Chapter X: Part 10

INDIAN tradition ascribes the rescue of the world from its aqueous ages to the industry and intelligence of the beaver, the animal which first learnt to control and turn to account the opposing elements of land and water. The beavers were of gigantic size, before the Great Spirit smoothed them down to their present dimensions, after they had completed his work on the unfinished earth; and they, with their fellow-workers, the musquash and the otter, dived and brought up the mud, and with it made mountains and lakes, caves and cataracts, dividing the land from the waters, while the envious spirits of evil pelted the Titan beavers with gigantic rocks, which still strew the plains and valleys with monstrous boulders of misshapen stone. If the legend needed any justification beyond its picturesqueness and simplicity, a study of Mr. Martin’s work on _The History and Traditions of the Canadian Beaver_[15] would almost bear out the Indian belief, that the intelligence and mechanical skill of the beaver were prior and superior to that of man in the development of the New World. The exaggerated descriptions of the beaver-lodges and engineering feats given by the early French Canadians, hardly deserve the author’s condemnation; the works themselves are so complete and so ingenious, that the symmetrical additions of early explorers add but little to the facts which their incomplete observations only partially grasped. That a creature whose engineering structures were based, consciously or unconsciously, on principles only known to highly civilized man, should embellish them with conveniences known to half-civilized man, was a natural inference; and to credit the beaver with a wish to insert windows in the walls of his lodge was no great flight of fancy to men who had seen with their own eyes that the same animal could construct a dyke a mile long, with the precise section which human experience has determined to be that best adapted to resist the forces of pent-up water. Mr. Martin has so well fulfilled the promise of his title-page, to present an “exhaustive monograph popularly written” on the life and history of the beaver, that an attempt to follow the varied commercial, historical, and palæontological references in which the story of the beaver abounds, would be impossible. It will, perhaps, be sufficient to consider the main questions of the extraordinary intelligence exhibited by the animal, and the possibility of its preservation from the total destruction with which the species is now threatened. So far as the most careful modern observation shows, there is but one claim which has been seriously made for the beaver’s sagacity which is matter for doubt. It has been asserted that the animal always cuts the trees it selects, so that they may fall towards the water. There is evidence that this is not _always_ the case. But trees growing near the water naturally tend to lean towards the stream, and naturally extend the heaviest growth of branches over the water, where light and space are greatest, and the greater number of those cut by the beavers would probably fall in that direction without any special provision. But the inseparable features of a beaver-colony, the dyke or “dam,” and the less famous but almost equally wonderful “canal,” suggests an estimate of brain-power or inherited instinct for mechanics which an exhaustive examination of the facts heightens rather than diminishes.

Footnote 15:

Edward Stanford: London.

The object of the dam is to supply a temporary want, not a permanent necessity always present to the beaver-mind. In summer, the beavers wander up the streams, finding food without difficulty. In winter, they require a permanent supply of water at a certain level, in which they can swim beneath the ice, store their supply of branches for food so as to be accessible without exposing themselves, and keep a “moat” round their lodges. Left to itself, the stream would run low in winter, when the freezing of the snow and earth stops the water-supply. Hence the necessity for the dam to maintain it at a constant level. Such a train of arguments supposes a number of “concepts” in the beaver’s brain which would occur to no other animal. To carry it out efficiently would puzzle most human beings not acquainted with engineering. Moreover, the work must be done with the material at hand, so that beaver-dams are found built of branches and mud, of grass, of sand, and of mud only. To get the wood to the water-side, the beaver clears paths, or “rolling-ways,” cuts a water-channel to meet and assist in the transportation of the wood, and in some cases actually makes a long canal for water-carriage and safe travelling. “Though the beaver-canal is not so popularly known,” writes Mr. Martin, “and is more easily reconciled with instinct, it must not be supposed that it is a minor feature in the performances of this animal; it is almost incredible that a work, so apparently artificial, could have remained unnoticed till 1868, when Mr. Morgan published his valuable notes, so amply illustrating the works of the American beaver. When the colony has been settled quietly for many years, and has cut all the desirable trees close at hand, and further supplies are sometimes hundreds of yards away, the necessity for clear rolling-ways and good canals is obvious.” No doubt the necessity is obvious, but that does not explain the wonder that a small rodent animal should anticipate civilized man, and make a road to bring commodities to its city, instead of shifting to a fresh encampment like the Red Indian himself when supplies are exhausted. Our estimate of the _individual_ intelligence of beavers must greatly depend on the power of adaptation shown by them in special cases. Mr. Martin seems to lean to the opinion that the creature is controlled by a dominant instinct, which makes its action almost automatic, and alleges this want of adaptability as an insurmountable obstacle to its domestication. The instances given of its behaviour in captivity hardly justify such a conclusion. A tame beaver, kept as a pet in a trapper’s hut, “used to lie before the fire as contentedly as a dog. It was not till winter set in that it became a nuisance. Poor old Bill McHugh’s house was well ventilated, an open chink between the logs being thought very little of by himself and his family; but the beaver was very impatient of such negligence, and used to work all night at making things air-tight and comfortable, without much discrimination as to the materials it employed. If Bill or his guests went to bed leaving their moccasins and tichigans drying before the fire, they were certain to be found in the morning stowed away in some chink or cranny; and stray blankets and articles of clothing were found torn up for the same purpose.” That was contrary to our notions of housekeeping, but the beaver’s wish to keep out the cold was not more “instinctive” than that of any squatter’s wife on a Surrey heath. The preparations made to meet the severe cold of the winter of 1890 by the beavers at the “Zoo” in Regent’s Park were an odd mixture of cleverness and what seems too like the stupidity of “instinct.” Their “lodge” was partly their own building, and partly “subsidized” by the authorities. That is, it had a roof of corrugated iron supported by strong posts at the corners. The sides were carefully built up with branches set on end by the beavers themselves, and well plastered with mud, which they push in with their fore-paws and pat down hard. They not only carried the plaster up to the “eaves” of the house, but patted a quantity of mud down on the iron roof, a quite unnecessary labour, except on the assumption that there were joints in it which require filling. The whole was crowned with a pile of branches, which served no useful purpose. Last year these beavers dug a canal from the stone-rimmed pond to one of the burrows running under their house. We were not able to see whether it actually joined the pond, or whether the rim of stone which divided it from the pool at the surface was continued downwards. In any case, they had managed to fill the canal with water, and had a clear waterway from the house to the edge of the pool. They were also busy cutting through a poplar stem; the largest chip of wood lying at its foot measured 3½ in. Another stump was being carefully gnawed into fine sawdust, which was probably intended for bedding.

