Chapter III: Part 3

A person in the island of Ceylon, who lived near a place where elephants were daily led to water, and often sat at the door of his house, used occasionally to give one of these animals some fig leaves, a kind of food which elephants are said to be very fond of. One day this man took it into his head to play one of the elephants a trick. He wrapped up a stone in fig leaves, and said to the man who had the elephants in charge, "This time I am going to give him a stone to eat; I want to see how it will agree with him." The keeper replied, that the elephant would not be such a fool as to swallow the stone--he might make up his mind to that. The other, however, reached out the stone to the elephant, who took it in his trunk, but instantly let it fall to the ground. "You see," said the keeper, "that I was right, and that the beast is not so great a fool as you took him to be;" and drove away his elephants. After they were watered, he was conducting them again to their stable. The man who had played the elephant the trick was still sitting at his door, when, before he had time to think of his danger, the insulted animal ran at him, threw his trunk around his body, dashed him to the ground, and trampled him to death.

At the Cape of Good Hope, it is customary to hunt these animals for the sake of the ivory they obtain from them. Three horsemen armed with lances, attack the beast alternately, each relieving the other as they see their companion pressed, and likely to get the worst of the contest. On one occasion three Dutchmen, who were brothers, having made large fortunes at the cape by elephant hunting, were about to return home to enjoy the fruits of their toil. They determined, however, the day before they started, to have one more hunt by way of amusement. They went out into the field, and soon met with an elephant, whom they began to attack in their usual manner. But unfortunately, the horse of the man who was fighting with the elephant at the time fell, and the rider was thrown to the ground. Then the elephant had his vengeance, and it was a terrible one--almost too terrible to think upon. He instantly seized the unhappy man with his trunk, threw him up into the air to a vast height, and received him upon his tusks as he fell. Then, turning toward the other two brothers with an aspect of revenge and insult, he held out to them the mangled body of his victim, writhing in the agony of death.

At Macassar an elephant driver one day had a cocoanut given him, which, in order to break it, he struck two or three times against the elephant's head. The next day the animal saw some cocoanuts exposed in the street for sale, and taking one of them up in his trunk, beat it about the driver's head until he fractured his skull.

Mr. Colton, the author of that admirable book called "Lacon," tells a similar anecdote of an elephant in Madras. It was a war elephant, and was trained to perform an act of civility called the _grand salam_, which is done by falling on the first joint of the fore-leg at a given signal. The elephant was to make the salam before a British officer. It was noticed at the time that he was rather out of humor. The keeper was ordered up to explain the cause, and was in the act of doing so, when the elephant advanced a few steps, and with one stroke of his trunk laid the poor man dead at his feet. He then retired to his former position, and made the grand salam with the utmost propriety and apparent good will. The wife of the unfortunate man said that she had always been afraid something of that kind would happen, as her husband had been constantly in the habit of robbing the elephant of his rations of rice.

It is said that when once wild elephants have been caught, and eluded the snares of their adversaries, if they are compelled to go into the woods they are mistrustful, and break with their trunk a large branch, with which they sound the ground before they put their foot upon it, to discover if there are any holes on their passage, not to be caught a second time. "We saw two wild elephants," says a traveler, "which had just been caught; each of them was between two tame elephant; and around the wild elephants were six men, holding spears. They spoke to these animals in presenting them something to eat, and telling them, in their language, _take this and eat it_. They had small bundles of hay, bits of black sugar, or rice boiled in water with pepper. When the wild elephant refused to do what he was ordered, the men commanded the tame elephants to beat him, which they did immediately, one striking his forehead with his; and when he seemed to aim at revenge against his aggressor, another struck him; so that the poor wild elephant perceived he had nothing to do but to obey."

A sentinel belonging to the menagerie at Paris, was in the habit of telling the spectators not to give any food to the elephant during the exhibition. One day, after a piece of bread had been presented to the animal, the sentinel had commenced making the usual request, when the elephant violently discharged in his face a stream of water, so that he could not utter the admonition in his confusion. Of course the spectators roared with laughter, and the elephant seemed to enjoy the joke as well as they. By and by, the sentinel having wiped his face, found himself under the necessity of repeating the request which he had made before. But no sooner had he done this, than the elephant laid hold of his musket with her trunk, wrested it from his hands, twirled it round and round, trod it under her feet, and did not restore it until she had twisted it nearly into the form of a cork-screw.

Elephants are occasionally taught to work on a farm, like horses and oxen. Any one visiting Singapore, may see a small elephant, named Rajah, working daily on the estate of J. Balestier, Esq., American Consul; and, although the animal is only five years and a half old, he will plough his acre of land a day, with ease. One man holds the plough, and another walks beside the animal, and directs him in his duty. The docile little creature obeys every word that is said to him, and will plough all day between the cane rows, without plucking a single cane.

An elephant was once wounded in battle, and rendered so furious by the pain she endured, that she ran about the field, uttering the most hideous cries. One of the men was unable, in consequence of his wounds, to get out of her way. The elephant seemed conscious of his situation, and for fear she should trample upon him, took him up with her trunk, placed him where he would be more safe, and continued her route.

