Chapter XIII: Part 13

Perhaps no attribute of the mind is better fitted to follow that which has just been treated than Generosity. But whether we accept it in the sense of liberality or magnanimity, it is certainly a very lofty quality, and one which infinitely ennobles the character of those who possess it. Taken in the former sense, it is an attribute of Deity, who gives us freely all that we have, and so sets us an example of generosity to our fellow-creatures. Now, if it be admitted that the possession of generosity ennobles man’s character, while the lack of that quality debases it, then the inference is undeniable that when we find a beast possessing generosity, and a man devoid of it, the beast is in that particular the superior of the man. And that generosity, being a divine attribute, belongs to the spirit and not to the body, no believer in Christianity is likely to deny. Therefore, wherever we find this characteristic developed, we must admit the presence of an immortal spirit.

That the lower animals do possess generosity in the sense of Liberality will now be proved from circumstances that have occurred within my own observation. My first proof is a very interesting one, and is drawn from the life of a dog that was the companion of my school-boy days. Sport was the name of the animal. He was not a greedy, selfish creature, but a generous, noble fellow. Many an act of self-sacrifice had he been known to perform, and he was never happier than when he was doing some good to his fellows. It was not unlike him, when he would meet a poor, strange and hungry animal of his own kind by the roadway, to bring him to his master’s house, and at the meal-hour divide with the unfortunate his noon-day allowance. Between him and a certain cat, called Blackey, which was also a member of the same household, there existed a very strong friendship. Any injury done the cat was most summarily resented by Sport. He would share his meals with her, and never seemed satisfied unless she would consent to take the choicest bits. But the generosity was not all on his side, for the cat certainly rivalled him in the exercise of this noble trait, which all acknowledge to be one of the noblest characteristics of the human mind. When Blackey was sick, and unable to be around, much of the time of the dog would be spent in her presence. He would caress her with his paw, smooth her silken, jet-black fur with his tongue, and seek by every means in his power to raise her drooping spirits and alleviate her miseries. No animal, not even man himself, could show more real sympathy for a fellow in distress than Sport did for Blackey.

No bird, it would seem, could be expected to manifest so little of generosity as the sparrow. As a rule, sparrows are remarkable for their ability to take care of themselves. Theirs is a nature which is based upon self. They are an avaricious species, and little they reck for their neighbors. As the eagle is known to treat the osprey, and the skua-gull its weaker brethren, so the sparrow has been known to act towards its neighbors. But exceptions exist to every rule, and we are pleased to record an honorable one in the case of this most detested species. Close by a maple-tree, which a pair of sparrows had appropriated and made the support for their home, dwelt a sturdy robin with his mate. Their home, a mud-lined domicile, was placed in the crotch of a small tree. Three children appeared in process of time to bless the happy couple. Everything went along smoothly and pleasantly with the robins, the sparrows being too much engrossed with their own affairs to think of giving them any trouble. But a tragedy soon happened which, sad to relate, foreboded evil and consequent death to the nest-full of young robins. Father and mother had, while searching for food for the little ones, been cruelly killed by a conscienceless sportsman. But the fledglings, which seemed doomed to die the death of starvation, were spared by some good genius who put it into the heart of the sparrows to pass that way, and thus was their sad and pitiable condition brought to the light of day. Their heart-rending appeals for food, combined with their orphaned situation, struck a sympathetic chord in the breast of the sparrows, and day after day these birds, whose chief concern naturally seems for self, might be seen acting the part of the good Samaritan towards these unfortunate of God’s children.

But let us now pass to that form of generosity which has been called Magnanimity. Few qualities in human nature are more noble than the capability of foregoing revenge when the offender is powerless to resist. This unwillingness to resent an injury, even though the power to do so is present in the individual, is what is implied by magnanimity. When we find those beings whom we designate brutes rising to a moral grandeur which few men can attain, disdaining to avail themselves of the opportunity of vengeance, and even rewarding evil with good, it does seem an utter absurdity to affirm that they are not acting under the inspiration of Him who gave us the celestial maxim, “Love your enemies.” By their actions they show themselves worthy of everlasting life, and what they deserve they will assuredly receive at the hands of Him who is Justice and Truth. Consciously, or unconsciously, the feeling of magnanimity is acknowledged among mankind. Even in the lowest stratum of society it is recognized. As with man, so with the lower animals; and there are many instances on record where the strong have disdained, no matter what the offence had been, to make reprisals upon the weak.