Since then the beavers have been supplied with a fine new house of concrete, which will probably keep out their enemies the rats which invaded the old house, though it will leave less inducements to the animals to go on with their interesting building feats. Yet as soon as the new house was completed they at once set to work to scratch out a “canal” in the run, and managed to fill it partly with muddy water.

If the beaver is to be saved from extermination, some means for its artificial preservation must be found, though, from the failure of the attempts made in Prussia and elsewhere in Central Europe to save the species—so late as 1725 an edict was published in Berlin prohibiting the destruction of the beavers of the Elbe—Mr. Martin is not hopeful of success, even in Canada. Lord Bute’s colony in the island from which he takes his title appear to have been less fortunate than was at first supposed. In 1883, when it was desired to send specimens to the Fisheries Exhibition, it was found that their numbers, as estimated by the work done, had been much exaggerated, and the enclosure was completely ransacked before a couple could be secured. One hundred and eighty-seven large trees were cut down by the beavers between 1874 and 1878. In that time they dammed a pool seventy-eight yards long, and constructed seven dykes, one having an embankment of one hundred and five feet. But in spite of the difficulties which their engineering industry presents to their would-be preservers, proposals for a “beaver-ranch” are still being discussed in Canada; and though experience forbids the hope that they can be kept for profit, sentiment may yet succeed in preserving the creature which has been adopted as the “totem” of the pale-faces’ colony by the great Lakes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE TEMPER OF ANIMALS.

THE old theory that animal good-temper might be accounted for on the ground that animals are sensible of pleasure and pain, but not of advantage and disadvantage, was only a half-truth, for animals are subject to jealousy, and jealousy is the direct result of a feeling of personal disadvantage. But it draws attention to the fact that occasions for disagreement in the case of most animals are rare and unusual. Questions of domicile are almost the sole ground of discord in the animal world, with the exception of the fierce dissensions raised at pairing-time, and even in the last case combat is only general in the case of polygamous animals. Deer fight more fiercely than wolves, and wild sheep than lions; and though there is, or was, an eagle in the Zoo which was caught locked in the talons of another eagle when fighting in the spring, the fiercest birds are usually friendly with their own species, and while ruffs and black-game fight like gladiators for their wives, the eagles and the peregrines as a rule mate in peace. Proximity, the severest trial to human temper, seldom ruffles the animal mind, and different species live in harmony together, each seeming, as in the case of the owls and the prairie-dogs, or rooks and starlings, rather to prefer than shun the society of the other. The choicest spots for homes are naturally the source of warfare among birds, and other animals frequently fight for the possession of some favourite breeding-place. Badgers and foxes which have shared the same earth during winter often fight for sole possession in the spring, when the fox invariably wins, a result which would hardly be expected from the relative physique of the two animals. But such quarrels are only for the sake of rearing their young, not for selfish reasons; and even apprehended pressure of the food-supply rarely excites ill-will, except in the case of the largest carnivorous birds and animals, which require a wider range for hunting, and drive their young to other districts. The rodents and ruminants are less jealous; and that strong social and gregarious instinct which the existence of ill-temper as a permanent characteristic would inevitably destroy, keeps them together in peace and harmony. They love society, and not the least marked difference between the temperament of animals and men, is that animals do not by mere contact irritate each other,—a positive and not unimportant compensation for the absence of the gift of speech.

Since occasions of difference are so few, nothing but the assumption of an ancient and inbred malignity in animal minds, such as the author of _Three Men in a Boat_ supposes in the case of fox-terriers to have been due to a double dose of original sin, could justify the view so generally held that animals are, as a rule, ferocious and ill-tempered, a notion summed up in Mr. Burnand’s conclusion in _Happy Thoughts_, that most of the creatures with which he came in contact in the country were, “when not dangerous, always very uncertain.” The exact contrary would be nearer the truth. Animal temper is naturally pacific, equable, and mild. Bad temper is the privilege of more highly organized natures; and the mild resentment of the placable tiger finds its development in the apoplectic fury of the mandrill and the measured malice of mankind. Horace’s suggestion, that Prometheus added to the ill-temper of man the strength of a mad lion, must be taken literally. The general law of good-nature in the animal world makes the exceptions all the more remarkable. Quarrelsome species appear among a friendly tribe, just as an ill-tempered individual does in a kindly species. The ruminants are a most peaceful race, yet deer are savage, and so is that handsome Indian antelope the nilgai. A tame stag is a very dangerous pet, and even the beautiful roebuck has been known to kill a boy in a wild fit of rage. But the fiercest and most vindictive of all, with the exception of the Cape buffalo, is the South African gnu, which never loses its ill-temper when tamed, and always remains among the few dangerous animals which the keepers at the Zoo have to deal with. Hardly less ill-tempered are the zebras and the wild asses, which suggests that human mismanagement is not entirely to blame for the occasional ill-temper and obstinacy of mules and donkeys. To the ill-tempered species we may add the buffalo and the two-horned black rhinoceros. The last is really ferocious, charging down on any creature, man or beast, without provocation, and capable of inflicting mortal wounds even on the lion, the elephant, or its own kind.