A young elephant received a violent wound in its head, from which it became so furious that it was utterly impossible to come near it to dress the wound. A variety of expedients were tried, but in vain, until at last the keeper hit upon this plan: he succeeded in making the mother understand, by signs, what he wanted, and she immediately seized the young one around the neck with her trunk, and held it firmly down, though groaning with anguish, until the wound was dressed. This she continued to do every day, for some time afterward, until the service was no longer necessary.

Elephants are said to be exceedingly susceptible of the power of music, and some curious experiments were tried at Paris, with a view of observing the effect of it upon them. In one instance, a band was placed near their den, while some food was given to a pair of elephants, to engage their attention. On the commencement of the music, the huge creatures turned round, and appeared alarmed for their safety, either from the players or the spectators. The music, however, soon overcame their fears, and all other emotions appeared absorbed in their attention to it. According to the character of the music, so were their feelings. If it was bold, they were excited, or manifested signs of approaching anger. If it was brisk, they were lively; if it was plaintive, they were soothed by its effects. The female seemed to express the most lively emotions of the two.

A merchant in the East Indies kept a tame elephant, which was so exceedingly gentle in his habits, that he was permitted to go at large. This huge animal used to walk about the streets in the most quiet and orderly manner, and paid many visits through the city to people who were kind to him. Two cobblers took an ill will to this inoffensive creature, and several times pricked him on the proboscis with their awls. The noble animal did not chastise them in the manner he might have done, and seemed to think they were too contemptible to be angry with them. But he took other means to punish them for their cruelty. He filled his trunk with water of a dirty quality, and advancing toward them in his ordinary manner, spouted the whole of the puddle over them. The punishment was highly applauded by those who witnessed it, and the poor cobblers were laughed at for their pains.

The Lion.

I have read a thrilling story of a poor Hottentot, who was sent to take his master's cattle to water at a pool not far off from the house. When he came to the watering-place, he perceived that a huge lion was lying there, apparently bathing himself. He immediately ran, with the greatest terror, through the midst of the herd of cattle, hoping the lion would be satisfied with one of the cattle, and allow him to escape. He was mistaken, however. The lion dashed through the herd, and made directly after the man. Throwing his eyes over his shoulder, he saw that the furious animal had singled him out. Not knowing what else to do to get clear of his enemy, he scrambled up an aloe-tree, that happened to be near. At that very moment the lion made a spring at him, but unsuccessfully, and fell to the ground. There was in the tree a cluster of nests of the bird called the sociable grosbeak; and the Hottentot hid himself among these nests, in hopes that he could get out of the lion's sight, and that the beast would leave him. So he remained silent and motionless for a great while, and then ventured to peep out of his retreat. To his surprise, he perceived that he was still watched. In this way, he was kept a prisoner for more than twenty-four hours, when, at last, the lion, parched with thirst, went to the pool to drink, and the Hottentot embraced the opportunity to come down, and run home as fast as his legs would carry him.

There is a thrilling anecdote told of a settler in the back districts of the Cape of Good Hope, who was a hunter. Returning, one day, with some friends, from an excursion, they suddenly came upon two large full-grown lions. Their horses were already jaded, and the utmost consternation for a moment seized them. They immediately saw that their only hope of safety lay in separation. They started in somewhat different directions, at the top of their speed, holding their rifles on the cock. Those who were most lightly loaded made good way, but the third was left behind, and, as his companions disappeared below the brow of a hill, the two beasts came directly after him. He quickly loosed a deer which was tied to his saddle, but the prey was not sufficient to distract them from their purpose. Happily, as is the custom, both barrels of his piece were loaded with ball--a most timely precaution in that country--and he was a good marksman. Turning for a moment, he leveled his gun with as much precision as at such a time he could command, and fired. He waited not for the result, but again scampered off as quickly as his horse could carry him, but he heard a deep, short, and outrageous roar. The ball was afterward found to have entered the animal's breast, and lodged in his back. His work, however, was but half done. The time he had lost sufficed to bring the other within reach, and, with a tremendous bound, he leaped upon the horse's back, lacerating it in a dreadful manner, but missed his hold, for the poor creature, mad with agony and fear, kicked with all his force, and hurried forward with increased rapidity. A second attempt was more successful, and the hunter was shaken from his seat; the horse, however, again escaped.

