Chapter III: Part 3

The polar bears are remarkably sagacious, as the following instances may prove. Those in Kamtschatka are said to have recourse to a singular stratagem, in order to catch the _bareins_, which are much too swift of foot for them. These animals keep together in large herds; they frequent mostly the low grounds, and love to browse at the base of rocks and precipices. The bear hunts them by scent, till he comes in sight, when he advances warily, keeping above them, and concealing himself among the rocks, as he makes his approach, till he gets immediately over them, and near enough for his purpose. He then begins to push down, with his paws, pieces of rock among the herd below. This manoeuvre is not followed by any attempt to pursue, until he finds he has maimed one of the flock, upon which a course immediately ensues, that proves successful, or otherwise, according to the hurt the barein has received.

The captain of a Greenland whaler, being anxious to procure a bear without injuring the skin, made trial of a stratagem of laying the noose of a rope in the snow, and placing a piece of kreng within it. A bear, ranging the neighboring ice, was soon enticed to the spot by the smell of burning meat. He perceived the bait, approached, and seized it in his mouth; but his foot, at the same time, by a jerk of the rope, being entangled in the noose, he pushed it off with his paw, and deliberately retired. After having eaten the piece he had carried away with him, he returned. The noose, with another piece of kreng, having been replaced, he pushed the rope aside, and again walked triumphantly off with the bait. A third time the noose was laid; but, excited to caution by the evident observations of the bear, the sailors buried the rope beneath the snow, and laid the bait in a deep hole dug in the centre. The animal once more approached, and the sailors were assured of their success. But bruin, more sagacious than they expected, after snuffing about the place for a few moments, scraped the snow away with his paw, threw the rope aside, and again escaped unhurt with his prize.

A Greenland bear, with two cubs under her protection, was pursued across a field of ice by a party of armed sailors. At first, she seemed to urge the young ones to an increase of speed, by running before them, turning round, and manifesting, by a peculiar action and voice, her anxiety for their progress; but, finding her pursuers gaining upon them, she carried, or pushed, or pitched them alternately forward, until she effected their escape. In throwing them before her, the little creatures are said to have placed themselves across her path to receive the impulse, and, when projected some yards in advance, they ran onwards, until she overtook them, when they alternately adjusted themselves for another throw.

In the month of June, 1812, a female bear, with two cubs, approached near a whale ship, and was shot. The cubs, not attempting to escape, were taken alive. These animals, though at first very unhappy, became, at length, in some measure reconciled to their situation, and, being tolerably tame, were allowed occasionally to go at large about the deck. While the ship was moored to a floe, a few days after they were taken, one of them, having a rope fastened round his neck, was thrown overboard. It immediately swam to the ice, got upon it, and attempted to escape. Finding itself, however, detained by the rope, it endeavored to disengage itself in the following ingenious way: Near the edge of the floe was a crack in the ice, of considerable length, but only eighteen inches or two feet wide, and three or four feet deep. To this spot the bear turned, and when, on crossing the chasm, the bight of the rope fell into it, he placed himself across the opening; then, suspending himself by his hind feet, with a leg on each side, he dropped his head and most part of his body into the chasm, and, with a foot applied to each side of the neck, attempted, for some minutes, to push the rope over his head. Finding this scheme ineffectual, he removed to the main ice, and, running with great impetuosity from the ship, gave a remarkable pull on the rope; then, going backwards a few steps, he repeated the jerk. At length, after repeated attempts to escape this way, every failure of which he announced by a significant growl, he yielded himself to hard necessity, and lay down on the ice in angry and sullen silence.

Like the brown and black bear, polar bears are animals capable of great fierceness. Brentz, in his voyage in search of the north-east passage to China, had horrid proofs of their ferocity in the Island of Nova Zembla, where they attacked his seamen, seizing them in their mouth, carrying them off with the utmost ease, and devouring them even in sight of their comrades.

About twenty years ago, the crew of a boat belonging to a ship in the whale fishery, shot at a bear some little distance off, and wounded him. The animal immediately set up a dreadful howl, and scampered along the ice towards the boat. Before he reached it, he had received a second wound. This increased his fury, and he presently plunged into the water, and swam to the boat; and, in his attempt to board it, he placed one of his fore paws upon the gunwale, and would have gained his point, had not one of the sailors seized a hatchet and cut it off. Even this had not the effect of damping his courage; for he followed the boat till it reached the ship, from whence several shots were fired at him, which hit, but did not mortally wound him: he approached the vessel, and ascended the deck, where, from his dreadful fury, he spread such consternation, that all the crew fled to the shrouds, and he was in the act of pursuing them thither, when an effective shot laid him dead on the deck.

THE RACCOON.