But among all the larger creatures of the animal kingdom, it is difficult to find more than a dozen species which are, as a class, ill-tempered, unless we include all those carnivorous animals which exhibit a certain ferocity in the capture of their prey. But it will be found that, apart from this law of their being, such animals are not, as a rule, either ill-tempered or malicious. On the contrary, their natural bias is towards good-nature, and it may be inferred that the fierceness exhibited by them when actually striking their prey, is rather a gradual development from a particular necessity than an essential part of their nature. The good-humour of the lions and other _felidæ_ was well illustrated by a scene at the Zoo a few weeks ago. The young lion from Sokoto was much intent on breaking in the iron shutter which separates the house it now occupies from its former quarters next door. Apart from the very proper wish to assert a right to its former domicile, it had the irritating stimulus supplied by an ill-tempered and decrepit old leopard, which was growling on the other side of the shutter, and even went so far as to insert one of its longest teeth into the crack between the shutter and the wall, as a reminder to the lion of what was waiting for it on the other side. The lion was striking constant heavy blows on the door, and was so intent on its occupation as to disregard the call of its keeper. The keeper quietly attracted its attention by pulling its tail!—and the lion at once desisted, rubbed its face against the keeper’s hand, and lay down to be stroked, patted, and have its mane caressed.

That good-tempered races contain very ill-natured individuals, raises the difficult question of temperament. A good authority on horses, Mr. Mayhew, endeavours to show that ill-temper among them is accidental, not innate. In his work, “jibbing” is shown to be due to brain-disease, shying to defective vision, and temper to the mismanagement of man. There is much truth, but also much error here. Those best acquainted with the nature of domesticated animals know how greatly the temperaments of individuals differ. Take, for instance, the case of three highly-bred young Jersey heifers, of which the writer has watched the up-bringing from their earliest days. They have never been frightened or struck; they have not even heard a rough word from their earliest days, even when they jumped the garden-fence and browsed on an apricot-tree. One is as gentle and domesticated as a well-bred cow can be, the others are ready with their horns at any or no provocation. The same is true of horses: some are so ill-tempered that they will kick or bite at any living thing that comes near them. It is as impossible to trace these dislikes to any known cause as it is to find a reason for the antipathy which cows have for hares. However great our liking for horses, we cannot deny that some of the best thoroughbreds are revengeful, quarrelsome, and liable to frightfully sudden fits of rage. No doubt this evil temper is often accompanied by splendid qualities of endurance. Chestnut horses, which have generally the most uncertain tempers, are perhaps the most high-couraged. But courage and temper are not always allied; and temper and human management are not necessarily connected. “Bendigo” and “Surefoot” were both trained in the “Seven Barrows” stable by the late Mr. Jousiffe, who always avoided any severity of treatment, and never ran his horses “light.” Each as a three-year-old won a great race, “Bendigo” the Cambridgeshire, “Surefoot” the Two Thousand Guineas. Both carried off the Eclipse Stakes at Sandown, worth £10,000, later in their career. Yet “Bendigo” had a perfect temper, while “Surefoot’s” is well known to be ferocious. “Bendigo” would train himself, and however well he ran in trials on the White Horse Hill, his trainer knew that he would do still better on the race-course. In his last race, when he was just beaten when carrying a crushing weight, Watts gave him one stroke of the whip. But the horse was doing all he could, and the jockey did not touch him again. In the stable, the big brown horse was almost as friendly with strangers as he was with his devoted attendant, “Bendigo Pat,” and the writer has seen no prettier sight than that of his trainer’s little daughter hugging “dear old ‘Bendy’s’” nose. The horse had the courage and gentleness of a knight of romance. “Surefoot,” on the other hand, under identical treatment, was dangerous in the stable, and savage even when running. In the actual race for the Derby, he tried to bite the jockeys on the horses in front of him, and when being put into the horse-box for the journey, gave more trouble than a Murcian bull. Yet this savage temper was not accompanied by unusual courage and endurance, and in severe races the even-tempered “Bendigo” was his undoubted superior. “Peter,” another race-horse noted for his stubborn obstinacy, once gave an interesting object-lesson in temper as between man and horse at Ascot. The horse fought with his jockey (Archer) for twenty minutes at the post, but the indomitable good-humour of the jockey won. When the flag fell, the horse went off with a rush, but stopped in the middle of the race to kick. Archer neither moved nor struck him, and “Peter” then went on like the wind, and won! But horses of this temperament are the exception, not the rule; and the success with which we have developed power and courage, without producing animals like “Cruiser” or the celebrated “General Chassé,” of whom his owner, Mr. Kirby, the dealer, who sold largely in Russia, used to say that “the Emperor Paul was nothing to him,” is one of the triumphs of domestication. The union of reckless courage and habitual ferocity is rare in the animal world, and the general law of good-nature remains absolute and unquestioned.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CRIMINAL ANIMALS.

