbours, and more than once. Suppose
an emperor be removed from his throne by death to-day, and
the multitude be mad enough to place on the throne the first
cobbler or bargeman they may meet, you have the vacant
throne at least filled, though perhaps not efficiently.”

Gently, dear reader. A plebeian queen can no more be tole-
rated in bee-land than an empty throne, and though a bee
might be ever so well qualified to fill the throne, unless she were
of the orthodox shape, death would be the w~alty of the
\ mo

 
 

THE BEE.

merest whisper of her ambitious designs. Besides, it would be
impossible for a common bee to become queen, as it is the
queen’s sole business to populate the hive, and, as has already
been observed, the power of propagation is denied the working
bee. The physical differences between the queen bee and the
working bee are broad and unmistakable. The worker hus
strong jaws to knead wax and carry building material; the
jaws of the queen are delicate things, not half the size or
strength: the workers have along proboscis with which they
collect honey from flowers in their business jaunts; it is no
business of the queen to gather honey, and so her proboscis is
just long enough to supply her ‘with food, and that is all: the
worker’s wings are a third longer than the queen’s, though ‘her
body is much longer and heavier than theirs; her legs -are
smooth and delicate, theirs are rough and hairy; the sting of
the worker is long and strong—a Border spear, compared with
which the weapon of her majesty is the merest, stiletto.

Thus you see, for a dozen reasons, a worker bee is vastly
different from a royal bee, and it would greatly puzzle the
united science of the whole world to transform the plebeian bee
into the royal. The secret, however, is known to the bees, and
is commonly practised by them: it is simply a matter of
commodious cradle-room and superior feeding. It has been
already observed that the cell of the worker egg is much
smaller than that of the queen, and it may here be observed
that the food of the two when they reach larva-hood is like-
wise different. In the first three days royal and common grubs
are fed alike, on what naturalists call “royal” paste, which is
pure honey prepared in a certain way by the nurse-bees. After
the third day, however, a more common diet is substituted in
the case of the workers; pollen is mixed with the honey, and
on this vulgar food they grow to be submissive labourers. In
the case of the royal larva the food is never changed—“ royal ”
paste is its sole food, and by-and-by it kicks out of its roomy
cradle a long-bodied, short-winged, thorough princess.

Well, finding themselves without a queen and without a
royal egg, the workers select a cell eontaining a worker egg,
and at once proceed to demolish the partitions of the cells that
surround it, that it may have royal room. When the lucky
larva bursts into life, it is treated with the same attention as
though it was of royal stock; nothing more common than
“royal” paste is ever offered it, and lo! there presently issues
trom the jealously-guarded cell an insect “ every inch” a queen.

m

 
 

 

THE MANAGEMENT OF BEES.

As to whether straw hives or wooden boxes are best for bees
I shall not pretend here to determine. Supposing one to be as
good as the other, I should decidedly vote for straw hives as more
picturesque and comfortable looking. “Now some of you,” says
Dr. Cotton, in his “Bee Book,” “do not fancy wooden boxes,
because you say the bees do not like them. Now I would ask
whether wild bees live in wooden trees or in trusses of straw.”
Surely if this is an example of the arguments of the anti-
straw party it is no wonder, on principle of like to like, that
they show such affection for things wooden. On the same
principle it would be only fair to assume that, whereas the
harvest-mouse delights, when wild, in the freedom of the
broad corn-field, the way to make him happy in a domestic
state is to enclose him in a dumpling of wheaten dough.

Supposing the form of hive adopted by the amateur bee-
keeper to be the common bell-shape, and made of straw (and
without doubt the beginner will run less risk of bungling and,
consequently, of disappointment with this than any other), it
will be as well to observe the following hints as to its construc
tion and arrangement, as furnished by Dr. Bevan. “In
making these hives the lowest round of straw should be begun
upon a wooden hoop, the bottom being planed smooth that it
may sit closely upon the floor-boards, which, besides making
mortar or other cement needless, will allow a more easy move-
ment of the slide in the floor-board. Hives on stone or plain
board must of course have entrances cut in the wooden hoop
three inches long, and three-eighths of an inch high. The hoop

712

 
 

THE BEE.

should be perforated through its whole course, the perforations
being made in an oblique direction, so distant from each other
as to cause all the stitches of the hive to range in an untform
manner

“The hoop may be first pierced with a gimlet, and the holes
completed by a very small rod of hot iron introduced from the
inner side of the hoop, so flattened as to make the perforation
correspond as nearly as possible with the bramble-splits which
are to be drawn through them. The stitch-holes in the hoop
should be filled with putty after the hive is finished.

“Those who wish glass windows in straw hives raay accom-
plish this object by cutting through several of the bands of
straw in two places, three or four inches asunder. This is
sometimes effected by thrusting two strong wooden skewers
through the bands of the hive, a little further apart than the
desired width of the windows; these give such firmness to the
part as to admit of the cuttings being made with tolerable
precision, The windows are generally cut opposite to the
entrance, and about the centre; but they may be made at any
part of the hive. The ends of the cut straw bands may be
secured by pack-thread or softened flexible wire, the panes of
glass fastened with putty, and the light excluded by a wooden
shutter or a dark curtain.”

The situation of the hive is of considerable importance.
Indeed, there are certain localities where one will be wise to
eschew the keeping of bees altogether; as for instance, near the
banks of wide rivers, or by the sea shore; for, on their homeward
voyage, like a fleet of richly laden sugar ships, a storm may
rise, and they may be driven out to sea, and there be wrecked
and drowned. Water, however, is essential to the bees’ well
_ doing; it is needful for moistening the pollen on which the
young are fed. You are lucky if within a little distance of
your house there runs a bright shallow little brook, for on the
stepping stones the bees will rest and sip the sparkling liquid
to their hearts’ content.

The bee-house should not be far removed from your own;
without doubt your little winged servants will work all the
more cheerfully and at their ease, if they are familiar with
your footsteps and voice. I say hear your voice, although it be
heretical and against the conviction of many profoundly clever
men, who have proved, at least to their own satisfaction, that
the bee is deaf; but to adopt this doctrine is to hold as absurd
the time honoured custom of “ringing” the bees. It may be a

m3

 
 

THE BED.

foolish old country custom, but it is very pleasant to see, and
as the principal parties concerned—the bees—are deaf, they at
least can take no offence at it. I see no harm in the continued
use of the key and the pan at swarming time.

The bees’ feeding ground should not be too far from home.
No doubt they will travel incredible distances in search of
suitable food, but wary in this as in all else, they will never be
found with so heavy a load coming from a great distance, as
when their pasturage is close at hand. Most flowers cultivated
in gardens are good for the bee, as is sanfoin, buck-wheat, and
clover. The horse-chestnut and the lime-tree are bound to
pay heavy toll to the bee—and should there happen to be in
your vicinity a heath or common well covered with furze, the
quality of your honey is assured. Poisonous plants, it would
seem, yield poisonous honey. Dr. Hosack quotes two cases
where the eaters of such honey as nearly as possible died.
However, the honey in question was of a darker colour than
ordinary, so after all it is very possible that the fault did not
lie with the bees at all, but with the rogue who adulterated the
contents of the wholesome comb.

The hives when they occupy open ground should each be
placed on a separate stand, at least three feet apart. The
aspect should be southerly, and they should be protected from
rough winds. A good authority on the subject says, “It is
not material in what aspect the stock stands, provided the sun
shines upon the hive once in the course of the day, as well-
peopled hives, kept dry, will thrive in most situations.”

If after swarming, the weather should become unfavourable,
you must supply your bees with food. Any sugary syrup
will answer. It may be placed in a saucer with some chips
of wood to serve the bees as rafts to settle on while they
feed.

Among the quaint superstitions favoured by the lower
order of bee-keepers is one that insists that should a death
occur in the family, unless the honey-makers are at once
apprised of the circumstance they will pine away and die.
Mr. Jesse relates that an old widow once complained to him
that all her stock of bees had died, and on inquiring the
cause, she informed him that on the death of her husband, a
short time before, she had neglected to tap at each of the hives
to inform the bees of the melancholy event. Mr. Loudon also
mentions that when he was in Bedfordshire he was informed of
an old man who sang a psalm in front of some hives which

714

 
 

THE BEE.

were nut doing well, but which he said would thrive in con-
sequence of that ceremony. This, however, may claim to be
considered something more dignified than vulgar superstition ;
surely to utter a prayer in any tone whatever, is the most effi-
cacious way to amend a dearth of honey or of any other of the
world’s goods bestowed bythe Great Giver. The above-quoted au-
thority likewise mentions a singular custom connected with bee-
keeping that came under his notice in Norfolk—that of putting
the bees in mowrning when one of the family dies. A piece
of black cloth or crape is attached to each hive, and the good
folk thereabout have the most thorough belief that if the cere-
mony be neglected, the teeming hives will speedily become silent
sepulchres.

In acquainting the bees with the death of their master or
mistress, the key of the house door is taken by a near relative,
and each hive solemnly tapped with it three times, the tapper
saying at each stroke, “ Bees, bees, master [or mistress] is dead.”
It seems to be necessary to mention the name of the party, and
not to mention the defunct vaguely as “somebody.” The prac-
tice prevails in certain parts of Kent, and a correspondent writing
to me on the subject says that on one occasion he witnessed a
“death-telling.” The deceased, however, was not absolutely
one of the bee-keeper’s family, but a little girl who lived in the
neighbourhood, and who was almost a constant visitor. There
seemed to be some difficulty among the bee-keepers as to whether
the bees need be “told” under these circumstances; but it was
finally decided that it was “better to be sure than sorry,” and
so the ceremony was performed, the words used being, “ Bees,
bees, little Polly, as p’raps you may have seen about here, died
to-day at noon.”

THE BEE’S NATURAL ENEMIES.

In the year 1707 there was published at the “Seven Stars,
Talbot Court, in Gracechurch Street,” a volume entitled “ Eng-
land’s Interest,” written by a very grave and learned gentle-
man. Part of the said volume is devoted to the management
and culture of bees; and though, as a whole, it does not chime
in with our modern notions of bee-treatment, still it contains
much that is sound and sterling, and not a little that is highly
curious. A chapter is devoted to “ The Bee’s Enemies,” and the
following extracts therefrom may be worth the perusal as well
of the bee-keeper of to-day as of the generation that saw the
book newly delivered from the Seven Stars.

715

 
 

THE BEE.

“The good bee, as other good people, hath many bad enemies,
which she herself cannot overcome without the assistance of man
for whom she labours; and therefore the wise bee-man will take
cate to destroy the enemies of his friend the bee,—whose ene-
mies are—

“1. The mouse (whether he be of the field or house) is a
dangerous enemy; for if he gets into the hive he tears down
the combs, makes havoc of the honey, and so starves the bees;
some gnaw a hole through the top of the hive; some keep their
old homes, and come to the hive only for food; and some make
their abode between the hackle and the hive. To prevent this,
take care that your hives be well and closely wrought; for if
the straw be loose and soft, they will the easier make their way
through the hive; also take care that your hives be closely
daubed with cloom, that they may have entrance nowhere about
the skirts, but at the door only. It is also good that ever and
anon you take off the hives, not only for this but other causes.

“2. The wvuodpecker and sparrow are both enemies to the
bees; the woodpecker with his long round tongue draweth out
the honey; but he doth more mischief to wood bees than
those of the garden; the sparrow doth devour the bee from the
time of the first breeding till the wheat be kerned.

«3, The titmouse is another enemy, of which there are three
sorts. The great titmouse, from his black head and breast
called a coal mouse, and is the worst enemy to the bees; he
always watches at the hive for the coming and. going out of the
bees; he will stand at the door, and there never leave knocking
till one cometh to see who is there, and then suddenly catch-
ing her, away he flies with her, and when he hath eaten her, he
flies back for more: eight or nine will scarce serve his turn at
once. If the door be shut that none can come out, he labours
to remove the bar. If that be too heavy, he falls to under-
mining the door for a new way; and when these devices cannot
get them out, some have the skill to break the daubed walls of
the hives above, over against the place where they lie, and
there they are sure to have their purpose. This is the greatest
enemy the bee hath; and therefore by the bee-men of Hamp-
shire he is called the bee-biter. The little russet titmouse in
the winter feedeth only on dead bees; but in the spring he
will take part with the great ones. The little green titmouse
can only be accused of eating some few dead bees, and that
only in some hungry time.

“4. The swallow is another bee-eater, who catcheth the bees

716

 
 

THE BEE.

in her chops as she flies, and that not far from the hive when
they come laden and weary home. The hornet being much
too strong for the bees, is a great devourer of them. Her
manner is to fly about the hive till she has spied her prey
settled at the door, and then suddenly she taketh it in her
feet and flies away with it, as a kite with a chicken. In de-
stroying the hornet you must be wary, for their stinging does
oftentimes cause a fever; and less than thirty, as some say,
will kill a man.

“5, The wasp is a great enemy to the bees, and more hurtful
than the hornet; for the wasps destroy the honey as well as
the bees themselves. The best way to destroy them is by kill-
ing the mother wasps when they first come abroad; you may
take them with your flag at your bee doors on the hives, where
they sit sunning themselves, and on the gooseberry bushes from
the beginning of May.

“6. The spider is another enemy, which harbours between
the hackle and the hive, and you shall seldom find that she
hath not two or three bees in store to feed on; and sometimes
when the bees are weak they will be bold to enter the hive
and there weave their fatal web. Ashes strewed on the out-
side of the hive will not suffer the spider to harbour there.
And thus much for destroying the bee’s enemies.”

 

el 7

QOMBAT BETWEEN WASP AND SPIDER.

 
 

 

THE HUBER BRAOELET,

STRUCTURE OF THE BEE.

From the point of its antennz to the tip of its terrible sting
the bee may justly be regarded as one of the most marvellous
of God’s creatures. To enter at length into a description of
the bee’s structure would be at least to fill a hundred*of these
pages, each page abounding with curious facts. To adopt such
a course, however, would be to depart from the scheme laid out
ere the first page of this volume was written, and give an air of
lopsidedness to the work not desirable. All that can be attempted
is to take the bee in hand and take brief note of its marvels from
head to tail.

Examined through a microscope, its antenna, or feelers, are
found to be thread-like appendages, composed of thirteen cylin-
drical joints of nearly equal diameter, the second from the
head being much longer than the rest, and, with the exception
of this latter section, studded with fine perforations. As to the
true functions of these feelers, as they are commonly called, no
physiologist has been able definitely to pronounce. Whether
they are organs of hearing, or smell, or touch, or ali three
combined, the closest and most patient investigation has failed
to make perfectly clear. It is known that bees employ their
antennee to ascertain the form of substances, as a guide in their
building operations, and as a medium of communication one
with the other—the last-named end being accomplished by the
bee passing his antenne across that of his friend.

That great bee-master Huber made some curious experi-
ments to prove the use of these organs. He wished to ascer-
tain whether, when they had lost their aueen, they discovered

718

 
 

THE BEE.

their loss by smell, touch, or any unknown cause. He first
divided a hive by a grate, which kept the two portions about
three lines apart, so that they could not come at each other.
In that part in which there was no queen the bees were soon
in great agitation, and as they did not discover her where she
was confined, in a short time they began to construct royal
cells, which quieted them. He next separated them by a par-
tition through which they could pass their antennz, but not
their heads. In this case the bees all remained tranquil, nei-
ther ceasing their ordinary labour nor troubling to begin a royal
cell. The means they used to assure themselves that their
queen was near at hand, and to communicate with her, was to
pass their antenne through the openings in the grate. An
infinite number of these organs might be seen at once, as it
were, inquiring in all directions, and the queen was observed
answering these inquiries of her subjects in the most marked
manner, for she was always fastened with her feet to the grate
crossing her antennee with those of the inquirers.

Messrs. Kirby and Spence, who record the above experiments
of the blind naturalist, furnish another from the same source,
showing how essential to the creature’s existence these antennz
are. “The amputation of one of the antenne of a queen bee
appears not to affect her perceptibly ; but cutting off both these
organs produces a very striking derangement of her proceedings.
She seems in a species of delirium, and deprived of all her
instincts; everything is. done at random; yet the respect and
homage of the workers towards her, though they are received
by her with indifference, continue undiminished. If another in
the same condition be put in the hive, the bees do not appear
to discover the difference, and treat them both alike; but if a
perfect one be introduced, even though fertile, they seize her,
keep her in confinement, and treat her very unhandsomely. One
may conjecture from this circumstance, that it is by these won-
derful organs, the antenne, that the bees know their own queen.”

The organs of the bee’s mouth are scarcely less wonderful
than the antenne. Its mandibles or jaws, when separated,
resemble a pair of toothed pincers; they are composed of the
same horny substance as constitutes the rings of the body, and
are extremely powerful. Besides these, there are a second pair of
jaws (called the maxille), composed of two long-pointed blades,
whose thin edges work together after the manner of a pair of
scissors. It is with these latter instruments that the bee cuts

and moulds its wax in its work of cell-making.
719

 
 

THE BEE,

The mouth of the bee is further provided with a tongue of a
most curious sort. It is capable of protrusion considerably
beyond the jaws, and covered along its whole length with
regular and symmetrical circlets of fine hairs, From root to
tip this tongue is traversed by a tube, through which, in all
probability, the nectar is conveyed to the mouth. When, how-
ever, the insect is in a state of repose, the whole of this compli:
sated apparatus folds under the head, andto the ignorant beholder
ts existence would be no more suspected than the ready dart
lurking at its other extremity. “Truly,” observes Mr.Samuelson,
“that although at first sight it may appear strange that so
humble an insect should be thus remarkably endowed, it will no
longer be a matter of surprise when we come to consider its
various occupations. Then, indeed, you will rather be disposed
to wonder how simple an apparatus can be made subservient to
such a variety of purposes as the gathering of honey, the knead-
ing, cutting, manipulation, and adjustment of wax, the plaster-
ing of propolis, the feeding of the young, and many other
employments too numerous to be recorded.”

‘The bee’s.eye is a wondrous construction. Seen through a
microscope, and with a few of the hairs removed from the front
of the top of the head, the creature seems to possess three eyes,
disposed so as to form a triangle. In shape the eye resembles one
of those elongated leaves of chaff that surround a grain of wheat,
and, like the said husks, it has a bright, glazed appearance.
Simple as the tiny instrument seems, however, it is composed
of the prodigious number of about three thousand fiwe hundred
perfect hexagonal lenses, fitting closely together and disposed in
regular rows. Says the talented author of “Humble Crea-
tures,” in his description of the honey-bee, “In order to afford
some idea of the general character and operation of one of these
compound eyes, we shall compare it to a bundle of telescopes
(3,500 remember), so grouped together that the large terminal
lenses present an extensive convex surface, whilst, in consequence
of the decreasing diameter of the instruments, their narrow ends
meet and form a smaller concentric curve. Now, if you can
imagine it possible to look through all these telescopes at one
glance, obtaining a similar effect to that of the stereoscope, you
will be able to form some conception of what is probably the
uperation of vision in the. bee.”

The bee has six legs, which serve it, not only for the purposes
of locomotion but in various ways connected with its domestic
economy. Putting one of its hind legs under a microscope, wa

7320

 
 

THE BEX.

discover it to be composed of six pieces: the first, and that
which joins the creature’s body, round, like a little ball; the
second more egg-shaped; the third long, and ees to the
fourth, which, beginning slight, becomes
thick and stout where it joins the fifth
division, which is the stoutest part of
all, of the same substance throughout,
and terminated by a slender finger-like
member topped by four claws, which
branch from a shallow cup-like organ
fringed with hairs. The cup-like appa-
ratus enables the bee to move along
upright and overhanging surfaces, as
the fly does, and the claws are of
great utility in the adjustment of such “

 

A.—Hinder Leg of Workin
: : 2 Bee magnified and viewe
ouuding-material, d&c., as it may be from outside, showing the

engaged upon. The fourth and fifth ae cam ee of
joints of the bee’s hind ‘Jeg are so _ fiitto, showing the brush
arranged that a hollow exists between,

and it is in this hollow that the busy insect stores the “ bee-
bread” as it gathers it from the flowers.

The wings of the insect under consideration are not the least
curious part of its curious structure. They are four in number,
and of a tough membranous texture. Considering the con-
siderable weights the tiny honey-makers have to carry, it is
essential that these organs should present to the atmosphere as
broad a resisting power as possible. When unladen, and at its
ease, the possession of a very broad pair of wings would be but
a burden to the creature; and even when she was busy indoors
plastering or comb-building, two broad wings, however neatly
tucked away, might be found cumbrous. Bountiful Nature has,
however, met the difficulty in a manner beautiful as itis simple :
on the front edge of the hinder wing are attached a row of tiny
hooks, and along the opposite edge of the anterior wing there is
a ridge; so that when the insect wishes to spread more sail, as
it were, it is merely a matter of hitching the hooks to the
ridge, and there are the broad buoyant wings complete.

Nor is this the only purpose to which this wing-splicmg is
made to apply. With so much business constantly bemg per-
formed within the hive, with hundreds of little workers labour-
ing as hard as blacksmiths at forge or bricklayers av a wall,
sonsiderable heat is generated. It is not uncommon for us to
hear of a dozen wretched tailors or seamstresses pweating i in

46
 

THE BEE.

one little chamber, and in their ignorance sedulously blocking up
every chink through which a puff of pure air, or, az they call it,
“ draught,” may come; so their lungs are as ill fed as the rest
of their bodies, and they die speedily. The bees are not nearly
so stupid as the tailors and seamstresses: instinct tells them
that pure air means life, and to the best of their limited means
they strive for it. Their wings, united the back to the front
so as to form a fan, are used as ventilators. The operation of
expelling the vitiated air and preserving a cool current
through the establishment is thus described by an observant
naturalist :—‘ By means of their marginal hooks they unite
each pair of wings into one plane slightly concave; thus acting
upon the air by a surface nearly as large as possible, and
forming for them a pair of very ample fans, which, in their
vibrations, describe an arch of ninety degrees. These vibrations
are so rapid as to render the wings almost invisible. During
the summer, a certain number of workers—for it is to the
workers solely that this office is committed—may always be
observed vibrating their wings before the entrance of their
hive; and the observant apiarist will find upon examination
that a still greater number are engaged within it in the same
employment. The station of these ventilators is upon the floor
of the hive. They are usually ranged in files that terminate
at the entrance; and sometimes, but not constantly, form so
many diverging avenues probably to give room for comers and
goers to pass. The number of ventilators in action at the
same time varies; it seldom much exceeds twenty, and is often
more circumscribed. The time also that they devote to this
function is longer or shorter, according to circumstances. Some
have been observed to continue their vibrations for nearly half
an hour without resting, suspending the action for not more
than an instant, as it should seem, to take breath. "When one
retires, another occupies its place; so that in a hive well peo-
pled there is never any interruption’of the sound or humming
occasioned by this action, by which it may always be known
whether it is going on or not.”

The abdomen of the bee contains the honey-bag, the stomach
the wax-bag, the venom-bag, and the sting. The honey-bag,
though sometimes called the first stomach, is not used for the
purposes of digestion; it is a small bag, about the size of a
pea, with two pouches behind, and is properly only an enlarge-
ment of the gullet. This receptacle receives the honey from
the prabessis ; a small passage leads from thence to the stomach,
 

THE BEE.

which receives and digests the food of the bee. It way formerly
supposed that the wax of the bee was the pollen elaborated in
the stomach and afterwards ejected by the mouth. Dr. John
Hunter, however, discovered two small pouches in the lower
part of the abdomen; and it was found that the wax was
derived from the saccharine matter consumed by the bee, and
that it is secreted from vessels on the surface of these pouches
After the wax has remained there for a time, it appears exter
nally in scales, eight in number, below the medial rings of the
abdomen, and is removed by the bee itself, or one of its fellows

Lastly, we come to the sting of the bee. There can be little
doubt that many people are deterred from keeping bees through
fear of acquaintance with the potent little spear constantly borne
by them. On the principle, however, that he who gathers roses
must risk a brush with a thorn, so must he who covets the bee’s
honey make up his mind to bear the penalty if, once in a while,
the thrifty little creature gets provoked to avenge the robbery to
the extent of its powers. Besides, as with the rose-bush so with
the beehive, you may at first be awkward with your pets, and
often give mortal offence when it was your attention to confer a
kindness ; but, patience and careful observance of a few set rules,
and of the temper of your armed protégés, you will by-und-by
gather the sweets with impunity and without fear of encounter-
ing the sours.

The sting of a bee affects people differently. Some will suffer
no more pain, and exhibit no more alarming symptoms, than
though they had been pricked with a pin; while with others,
the sting of a serpent would not produce more frightful re-
sults. If their finger be stung, straightway their hand, then
their fore-arm, begins to puff and swell, and, finally, the entire
limb is brought tr double its natural bulk, and the patient, es-
pecially if it be the first time that he has been served so, is
anything but c»mfortable. There is, however, little fear of a
bee-sting so long as it is external; as, of course, it is in a
thousand instances to one where it is not. Bees, however,
have ere now been introduced into the mouth through lying
concealed in the crevices of ripe fruit, and, in their trepidation,
have stung the fruit-eater’s throat, so that it has rapidly swollen
and stopped his breath.

Butler, who lived and wrote more than a hundred years ago,
gives a few quaint hints to bee-keepers, which, though of some-
what coarse texture, and suited to the rough times in which

they were penned, are still as applicable as ever :—“If thou
78

 
 

THE BEE.

wilt have the favour of thy bees that they sting thee not, thou
must avoid some things that offend them; thou must not be
unchaste and uncleanly, for impurity and sluttiness (they them-
selves being most chaste and neat) they utterly abhor; thou
must not come amongst them with evil breath, caused by eating
of leek, onion, garlick, and the like, or by any other means,
the noisomeness whereof is corrected by a cup of beer; thou
must not be given to surfeiting or drunkenness; thou must not
come puffing and blowing unto them, neither hastily stir among
them, nor resolutely defend thyself when they seem to threaten
thee, but, softly moving thy hand before thy face, gently put
them by; and, lastly, thou must be no stranger unto them.
In a word, thou must be chaste, cleanly, sweet, sober, quiet,
and familiar; so will they love thee and know thee from all
other.”

It is a fact to be treasured, that a bee never yet stung any
other living thing wantonly. He is a sober, peaceful worker,
and will never interfere with you if you give him no offence.
They are singularly sensitive on certain points: for instance,
if you breathe hardly on them, or while you are near them
whistle; so that they feel it, they will attack you at once; if
you kill one of their kind, they seem to be roused to anger
by the smell of the carcase, and swarm about you to avenge
the murder. ‘“ Never resolutely defend thyself when they seem
to threaten thee,” writes old Butler; and the better to impress
that excellent maxim on the mind of the amateur bee-keeper,
and convince him how such a course may help him in the
direst strait his bungling may bring him to, I will relate to
him a marvellous little story told by Thorley, the bee-master,
and furnished by him in his “ Female Monarchy :”—

“ One of my swarms settling among the close twisted branches
of some codling trees, and not to be got into a hive without
more help, my maid-servant, hired into the family the Michael-
mas before, being in the garden, very officiously offered her
assistance so far as to hold the hive while I dislodged the bees,
she being little apprehensive of what followed.

“Having never been acquainted with bees, and likewise
afraid, she put a linen cloth over her head and shoulders, con-
cluding that would be a sufficient guard, and secure her from
their stings. A few of the bees fell into the hive, some upon
the ground; but the main body of them upon the cloth which
covered her upper garments. No sooner had I taken the hive
out of her hands, but, in a terrible fright and surprise, she cried

 
 

THE BEE.

out: the bees were got under the covering, crowding up towards
her breast and face. When I perceived the veil was of no
further service, she at last gave me leave to remove it. This
done, a most affecting spectacle presented itself to the view of
all the company, filling me with the deepest distress and con-
cern, as I thought myself the unhappy instrument of drawing
her into so great and imminent hazard of her life, which now
so manifestly lay at stake.

“Tt is not in my power to tell the confusion and distress
of mind I was in from the awful apprehension it raised;
and her dread and terror in such circumstances may reason-
ably be supposed to be much more. Every moment she was
at the point of retiring with all the bees about her. Vain
thought! ‘To escape by flight. She might have left the place
indeed, but could not the company; and the remedy would
have been much worse than the disease. Had she enraged
them, all resistance had been in vain, and nothing less than her
life would have atoned for the offence. And now to have had
that life (in so much jeopardy) insured, what would I not have
given P

“To prevent, therefore, a flight which must have been
attended by so fatal a consequence, I spared not to urge all
the arguments I could think of, and use the most affectionate
entreaties, begging her with all the earnestness in my power
to stand her ground and keep her present posture; in order to
which I gave her encouragement to hope in a little space for a
full discharge from her disagreeable companions; on the other
hand, assuring her she had no other chance for her life. I
was, through necessity, constantly reasoning with her, or else
beseeching and encouraging her.