This animal is peculiar to America. He resembles the bear, but is much smaller and more elegantly formed. He is an active and lively animal; an excellent climber of trees, in which the sharpness of his claws greatly aids him; and he will even venture to the extremity of slender branches. He is a good-tempered animal, and, consequently, easily tamed; but his habit of prying into every thing renders him rather troublesome, for he is in constant motion, and examining every object within his reach. He generally sits on his hinder parts when feeding, conveying all his food to his mouth with his fore paws. He will eat almost every kind of food, but is particularly fond of sweetmeats, and will indulge in spirituous liquors even to drunkenness. He feeds chiefly at night, in a wild state, and sleeps during the day.

Brickell gives an interesting account, in his "History of North Carolina," of the cunning manifested by the raccoon in pursuit of its prey. "It is fond of crabs, and, when in quest of them, will take its station by a swamp, and hang its tail over into the water, which the crabs mistake for food, and lay hold of it; as soon as the raccoon feels them pinch, it pulls up its tail with a sudden jerk, and they generally quit their hold upon being removed from the water. The raccoon instantly seizes the crabs in its mouth, removes them to a distance from the water, and greedily devours its prey. It is very careful how it takes them up, which it always does from behind, holding them transversely, in order to prevent their catching its mouth with their nippers."

When enraged, or desirous of attacking a person, the raccoon advances with arched back and bristling hair, and with its chin or under jaw close to the ground, uttering gruff sounds of displeasure. If once injured, it seldom forgives its enemy. On one occasion, a servant struck a tame raccoon with a whip: in vain did he afterwards attempt a reconciliation; neither eggs, nor food most coveted by the animal, availed in pacifying it. At his approach, it flew into a sort of fury; it darted at him with sparkling eyes, uttering loud cries.

Its accents of anger were very singular; sometimes one might fancy them the whistling of the curlew, at others, the hoarse bark of an old dog. If any one beat it, it opposed no resistance; it concealed its head and its paws, like the hedgehog, by rolling itself into a ball. In this position it would suffer death. When its chain broke, it would allow no one to approach it, and it was with great difficulty refettered.

THE COATI.

This animal, which frequents the woods of South America, resembles the raccoon, but is smaller. He is in the habit of rooting under trees, and thus overturns many of them, even those of large size. The most curious incident in his history, is that he eats his own tail! This is explained by Godman as follows: "The extreme length of its tail, in which the blood circulates but feebly, exposes it to the influence of cold or frost; and the exceedingly tormenting irritation produced thereby leads the animal to gnaw and scratch the tail, to relieve the excessive itching. The disease spreads, and the anguish induces the coati to gnaw more furiously, and eventually its life is destroyed by the extension of the inflammation and irritability to the spine."

THE BADGER.

Of this animal there are two species, one European, the other American; but they have a strong resemblance. It has short legs, and a long body; lives in burrows by day, and goes forth at night to prey on roots, snails, and worms. The American species seems to be more carnivorous than his foreign relation: in this respect he has high example, for the people of America eat more butcher's meat than those of Europe--for the reason, however, that they are so fortunate as to be able to get it.

In Europe, the badger is hunted as a matter of sport, the chief amusement being derived from the fierce resistance he makes to the dogs. In South America, the creature is eaten, and badger hams are deemed a delicacy. Catching this animal is a great source of interest to the Indians. We are told that a "party of eight, in one of their expeditions, will destroy two or three hundred badgers, and a quantity of deer on their return home, besides guanas. These hunting parties are so delightful, even to the women, that the hopes of being allowed to accompany the men will make them behave well all the year. On these excursions they live well, and seem more happy than during the rainy season; in their way home, they travel day and night rapidly, in spite of obstructions, carrying long poles between them, on which the animals are slung--the boys carrying the skins and lard; the dogs too are well fed during this period, and seem to return with regret. A cloud of vultures generally hover over them, and are seen by their clans a day or two before they arrive, who make every preparation to receive them; their return is greeted like that of victors. The rainy nights are passed in recounting their exploits one to another."

The habits of the badger are said to be "the most social of any quadruped in the universe; it is not known to quarrel with any other animal; even the fox, polecat, opossum, land crab, and snake, make it resign its abode, although it is much stronger than any of them. It also lives in the greatest harmony with its own species, subsisting principally on nuts, roots, and vegetables; it is cleanly in its habits, being observed to perform its ablutions while the dew is on the ground."

THE GLUTTON.

This animal, which is called _wolverene_ in this country, and _carcajou_ by the Canadians, is about three feet long, and of a dark-brown color. It is strong and courageous, and will even attack and destroy the fox in its burrow. Its extraordinary voracity gives the impulse to all its exertions. Incessantly in search of food, it kills animals larger and stronger than itself, seizes the deer which the hunter has just shot, plunders the baits on his traps, or the game these have taken. A proof at once of the strength, the cunning, and the strong appetite, of the glutton, was afforded by one, at Hudson's Bay, some years since, which overset the greatest part of a pile of wood of great extent, which contained a whole winter's firing; his object was to get at some provisions that had been hidden there by the company's servants when going to the factory to spend the Christmas holidays.