“Mr. Gladstone narrowly escaped a serious accident when taking exercise
in Hawarden Park. A cow, which had escaped from its owner when being
driven to market, had taken refuge in the park, and attacked Mr.
Gladstone when passing. Fortunately, though knocked down, Mr.
Gladstone escaped unhurt.”—_Daily Paper._

THE general view of good or bad in animal disposition is, no doubt, mainly determined by their behaviour to ourselves. That is the fixed opinion of the moral relation of animals to man. But there is every reason to believe that there are a few individuals among the many in all species which have some pronounced and inborn bias towards mischief and ferocity, which almost entitles them to a place in the “criminal classes” of animal society. No excuse, for instance, can be found for the cow which so nearly ended the hopes of Home-rule by knocking down the greatest of all Home-rulers, after spending a week or more in the hospitable security afforded to her by the park at Hawarden, after she had broken loose from her owners on the way to market. She was, in fact, a heifer, not a cow; and so had no calf hidden in the fern whose protection might have been urged as an excuse for her ferocity; and her conduct must be ascribed to some such ancient and inbred malignity as possessed the “dun cow of Warwick.” No doubt the last animal, if legend be true, was possessed by a deeper and darker instinct of hatred to the human race; for she used to mingle with the herds and entice the milkmaids to perform their kindly office by all kinds of endearments known to her race, and then most cruelly kill them, until the renowned Guy of Warwick rid the country of the monster, avenged the milkmaids, and earned himself a place in story. But the cow of Hawarden may in time win its way to the marvellous, and have a place in the great Gladstone myth by the side of “Joe”—or “Io”— once the friend, now the foe of the hero, whose legend is in after-ages to be identified with the rationalistic record of the promise of “three acres and a cow.” The danger to which Mr. Gladstone was exposed, which was a very real one, suggests the question whether there is not some ground for supposing that, apart from questions or our own convenience, there are not some desperately wicked animals which are not only wicked _per se_, but quite conscious that they are doing actions which place them outside the pale both of human and animal consideration? We believe that there is not the least doubt of it, any more than there is a doubt whether certain so-called “criminal lunatics” richly deserve hanging. If animals had no power of self-control, it would be nonsense to speak of them as either good or bad. But they have the power of self-control when domesticated. That we know. It is only the knowledge that they have such power that induces a man to trust himself in a dog-cart behind a young horse, or to ride in a howdah on an elephant. But they must always have the same power when wild. If they had not, they could not be gregarious—a condition which could only be maintained by submission to a law of “live and let live,” which is perhaps better understood by wholly wild animals than by semi-civilized man. Gregarious animals not only exhibit self-control to the extent of not showing temper towards each other, but even obey the command of their leader, when obedience to the command must be extremely irksome—witness Major Skinner’s account of the elephant leader posting live videttes around the tank, at which the herd was then, and not till then, allowed to drink. The “rogue” elephant, which exhibits such unusual and malignant ferocity towards men as well as his own kind, may be, and often is, an animal driven from the herd by a stronger rival; sometimes he is merely suffering from excitement, which passes away after a certain period. But this, though affording a reason for some of the abnormal conditions found in the actions of the “rogue” elephant, does not account satisfactorily for the strange reluctance of its own species ever to re-admit it to their society.

The “rogue” elephant, even when driven from one herd, is never admitted to another; and though Saunderson found them occasionally in company with another solitary of their own species, Sir J. Tennant records that, even when driven into the keddah, a “rogue” elephant was never allowed to enter the herd of captives with which he was enclosed. Good-temper is the fundamental condition of animal society, and it is probably to the lack of this, and the growing conviction that the “rogue” is an unclubable, unsociable fellow, that his exclusion is due. When separated from the wholesome discipline of society, his temper goes from bad to worse, and he joins the ranks of criminal animals. The wanton ferocity then developed is, perhaps, best shown by Colonel Saunderson’s description of the state of things on the main road between Mysore and Uznand, caused by a creature called the “rogue of Kakankote.” Policemen were planted at the entrance of the jungle to warn travellers to proceed only in parties, and even then the wretched Kurrabas who lived in the forest were from time to time caught, and pulled to pieces limb by limb, to gratify the ill-temper of the elephant. When mastered, the naturally ferocious elephant has been known to die of sheer fury. A noosed “rogue” in the keddah lay down and died, though those suffering from the excitement of “must” are often reclaimed. The ferocity of the “rogue” buffalo and “rogue” hippopotamus must probably be accounted for in the same way. They are individuals which have become intolerable to their own species, and, being outlawed from society, revenge themselves by the indulgence of their criminal bent.

Instances of this homicidal mania among the animals at the Zoo are by no means common. The tact and good management which prevails in all the dealings of the keepers with their charges is largely responsible for this. But one unquestionable example of this type of animal aberration occurred some years ago, which might have had very serious consequences. The temper of all the wild asses is very uncertain, or rather very unreliable. This natural surliness took the form of absolute ferocity in the case of a very fine male zebra. The object of its especial dislike was not so much the occasional visitors to its stable, as the keeper whose duty was to feed it and arrange its stable. The viciousness was such that it would endeavour to climb the railings of its loose box in order to attack them. There was absolutely no ground for this animosity, for it had met with the same kind treatment and attention as the other creatures in the stalls. It was clearly a case of the “criminal instinct” prevailing. One Sunday morning, a Frenchman who had some work to do in the Zebra House accidentally left open the door which led into the box of this striped savage, and when another keeper advanced to drive it back it rushed at him open-mouthed, knocked him down, knelt on him, and would most probably have killed or maimed him if it had not been driven off by some of his fellow _employés_ who most fortunately came to the rescue.