“T now began to search among them, now got in a great
body upon her breast, about her neck, and up to her chin, for
the queen. TI presently saw her, and immediately seized her,
taking her from among the crowd with some of the commons
in company with her, and put them together in the hive. Here
I watched her for some time, and as I did not observe that she
came out, I conceived an expectation of quickly seeing the
whole body quickly abandon their settlement; but, instead of
that, I soon observed them, to my great sorrow and surprise,
gathering closer together, without the least signal for depart-
ing. Upon this I immediately reflected that either there must
be another sovereign or that the same was returned. I directly
commenced a second search, and, in a short time, with a most

76

 
 

THE BEE.

agreeable surprise, found a second or the same: she strove, by
entering further into the crowd, to escape me, which I was
fully determined against, and apprehending her without any
further ceremony or the least apology, I reconducted her with
a great number of the populace into the hive. And now the
melancholy scene began to change, and gave way to one
infinitely more agreeable and pleasant.

“The bees presently missing their queen, began to dislodge,
and repair to the hive, crowding into it in multitudes, and in
the greatest hurry imaginable; and in the space of two
or three minutes, the maid had not a single bee about her,
neither had she so much as one sting, a small number of which
would have quickly stopped her breath.”

And now for a description of the terrible weapon, which, for
all that is no thicker than a needle’s
point, is a terror to grown men.
With the exception, perhaps, of its
eyes, no part of the bee’s anatomy
is more curiously beautiful than its
sting ;—seen through a microscope
of low power, it presents the ap-
pearance of a tiny thorn slightly
curved and tapering to inscrutable
fineness. This, however, is not the
actual sting, but the mere scabbard
which contains a distinct pair of
darts. To use a clumsy comparison,
the sheath is only used as a cobbler
uses his awl preparatory to insert-

5 A ing a sewing-bristle in the hole

¥ made. Seen under a very powerful

’ Gx microscope, the two darts in ques-

tion are found to bear eight notches,

MAGNIFIED STING OF BEE. or barbs, which prevent them from

1. Flattened plates ou the under being released too quickly from the

ae of abdomen, protecting the part attacked. But the puncture

2. The same with the sting thrusts Made by this complicated set of

out. : instruments is the simplest part of
8. Tho blades of th

highly nated: eS enswre the affair—the terrible dart 1s pu.-

‘ Tie cheath holding two blades, Soned. Situated at the root of the

sting there is a little bag filled with

an acrid fluid, generally supposed to be formic acid. At the

moment when the double dart enters the wound made by the

796

 

 

 
 

THE BEE.

sheath, there is expressed from the poison-bag a drop of the
fluid which is conducted in a groove to the end of the sheath,
and from thence into the wound. If it is an insect that is so
attacked, death speedily follows. If it is a human being that
excites the bee’s anger, it may employ its sting and inflict con-
siderable pain, but its life is the penalty ; it almost invariably
happens that the sting is left behind, and without its sting the
bee can live but a very few hours.

Various remedies have been suggested for bee-stings; one of
the most curious being that of an old bes-master and author of
a treatise on bee-management, named Sydserff—to cwre one
bee-wound by the sting of another bee. At least a dozen of the
good man’s instances might be quoted from his own treatise in
support of this singular doctrine, but the sense of the whole is
thus summarized in a single paragraph :—

“ From hence I take the opportunity of observing that if I
am stung by a bee in the face, I generally swell almost blind;
if on the back of the hand, the swelling ascends to the tops of
my fingers ; but if Iam stung by two bees near the same place,
the swelling is not so much; and if I am stung by ten or more
bees, the swelling is very little or none at all. I would not of
choice be stung by them if it can be avoided; but after I have
been stung once, I have no objection against being stung twice;
and after I have been stung twice or three times, I do not mind
if I am stung fifty or a hundred times.” Even among his im-
mediate friends and helpers, however, Mr. Sydserff failed to
make many conversions to his newly-discovered mode, and,
writing of a fellow bee-manager, he says, “ But though in many
respects he is a man of uncommon boldness, and will climb a
tree of any height and put his hand in the hole of the tree
among the bees the same as into a bird’s nest; yet sooner
than take my advice, and make use of my infallible, speedy
medicine, he will be content to be swollen almost blind, and go
blinking like an owl for a week together.”

The best-known remedy for a bee-sting is first to pull out
the little barb, and then to press over the wound the pipe of a
small key: whatever may be left of the sting may be thas
squeezed out along with the poison that was injected with 1t.
Whatever pain that remains may be assuaged by the applica-
tion of a little new honey.

THE HUMBLE-BEE.
With the exception of the hive-bee, the humble-bee is the
727

 
 

THE BEE,

only one inhabiting this part of the world that constructs a
nest in conjunction with its fellows, and is afterwards coutent
to labour as one of a republic, and for the general good. The
colonies of the humble-bee, however, are, as a rule, much
smaller than those of the
hive-bee, about a hundred
of the former being the
average of each societv
They are governed by a
queen, and count among
them males, females, and
neuters.

Towards the close of
autumn, and when the
cold winds of winter
begin to blow, and the honey-yielding flowers die, the male
and neuter humble-bees close their lives. Most often the
female does not die, but before the intense cold sets in finds a
convenient chink,—sometimes in the soft wood of a decayed
tree, or in a moss-clump, or among the dead leaves, where she
lies in a torpid state, never once stirring to eat or exercise her
limbs till the genial warmth of spring rouses her and calls her
to new life. Then she begins to found new colonies of her
kind, by constructing a nest, and depositing therein the eggs
with which she was impregnated before the close of the pre-
ceding year.

A grassy bank is generally the, site chosen by the mother for
the construction of her nest; but sometimes a flat surface is
selected, and by one species particularly in a gravelly situation ;
on this account this particular bee was named by Linnzus
Apis lapidarius. There are burrowing-bees of this species,
and bees that construct a nest on the surface. Concerning the
architectural abilities of the burrowing-bee little is positively
known. Huber observes: “I have not discovered in what
manner they excavate the holés which lead to their nests, nor
do I know how they form the vaults in which they are placed;
neither am I aware whether they always construct these vaults
themselves, or whether they do not sometimes avail themselves
of the holes made ly moles or other animals.” Other authors
observe, that although the female bee has been observed to
remove particles of earth from a certain spot, as though with
the intention of constructing a burrow, she has never been seen

to proceed any farther with the business, neither has a partially-
728

 

 
 

THE BEE.

finished bee-burrow been discovered. Reaumer, however, de-
clares that the humble is under obligations to no other animal,
or to chance, for her home, but that she is her own digger and
delver, using her jaws to dislodge the particles of earth, which
are then, by means of the anterior pair of legs, passed back-
wards to the hinder pair, which perform the same office; and,
as the burrow becomes deeper, the whole body is used to eject
the grains of soil. The burrow consists of a tortuous gallery,
terminated by an arched chamber of considerable dimensions,
and in this chamber the nest is fixed. Our knowledge of the
behaviour of the bee-mother, all alone and solitary in her dark
house, is very limited. According to the most reliable authori-
ties, however, the mother forms a ball of pollen and honey, in
which the eggs, numbering from three to thirty, are inclosed.
When these eggs are hatched, the larve feed on the walls of
their prison, the kind mother making good its part as her
hungry children eat it thin; and so the process continues until
the prisoners grow strong enough to.insist on release. When
the larvee are full-grown, each one incloses itself in a silken
cocoon of an oval form, and placed always in a perpendicular
position. A certain number of neuters, or workers, having
undergone their final transformation, the nest is enlarged, and
an inner coating of wax is attached to it; and in those nests
which are constructed with moss the particles of wax are so
amalgamated with it that a portion of the moss cannot be
removed without injuring the interior more or less. Wax is
also used by the workers in the construction of little cells for
the reception of honey. Each species of humble-bee, as Huber
informs us, makes these cells in a different manner: some con-
struct them on the top of the cocoon, and of a half-oval form ;
others build them of an egg-shape, with the apex truncated.
In some, again, they resemble the first, but have a ring of way
within the top. The next variety is almost a perfect oval,
having but a small opening at the apex.

As an instance of the intelligence of these bees, Huber
remarks, that; when bees are prevented from obtaining the
honey at the bottom of the flower by the tube of the corolla being
too narrow and deep, they drill a hole with their proboscis
through the calyx and corolla right into the tube, and 80 tap
the vessel containing the golden fluid.

 
 

 

THE SILKWORM.

oe

Accorpine to Chinese historians, the cultivation of silk was
practised four thousand years ago. They assert that two
thousand’ six hundred and ninety-eight years before the
Christian era, an emperor, having a dim notion that the
silkworm might be turned to commercial account, commanded
his wife to devote her attention to the matter. As no doubt it
was a matter of life or death to the poor lady, she secretly
sought the advice and assistance of the scientific men of the
period, und the result was that she was enabled to lay at the
feet of her husband the king, the first shred of woven silk the
world ever saw. The Chinese historian goes on to say that his
majesty was so delighted that he at once raised his wife to the
rank of a divinity, under the style and title of the Spirit of the
Silkworm and of the Mulberry-tree.

Supposing this story to ke true, or founded on truth, it is
certain that for many centuries afterwards the manufacture of

vilka was carried on in a very limited way; for we read of the
730

 
 

THE SILKWORM.

Roman emperor Aurelian refusing his empress a silk robe, on
the ground of expense; and of Tiberius decreeing that none
should wear vestments made from so costly a material. As to the
origin of the precious threads, the ancient classic authors were
quite in the dark; indeed it was among them the prevailing
opinion that the silk grew on trees—an error that probably
arose from finding the cocoons suspended from the branches
of the mulberry-tree.

In the middle of the sixth century, under the reign of Justi-
nian, two monks brought to Constantinople the eggs of the
wonderful insect, together with the tree on which it was nou-
rished. Previously to this, Persia had been the great silk mart;
but now Constantinople, under its wise ruler, became its rival,
and in a few centuries the silkworm and the mulberry-tree were
common throughout Greece.

In the wars of Charles the Highth, in 1499, in Italy, some
gentlemen, seeing the advantages of the commerce of silk,
introduced the mulberry into France. The progress of silk-
culture in that country, however, must have been very slow,
for Henry the Second, who reigned about forty years after-
wards, is said to be the first French king who wore silk
stockings. Nor was England much more advanced in this
branch of commerce than her neighbour ; for in the year 1554,
in the reign of Mary, an act of parliament was made to restrain
the growing vanity of the lower classes of the people. ‘“ That
whoever shall wear silk in or upon his or her hat, bonnet, or
girdle, scabbard, hose, or open-leather, shall be imprisoned
during three months, and forfeit ten pounds.” James I., while
king of Scotland, being anxious to impress the ambassadors
sent from England with due reverence, he wrote to his friend
the Earl of Mar to borrow a pair of silk stockings, concluding
his epistle with the following appeal to the earl:—‘‘For ye
would not, sure, that your king should appear like a scrub
before strangers.” The pompous Henry the Highth was com-
pelled to wear worsted stockings or none, and his daughter
Elizabeth was in so nearly the same predicament, that when
her silk-woman brought her a pair of silk stockings, “ she was
much delighted, and declared she would wear no other sort as
long as she lived.”

Contrast those “good old times” with the present! Not.
that they were the worse times for being innocent of silk, or
that the present age is particularly benefited in the matter of
that which goes to make true gentility, by the universal adop-

7a

 
 

THE SILKWORM.

tion of the soft and delicate fabric; but as regards our notions
of luwwry, how our things have changed! Yesterday, as it
were, King James sends to borrow a pair of silk stockings that
he may cut a decent figure before company; and to-day, Betsy
Jane, out for a holiday, from the top of her parasol to the hem
of her flounces, carries as much of the coveted material as
would make half a dozen pairs of hose; and the costermonger,
driving along with his cabbage-laden vehicle, carries wisped
about his great throat a silken square, richer than the doublet
of the great: King Henry the Eighth.

Still, although silk has become so common 2 material, we
have not grown wise enough to cultivate it among ourselves.
It is neither so cheap an article as to be beneath our considera-|
tion, nor an article so difficult of cultivation as to deter us
from embarking in it. It is computed that not less than two
millions sterling finds its way out of the country annually that
the demand for silk may be met, and it has been pretty clearly
proved that by proper management the greater part of this
sum might be kept at home and expended on other articles of
English growth, while hundreds of the agricultural population,
especially women and children, might be provided with easy
and profitable employment.

This, however, is not an essay on political economy, neither
do I wish to be regarded as a firebrand by the worthy traders,
in silk. It would require much more than the half-ounces of
silkworms’ eggs I deal in to work a revolution. Nevertheless,|
it can in no way detract from the interest that attaches to
the keeping of silkworms as home pets to know that
while they afford you much amusement and no little instruc-
tion, you are bringing your weight, how little soever it be,|
against the wedge, the thin end of which is already planted,
and which may in course of time open the way to a great trade.

The following directions, culled from such eminent silkworm
authorities as Dandolo, Williams, and better perhaps than all,
Mrs. Whitley, will, if carefully observed, insure, if not perfect
success, at least an amount of satisfaction not always yielded
by pets of larger growth.

An ounce of silkworms’ eggs represents 40,000 of these
interesting creatures; so that the merest fraction of an ounce
will be enough for the experimentalist, unless he be very am-
bitious. There are several dealers in these eggs, but the one
recommended by Mrs. Whitley is a Mr. Tagliabue, of Brook
Street, Holborn. You will require a spare room, which must

 
 

THE SILKWORM.

be dry and airy and possess a good space of window and a fire-
place. The windows should be provided with calico blinds.
You will also want a small portable stove to light in very
cold weather and to keep the room dry. Shelves should run
all round the room, one over the other, at the distance of
twenty-two inches from each other. These shelves may be
merely frames, on which coarse netting may be strained, u:
wicker-work, or of any material through which air can pass;
over the net must be laid sheets of thick paper, or lengths of
cheap cloth or calico. The best width for the frame-shelves is
about two feet two inches; but they may be of any width,
according to the size of the room. ‘The netted frames on which
the worms are fed should be made to slide into a groove for
the greater convenience of feeding the upper and lower tiers.
As it is necessary that a steady temperature should be main-
tained, a thermometer is needful—two thermometers indeed; for
it will happen sometimes that one part of a room will be several
degrees colder than another.

A plate of salt, or, if you would like to dignify the humble
apparatus, you may call it a “ hygrometer,” is a tolerable
substitute for a thermometer. When the hygrometer indicates
a very damp state of the atmosphere, or when the salt appears
very damp, wood-shavings should be burnt, or straw in the
fireplace to absorb the humidity, and replace it by the external
air, which is dried by this same blaze. I say blaze, and not
fire, for two reasons: the first is, that with two pounds of
shavings or of dry straw there can be attracted from all points
towards the chimney a large body of air, which issues at the
flue of the chimney ; while in the mean time, this air is replaced
by a similar quantity of exterior air, which spreads over the wicker
hurdles or network, and revives the exhausted silkworms.
This change of air may take place without effecting any material
variation in the degree of heatin the room. If, on the contrary,
thick wood were employed, it would require more time to move
the interior air, ten times more fuel might be consumed, and the
room would be too much heated. The motion of air is, all
circumstances being equal, proportionate to the quantity
of blaze of the substances that burn quickly. When woode
shavings or dry straw cannot be got, small sticks and light
wood may answer.

As soon as the flame rises, the salt shows that the air has
become drier, and the degrees of it can be seen distinctly.
During the hatching of the eggs, the temperature og the cham-

2

 
 

THE SILKWORM.

ber should be at least 64 degrees, and should be gradually
increased up to 75 degrees, in which degree of warmth the
young worm is to be kept until the first cast takes place.
Between the first and second cast the heat should be between
73 degrees and 75 degrees ; between 71 degrees and 73 degrees
till the third; and lastly, between 68 degrees and 71 degrees
till the fourth. ;

You will want a chopping-board, on which to cut up your
mulberry-leaves : they cannot be chopped too fine; because the
more the leaf is chopped, the more fresh-cut cdges there are to
which the young insects fasten themselves. In this manner a
few ounces of leaves will present so many edges and sides, that,
a hundred thousand insects may feed in a very small space.
In this state they bite the leaf quickly, and it is consumed
before it becomes withered. The leaves should on no account
be given wet; itis better to keep the silkworm a day without
food than to give it wet. If gathered wet, the leaves should
be spread on the floor, and afterwards dried, by a few pounds
at a time being shaken in a sheet, which speedily absorbs all
moisture.

The time for beginning the hatching the silkworms’ eggs is
when the buds of the mulberry begin to burst. Place the eggs
in shallow card-holes, and cover the top of the boxes with very
coarse muslin; spread on the muslin cover young mulberry-
leaves finely chopped. Be careful of this; for in the earliest
stages of the worm’s existence it is unable to bite tough sub-
stances. The little worms will, as soon as hatched, crawl
through the muslin and feed on the leaves.

Those hatched each day should be removed and placed by
themselves, with the date of their birth marked on the tray
that contains them. Those first hatched should be placed in
the coolest part of the chamber, and those latest hatched in
the warmest. This will tend to equalize their growth, and
prevent the loss and confusion which result from the worms
being of different sizes and casting their skins at different
times. The tip of a paper-knife, or something equally handy,
should be employed in shifting the worm, together with the
leaf to which it is attached, from the lid of the hatching-box
to the tray. On no account attempt the removal of the insect
with the finger and thumb. As each fresh batch is hatched,
place it on a shelf.

From the time the egg is hatched till it becomes a full-grown
spinning caterpillar, five weeks elapse, and during that period

7™

 
 

THE SILKWORM.

the creature undergoes five skin-castings or ‘“ moultings.”
During the first phase of their existence they should be regu-
larly supplied with food. Sprinkle among them every six hours
a fresh supply of the minced leaves, taking care that they are
perfectly dry; never shift them, or attempt to remove the re-
fuse food until they effect their first “moult.” A day or two
before this takes place they will become torpid, and appear like
small bits of rusty iron wire. As soon, however, as they re-
turn to life again and begin to eat, they may be removed to
‘another frame, of larger dimensions than the last.

Follow the directions above given through every stage of
the worm’s existence, except that, as the older it grows, the
less necessity there will be to cut its food so fine, or to select
the young leaves from the old.

Ten or twelve days are required to mature them for spinning.
During this period they eat voraciously, and their appetite
should be indulged; but fresh food should not be given until
they have eaten up all the last meal, unless so much has been
given as to render the remains dry. By-and-by they will cease
to eat, and become of a transparent yellow or pearly white, and
wander from their beds to the sides of the frame, holding up
their heads as if in search of something on which to rise; then
there should be set up, in the form of an arbour, bunches of the
seed-stalk of the turnip, after the seed has been beaten out, or
dried fennel or heather. It should be spread thinly, in the
form of a fan, that the air may not be impeded in passing
through the branches, air being essential to the formation of
a good cocoon.

At the end of the third day, all the silkworms that have not
“risen * must be removed to later frames. At the expiration
of ten days, the cocoons may be gathered. Some silkworms
will, although fully matured, evince no disposition to climb ;
these must be separated from the rest, and removed to a frame
in which are placed a few turnip-stalks, and on these, or under
these, they will form as good cocoons as their brethren.

It is good to wind off the fresh cocoons immediately; but
if that should not be convenient, it will be necessary to steam
them, in order to smother the chrysalis, which would otherwise
eat its way through, and destroy the silk. Steaming also gives
improved lustre and softness to the silk, and some think it
renders the windmg more easy, contrary to the old-fashioned
way of baking them.

The cocoons should be put into a bag of coarse Hamel, or &

735

 
 

THE SILKWORM,

basket, and steamed for half an hour over boiling water, exactly
in the same manner as potatoes are steamed. When sufliciently
steamed, they should be spread on a cloth on the sameframes upon
which the worms have been fed: these being network, the air
passes through, and dries the cocoons; they should be turned
and moved occasionally, to prevent fermentation, and should
not he heaped upon one another above two inches deep.

The silkworm will eat lettuce-leaves, if given before it has
tasted these of the mulberry; but silkworms which are fed oy
other than mulberry-leaves will degenerate—will not make
good cocoons, or strong fine silk, and are subject to diseases
from which those are exempt which are properly fed. They
will eat any sort of mulberry-leaf, white or red.

 

THE MULBERRY

 
duties: MOUd HOLTSS vo SEINGG Ema’

 
 

 

HORSES FRIGHTENED BY FIRE.

PONIES, DONKEYS, AND GOATS.

toe

THE PONY.

Surposiye fairy times to return again, and every boy in the
~ realm to receive a visit from one of the “ good folks,” with the
customary offer to gratify any “three wishes” the said boy
chose to express, what would be the result? In some cases, of
course, it would be difficult to prognosticate; there would
doubtless be boys of what a quaint old writer terms a “ belly-
sonte” turn, and who would insist, firstly, on plenty of roast pork;
secondly, on unlimited apple dumplings; and thirdly, on a few—
no, on a little more crackling. There are soldierly boys who
would stipulate for a great army, a great enemy, and a great
victory; scholarly boys who would reiterate “books, books,
books ;” miserly boys (the very worst sort of boys these), with
a clamour for “pounds, shillings, and pence;” and boys so
47 war

 
 

THE PONY.

bewildered that they would be driven clean out of their mind,
before they could make it up. If, however, I had a turn for
wagering (which, thank goodness, I have not), I would wager
ten to one that in more than half the cases a pony would be
among the most conspicuous of the desires.

‘It is no wonder that it should be so, when we find sober,
elderly gentlemen patronizing equestrian exercise, and delight-
ing in the paces of their fleet nags. Wat else can be expected
than that the boy, brimming over with life and vigour, and
utterly incapable of enough physical exertion to tame or tire
him, should be never so delighted as when he can set his legs
astride a nimble little horse, and enjoy with it the fun of
scampering at a pretty rate over the green downs, or making
small account of a dozen milestones along the highway.

The genus equus, in whatever shape it may appear, is, how-
ever, by no means a modern instance of man’s dominion over
“the beast of the field.” Thousands of years ago ponies de-
lighted boy-riders, and were doubtless ridden with as much
skill as at this day is displayed by the most accomplished
horseman in Rotten Row. Though, imdeed, we need not go
back to ancient and barbarous times for a match to modern
equestrian skill; there are at the present time a thousand
savage riders roaming the North American prairies, able to
“give lessons” to the best riding-master in England, and in
all probability to teach the renowned horse-breaker, Mr. Rarey,
a trick or two. From being constantly on horseback these
savage tribes can scarcely walk; from their infancy they are
accustomed to it, and among them baby “begins to ride” at
much the same period as among us the little thing begins to
know what feet were given him for. He grows up literally on
horseback, till, becoming a broad-shouldered man, his unused
legs are weak and puny and bowed, like those of our old-
fashioned postillions. As horsemen, however, they excel all
others in the world. “I recollect,” says Mr. Darwin, “ seeing a
Guacho riding a very stubborn horse, who three times reared so
excessively high as to fall backward with great violence. The man
judged with uncommon coolness the proper moment of slipping
off: not an instant before or after the right time. Directly the
horse rose, the man jumped on his back, and at last they
started at a gallop. ‘The Guacho never appears to exercise any
amount of physical force. I was one day watching a good
rider, as we were galloping along at a rapid pace, and thought
to myself, surely if the horse starts you appear so careless on

 
THE PONY.

your seat you must fall. At this moment an ostrich sprang
from its nest right beneath the horse’s nose; the young colt
bounded on one side like a stag; but as for the man, all that
could be said was, that he started and took fright as part of
the horse.” Another instance of the perfect command the
Guacho has over his steed, is to be found in the story of a cattle-
owner, who riding home at night was overtaken and attacked
by two mounted and armed highway robbers. The two men
drew their swords and pursued the cattle-owner. He urged
his steed and they theirs, till the two were going at a pace that
would have carried off the “blue riband ” from any number of
Epsom competitors. When, however, the two thieves had
nearly overtaken the wily Guacho, he suddenly pulled in his
horse and instantly it was still as stone, while the other two,
unprepared for the ruse, shot past like lightning; in a moment
the cattle-owner set his horse at a gallop, and approaching his
attackers, buried his knife in the back of one and mortally
stabbed the other. I think, after the narration of these two or
three episodes of savage horsemanship, that the reader will
agree with me that Rotten Row has no chance against it.

 
 

THE PONY.

That so noble and invaluable a creature as the horse should
be associated with mythological lore, and the superstitious rites
and ceremonies pertaining to remote ages, is by no means sur-
prising. Horses were anciently sacrificed to the sun in different
nations, their swiftness being supposed to render them an ap-
propriate offering to that luminary. In the religious processions
of the sun-worshippers, foremost among whom stood the ancient
Persians, horses were largely employed. According to Herodotus,
the Scythians sacrificed horses, as well as human beings, to the
god of war. The animal was first strangled by the priests, then
flayed and cut up, the flesh being broiled on a fire made of the
bones. When a Scythian king died, the body was embalmed
and laid upon a bed surrounded by spears in a great grave.
One of his wives, a groom, a cupbearer, a waiter, a messenger,
and several horses were slain and laid in the same grave, to-
gether with various vessels of precious metal. The mouth of
the pit was then covered, and a high tumulus erected over it.
This, however, did not terminate the funeral rites. After mourn-
ing a year, his dead majesty’s faithful subjects “select such
servants as they judge most useful out of the rest of the king’s
household, which consists only of native Scythians, for the
king is never served by men bought with money. These offi-
cers, fifty in number, they strangle, and with them. fifty
beautiful horses. After they have eviscerated the bodies, they
fill them with straw, and sew them up. They then lay two
planks of a semicircular form upon four pieces of timber (posts)
placed at a convenient distance; and when they have erected
a sufficient number of these frames, they set the horses upon
them, first spitting them with a strong pole through the body
to the neck; one semicircle supports the shoulders or chest of
the horse, the other his flank, and the legs are suspended in
the air. After this they bridle the horses, and, hanging the
reins at full length upon posts erected for the purpose, mount
one of the fifty young men they have strangled upon each
horse, fixing him in his seat by spitting the body up the spine
with a straight stick which is received in a socket in the beam
that spits the horse. Then they place these horsemen round
the timbers and depart.” Awfully grand must have been the
spectacle of these silent and ghastly sentinels guarding the dead
monarch.

So it is throughout ancient history, sacred and protane;
and hundreds of instances might be qvoted showing the omni-

presence of the animal, and how that he always shared in the
740

 
 

THE PONY.

adversities and triumphs and in the occupations and amuse-
ments of man. Colonel H. Smith states that in the most
ancient legislation of India, dating back to a period nearly
coeval with Moses, the sacrifice of the horse to one of their
deities was enjoined with awful solemnities, and that it was
only next in importance to the immolation of a human being.
It is recorded of the Emperor C. Caligula, that, possessing a
steed of wondrous beauty and speed, he created him a consul,
and high priests clothed him in gorgeous trappings worked
with pearls, and housed him in a stable, the floor and walls of
which were of polished marble, which, by the bye, the honoured
guadruped must have found decidedly cold and uncomfortable,
and was not for a moment to be compared with the humble but
cosy stable enjoyed by the poor greengrocer’s colt of modern
times.

Even to the present day there exists amongst savage tribes
a disposition to regard the horse with superstitious awe. Bruce
relates, that whilst journeying through Abyssinia, a potentate
named Fasil, having assembled the Galla tribe, said to Bruce,
— Now, before all these men, ask me anything you have at
heart, and be it what it may, they know I cannot deny it you.”
The one great thing the Abyssinian traveller desired was to be
shown the source of the river Nile, and this desire he expressed
to Fasil. Taking him to the door of the tent the chief showed
Bruce a splendid grey horse. “Take this horse,” said he, “as
a present from me. But do not mount it yourself; drive it
before you, saddled and bridled as it is. You are now a
Galla. A curse upon them and their children, their corn,
and their cattle, if ever they lift their hand against you or
yours, or do not defend you to the utmost if attacked by others.
No man of Maitsha will touch you when he sees that horse.”

The great horse fields of the world are the North and South
American prairies. In such tremendous droves do they there
abound as to make it worth while to hunt them for their hides
and fat and bones, which are shipped to various parts of
Europe. <A significant proof of the wonderful abundance of
horses spread over the plains that stretch from Patagonia to the
south-western prairies, is the existence of a written contract
wherein a native herdsman agrees to supply a certain Mr.
Robinson with twenty thousand horses at the rate of three-
~pence each, The horses are hunted with a simple instrument
called a lasso, and the business is thus described in the “ Wild
Sports of the World” :—

741

 
 

THE PORY.