Bus and Jack are two dogs whose acquaintance I made three years ago. The one is a beagle, and the other a pug. No one that has seen these animals in their frolics and plays, would ever suspect that any differences could arise between them. But when such disagreements do occur, and there is hardly a day that does not witness a dozen or more, it is always Bus that is the instigator. The most trifling act upon the part of Jack will be made the cause of offence, and an excuse for the precipitation of a quarrel. In a rage, Bus will fly into the face of Jack, but the latter will coolly shake him off and walk leisurely away. No provocation will induce him to resent an insult or an injury, especially where Pug or a dog smaller than himself is concerned. It is not that he is afraid of Pug, for, when once aroused in the presence of equal or even superior strength, he becomes a terror. He is too magnanimous to avenge a wrong done him by one less powerful than himself. The look which he would give Pug, after one of these attacks had been made, was one of pure contempt, and said, as plainly as words could have said, “Your assaults are mere child’s play, and are unworthy of recognition by one who is so much your superior in feats of valor.” That Pug felt the meaning and force of the look was apparent, for he would always slink away abashed to some corner, where he would remain for an hour or two without showing himself. Over and over again has Jack allowed little dogs to bite him without troubling himself to retaliate; but if a big dog ventured upon an insult, that dog had to run or pay the penalty for his temerity. No dog could give a more disdainful look than Jack, and that look always gave him an easy and uninterrupted passage wherever he chose to go.

Other anecdotes of a similar nature might be given to show that animals can act magnanimously towards each other. That they are as capable of displaying the magnanimity of their nature towards men whom they hated has frequently been observed. The manager of a mill in Fifeshire, Scotland, was, according to Rev. J. G. Wood, very much disliked by the watch-dog, probably from some harsh treatment which the animal had received from his hands. One very dark night the manager had strayed from his path and fell over the dog. Seeing the mistake he had made, and finding that he could not recover himself, he gave himself up as lost, for the dog was a very powerful animal. But the dog was magnanimous enough to spare a helpless enemy, and to lay aside old grievances. Instead of seizing the prostrate man by the throat, as a brute would be expected to do, the dog only licked his face and exhibited his sympathy. Ever afterward the man and the dog were fast friends.

Just as there are animals capable of exercising great self-denial by giving to others what belongs to themselves, and even manifesting a generosity which would put human nature to the blush, so there are animals which can cheat like accomplished swindlers. As all Cheatery requires the use of the intellect, it is therefore evident that the most intellectual animals will be the most accomplished cheats. Dogs have shown themselves to be considerable adepts in cheating, and this we would naturally expect. Some curious and rather ludicrous instances of cheatery upon the part of the dog are noticed. We once knew a pair of dogs, a spaniel and a pug, that were inmates of the same house. They were very jealous of each other so far as the master was concerned, and neither could endure to see the other caressed. It happened that the spaniel was taken quite ill, and was in consequence very much cared for and petted. His companion, seeing the attention and sympathy that were bestowed upon him, pretended to be sick herself, and, going to a corner of the room, lay down upon the floor and looked the very picture of misery and distress. A cat and a dog, that for many years were members of the writer’s family, had taken a fancy to the same spot, a soft cushion at the head of a sofa. While they were the best of friends, yet a difference of opinion would occasionally arise, and a slight loss of temper would be the result. When the cat would be in the possession of the cushion, the dog would torment her in every possible way with the view of causing her to abandon the pet spot. He would pull at the cushion, seeking to drag it to the floor, or, seizing the occupant by the ear or tail, endeavor to dislodge her by force. But the cat, seemingly unmindful of what was going on, and the very impersonation of patience all the while, would refuse to give up so comfortable a couch. At last the dog hit upon a _ruse_ which he knew would bring the cat down from the sofa. He rushed out into the kitchen, and began acting as though in pursuit of a mouse. He and puss had often engaged in such diverting business. This was more than the latter could stand. She was down from her cozy bed in an instant, and was soon by the side of the dog. But as soon as puss, all ablaze with excitement, had her head in a corner and was straining her eyes to get a glimpse of the supposed mouse, the dog ran to the sofa at full speed, jumped on the cushion, curled himself round, and was happy. Poor puss, perceiving that the dog had left her, was not slow to discern that she had been imposed upon by the latter, and that it was only a trick that had been played upon her by her shrewd companion, that he might get possession of the soft spot upon the sofa. She, however, bore it good-naturedly and decorously, and was ever afterward on the alert for these little tricks of her canine friend.

Birds can be as capable of cheating, not only each other, but other animals. A crow, belonging to John Smedley, a resident of Lima, Pa., was an adept in the business. When dinner was preparing, he would fly around the corner of the house, set up a terrific cawing as though in great distress, and when the mistress of the house, with whom he was a great favorite, would come out on a tour of investigation, the rascally bird would elude her and manage to steal round to the table in the opposite direction and seize what food suited him the best, which he would carry to the top of the house, where he would eat it at his leisure. No persuasions would induce him to come down, for he knew that such action was a breach of the peace, and he was fearful of the punishment, that of confinement to a cage, which would follow. When, however, he felt assured that his mistress had forgiven the wrong-doing, he would fly down to the porch, and do his utmost to convince her that he was a well-meaning bird, and that he was thoroughly ashamed of his actions. But there was one member of the family that utterly detested the bird. It was the dog Rover. Many a trick had the bird practised upon the latter, especially at meal time. Poor Rover was not allowed to eat in peace. When he would be wholly absorbed in his dinner, the crow would approach him in the rear, give him a severe twirl of the tail, and then in a twinkling fly to one side, looking the very picture of innocence. But ere the dog had recovered his self-possession and was ready to resume his feeding again, the bird had captured the daintiest morsel, and was off to the tree-top. Discomfited and outwitted, the dog would rush to the base of the tree, bark his growls of anger and defiance, while the crow would look quizzically down from above, and chuckle with delight.