This animal had for many weeks been lurking about their tent, and had committed many depredations on the game caught in their traps and snares, as well as eaten many of the foxes that were killed by guns set for the purpose; but he was too cunning to touch either gun or trap himself. The people thought they had adopted the best method to secure their provisions, by tying them in bundles, and laying them on the top of wood piles. To their astonishment, when they returned, they found the greatest part of the pile thrown down, notwithstanding some of the trees with which it was constructed were as much as two men could carry. The wood was very much scattered about; and it was supposed that, in the animal's attempting to carry off the booty, some of the small parcels of provisions had fallen down into the heart of the pile, and sooner than lose half his prize, he was at the trouble of pulling away the wood. The bags of flour, oatmeal, and peas, though of no use to him, he tore all to pieces, and scattered the contents about on the snow; but every bit of animal food, consisting of beef, pork, bacon, venison, salted geese, and partridges, in considerable quantities, he carried away.

When attacked by other animals, the glutton fights desperately, and three stout dogs are scarcely its match. A man who had tamed one of them threw it one day into the water, and set a couple of dogs upon it, when it immediately seized one of them by the head, and held it under water till it was drowned.

THE WEASEL.

The weasel stands as the type of a large number of animals, such as the marten, sable, polecat, otter, skunk, &c.; all being characterized by a long body, short legs, and considerable energy of disposition. Some of the species are celebrated for their abominable odor.

The weasel is an active, bloodthirsty little animal, not exceeding seven inches in length from the nose to the tail. It is much about the same size as a rat, though more slender; but it is a mortal enemy to this animal, pursuing them to their holes, and killing them in great numbers. It is also often fatal to the hare, as it will either creep upon it when at rest, or, lying unseen amidst the rubbish or furze, will spring at its throat; where, as in the case of other animals which it kills, it fixes its bite, and then sucks the blood till its victim expires. It makes a hole in the ends of eggs, and sucks the contents--differently from the rat, which breaks the shell to pieces. It is a destructive enemy to pigeons, as it creeps into the holes of a dove-cot in the evening, and surprises its prey while they are asleep; and, from the peculiar construction of its body, there are few situations it is incapable of reaching; for it can clamber up an almost perpendicular wall. When it sees a man, it endeavors as quickly as possible to get out of the way, and hide itself amidst the grass or loose stones; but if trodden on, or seized, it will turn and bite, like a serpent. An ordinary dog does not wish to attack it, for it instantly fastens itself on his lips.

_Miscellaneous Anecdotes._--Weasels seem to unite, in many cases, for mutual defence, or the attack of man. In January, 1818, a laborer in the parish of Glencairn, Dumfriesshire, was suddenly attacked by six weasels, which rushed upon him from an old dike in the field where he was at work. The man, alarmed at such a furious onset, instantly betook himself to flight; but he soon found he was closely pursued. Although he had about him a large horsewhip, with which he endeavored, by several back-handed strokes, to stop them, yet, so eager was the pursuit of the weasels, that he was on the point of being seized by the throat, when he luckily noticed, at some distance, the fallen branch of a tree, which he made for, and, hastily snatching it up, manfully rallied upon his enemies, and had such success, that he killed three of them, and put the remaining three to flight.

A similar case occurred some years ago at Gilmerton, near Edinburgh, when a gentleman, observing a person leaping about in an extraordinary manner, made up to him, and found him beset, and dreadfully bitten, by about fifteen weasels, which continued their attack. Being both strong persons, they succeeded in killing a number, and the rest escaped by flying into the fissures of a neighboring rock. The account the person gave of the commencement of the affray was, that, walking through the park, he ran at a weasel which he saw, and made several attempts to strike it, remaining between it and the rock to which its retreat lay. The animal, being thus circumstanced, squeaked aloud, when an instantaneous sortie was made by the colony, and an attack commenced.

The weasel is exceedingly difficult to tame. When kept in a cage, it seems in a perpetual state of agitation, is terrified at the sight of all who approach to look at it, and generally endeavors to hide itself behind the straw, or other substances, which may be at the bottom of its cage. Yet instances are not wanting to prove that the weasel may be brought into complete subjection. Mademoiselle de Laistre, in a letter on this subject, gives a very pleasing account of the education and manners of a weasel which she took under her protection, and which frequently ate from her hand, seemingly more delighted with this manner of feeding than any other. "If I pour," says this lady, "some milk into my hand, it will drink a good deal; but if I do not pay it this compliment, it will scarcely take a drop. When satisfied, it generally goes to sleep. My chamber is the place of its residence; and I have found a method of dispelling its strong smell by perfumes. By day it sleeps in a quilt, into which it gets by an unsewn place which it has discovered on the edge; during the night, it is kept in a wired box or cage, which it always enters with reluctance, and leaves with pleasure. If it be set at liberty before my time of rising, after a thousand little playful tricks, it gets into my bed, and goes to sleep on my hand or on my bosom.