The “lasso,” a simple long noosed cord, is the only weapon
used by the Indians in their horse hunts. Armed with this
potent implement, and mounted on their savage steeds as
naked as themselves, the Indians give chase to the flying herds,
yelling as only Indians can yell, and handling the lissom
lasso ready for a “cast” as soon as they come up to the wild
horses, as after a run of a score of miles or so they invariably
do; for—and it is a curious fact—the trained horse, bearing
his trainer on his back, possesses greater fleetness and endurance
than the wild fellow unbacked and unburthened as he is. The
Indians single out a horse from the flying herd, and whir!
flies the unerring cord, the noose making a necklace for the
stricken creature, who, so sudderily checked in his thun-
dering career, stands still as a marble horse, while the lasso—
its owner having halted his horse the moment the cord was
cast—is strained like a thick wire of iron. The skill of both
Guachos and Indians in using the lasso is extraordinary.
Their faith in it too is unbounded. During the war of inde-
pendence, eight or ten Guachos, who had never seen a piece of
artillery till one was fired at them in the streets of Buenos
Ayres, fearlessly galloped up to it, placed their lassos over the
carriage of the cannon, and fairly overturned it.

If, however, it was left entirely to the hand of man to thin
and keep down these horse-swarms, they would become a plague
and both continents would scarce afford them ambling room;
where, however, one horse falls by the lasso of the Indian or
the Guachos a hundred die the horrid death of thirst at those
periods when drought sweeps the land and laps up the pools,
leaving nothing but hollows of stagnant mire. Then the horses,
tortured to madness, rush into the first marsh or pool they
can find, trampling each other to death. Between the years
1827 and 1830 oceurred the greatest drought that can be re-
membered. Brooks were dried up, and the whole country was
converted into one vast plain of dust. To own a living well in
Buenos Ayres at that time was to own the most precious thing
in the world. “TI was informed by an eyewitness,” says Mr.
Darwin, “that the cattle in herds of thousands rushed into the
Parana, and being exhausted by hunger were unable to crawl
up the muddy banks, and so were drowned. The arm which
runs by San Pedro was so full of putrid carcases that the
master of a vessel told me the smell rendered it quite impos-
sible to pass that way. Without doubt several hundred thou -

sand thus perished in the river.”
748

 
 

THE FONY.

The mad career of a troop of wild horses, impelled by thirst,
fire, or some other cause of panic, is called a stampedo. While
in North America, Mr. Murray witnessed one, and thus describes
it: “ About an hour after the usual time for securing the horses
for the night an indistinct sound arose like the muttering of
distant thunder; as it approached it became mixed with the
howling of all the dogs in the encampment, and with the
shouts and yells of the Indians; in coming nearer it rose high
above all these accompaniments and resembled the lashing of a
heavy surge upon the beach. On and on it rolled towards us, and
partly from my own hearing, partly from the hurried words and
actions of the tenants of our lodge, I gathered it must be the fierce
and uncontrollable gallop of thousands of panic-stricken horses.
As this living torrent drew near I sprang to the front of the
tent, seized my favourite riding mare, and, in addition to the
hobbles which confined her, twisted the long lariett round her
fore-legs ; then led her immediately in front of the fire, hoping
that the excited and maddened flood of horses would divide and
pass on each side of it. As the galloping mass drew near our
horses began to snort, prick up their ears, and then to tremble;
and when it burst upon us they became completely ungovern-
able with terror. All broke loose and joined their affrighted
companions except my mare, which struggled with the fury of
a wild beast, and I only retained her by using all my strength
and at last throwing her on her side. On went the troops
trampling in their headlong speed over skins, dried meals, d&c.,
and overthrowing the tents. They were soon lost in the dark-
ness of the night and in the wilds of the prairie, and nothing
more was heard of them save the distant yelping of the curs
who continued their ineffectual pursuit.

In no country in the world, however, is the horse so highly,
prized as in Arabia. There’ at least it is a “home pet,” in the
fullest sense of the term. As a foal it roams in and about
the tent, eating with the children, playing with them till the
playfellows are tired, and all lie down together, he with the
four legs serving as a pillow for the rest. He is christened,
and should he stray a quarter of a mile from home, hears his
name, and answers with a neigh should one of the youngsters
bawl for him from the tent-door. He is regarded as a child
by his master, and is never called on to do an hour’s work
till the anniversary of his second birth-day. Once broke to
the saddle, however, it is seldorn off its back. “Summer and win-
ter it spends the hours of daylight in the open air, ibe journey-

 
 

THE PONY.

ing or picketed to a tent-pin, and at night it is called into the
tent, and les down with its master, neither feared nor fearing.”

The most celebrated of Arab horses are called Kohlane,
and are said to descend from the mare habitually ridden by
the Prophet. At the time these horses are broken to the
saddle their pedigree is carefully written on parchment,
encased in a little bag, and hung round the creature’s neck.
The following, extracted from the Court Journal, is a verbatim
copy of such a pedigree :— This horse, the sire of Rabbamy,
equal in power to his son, is of the tribe of Zazzalah, and
descends from the uncle of Lahadah the sire of Alkeb, is of a
fine figure and fleet as an ostrich. Herewith is his tooth
when a colt in a bag with his pedigree, which a Caffre might
believe. Among the honours of relationship he reckons
Zaluah, the sire of Nahab, who was the sire of Kallak and
the unique Alkeb, sire of Manassah, sire of Alsheh, from
generation to generation, down from the noble horse Lahalala.
And upon him be green herbage in abundance and the waters
of life, with an edifice enclosed with walls, a reward from the
tribe of Zoab for the fire of his race; and let a thousand
cypresses shade his body from the hyzna of the tombs, from
the wolf and the serpent of the plain; within the enclosure a
festival shall be kept, and at sunrise thousands shall come and
observers arrive in troops, whilst the tribe exhibits under a
canopy of celestial signs the saddle and the name and the
place of the tribe of Beb Altabek in Mesopotamia, and
Kulasla of Lutarev, of the inspired tribe of Zoab. Then
shall they strike with a loud noise, and ask of Heaven in
solemn prayer immunity for the tribe from evil and the demon
of languor, from pestilence, from wandering from God, from
scabby camels, from scarcity, from perplexed congregations,
from the spleen, from the fiery dragon, from commixation,
from beating on the feet, from treading out with the feet,
from Heinban, or the unknown son of an unknown father,
from lameness at birth, from imposthumes, from seclusions
and from fascination, from depression and eleyation, from
cracks in the feet, from numerous assemblies, from impor-
tunate soothsayers, from the offspring of prophets and noc-
turnal travellers, from diviners of good opportunity for a
purpose, from relations and degrees of affinity, and from rash
and inordinate riders, deliver this tribe, O Lord, and secure
those who are slow to follow and slow to advance, who guard
the truth and observe it.”

744

 
 

THE PONY,

The feats of speed and endurance these intensely domeati-
cated animals will perform is wonderful. Fifty miles, without a
moment’s halt, is by no means an uncommon journey for an
Arab horse of the true breed to perform; indeed, Colonel
Smith relates, that a Mr. Frazer rode from Shiraz to
Teheran, a distance of five hundred and twenty-two miles,
remained three to rest, went back in five days, remained nine
cl at Shiraz, and returned again to Teheran in seven

ays.

According to the Desert code of morals, horse-stealing is
looked upon as an honourable proceeding, if the sufferer be a
stranger or a man of another tribe. To rob a hostile tribe is
considered a laudable achievement, and the thief is honoured
by his comrades according to the skill and daring employed
during the pilfer, rather than to the amount of booty acquired.
One of the best stories of Arab horse-stealing is as follows :—

A Bedouin, named Jabal, possessed a mare of great celebrity.
Hassad Pasha, then governor of Damascus, wished to buy the
animal, and repeatedly made the owner the most liberal offer,
which Tabal steadily refused. The pasha. then had recourse to
threats, but with no better success. At length, one Gafer, a
Bedouin of another tribe, presented himself to the pasha, and
asked, what would he give to the man who should make him
master of Jabal’s mare. “TI will fill his horse’s nosebag with
gold,” replied Hassad. The result of this interview having
got wind, Jabal became more watchful than ever, and always
secured his mare at night with an iron chain, one end of which
was fastened round her hind fetlock, whilst the other, after
passing through the tent-cloth, was attached to the picket
driven into the ground under the felt that served himself and
his wife for a bed. But one midnight, Gafer crept into the
tent, and insinuating his body between Jabal and his wife, he
pressed gently, now against the one, and now against the other,
so that the sleepers made room for him right and left, neither
of them doubting that the pressure came from the other. This
being done, Gafer slit the felt with a sharp knife, drew out the
picket, loosed the mare, and sprang on her back. Just before
starting, he caught up Jabal’s lance, and poking him with the
putt-end, cried out, “I am Gafer—I have stolen your noble mare.
I give you notice in time.” This warning was in accordance
with the usual practice of the Desert on such occasions. Poor
Jabal, when he heard the words, rushed out of the tent and
gave the alarm, then mounting his brother’s mare, and accom-

 
 

THE PONY.

panied by some of the tribe, he pursued the robber for four
hours. The brother’s mare was of the same stock as Jabal’s,
but was not equal to her; nevertheless, she outstripped those
of all the other pursuers, and was even on the point of over-
taking the robber, when Jabal shouted to him, “ Pinch her
right ear, and give her a touch of the heel!” Gafer did so,
and away went the mare like lightning, speedily rendering
further pursuit hopeless. The pinch in the ear and the touch
with the heel were the secret signs by which Jabal had been
used to urge the mare to her topmost speed. Every Bedouin
trains the animal he rides to obey some such sign, to which he
has recourse only on urgent occasions, and which he makes
a close secret, not to be divulged even to his son. Jabal’s
comrades were amazed and indignant at his strange conduct.
“Oh! thou father of a jackass,” they cried, “thou hast helped
the thief to rob thee of thy jewel.” But he silenced their
upbraiding by saying, “ I would rather lose her than sully her
reputation. Would you have me suffer it to be said among
the tribes that another mare had proved fleeter than mine ?
I have at least this comfort left me, that I can say that she
never met with her match.”

The following hints as to what should be the proper con-
formation of horses, little and big, may be useful to the reader
in the event of his meditating a purchase.

The head should be small, or at all events rather small than
large in proportion to the animal’s size, and well “set on;”
that is, the lower jawbones should be sufficiently wide apart
to enable the head to form that angle with the neck which
gives free motion and graceful carriage to it, and prevents its
bearing too heavily on the hand. The eye should be large and
rather prominent, and the eyelids fine and thin. The eur
should be small and erect, arid quick in motion. The lop-ear
indicates dulness or stubbornness; and when it is habitually
laid too far back upon the neck, there is too frequently a dis-
position to mischief. The nostrils should be capacious. The
neck long rather than short. It then enables the animal to
graze with more ease, and to throw his weight more forward
whether he is in harness or galloping at the top of his speed.
Tt should be muscular at its base, and gradually become fine as
it approaches the head. The withers should be high. The
shoulder should take a slanting direction, as affording an easy
and pleasant action and a greater degree of sifety. The chest
must be capacious, for it contains the heart and the’ lungs,

146

 
 

THE PONY.

the organs on which the speed and endurance of the auimal
depend. The loins should be broad, the quarters long, the
thighs muscular, and the hocks well bent and well under the
horse.

The age of the animal should be known by its teeth. I am
aware that such an assertion is likely to provoke a grin on the
part of roguish horse-cobblers, who more successfully practise
their dishonest tricks on the horse’s mouth, than on any other
part of the poor beast; but it is very possible, by careful and
quiet examination, to ascertain the true state of the case, in
spite of the magic and conjuration of every horse-rascal in
London.

 

SKELETON OF THE HORSE,

When tka colt is born, in most cases the first and second
molar and grinding teeth will appear above the gums. In the
course of a week or so his front incisor teeth will show—two
above and two below. In about six weeks the next two incisors
may be seen, and so on will the colt’s teeth increase in regular
order, till at the age of eight months it will possess its full
complement of front or cutting teeth. These teeth have an
elevated cutting edge of considerable sharpness, and formed of
a substance so hard that a steel file will make no impression
on it. The sharp ridge is bent somewhat inwards and over
the tooth, so that there is a depression behind it, which gra-

747

 
 

THE PONY.

dually becomes stained by the food, and constitutes what is
called the “marks” in the mouth of the colt or horse. This
elevated ridge of enamel, hard as it is, however, is gradually
worn down in the act of nipping and cutting the grass, and as
it wears away, the hollow behind becomes diminished and is at
length totally obliterated. By the degree in which this mark
is effaced, may be judged the age of the colt at this early stage
of its existence. If the animal has reached the age of a year
and a half, the mark will be very faint on the central nippers,
diminished in the other two, and the surface of all the teeth
will be flattened,

As the horse approaches the age of three years it sheds its
central milk teeth, and they are replaced by two others of
much larger size. At this period of the creature’s life the
horse-cheat steps in. A three-year-old colt will fetch consider-
ably more than a two-year-old; and there is no certain guide
to its age but the teeth, so the cheat extracts the central milk
teeth many months before they would be shed, and having
now nothing to impede their progress, the larger teeth grow
up and the purchaser is swindled. Nor is the fraud easily
detected, except by the comparative newness of the nippers
that remain, and by the general deficiency of development
exhibited by the colt.

At three years old, the new central teeth, although broader
than the rest, are not so high; the mark in the next pair is
nearly worn away, and the corner nippers show signs of wear.
At the age of three years and a half, the second nippers are
pushed out to make room for new teeth; and a twelvemonth
after, the corner nippers undergo the same process. Thus the
purchaser of a four-year-old pony or horse will find the two
front teeth fully grown, the next pair rather more than half
grown, and the corner nippers still very small, with the mark
nearly effaced. Six months later, in addition to these teeth,
the “tushes” will have made their appearance. The use of
these to the domesticated horse does not appear, although, in
a wild condition, it is likely that the horse finds them extremely
serviceable. The tushes spring from between the nippers and
the grinders. Another year added to the horse’s life, and the
mark on the central nippers is almost, if not entirely, obliterated.
A brownish hue may mark its surface, but the black centre
spot has vanished.

The animal may now be considered in the prime of its ex-

istence. It is never so handsome, so strong, so valuable, as
738

 
 

THE PONY.

now. The cunning horse-cheat well knows this; and should
an animal come into his hands with undoubted symptoms of
having topped the hill of life, or, rather, that has gone a year
or so dowti what is generally considered the wrong side of it,
it is the cheat’s business to conceal this fact, and he will no
tore admit that a horse of his is more than “rising six years,”
than certain maiden ladies will ever confess to be more than
“twenty-seven.” The horse-cheat, however, proceeds to lengths
to give colour to his mistatement that would without doubt
daunt the most strong-minded spinster in England. The horse’s
teeth are the tell-tales, so they must be made to tell a false tale.
A black mark on the surface of the tooth denotes that the
animal has barely reached its sixth year, therefore the seven or
eight year old horse is cast, and with a sharp-pointed steel in-
strument a little hole is dug on the surface of the corner incisor, to
which a red-hot iron is afterwards applied. An indelible black
mark is thus left on the tooth. Sometimes the roguery is car-
ried further: the next tooth is slightly touched with the en-
graver and the cautery; but here the dishonest dealer generally
overreaches himself, for the form and general appearance of a
six-year-old horse can rarely be given to one who has passed
his eighth year: that is to say, such a cheat would not pass
with a person whosé business it is to study the shape and
make of a horse. I am afraid, however, that you or I, reader,
would find it a difficult matter to detect the fraud. For my
part, if it is ever my good fortune to afford to keep a horse, or
even a pony, I shall prefer to place the purchase-money, with
the little fee over, in the hands of a respectable veterinary
surgeon; and, unless the reader is either very knowing or very
obstinate, he will do well to follow the same plan.

Not, be it borne in mind, that a horse is useless for all ordi-
nary purposes when he has reached his-tenth or twelfth year.
If he has been well kept he may have twenty good years of
life in him—in the hands of a good master he has been known
to attain the ripe age of forty years. This, however, is not the
animal that exists chiefly on chaff and draws a sand-cart, or
the unlucky brute who has the advantage of the invigorating
air of Blackheath to set against the drawbacks of a continu-
ously yearning belly and ten hours a day up-hill fagging be-
strode by cockney equestrians.

With regard to the general management of the pony, it may
be fairly assumed that in all matters pertaining to harnessing,
bedding, cleaning, &c., &c., the lad in whose care ae is placed

 

 
 

THE PONY.

will be fully competent. The etceteras, however, cannot be so
confidently extended to the animal’s eating and drinking. This
the owner had better look to himself, at least til] his groom is
made thoroughly to understand his master’s wishes on the
subject.

In the best-regulated stables the watering of the horse is
often seriously mismanaged :—As, says a reliable authority,
“the kind of water is not sufficiently considered. The difference
between hard and soft water is a circumstance of general
observation. The former contains saline principles which de-
compose some bodies, as in the curdling of soap; and prevent
solution of others, as in the making of tea, the boiling of vege-
tables, and the process of brewing. It is natural to suppose that
the different kinds of water would produce somewhat different
effects on the animal frame; and such is the fact. Hard water,
freshly drawn from the well, will frequently roughen the coat
of a horse unaccustomed to it, or cause griping pains, or mate-
rially lessen the animal’s power of exertion. The racing and
hunting groom is perfectly aware of this; and so is the horse,
for he will refuse the purest water from the well if he can obtain
access to the running stream, or even the turbid pool. "Where
there is the power of choice, the softer water should undoubt-
edly be preferred. The temperature of the water is, however,
of far more consequence than its hardness. It will rarely harm
if it drinks from the pond or the running stream; but its cold-
ness when recently drawn from the well is often injurious. It
has produced colic, spasm, and even death. If, therefore, no
better can be had, it should be exposed for some hours either
in the stable or in some tanks.”

The animal should not be irregularly supplied with water.
When it is at rest in the stable the quantity of water it will
consume may pretty safely be left to the animal itself; under
such an arrangement it will be found to consume less than
if allowed to grow very thirsty and then to take a “ full swig.”
In this latter case it behaves with no less prudence than dis-
tinguishes the conduct of a parched and thirsty man—it drinks
much more than is good for it.

Before going a journey the pony may be allowed half a
gallon of water, and he will certainly travel none the worse
for it. At the end of the journey, or at the “bait” that
breaks it, it is a good plan to give him a little water before
his corn is offered to him, and a little more in the middle of

the meal.
700

 
 

THE PONY.

He is naturally an herbivorous animal. His thin and mua-
cular lips, his firm and compressed mouth, and his sharp in-
cisor teeth, are admirably adapted to seize and crop the grass;
and, although we know nothing of him in his natural state, yet
when he has escaped the bondage of man and follows his own
propensities, grass is his chosen food. In his domesticated state,
however, he was destined to live partially or chiefly on other
aliment, and that of a much harder kind—the various species of
corn; therefore, while man and the carnivorous animals can
only champ and crush their food, a provision is given to the
horse, in the structure of some of the bones of his face, by
which he can comminute and grind down his food as perfectly
as in the best-contrived mill. Therefore there is no necessity
to crush oats or beans before they are offered to the animal,
Let it be borne in mind that in the beautiful working of
nature’s laws, although to keep the body healthful constant
exercise of its various members is essential, yet in every
case is this exercise more or less pleasurable; so that in saving
a horse the trouble of grinding the corn he eats, we may be
wantonly lessening the pleasure a meal should afford him.
As to the new-fangled “ horse-food,” the best that can be said,
that in one case out of five it may be as good—it cannot be bet-
ter—than the old-fashioned food, oats and hay. This should be
its food during the winter months, with, perhaps, a little chaff
thrown in by way of amusement; in the summer, green food
must be substituted for hay. As to the quantity of food to be
given to a horse or pony, that must be regulated by the crea-
ture’s appetite. In this respect horses are like men: some
will look, and really be, hungry after consuming twice as much
ag will amply satisfy others.

_ It will very much conduce to the pony’s comfort, and to
the good understanding that should exist between you, if you
study to treat him like what he really is—an animal of com-
paratively high intellect. Treat him like a drone and a dolt,
convey your simplest orders at. the end of the whip-thong,
ie a a painful “sawing” of his mouth for a gentle word,
he will very justly set all the brutality in his nature
spatial yours, and earn the character of a vixen: but treat
him as you would a pet dog, talk to him (horses love to be
talked to), if you are not of too grave a turn, play with him
now and then, and when he seems particularly inclined for a
game. You will find this course not only the most pleasant, but
by far the most economical : he will cost you nothing ; for ee ;

 
 

THE PONY.

Le will live many years longer ; one pair of reins will last twice
as long as under the other system; and the whip, in its niche
in thé harness-room, will need cleaning to save it from mildew.
Indeed, as says the author of “ Animal Life,” “the bridle may
be reduced to a mere form, as the touch of a finger or the tone
of a voice is sufficient to direct the animal. The infliction of
pain is a clumsy and barbarous manner of guiding a horse; and
we shall never reap the full value of the animal ‘until we have
learned to respect its feelings, and to shun the infliction of
torture as a brutal and cowardly act. ‘To maltreat a child
is always held to be an unmanly act; and it is equally
cowardly and unworthy of the human character to maltreat
a poor animal, which has no possibility of revenge, no hope
of redress, and no words to make its wrongs known. Pain is
pain, whether inflicted on man or beast, and we are equally
responsible in either case.”

Ponies, as well as horses of larger growth, are at times
given to shying. This disagreeable habit arises from various
causes, chief among which is too much oats and beans, and
too little work. Lean and hard-worked ponies are never
guilty of the affectation. Whoever saw a cab-horse evince
anything like nervousness at an uncommon spectacle, except,
indeed, it be that of a full-laden hay-wagon, and then the
emotion displayed by the poor brute is certainly more in the
nature of eagerness to get at it than of fright at its appearance.
The lazy, heavily-fed animal is, on the contrary, as observes
a modern writer, “like the hair-trigger of a rifle, prepared on
the shortest touch to cause a very violent explosion. In fact,
without metaphor, on the slightest occurrence he is not only
ready but exceedingly desirous to jump for joy. The casus
belli which the animal would, perhaps, most enjoy, would be
to meet a temperance, runaway, awning-covered wagon in
hysterics all screaming; or to have a house fall down just as
he was passing it. However, as a great conqueror, if he cannot
discover a large excuse for invading the territories of his
neighbours, he ‘is sure to pick out a very little one; so does
the high-mettled horse, who has nothing to start at, proceed
under his rider with his eyes searching in all directions for
something which he may pretend to be afraid of. Influenced
by these explosive propensities, he cocks his ear at a large
leaf, which the air had gently roused from its sleep, as if it
were a crouching tiger; and shortly afterwards a fore-leg arops
under him as suddenly as if it had been carried away by a

753

 
 

THE PONY:

cannon-shot, because in the hedge beside him a wren has just
hopped from one twig to another, nearly an inch.”

There are, however, no good grounds for the insinuation
conveyed in the above paragraph, that shying is a mere wanton
freak, and indulged in by the animal as an amusement to
beguile the tedium of a journey. It is no uncommon thing for
horses to do themselves painful and serious injuries in these
sudden paroxysms of fear; and though the brute kind have
been known to find pleasure in inflicting pain on others, there
are few recorded instances of an animal hurting itself for the
fun of the thing. Besides, any one ever astride a nervous
quadruped can answer for the involuntary thrill that stirs the
creature’s frame when alarmed by suddenly encountering an
object it cannot understand.

But what is the course usually adopted by the rider of a
shy quadruped? It sees a white post, a heap of stones, or a
scrap of laundry work bleaching on a hedge, and its distorted
vision makes of it something more monstrous perhaps than we
have any conception. It starts back to avoid the monster,
and is anxious to go in any direction but that where it lies.
To parley over such a ridiculous matter with a senseless horse
is unbecoming the reasoning being on its back, so the reasoning
being lashes his beast or goads it with his spurs, and after a
struggle more or less severe the poor animal is compelled to
pass the terrible object ; once past it, it no longer objects to
the road before it; on the contrary, it is only too eager to put
a long distance between itself and the dreadful thing that
frightened it. But is it cured of shying ?—will it not, should it
come again along that road, even a month afterwards, look out
nervously for the hobgoblin that so alarmed it, and—if it be
a sensible brute it has a perfect right to infer—so alarmed you,
or why all the fume and fuss and flogging ?

Various cures for the unpleasant propensity have been
recommended, but the most feasible is that of Sir ¥. B. Head.

“The effective cure for all these symptoms of exuberant pent-
up spirits, is a long steady hand-gallop up and down hill
across rather deep country. Before, however, this opportunity
offers, man can offer to the brute beneath him a more reason-
able remedy. The instant that a horse sees, at a short distance
before him, say a heap of stones, at. which he pretends to be,
or really is, afraid, instead of forcing him on he should be
allowed, or, if it be necessary, forced to stop, not only till he
has ceased to fear it, but until, dead tired of poking at it, he

48

 
 

THE PONY.

averts his eyes elsewhere. While advancing towards it, so
often as his fear breaks out, by instantly bringing him to a
stand-still, it should be appeased anew.

“Tn slowly passing any object which a horse appears to be
afraid of, the error which is almost invariably committed is to
turn his head towards it, in which case, revolving upon his
bit as on a pivot, the animal turns his hind quarters from it,
and in that position with great ease shies more or less away
from it; whereas, if the rein opposite to it be pulled firmly, he
not only instantly ascertains that his rider’s desire is in opposi-
tion to it, instead of in favour of forcing him towards the object of
his fear, but when his head is drawn away from it, although
he is able to rush forwards, it is out of his power to shy
laterally.”

The same authority furnishes the equestrian world with a
few valuable hints as to what should be its conduct should it
by accident or design find itself “ out of its depth” in a brook
or river :—“ In riding into deep water, the animal just before he
floats appears to step rather uneasily, as though on legs of
different lengths; but the instant his feet take leave of the
ground, or if at once he plunges out of his depth from a bank,
as soon as his head comes up he proceeds as free from jolts of
any sort as a balloon in the air, grunting and groaning, never-
theless, heavily, at the injustice of having a man’s weight
superadded to its own, the specific gravity of which but little
exceeds that of the element into which he is striving not to
sink. ‘Instinctively, however, adjusting himself to the most
favourable position, which throws the hind part’ of his body
about a foot under water, he makes the best of a bad bargain,
and then all the rider has to do is not to destroy the poor
animal’s equilibrium by pulling even an ounce at the bridle.
Indeed, in crossing a broad stream the most effectual way to
prevent overbalancing him, and also to stop his grunting, is
either to slip sideways from his back, and then half swimming
to be dragged alongside by him by a lock of his mane firmly
entwined among the fingers of the right hand; or, as invariably
practised by the Red Indians, to be towed by his tail, in which
case the man floating on the surface of the water is quite safe
from the heels of the horse struggling many feet below him.
By this plan the water instead of the horse sustains the
human weight.

“ Four-fifths of the art depends on attaining a just seat, and
one-fifth in possessing a pair of light hands. But, although

754 :

 

=
 

THE PONY.

the attainment of these advantages is not incompatible with
an easy erect position on horseback, the generality of riders
are but too apt to sit on their horses in the bent attitude of
the last paroxysm of exertion which helped them into the saddle.
Now when a man in this toad-like position rides along—say
@ macadamized road—he travels always ready at a moment’s
notice to proceed by himself in the direction in which he is
pointing, in case the progress of his horse should be suddenly
stopped by his falling down. Indeed, when a horse without
falling down recovers by a violent struggle from a bad trip,
a heavy rider in this attitude is very likely to shoot forwards
over his head. . . . On the other hand, when a man sits
upright, justly balanced in his saddle, any sudden jerk or
movement forwards throws his shoulder backwards. If, there-
fore, while proceeding in that position, the horse thinks proper
to fall, the animal in the first instance is the sole sufferer.
He cuts his forehead, hurts his nose, breaks his knees, bruises
his chest, while his head, neck, fore legs, and the fore part of
his body, forced into each other like the joints of a telescope,
form a buffer preventing the concussion the horse has received
from injuring in the smallest degree the rider, or even the watch
in his pocket.

“Tfa horse be properly dealt with he can gallop down a turf hill
with nearly as much rapidity as along a race-course. A tea-table
would stand ill at ease on the declivity, because its limbs are
immovable; but a quadruped, by throwing all his legs forwards,
and his body backwards, has the power to adjust himself with
mathematical precision to almost any descent. To ensure his
safety, however, it is essential that he should be encouraged by
a loose rein to carry his head as low as possible, to enable him
to take care of his feet, and in case of treading on a rolling
stone to recover his balance by throwing it up. Now, when in
this position, if the rider, following the instinct and example
of the horse, throws his weight backwards—in fact, if from
the saddle the backs of the two animals are separated from
each other by only a very small angle, both can descend the
hill together at considerable speed, and without the smallest
danger. The only embarrassment the rider has to contend
against is an over-caution an the part of the horse, amounting
to fear, which induces him to try to take the slope diagonally,
very likely to result in the poor animal slipping up on his side.
In keeping his head straight, however, care must be taken not
to induce him to raise it up; and when this little difficulty is

755
THE PONY.

overcome, no other of any sort or kind remains to impede a
rapid and safe descent.”