Many of my readers may, perhaps, remember the story of the two dogs that used to hunt the hare in concert, the one starting the hare and driving it toward the spot where his accomplice lay concealed. I recall an instance where a somewhat similar arrangement was made, only the two contracting parties, instead of being two dogs, were a dog and a hawk, the latter making use of his wings in driving the prey out of the copse into the open ground. Innumerous examples of such alliances are known, and in all of them there is manifest the curious fact that two animals can arrange a mode of cheating a third. One of the principal stratagems used in war, that is the ambuscade, whereby the enemy is induced to believe that danger is imminent in one direction, when it really lies in the opposite and unsuspecting direction, is employed. No one would admit that a general who contrived to draw the enemy into an ambuscade acted by instinct. The act would be construed as proof of the possession of reasoning powers surpassing those of the adversary. And if this be the case with the man, why not with the dog, or with the raven or hawk, when the deception is carried out by precisely the same line of reasoning?

Beasts possess, in common with man, the sense of Humor. This is developed in many ways. Generally it assumes the phase of teasing or annoying others, and thus deriving pleasure or amusement from their discomfort. Sometimes, both with man and beast, it takes the form of bodily torture, the struggles of the victim being highly amusing to the torturer. Civilized man has now learned to regard the infliction of pain upon a fellow as anything but an amusement, and would rather suffer the agony than inflict it upon another. But with the savage it is otherwise, for there is no entertainment so fascinating as the infliction of bodily pain upon a human being. Among our Indian tribes, torture is a solemn usage of war, which every warrior expects for himself if captured, and which he is certain to inflict upon any prisoner whom he may happen to take. The tortures which he inflicts are absolutely fiendish, and yet a whole tribe will assemble around the stake, and gloat upon the agonies which are being borne by a fellow-creature. Similarly the African savage inflicts the most excruciating sufferings upon the man or woman accused of witchcraft, employing means too horrible to be mentioned. But in all these cases the cruelty seems to be in a great measure owing to obtuseness of perception. Yet the savage who binds his victim to a stake, and perforates the sensitive parts of his body with burning pine-splinters, behaves very much like a child who amuses itself by catching flies, pulling off their wings and legs, and watching their unavailing efforts to escape.

Many years ago cockchafers were publicly sold in Paris for children to torture to death. The amusement consisted in running a hooked pin through the insect’s tail, fastening a thread thereto, and watching the poor creature spin in the air. After the poor beetle was too enfeebled to expand its wings, it was slowly dismembered, the child being greatly amused at its endeavors to crawl, as leg after leg was pulled from the body. A similar custom, though in a more cruel form, prevails in Italy, the creatures which are tortured by way of sport being more capable of feeling pain than are insects. Birds are employed in this country for the amusement of children. A string is tied to the leg of the bird, and the unfortunate creature, after its powers of flight are exhausted, is generally plucked alive and dismembered. The idea of cruelty does not seem to enter at all in these practices, but they are done from the sheer incapacity of understanding that a bird or a beast can be a fellow-creature. Italians are notorious for their cruel treatment of animals, and if remonstrated with become very much astonished and reply, “Non è Cristiano,” that is to say, “It is not a Christian.” Englishmen have little to boast of on this score. Bear-baiting was abolished by the Puritans, not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators. Even at the present day, both in England and in this country, there is a latent hankering after similar scenes, and dog-fighting, rat-killing and cock-fighting, even though they are now contrary to law, are still practised in secret. Similarly the sense of humor is developed in the lower animals by causing pain or annoyance to some other creature, and the animal acts in precisely the same manner as a savage or a child.

Sparrows, as might be expected from their character, will gratify their feelings of aversion by banding together for the purpose of mobbing some creature to which they have an objection. In Hardwicke’s _Science Gossip_ for December, 1872, there is a short account of a number of sparrows mobbing a cat. Evidently the cat had intended making a meal on one of the birds, but was greatly mistaken, for the sparrows dashed upon him so fiercely, that he soon turned tail and ran into the house, one of the sparrows actually pursuing him into the house. The poor cat ran up-stairs, and was found crouching in terror under one of the beds. This happened in London, where the sparrows are less numerous now than they used to be.