"If I am up first, it spends a full half hour in caressing me; playing with my fingers like a little dog, jumping on my head and on my neck, and running round on my arms and body with a lightness and elegance which I never found in any other animal. If I present my hands at the distance of three feet, it jumps into them without ever missing. It shows a great deal of address and cunning in order to compass its ends, and seems to disobey certain prohibitions merely through caprice. During all its actions it seems solicitous to divert, and to be noticed; looking, at every jump, and at every turn, to see whether it be observed or not. If no notice be taken of its gambols, it ceases them immediately, and betakes itself to sleep; and when awakened from the soundest sleep, it instantly resumes its gayety, and frolics about in as sprightly a manner as before. It never shows any ill-humor, unless when confined, or teased too much; in which case it expresses its displeasure by a sort of murmur very different from that which it utters when pleased. In the midst of twenty people, this little animal distinguishes my voice, seeks me out, and springs over every body to come to me. His play with me is the most lovely and caressing; with his two little paws he pats me on the chin, with an air and manner expressive of delight. This, and a thousand other preferences, show that his attachment is real.

"When he sees me dressed to go out, he will not leave me, and it is not without some trouble that I can disengage myself from him. He then hides himself behind a cabinet near the door, and jumps upon me, as I pass, with so much celerity, that I often can scarcely perceive him. He seems to resemble a squirrel in vivacity, agility, voice, and his manner of murmuring. During the summer he squeaks and runs all the night long; and since the commencement of the cold weather, I have not observed this. Sometimes, when the sun shines while he is playing on the bed, he turns and tumbles about, and murmurs for a while.

"From his delight in drinking milk out of my hand, into which I pour a very little at a time, and his custom of sipping the little drops and edges of the fluid, it seems probable that he drinks dew in the same manner. He very seldom drinks water, and then only for the want of milk; and with great caution, seeming only to refresh his tongue once or twice, and to be even afraid of that fluid. During the hot weather, it rained a good deal. I presented to him some rain water in a dish, and endeavored to make him go into it, but could not succeed. I then wetted a piece of linen cloth in it, and put it near him, when he rolled upon it with extreme delight. One singularity in this charming animal is his curiosity; it being impossible to open a drawer or box, or even to look at a paper, but it will examine it also. If he gets into any place where I am afraid to let him stay, I take a paper or a book, and look attentively at it, when he immediately runs upon my hand, and surveys, with an inquisitive air, whatever I happen to hold. I must further observe, that he plays with a young cat and dog, both of some size; getting about their necks and paws without their doing him the least harm."

The following story regarding the weasel is told in Selkirkshire: "A group of haymakers, while busy at their work on Chapelhope meadow, at the upper end of St. Mary's Loch,--or rather of the Loch of the Lowes, which is separated from it by a narrow neck of land,--saw an eagle rising above the steep mountains that enclose the narrow valley. The eagle himself was, indeed, no unusual sight; but there is something so imposing and majestic in the flight of this noble bird, while he soars upwards in spiral circles, that it fascinates the attention of most people. But the spectators were soon aware of something peculiar in the flight of the bird they were observing. He used his wings violently; and the strokes were often repeated, as if he had been alarmed and hurried by unusual agitation; and they noticed, at the same time, that he wheeled in circles that seemed constantly decreasing, while his ascent was proportionally rapid. The now idle haymakers drew together in close consultation on the singular case, and continued to keep their eyes on the seemingly distressed eagle, until he was nearly out of sight, rising still higher and higher into the air. In a short while, however, they were all convinced that he was again seeking the earth, evidently not, as he ascended, in spiral curves; it was like something falling, and with great rapidity. But, as he approached the ground, they clearly saw he was tumbling in his fall like a shot bird; the convulsive fluttering of his powerful wings stopping the descent but very little, until he fell at a small distance from the men and boys of the party, who had naturally run forward, highly excited by the strange occurrence. A large black-tailed weasel or stoat ran from the body as they came near; turned with the _nonchalance_ and impudence of the tribe; stood up upon its hind legs; crossed its fore paws over its nose, and surveyed its enemies a moment or two,--as they often do when no dog is near,--and bounded into a saugh bush. The king of the air was dead; and, what was more surprising, he was covered with his own blood; and, upon further examination, they found his throat cut, and the weasel has been suspected as the regicide unto this day."

THE POLECAT.

This animal, which is confined to the eastern continent, is thrice the size of the weasel, but its prey is nearly the same. It has as high a reputation in Europe, for its offensive smell, as the skunk has here. The following fact is recorded in Bewick's Quadrupeds: "During a severe storm, one of these animals was traced in the snow from the side of a rivulet to its hole at some distance from it. As it was observed to have made frequent trips, and as other marks were to be seen in the snow, which could not easily be accounted for, it was thought a matter worthy of greater attention. Its hole was accordingly examined, the polecat taken, and eleven fine eels were discovered to be the fruits of its nocturnal exertions. The marks on the snow were found to have been made by the motions of the eels while in the creature's mouth."