Among domesticated animals, the consciousness of evil-doing is far more clearly existent than among their wild relations, where it can only be matter for probable conjecture and surmise. Perhaps the most convincing instances of the gratification of a consciously criminal instinct are to be found in the cases in which dogs, especially sheep-dogs, have been detected in the habit of going away to considerable distances at night and worrying the sheep in other folds, returning before daybreak to their own flock. In one case, a collie was seen by a shepherd to slip away from the fold early in the morning, and plunge into a stream, where he swam for a short time, came out, shook himself, and then galloped off in the direction of another farm, to which, on inquiry, the dog was found to belong. In the fold which it had just left, several sheep were found dying and dead, and it was surmised that the dog’s bath had for its object the removal of the traces of its sanguinary amusement. In another case, two dogs were found to have been in the habit of slipping away at night, and returning quietly to their kennel after killing sheep at a distance of ten or twelve miles. In both instances, the flock of which they were the natural guardians was uninjured.

The secret gratification of the criminal instinct is not confined to sheep-dogs. In one case, a mastiff ran wild, and lived among the Cheviot Hills, killing sheep at night, and retiring to the roughest and most difficult ground during the day. Though more than once hunted by a pack of foxhounds, he always prevailed on them to spare him, lying down on his back and putting up his feet, as a puppy will when a big dog approaches him.

It is more difficult to account for the extreme viciousness of certain horses, creatures which have no hereditary tendency to cruelty, like the dog, whose ancestor, the wild hunting dog, is perhaps the most ferocious creature in the world. What, for instance, are we to say of an animal like “General Chassé,” which commenced the day, when being led to York, by kneeling on his groom and trying to tear him to pieces, until a squad of labourers charged him, armed with sticks and forks? Or of “Merlin,” who was obliged to be double chained to the rack in the painting-room when his portrait was taken by Mr. Herring, and afterwards made use of his liberty by killing his groom? Another horse could only be groomed during several seasons by a series of well-timed dashes with a birch-broom.

“King Pippin,” a celebrated Irish horse, which ran early in the century, had a habit of rushing at and worrying any person who came within reach as he was being saddled, and if he had a chance would get his head round, seize his rider by the leg, and pull him off his back. When brought to the Curragh to run, no one would put a bridle on his head. A countryman volunteered to do so, when the horse caught him by the chest, shaking him as a dog does a rat. “Fortunately for the poor fellow,” wrote an eye-witness of the scene, “his body was very thickly covered with clothes, as an Irishman on great occasions is fond of displaying the resources of his wardrobe, and if he has three coats will put them all on.”

The celebrated “Whisperer,” an old man named Sullivan, who had a strange power of taming vicious horses, was sent for. He remained shut up with the horse all night, and next day exhibited him on the course as quiet as a sheep. He won his race, and for three years remained docile. Then he suddenly gave way to his criminal instincts, and killed a man, for which he was shot.

But considering the great number of horses on training, and the accuracy with which their disposition and temper is known, the instances of homicidal tendency in the horse are singularly few. It will probably be found that bulls, and often cows, are responsible for nearly all the deaths deliberately caused by animals in this country. It is the fashion to laugh at people who are nervous about cattle. This is hardly fair or sensible. There can be no two opinions as to the power of full-grown cattle to catch or kill any person who has not some shelter at hand, though the owners who drive them along the roads never are willing to admit the possibility. An amusing instance of this, as well as of the local jealousies which ramble between people of different counties, even if only separated by an imaginary border-line, occurred to an acquaintance of the writer, just within the border of Cornwall where it marches with Devon. A farmer was driving cows down a narrow lane, when some foot-passengers remonstrated. “Don’t ’ee be a-veared, m’am,” shouted the owner, “_’em be a deal better behaved here than ’em be in Devon_.” In the case of the bull, a period of savageness generally occurs once or twice in its life, and in the number of fatal gorings inflicted by these brutes on the old labourers and boys who usually attend on them, a fair case could be made out for making compulsory some precautions in their transport along public roads.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A YEAR AT THE ZOO.