No bird of my knowledge possesses a larger amount of humor than the crow. I have known him to feign an attack upon a distant part of a field of newly-sprouted corn, which was being guarded by a farmer with his gun. When the latter would be drawn to that part of the field where the attack was to be made, the sagacious bird would manage to outwit him, slip around to the other side, drop down into the field and obtain a few tender sprouts before the farmer hardly knew what was going on. But he was always up and away at the opportune moment, and, perched upon a fence-rail, beyond the range of the gun, would enjoy one of his rollicking cawing laughs at the farmer’s expense. Crows that are tame have the sense of humor more keenly developed than their wild brethren of the fields and the woods. I once knew a tame crow that took great pleasure in annoying a dog that lived in the same family. Carlo, as the dog was called, was never so contented as when allowed to sleep the hours of the morning away, after a night’s carousal, in a quiet, sunny spot in the backyard. When the dog had become fast wrapped in the arms of the god of slumber, the crow would steal to his side, give his ear a sharp pull, and when the dog would awake and look around the crow would be busy in gleaning, the most unconcerned creature in the whole yard. Again and again would she annoy the poor animal, and always with the same evident sense of delight, which I could always read in the mischievous twinkle that lurked in her eyes, till the dog, bewildered and unable to account for such mysterious actions, would silently skulk away to other parts, where he hoped to be free from all intrusion. Even the mistress of the house was not exempt from her annoyance. She would carry off everything she could lay hold of, and always hid them away in one place, that is, in a large crevice on the top of the house between the peak of the roof and the chimney. One day the mistress’s spectacles disappeared. Search was instituted everywhere, but without effect. None knew better than the bird what the trouble was. While the search was going on, she busied herself in looking around, and seemed as desirous of finding the missing glasses as any member of the household. The look which the bird gave showed that she enjoyed the situation of affairs immensely, and considered it a fine joke that she had played upon her mistress. After a few days the lost spectacles were restored to their accustomed place, but no one ever positively knew how they came thither.

Domestic birds, as a rule, are remarkable for the generosity which the master-bird shows to his inferiors. He will scratch the ground, unearth some food, and then, instead of eating it himself, will call some of his favorites, and give them the delicacy for which he labored. But I have met with a few cases where the cock scratched as usual, called his wives, and, when they had gathered round him, ate the morsel himself. It was but a practical joke that he had perpetrated upon them, and that they felt it as such their looks only too strongly testified. There was a relish of delight in it for the cock, for the cackle, which he immediately gave, assured me of this fact as much as the laugh of a man could have done who had played such a joke upon one of his fellows.

Parrots are much given to practical joking, after the ways of mankind. A parrot, belonging to an aunt, had a bad habit of whistling for a dog, and then enjoying the animal’s bewilderment and discomfiture. She would call the cat, as her mistress was accustomed to do, and when puss would come, expecting some dainty article of food, she would call out in her severest tone, “Be off, you hussy!” and the cat would make all possible speed for a place of security, greatly to the amusement of the parrot from her perch in the cage. There have been known parrots that would play practical jokes upon human beings, but dogs and cats seem to be the principal victims of the parrot’s sense of humor.

Animals not only show their playfulness in such tricks as have been mentioned, but many of them are able to appreciate and take part in the games played by children. When I was a boy I knew a dog, a species of greyhound, which was an accomplished player at the well-known game called tag, or touch. Quite as much enthusiasm was displayed by the animal as by any of the human players. He would dart away from the boy who happened to be “touch” with an anxiety that almost appeared terror. It was an impossibility to touch the clever canine player; but he was a generous creature, with a strong sense of justice, and so, when he thought that his turn ought to come, he would stand still and wait quietly to be touched. His manner of touching his play-fellows was always by grasping the end of their trousers with his teeth, and as it was impossible for the boy to stop when so seized in full course, the dog was often jerked along the ground for some little distance.

Hide-and-seek is a game which is often learned and enjoyed by many animals. I have often been an interested spectator of the play in which two dogs were the participants. It was as exciting as such a diversion could possibly be between two children. For an hour at a time I have watched the fun, and the players seemed not to abate the least jot or tittle from their ardor and enthusiasm. They were apparently as fresh then as at the beginning. In due time the game ceased as if by mutual consent, but the animals did not seek some cool, quiet spot for comfort and rest, but started off to the woods for some further diversion, from which their voices were soon heard, telling that they were in pursuit of a rabbit or the ignoble ground-hog.

We have far from exhausted the list of examples at hand to show that the lower animals possess a sense of humor. But what use, it may be asked, can the capacity of humor subserve in the next world? Much the same, I presume, that it subserves in this. There are some in this world in whom the sense of humor is absolutely wanting. Estimable as they may be in character, they are just solemn prigs, and I should be very sorry to resemble them in the world, whither, it is hoped, all life tendeth.