THE FERRET.

This animal is a native of Africa, and requires much care to preserve it alive in cold countries. It is kept for the purpose of dislodging rabbits from their warren, and has such a natural antipathy to these animals, that, if a dead one be presented to a young ferret, though it has never seen a rabbit before, it will eagerly seize it. Like the rest of the species, it is remarkable for the pertinacity with which it retains the bite which it has once taken. This circumstance is illustrated by the following occurrence: A man, of the name of Isles, a bargeman, finding himself much incommoded by the repeated mischief done in his barge by rats, procured a ferret to destroy them. The ferret remaining away a considerable time, he thought it was devouring some rats that it had killed, and went to sleep, but was awakened early next morning by the ferret, who was commencing an attack upon him. The animal had seized him near his eyebrow; and the man, after endeavoring in vain to shake him off, at length severed the body from the head with a knife,--the latter still sticking so fast, as to be with difficulty removed.

THE MINK.

This animal is found throughout a great extent of country, from Carolina to Hudson's Bay, and in its habits and appearance resembles the otter. The favorite haunts of this species are the banks of streams, where it inhabits holes near the water. It is an excellent swimmer and diver, and feeds on frogs and fish. It also commits great depredations in the poultry-yard. When provoked, it ejects a fetid liquor, which is exceedingly unpleasant.

THE MARTEN.

Of this animal there are two or three species, confined to the northern regions of the eastern continent. Of all the weasel tribe it is the most pleasing; all its motions show great grace as well as agility; and there is scarcely an animal in our woods that will venture to oppose it. Quadrupeds five times as large are easily vanquished; the hare, the sheep, and even the wild-cat itself, is not a match for it. We are told of a marten which had been tamed, and was extremely pretty and playful in its manners. It went among the houses of the neighborhood, and always returned home when hungry. It was extremely fond of a dog that had been bred with it, and used to play with it as cats are seen to play, lying on its back, and biting without anger or injury.

THE SABLE.

This animal, as well as several others of the tribe, is greatly valued for its fur. It resembles the marten, and is found in the northern parts of both continents. The enterprise, perseverance, and hardships of the hunters, in America as well as Siberia, in pursuit of this creature, are almost incredible. In the latter country, the hunting of the sable chiefly falls to the lot of condemned criminals, who are sent from Russia into these wild and extensive forests, that for the greatest part of the year are covered with snow; and in this instance, as in many others, the luxuries and ornaments of the vain are wrought out of the dangers and miseries of the wretched. These are obliged to furnish a certain number of skins every year, and are punished if the proper quantity is not provided.

The sable is also killed by the Russian soldiers, who are sent into those parts for the purpose. They are taxed a certain number of skins yearly, and are obliged to shoot with only a single ball, to avoid spoiling the skin, or else with cross-bows and blunt arrows. As an encouragement to the hunters, they are allowed to share among themselves the surplus of those skins which they thus procure; and this, in the process of six or seven years, amounts to a considerable sum. A colonel, during his seven years' stay, gains about four thousand crowns for his share, and the common men earn six or seven hundred each.

THE SKUNK.

Of this animal there are several varieties upon the American continent, to which it is confined; though we have but one in this quarter of the United States. This is of the size of a cat, and striped with black and white. Its celebrity depends exclusively upon its peculiar mode of defence--that of discharging upon its foe a liquid of the most revolting and intolerable odor, and of such vigor as to fill the air for half a mile around.

Some years ago, a Frenchman, who had settled at Hartford, Connecticut, was going home from Wethersfield, a place renowned for raising _onions_. It was evening, and in the twilight the man saw a little animal crossing the path before him. Not knowing or suspecting its character, he darted upon it, caught it, and put it in his pocket. When he reached home, he took it out, and a general exclamation of astonishment burst from the household, at the extraordinary flavor of the little beast. "What is it?" "What can it be?"--was the general inquiry. "I cannot say," said the Frenchman; "but I suppose it must be a _Wethersfield_ kitten!"

On a certain occasion, Dr. B----, an eminent divine, was walking at evening in a by-way, when he saw a small animal trotting along before him. He easily guessed its true character, and having a volume of Rees's Cyclopedia under his arm, he hurled it with all his might at the suspicious quadruped. It took effect, but the animal retorted by discharging, both upon the Cyclopedia and the D.D., a shaft from his abominable quiver. It seems that the event made an indelible impression both upon the garments and the memory of the divine; the former he buried; and when, some years after, he was advised to write a book against a rival sect, he replied, "No, no!--I once threw a quarto at a skunk, and got the worst of it. I shall not repeat such folly."