The action of the horse’s legs is now generally understood ;
the common error being that, in walking, the animal moves
both the legs on the same side. The delusion arises in this
way. Suppose the horse to start a walk by. putting forward
its left hind leg. This having been advanced and placed on the
ground, the right fore leg is next raised and advanced, then the
right hind leg, and lastly the left fore leg follows, so that in
passing a horse the two legs appear to move together on the
same side. In trotting, the horse moves his legs diagonally ;
while in galloping it adopts three different modes of locomotion.
In the canter its four legs reach the ground in succession—the
left hind foot first, then the right hind foot, then the left fore,
and lastly the right fore. In what is known as the gallop of
“three beasts,” the horse moves first the right and left hind
leg, the right hind leg and the left fore leg follow next, the
right fore leg moving last. In leaping, the horse raises the fore
legs from the ground, and projects the body upward and for-
ward by the hind legs alone.

 

WILD HORSES AND WILD RIDERS.

758

 
 

THE DONKEY,

THE DONKEY.

For so long a period has this patient and hard-working ani-
mal been domesticated among us, that its original progenitors
seem to have become quite extinct. There are at the present
time animals known as “ wild ” asses, and “ wild ” enough they
are, in the ordinary sense of the term; but in almost all such
cases they are the descendants of domesticated creatures which
have escaped from captivity, or mules of the wild and domestic
ass. The wild ass is found both in mountainous districts and
in plains; vast troops roam over the great Asiatic deserts,
migrating according to the season,—in summer, as far north-
ward as the Ural; in winter, southward to the borders of India.
It has a short mane, of dark woolly hair; and a stripe of dark
bushy hair runs along the ridge of the back from the mane to
the tail. It has longer legs, and carries its head higher, than
the domestic ass. It associates in herds, and, like the horse,
has a leader. In Persia it is one of the chief objects of the
chase, and when hunted down it is eaten, its flesh being con-
sidered as great a dainty as is venison among us. It is, how-
ever, by no means easy to hunt down. Strange as it may
seem to us who have seen the ass in no other guise than a
forlorn drudge, as a free animal it is graceful in shape as the
antelope, nimble as the Bavarian chamois, and fleeter than
the lithe-limbed Arabian steed. So it is, however; and out of
at least twenty recorded instances testifying to the above facts,
the following, given by Sir Thomas Ker Porter, will serve :—
“My greyhound suddenly started off in pursuit of an animal,
which my Persians said, from the glimpse they had of it, was
an antelope. I instantly set spurs to my horse, and with my
attendants gave chase. After an unrelaxed gallop of full three
miles we came upon the dog, who was then within a short
stretch of the creature he pursued, and to my surprise, and at
first vexation, I saw it to be an ass. Upon a moment’s reflec-
tion, however, judging from its fleetness that it must be a wild
one,—a, creature little known in Europe, but which the Persians
prize as an object of the chase,—I determined on approaching
it, as closely as the very swift Arab on which I was mounted
would carry me; but the single instant of checking my horse to
consider, had given our game such a head of us that, notwith-
standing all our speed, we could not recover our ground on
him. I, however, happened to be considerably before my

companions, when, at a certain distance, the animal, in its
(87

 
 

THE DONEEFY.

turn, made a pause, and allowed me to approach within pistol-
shot of him. He then darted off again with the quickness of
thought, capering, kicking, and sporting in his flight, as if he
were not blown in the least and the chase were his pastime.
When my Persian followers came up they regretted that I had
not shot the creature when he was within my aim, tellmg me
that his flesh was regarded in Persia as a great delicacy.
The prodigious swiftness and peculiar manner in which he fied
across ths plain above all reminded me of the striking portrait
drawn by the author of the Book of Job.”

“There is a vulgar notion,” writes the author of “ Wild
Sports,” “that no such thing as a wild ass ever existed ;” and,
in my opinion, if vulgar disbelief ever deserved excuse, it does
in this instance. It is easy enough to imagine a wild horse, or
bull, or dog, or cat, or rabbit; but take the ass, the humble
donkey, with which we are all familiar. Regard him as he
broods along moodily, slowly bungling over the cobble-stones,
oppressed by the weight of a pyramid of cabbages and several
sieves of potatoes, the property of the costermonger his master.
Watch his eye when the heavy old whip-stock is brought down
with the force of a Fijian war-club across his hollow flanks:
he does not even blink,—or if he does, it is not the sudden
wink of pain, but a deliberate and contemptuous closing of his
optics, expressive of his utter indifference to any amount of
whip-stock that may be applied. See him even at liberty out
on the common. Does he frisk abott and gambol in the sun,
as does even the sand-carter’s worn-out Flemish mareP No;
he moves about as though the wheels were still at his heels,
and crops the grass laboriously ; or turns his tail to the wind,
and for an hour stands stock-still, as though waiting for the
“ Kim up,” the magic words by which his life is regulated.

Nothing can be more erroneous than to regard the donkey
asa stupid animal. Truly, at times it exhibits extreme obsti-
nacy; but that is only when it is greatly ill-used—when for its
best services and its willing speed it gets no other reward than
stripes and bruises; so far from taking his obstinacy, under
such circumstances, as a proof of his obtuseness of intellect, it
may, with at least as much justice, be attributed to an uncom-
mon amount of intelligence, equal to the task of weighing this
matter against that and deducting a sensible conclusion. “If
I do my best,” the donkey might argue, “if I resolve in the
morning to go about my day’s work cheerfully, and to show in
what capital spirits I am, cut a brisk caper in the shafts of the

‘753

 
 

THE DONKEY.

barrow, or utter a musical bray, Iam rewarded with a whack on
the ribs, in the first case, for being vicious, and in the second—
the ignorant brute that my master is—for calling down rain
with the malicious intention of spoiling his day’s trading. As
we bowl along to market, if I put my best leg foremost, think-
ing thus to please him, he directly lays into my sides might and
main, that: his fellow donkey-drivers on the road may think,
that, tidy as my present. pace is, it is nothing to what I can
do if I like, and it is because I don’t like that he is flogging
me. IfIrun as fast as I can I am thrashed; if I saunter I
am thrashed ; therefore, as it is easier to saunter than to run,
let him whack his hardest while I saunter.”

Dozens of stories might be told of the ass’s sagacity. What
does the reader think of the following (related by the Rev.
J. G. Wood) as the performance of a “silly” creatureP A
number of rabbits were kept in a little outhouse,.and inhabited
a set of hutches fastened to the wall. One day it was found
that all the store of oats had suddenly vanished from the out-
house without any visible reason. Next morning, however, the
donkey, who lived in an adjoining meadow, was seen to open
the gate which led into his field, and cautiously shut it after him,
This conduct afforded a clue to the disappearance of the oats;
and, upon a careful search being made, his footmarks were
traced along the path to the rabbit-house, and even along the
ground among the hutches. It was very clear that the ingenious
animal must have unlatched his own gate, unfastened the hasp
of the rabbit-house, finished all the oats, and have returned as
he went, refastening all the doors behind him. In leaving the
rabbit-house he must have backed out, as the place was not
wide enough to permit him to turn.

Another donkey, belonging to one of Mr. Wood’s friends, was
permitted to walk at large in the garden, on condition that he
restrained himself from leaving-the regular paths. Once or
twice he had been seduced by the charms of some plant to walk
upon the flower-beds, and had been accordingly drubbed by the
gardener, who detected the robber by the marks of his foots
ateps, which were deeply imprinted in the soft mould. After
a while the animal seemed to have refleeted upon the circum:
stance which led to the discovery of his offence, and the next
time that he walked upon the flower-beds he scraped the earth
over his footmarks, and endeavoured to obliterate the traces of
his disobedience.

In Eastern countries the ass was always much more come

ri

 
 

THE DONKEY,

monly used than among us, and continues so to the present
day. Bayard Taylor gives a vivid and luminous description
of the behaviour of the asses of Cairo, as witnessed by him
while on a visit to that city. According to Mr. Taylor, the
natives of the East have a notion that the Frank is incapable
of pedestrianism, and that if he be met walking it is only
because he is looking for a donkey boy. They won’t believe
otherwise, and the gentleman quotes as an example the case of
a friend of his, who for two hours was closely attended by a
cavalcade of six donkeys and six donkey drivers, clamouring
and braying for the “ howadji’s” custom.

“The donkeys are so small,” writes Mr. Taylor, “that my
feet nearly touched the ground, but there is no end to their
strength and endurance. Their gait, whether in pace or gallop
is so easy and light, that fatigue is impossible. The drivers
take great pride in having high-cushioned red saddles, and in
hanging bits of jingling brass to the bridles. They keep their
donkeys close shorn, and frequently beautify them by painting
them various colours. The first animal I rode had legs barred
like a zebra’s, and my friend’s rejoiced in purple flank and a
yellow belly. The drivers run behind them with a short stick
punching them from time to time, and giving them a pinch on
the rump. Very few of them own their donkeys, and I under-
stood their pertinacity when I learned that they frequently
received a beating on returning home empty-handed.

“The passage of the bazaars seems at first quite as hazardous
on donkey backs as on foot; but it is the difference between
knocking somebody down and being knocked down yourself,
and one certainly prefers the former alternative. There is no
use in attempting to guide the donkey, for he won’t be guided.
The driver shouts behind and you are dashed at full speed into
a confusion of other donkeys, camels, horses, carts, water-
earriers, and footmen. In vain you cry out ‘Bess’ (enough),
Piacco, and other desperate adjurations; the drver’s only reply
is ‘Let the bridle hang loose;’ you dodge your head under a
camel-load of planks; your leg brushes the wheel of a dust-
cart; you strike a fat Turk plump in the back; you mira-
culously escape upsetting a fruit-stand; you scatter a company
of spectral white-masked women, and at last reach some more
quiet street with the sensations of a man who has stormed a
battery.

“ At first this sort of riding made me very nervous, but pre-
sently I let the donkey go his own'way, and took a curious

760

 
THE DONKEY.

interest in secing how near a chance I ran of striking or being
struck. Sometimes there seemed no hope of avoiding a violent
collision, but by a series of most remarkable dodges, he gene-
rally managed to bring me through in safety. The cries of
the driver running behind gave me no little amusement. The
howadji comes! Take care on the right hand! Take care on
the left hand! Take care,O man! Take care, O maiden!
Oh, boy, get out of the way! The howadji comes! Kish (the
name of the donkey driver) had strong lungs and his donkey
would let nothing pass him, and so wherever we went we con-
tributed our full share of noise and confusion.”

It would be difficult to find among brute kind a better fellow
than the donkey, or one more easy to manage. The meanest
stable, the coarsest food, are by him considered favours, and
most gratefully received, and in exchange you are heartily
welcome to all his sturdy strength and good will. Properly
tended and groomed and with a decent harness on his back, he
is far from an unhandsome beast; indeed, the difference in
appearance presented by a donkey so treated compared with
that of one whose constant food consists of chaff, tea-leaves,
and cabbage-leaves, whose curry-comb is the stock of an old
waggon whip, and whose stable is the domestic washhouse,
must be seen to be believed. Even when kept in such an
abject state its diseases are very few and mostly of a character
that cleanliness and proper feeding would obviate. As to the
age a donkey may attain without adopting the vulgar dogma
that it “never dies at all,” it may be safely said that it has a
fair chance of outliving its master, supposing them to come
together, boy and foal. There was one of these animals that
many years ago drew up water from the well at Carisbrook
Castle, in the Isle of Wight; what the age of this donkey was
when he first took to water-drawing is not known, but it is
certain that he faithfully fulfilled the task for fifty-two years,
when he came to an untimely end by falling over the ramparts
of the castle.

The ass’s time for going with young is about eleven months,
and seldom more than one foal is produced at a birth. At
the age of four years the animal is in its prime. It is wonder-
ful how Nature will assert herself deprived of all artificial pro-
cesses brought to bear against her. Here we see the ass, whose
progenitors, dead two or three centuries, were stabled and fed
on grass and clover just as he is, preferring the dry, cvarse
thistle to the juiciest herbage, drinking as sparingly as though

761
 

THE DONKEY.

still an inhabitant of the thirsty desert, avoiding, if pussible,
plashing his dry horny body in the wayside gutter, and never
so happy as when on a sultry summer-day he can fling him-
self down on the hot dusty road, and leisurely rasp the length
and breadth of his callous-hided carcase amongst the sandy
particles.

 
 

TRE GOAT.

THE GOAT.

It was a great pity that the kind-hearted Mr. Hawes, who
was instrumental in bringing to pass the Act of Parliament
for the abolition of dog labour, did not at the same time be-
think him to include the unfortunate Hireus family in relation
to their use as beasts of draught. Perhaps the Legislature
never supposed that so unlikely an animal as the goat could
be adapted to harness, or that its obstinate head could ever be
made to turn by the jerk of a rein; perhaps it never imagined
that man could ever so abuse his dominion over the beast of
the field as to force the goat to labour for his profit. It ought,
however, to have known that meanness of such a depth was
by no means improbable, for at the very time the dog question
was under discussion a team of little fleas were tugging at a
carriage in the exhibition-room at the Egyptian Hall for the
entertainment of such of the public as were willing to pay a
shilling for the sight.

Ts there no generous M.P. of the present day who will see
into this goat question? Let him any fine summer afternoon
take a stroll to the suburbs—to Clapham, to Blackheath, or to
Victoria Park—and there he will find animals of the goat tribe
that killed and dressed would no more than fill a great dinner
dish, toiling along the dusty road with a “chaise” at its heels,
and a couple of Brobdignagian babies sitting in the chaise.
“ Make him go faster,” says affectionate mamma to the goat-boy;
“whip him and make him run.” The goat-boy is nothing loth;
he lays into the flanks of the poor little quadruped, who makes
a frantic scramble forward and is only kept from sprawling on
the ground by the strong-wristed goat-boy, who grasps the
bridle and hoists him along at something like a trot. If not
for sedate M.P.’s, there is among the goat-chaises plenty of
work for the officers of the “Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals,” and with them I suppose we must be
content to leave the grievance.

How the goat first came to be domesticated among us no
one knows. Some naturalists opine that it is derived from
the wild goat that roams the mountains of the Caucasus and
Persia; others that the Ibex is the father of goats. But what-
ever doubts may exist concerning the derivation there can be
none concerning its utility. In the time of our grandfathers,
when wigs were universal, goat’s hair was in high request:
that which grew on the animal’s haunches being most valuable

763

 
 

THE GOAT.

on account of its length. In the present times, however, goat’s
hair for wigs is at a discount in the market, being demanded
only by church dignitaries and gentlemen practising the law. The
skin of the goat, especially of the young goat, is invaluable to
the glove-makers and to the preparers of morocco leather; its
bones pass into the hands of the turner and are converted into
knife-handles, &c. While it lives its milk is valuable for its
nutritive qualities, and when it is killed its flesh is not to be
despised. At least, so thought our ancestors, as the testimony
of Pennant proves: “The haunches of the goat are frequently
salted and dried, and supply all the uses of bacon. The meat
of a goat six or seven years old is reckoned the best; being
generally very sweet and fat. This, which makes an excellent
pasty, goes under the name of rock venison, and is little inferior
to that of the deer.”

Buffon speaks in high terms of the goat. It is, according
to that honest naturalist, superior to the sheep both in senti-
ment and dexterity. He approaches man spontaneously and
is easily domesticated. He is sensible of caresses and capable
of a considerable degree of attachment. He is robust and easily
nourished, for he eats almost every herb and is injured by very
few. Unlike the sheep, the goat fears not a great degree of heat,
and will lie down to sleep in the sun’s fiercest rays without dis-
comfort. He is not afraid of rain or storms, but he appears to
feel the effect of severe cold. The inconstancy of his disposi-
tion is shown by the irregularity of his actions. He walks,
stops short, runs, leaps, approaches or retires, shows or con-
ceals himself, or flies off as if actuated by mere caprice, and
without any other cause than what arises from an eccentric
vivacity of temper.

That the goat “fears not a great degree of heat,” however,
does not fully describe a speciality of the goat. It is the only
one among quadrupeds who evinces no concern at the sight of
flames. If urged it will approach a burning building and will
not flinch till hurt by the heat. This peculiarity no doubt
makes it a useful adjunct to the stable. Should the place
catch fire and the lives of the horses be jeopardized, they may
often be made to rouse from their panic-stricken state and to
quit the burning building in an orderly manner at sight of their
stable companion, the goat, marching on before as unconsciously
as though nothing was the matter. By the bye, it may not be
amiss here to quote a little sentence on the subject of fire in the
stable, written by a cunning hand. “ Under such circumstances

764

 
 

THE GOAT,

a horse may be easily removed from the scene of danger by
harnessing him as usual, instead of trying to lead him out at
once. The animal has learned to connect obedience and truth-
fulness with the harness, and while he bears the bit in his
mouth and the saddle or traces on his back he will go wher-
ever he may be led.”

In the good old times when “physic” and “nastiness”
were synonymous terms, the blood of an old he-goat dried and
reduced to powder was considered an infallible cure for pleurisy
and inflammatory disorders. At the same period, too, the shape
of a goat was the most favourite one assumed by the father
of evil when aiding and abetting a little choice witchery. It
was @ common occurrence for witnesses on witchcraft trials
to swear that they had “with their own eyes” seen the
wretched little old woman then in the dock, scudding through
the air on the back of a goat, and, astounding as it seems to
us, quite as common a thing for the dunder-headed judge to
believe it. By the bye, I wonder if the goat’s known contempt
of fire had anything to do with its reputed familiarity with
the bottomless pit. The animal, too, is said to be weather-
wise, and may be seen hurrying home to seek shelter on the
approach of a sudden storm.

That the goat is neither insensible to kindness, nor devoid
of considerable intelligence, the following authentic story will
go far to prove. a

A person who had taken an active share in the rebellion of
1715, after the battle of Preston, escaped to the West High-
lands, to the residence of a female relative, who afforded him
an asylum. It was judged unsafe for him to remain in the
house, so he was conducted to a cave in the neighbourhood and
a faithful servant was appointed to carry him his food. The
approach to the cavern consisted of a small aperture through
which the gentleman crept; but as he advanced towards the
further end, he found his passage disputed. In self-defence he
drew his dirk, but, fearful lest he should be taking the life of a
fugitive, such as he himself was, he held his hand, and soon
discovered that it was only a goat with her kid lying in the
cave. Such investigation as he could make in the gloom of
the cave convinced him that the poor creature was in great
pain arising from a fractured limb. He bound the leg with
his garter, and offered the goat some of his bread; but this
she refused to eat, and stretched out her tougue to indicate
that she was parched with thirst. He then gave her water,

705

 
 

TUE GOAT.

‘which she drank greedily, and, after her thirst was allayed,
she partook of the bread. At the dead of the night he
ventured from the cave, and, after listening attentively, he
pulled a quantity of grass and the tender branches of trees,
and brought them to her to eat. The only thing this fugi-
tive had to arrest his attention and beguile the tediousness
of his imprisonment was tending and curing his shaggy com-
panion.

About the same time that the goat quite recovered, the ser-
vant who every night brought the prisoner food for the next
day, fell sick, and another was appointed in his place. The
goat, on this occasion, happening to be lying near the mouth of
the cavern, opposed his entrance with all her might, butting
him furiously. The fugitive, hearing a disturbance, went for-
ward, aud receiving the watchword from his new attendant,
interposed, and the faithful goat permitted him to pass. So
resolute was the animal on this occasion that the gentleman
was convinced that she would have died in his behalf.

However much a favourite a goat may become, there are
certain portions of the year—from September to November—
when he is unfit, on account of the rank odour he emits, to
approach the dwelling-house. At this time, too, you may
depend on his exhibiting all the bad qualities he may happen
to possess. It is generally believed, however, that the efluvium
s0 objectionable to our noses is relished by horses, and that
the latter animal is benefited by inhaling it. Mr. Bell
observes, “Many persons keep goats in their stables from an
idea that they contribute to the health of the horses; a fancy,
perhaps, not far-fetched or absurd as at first sight might
appear, for I believe that all animals are kept in better
temper and in greater cheerfulness by the presence of a com-
panion than in solitude, and the active and good-humoured
goat may in this way really perform the benefit which has
been attributed to it on mistaken grounds. Indeed, instances
of close attachment between’ the horse and goat are not
unfrequent.”

The goat cannot grumble if, after having enumerated all
his good qualities, I mention his worst. He is naturally mis-
chievous and pugnacious. On the smallest provocation he
will “show fight,” and is capable of giving some awkward
blows with his horns. He is extremely tyrannical, and if he
finds people are afraid of him his behaviour will become very

outrageous. ‘There is, however, one easy method of subduing
766

 
 

THE GOal.

him—catch hold of his beard. The lion then indeed becomes
a lamb, and a very submissive lamb indeed, pitifully bleat-
ing for mercy as you haul him along. William Howitt
tells a story of a great he-goat that was the terror of the
hamlet in which he resided. One day as he took his morning
walk he encountered an old woman, and as she was not nimble
enough to get out of the way he coolly tumbled her into the
mud. Such an outrage was not to be tolerated by the male
inhabitants of the hamlet, so one more doughty than the
rest went after the impudent brute and smote him on the
head with a pole with which he was armed. King Hircus,
however, took the blow no more to heart than though a nut
had been filliped at him, but at once making a dash at his
assailant served him as he had served the old woman—worse,
for in her case he had merely shoved her out of his way and
passed on, but in the case of the pole-bearer he first knocked
him down, and then jumped on him, and there he took his
stand till his owner came up the street, and seizing the bully
by the beard, led him home meek as a kitten.

It has been a disputed point whether the goat and the
chamois are identical. Appearances, however, are directly
opposed to the supposition, The frontal bone of the goat,
just before the horns, is convex, while in the chamois it is con-
cave. The horns of the goat recede, while those of the chamois
advance. One has a beard, the other has none. Above all,
although on the mountain herds of goats are constantly wan-
dering about near the haunts of the chamois, no one instance
is known of a she-goat having brought forth young which were
a cross between the two breeds. Indeed, it has been observed,
that although the two animals never wage war, they scrupu-
lously ayoid each other’s society.

Such, then, is the goat—take him or leave him. If you
think him worthy to be included in your army of pets he -will
cost you very little trouble; he will eat just such food as the
pony eats, he will sleep in the pony’s stable. He may save
the pony’s life should the stable catch fire, and will always
serve as a pleasant companion for it. By constantly observing
him you may avoid going abroad on the eve of a storm, and so
save incalculable sums by preserving your clothes—io say
gothing of physic and gruel to cure your cold. Added to
these advantages, if you should meet with a sturdy great-
bearded old fellow of moderately good temper, there is no
reason why he should not be put to draw a light chaise and

 
 

HE GOAT.

one light baby. As to baby’s carriage, take care that it is
“well hung,” as the coavhmakers say, and as light as possible.
A four-wheeled carriage is the best ; and no material is better—
on account of its: cheapness, cleanliness, and durability—than
basket-work, such as is used in vehicles known as “ Croydons,”
on account of their inventor living in the town of that name.
Take care that there is room enough between the shafts, and
that your steed is in no danger of abrasing his hind quarters
against the fore-carriage. As regards harness the less yor
have of it the better. The same remark applies to the whip.

If you keep a she instead of a he goat she may present you
twice a year with one, two, or three kids.

 

CHAMOIS,
 

PLT

Stal

 

AQUARIUM.

—we

THE FRESH-WATER AQUARIUM.

Wir# regard to the shape of your aquarium, the straight-
sided tank is the best, for many reasons. If a round globe of
glass be used, unless you peep over the edge of the vessel you
will never see a single thing or creature it contains, in its real
shape: your gold fish will be mere yellow blurs and patches,
and your water-plants a green tangle. The glass vase is better
than the spherical vessel; but even this is open to the consider-
able objection, that at a single blow—of a bit of your rock-
ornament, or of an awkward fellow’s elbow, for instance—your
costly vase may be wrecked beyond repair; whereas, if the

40 769

 
 

AQUARIUM.

sqrare-sided tank be used, although much the same confusion
and mess will attend a fracture, a glazier and a square of glass
will put matters right again. Besides this, the hard and formal
lines of the tank recommended will form a pleasing contrast
to the delicate curves of the water-plants and the graceful
outlines of the fish. The tank should be furnished with a
cover, not necessarily air-tight, as fish can no more exist
absolutely without air than ourselves, but fitting sufficiently
close to prevent the escape of creatures of roaming habits, such
as the newt and water-beetle. The pillars or “uprights” in
which the glass sides are fixed should be of zinc; and if white
lead be used by way of rendering the vessel “taut,” that
poisonous material should be coated with sealing-wax varnish.
It is advisable, whatever the tank be made of, to soak it a few
days in a tub of water before any attempt is made to stock it.
Next proceed to lay down a stratum of soil in which your
water-plants may take root. Some years ago, when the aqua-
rium first came into notice, it was thought necessary to
transplant along with the plants a quantity of the mud from
the bottom of the pond wherein they were found. As may be
imagined, the vessel never presented a very handsome appear-
ance: the movements of the fish stirred up the mud till it was
as difficult to distinguish one finny inhabitant from another, as
it is to recognize a friend in a London November fog; and “ it
was only when the fish were at rest,” as observed an intelligent
complairant of the period, “and there was nothing to be seen,
that you could see it.” It happens, however, that not one in
a dozen of such pond-plants desirable for the aquarium derives
nourishment from the soil that lies below the water: they
merely use their roots as grapples to save them from drifting,
while many of them have no root at all, but live entirely on
the surface, floating hither and thither and changing their
abode as chance decrees. Now since, as regards the plants, they
take no delight in mud and only stipulate for anchorage, we
may meet their demands, and at the same time in no way
mar the beauty of our aquaria. Well-washed river sand three
parts, and small pebbles one part, will answer admirably; the
depth to which it should be spread should be regulated by the
size of the tank; it should, however, never exceed three inches.
Next, as to the absurdity of cramming your aquarium with
objects so decidedly non-aquatic, that it would be no wonder
if the fish took fright at the monstrosities and died straight off.
as says Mr. Cargill Brough :—‘ Many people have a notion
770

 
 

AQUARIUM.

that an aquarium should be loaded with rockwork, and think
that fantastic arches and minarets of Roman cement add to
the beauty of the tank. If the vessel be very large, then a few
irregular blocks of stone may be introduced with a good effect;
but in a small tank we should recommend the exclusion of
rockwork altogether, as it takes up a great deal of room that
cannot be well spared, and unless it be very tastefully managed
has a childish and ridiculous appearance. We need scarcely
caution out readers against admitting sea-shells, branches of
coral, plaster images, and other mantel ornaments into a fresh-
water aquarium, though we have seen such a violation of taste
perpetrated again and again. An aquarium should be made
to imitate nature as closely as possible, and as we neither find
cowries, corals, nor busts of Napoleon in our brooks and ponds,
we have no right to introduce such objects in our tanks.”
Gilbert White had occasion to animadvert upon a very similar
barbarity practised by certain keepers of gold fish in his day.
“Some people,” he says, “exhibit this sort of fish in a very
fanciful way, for they cause a glass bowl to be blown with a
large hollow space within, that does not communicate with it.
In this cavity they put a bird occasionally, so that you may see
a goldfinch or a linnet hopping, as it were, in the midst of the
water, and the fishes swimming in a circle round it. The
simple exhibition of fishes is agreeable and pleasant, but in so
complicated a way becomes whimsical and unnatural.”

Before we proceed to describe the sort of plants that thrive
best: in the aquarium, besides looking handsomest and giving
least trouble, it will be as well to explain why the presence of
vegetable life is necessary to the very existence of your scaly
pets. Indeed it was this necessity that led to the invention of
the aquarium. Mr. Warrington was the first to draw public
attention to the subject. He says :—‘ My attention was first
drawn to the subject early in the year 1849. The speedy
death of some gold fish that I had in a glass globe attracted
my attention, and which, on experiment, I found was caused
by the want of oxygen gas, a fresh supply being constantly
required for their support ; and also to the existence of a large
quantity of carbonic-acid gas, which was given off during the
respiration of the fish, What, therefore, was required was,
something from which a supply of oxygen could be obtained,
and which would also absorb or consume carbonic-acid gas. I
found that aquatic plants were just what I required. I there-
fore commenced my further experiments in May of the same

771.

 
 

AQUARIUM.

year (1849), and chose for my first experiment two small
gold fish. These I placed in a glass vessel, with some mould,
stones, &c., and in it I planted a small root of vallisneria.

« All appeared to go on well for a time, until a portion of
the plant, decaying, rendered the water turbid, and caused a
growth of mucus, which adhered to the side of the glass,
impeding the entrance of light into the interior, and with
this stopped the supply of oxygen from the plants. I had
therefore recourse to the useful services of the Water Snail;
two or three of which I introduced into the vessel. These
scavengers soon cleared away the decomposed matter; and
from that time all went on well.”