Pride, Jealousy, Anger, Revenge and Tyranny, while not very pleasing characteristics, belong, as such, to the immaterial, and not to the material, part of man. That the lower animals possess these qualities will be seen from what follows. Hence the inference to be drawn from that fact must be quite obvious.

Taking these characteristics in order, Pride, or Self-esteem, is developed as fully in many animals as in the proudest of the human race. Most conspicuously is this shown in animals which herd together. There is always one leader at the head, who will not permit any movement to be made without his order, and who resents the least interference with his authority. This is particularly the case with the deer, the horse and the ox. Even when these animals are domesticated, and the habits of their feral life have materially changed, the feeling of pride exists to the fullest extent.

Whoever has carefully watched and studied the inhabitants of a farm-yard cannot fail to have observed that the cows have their laws of precedence and etiquette as clearly defined as those of any European Court. Every cow knows her own place and keeps it. She will never condescend to take a lower, nor would she be allowed to assume a higher. A new-comer in a farm-yard has about as much chance of approaching the rack at feeding-time as a new boy at school has of getting near the fire on a cold winter day. But as the young calf increases in growth, and is nearing maturity, she is allowed to mingle with her companions on tolerably equal terms. Should, however, a younger animal than herself be admitted, it is amusing to see with what gratification she bullies the new-comer, and how much higher she ranks in her own estimation when she finds she is no longer the junior.

But should the fates be propitious, and she should arrive at the dignity of being senior cow, she never fails to assert that dignity on every occasion. When the cattle are taken out of the yard to their pasture in the morning, and when they are returned to it in the evening, she will not allow any except herself to take the lead. An instance is recorded where the man in charge of a herd of cows would not permit the “ganger,” as the head cow is often called, to go out first. The result was that she refused to go out at all. Therefore, to get her to go out of the yard, the man had to drive all the other cows back again, so that she might take her proper place at the head of the herd.

Few people know much about the real disposition of the mule. Judging from popular ideas respecting the animal, one would think that it had no pride in its composition. It is in reality a very proud animal, and fond of good society. One of his most striking characteristics is his aversion to the ass, and the pride which he takes in his relation to the horse. An ass would be hardly safe in a drove of mules, for he would, in all probability, be kicked and lamed by his proud relatives; whereas a horse, on the contrary, takes a distinguished position, the mules not only crowding around him and following his movements, but exhibiting a violent jealousy, each striving to get the nearest to their distinguished relative.

Male Peacock in Presence of Some Barn-Yard Fowls.]

We have seen the pride of rank and love of precedence in cows, and the pride of ancestry in mules. There is, however, a pride that takes the form of sensitiveness to ridicule. Nothing is so galling to a proud man as to find himself the object of ridicule. The same trait of character is to be found in many animals, and especially in those that have been domesticated, for it is in these that we have the most opportunities for observation. All high-bred dogs are exceedingly sensitive to ridicule. We knew of a cat that was quite conscious if spoken of in a disparaging manner, and testified his disapprobation by arching his tail, holding himself very stiff indeed, and marching slowly out of the room.

There is, however, another form of pride which is often to be seen among the lower animals, but more especially among birds notable for gaudy or abundant plumage. This is the pride which manifests itself in personal appearance. Vanity is the name which is currently applied to this form of pride. Those who have observed a peacock in all the glory of his starry train will recognize the intense pride he feels at his own splendor. This display of his magnificent train is not for the purpose of attracting the homage of his plainly-attired mates solely, but seems to be intended to evoke the admiration of human beings as well. Not even the homage of birds, whom he regards his inferiors, is to be despised.

We have seen him, with his train fully spread, displaying his grandeur around a dozen or more barn-yard fowls, and apparently as satisfied with the effect he produced, as he stalked majestically among them, as if he had been surrounded by his own kith and kin. Then there is the turkey. No movements are more grotesque than his. See him as he struts about in his nuptial plumage, and yet no bird, notwithstanding the ludicrousness of his behavior, surveys himself with greater complacency. The whidah-bird, or widow-bird, as it is often called, exhibits this trait of character in its highest development. He is wonderfully proud of his beautiful tail, and, as long as he wears it, loses no opportunity of displaying it to every person who visits his cage. But when the moulting season has arrived, and he has taken on the plain, tailless attire of his mate, a change as great has come over his manner, and, instead of exhibiting himself in all his pride and glory, he mopes listlessly and stupidly about, and seemingly ashamed of his mean condition. In all these instances the character of pride in personal appearance is as strongly developed as it is possible for it to be in any human being.