"In the year 1749," says Kahn, "one of these animals came near the farm where I lived. It was in winter time, during the night; and the dogs that were on watch pursued it for some time, until it discharged against them. Although I was in a bed at some distance from the scene of action, I thought I should have been suffocated, and the cows and oxen, by their lowing, showed how much they were affected by the stench.

"About the end of the same year, another of these animals crept into our cellar, but did not exhale the smallest scent when undisturbed. A foolish woman, however, who perceived it one night by the shining of its eyes, killed it, and at that moment the fetid odor began to spread. The cellar was filled with it to such a degree that the woman kept her bed for several days; and all the bread, meat, and other provisions that were kept there, were so infected, that they were obliged to be thrown out of doors."

THE OTTER.

The otter is a native of the greater part of Europe and America. Its principal food being fish, it makes its habitation on the banks of rivers, where it burrows to some depth.

_Anecdotes._--The females produce from four to five at a birth. Their parental affection is so powerful, that they will frequently suffer themselves to be killed rather than quit their progeny; and this has frequently been the occasion of their losing their lives, when they might, otherwise, have escaped. Professor Steller says, "Often have I spared the lives of the female otters, whose young ones I took away. They expressed their sorrow by crying like human beings, and followed me as I was carrying off their young ones, which called to them for aid, with a tone of voice which very much resembled the wailing of children. When I sat down in the snow, they came quite close to me, and attempted to carry off their young. On one occasion, when I had deprived an otter of her progeny, I returned to the place eight days after, and found the female sitting by the river, listless and desponding; she suffered me to kill her on the spot without making any attempt to escape. On skinning her, I found she was quite wasted away, from sorrow for the loss of her young. Another time I saw, at some distance from me, an old female otter sleeping by the side of a young one, about a year old. As soon as the mother perceived us, she awoke the young one, and enticed him to betake himself to the river; but, as he did not take the hint, and seemed inclined to prolong his sleep, she took him up in her fore paws and plunged him into the water."

The otter is naturally ferocious; but when taken young, and properly treated, it can be rendered tame, and taught to catch fish, and fetch them to its master. James Campbell, near Inverness, procured a young otter, which he brought up and domesticated. It would follow him wherever he chose; and, if called on by its name, would immediately obey. When apprehensive of danger from dogs, it sought the protection of its master, and would endeavor to spring into his arms for greater security. It was frequently employed in catching fish, and would sometimes take eight or ten salmon in a day. If not prevented, it always made an attempt to break the fish behind the anal fin, which is next the tail; and, as soon as one was taken away, it always dived in pursuit of more. It was equally dexterous at sea-fishing, and took great numbers of young cod, and other fish, there. When tired, it would refuse to fish any longer, and was then rewarded with as much as it could devour. Having satisfied its appetite, it always coiled itself round, and fell asleep; in which state it was generally carried home.

It appears that the otter, in its native haunts, is of a playful and sportive humor. We are told that, on the banks of the northern rivers, where they dwell unmolested, they may be sometimes seen sliding down the soft, muddy banks into the water, like a parcel of boys coasting upon the snow. They become quite animated with the sport, seeming to emulate each other in the vigor and frolic of their performances.

The sea otter is a larger species, living in pairs along the northern shores of the Pacific Ocean.

THE DOG.

The dog, in its wild state, differs little in its habits from those of the same order of quadrupeds; it resembles the wolf rather than the fox, hunts in troops, and, thus associated, attacks the most formidable animals--wild boars, tigers, and even lions. They are said, however, even while in this condition, to exhibit a disposition to yield to man; and, if approached by him with gentleness, will submit to be caressed. On the other hand, if dogs that have been once tamed are driven from the haunts of men, and the protection to which they have been accustomed, they readily become wild, and associate together in troops. In Asia, there are multitudes of these animals around the towns, which live in a half-wild state, calling no man master.

But when domesticated, the dog presents the appearance of the most thorough submission to the will, and subservience to the use of man. If we look at the individual, we perceive it attached to a person whom it acknowledges as master, with whom it has formed a very humble alliance, and whose interest it considers its own. It answers to its name, is willing to follow its master wherever he goes, and exerts all its energies in any service to which he may command it, and that without any constraint except what arises from its own disposition. A more perfect image of obedience and subservience cannot be conceived. If, on the other hand, we survey the species, we find it in every variety of size, and shape, and disposition, according to the various services of which it is capable. The division of labor is almost as complete, among the different species of the dog, as among men themselves. It, like its masters, gives up the exercise of one faculty that it may bring another to a greater perfection.