The facts are simply these. Vegetable life can only be sustained
where carbon is present. This is derived from the carbonic-
acid gas thrown off by all animals in the process of breathing,
as well as by the decomposition of animal and vegetable re-
mains. Nitrogen also enters into the structure of most plants,
being found in that portion called gluten. Carbon, however, is
the principal element of the vegetable world, and enters into
and forms the mote solid parts of the structure of plants; but.
essential as it is to vegetable life, it would soon poison the
water of an aquarium were it not absorbed by the plants con-
tained therein. Plants, on the contrary, when acted upon by
the direct rays of light, generate and throw off oxygen, which
is as essential to animal life as carbon is to vegetable life, the
blood of animals requiring to be perpetually purified by the
continual addition to it of this elementary principle; and
when this cannot be obtained, or is not present in sufficient
quantity, the blood of the animal becomes impure, and life
consequently languishes, or altogether fails; upon the same prin-
ciple that a lighted candle expires in an unventilated well or pit.
By bearing in mind and adopting the principle of natural che-
mistry, that the element oxygen which the plants refuse to absorb
is the first necessary of life to the fishes, while the carbon thrown
off by the fishes forms the sole food of the plants, you furnish
both your animals and vegetables with the indispensable re-
quirements by which breath is preserved and life maintained.

You may either purchase your water-plants of a dealer in
aquaria, or you may save your money and enjoy a pleasant
country excursion, by a personal study of pond botany. On
account of its long and bright-green leaves, the Vallisneria is
well suited as a plant for the aquaria. It has perennial roots,
and requires but slight’ depth of soil. The economy of this

774

 
 

AQUARIUM,

plant is very carious. ‘The female flowers are borne on long
spiral foot-stalks, which, by means of a coil, rise to and float
on the surface. The male flowers, on the contrary, are on
straight and short flower-stalks, and when arrived at maturity
detach themselves from the parent stalk, and, ascending to the
surface, float among the female flowers, imparting to them the
pollen with which they are laden; as soon as this process is
completed, the female plant sinks to the bottom, there to
perfect the intention of nature, and lay the foundation of
another progeny.” The Vallisneria, however, is found in run-
ning water, and not in ponds. ;

The water-crowfoot, that may be seen decorating the surface
of pools in the month of May or April, should be sought after.
It may be known by its white flowers, which bear yellow petals.
The plant may be set in the sandy soil, or it may be simply
placed in the water and left to its own resources; never fear
but that it will flourish.

The soldier-plant is admirably
adapted for the aquarium, as
by nature it affects water of the j
stillest kind. It has broad saw- :
edged leaves, which spring from 4
the top of its centre, and fall
over gracefully. It is commonly :
found in the ponds of Surrey :
and Kent. Not only does the =
“ water-soldier” form a variety
to the other plants, but its broad
arched leaves form capital lurk- SOLDIER-PLANT.
ing-places for the smaller sorts
of fish.

There is a new water-weed, known to scientific folk as
Anacharis alsinastrum, and to commonplace folk as “ water-
thyme,” well fitted for the aquarium, There is no dearth
of this plant—indeed, although it has been intruduced. inte
this country but a few years, the rapidity of its growth has
created some little uneasiness in the minds of water-bailiffs.
That it originally came from Canada is well known: how it
got here is not so clear. The most prevalent legend, however,
is, that one of the Cambridge professors having received &
plant from a friend in Canada, kept it for some time in a glass.
jar; but not seeing any particular use in retaining it, threw

it away down a drain that emptied itself into the Sivan Cam.

 

 
 

AQUARIUM.

The following year a great stir was made about a new weed
which was fast choking up that river, and, upon inspection, the
professor was much surprised to find it his old acquaintance
which he had the year before parted with so unceremoniously.
Another account says, that it was brought over adhering to
logs of Canadian timber; and still another account, that, in
whatever way it was imported, it must have been very many
years ago, as the “oldest inhabitant” of Croydon has known
it in the canal there since his youth. Whichever account is
correct, there is the plant, and very pretty it looks with its
brilliant green leaves. ‘“ Most of our water-plants,” writes
Mr. Hogg, “require, in order to their increase, to be rooted in
the bottom or sides of the river in which they are found ; but
this flourishes altogether independent of that condition, and
actually grows as it travels slowly down the stream after being
detached.” It is no less prolific in the aquarium than in its
native stream, and must be constantly pruned.

: Plants of the lily kind
are always pretty objects
in the aquarium. There
are the yellow and white
water-liies, with their
handsome leaves floating
on the surface with suf-
cient buoyancy to serve
as rests for the smaller
sorts of amphibia.

The Hydrocharis mor-
sis rane, or Frogbit, is
a useful and interesting
plant, of the lily kind in
appearance, but belong-
ing to the same order as
the vallisneria, and, like
that plant, the circula-

SMALL WATER-LILY. tion may be detected in

the leafstalks. It has a

pretty appearance in the aquarium, where it will thrive well and
bloom freely. The body of the plant, resting on the surface of
the water, derives its nourishment from the roots at the bottom
of the vessel, by means of its long spiral stalks, which descend
to it, and, like the female flower of the Vallisneria, its foliage

can accommodate itself to the surface of the water. This
774

 

 
 

AQUARIUM,

plant dies away in the winter; but during the autumn a series
of small cones are formed attached to, stalks proceeding from
the parent plant; these, in due time, are detached, and float
on the surface; but, on the approach of winter, gradually sink.
At the approach of spring they gradually unfold themselves,
and in a few days assume the shape of the perfect plant.

To the above list might be added brook-lime (its sky-blue
flowers are extremely pretty), the water-violet, the horse-pond
weed, the water-starwort, and many others.

Assuming that you have prepared the soil within the tank, and
set in it the roots of such plants as you most admire, you may
next put in the water; and, simple as the operation may seem,
unless it be managed with care, you may have all your planting
to do over again, the sand will yield to the influence of the water,
and you will be edified by the sight of a hotch-potch of sandy
water, in which are floating your carefully-sown weeds. This
will happen if you dash the water in suddenly, which, of course,
after this caution you will not do. The best way is to stand a
basin at the bottom, and gently brim it over with water till the
tank is filled to the basin’s edge. After this as much more
water as required may be added with impunity. After you
have waited a day or so, that the plants may properly aérate the
water, you may introduce your “live stock.” Here, again,
you must use discrimination, and by no means take it for
granted that because a fish is very small and very lively that
it is “just the thing” for your aquarium. For instance,
there is the stickleback, of which Dr. Lankester discourses so
pleasantly. ‘‘ Whether,” says the Doctor, “ we regard his high
organization, his courageous nature, his domestic habits, his
varied instincts, his power of living in all waters, at all tem-
peratures, he is fairly entitled to take the first place among
fishes, and rank high in the animal scale. And where is this
wonderful fish to be gotP The nearest pool, pond, or ditch
that has life in it is sure to have sticklebacks. Take a walk on
the nearest road out of any country town, and the chances are
that the first boy you meet with a blacking-bottle or pickle-jar
in his hand has got sticklebacks in it. You need not catch
them yourself, a penny will buy you a score of them from these
urchins. . . . . He has all the ways of other fishes, and
many others besides. Look into your tank; see, there is one
larger than the rest; he is clothed in a coat of mail like a
knight of old, and it is resplendent with purple and gold.
He isa male fish, and the king of your little uve He has

 
 

 

 

AQUARIUM.

important offices to perform. Presently, in the course of a
few days, if you watch him and are fortunate, you will see this
wonderful little fish engaged, in the most useful manner, in
building a nest. He seizes hold of one little bit of weed, then
_of another, and carries them all to some safe corner, till at last
his nest is built. Having done this, he gently allures his
mate to their new-made home. Here she deposits her eggs,
and having done this, resigns the care of them to our hero of
the purple and gold, who watches over them with an anxiety
that no male in creation but the male stickleback seems to
know. He fans and freshens the water with his fins, and at
last, when the young are hatched, watches over their attempts
at swimming with the greatest anxiety.”

What can be prettier than this? What fish could be more
desirable for the aquarium than the noble, chivalrous, tender-
hearted stickleback P Alas! even his fast friend, Dr. Lankester,
is compelled to admit that, despite all his excellent qualities,
there is “something about him ” that renders him a decidedly
unpleasant companion to other little fish. “I have asserted
that he is a royal fish,” continues the Doctor, “and you will
soon discover that he will bear no rivals. No sooner is he
fairly free in your aquavivarium than he commences his reign
~—not always, I must confess, of the mildest sovereignty.
The chances are, if you put him with fishes of his own size,
you will find them all dead in the morning. Sad spectacle!
disembowelled by the use of our ‘pet’s spines upon his neigh-
bours’ stomachs, their eyes picked out as delicate morsels for
his morning meal.”

after this the reader will experience no difficulty in deciding
whether or no the stickleback shall be admitted a member of
the tank. At the same time there can be little doubt that a
vase of the pugnacious little fish, with some plants, and just
a few snails to keep the house tidy, would afford considerable
amusement.

Among the Carp family—from Cyprinus auratus, the golden-
mailed, to Cyprinus carpio, the vulgar European carp—may be
found fit subjects for the aquarium. They are the least nume-
rous of fish, and stipulate only for a quiet life and plenty of
vegetable food. The gold fish, which is a carp of Chinese
origin, was, according to Tennant, introduced to this country
at the end of the seventeenth century, and is now completely
naturalized both here and in other parts of Europe. Most of
the gold nae PEGE to the English market come from Portugal,

7

 
 

AQUARIUM.

where they abound. It is subject to much variation, not only
in the colour butin the fins, which are sometimes double, and
not unfrequently have triple tails. In the latter case, however,
it appears that the tail is thus developed at the expense of
part or the whole of some other fin. When young the gold
carp is of a very dark colour, approaching to black; this dark
colour is replaced by the golden-red hue, more or less early
according to the constitution of the individual. The silver
carp is merely a variety of the same species, and both are as
hardy as the commonest sorts, if treated with ordinary care.

Their tenacity of life is curiously illustrated in a paper
furnished some time ago to Household Words by a celebrated
naturalist :—‘ Last summer I was invited to inspect the result
of a haul of gold fish from a small garden-pond near London.
So mighty was the draught that it three-quarters filled a
watering-cart, such as is used in London for watering the
streets. All colours of the rainbow were reflected from their
resplendent bodies. On sorting them, my surprise was great
to find the majority of them alive, although, at that time, they
had been out of the water twelve long hours. By the kind
permission of the owner I selected half a dozen of the finest,
intending to have a fry, never having tasted such a regal dish.
These victims were placed in a basket, and left all night in a
cellar. The next day their panting gills proclaimed that life
was not yet extinct. I placed them in a tub of water, and in
a few minutes all but one recovered their spirits, and swam
about as though nothing had happened; thus escaping the
frying-pan, to spend the remainder of their days in a glass
bowl.”

The common carp, although not as gorgeous as his Chinese
relation, is a handsome fellow. His upper parts are of a rich
olive-brown, darker about the head than elsewhere; the under
parts delicate cream-colour; and the fins brown, tinged with
red. It is wonderfully prolific, and its roe has been sometimes
found to turn the scale against the rest of the carcass. It is
capable of attaining a very great age—two hundred years, say
some naturalists, though others modestly fix the maximum of
the carp’s life at a century. Unless, however, your aquaria be
of large dimensions, the carp will be found a little large, being
commonly at least a foot long.

The species known as the Prussian carp is much more suitable.
It may be easily known from the common carp by possessing no
barbules on the lips. Its colours closely resemble hose of the

 
 

AQUARIUM.

common carp, except that its cheeks and gill-covers are of a
brilliant orange hue, and its fins inclined to orange-red. It is
rather local, but may be found in many ponds in the neighbour-
hood of London. The usual weight of the Prussian carp is
about half a pound.

The Tench is a fish well fitted
to be a tenant of the aquarim.
Though common enough in kept
and ornamental waters, it is but
sparmgly found in pools and
rivers, ts usual length is
about ten inches, and its gene-
ral colour greenish brown or

THE TENCH. olive, having a golden hue, which

latter tint is most conspicuous

on the under parts of the fish. It may be easily known from
the carp by the comparative smallness of its scales and from
being more slender. It is peculiarly adapted to the narrow
limits of the aquarium, where the quantity of oxygen is never
over plentiful; for from experiments that have been made it is
proved that the tench is able to breathe when the quantity of
oxygen is reduced to a five-thousandth part of the bulk of the
water. The quantity of oxygen present in ordinary river water
is one in the hundred. Indeed, from its tenacity of life, the
tench might claim relationship with the cat-fish. “A piece of
water,” says Mr. Yarrell, “which had been ordered to be filled
up, and into which wood and rubbish had been thrown for
years, was ordered to be cleared out. Persons were accord-
ingly employed; and, almost choked up by weeds and mud, so
little water remained that no person expected to see any fish,
excepting a few eels, yet nearly two hundred brace of tench of
all sizes, and as many perch, were found. After the pond was
thought to be quite free, under some roots there seemed to be
an animal which was conjectured to be an otter; the place was
surrounded, and on opening an entrance among the roots, a
tench was found of most singular form, having literally assumed
the shape of the hole in which he had of course for many years
been confined. His length from eye to fork was thirty-three
inches; his circumference almost to the tail was twenty-seven
inches; his weight eleven pounds nine ounces and a quarter-
the colour was also singular, his belly being that of the char or
vermilion, This extraordinary fish, after having been inspected
by many gentlemen, was carefully put into a pond, and at the

78

 

 
 

AQUARIUM,

time the account was written, twelve months afterwards, was
alive and well.”

Don’t forget the Minnow from your list of “likely subjects.”
Although seldom or never found in any other than clear
running streams, no fish thrives better in the still water of the
aquarium. Its form is round and slender. The top of the
head and back are of a dusky olive-colour; the sides of the
body pale and mottled; the belly white and silvery, with a
tinge of yellow, and sometimes in summer of a bright red
colour. After a short residence in the aquarium, the minnow
will become exceedmgly bold and evince a degree of intel-
ligence certainly equal to that of the unlucky seal which
some time ago was exhibited in Piccadilly, and which, if you
could believe its exhibitor, owed its captivity to the mischance
of being heard to call its “ma” in the hearing of a wary
seal-catcher. There is not the least doubt that the minnow is
quite as capable of crying for its mother as the seal; and if it
does not exhibit the faculty—considering what is likely to come
of it—its prudence is certainly commendable. It has no ob-
jection, however, so far to betray the depth of its intelligence
as to flock to the edge of the tank at the sound of a voice with
which it is pleasantly familiar, or take from between the finger
and thumb the proffered morsel.

The Roach is a pretty enough fish, but from his natura’
habit of preferring still deep water, and his considerable size,
he had better be excluded from the list, unless your aquarium
be very large. It may be found in deep and quiet streams.
It is a gregarious fish, always swimming in large shoals, and
feeding on worms and water-plants.

The Miller’s-thumb, or Bull-head, although, on account of its
slow skulking disposition, not so well fitted for the aquarium
as the more lively species of fish, deserves consideration on
account of its curious shape. It may be found in clear brooks
and rivers throughout the country. It is about five inches
long, with a large, broad, roundish-shaped head; the gills are
round and beautifully notched, and the rays of all the fins
curiously spotted. Its general colour is brownish black on
the back, light brown with black spots on the sides, and white
under the belly. It is generally found under loose stones.
According to the author of “British Fishes,” this fish takes
its name from the resemblance borne by its head to the thumb
of a miller. “The head of the fish, it will be observed, is smooth,
broad, and rounded, and is said to resemble exactly Lhe form of

9

 
 

AQUARIUM.

the thumb of a miller, The miller’s ear is constantly directed
to the noise made by the running-stone in its circular course
over the bed-stone, the exact parallelism of their two surfaces,
indicated by a particular sound, being a matter of the first con-
sequence; and his hand is as constantly placed under the meal-
spout to ascertain by actual contact the character and quality
of the meal produced. The thumb, by a particular movement,
spreads the sample over the fingers; the thumb is the gauge
of the value of the produce, and hence the origin of the sayings,
‘Worth a miller’s thumb,’ and ‘An honest miller hath a
golden thumb,’ in reference to the amount of profit that is the
reward of his skill. By this incessant action of the miller’s
thumb a peculiarity in its form is produced which is said to
resemble exactly the shape of the head of the fish constantly
found in the mill-stream.”

The Cobitis, or Loach, is eligible as an inhabitant of the
aquaria. Ina state of freedom it prefers the running stream,
and delights to sport about the banks, but feeds at the bottom.
The mouth is furnished with from two to six barbules. The
scales of this fish are exceedingly small, and of a spotted olive-
colour. Loaches will thrive well in an aquarium; and, from
their restlessness on the approach of rainy weather, become very
good barometers. During very hot weather their favourite posi-
tion is that of repose—lying on the surface of the water-lilies.
The length of the loach is from three to four inches.

Small Eels look very well in an aquarium; their sinuous
movements, so contrary to the graceful swimming of the pre-
viously-named fish, gave a variety to animated scene that is
not unpleasant.

Besides those here enumerated there are several others, in-
cluding the Gudgeon, the Dace, and, while it is young and not
yet possessed of its voracious appetite, the Perch.

Young Frogs and Tadpoles are interesting objects for the
aquarium, only you had better string your nerves for the
appalling sight of one of the larger animals ferociously chasing
the poor little mite and gobbling it up before your eyes. Much
interesting matter has been written respecting the birth and
infancy of this well-known Batrachian. Some time in the
month of March the frog deposits its spawn, consisting of a
mass of gelatinous matter somewhat resembling size used by
house-painters, and in which are embedded the eggs. Within
four or five weeks the little tadpoles break from the eggs, and

may be ee shifting and moving nneasily, and finally they eat
 

AQUARIUM.

their way through the jelly and enter upon their aquatic
existence. When first hatched, they feed on the remains of the
gluten in which they were embedded. In this stage of their
existence they bear but small resemblance to a frog, being
merely head and tail; the former large, black, and roundish ;
the latter slender, and bordered with a very broad, transparent
finny margin. Their motions are extremely lively, and they
are often seen in such vast numbers as to blacken the pool
they inhabit. When the tadpole has arrived at the age of
five or six weeks the hind legs make their appearance, gradually
increasing in length and size, and in about a fortnight after-
wards are succeeded by the fore-legs. It now partakes of the
. form both of a frog and a lizard; but this state of things does
not continue many hours: the tail immediately begins to
shrink and wither, and in about thirty hours has vanished
entirely. The indefatigable Mr. Lewes has furnished the
world with some curious facts about the tail of the tadpole.
If the caudal appendage of one of these creatures be cut off
before it is ready to dispense with it, the tail will continue to
live for several days, and not only live but grow. “The dis-
covery,” writes Mr. Lewes, “is none of mine,—it was made by
M. Vulpian, in Paris. He says that the tails constantly lived
many days—as many as eighteen on one occasion; but I have
never kept mine alive more than eleven. He says, moreover,
that they not only grow as I have said, but manifest sensi-
bility, for they twist about with a rapid swimming movement
when irritated. I have not seen this; but M. Vulpian is too
experienced a physiologist to have been mistaken, and -with
regard to the growth of the tails, his observations are all the
more trustworthy because he daily made drawings of the
aspects presented by the tails, and could thus compare the
progress made. The tail will only live apart from the body so
long as it retains its early immature form, that is to say, so
long as it has not become highly organized. If you cut it off
a tadpole which is old enough to have lost its external gills a
week or more, the tail will not live more than three or four
days. And every tail will die as soon as it reaches the point
in its development which requires the circulation of the blood
as a necessary condition.”

I would, however, impress on the younger portion of my
readers that the above interesting particulars are intended
merely as stimulants to their interest, as they watch the curious
tadpole steering in its crystal prison. and not as = incentive

 
 

AQUARIUM.

to practical experiment. If the youthful proprietor of an
aquarium took a tadpole, and with a pair of scissors cut its
tail off, the chances are that the life of either portion would
not be worth an hour’s purchase.

The Newts are well worthy a place in the aquarium. Unfor-
tunately (fortunately, perhaps, a newt would write it) the
popular feeling is against this singular creature, and we have
often heard even grown-up people declare that they could not
be comfortable with such a hideous little monster in their
neighbourhood. There is no denying that the eft, as it is
sometimes called, has a weird and antediluvian aspect; but
surely it is none the less desirable on that account. “It is so
dreadfully suggestive of crocodiles and such-like dreadful
things,” says some one else; well, there is no accounting for
taste, it is true; but to ow thinking, this latter, instead of form-
ing an objection, i is a decided recommendation. |

However, there he is for any one who has a fancy for him.
There is scarcely a ditch in the country in which the great
water-newt may not be found. It is about six inches long,
and in appearance much resembles the salamander, of whose
fire-resisting powers such funny stories are told. Its colour
on the upper parts is dark brown, the sides being marked with
small white specks; the under parts are bright orange-colours,
blurred with irregular black patches. The tail is flat, with
thin edges, and flattened at the extremity. The eyes are of a
bright gold-colour, and the head small. It is a terrible glut-
ton, and the tadpole’s worst enemy. He is worse than a
glutton—he is a cannibal, and has been repeatedly caught in
the act of devouring his cousin, the little water-newt. Bell,
the naturalist, relates that he has captured the big newt with
the little newt stuck in his throat.

One of the most marvellous facts connected with this
animal is its powers of reproducing its limbs. Among other
cruel experiments that the growth of science appears to demand,
has been that of cutting off the limbs of this species of
Amphibia for the sake of seeing whether nature would repair
the wanton outrage. The arms or thighs of these animals
have been amputated, sometimes on one side, sometimes on
the other, or both on the same side, and the limbs in every
case have been re-produced—the toes even being re-formed and
endowed with motion. The unlucky creature’s tail has been
cut off by the stump, but in a short time it has pushed its

way out and become a tail again. In one case the same limb
782

 
 

AQUARIUM.

was amputated fowr times, and as often renewed. Dumérul,
the French anatomist, played a still more cruel trick with
nature. He cut off three-fourths of the head of one of these
creatures with a pair of scissors. It was placed in a tank by
itself, and actually existed for three months without a head. Even
at the expiration of that time it was killed by neglect. It is
to be seen to this day in the Paris Museum. Who, after this,
will deny that the newt is a most singular creature? He will
devour his own brother with a relish; can grow new limbs
with as much facility as a plant sends out new branches; and
treats decapitation as a joke.

The little water-newt is found in the same ditch as his big
brother. Except that it is about half the size of the latter, it
is the same-looking creature. ;

Should the reader be inclined to add Spiders and Beetles to
his aquatic menagerie, he has a tolerably large field to choose
from. There is the diving-spider.
This curious creature weaves its net
under water, attaching the stays of
it to the leaves and stems of the
water-plants ; it, moreover, spins for
itself a sort of tent shaped like half
a pigeon’s egg. In this cell it lurks,
waiting for a victim to be taken in
its net, when it speedily disentangles
it, and carries it in doors to devour

  

a *

at its leisure. Although an aquatic i —
insect, the diving-spider seems to - SS

 

require more air than water alone A> 7
affords. To meet this emergency, “7S VE =
nature has provided .it with a
marvellous apparatus. Its abdo-
men and the surrounding parts are covered with a sort of
second skin, and between the walls is stowed a stock of fresh
air for the spider’s use when it is submerged. When in-
flated with air, the insect bears the appearance of carrying on
its back a globule of quicksilver. If closely watched, it may
be seen frequently to approach the surface of the water, and
by a peculiar movement of its teat-like appendage to replenish
its air-reservoirs. The chief drawback to the diving-spider’s
admittance to the tank is, that fish of all kinds evince a decided
partiality for it; and however well its nimbleness might serve
it did it have but one enemy to elude, when it a surrounded

 

 

 

THE WATER-SPIDER,

 
 

 

AQUARIUM.

by a dozen its chance of longevity is small. It is, Lowever,
such an interesting little architect, that a clean bottle of largish
dimensions might be profitably spared it.

As regards the Water-beetles, the largest of the family (Hy-
dréus piscus) is one of
the few sufficiently
harmless to be placed
in the aquarium with
impunity. Besides be-
ing harmless, the large
water-beetle is service-
able as a scavenger
by clearing from the
plants ‘the animalcule
that collect thereon.
It is better to buy
creatures of this sort
from the regular dealer
in aquaria than to
catch them yourself
and trust to chance

THE WATER-BEETLE. as to their natures:
you might make the
most dreadful mistakes. Suppose, for instance, in your
innocence, you introduced to your finny friends a few mem-
bers of the Dytiscus marginalis S
family. This terrible fellow, which
even in its comparatively harm-
less larvahood igs known as the
“water-devil;” makes it his busi-
ness to attack every living thing .
that crosses its path. It is some-
times advertised as an insect that
will live at peace with its fellows ;
if so, the matured beetle is less
ferocious than the larva, for, accord-
ing to Dr. Lankester, he put two
together in «a bottle, and when,
in the course of an hour he reached
home, there was but one—the other
was killed and eaten. ‘They have
no stings, but bite furiously and
effectively with their upper jaws, HARMLESS WATER-BERTLE
74

 

 

 
 

AQUARIUM,

which are pointed at the tips and serrated—that is, have a
toothed or saw-like edge inside. With these they seize their
prey, and masticate it with their under-jaw. Nothing which
they can adhere to seems to come amiss. One full-sized
water-beetle will, in the course of twenty-four hours, kill and
eat a small frog and two or three small-sized fishes,

The beetle known as the “ water-boatman,” although addicted
to eating any of the small fry of his own or any one else’s tribe,
is a very interesting fellow. It may be known by the peculiar
construction of its hind legs, the lower joints of which are fringed
and compressed, and somewhat resemble oars, by which the
insect is enabled to propel himself through the water with great
rapidity. In shape, the body is thick and triangular, and the
outer half of the superior wings fold over each other. Its habits
are very singular. All day long it lies on the surface of a
ditch, belly uppermost, and its limbs fully stretched out as
though he were the most luxurious and lazy fellow in beetledom ;
but this is merely a ruse ; idle as he seems, he is broad awake
to all that is going on around him; and should any likely prey
approach within reach of the boatman’s long limbs, it is clutched
without mercy, and off shoots the insect to devour it at its leisure.
This is its daylight behaviour ;
but as evening approaches, it
assumes quite a new aspect:
it no longer reclines on its
back, but, assuming a natural
position, unfolds a pair of ,
handsome wings, and sails into
the air to prey on such tiny
insects as may happen to be THE BOATMAN.
abroad. This last feature of
the boatman’s character should be borne in mind by those
who think of ‘giving him a place in their aquarium.

Caddice Worms, says the author of the “ Indoor Naturalist,”
may be introduced into the tank with safety, and their clumsy
attempts at locomotion will afford the observer considerable
amusement. These worms are the larve of various species of
Phryganea. To protect their soft bodies, which constitute a
favourite food with fishes, they always inclose themselves in
cases formed of various materials—bits of straw and sticks,
pebbles, and even small shells being employed in this manner.
The materials are kept together by silken threads, which they
spin from the mouth in the same manner as the oe illars.

50

 

 
 

AQUARIUM.

When about to assume the pupa state, the larve fix their cases
ko some solid substance beneath the water, and close the two
extremities with a kind of grating which, while it excludes in-
trusive enemies, freely admits of the passage of water through
the tube, the water being required for respiration. When nearly
arrived at their perfect form, they eat their way through the
grating with a pair of strong mandibles specially provided (or so
it would seem) for this one object. They then swim to the
surface and undergo their final change in the air.

The original promoters of the aquarium—among whom
Mr. Warrington occupies a prominent place—were suddenly
brought to a dead stand through a difficulty they had not
anticipated. As the older leaves of the plants decayed, a green
scum began to settle on the surface of the water and on the
sides of the tank, shronding the carefully-nurtured specimens
of animal and vegetable life with an ugly veil. In the hands
of a man of less thought and patience than Mr. Warrington,
the obstacle would have been regarded as insuperable, and the
whole project abandoned. It uccurred, however, to the acute
experimentalist to enlist the services of certain of the mollusca,
whose nature it is to possess an appetite for just the sort of
garbage that bade fair to nip the aquarium notion in the bud.
The large number of these scavengers afford a wide field for
selection; but some care must be used in selecting such of
them as really prefer the conferve, or vegetable decay, and not
the vegetables themselves, otherwise you will not be able to
keep a decent plant in the tank. Bear in mind, too, that it
is very easy to overstock the aquarium with these rubbish-
consumers ; although they may prefer garbage, you may depend
they will not allow respect for your choice plants to stand in
the way of their hunger. It is next to impossible, however, to
give exact directions as to the number of scavengers your
tank should contain; nothing but experience will enable you
to arrive at a correct balance.