THE Report of the Council of the Zoological Society for the sixty-fourth year of the existence of its “Gardens” in Regent’s Park will be read with interest by those whose curiosity extends beyond the menagerie which they see, to its management which is unseen. The public are only dimly aware of their debt to Dr. Sclater, the honorary secretary of the Zoological Society, and to Mr. Bartlett and his son, managers of the Gardens; and the glimpse of a twelvemonth’s history—animal, personal, and financial—of one of the most pleasing and popular outdoor institutions of London, explains much that is not at first obvious in a visit to the Zoo. Among the most evident improvements of recent years is the great and growing beauty of the Gardens, the fine turf and flowers, and the other amenities which, apart from the interest inseparable from the natural history collections, have made possible in the precincts occupied by the Society a nearer counterpart of the outdoor life enjoyed in the gardens of Continental capitals, than anywhere else in the Metropolis. The explanation of this, as well as of the curious and interesting details of the maintenance of a menagerie of 2,413 birds, beasts, and reptiles of all kinds and sizes, from the African elephant and Indian rhinoceros, down to the tiny lemmings and the last litter of dingo-puppies, is to be found in the financial Report for the year. It is a unique document, and deserves attentive study. Those whose custom it is to buy paper packets of broken bread and buns, duly labelled “Food for the animals,” at the refreshment-stalls, or who know from experience that there is hardly any creature there, from the hippopotamus to the smallest monkey, which disdains to eat a raisin, will be astonished at the quantity and variety of the solid nutriment which has to be provided yearly for 650 “beasts,” 1,391 birds, and 366 reptiles; though those more conversant with the powers of consumption of “stock” in an ordinary farmyard would probably hesitate to take a feeding-contract at a lower figure. The year’s cost for provisions consumed in the Gardens is a little under £4000: 105 loads of clover, 153 loads of meadow-hay, 130 quarters of oats, and 340 quarters of bran, may be put down roughly as the quantity of vegetable food required for the large antelopes, elephants, zebras, and wild sheep. Bread and milk are almost as safe a diet for most animals as for human beings, and 5000 quarterns of bread and 6000 quarts of milk represent the quantity of this wholesome food consumed at the Zoo. Most of the insect-eating birds, many monkeys, and certain snakes and lizards are egg-eaters; and nineteen thousand eggs probably account for twice that number of breakfasts supplied to the smaller occupants of the houses. The large carnivora, of which the collection contains so many and such fine examples, require stronger food, and are not stinted in their supply. The figures in this case suggest some interesting reflections on the ravages said to be due to wild beasts among flocks and game. No doubt these creatures, notably wolves and wild dogs, occasionally destroy more than they require to satisfy their hunger. But usually a lion or a tiger kills one animal, and feeds upon it so long as it lasts; after which it kills another victim, and no more. The total of carcasses eaten by all the lions, tigers, bears, hyenas, wolves, leopards, and other large carnivora in the Gardens during the year amounts to 230 horses and 152 goats. If the number consumed in captivity bears any proportion to the loss of cattle caused by these creatures when wild, the reports of natives must be much exaggerated. The fishmonger’s bill is naturally a heavy one, when not only seals, otters, and sea-lions, which will eat nothing else, but also numbers of piscivorous birds, and even the polar bears, have to be provided with fresh flounders, whiting, and conger-eels daily,—36,000 lbs. of whiting, 10,000 lbs. of “rough fish,” 630 quarts of shrimps, and 2000 lbs. of flounders were consumed by the seals and other aquatic creatures. The live gudgeons, whose pursuit and capture form the daily excitement of the penguins in their glass-fronted tank, do not appear in the list of food provided, any more than the army of mice and rats, and dozens of live frogs, which frolic behind the scenes in the Snake House. Unhonoured in their lives, their deaths are unrecorded, or figure darkly among “miscellaneous expenses.” The fact is, that the rearing of tame mice and rats, and the capture and purveyance of live frogs, is an interesting and unexplored side-industry of London life. Breeding mice and white rats is an easy and lucrative addition to small incomes, carried on in back-yards and attics. The frogs, which are genuine wild animals, are captured by special emissaries employed by the “dealers,” who go round to the mouse-farms and froggeries and collect the creatures, just as the poultry-men make their rounds to country farms and cottages. The Zoo is by no means the largest customer to the trade, which relies mainly on the “biologists” for its steady demand. Fruit is almost as necessary as fish at all seasons in the Gardens, and no visitor can have failed to notice the daintily-arranged “dessert” of sliced bananas, grapes, dates, and apples, which is served up to the rarer monkeys and fruit-eating birds. Thirteen thousand oranges, 2000 lbs. of grapes, 1,200 lbs. of dates, and 200 lbs. of raisins and currants, represent the fruiterer’s bill; the green-grocer comes last, with 2,641 bunches of tares, 4,500 bunches of greens, and 2,600 bundles of cress. Cherries, onions, melons, marrows, bananas, and figs vary the bill of fare, which we may close with the solid item of 139 cwt. of carrots, and nearly two tons of ground nuts. To provide for the welfare of its animal pensioners, its works and repairs, its gardens, and to assist in the valuable scientific inquiries into animal structure carried out in the Prosector’s Department, the Society employs, under the direction of the superintendent and his assistant, a head-keeper, twenty-two keepers, a prosector’s assistant, clerks, a head-gardener, twenty-three helpers in the menagerie, twelve gardeners, artisans, firemen, messengers, and a butcher,—in all, nearly one hundred persons. At the Society’s rooms in Hanover Square, the publication of the _Zoological Record_, containing a complete summary of all the Zoological inquiries of the year throughout the world, costs annually about £450. The last, and not the least, interesting item in the list of expenditure is that of £843 19_s._ 6_d._ for the cost and carriage of animals, £500 of which represents the money paid for the young hippopotamus, whose comfortable figure and complacent demeanour have been not the least attraction of the Gardens during the season.

£23,855 has been the total cost of the Zoo for the year 1892. This is covered by receipts of £25,968. The form in which these moneys were received is perhaps less unusual than the items of expenditure; but it includes one considerable source of income which would scarcely be expected. “Fares” for rides on the elephants and camels reach the respectable amount of £606 17_s._ 4_d._, a sum which seems nearly constant in the recent annual records of the Zoo. Admissions to the Gardens reached £13,981, an increase of £272 over last year; and the subscriptions of Fellows of the Society amount to over £6,000, which represents roughly the sum in which the public, after paying their entrance-fees, are indebted to the Society. Lastly, the assets at Regent’s Park and in the offices at Hanover Square are valued at £70,000, including one estimate of £21,542 for the animals in the menagerie, and another of £15,600 for the unrivalled library of Zoology owned by the Society.