_Miscellaneous Anecdotes._--The anecdotes which go to display the intelligence and fidelity of dogs, are almost innumerable. Of these, we can give only a few specimens. "My dog Sirrah," says the Ettrick shepherd, "was, beyond all comparison, the best dog I ever saw. He was of a surly and unsocial temper. Disdaining all flattery, he refused to be caressed; but his attention to my commands and interests will never again, perhaps, be equalled by any of the canine race. When I first saw him, a drover was leading him in a rope. He was both lean and hungry, and far from being a beautiful animal, for he was almost all black, and had a grim face, striped with dark-brown. The man had bought him of a boy, somewhere on the Border, for three shillings, and had fed him very ill on his journey. I thought I discovered a sort of sullen intelligence in his countenance, notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn appearance. I gave the drover a guinea for him, and I believe there never was a guinea so well laid out; at least, I am satisfied I never laid one out to so good a purpose. 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 anxiety and eagerness he learned his different evolutions. He would try every way deliberately, till he found out what I wanted him to do; and, when I once made him understand a direction, he never forgot or mistook it again. Well as I knew him, he often astonished me; for, when hard pressed in accomplishing the task that he was put to, he had expedients of the moment that bespoke a great share of the reasoning faculty."

Among other remarkable exploits of Sirrah, illustrative of his sagacity, Mr. Hogg relates that, upon one occasion, about seven hundred lambs, which were under his care at weaning time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off, in three divisions, across the neighboring hills, in spite of all that he and an assistant could do to keep them together. The night was so dark that he could not see Sirrah; but the faithful animal heard his master lament their 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 flock. Meanwhile, the shepherd and his companion 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 obtain the slightest trace. It was the most extraordinary circumstance that had ever occurred in the annals of pastoral life. They had nothing to do, as day had dawned, but to return to their master, and inform him that they had lost his whole flock of lambs, and knew not what was become of one of them. "On our way home, however," says Mr. Hogg, "we discovered a lot of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine called the Flesh Cleuch, 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 that it was one of the divisions, which Sirrah had been unable to manage until he came to that commanding situation. But what was our astonishment when we discovered that not one lamb of the whole flock was wanting! How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark is beyond my comprehension. The charge was left entirely to himself from midnight until the rising sun; and if all the shepherds in the Forest had been there to have assisted him, they could not have effected it with greater propriety. All that I can further say is, that I never felt so grateful to any creature under the sun, as I did to my honest Sirrah that morning."

Sir Walter Scott has furnished an anecdote on this subject, concerning a dog, which, though meritorious in himself, must ever deserve the greatest share of fame and interest from the circumstance of having belonged to such a master. "The wisest dog," says Sir Walter, "I ever had, was what is called the bull-dog terrier. I taught him to understand a great many words, insomuch that I am positive that the communication betwixt the canine species and ourselves might be greatly enlarged. Camp once bit the baker, who was bringing bread to the family. I beat him, and explained the enormity of his offence; after which, to the last moment of his life, he never heard the least allusion to the story, in whatever voice or tone it was mentioned, without getting up and retiring into the darkest corner of the room, with great appearance of distress. Then, if you said, 'The baker was well paid,' or 'The baker was not hurt after all,' Camp came forth from his hiding-place, capered, barked, and rejoiced. When he was unable, towards the end of his life, to attend me when on horseback, he used to watch for my return, and the servant used to tell him 'his master was coming down the hill, or through the moor;' and although he did not use any gesture to explain his meaning, Camp was never known to mistake him, but either went out at the front to go up the hill, or at the back to get down to the moor-side. He certainly had a singular knowledge of spoken language."

It has been made a question, whether the dog remembers his master after a long period of separation. The voice of antiquity favors the affirmative. Homer makes the dog of Ulysses to recognize him after many years' absence, and describes Eumenes, the swineherd, as being thus led to apprehend, in the person before him, the hero, of seeing whom he had long despaired. Byron, on the other hand, was skeptical on this point. Writing to a friend, who had requested the results of his experience on the subject,--he states that, on seeing a large dog, which had belonged to him, and had formerly been a favorite, chained at Newstead, the animal sprang towards him, as he conceived, in joy--but he was glad to make his escape from it, with the comparatively trivial injury of the loss of the skirts of his coat. Perhaps this circumstance may have suggested the following verses of the poet:--

"And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea;
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;
But long ere I come back again,
He'd tear me where he stands."

The affection of the dog for his master does not end with his life; and innumerable are the anecdotes on record of dogs, which have continued to pine after their master's death, or died immediately after. We shall select but one or two well-authenticated instances, for they are all so much alike, that it is unnecessary to produce many. It is said, in the Life of Mary, Queen of Scots, lately published at Glasgow, that, after her head was cut off, her little favorite lapdog, which had affectionately followed her, and unobserved had nestled among her clothes, now continued to caress her, and would not leave the body till forced away, and then died two days afterwards.

Mr. Renton, of Lammerton, had a herdsman, who, pursuing a sheep that had run down the steep bank of Blackadder Water, fell into the river and was drowned. His dog, a common shepherd's dog, returned home next morning, and led his wife to the spot, holding her by the apron. The body was found. The dog followed it even to the grave, and died in a few days.