That peculiar uneasiness, which arises from the fear that a rival will dispossess us of the affection of one whom we love, or the suspicion that he has already done so, is termed jealousy. There are two forms of this passion, one connected with the love of some other being, and the other dependent on the love of self. But it is the former, whose definition begins the present paragraph, with which we shall exclusively deal. It is evident from the meaning of jealousy, as given above, that the power of reasoning is implied, and that any creature by which it is manifested must be able to deduce a conclusion from premises. No matter if the conclusion drawn by the animal be wrong, the process, however incorrect it may be, is, it cannot be denied, still one of reasoning. All who have possessed pet animals must be familiar with the exceeding jealousy displayed by most of them. Most strongly is this feeling manifested when an animal has been the only pet and another is introduced into the house. Where there are two or more dogs in the same family, one is often amused at the boundless jealousy displayed toward each other while engaged in the service of the master, although at other times they were on the most excellent terms. Bus is the name of a favorite dog belonging to a friend. No more affectionate dog ever lived. Beagle was his companion. When they were by themselves, life was a round of frolics and rambles. No matter how rough and exciting their plays were, they never got cross, but endured everything with patience and forgiveness of spirit. Beagle was a clever animal, and very fond of the chase. Many a ground-hog would he dislodge from its burrow and fight to the death, while Bus would look on with wonder and admiration. But let the slightest attention be shown by the master to Beagle, and Bus’s jealousy and anger became unbounded. He would fly at his friend in the most infuriated manner, rending him with tooth and claw, while Beagle would quietly slip around the corner of the house to get out of the reach of his companion’s temper. Beagle, being a large and powerful dog, had in him the ability to give Bus a very sound whipping, but he was too noble and magnanimous a creature to take advantage of one younger and smaller than himself. He would always allow Bus to have his own way, knowing that the passion which was lacerating the bosom of his young companion and playmate would soon spend itself, and the latter, ashamed and abashed, would be soon seeking forgiveness and reconciliation.

Even in such rarely tamed animals as the common mouse the feeling of jealousy has been known to be so intense as to lead to murder. A young lady, one of Rev. J. G. Wood’s correspondents, had succeeded in taming a common brown mouse so completely that it would eat out of her hand and suffer itself to be taken off the floor. She had also a tame white mouse in a cage. One morning when she went to feed the white mouse, as was her usual custom, she found it lying dead on the bottom of the cage, and beside it was its murderer, the brown mouse. The cage being opened, the latter made its escape, as though fearful of the consequences that might ensue, but how it had managed to gain admission was always a mystery.

Instances are on record where the jealousy of a rival has been restrained for long years through fear, and has ultimately broken out when the cause of the fear has been removed. A case of the kind came under our notice some few years ago. There were two cocks, belonging to different breeds, whom fate had placed as denizens of the same family. One was a magnificent dunghill cock, and the other a Malay, a cowardly caitiff, that was kept in fear and subjection by the former. In the course of events the dunghill cock suddenly died. His rival, coming by chance on his dead body, and perceiving that the time had come to wreak out the mixture of hatred and revenge that had lain smouldering in his bosom for years, instantly sprang upon it, kicked, spurred and trampled upon the lifeless bird, and, standing upon the corpse, flapped his wings in triumph, as it were, and crowed himself hoarse with the most disgusting energy. He immediately took possession of the harem, but he was far from being the noble, generous and unselfish creature that his predecessor had been. Again, comparing man with beast, it is at once apparent that the bird in this instance acted exactly as a savage does when his enemy has fallen, for the savage not only exults over the dead body of an enemy, especially if the latter has been very formidable in life, but also mutilates in futile and silly revenge the form which he feared when alive.

Tyranny, or the oppression of the weak by the strong, is another of the many traits of character common to man and the lower animals. But whether or not that strength belongs to the body or the mind, it is tyranny all the same. Taken in its most obvious form, it not only manifests itself in many of the animals in the oppression of the weak by the strong, but also in the killing and the eating of the same, even though they be of the same species. Human cannibals act in just the same manner, eating their enemies after they have killed them. There is hardly an animal in which the milder forms of tyranny may not be found. Insects, especially, manifest it in a light manner when they drive away their fellows from some morsel of food which they desire to keep to themselves. Among gregarious animals, the herd or flock is always under the command of an individual who has fought his way to the front, and who will rule with imperious sway until he has become old and in turn has been supplanted by a younger and more vigorous rival. In the poultry-yards the same form of tyranny is manifest, one cock invariably assuming the leadership, no matter how many may be the number of birds.

There is a curious analogy between these birds and human beings, especially those of the East, whether at the present day or in more ancient times. Many petty chieftains are found in Eastern countries, but there is always to be met with one among them who is more mighty than the rest, and who holds his place by superior force, either of intellect or military power. Challenged by one of the inferior chiefs and victorious, he retains his post, but if vanquished, his conqueror takes his place, his property and his wives. But curious to relate, with men as with birds, the members of the harem seem to trouble themselves very little, if any, about the change of master. The Scriptures are full of allusions to the invariable custom that the conqueror takes the possession of the harem belonging to the vanquished. David did so with regard to the women of Saul’s household, and when Nabal died, who had defied the authority of David, so the latter, as a matter of course, took possession of his wife, together with the rest of his property. And when Absalom rebelled against David, he publicly took possession of his father’s harem, which was a sign that he had assumed the kingdom.