Among the most suited to the purpose are the Paludina, or

ae Fresh-water Winkle, and the Planor-
bis, or Trumpet-snail. The last is an
inhabitant of most ponds and ditches,
and may therefore be easily obtained,
as may. the former. The Helix bom-
bew is a smaller species of fresh-water

THE TRUMPET-SNAIL. snail, but is very usetul as a purificr
nf the aquariums from the smallness of its size, it ig perhaps,

 

 
AQUARIUM,

best adapted for the globe. In shape it is rounder and
more slender than the trumpet-snail, and appears more
elongated or drawn out.

Besides the above, there are two others worth mentioning—
the “Swan-muscle,” plentiful in the New River
and the river Lea; and the Fresh-water S
Whelk, to be found at the bottoms of ditches.

The accumulation of the green stuff on the —— 2
sides of the tank is frequently accelerated by HELIX BOMBEX.
too strong a glare of light being allowed to play through
the sides. This may be avoided by shading the side of the
tank next the window _
with green tissue paper,
which will not obstruct
the light, but merely
subdue it. Moreover, as Osos tae
says Mr. Lloyd, ‘ltt =
not the mere placing of “=x<=>
a quantity of plants,
and then a quantity THE FRESH-WATER WHELK,
of fish, &c., in a vessel
of water that constitutes an aquarium; there must be dis-
crimination used between those plants that will thrive and
give off the least amount of mucous or slimy matter, and that
will also thrive in an artificial state, and those that will not;
the same may also be said of the fish, &c. Quantity is also
another great point; for it is to be borne in mind that the
object is to have such a balance as will keep the water in a
state of purity, so that it shall not require changing. The
exact quantity of each to keep up this balance has not been
determined, and, indeed, nothing but actual experience will
demonstrate it.”

In hot summer weather the decomposition of your plants
will, of course, be more rapid than in mild weather—indeed, it
will sometimes happen that, despite the industry of your
scavengers, the conferve will accumulate too fast for them. If
this happens, you had better give them some assistance. Tie
a piece of sponge to a bit of cane, or make a little mop of wash-
leather, and once or twice a week pass it thoroughly over the
interior surface.

Under such circumstances, too, the water will require to be
frequently changed—how frequently you: will easily under-
stand by its condition. While it is perfectly clear, eS not touch

z

   
aQuaRicm,

it; but shuuld it become turbid, get teady your water-jag and
syphon. ‘This latter instrament is easily constructed. Any
piece of. lead, giass, or gutta-
percha tubing will do if bent in
the shape shown in the engraving.
Let the smaller end dip into
the water; then, taking the
longer end in your mouth, draw
the air out of the tube, when
the water will follow, and con-
tinue to do so as long as the
shortest end continues under
water. When as much water
is taken out as you consider
SYPHON. necessary, you may, by means
of the fine rose of a long-necked
garden or greenhouse watering-pot, restore a like quantity of
fresh water, which, if put in in this way, will fall like a very
fine shower of rain, and will aérate the water, which it is very
advisable should be done. Or, instead of putting the syphon
into the mouth, turn up both ends and fill the tube with water ;
place a finger over each end, to prevent the water escaping;
put the small end into the water, and, taking the finger from

the other end, the water will flow freely.

It is the expressed opinion of the inventor of the aquarium,
that three, or at most four, animate objects are enough for each
gallon of water; experi-
ence, however, has shown
that, with moderate at-
tention, double this num-
ber —- of small size, at
least—will do well and
thrive in the quantity
of water mentioned. If,
however, this proportion

WATER-TIGER. should be exceeded, extra

eare must be observed to

keep the water thoroughly aérated. The nozzle of a pair of
bellows introduced into the tank will in a rough way effect
this; or it may be done by the suspension above the tank of
a bottle, from which drips of water are constantly falling; each
op will be highly oxygenated, and carry with it new life to the

hes,

 

 

788
 

4QUARIUM.

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AQUARIUM,

realm of its own plants. The plants, besides furnishing nutri-
tious pasturage, carry on a wholesome chemical process, under
the surface of the water, for the manufacture of a main ingre-
dient in the breath of life. The fishes, however, are not left
to depend wholly on this means of support. The billows of
the great ocean beat the air, and, catching it in the form of
foam bubbles, force it down to considerable depths, and cause
it, both in its descent and in its rising again to the surface, to
come into contact with the water that requires its purifying
influence. The sea beats upon the beaches and dashes itself
into a thick froth upon the rocks; that is to say, beats air into
itself on an extensive scale, and carries the precious bubbles so
obtained even to considerable depths. Its movement causes a
constant change of surface water, to say nothing of the influence
of currents.” This may be worth the consideration of unthink-
ing rhymsters who have no ambition beyond a jingle, and who
lisp prettily about the waves “beating idly on the shore.” If
such a stupendous business as supplying millions of swimming
and creeping creatures with the first principle of life, is idle-
ness, pray what is the correct term for spoiling fair paper with
such vapid scrawlings, of which the above-quoted line is a
sample P

To return, however, to our tank. Owing to the more slug-
gish life of marine organization, and the greater amount of
disorganized matter evolved, it is more difficult to preserve the
balance of health in the salt than the fresh water aquarium.
Contamination must be guarded against with the most scru-
pulous care. Sometimes, although every fish and every spray
of sea-weed may appear perfectly healthy, the water will be-
come as opaque as though a glass of milk had been added to
it, and your nose will insist that animal decomposition is the
cause of it. In all probability that sagacious organ is right,—
certain members of a family of minute creatures imperceptibly
attached to your ornamental rock-work have given up the
ghost; and unless you speedily empty your amateur ocean, and
provide your pets with a new sea, they will speedily die too.

After all, however, the difficulties of keeping the marine tank
in a healthful condition are not nearly so great as they seem.
Thorough aération is all that is required; and to secure this it
is only necessary to take every morning a portion of water out
of the aquarium, and to allow it to drip back from some little
height into the vessel. The water thus exposed to contact
with the air, drop by drop, and further entangling and carry-

790

fee Sees ee eS SS
 

AQUARIUM,

ing down air in smal! bubbles with it, will be maintained by
these means in a state of perfect purity; in fact, as observes
a clever reviewer of Mr. Gosse’s work on marine aquaria,
“there is no reason why the same supply of sea-water should
not last for a twelvemonth or even longer. Of course during
all this time loss by evaporation has to be supplied; but as
the evaporation is of pure water only, all the salts remaining
and becoming concentrated, it is only necessary to prevent that
concentration by pouring in again as pure water whatever is
poured out as watery vapour.”

Should the proprietor of the marine tank, however, distrust
this theory, there is no reason why he should not replenish the
vessel with the genuine article just as often as he thinks proper, at
an expence of sixpence a gallon. Whether all dealers in marine
aquaria make this provision for their customers, or whether
the trade is in the hands of a few of the best houses, I can’t say.
I know at least two dealers of whom sea-water may be bought:
Mr. Lloyd, of 20, Portland-road, Regent’s-park; and Mr. Hall,
75, London-wall. Nay, thanks to Mr. Gosse, the economist
may save a fair portion of his sixpence by manufacturing his
own sea-water. The following is the receipt :—

Common table salt. . . . . « - 8$ ounces,
Epsom salts. . . aie Wey Glad arta } ounce.
Chloride of magnesium - . . . . 200 grains troy.
Chloride of potassium . .... 40 4, y

These materials, added to a gallon of water and thoroughly
mixed, and there, in your parlour in Pentonville, you may be
gratified by the sight, and feel, and taste of the “briny ocean,”
or something like it.

The tank prepared and the sea-water at hand, put in yom
bottom layer of sand. That from the sea-beach is of course
the best, but if this cannot be obtained, well-washed river-sand
will do nearly as well. Bits of rock may or may not be added,
just as the fancy of the builder suggests. - Now for your
plants. Brown and olive sea-weeds should be avoided; they
cannot endure the narrow limits of your tank, and will speedily
die. Red and green weeds are the sturdiest, and without
doubt the most beautiful. The “ sea-lettuce ” is recommended
by Mr. Gosse, and certainly its broad, vividly-green leaves,
delicate as gossamer, are very lovely ; moreover, it is easily
obtained, and will hardly be sought in vain between tide-marks

if the hollows in the rocks are examined. Whatever plants be
791

 
 

AQUARIUM,

selected. if they are rooted to the rocks, they must not be torn
from their anchorage; the only way to preserve their lives is te
chip off the fragment of stone to which they are attached.
Therefore, when you go weed-hunting, put. a hammer and a
small chisel in your pocket.

As in the case of the fresh-water tank, it is better to allow
your plants time to settle comfortably, and impregnate the
water with oxygen, before you introduce your animals. Accord-
ding to the above-quoted authority none are so likely to thrive
as the following :—

“ Fishes:—The smaller sticklebacks ; young specimens of the
grey mullet, which have lived for more than three years in the
Zoological Society’s aquarium; the blennies and gobies; the
spotted gunnel; the smaller wrasses; the rocklings; the
flounder; the dab; and the eels.

“ Mollusca.—The sea-hare; the periwinkle; the commoner
tops; the purple; the murex; the chitons; the bullas; the
scallops; the muscle; the modioles; the anomia; the oyster;
and some of the sand-burrowing bivalves, as Venus, Mactra,.
Pullastra, &c.. Gastrochena and Saaicava, burrowers in stone,
may be readily kept, and are very interesting, especially the
former, which I have had in confinement for many months in
more than a single instance, and still possess.

“ Cirripedes—The acorn barnacle (Balanus and Chthama-
lus) and the interesting little Pyrgema, which is invariably
found cemented to the plates of our larger madrepore.

“ Orustacea.—The strawberry crab; some of the swimming
crabs; the shore crab; the eatable crab; the hairy crab; the
Ebalia; the masked crab ; the soldier crab; the broad-clawed
crab; the shrimps; the true prawns; the Athanas; and many
of the Lntomostraca.

“Annelides.—The gold comb; the sabellas; the serpulas; the
sea-leech; the long worm; and the terebellas.

“ Zoophytes.—Most species of sea-anemone (except the thick
horn, Bunodes erassicornis, which is very precarious); both
species of madrepore.”

The reader will see, that among the fish for the marine tank
the stickleback is allowed a place, whereas in the fresh-water
aquarium his services were declined. It is, however, a very
different matter. His companions are by no means of the
milk-and-water stamp. Take the goby, “a fierce little cannibai
fish about three inches long, that will vary the interest of the
small drama always going on in the aquarium by taking the

Pe)

 
 

AQUARIUM,

demon’s part. He has a good demoniacal name—the black
goby—and a good demoniacal nature. He lurks under the
rocks and weeds, whence he will dart out with glaring eyes to
seize even one of his own cousins by the tail, and swallow him
alive.” The stickleback had best mind himself when he
approaches the goby.

The writer who draws such a graphic portrait. of the goby
observes that many of the usual denizens of the aquarium dis-
play curious changes of colour; even the little grey mullets, the
hardiest and most cheerful members of such a happy family,
change, when greatly alarmed, from iron-grey to a pale drab
colour. The little mullets, who always like to live together,
dart about in shoals as lively as young chickens; chase each
other after bits of bread or (sweetest of all to their palates)
prawns or shrimp spawn, and always keep up in a quart or
gallon or two of sea a pleasant bustle.

Although not the most, beautiful, it cannot be denied, that
the vulgar periwinkle is one of the most useful members of
the aquaria—he is the scavenger—the snapper up of “ trifles”
unconsidered by the careless. tank-owner, but which if allowed
to accumulate unchecked would soon bring the entire establish-
ment to grief. It should be understood that, if the miniature
ocean thrive, there will gather about the rock-works, and hang
like a thick green curtain upon the glass sides of the vessel,
a sturdy crop of bright green vegetation. The periwinkle is
the mower who reaps the green crop, and his tongue is his
scythe. “The watching of these mowers at work is one of the
prettiest sights the aquarium affords. It may be seen by the
naked eye, but the proprietor of a marine menagerie will find
it worth while to assist his observations with a pocket magni-
fying glass. Though his shell is not very handsome the peri-
winkle, with his zebra stripes and netted markings, is a fairly
pretty fellow when he comes out to eat the succulent young
growths of sea-weed on the sides of the aquarium. It is de-
lightful to. observe the working of the little scythe made by his
silky tongue, which is beset. with rows of teeth that are them-
selves every tooth serrated. As the periwinkle eats, his fleshy
lips open, and his glistening tongue makes a rapid stroke, rasp-
ing the green surf with its teeth, and as it works on leaving
tiny marks exactly after the pattern of the marks left upon a
grass lawn by a mower.”

“The soldier crabs again, besides being worth careful study,
enliven the business of an aquarium with a gee many

 
 

AQUARIUM,

curious incidents. As becomes soldiers they fight, and have
passages of arms with one another; sometimes one soldier
crab will even drag another out of the shell in which he
lives, and take forcible possession of his premises. Then this
crab, living in an old whelk-shell, often carries about pick-
apack a fine sea-ane-
mone, riding upon the
shell as an _ outside
passenger. It is at
the same time almost
always associated with
a beautiful sea-worm,
a two-lined nereis, that
lives in a retreat of its
SOLDIER OR HERMIT ORAB. own between the shell
and the crab’s body.
When the soldier is off guard, and is munching his bit of dinner,
the head of the nereis will commonly be seen gliding round the
crab’s right cheek and passing between the upper and lower
foot-jaws. Without scruple this intrusive lodger will then drag
some of the food even out of the mouth of the warrior; and
although the crab holds on and makes due efforts to rescue his
property, or may perhaps frighten the nereis from its hold by
making a terrible and sudden start, he never by any chance
attempts to hurt the worm, or displays wrath at the indelicate
behaviour of his delicate acquaintance.”

Nothing shows so beautifully in the marine aquarium as the
various species of
Actinia, or *‘ sea-
anemones.” Ellis,
a celebrated inves-
tigator of this de-
partment of natural
history, and who
lived and wrote
about a hundred
years ago, was the
first to apply to
these creatures their
floral appellation,
because “their ten-
tacles, being disposed in regular circles and tinged with a
variety of bright lively colours, very nearly represent the

 

 

 
 

AQUARIUM, «

beautiful petals of some of our most delicately fringed and ra-
diated flowers, such as the carnation, marigold, and anemone.”
The commonest of all the British species is scientifically Inown
by the formidable name of Actinia Mesembryanthemum, Seen
lying on the sea-shore, it presents the appearance of a sub-
conical mass of brownish-green glass, that would serve admirably
as a paper weight; ignorant of its true character, you attempt
to take it up and find it limp and jelly-like. May be it will
convince you that it is a living creature, by squirting a jet of
sea-water into your face. You turn it over on what may be
called its back, and probably find that an azure line encircles
its base, and that a series of beautiful green lines converge
from thence to the centre, while set round the creature’s mouth
is a circle of little knobs like turquoise beads, and which are
supposed to be the animal’s eyes. Lying on your hand it
looks so unlike a living thing, that to settle the matter you
place it where the next advancing wave may catch it up and
carry it out. All speculation as to its being alive at once
ceases; a hundred arms, its tentacles, are at once spread out,
each one ready to grasp any eatable morsel that may appear
within reach.

Despite its innocent appearance, the sea-anemone is as
voracious as a shark, and
endowed with a curiously
powerful digestion, says the
author of “Common Ob-
jects of the Sea Shore.”
IT have often amused myself
by watching them in their
native haunts, and expe-
rimenting on their powers *oRass.”
of digestion. One single
“crass” (Actinia erassicorius) measuring barely three inches
in diameter, required two erabs, each the size of a penny
piece, and a large limpet, before it ceased to beg with ex-
tended arms. It is evident by the fact of the crab-eating,
that the crass mzst possess great powers of grasp, or it could
never hold, retain, or drag to its mouth, and finally devour a
creature of such strength as a crab of the size above mentioned,
Such a crab struggles with great violence, and requires a very
firm grasp of the human hand to prevent its escape; and yet
the anemone, whose entire body is not larger than the closed
hand, and whose substance is quite soft, can seize and retain

 

 
 

AQUARIUM.

the crab, if it is unfortunate enough even to thrust one of
its legs within reach of the tentacles.

It is generally believed that the various members of the
actinia family possess the power of benumbing their prey. In
some species little elliptical capsules are scattered over the
whole surface of the body, in others confined to the tentacula,
or even to their tips. These are furnished with minute spears,
by which it is probable that not only are wounds inflicted, but
poison is also conveyed into them. The sensations produced
by the touch of the tentacula appear to be very different in
the case of different persons,—from a mere rasping feeling to a
slight tingling, or even to a stinging as by a nettle. Some of
the anemone’s poison-darts are only two or three times the
length of the capsule which contains them, but others are
much longer, and when within the capsule are coiled up after
the manner of a watch-spring.

The sea-anemones possess the curious power of reproducin,,
organs of their own body. Dr. Johnston relates a curious
instance of this:—“I had once brought me a specimen that
originally might have been two inches in diameter, and that
had somehow contrived to swallow a valve of Pecten maximus
(a shell-fish of the oyster family), of the size of an ordinary
saucer. The shell fixed within the stomach was so placed as
to divide it completely into two halves, so that the body
stretched tensely over it had become thin and flattened like a
pancake, All communication between the inferior portion of
the stomach and the mouth was of course prevented; yet
mstead of emaciating and dying of an atrophy, the animal
had availed itself of what had undoubtedly been a very unto-
ward accident, to increase its enjoyments and its chances of
double fare. A new mouth, furnished with two rows of
numerous tentacles, was opened up on what had been the
base, and led to the under-stomach. The individual had indeed
become a sort of Siamese twin, but with greater intimacy and
extent in its unions.”

The hardiest of this singular family and that most easily
“domesticated,” is the Mesembryanthemum. It may be de-
tached from the rock where it is found by sliding beneath it
an ivory paper knife, or even by levering it up with the thumb
nail, The next most desirable anemone is one of the largest
of those found on the British coast, and whose name is Bunodes
crassicornis. This creature exhibits a great diversity of the
most beautiful colour; white, cream colour, brilliant red, green.

 
 

AQUARIUM.

o

and orange, azd scarlet and white are among the hues that
distinguish it. This, and many others that might be evume-
sated, are not as easily made to quit their hold on substan ses
to which they may be attached; and, as to injure their orgaus
of adhesion would be to render them worthless, it is better,
where it can be accomplished, to chip off that portion of the
stone to which they are anchored.

Did space permit, much more might be written of the curio-
sities of the marine tank. That, however, is not our purpose.
The little that has been described may perhaps whet the
interest of our readers lucky enough to possess already a well-
stocked tank ; or, better still, to determine those who previously
were only half resolved to set about the instructive amuse-
ment of constructing an aquarium.

For the benefit of such of our readers who, from prudential
motives, may prefer acquiring the art of managing the marine
aquarium by easy stages, we will take the liberty of extracting
from Mr. Charles Kingsley’s ‘‘ Wonders of the Sea-Shore,” the
following simple directions :—

“Buy at any glass-shop a cylindrical glass jar, some six
inches in diameter and ten high, which will cost you from three
to four shillings. Wash it clean, and fill it with clean salt
water dipped out of any pool among the rocks, only looking
first to see that there is no dead fish or other evil matter in
the said pool, and that no stream from the land runs into it.
If you choose to take the trouble to dip up the water over a
boat’s side, so much the better. So much for your vase. Now
to stock it. Go down at low spring-tide to the nearest ledge
of rocks, and with a hammer and chisel chip off a few pieces of
‘stone covered with growing sea-weed. Avoid the common and
coarser kinds (Fuci) which cover the surface of the rocks, for
they give out under water a slime which will foul your tank ;
but choose the more delicate species which fringe the edges of
every pool at low-water mark. The pink coralline, the dark
blue, ragged dulse (Rhodymenia), the Carrageen moss.(Chox-
drus), and, above all, the delicate green ulva, which you will
see growing everywhere in wrinkled fan-shaped sheets, as thin
as the finest silver paper. The smallest bits of stone are sufii-
cient, provided the sea-weeds have hold of them; for they have
no real roots, but adhere by a small disc, deriving no nourish-
ment from the rock, but only from the water. Take care,
meanwhile, that there be as little as possible on the stone
beside the weed itself. Especially scrape off any ae sponges,

 
 

AQUARIUM,

and see that no worms have made their twining tubes of sand
among the weed-stems. If they have, drag them out, for they
will surely die, and as surely spoil all by sulphuretted hydro-
gen, blackness, and evil smells. Put your weeds into your
tank, and settle them at the bottom, which last, some say,
should be covered with a layer of pebbles; but let the beginner
have it as bare as possible, for the jebbles only tempt cross-
grained annelids to crawl under thom, die, and spoil all by
decaying; whereas, if the bottom of the vase is bare, you can
see a sickly or dead inhabitant at once, and take him out
(which you must do) instantly. Let your weeds stand quietly
in the vase a day or two before you put in any live animals,
and even then do not put any in if the water does not appear
perfectly clear, but lift out the weeds, and renew the water ere
you replace them. Now for the live stock. In the crannies of
every rock you will find sea-anemones (Actinice), and a dozen of
these only will be enough to convert your little vase into the
most brilliant of living flower gardens. There they hang upon
the under side of the ledges, apparently mere rounded lumps of
jelly. One is of dark purple dotted with green; another of a
rich chocolate; another of a delicate olive; another sienna
yellow ; another all but white. Take them from their rock:
you can do it easily by slipping under them your finger-nail or
the edge of a pewter spoon. Take care to tear the sucking
base as little as possible (though a small rent they will darn for
themselves in a few days easily enough), and drop them into a
basket of wet sea-weed. When you get home turn them into a
dish full of water, and leave them for the night, and go to look
ac them to-morrow. Whata change! The dull lumps of jelly
have taken root and flowered during the night, and your dish
is filled from side to side with a bouquet of chrysanthemums.
Each has expanded into a hundred-petaled flower, crimson,
pink, purple, or orange. Touch one, and it shrinks together
like the sensitive plant, displaying at the root of the petals a
ring of brilliant turquoise beads. This is the commonest of all
the Actinic (Mesembryanthemum). You may have him when
and where you will; but if you will search those rocks some-
what closer you will find even more gorgeous species than him.
See in that pool some dozen noble ones in full bloom, and quite
six inches across some of them. If their cousins whom we
found just now were like chrysanthemums, these are like quilled
dahlias. Their arms are stouter and shorter in proportion than
those of the last species, but their colour is equally brilliant.
mB

 
 

. AQUARIUM.

One is a brilliant blood red; another a delicate sea blue, striped
with pink; but most have the disc and the innumerable arms
striped and fringed with various shades of grey and brown.
Shall we get them? By all means, if we can. Touch one.
Where is he now? GoneP Vanished into air or into stone?
Not quite. You see that sheet of sand and broken shell lying on
the rock where your dahlia was one moment ago. Touch it, aud
you will find it leathery and elastic. What, is this all which
remains of the live dahlia? Never mind; get your finger into
the crack under him. Work him gently, but firmly out, take
him home, and he will be as happy and as gorgeous as ever
to-morrow. Let your Actiniw stand for a day or two in the
dish, and then, picking out the liveliest and handsomest, detach
them once more from their hold, drop them into your vase, right
them with a bit of stick, so that the sucking base is downwards,
and leave them to themselves thenceforth.

“These two species are quite enough to give a beginner
amusement; but there are two others which are not uncommon,
and of such exceeding loveliness that it is worth while to take
a little trouble to get them. The one is Bellis, the sea-daisy.
It is common at Ilfracombe and at Torquay, and, indeed, every-
where where there are cracks and small holes in limestone or
slate rocks. In these holes it fixes its base, and expands its
delicate brown-grey star-like flowers on the surface; but it
must be chipped out with hammer and chisel, and at the expense
of much dirt and labour; for the moment it is touched it con-
tracts deep into the rock, and all that is left of the daisy
flower, some two or three inches across, is a blue knob about
half the size of a marble. But it will expand again after a
day or two of captivity, and well repay the trouble it has
cost.

“The other is Dianthus, which you may find adhering to
fresh oysters, ia any dredger or trawler’s skiff, a lengthened
mass of olive, pale rose, or snow-white jelly; the rose and the
white are the most beautiful. If you find one, clear the
shell on which it grows of everything else (you may leave
the oyster inside if you will), and watch it expand under water
into a furbelowed flower furred with innumerable delicate
tentaculz, and in the centre a mouth of the most beautiful
orange.

“Next, your sea-weeds, if they thrive as they ought to do,
will sow their minute spores in millions around them; and
these as they vegetute will form a green film on the inside of

 
 

AQUARIUM,

the glass, spoiling your prospect. You may rub it off for
yourself if you will, with a rag fastened to a stick; but if you
wish to be saved trouble, set three or four live shells to do it
for you. Look among the beds of sea-weed for a few of tha
bright yellow or green sea-snails, or conical tops, especially
that beautiful pink one spotted with brown, which you are
sure to find about shaded rock-ledges at dead low tide, and put
them into the aquarium.

“You have two more enemies to guard against,—dust and
heat. If the surface of the water becomes clogged with dust,
the communication between it and the life-giving oxygen of
the air is cut off; and then your animals are liable to die.
A piece of muslin tied over the mouth of the vessel will guard
against this, but a better defence is a plate of glass, raised on
wire some half inch above the edge of the tank. You must
guard against heat by putting a curtain of muslin or oiled
paper between the vase and the sun.”

 

 
 

 

KILLARNEY,

FERNS.

i.

TxERE must be few, indeed, who are indifferent to the attrac.
tions presented by a well-ordered garden, whether it be the
trim little slip of ground that lies before the entrance of the
humble cottage, or the closely-mown lawn, jewelled with bril.
liant flower-beds and bordered with evergreen shrubberies, that
stretches in broad expanse before the stately mansion.

We may often draw satisfactory conclusions as to a man’s
general character from the condition of his garden: the well-
kept piece of ground as surely betokens a man of thrifty and
industrious habits, who knows what is right and practises it
in all the relations and duties of life, as a ragged untidy grass
plat and unkempt flower-beds, if the term be admissible, that
are choked with weeds, show the owner to be an idle, careless
fellow at the least, and probably a very indifferent, nay, even
worthless member of society.

This is strikingly exemplified in country life, for the neatest
gardens in the village will be found to belong to the most
industrious and trustworthy labouring men in the district, who
thus spend the few spare hours that their vocation gives them,
instead of wasting them in the pnt-house and the Bae eeY

51
 

FERNS

led on by the praiseworthy hope and ambition of taking a
prize for the finest vegetables or the best bunch of cut flowers
at the Cottagers’ Horticultural Show, held yearly in his imme-
diate neighbourhood.

And so in town life, the home that can boast of a few pots of
scented mignonette and velvety auriculas, or a cage that en-
shrines some pretty song-bird within its wires, must be a happier
one than that which is entirely destitute of Nature’s adornments,
while the inmates of the former must be better and more kindly
affectioned towards one another in their several social relations
than those that dwell in the latter. Depend upon it, that
those who love birds and flowers, and dumb animals, and those
whom dumb animals love, must be better, holier, and happier
than those who care nothing for Nature and the countless
lessons that Nature teaches. Those who begin by loving
Nature and inquiring into the structure, organization, and
habits of plants and animals, and the wonders of the inorganic
kingdom, will soon be animated by kindlier feelings towards all
around them, and end by loving “Nature’s God,” and doing
His will in all things. Let parents try to inspire their children
—the best of all “‘ Home Pets”—with a fondness for natural
science; whether it be encouraged by keeping and caring for a
dog, a cat, a rabbit, a pigeon, or a song-bird; by rearing
flowers; by forming an herbarium, or a collection of moths
and butterflies, or by other kindred means, and they will surely
be better boys and girls, and make better men and women,
better members of society, and above all better Christians, than
if they had been tacitly led in childhood by the example of
those around them, to care for none of these things, or, in other
words, encouraged to regard them with cold indifference.

But of all things whereby this practical teaching can be
effected, commend me to leaves and flowers, the gems of earth
and their emerald settings, or, as they are happily styled by
Longfellow :

“Stars that in earth’s firmament do shine.”

*”

A few square feet of soil will furnish us with where to grow
them, and a few pence will provide us with what to grow; but
how many are there that dwell in “crowded cities,” and “the
busy haunts of men,” some of whom will say, “How is it
possible for us to raise and rear plants and flowers, in the
damp, dingy, dreary paved courts at the back of our houses,
which are seldom if ever visited by a single ray of golden sun-

 
 

FERNS,

light ;” and others, “I have plants within the four walls that,
form my home and dwelling, it is true, but how can I expect
them to flourish with the freshness and verdure of those that
can drink in full draughts of fresh air without stint, and bask
in the cheery sunshine without hindrance?” It is our present
purpose to show those who live in towns and have no garden
ground to call their own, that even the dark and dull back
court can be made to teem with vegetation of graceful form
and pleasing colour, and to prove that a Home Pet of the
vegetable kingdom can be established within the realm over
which they exercise lordship and mastery—even though. it be
bounded and encompassed by four walls, the floor, and the
ceiling—which will flourish with all the freshness and brilliancy
of colour of its dew-spangled relatives that wave in the lanes and
hedgerows of the breezy country; while we would point out a
new and charming study to those who dwell amid green fields,
and show to those who are already the possessors of a coveted bit
of garden ground, how an additional charm can be imparted
to it by the cuiture of some of the beautiful varieties of the fern,
whose graceful fronds never fail to meet the eye, whenever we
wander through the brakes and woodlands, or over the lonely
moors and by the wave-washed coast and rippling rivulets that
diversify the varied scenery of the British isles.