A mastiff dog belonging to the Honorable Peter Bold, England, attended his master in his chamber during the tedious sickness consequent on a pulmonary consumption. After the gentleman expired, and his corpse had been removed, the dog repeatedly entered the apartment, making a mournful, whining noise; he continued his researches for several days through all the rooms of the house, but in vain. He then retired to his kennel, which he could not be induced to leave; refusing all manner of sustenance, he soon died. Of this fact, and his previous affection, the surgeon who attended his master was an eye-witness.

The regret of the dog for its master's death is not confined to inactive sorrow; if his death has been caused by violence, it discovers a singular and persevering hatred of the murderers, which in some cases has led to their detection. The following instance is related in a letter, written in 1764, by a gentleman at Dijon, in France, to his friend in London: "Since my arrival here, a man has been broken on the wheel, with no other proof to condemn him than that of a water-spaniel. The circumstances attending it being so very singular and striking, I beg leave to communicate them to you. A farmer, who had been to receive a sum of money, was waylaid, robbed, and murdered, by two villains. The farmer's dog returned with all speed to the house of the person who had paid the money, and expressed such amazing anxiety that he would follow him, pulling him several times by the sleeve and skirt of the coat, that at length the gentleman yielded to his importunity. The dog led him to the field, a little from the roadside, where the body lay. From thence the gentleman went to a public house, in order to alarm the country. The moment he entered, (as the two villains were there drinking,) the dog seized the murderer by the throat, and the other made his escape. This man lay in prison three months, during which time they visited him once a week with the spaniel; and though they made him change his clothes with other prisoners, and always stand in the midst of a crowd, yet did the animal always find him out, and fly at him. On the day of trial, when the prisoner was at the bar, the dog was let loose in the court-house, and, in the midst of some hundreds, he found him out, though dressed entirely in new clothes, and would have torn him to pieces had he been allowed; in consequence of which he was condemned, and at the place of execution he confessed the fact. Surely so useful, so disinterestedly faithful an animal, should not be so barbarously treated as I have often seen them, particularly in London."

Other cases might be produced, but we shall only present that of the dog of Montargis, which has become familiar to the public by being made the subject of a melodrame frequently acted at the present time. The fame of this English blood-hound has been transmitted by a monument in basso-relievo, which still remains in the chimney-piece of the grand hall, at the Castle of Montargis, in France. The sculpture, which represents a dog fighting with a champion, is explained by the following narrative: Aubri de Mondidier, a gentleman of family and fortune, travelling alone through the Forest of Bondy, was murdered, and buried under a tree. His dog, a bloodhound, would not quit his master's grave for several days; till at length, compelled by hunger, he proceeded to the house of an intimate friend of the unfortunate Aubri, at Paris, and, by his melancholy howling, seemed desirous of expressing the loss sustained. He repeated his cries, ran to the door, looked back to see if any one followed him, returned to his master's friend, pulled him by the sleeve, and, with dumb eloquence, entreated him to go with him. The singularity of all these actions of the dog, added to the circumstance of his coming there without his master, whose faithful companion he had always been, prompted the company to follow the animal, who conducted them to a tree, where he renewed his howl, scratching the earth with his feet, and significantly entreating them to search the particular spot. Accordingly, on digging, the body of the unhappy Aubri was found. Some time after, the dog accidentally met the assassin, who is styled, by all the historians that relate this fact, the Chevalier Macaire; when, instantly seizing him by the throat, he was with great difficulty compelled to quit his victim. In short, whenever the dog saw the chevalier, he continued to pursue and attack him with equal fury.

Such obstinate violence in the animal, confined only to Macaire, appeared very extraordinary--especially as several instances of Macaire's envy and hatred to Aubri de Mondidier had been conspicuous. Additional circumstances created suspicion, and at length the affair reached the royal ear. The king, Louis VIII., accordingly sent for the dog, which appeared extremely gentle till he perceived Macaire in the midst of several noblemen, when he ran fiercely towards him, growling at and attacking him, as usual. The king, struck with such a combination of circumstantial evidence against Macaire, determined to refer the decision to the chance of battle; in other words, he gave orders for a combat between the chevalier and the dog. The lists were appointed in the Isle of Notre Dame, then an unenclosed, uninhabited place, and Macaire was allowed, for his weapon, a great cudgel. An empty cask was given to the dog as a place of retreat, to enable him to recover breath. Every thing being prepared, the dog no sooner found himself at liberty, than he ran round his adversary, avoiding his blows, and menacing him on every side, till his strength was exhausted; then springing forward, he seized him by the throat, and threw him on the ground. Macaire now confessed his guilt in presence of the king and the whole court. In consequence of this, the chevalier, after a few days, was convicted upon his own acknowledgment, and beheaded on a scaffold in the Isle of Notre Dame.