With the exception of the young hippopotamus, which, in bulk at least, is a substantial addition to the assets of the Society, the arrivals in the Gardens were more than counterbalanced by the losses during the year. The obituary of the last giraffe has already been given; and it is interesting to notice that the Report corroborates the fear there expressed, that for the present there is no hope of obtaining a successor. “Owing to the closure of the Soudan by the Mahdists,” we read, “the supply of this and other large African mammals, which were formerly obtained _viâ_ Kassala and Suakim, has ceased, and so far as can be ascertained, there are now no living giraffes in the European market.” Among the other deaths recorded are those of a lioness, a male cheetah, two common zebras, an Aard wolf, and a Beatrix antelope. More than sixty monkeys also succumbed to the intense cold of the winter. On the other hand, a large and varied progeny of young creatures was born in the Gardens during the year, and many hundreds of birds, animals, and reptiles were presented to the Society by donors of all ranks and conditions, from the Queen, whose gigantic ostrich occupies the empty giraffe-house, to the public-school boy with a taste for natural history, whose donation of a couple of “yellow-bellied toads,” brought carefully to the Gardens in his coat-pocket, is duly acknowledged in close proximity to the gift of “Her Majesty the Queen.”

THE END.

------------------------------------

_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

EVENTS OF OUR OWN TIME.

_A Series of Volumes on the most Important Events of the last
Half-Century, each containing 300 pages or more, in large 8vo, with
Plans, Portraits, or other Illustrations, to be issued at
intervals, cloth, price 5s._

_Large paper copies (250 only) with Proofs of the Plates, cloth, 10s.
6d._

---------------------

THE LIBERATION OF ITALY. By the COUNTESS MARTINENGO CESARESCO. With Four
Portraits on Copper. Crown 8vo. Price 5s. , cloth.

THE WAR IN THE CRIMEA. By General SIR EDWARD HAMLEY, K.C.B. With Five
Maps and Plans, and Four Portraits on Copper. Fifth Edition. Crown
8vo. Price 5s., cloth.

THE INDIAN MUTINY OF 1857. By COLONEL MALLESON, C.S.I. With Three Plans,
and Four Portraits on Copper. Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. Price 5s. ,
cloth.

THE AFGHAN WARS OF 1839-1842 and 1878-80. By ARCHIBALD FORBES. With Five
Maps and Plans, and Four Portraits on Copper. Second Edition. Crown
8vo. Price 5s. , cloth.

THE REFOUNDING OF THE GERMAN EMPIRE. By COLONEL MALLESON, C.S.I. With
Five Maps and Plans, and Four Portraits on Copper. Crown 8vo. Price
5s. , cloth.

* ACHIEVEMENTS IN ENGINEERING DURING THE LAST HALF-CENTURY. By Professor
VERNON HARCOURT. With many Illustrations. Crown 8vo. Price 5s. ,
cloth.

* THE DEVELOPMENT OF NAVIES DURING THE LAST HALF-CENTURY. By Captain
EARDLEY WILMOT, R.N. With Illustrations and Plans. Crown 8vo. Price
5s. , cloth.

Of Volumes so * marked there are no Large Paper Editions.

---------------------

_BY THE REV. A. J. CHURCH._

---------------------

THE FALL OF ATHENS. A Tale of the Peloponnesian War. By the Rev. A. J.
CHURCH, Author of ‘Stories from Homer.’ With Sixteen Illustrations.
Large Crown 8vo. Price 5s. , cloth.

STORIES FROM THE GREEK COMEDIANS. With Sixteen Coloured Illustrations.
Price 5s. , cloth.

‘The broad humour of Aristophanes is most effectively given in this
little book, and the flashes of brilliant irony not less
vividly.’—_Spectator._

THE STORY OF THE ILIAD. With Coloured Illustrations. Crown 8vo. Price
5s., cloth.

THE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY. With Coloured Illustrations. Crown 8vo. Price
5s., cloth.

‘One of the most beautiful pieces of prose in the English language,
as well as one which gives a better notion of Homer than any one,
probably, of our many meritorious metrical and rhymed
versions.’—_Spectator._

STORIES FROM HOMER. With Coloured Illustrations. Twenty-second Thousand.
Price 5s., cloth.

‘A book which ought to become an English classic. It is full of the
pure Homeric flavour.’—_Spectator._

STORIES FROM VIRGIL. With Coloured Illustrations. Sixteenth Thousand.
Price 5s., cloth.

‘Superior to his “Stories from Homer,” good as they were, and
perhaps as perfect a specimen of that peculiar form of translation
as could be.’—_Times._

STORIES FROM THE GREEK TRAGEDIANS. With Coloured Illustrations. Tenth
Thousand. Price 5s. , cloth.

‘Not only a pleasant and entertaining book for the fireside, but a
storehouse of facts from history to be of real service to them when
they come to read a Greek play for themselves.’—_Standard._

STORIES OF THE EAST FROM HERODOTUS. With Coloured Illustrations. Ninth
Thousand. Price 5s. , cloth.

‘For a school prize a more suitable book will hardly be
found.’—_Literary Churchman._

THE STORY OF THE PERSIAN WAR FROM HERODOTUS. With Coloured
Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.

‘We are inclined to think this is the best volume of
Professor Church’s series since the excellent “Stories from
Homer.”’—_Athenæum._

STORIES FROM LIVY. With Coloured Illustrations. Sixth Thousand. Price
5s., cloth.