Where a number of creatures are confined in the same place, a very curious sort of tyranny is sometimes manifested. Mandarin ducks, according to Mr. Bennett, when confined to an aviary, show a very querulous disposition at feeding-time. The males of one and the same kind of a different species endeavor to grasp all the nourishment for themselves, unmindful of the wants of others, and will not even permit their companions to perform their ablutions without molestation, although they may themselves have completed what they required. Often the mandarin ducks have been observed to excite the drakes to assail other males or females of the same species, and other kinds of birds in the aviary, against whom the ladies, from some cause or other, have taken a dislike. One pair of these ducks are always to be noticed that exercise a tyranny over the others, not allowing them to wash, eat or drink, unless at their pleasure and approval.

But, of all tyrants, none can be compared to a spoiled dog, who is even worse than a spoiled child. Obedience is a stranger to his nature. Does his master want him to go out for a walk, and he prefers to stay at home, he stays at home, and his master is compelled to go out without him. But if he wants to go for a walk, he makes his master go with him, and even to take the direction he prefers. Duchie is the name of a Skye terrier whose history is given in a work on the latter breed of dogs by Dr. J. Brown. So completely had this little animal domineered over her mistress, that the latter could not even choose her own dinner, but was obliged to have whatever the dog preferred. It is related that for a half of a winter’s night she was kept out of bed, because Duchie had got into the middle and refused to move. Certainly, no better example of tyranny could be adduced.

That so-called brutes possess, in common with ourselves, a Conscience, that is, a sense of Moral Responsibility, and a capability of distinguishing between right and wrong, may seem a very strange assertion to be made, especially to those who have never studied the ways of the lower animals. Animals which are placed under the rule of man, and those, like the dog, which belong to his household and are made his companions more particularly, would naturally be expected to show the strongest development of the principle. Conscience, in their dealings with man, constitutes their religion, and they often exercise it in a way which would put many a human being to the blush. This feeling it is that induces the dog to make himself the guardian of his master’s property, and often to defend that property at the risk of his life. However hungry may be the dog that is placed in charge of his master’s dinner, nothing would, as a rule, tempt him to touch a morsel of the food, for he would rather die of starvation than eat the food which belongs to his master. Often have we seen field-laborers at work at one end of a large field, while their coats and their dinner were at the other end, guarded by a dog. Not the least uneasiness did they seem to manifest about the safety of their property, for well they knew that the faithful animal would never allow any one to touch either the clothes or the provisions.

There could hardly be a stronger instance of moral responsibility than the one which I shall now relate, which is substantially the same as appears in Wood’s “Man and Beasts Here and Hereafter.” Living in an unprotected part of Scotland was a poor woman, who unexpectedly became possessed of a large sum of money. She would have taken it to the bank, could she have left the house, but lack of bodily health prevented her from so doing. At last she asked the advice of a butcher of her acquaintance, telling him that she was afraid to live in the house with so much money about her. “Never fear,” said the butcher, “I will leave my dog with you, and I’ll warrant you that no one will dare to enter your house.” Towards the close of the day the dog was brought, and chained up close to the place where the money was deposited. That very night a robber made his way into the house and was proceeding to carry off the money, when he was seized by the dog, who held him a prisoner until assistance arrived. The thief turned out to be the butcher himself, who thought he had made sure of the money, but he had not considered that his dog was a better moralist than himself, for who would, rather than betray a defenceless woman, take her part against his own master. Kindly pardoned by the woman, the intending robber made his way home, and it is to be hoped that for the future he learned a lesson from his own dog and amended the evil of his ways.

Not only does the dog guard the property which is intrusted to its charge, but frequently goes a little further and assumes a charge on its own account. When the writer was a boy living in the country, where much of the spring and summer of the year was spent in working upon a farm, he became on very excellent terms with a little bull-terrier, named Tip, that belonged to a certain farmer by whom he was employed. Upon my first introduction to Tip, I felt a sort of aversion towards him. This grew out of the mysterious actions of the animal. He was always around when I was busy at work and seemed to be eying me in a suspicious sort of manner, which at times made me feel very unpleasant. After the lapse of a few days I discovered that I was not so closely watched as before, and that I was treated by him as he was accustomed to treat the other members of the family. Upon inquiry I learned that he always acted in this way toward people whom he did not know intimately, and that, after a time, he had confidence in their honesty and left them alone. While in many instances Tip was entirely wrong in his surmises, yet cases are recalled where the dog was right and acted in a manner that would have been creditable to a human being. One of the men employed upon the place, presuming upon the friendship of the dog, sought to carry away under cover of darkness something belonging to the farmer, but he was immediately beset by the animal, who was an eye-witness of the proceeding, and compelled to desist from the intended theft. From that time the man was under the closest surveillance by the dog. Unable to effect a reconciliation, and chafing under the look of suspicion with which he was always greeted, the man soon took his departure, much to the delight and satisfaction of the faithful canine, and was never afterwards seen.