Our subject now seems to distribute itself under certain
heads into which it is needful that we should forthwith obtain
some little insight. We, naturally enough, are led to inquire,
“ What areferns?P” ‘ Where can we find them?” ‘“ How can
we grow them to the greatest advantage out of doors?” “ How
can we rear them in-doors?” and “ Are there any other means
by which our search for ferns will furnish us with a pleasurable
and instructive employment?” All these questions can be
answered in a satisfactory manner, and we will at once begin
with the first two queries, and find out what ferns are, and
where we can find them. This of course involves some preli-
minary inquiry into the component parts of these plants and
their manner of growth, which must be followed by a tabular
arrangement of the principal British ferns, and a short descrip-
tion of the distinctive characteristics of each species, the locali-
ties in which they are chiefly found, the soil that they like best,
and the closest imitation of it that we can make to supply our
ferneries and Wardian cases, with a brief notice of the most
striking varieties of some of the best known species whenever

it may be required. =

 
 

FERNS.

Following the arrangement adopted by Professor Bentley in
his excellent “Manual of Botany,” we find that ferns are
included among the Cryptogamia, or plants which form one of
the sub-kingdoms into which the great vegetable kingdom is
divided, and which bear no flowers, but are propagated by
spores, or organs that perform the same functions in this sub-
kingdom of flowerless plants that buds and seeds perform for
the higher orders of flowering plants that are classed under the
opposite sub-kingdom Phanerogamia, or plants which show
their flowers. They are also said to be acotyledonous, because
they are developed from spores instead of seeds, in which no
distinct organs of propagation can be traced, and they are
aorogenous inasmuch as they are plants possessing distinguish-
able stems and leaves which have stomata, or pores on the sur-
face. The place that ferns hold in the vegetable kingdom may
therefore be traced thus :—VEGETABLE Kinepom.—Sub-King-
dom 2. Cryprocamta.—Class, ACOTYLEDONES.—Sub-Class 1.
AcrocEna.—Family, Fiuices, or Ferns.

The principal component parts of ferns, in common with
other plants, are the roots, the stem, and the leaves or fronds;
but singularly enough, in the majority of our British ferns, the
stem, technically called the rhizome, from which the leaves and
roots spring, is concealed in the ground. In large tree-ferns
that grow so luxuriantly in tropical countries, the rhizome
rears itself above the ground for some feet, and resembles the
gnarled trunk of a pollard ash or willow. The real roots
spring from the under surface of the rhizome, and resemble
rough black fibres in their general appearance ; the leaves spring
upwards from its upper surface, and by their different charac-
ters often serve to distinguish the genus, species, and variety
of the plant.

When the rhizome extends horizontally below the surface of
the ground, it is called a creeping rhizome, but when it rises
above it, and has a rough exterior covered with broad, shaggy
scales, it is termed a tufted rhizome. The frond is the main
stem of the fern, with all the lateral branches and leaflets
belonging to it; the term includes the whole leaf from its
janction with the rhizome to its other extremity. The rachis
is the main stem of the frond from the poimt at which the
lateral branches begin to branch out from it as far as the
extremity; the part that is destitute of branches between this
point and the rhizome is sometimes distinguished as the stipes.

The frond is also sometimes (ivided into the blade and the
804

 
 

FERNS.

stalk ; the stalk being what has just been described as the
stipes, and the blade, the remaining part of the frond. That
portion of the stem or rachis that runs through the frond and
into its minute subdivisions is called the midrib when it has
the leaf or leaflet attached to either side of it. The veins
branch from the midrib in straight lines; they are often forked
in two branches. The organs of reproduction or spores are
i to the veins which run along the underpart of tho
eat.

Different terms are applied to the frond according to its.
shape. When it is undivided and without indentation, as in
the Hart’s Tongue fern (Scolopendrium Vulgare), it is termed
enture. When the frond is indented, as in the common Poly-
pody (Polypodium Vulgare), but the indentations do not reach
the main stem, or midrib, it is termed pinnatifid, which means
that it has incomplete branches or leaves, the divisions of
which do not reach as far as the stem. When the blade is
divided into lateral branches, or leaflets, as far as the stem, the
frond is termed pinnate, and the lateral offshoots from the
main stem are called pinne. The pinne in their turn may be
either pimnatifid, or lobed, or pinnate; and if the last-named,
then the entire frond is styled bi-pimnate, or twice-pimnate, and
the separate leaves of the pinne are called pinnules. When
the fronds on the pinnz are said to be lobed, which in some
cases seems almost synonymous with the term pinnatifid, it is
meant that the divisions of the leaf: which do not reach as far
as the midrib on the one hand, or the leaflets which spring
from the midrib on the other, are scalloped, or indented round
the edge. When the pinna or secondary branches of a frond
are themselves also pinnate, or have lateral offshoots springing
from them as far as the stem, the whole frond is called tri-
pinnate, or thrice-pinnate. But when it is still further divided,
or the tertiary branches are also pinnate, it is then termed de-
compound. When the term circinnate is used, it is applied to
the manner in which the fronds and pinne are coiled or roiled
up in the bud. The receptacle is that portion of any vein to
which the spore-cases or thecw are attached. These are small
vessels which contain the seed; the form of these often affords
the means of determining the classification of the plant. They
are collected together in little masses called sori, and these are
sometimes covered by a membrane termed an indusiwm or
inwolucre. They are always found on the under surface or the |
edge of the leaf; when they are in the former penne they aro

 
 

YERNS.

said to be dorsal; when in the latter, they are called marginal :
they never appear on the upper surface.

As we are now supposed to be tolerably well acquainted
with the structure of the fern and the different terms that are
applied to its several parts, and the varied formation of the
frond, let us now proceed to look through a tabular arrange-
ment of the principal British Ferns according to their ordera
or groups, their genera, and their species. The order to
which each belongs will be found in the first column, the
genus in the second, and the species in the third; while in
the fourth the name by which it is commonly known in our
own language is given. An alphabetical arrangement has
been adopted in the first three columns to aid the memory,
and the description of the various species will, be given in this
order, although greater prominence will be given to the English
name than to the botanical name, which is formed of the names
of the genus and species combined together. It will also be
seen that one group may be composed of many distinct genera,
and that each genus may include several species, which in their
turn are subdivided into varieties. Thus the group Asple-
niew ig composed of the genera Aspleniwm, Ceterach, and Sco-
lopendrium, of which the genus Aspleniwm comprises as many
as nine distinct species. In some cases the varieties of a
single species are almost endless, and the distinctions between
them are scarcely appreciable; no less than sixty-six varieties
of the common Hart’s Tongue fern being described in Mr.
Bradbury’s beautiful book entitled “‘ Nature-Printed Ferns.”

TaBLE oF THE Principal British FErns.

ORDER OR GROUP. GENUS. SPECIES. OOMMON NAME.

ADIANTEA ,. Adiantum. « Capillus Veneris, True Maiden-Hair.
Aculestum {Sled Feri,
Cristatum . » Crested Shield Fern.
Dilatatum . @ nee ee Shel

Filix Mas , + Male Shield Fern,

Asripiem =. Aspidium . *+ Lonchitis . . Holly Fern.
Oreopteris. MOE NSA

Rigidum . » Rigid Shield Fern.
Spinulosum . Broad Shield Fern,
Thelypteris . Marsh Fern.
FERNS.

QRDER OR GROUP, GENUS. SPECIES, COMMON NAME.
Adiantum Nigrum. Black Spleenwort.
Filix Femina . Lady Fern.
Smooth Rock
| Fontanum. * { Spleenwort,
# Alternate-leaved
ities Germanicum . Spleenwort,
fAsplenium., +4 yo hoe, lat + sehen
| : Ypleenwort,
Marinum . . Sea Spleenwort.
Ruta Muraria . Wall Rue.
ASPLENIEZ. Septentrionale . Forked Spleenwort.
(trichomanés Maiden-Hair
. Spleenwort,
Ceterach , ., Officinarum . Scaly Spleenwort.
i . 4 Common Hart's
Scolopendrium . Nalgene ete { Toriguie,
BLECHNES . + Blechnum. - Spicant . . Hard Fern.
a Brittle Bladder
; fae ea Fern.
CYsTOPTERIDEX . Cystopteris M be
Montana ountarn
. . Bladder Fern.
GYMNOGRAMMEZ Gymnogramma, Leptophylla . { eae
(Tunbridgense . Filmy Fern.
Hymenophyllum Wilsoni Wilson's Filmy
HYMENOPHYLLEE { Fern,
Trichomanes Brevisetum . Bristle Fern.
- Botrychium Lunaria Moonwort.
OPHIOGLOSSACER { Lusitanicum . aa Adder's
; ‘ongue.
Ophioglossum { (Con ‘Add
( Vulgatum . . vO saa. se
OsMUNDACEBR . Osmunda. . Regalis . . Royal Fern.
Allosorus . Crispus’ . » Parsley Fern.
i Alpestre . . Alpine Polypody.
OLYPODIACEH Lnmestone
| Calcareum . e { Polypody.
Polypodium Dryopteris, . Oak Fern,
Phegopteris . Beech Fern.
Vulgare . » Common Polypody.
ey3 Brake or Hagle
PTERIDEE . . Prteris, < » Aquilina . is Fern. -

WoopsiEs . . Woodsia

Tivensis . . Oblong Woodsia,
. Tivensis Hyper- :
borea .

Alpine Fert

From the above tabular arrangement, we find that there
are forty-one different species of British ferns, chateuted among
 

FERNS.

seventeen genera, which, in their turn, are grouped into twelve
distinct families. The same fern is sometimes designated by
different common, or English, names, and far too often by dif-
ferent botanical names; but the greater number of these will
be ivelnded in its description, and the varieties of every species
that vall for especial notice will be mentioned, as it has been
said, in connection with the species to which they belong.

JI, ADIANTEA,
1. True Mamen Harr (Adiantum Capillus Veneris). Pu. 4

In common with many others, the True Maiden Hair is the
only species of the family to which it belongs that is known in
the British Isles. The plant is small and delicate in appear-
ance, but singularly graceful and elegant in form. The length
of the frond varies from six to twelve inches. From a rough
and scaly rhizome of a dark colour, which is rooted to the
earth by black fibrous roots, spring a number of black
stems almost as fine as hair. On the slender stalks that
branch from these stems, small fan-shaped leaflets tremble
in the breeze. The edges of the leaves are indented ; those of
the seed-bearing leaves are slightly curled, and wrap over the
sori, or seed-receptacles that lie along the margin of the under-
part of the leaf. It is found in the greatest abundance in
Devon and Cornwall, Glamorganshire, the south of Ireland,
and the Arran Isles. It grows in damp places, and flourishes
on rocks near the seashore, where it is washed and nourished
by the salt spray. When transplanted, it will thrive in a War-
dian case, in any receptacle filled with pieces of sandstone, and
a mixture of sand, loam, and a little decayed vegetable matter.

It. ASPIDIEA.
1. Prickiy Surerp Fern (Aspidiwm Aculeatum). Pu. 1.

A beautiful fern, having seven or eight large leaves from one
to two feet in length, springing in a circle from a short rough
rhizome, and curling outwards. The stem of the frond or leaf,
near the rhizome, is covered with rough reddish scales. The
pinne, or stems growing laterally from the main stem, spring
from % alternately. The pinnules, or little leaves springing
from the pinna, are serrated, and have a broad pointed piece
projecting from the base of each on one side. The seed-recep-
tacles are psroulaz, and covered with an indusium, or outer

 
 

    
  

  
 
      
   

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Puatz 1.—1, Prickley Shield Fern. A, Pinnule of do. 2,Variety of do. Aspidium
Aculeatum Angulare. 3, Variety of do. Aspidium Acuceatum Lobatum. 4, Holt
Fern. 5, Alpme Fern. B, Part of Frond of do. enlarged. ;

envelope, attached to the leaf by a central fibre. They are
ranged in two rows, one on either side of the midrib of the
pinnules growing towards the extremity of the pinne. It is a
hardy evergreen fern, the fronds of successive years appearing
in marked contrast on the same rhizome. It grows in all parts
of Great Britain and Ireland, and may be found in almost
every hedgerow. This fern is also known by the Scare namer
9

 
 

FERNS.

of Polypodiwm and Polystichum Aculeatum. The varieties are
termed Aspidium Aculeatum Angulare, which is larger, and
Aspidium Aculeatum Lobatum, the fronds of which are not so
long as those of Aspidium Aculeatum, but the leaflets at the
base of the pinne are larger, and lobed.

2. Cazstep SHizrp Fern (Aapidiwm Cristatum). Px. 6.

This fern has three or four long and erect fronds, two or
three feet in length, rising from the crowns of the branches of
the rhizome. They are pinnate, and the pinnew spring from op-
posite points on either side of the main stem, and grow less and
less in length as they approach the end of the frond, The
pinne are deeply indented or pinnatifid. The sori are in rows
on either side of the midrib of the pinns, and halfway between
it and the cdge of the leaflet. The seed-covers are circular
and plain in shape. It is said to be found principally in Nor-
folk, Suffolk, Cheshire, and Nottinghamshire, and in parts of
Scotland and Ireland. It thrives in peaty soil, and does not
require to be grown under glass. It is also known by the
botanical names, Lastrea Cristata, Polypodiwm Cristatum, Po-
lypodium Callipteris, and Lophodium Callipteris.

3. Sprrapine Suet Fern (Aspidiwm Dilatatum). Pr. 6.

The leaves of this fern spring from a strong tufted rhizome,
that often rises many inches above the surface of the ground.
The leaves are pinnate, and spring from points on either side
of the main stem that are nearly opposite to each other;
those which spring from the central part of the stem are
longer than the rest. The pinnulee are lobed; the sori are on
either side of the midrib of the imperfect leaflets or lobes of
the pinnule, and the indusia are notched. It is one of the
most common of the British ferns, and may be found in any
wood or hedgerow. Specimens often differ considerably from
each other in form. It is also known as the Broad Prickly
Toothed, or Crested Fern, and its other botanical names are

Lastrea Dilatata, Aspidium Spinulosum, and Lophodiwn
Multiflorum., .

4. Mate Suretp Fern (Aspidium Filia Mas). Pu. 6.

This is a strong, free-growing, pinnate fern, common in all
parts of England. The fronds, which grow from a rough
rhizome in the form of a coronal, are about five or six in

number, and of the average length of two feet. The stalks of
glo

 
 

FERNS.

the fronds are rough. The pinnz are lobed; those which
grow from the central part of the main stem are longer than
the rest. The sori are large and clustered on either side of
the veins of the slightly indented lobes of the pinnw. The
indusia are kidney-shaped, and very prominent. It thrives in
rich sandy loam, and is the only fern used at present in medi-
cine ; it is sometimes used in brewing as a substitute for hops.

Its other botanical names are Lastrea F. M. and Dryopteris
fF. M. Its varieties are termed A. F. M. Abbreviata, Incisa,
Paleacea, and Pumila ; the first and fourth are smaller than the
type of i species ; the second larger, with bi-pinnate fronds ;
the third has fronds of a golden hue, with purplish veins

5. Hotty Fern (Aspidiwm Lonchitis). Pu. 1.

A dark green fern, with stiff stems to the pinnate fronds,
which are rough and prickly in appearance, having spines
round the edges of the leaflets, which have a projection at the
base on one side of the midrib, that gives them a crescent-
shaped form. The fronds vary from six to eighteen inches in
length, and grow from the rhizome in a tuft. The sori are
circular, and on either side of the midrib of the leaflets at the
upper end of the frond. It is found in rocky districts in Wales,
Treland, and Scotland, but it is a matter of great difficulty to
grow it in ferneries. This fern is sometimes called the Rough
Alpine Shield Fern, and by the botanical names Polypodium
Lonchitis, and Polystichwm Lonchitis.

6. Mounrarn Surety Fern (Aspidium Oreopteris). Px. 6.

A fern very like the Male Shield Fern in form, with fronds
shaped liked the head of a spear. The pinn@ are pinnatifid,
and grow from points nearly opposite to each other, on oppo-
site sides of the rachis. The sori are circular, and ranged
round the edges of the lobes of the pinna. The fronds attain
the average length of two or three feet. It is difficult to rear
this fern, it soon withers out of doors, and is not suitable for a
case, as it requires constant watering. It is found in parts of
the south and south-east of England, and in Scotland. Its
botanical synonyms are Lastrea Oreopteris and Polypodiwm
Fragrans, and it is sometimes called the Heath Shield Fern.

7. Riewo Surerp Fern (Aspidium Rigidum). Pu. 6.

An upright fern, with bi-pinnate fronds about a foot in
length : the pinne gradually decrease in length from the base to
2

 
 

FERNS.

the extremity, and the leaflets are lobed. The stipes of the
frond is rough. The fronds grow from a tufted rhizome, which
appears just above the surface. The sori are circular, and on
the veins on either side of the midrib of the leafiets. It is
chiefly found in the limestone districts of the north of Englaad :
it flourishes in ordinary soil, but requires moisture. It emits a
fragrant smell when bruised, like the Mountain Shield Fern.
It is also called Lastrea Rigida, and Lophodiwm Rigidum.

8. Broap SHretp Fern (Aspidium Spinulosum). Pr. 6.

A fern that much resembles the Spreading Shield Fern.
The fronds are generally bi-pinnate, and vary from one to two
feet in length ; the pinnez are lobed or deeply indented, and in
some cases bi-pinnate, making the entire frond tri-pinnate.
The sori are circular, and scattered on either side of the mid-
rib of the pinnules; the kidney-shaped indusia are plain instead
of being notched, as in the Spreading Shield Fern, and this is
one of the chief marks of difference between them, It is found
in the Midland Counties, and near London. It grows in peaty
soil, but requires shade and moisture. Its botanical names
are numerous—Lastrea Spinosa, and Fenisecii, Lophodiwm
Uliginosum, and Aspidium Recurvum. Its chief variety is A.
8. Recurvum, the pinnule of which have curved points along
the edges.

9. Marsu Fern (Aspidiwm Thelypteris), Px. 6.

This fern is distinguished by single, upright, pale green
pinnate fronds, growing from a creeping rhizome to a height
varying from six inches to three feet. The pinnw are pinna-
tifid, and the margins perfectly plain. The sori are midway
between the midrib and edge of the lobes. The kidney-shaped
indusia are thin, and soon disappear. It grows in marshy soil
in almost every part of England. When transplanted it
should be placed in peat, or a light compost of leaf-mould and
charcoal, and kept very moist. It has been variously styled
by botanists Lastrea Thelypteris, Hemestheum T., Polypodium.
T., Acrosticum T., and Polystichum T.

III. ASPLENIEA.
1. Buack Spreenwort (Asplenium Adiantum Nigrum). Pr. 2.

The height of the thick dark glossy green fronds of this fern
varies from six to twenty inches: they are either bi-pinnate or
tri-pinnate, and generally triangular in form. The stem is of

a2 :

 
FERNS.

 

Patz 2.—1, Alternate Leaved Spleenwort. 2, Forked Spleenwort. 3, Smooth
Rock Spleenwort. 4, Sea Spleenwort. 5, Lanceolate Spleenwort. 6, Black Spleen-
aort. 7, Maiden Hair Spleepwort. A, Pinna of do., enlarged. 8, Green Spleen-
wort. 9, Wall Rue.

a purple colour. The oblong sori are on either side of the mid-
rib of the pinnules, diverging alternately from it. The pinna
grow alternately from the main stem, and the pinnule are also
alternate. It grows in the shade on old walls, ruins, and
hedgerows in all parts of England, and thrives in common

soil when removed, but requires shade and moisture.
a3
 

FERNS.

2. Lapy Fern (Asplenium Filie Femina). Pu. 3.

A delicate, beautifully formed, bright green fern, very much
like the Male Fern, but slighter, and not so tall. The fronds
vary from six to thirty inches in length ; they are spear-shaped
and bi-pinnate. The pinnew are deeply lobed, and the margins
are notched. The sori are very abundant, oblong in shape, and
diverging alternately from the midrib. The pinnez and pinnulae
grow alternately from the stem. It is found in all parts of the
British isles. It will thrive in ordinary soil, but some peat or
charcoal and freestone should be mixed with it. It likes shade
and moisture. Its synonyms are Athyrium, Aspidium, or
Polypodium Fili« Femina. The varieties are numerous ; they
are smaller than the true Lady Fern; the principal are
distinguished as Latifolium, Molle, and Crispwm.

8. Smoora Rock Srrzenwort (Asplenium Fontanum). Pu. 2.

The bi-pinnate fronds of this rare fern grow in tufts, and
are from four to eight inches in height. The stalk is dark
brown, the pinnz and pinnules growing from opposite sides of
the stem alternately. The pinnules are broad, and deeply
indented at the extremity. The sori are grouped in masses at
the base of each pinnule. It is chiefly found in Derbyshire
and Scotland. A little sandstone should be added to the soil
in which it is grown. It requires shade and moisture, and is
well suited for Wardian cases. It has been calied Aspidinm,
Athyrium, and Polypodiwm Fontanum.

4, ALTERNATE Leavep SrLteEnwort (Asplenium
Germanicum). Pu. 2.

A fern more rare than the preceding, which it resembles.
The fronds grow in tufts; the pinne are long and narrow at
the base, springing alternately from the main stem; they grow
broader towards the extremity, which is indented. The sori
diverge from the centre of the under part of the pinne. It
has been found in Scotland. When it is grown in a case, the
soil should be well drained, for it dislikes moisture. It is also
called Amesium Germanicum, and Asplenium Alternifolium.

5. Lawcrotats Spieenwort (Aspleniuwm Lanceolatun). Pu. 2.

The fronds of this fern are from six to twelve inches in
height, They are bi-pinnate, and the pinnules or leaflets are
ovate and indented. The oblong sori lie round the edge of the

814

 
 

FERNS.

pinnoles. It is found in damp places on the south coast ot
England, and especially in Devon and Cornwall. I+ will grow
in common soil in a case or green-house. The roots should be
kept free from too much moisture by drainage. It is sometimes
called Hudson’s Spleenwort.

6. Sua Sprzenwort (Asplenium Marinum). Pr. 2.

The fronds of this species are from six to fourteen inches in
height. They are pinnate, and grow in tufts. The pinne
assume the form of broad oval leaves slightly lobed, and
serrated at the edge. The large oval sori diverge from the mid-
rib of the pinne on either side. It is found in many places
along the coast, but more abundantly in Devon, Cornwall, and
the Channel Islands. Peat, silver sand, charcoal, and lumps
of freestone should be mixed with the soil in which it is grown.

7. Watt Rox (Asplenium Ruta Muraria). Pr. 2.

A pretty little fern that grows in thick close tufts on old
walls and rocks. The fronds are about three or four inches in
length. They are bi-pinnate. The stem and stalks of the
leaflets are very fine and delicate. The leaflets vary in form,
but they are commonly fan-shaped, and notched along the
upper extremity. The sori occur in irregular patches in the
centre of the leaflet. It is to be found in any part of England
on old walls, but the tenacity of its roots renders its removal a
matter of difficulty. Sandy peat, mortar, and rubbish should
be mixed with the soil in which it is grown. It requires shelter
and moisture.

8. Forxep Sprzenwort (Asplenium Septentrionale). Px. 2.

A fern of singular appearance, the fronds growing in tufts,
but resembling a forked blade of grass with a jagged margin.
The sori are placed all along the midrib on either side. The
fronds are from two to four inches long. It has been found
in Wales, the South of England, Scotland, and Somersetshire,
but it is considered a rare species. It should be grown under
a glass in peaty soil, mixed with a little charcoal and mortar,
and kept well drained.

9. Marpen Hatr SPrEENWORT (Asplenium Trichomames), Pu. 2... .

This species, like many of the preceding, grows luxuriantly
from the rhizome in tufts. Its deep green pinnate fronds ares:
from four to twelve inches in length. The stem is biack and

ga

 
 

FERNS.

slender ; the pinnes ovate with an indented margin. The sori
are under elongated indusia diverging from the midrib of the
pinne. It is found in almost every part of the British isles,
on rocks and old walls, in damp situations. The roots should
be kept free from moisture when transplanted, and the plant
grown in sandy mould, mixed with charcoal and old mortar.
It is suitable for the upper parts of rockwork. It is sometimes
called the Common Spleenwort. There is a variety of this
species, the Green Spleenwort, Asplenium Trichomanes .Viride,
found in Wales, Scotland, and the North of England; in this
the stipes only is dark, the rest of the stem is green.

10. Scaty SpreENwort (Ceferach Oficinarum). Pu. 5.

This fern has thick light green fronds, slightly pinnatifid or
lobed, and from four to eight inches long, growing from a bulb-
shaped rhizome in large tufts. The upper-part of the leaf is
smooth, but the under part is rough, with brown fibrous scales
under which the sori are hidden. It is fouad on old walls
and ruins, and on rocks. It requires shade, and thrives in
common soil, mixed with old mortar and peat. Its other
botanical names are Scolopendrium, Graminitis, and Aspleniam
Ceterach.

11. Common Hart’s Toneve (Scolopendrium Vulgare). Pu. 3.

«

The fronds of this common and hardy evergreen fern grow
in clusters. They are entire and tongue-shaped, being from
six inches to two feet in length: the margin is slightly wavy
in outline. The sori are linear, lying along the veins that
diverge angularly from the midrib. It is found in all parts of
Great Britain, chiefly in damp and shady situations, and on
walls, on rocks, and in hedgerows. It will grow anywhere, and
thrives in common soil. It requires plenty of moisture. The
leaf assumes many different shapes, and consequently the
varieties are numerous. The principal are distinguished as
COrispum, Lacertum, and Multifidum ; the first has a wavy edge
to the frond, the second a short but broad pinnatifid frond, and
the third a forked frond.

IV. BLECHNEA.
1. Harp Fern (Blechnum Spicant). Pu. 3.

‘his fern throws up its fronds in a cluster from a tuftea

rhizome. In the centre, three or four fertile fronds stand erect,
816

 
 

Puare 3.—1, Brittle Bladder Fern. A, Part of Pinnule of do., enlarged. 9, 3,
Varieties of do. <gecptectt Dentata and Cystopteris Dickieana. 4, Ledy te
e of do,

B, Pinnule of do., ged. 65, Common Hart’s Tongue. C, Seed-vesse

6, Hard Fern. D, Lobe of do.

surrounded by barren fronds, that droop or lie flat on the
ground. The former are about twelve inches high, and deeply
pinnatifid ; the latter are about half as long again, and the lobes
are broader. The sori are linear, on either side of the midrib
of the lobes of the fertile fronds, which decay and disappear in
winter, while the barren fronds are evergreen. a is sometimes

52, 8l7

 
 

FERWS.

called the Fox fern. Its botanical synonyms are Blechnum
Boreale, and Lomaria and Osmunda Spicant.

V. CYSTOPTERIDA.
1. Brirttz BrappEer Fern (Cystopteris Fragilis). Pu. 3.

A delicate fragile fern of elegant appearance. Its feathery
fronds are bi-pinnate and spear-shaped, the stipes and stem
being of a dark colour. The circular sori are covered with
delicate white indusia, attached to veins branching from the
midrib of the pinnules. It is commonly found in England and
Scotland, in damp situations, on walls and rocks, and generally
in the vicinity of water. It grows readily in the open air, or
in cases, but requires drainage and plenty of water. Its other
botanical names are Cystea and Cyathea Fragilis. Its varieties
are distinguished as Dentata, which is smaller and has the
pinnules rounded at the extremity, and Dickieana, with short
broad and pinnatifid pinne.

2. Mountain Biapper Fern (Cystopteris Montana).

The fronds of this fern are triangular in form and bi-pinnate ;
they are from four to eight inches in length, and the pinnz are
long in proportion; the pinnules are deeply indented and ser-
rated. It is a delicately-formed plant, and very scarce. It is
found in some parts of England, and somewk 4t resembles the
Limestone Polypody in form. It is known by the botanical
names Oystopteris Myrrhidifolium and Polypodium and Aspi-
dium Montanum.

VI. GYMNOGRAMMEA,

1. Fine-Leavep GymyocramMa (Gymnogramma
Leptophylla). Pr. 5.

A scarce and delicate little fern, with bi-pinnate fronds,
from three to six inches in length. The pinne are thrice-
lobed and serrated. The rachis is black, the sori abundant,
oblong, but without indusia. It is found in Jersey and is
supposed to grow in Devonshire. It likes a light sandy soil
and plenty of moisture.