‘The lad who gets this book for a present will have got a genuine
classical treasure.’—_Scotsman._

THE STORY OF THE LAST DAYS OF JERUSALEM FROM JOSEPHUS. With Coloured
Illustrations. Seventh Thousand. Price 3s. 6d., cloth.

‘The execution of this work has been performed with that
judiciousness of selection and felicity of language which have
combined to raise Professor Church far above the fear of
rivalry.’—_Academy._

HEROES AND KINGS: Stories from the Greek. Sixth Thousand. Price 1s. 6d.,
cloth.

‘This volume is quite a little triumph of neatness and
taste.’—_Saturday Review._

THE STORIES OF THE ILIAD AND THE ÆNEID. With Illustrations. Seventh
Thousand. Price 1s., sewed, or 1s. 6d., cloth.

‘The attractive and scholar-like rendering of the story cannot
fail, we feel sure, to make it a favourite at home as well as at
school.’—_Educational Times._

THE BURNING OF ROME: A Story of Nero’s Days. With Sixteen Illustrations.
Price 5s., cloth.

‘Is probably the best of the many excellent tales that Mr. Church
has produced.’—_Athenæum._

WITH THE KING AT OXFORD: A Story of the Great Rebellion. With Coloured
Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.

‘Excellent sketches of the times.’—_Athenæum._

A YOUNG MACEDONIAN, in the Army of Alexander the Great. With Coloured
Illustrations. Price 5s., cloth.

‘The book is full of true classical romance.’—_Spectator._

THE COUNT OF THE SAXON SHORE: A Tale of the Departure of the Romans from
Britain. With Sixteen Illustrations. Third Thousand. Price 5s.,
cloth.

‘“The Count of the Saxon Shore” will be read by multitudes of young
readers for the sake of the story, which abounds in moving
adventures; older readers will value it for its accurate pictures
of the last days of Roman Britain.’—_Spectator._

THE HAMMER: A Story of the Maccabean Times. By Rev. A. J. CHURCH and
RICHMOND SEELEY. With Illustrations. Second Edition. Price 5s.,
cloth.

‘Mr. Alfred Church and Mr. Richmond Seeley have joined their
forces in producing a vivid picture of Jewish life and
character.’—_Guardian._

THE GREEK GULLIVER. Stories from Lucian. With Illustrations. New
Edition. Price 1s. 6d., cloth, 1s., sewed.

‘Every lover of literature must be pleased to have Lucian’s
good-natured mockery and reckless fancy in such an admirable
English dress.’—_Saturday Review._

ROMAN LIFE IN THE DAYS OF CICERO. With Coloured Illustrations. Sixth
Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.

‘The best prize book of the season.’—_Journal of Education._

THE CHANTRY PRIEST OF BARNET: A Tale of the Two Roses. With Coloured
Illustrations. Fifth Thousand. Price 5s., cloth.

‘This is likely to be a very useful book, as it is certainly very
interesting and well got up.’—_Saturday Review._

TO THE LIONS: A Tale of the Early Christians. With Coloured
Illustrations. Fourth Thousand. Price 3s. 6d., cloth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY WRITERS.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS AND THE ROYAL ACADEMY. By CLAUDE PHILLIPS. With Nine
Plates after the Artist’s Pictures. Price 7s. 6d., cloth; large
paper copies (150 only), 21s.

‘Mr. Phillips writes with knowledge, insight, and original
inspiration—full of accurate information and sound
criticism.’—_Times._

DEAN SWIFT: LIFE AND WRITINGS. By GERALD MORIARTY, Balliol College,
Oxford. With Nine Portraits, after LELY, KNELLER, etc. 7s. 6d.;
large paper copies (150 only), 21s.

‘Mr. Moriarty is to be heartily congratulated upon having produced
an extremely sound and satisfactory little book.’—_National
Observer._

HORACE WALPOLE AND HIS WORLD. Select Passages from his Letters. With
Eight Copper-plates, after Sir JOSHUA REYNOLDS and THOMAS LAWRENCE.
Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d., cloth.

‘A compact representative selection, with just enough connecting
text to make it read consecutively, with a pleasantly-written
introduction.’—_Athenæum._

FANNY BURNEY AND HER FRIENDS. Select Passages from her Diary. Edited by
L. B. SEELEY, M.A., late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. With
Nine Portraits on Copper, after REYNOLDS, GAINSBOROUGH, COPLEY, and
WEST. Third Edition. 7s. 6d., cloth.

‘The charm of the volume is heightened by nine illustrations of
some of the masterpieces of English art, and it would not be
possible to find a more captivating present for any one beginning
to appreciate the characters of the last century.’—_Academy._

MRS. THRALE, AFTERWARDS MRS. PIOZZI. By L. B. SEELEY, M.A., late Fellow
of Trinity College, Cambridge. With Nine Portraits on Copper, after
HOGARTH, REYNOLDS, ZOFFANY, and others. 7s. 6d., cloth.

‘This sketch is better worth having than the autobiography, for it
is infinitely the more complete and satisfying.’—_Globe._

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. By ARTHUR R. ROPES, M.A., sometime Fellow of
King’s College, Cambridge. With Nine Portraits, after Sir GODFREY
KNELLER, etc. 7s. 6d.; large paper copies (150 only), net 21s.

‘Embellished as it is with a number of excellent plates, we cannot
imagine a more welcome or delightful present.’—_National Observer._

---------------------

LONDON: SEELEY & CO., LIMITED, ESSEX ST., STRAND.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ The Greek quotes on page 198 were checked and corrected by a
native Greek speaker.
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).