Quite a common form of conscience among the lower animals is that which may be defined as a recognition of having done wrong, and acknowledgment that punishment is deserved. Animals have in their way very pronounced ideas as to right and wrong. When they have committed an act which they know will offend their master, they display as keen a conscience as any human being self-convicted of sin could exhibit. In many instances, the offence in not merely acknowledged, but the creature remains miserable until forgiveness has been granted. This condition of mind, if manifested by man, is called Penitence, and, assuredly, it cannot be known by any other name when manifested by animals that are lower down in the scale of life. My little dog Frisky, about whom mention has already been made, affords a very fine illustration of this phase of conscience. Whenever he did wrong, the severest punishment that could be meted out to him was to ignore his presence and decline his offered paw. For hours the poor fellow would moan and cry, and even refuse food, when he thought I was angry with him. But a word or a look of forgiveness was sufficient to change his sadness into joy. A shaking of hands, so to speak, would then follow, and master and dog would be good friends again. No love could be more intense than his, and this was especially shown when I would return from a short absence, when the little fellow would almost overwhelm me by his affectionate caresses.

No loftier characteristic adorns humanity than Love. But how far it is shared by the lower animals it is now our purpose to inquire. That there are many phases of development cannot be doubted. Sympathy, or that capacity of feeling for the sufferings of another, is the first phase. Many, and perhaps all, living creatures possess the capacity of sympathy. In the majority of cases it is not restricted to their own species, but is extended to those beings which appear to have very little in common with each other. Ordinarily, however, it is exhibited between animals of the same species, and it is often seen in the dog, as, for example, where a dog, having been cured of an injury, has been observed to take a fellow-sufferer to his benefactor. Such sympathy, it need hardly be remarked, could not be carried out unless the animals possessed a language adequately defined to enable them to transmit ideas from one to the other. Cats are often kind to each other, sympathizing under difficulties, and helping their friends who require assistance. A cat, belonging to a friend, has been known, when oppressed with the cares of a family, to employ a half-grown kitten to take charge of the young while she went for a ramble. Between the cat and the dog an enmity exists that is hereditary, and yet, when in good hands, they are sure to become very loving friends, and even to show considerable sympathy towards each other. Such an exhibition of good feeling was observed by the writer a few years ago. The dog, a large black Newfoundland, had contracted a warm and devoted friendship for a gray cat that was an inmate of the same family. When the cat was assailed by one of her kind, or by a strange dog, the Newfoundland would pick her up in his mouth and carry her to the house out of reach of danger, the cat maintaining all the while the most perfect serenity of composure, knowing that she was in the care of one who meant her no ill. When the same cat would become sick, the Newfoundland would lie down by her side, caress her with his tongue, and show in every way possible that he was sorry that she was sick.

Many examples are recorded of birds feeling sympathy with the lost or deserted young of other species, and that have taken upon themselves the task of feeding the starving children. A pair of robins had constructed a nest near to the writer’s home in the country, where in due season a family of four children was raised. Disaster soon came to the little ones, for both parents were slain by some wicked boys of the neighborhood. There dwelt in the same locality a pair of bluebirds, but between the two families there had never been apparent the least interchange of friendship. Each family kept to itself, and attended to its own business. But when the cry of the young robins in their piteous demands for food rent the air, the bluebirds came over to their home to discover what the trouble was. They were not slow to perceive the sad state of things. Their sympathies were at once aroused, and their energies soon bent in the direction of relieving the sufferings of the little orphaned robins. For the next two weeks they had all they could do in providing meat for their own and the robins’ young.

Kind-Hearted Bluebirds Assuming the Role of Parents.]

While capable of showing sympathy for near as well as distant kin, the lower animals have also the capacity to sympathize with human beings in distress. Cats occasionally manifest a sympathy for suffering humanity. As for sympathy displayed by dogs, there is no need to cite examples. No human being, I am safe in saying, was ever free from troubles of some kind, and I am equally sure that no one who had a companionable dog felt that he was without sympathy. Full well does the dog know when his master is suffering pain or sorrow, and his nose pushed into his master’s hand, or laid affectionately upon his knee, is a sign of sympathy worth possessing, even though it exists only in the heart of a dog. From that moment there has been established a bond between the soul of the master and the dog, and certainly no one can believe that the bond can ever be severed by the death of the material body, whether of the man or the animal.