VII. HYMENOPHYLLEA.
1, Finmy Fern (Hymenophyllum Tunbridgense). Pu, 4.

A delicate and fragile fern growing in tufts. It has pinnate

fronds of a brownish colour. The thin membranous pinnz,
818

 
 

FERNS.

with their strongly-marked veins, are narrow at the base and
increase in breadth towards the extremity; they are fan-shaped
and split into long narrow leaflets, which somewhat resemble
fingers projecting from the palm of a human hand. The sori
are urn-shaped, and situated at the base of the pinns, on a
membrane that extends from them along the side of the rachis.
It is found in many parts of the British isles, in shady situa-
tions, and may be grown in close cases, in a compound of peat
and sandy loam. Its other botanical name is Trichomanes
Tumbridgense.

2. Witson’s Firmy Fern (Hymenophyllum Wilsoni). Pu. 4.

A fern very like the former in general character, but its
colour is dark green, and the leaflets of the pinnz are curved
in a downward direction, The sori are also more distinct
from the membrane at the base of the pimnew. It is found in
Westmoreland, but is by no means a common fern in the
British isles. It may be grown in the same manner as the
Filmy fern. Its synonym is Hymenophyllum Unilaterale.

3. Bristte Fern (Trichomanes Brevisetum). Pu. 4.

A fern with tri-pinnate fronds of brilliant green growing
from its creeping pendent rhizome. The pinnules are deeply
cut into leaflets of different forms, and the urn-shaped seed-
vessels are situated in these deep clefts, and have a bristle
projecting from the centre. It is found in the south of Ireland
and in great abundance at the lakes of Killarney. It should
be grown in a case and watered frequently, but the soil should
be well drained. It is also known by the names of Trichomanea
Alatum, Radicans, Pyxidiferum and Speciosum.

VIII. OPHIOGLOSSACEA.
1, Moonwort (Botrychiwm Lumaria). Pu. 4,

A fern of very singular appearance. ach single stem
separates into two branches, one of which is thick and furnished
with a row of crescent-shaped indented pinne on either side,
marked with a dark semicircle resembling a horse-shoe, while
the other is a thin spike devoid of leaflets, and bearing the seed-
cases clustered at the top. The frond is about six or eight
inches in length. It is fou, 1 in all parts of England, Scotland,
and Ireland, but chiefly mm Yorkshire, Surrey, and Stafford-

shire. It should be grown in peaty soil, in a dry situation,...

and in the open air. It is also called Osmunda Lumaria,
819

 
 

 

Plate 4.—1, Brake, or Eagle Fern. A, Lobeof Pmnule of do. 2, Parsley Fern
B, Lobe of do. (fertile leaf). 3, True Maiden Hair. C, Pinnule of do. 4, Filmy
Fern. D, Lobe of do. 5, Wilson’s Filmy Fern. 6, Bristle Fern. E, Lobe of de.
7, Royal Fern. F, Seed-vessel of do. 8, Moonwort. G, Soriof do. 9, Commva
Adder’s Tongue, H, Sori of do.

2. Lesser AppER’s TonevE (Ophioglossum Lusitanicwm).

A fern resembling the Arum, or plant called “ Cuckoo Pint.”
A broad green ovate frond envelops a spike projecting from its

folds, with lines of sori at its summit. It is only two or three
920
FERNS,

_ inches in height, and is indigenous to the Channel Islands. It
may be grown out of doors in fine loamy soil.

3. Common AppEn’s Toncvs (Ophioglossum Vulgatum). Pu. 4.

A fern which exactly resembles the preceding in general
structure. It is, however, larger, being six or eight inches in
height. It is found in all parts of England, and occasionally
in Scotland and Ireland. It grows in meadows and moist
situations, It may be readily reared in loamy soil, but-requires
shade and frequent watering.

Ix. OSMUNDACES.
1. Royat Fern (Osmunda Regalis), Pu. 4.

The largest of the British ferns, and the most magnificent in
appearance. Its height, when growing in a wild state, varies
from three to seven, or even eight feet. The fronds are bi-
pinnate, the pinne are spear-shaped, and the pinnula somewhat
ovate—broad at the base, and terminating in a blunted point,
The stems of the pinnules, at the upper part of the frond, are
covered with thick clusters of sori, which resemble spikes of
brown flowers. It is found in marshy land in Lancashire,
Cornwall, and many parts of England, and at Killarney, and
in the south of Ireland. It may be grown in peaty soil, in
any shady and moist situation; but it must be well watered.
It is sometimes called the Flowering Fern.

X. POLYPODIACE.
1, Parstey Fern (Allosorus Crispus). Pr. 4.

A little fern, with bright green fronds resembling the leaves
of parsley. The fronds vary in height from six to ten inches;
the fertile and barren ones differing in shape. The former are
tri-pinnate, and the leaflets are oblong, with the edges bent
back over the indusia, which are placed on the margin of the
under part of the leaflet. The latter are also tri-pinnate in
parts, and the leaflets are deeply lobed and indented. It grows
among rocks, and is generally found in stony and mountain-
ous districts in the north of England, and in parts of Wales,
Scotland, and Ireland. It is sometimes grown in a case, but
requires good drainage; when grown out of doors, peat, stones,
and old mortar should be mixed with the soil in which it is
placed. It is well suited for the rockery. It is also called
Rock Brake and Mountain Parsley, and known by the botanical
 

FERNS.

names, Pieris, Oryptogramma, and Osmunda Crispa, Phorobolus
Onocleoides, and Stegania Onoclea Orispa.

2. Atrinz Potyropy (Polypodium Alpestre). Pu. 5.

The fronds of this fern vary from twelve to eighteen inches
in length. They spring from a thick tufted rhizome, and are
spear-shaped and bi-pinnate: the pinnules are deeply lobed, and
the edges are serrated. The sori are circular and without
indusia, situated on either side of the midrib of the pinnules.
It is only found in the Highlands of Scotland. It may be
grown out of doors in a shady situation, and in loose peaty
soil. It somewhat resembles the Lady Fern in general appear-
ance. It is termed Pseudathyriwm Alpestre by Newman.

3. Limestone Porypopy (Polypodium Calcareum). Pt. 5.

Each frond of this fern has three branches, one being &
continuation of the stem, and the others diverging from it on
either side, very nearly at right angles. The pinnae of the
branches are deeply lobed or pinnatifid, and the sori are placed
close together along the edge of the under part of the leaflet.
It is of a dark green colour, and the fronds are covered with
minute glands on fine stems, which give it a powdery appear-
ance. Jt is found in the limestone districts of the northern
counties of England. It must be kept dry, and grown in
common soil, mixed with lime and rubbish.

4, Oax Fern (Polypodium Dryopteris). Pu. 5.

A fern very similar to the Limestone Polypody in general
character and length of the frond, which is from four to
fourteen inches. The stipes is slender, purple, and scaly at the
base. The lobes of the pinne are not so deeply cut, but
blunted at the point; the sori are placed at intervals along
their edges. It is found in moist situations in the north of
England, Wales, and Scotland. It may be grown in common
soil, and is well suited for rockwork. It reqnires shade, and
frequent watering, but the roots should be kept well drained.

5. Brecu Frrn (Polypodium Phegopteris). Pu. 5.

A fern with fronds pinnate at the base, and pinnatifid
towards the extremity. The stipes is very long, in proportion
to the entire length of the frond from the rhizome, which
varies from five to twelve inches. The lower pinnz droop
towards the stipes, the rest turn upwards. The little naked

823

 
 

TERNS.

ly
er

Te

 

Puatz 5.—1, Common Polypody. A, Seed-vestels of do. 2, Oak Fern. 3, Beech
Fern. 4, Limestone Polypody. 5, Alpine Polypody. 6, Scaly Spleenwort.
B, Underside of alobe of do. 7 Fine-leaved Gymnogramma, C, Pinnule of do.

sori are on the edges of the lobes of the pinnex, which are hairy

on the under side. It is found in damp wet situations in the

south and west of England. It may be grown in a compost of |

peat, sand, and charcoal, and requires shade and constant

watering. It is sometimes called Mountain Polypody, and

Polystichum Lastrea or Gymnocarpum Phegopteris by botanists.
233

 
 

FERNS.

6. Common Poryropy (Polypodium Vulgare). Pu. ‘5.

A fern with bright green fronds springing from a thick
rhizome. They are drooping and slightly spear-shaped, and
deeply pinnatifid. The sori are placed on either side of the
midrib of the long pointed lobes. It is common in all parts of
the British isles, and grows on old walls, rocks, and the
decaying trunks of trees. It should be grown in light soil,
mixed with charcoal and vegetable mould. - Newman calls it
Ctenopteris Vulgaris.

XI. PTERIDEA.
1. Brake on Eacie Fern (Pieris Aquilina). Pu 4.

A tall fern, with fronds varying from two to five or six feet
in height. They grow singly, and there is a great space between
the points where the pairs of pinnez branch from the main
stem. The pinne are bi-pinnate, and the pinnules deeply cut
into pointed lobes, on the margin of which the sori are clus-
tered. They are to be found in any brake, wood, or moorland
district. The dark fibres, running through the stem longi-
tudinally, present a curious configuration, known as “ King
Charles’s Oak,” or “ King Charles in the Oak,” when that part
of the stem which is below the ground is cut transversely.
Potash is made from it, and it is used for packing fish and
fruit, littering horses and pigs, and ever for thatching sheds in
Scotland. Newman calls it Hupteris Aquilina. The name
“ Aquilina” is given to it because some have imagined the
figure in the stem above mentioned to resemble a spread eagle.

XII. WOODSIEA.
1. Ostone Woopsia (Woodsia IWwensis).

A little fern, with pinnate fronds from two to four inches in
length, growing in thick tufts. The pinne are pinnatifid, with
an indented margin; the surface is covered with red, dark brown
hairs, which are thicker in the under part and almost conceal
the sori. It is very scarce; growing in the clefts of rocks iu
a few mountainous districts of Great Britain. It may be
reared in common soil. They do not thrive under glass; but
require shade, very little moisture, and protection for the
rhizome through the winter, when grown in the open air. It
is also called Ray’s Woodsia, and Acrostichwm and Polypodiwm
Twense, Se Arvonicum, by botanists.

82

 
 

FERNS.

2. Auprve Fern (Woodsia Ilwensis Hyperborea). Pu. 1.

A fern somewhat like the preceding, but the pinnew do not
Bpring from opposite points on either side of the stem, they are
not so hairy, nor so deeply indented along the margin. It is
found in rocky districts, but is extremely rare. It requires the
same mode of culture as the Oblong Woodsia. It is sometimes
called Bolton’s Woodsia, and is termed Woodsia Alpina by
Newman.

It may be reasonably concluded, that any reader who has
carefully studied the foregoing pages will have obtained some
idea of the chief characteristics of the principal species of
British ferns that are known to collectors, and, with the aid of
the engravings, will be able to distinguish and name any fern
that he or she may take tenderly from its native soil to adorn
the rockery or Wardian case with its rich green, glossy fronds.
It may be objected, however, that too much care has been
taken to register the several botanical names of each separate
species; but this has been done to endeavour to clear away the
clouds of doubt and difficulty with which the mind of any one
who is commencing the study of ferns will naturally be overcast
when it is found that the same plant is spoken of by three or
four different botanists under as many different names.

It has been impossible to do more than broadly indicate the
locality in which each species may be found; but in whatever
part of the United Kingdom the collector may be, the nearest
bit of tangled brake or bosky woodland, the marsh and meadow
glittering with king-cups, and the yellow blooms of the flag,
the distant moorland that breaks the grey horizon with its
granite tors, the craggy summit and the mountain side, the
crumbling walls of ivy-mantled ruins, the clear, cool village
well, and even the churchyard where the quiet dead lie changing
into dust, will always furnish specimens that will amply repay
the closest search,

In removing a fern to transplant it to the fernery, it will be
always necessary to take away a sufficient quantity of the
rhizome on either side of the stem of the frond to insure its
growth if it be one that creeps below the surface of the ground.
The soil about the roots should be disturbed as little as possible.
As soon as it has been taken up, the roots and rhizome should
be surrounded with wet moss, or some damp envelope, and
carefully stored in a tin case or basket, and bothre leaving the

 
 

 

FERNS.

place from which our specimen has been taken, we should
carefully note the aspect and situation, as well as the kind of
soil in which it has been growing. Our future success in
making our fernery, and in stocking our Wardian cases, depends
entirely upon this. Some ferns, by their hardy nature, are
better suited for growing in the open air; others, on the con-
trary, require to be raised in pots, or under a protective
covering of glass; but it is not sufficient only to consider for
which of these purposes the fern we have removed may be best
adapted; a fern that has been accustomed to shade cannot be
expected to thrive in a flood of sunshine; the stately Flowering
Fern will not flourish on the well-drained summit of a rockery,
nor will the Limestone Polypody thrive in the marshy soil that
is so congenial to the former: we must, therefore, in all cases
carefully mark the nature of the ground in which our fern has
been growing, and all the peculiarities of its habitat, that the
position and character of the soil into which we are about to
move it may resemble them as closely as the artificial means at
our disposal will admit.

Ferns may be propagated by seed as well as by removing a
portion of the rhizome with the crown, from which the frond
springs. The leaf should be allowed to dry, after which the
seed-vessels must be rubbed away from the back of the leaf,
where they will be found in every description of fern except
the Osmundacece and the Ophioglossacee. The seed may be
mixed with a little fine dry mould, and sprinkled over the
interstices of the rockwork, or it may be grown in pots filled
with peaty earth and covered with a handglass. The ligh»
should be excluded in the latter case until the seed has begun
to germinate.

‘We have now to inquire how we can grow our ferns to the
best advantage out of doors, and how we can rear them in-
doors. The fernery in the open air may be made in rockwork,
or consist of an open shed formed of rough trunks of trees set
up at the angles, with a trellissed roof of gnarled oak loppings
covered with creepers to exclude the sun’s mid-day rays.
Within doors they must be reared in pots, or in close Wardian
cases.

In constructing a fernery in the open air, we must be guided
by circumstances to a very great extent. If we have an ample
Piece of garden ground at our disposal, either the rockwork or
fern-shed may form an admirable means of masking some
unsightly corner; but if we have only a small dark court

926

 

 

 
 

FERNS.

within high walls wherein to indulge our fancy for fern-
growing, we must perforce content ourselves with a little
rockwork along the sides and in the angles, or in the centre
if it be large enough, as there will be sufficient shade without
attempting to procure it artificially by the roof of the shed.

The following is the method of making ruckwork for the
reception of ferns. A quantity of broken tiles, rubbish, and
vld mortar should be first thrown together in the form which
we wish our structure to assume; this both serves as a founda.
tion for the superincumbent mass, and affords the means of
keeping the upper portion well drained. The interstices in
this heap of rubbish may be filled, as we proceed, with rough
sand aad gravel. A thick layer of compost, formed of loam,
peat, sand, old mortar, and charcoal, should be spread over
this heap, and the exterior faced with dark pieces of rock and
clinkers, blocks of grey limestone, and rough white flints piled
together in an artistic manner, devoid of anything approaching
formality. The compost that has just been named will do
well enough for any kind of fern as far as general purposes
are concerned, but each interstice between the stenes should
be lightly filled with the particular compost that is best suited
for the fern that is destined to grow there, after which the
rhizomes must be carefully planted. ~

Rockwork in a close court that is seidom visited by sunshine,
will retain its moisture for a considerable time, but arrange-
ments should be made to furnish the garden rockery with a
constant supply from a perforated pipe, or a founiain should be
made in its vicinity, which will throw a perpetual sprinkle of
spray over those plants whose fronds constantly require the
refreshing shower; but if these means are not available, it
must be kept well watered with the watering-pot or garden-
engine. For such plants as the Flowering Fern and Marsh
Fern, that thrive best in marshy land, and require the soil
about their roots to be always well saturated with water, pits
should be made in convenient corners of the fernery, lined with
puddled clay, to prevent the water from soaking away, and
filled with peat or bog earth.

The rockery in the garden should be so situated that one
side may be kept in constant shadow, and to secure this,
advantage should be tuken of any portion of the garden wall
that happens to be placed in a convenient position to afford
the necessary shade, or it should be gained by planting shrubs
to intercept the sun’s rays. This is more readily and pic-

 
 

FERNS.

turesquely managed in the-fern shed, which may be raised
near a clump of trees, or may be itself constructed so as to
afford the necessary shadow. When the four unbarked trunks
of trees have been reared at the angles and the open roof of
knotted oaken boughs thrown over the space between them,
the side that looks towards the east may be filled up with a
trellis simNarly made and covered with creepers like the roof
itself. Masses of hardy ferns should be grouped round the
base of each wooden pier, a bank covered with rockwork should
be raised in the centre of the shed, for the reception of the
more delicate species, and puddled pits filled with peat should
be sunk in convenient situations for the plants that love con-
tinual moisture about the roots. The cost of such a fernery
as this would be but trifling in proportion to the pleasing
effect that would be obtained, and the whole structure, crowned,
wreathed, and studded with every tint of green, would afford a
cool retreat from the sultry summer sun.

The following are lists of ferns, grouped according to their
fitness for cultivation, either in the open air without any protec-
tion whatever, or in pots that may be taken into a warmer
or cooler atmosphere at pleasure, or in Wardian cases.

1. Ferns fit for open-air cultwre—Male Shield Fern, Moun-
tain Shield Fern, Marsh Fern, Lady Fern, Hard Fern, Oak
Fern, Brake or Eagle Fern (north aspect), Broad Shield Fern,
Common Hart’s Tongue, Royal Fern, Parsley Fern, Limestone
Polypody, Common Polypody (south and east aspect), Crested
Shield Fern, Spreading Shield Fern, Soft Prickly Shield Fern,
Black Spleenwort, Maiden Hair Spleenwort, Scaly Spleenwort,
Moonwort, Common Adder’s Tongue (west aspect).

2. Ferns adapted for culture in pots—True Maiden Hair,
Crested Shield Fern, Mountain Shield Fern, Holly Fern, Marsh
Fern, Black Spleenwort, Lady Fern, Smooth Rock Spleenwort,
Lanceolate Spleenwort, Sea Spleenwort, Wall Rue, Forked
Spleenwort, Maiden Hair Spleenwort, Scaly Spleenwort, Com-
mon Hart’s Tongue, Hard Fern, Parsley Fern, Limestone
Polypody, Brittle Bladder Fern, Mountain Bladder Fern, Beech
Fern, Alpine Fern, Oblong Woodsia.

3. Ferns adapted for cultwre in close cases—True Maiden
Hair, Alternate-leaved Spleenwort, Lanceolate Spleenwort, Sea
Spleenwort, Wall Rue, Maiden Hair Spleenwort, Common
Hart’s Tongue, Brittle Bladder Fern, Mountain Bladder Fern,
Filmy Fern, Wilgon’s Filmy Fern, Bristle Fern, Beech Fern,
Oak Bern, Bleak Spleenwort.

 
 

 

Prarz 6.—1, Male Shield Fern. A, Lobe of Pinney of do. 4, Spreading Shield
Fern. 3, Broad Shield Fern. 4, Mountain Shield Fern, 5, Marsh Fern. 6, Rigid
Shield Fern. 7, Crested Shield Fern,

In growing ferns in pots, the same attention is required with
regard to the soil, watering, and drainage, as is necessary for
ferns grown in the open air. For all kinds of ferns cultivated
in this manner, soft and fibrous, black peat earth affords the
best soil, which may be combined with loam, sand, a little finely-
chopped dung, and, in some cases, some old mortar, as the

 
 

FERNS,

particular species to be potted may require. The pots should
be filled up, to one third the height from the bottom, with pieces
of broken tiles and small lumps of freestone, that the roots of
their tenants may be well drained, and that the air may circu-
late freely through the soil. Like the plants in the open air,
they should be refreshed with frequent watering from a pot
Stted with a rose pierced with very fine holes. Watering
should be continued without intermission, as often as twice a
day in hot dry weather throughout the summer, and moss
should be spread over the top of the soil in the pots round the
bottom of the stems of the fronds, to keep the earth from
drying too rapidly. In autumn, when the leaves of the deci-
duous and annual ferns begin to wither, the watering should
be abandoned altogether. Delicate ferns that require a con-
stant supply of moisture in small quantities, should have a
vessel suspended above them, with a hole in it, from which the
water can fall drop by drop, on a tile so placed that the water
can glance from it in tiny globules of spray over the thirsty
fronds.

When the pot is prepared for the reception of the soil, a
little should be thrown in on the first layer of broken tiles, and
the rhizome placed on it; the stems of the fronds should then
be held in one hand, and the pot filled to within an inch of the
margin with soil, lightly thrown in and pressed very gently
over and above the rhizome and roots, as the majority of ferns
will be found growing in loose mould.

The third and last method of rearing ferns is in what is
called a Wardian case. The mode of treatment, as far as the
soil, drainage, and method of planting are concerned, is exactly
the same as that which is adopted for ferns in the open air and
in pots, and all that is required here is a short account of the
general plan on which the cases may be constructed.

The simplest and nearest approach toa Wardian case, in the
true acceptation of the term, is a large glass vessel or bottle,
which may be tightly corked to exclude the air. It will be
found that fern seed can bo readily raised in such a vessel, or
in a globular Florence oil-flask; but when the fronds fill the
bottle, and are large enough to be transplanted, it must be
broken. The cork should be removed now and then to admit
the air, as the ferns will thrive much better than if it is entirely
excluded.

Another form of Wardian case is a shallow glass pan, with
a Nall-gliiss ibtung over it. Ferns will do well in this if a layer

fe

 
 

rraNs

of broken tiles be placed at the bottom of the pan, and care is
taken to remove the glass shade, for a short time, about twice
a week, But as the glass pan is impervious to water, and
consequently any excess of moisture cannot escape from it, it
will be found better to use an earthen pot instead of it, which
will allow the soil about the roots of the plants to be thoroughly
drained.

But the proper method of constructing a Wardian case for
ferns is to have two boxes or cases, one of which fits within the
other. The outer one should be water-tight, and provided with
means for removing the water that accumulates in the bottom
of it without removing the inner case. This may be done by
means of a small tap, or, if the case be placed on an ornamental
pedestal, by having a tube passing down it to convey the water
into a receptacle placed under its base, which should be hollow,
in order to cover it and conceal it from view. The inner case
may be made of wood or zinc, but it must not be as deep as the
outer one, so that a vacant space of an inch or two in depth
may be left beneath it when it is fitted into the outer case.
The bottom of the inner case must be perforated with holes, to
insure proper drainage.

Now these cases may obviously be adapted to any form as
long as the above principle of construction is adhered to; and
a very elegant addition to the furniture and decorations of a
hall or apartment may be obtained by the use of an ornamental
vase instead of a wooden box. The whole must be covered
with a glass case, which must be made to correspond with the
shape of the box or vase that it covers, whether it be rectan-
gular, polygonal, or circular. In making a square case, the
length should be about twice as much as the breadth, and the
height of the glass covering should be equal to the breadth
of the case; the top may be flat or raised like the roof of a
house, or with four sloping sides inclining and fitting to a
small flat piece at the top; but whatever form may be
adopted, the whole roof, or one of the component pieces, should
be on hinges, that the air may be admitted at pleasure. The
exercise of a little taste and ingenuity will enable many to con-
struct one of very pretty appearance out of a plain deal box,
ornamented with leather-work, with an inner case of zinc for
the plants, and a simple glass covering that may be made by
any glazier from pieces of glass fitted together in strips of lead,
after the manner of the panes in casement windows.

Many methods will suggest themselves by eee may

 
FERN.

be made a source of pleasure, amusement, and instruction. The
elegant shape of their graceful fronds renders them useful and
oeautiful objects for pencil and water-colour drawings, for
photographic pictures, and for the adornment of tables, vases,
flower-stands, and other pieces of ornamental furniture with
leather-work in imitation of carved oak. The fronds may also
be pressed and dried, and then fastened to sheets of cartridge
paper bound together to form a Fern Album. Some sheets of
stout blotting-paper and pasteboard, two or three flat boards,
and a heavy weight or two, will furnish all that is necessary
to constitute the press, in which the fronds should remain for
two or three weeks at least. When dry, they should be
fastened to the pages with little strips of paper gummed trans-
versely across the stems, and the order, botanical name, English
name, and the spot and date, when and where it was gathered,
should be carefully registered in any convenient corner in this
manner :—

ORDER 7 . . ‘ Osmundacea.
Bort. NaME : . ‘ Osmunda Regalis.
Com. Nave Fi é F Royal Fern.
WHERE GATHERED . . Killarney, Ireland.
Datz . . A ‘ ‘ August 29th, 1862.

How many memories of the vanished past would such a
collection serve to conjure up! What pleasant walks and
happy hours spent with loved and valued friends would it
recall to our remembrance! And if those memories should be
tinged with a sweet sadness, when through their magic power
the eye can almost see some once familiar scene that we may
never again re-visit, and the ear almost hear the welcome
accents of some well-known voice whose tones are hushed for
ever, they would be none the less pleasant; but the book,
that had spoken to the heart of things that were, would
become a “ Home Pet” that we should prize more highly, and
treasure more closely, after each communion with the withered
fronds that lie between its pages.

 
 

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of és Rise arid ‘Progress’ of the Srience. By J. R.M‘Currocn. . 360 Pp.,
3s. 6
16. Locke’s Letters | on Toleration, _=éBy. JouN Locke, Ma 400 PP.
3S. 6d.
18. Walton’s Complete Angler; 3 Ory The Contemplative Man’ s
Recreation.. 102 pp., 25. , i PH

‘20, Essays on Beauty and Taste : On Beauty, by FRANCIS, ited
Jerrrey ; On Taste, by ARCHIBALD ALISON, LL.D. 324 pp., 3s. 6d.

 

London: WARD, LOCK & CO., Salisbury Square, EC.

 
 

BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN.

 

THE WoRLD LiBRARY—continued.

21. Milton’s Early Britain, under Trojan, Roman, and Saxon
Rule. By Joun Mitton. With Morr’s England under Richard III., and
Bacon’s England under Henry VIII. 430 pp., 3s. 6a.

23. Macaulay: Reviews, Essays, and Poems. 650 pp., 3s. 6d.

24. Sydney Smith’s Essays, Social and Political. 550 pp., 3s. 62.

25. Lord Bacon. Containing the Proficience and Advancement of
Parsing, the New Atlantis, Historical Sketches and Essays. 530 pp.»
3s. 6d.

26. Essays by Thomas de Quincey, Containing the Confessions
of an Opium Eater, Bentley, Parr, Goethe, Letters to a Young Man, &c.

. §00 pp., 3s. 62.
27. Josephus (The Complete Works of). Translated by WILLIAM

Wuiston, A.M. With Life of the Author, and Marginal Notes giving the
Essence of the Narrative. 810 pp., 3s. 6d.

THE BOYS’ ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF

HEROES, PATRIOTS, AND PIONEERS.

The Story of their Daring Adventures and Heroic Deeds.

The Biographies of Illustrious Men, whose courage, skill, and enterprise have
been the foundation of Great States, and whose wisdom and patriotism have con-
solidated and strengthened national power, must be interesting to young minds
which delight in records of Adventure and, Bravery, and Great Deeds in Camp
and Council. The name of WasuincTon is revered, as that of a General and
Statesman whose devoted patriotism and great abilities achieved independence for
his country, With him is associated FRANKLIN, whose personal history is no less
interesting than his political career. CoLumBus, the Discoverer of the New World,
and Dk Soto,a type of the restless, bold Explorers of strange and mysterious lands,
were forerunners of the sagacious leaders and remarkable pioneers of a later time.
In this series Biographies are narrated exhibiting the force of character of the men
and the remarkable adventures they encountered, and these records can scarcely be
perused without exciting a feeling of admiration for the Heroes and of wonder at
the magnitude of their achievements.

In picture boards, 2s. ; cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. ; gilt edges, 3s. 6d.

1. Columbus, the Discoverer of the New World.

2. Franklin, Printer Boy, Statesman, and Philosopher.

3. Washington, Hero and Patriot.

4. The Puritan Captain ; or, The Story of Miles Standish.
5. Boone, the Backwoodsman, the Pioneer of Kentucky.
6. The Terror of the Indians; or, Life in the Backwoods,
7. The Hero of the Prairies ; or, The Story of Kit Carson.
8. The Spanish Cavalier ; or, De Soto, the Discoverer.

9. Through Prairie and Forest ; or, De Salle, the Pathfinder.
ro, The Shawnee Prophet ; or, The Story of Tecumseh.

11. The Buccaneer Chiefs ; or, Captain Kidd and the Pirates of
America,

 

London: WARD, LOCK & CO., Salisbury Square, E.C.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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