The poor fellow gave himself up for lost, but he was a brave man, and he determined not to die without every attempt to save his life should fail. Escape he saw was hopeless; so planting himself with the energy of despair, he put his rifle hastily to his shoulder, and just as the lion was stooping for his spring, he fired. He was a little too late; the beast had moved, and the ball did not prove so effective as he hoped. It entered the side of the wild beast, though it did him no mortal harm, and he leaped at his victim. The shot had, nevertheless, delayed his bound for an instant, and the hunter avoided its effect by a rapid jump, and with the butt-end of his gun struck at the lion with all his power, as he turned upon him. The dreadful creature seized it with his teeth, but with such force, that instead of twisting it out of the hunter's hand, he broke it short off by the barrel. The hunter immediately attacked him again, but his weapon was too short, and the lion fixed his claws in his breast, tearing off all his flesh, and endeavored to gripe his shoulder with his mouth, but the gun-barrel was of excellent service. Driving it into the mouth of the beast with all his strength, he seized one of the creature's jaws with his left hand, and, what with the strength and energy given by the dreadful circumstances, and the purchase obtained by the gun-barrel, he succeeded in splitting the animal's mouth. At the same time they fell together on their sides, and a struggle for several minutes ensued upon the ground. Blood flowed freely in the lion's mouth, and nearly choked him. His motions were thus so frustrated that the hunter was upon his feet first, and, aiming a blow with all his might, he knocked out one of the lion's eyes. He roared terrifically with pain and rage, and, during the moments of delay caused by the loss of his eye, the hunter got behind him, and, animated by his success, hit him a dreadful stroke on the back of the neck, which he knew was the most tender part. The stroke, however, appeared to have no effect, for the lion immediately leaped at him again; but, it is supposed from a defect of vision occasioned by the loss of his eye, instead of coming down upon the hunter, he leaped beside him, and shook his head, as if from excess of pain. The hunter felt his strength rapidly declining, but the agony he endured excited him, and thus gave new power to strike the lion again across the eyes. The beast fell backward, but drew the hunter with him with his paw, and another struggle took place upon the ground. He felt that the gun-barrel was his safeguard; and though it rather seemed to encumber his hands, he clung tenaciously to it. Rising up from the ground in terrible pain, he managed to thrust it into the throat of the lion with all his might. That thrust was fatal; and the huge animal fell on his side, powerless. The hunter dragged himself to a considerable distance, and then fell exhausted and senseless. His friends shortly afterward returned to his assistance.

A lion had broken into a walled inclosure for cattle, and had done considerable damage. The people belonging to the farm were well assured that he would come again by the same way. They therefore stretched a rope directly across the entrance, to which several loaded guns were fastened, in such a manner that they must necessarily discharge themselves into the lion's body, as soon as he should push against the cord with his breast. But the lion, who came before it was dark, and had probably some suspicion of the cord, struck it away with his foot, and without betraying the least alarm in consequence of the reports made by the loaded pieces, went fearlessly on, and devoured the prey he had left untouched before.

The strength of the lion is so prodigious, that a single stroke of his paw is sufficient to break the back of a horse; and one sweep of his tail will throw a strong man to the ground. Kolbein says, that when he comes up to his prey, he always knocks it down dead, and seldom bites it till the mortal blow has been given. A lion at the Cape of Good Hope was once seen to take a heifer in his mouth; and though that animal's legs dragged on the ground, yet he seemed to carry her off with as much ease as a cat does a rat.

One of the residents in South Africa--according to the Naturalist's History--shot a lion in the most perilous circumstances that can be conceived. We must tell the story in his own words. "My wife," he says, "was sitting in the house, near the door. The children were playing around her. I was outside, busily engaged in doing something to a wagon, when suddenly, though it was mid-day, an enormous lion came up and laid himself quietly down in the shade, upon the very threshold of the door. My wife, either stupefied with fear, or aware of the danger attending any attempt to fly, remained motionless in her place, while the children took refuge in her lap. The cry they uttered immediately attracted my attention. I hastened toward the door; but my astonishment may well be conceived, when I found the entrance to it barred in such a way. Although the animal had not seen me, unarmed as I was, escape seemed impossible; yet I glided gently, scarcely knowing what I meant to do, to the side of the house, up to the window of my chamber, where I knew my loaded gun was standing, and which I found in such a condition, that I could reach it with my hand--a most fortunate circumstance; and still more so, when I found that the door of the room was open, so that I could see the whole danger of the scene. The lion was beginning to move, perhaps with the intention of making a spring. There was no longer any time to think. I called softly to the mother not to be alarmed; and, invoking the name of the Lord, fired my piece. The ball passed directly over the hair of my boy's head, and lodged in the forehead of the lion, immediately above his eyes, which shot forth, as it were, sparks of fire, and stretched him on the ground, so that he never stirred more."

Nothing is more common than for the keepers of wild beasts to play with the lion, to pull out his tongue, and even to chastise him without cause. He seems to bear it all with the utmost composure; and we very rarely have instances of his revenging these unprovoked sallies of cruelty. However, when his anger is at last excited, the consequences are terrible. Labat tells us of a gentleman who kept a lion in his chamber, and employed a servant to attend it, who, as is usual, mixed blows with his caresses. This state of things continued for some time, till one morning the gentleman was awakened by a noise in his room, which at first he could not tell the cause of; but, drawing the curtains, he perceived a horrid spectacle--the lion growling over the man's head, which he had separated from the body, and tossing it round the floor! He immediately flew into the next apartment, called to the people without, and had the animal secured from doing further mischief.

We are told of the combat of a lion and a wild boar, in a meadow near Algiers, which continued for a long time with incredible obstinacy. At last, both were seen to fall by the wounds they had given each other; and the ground all about them was covered with their blood. These instances, however, are rare; the lion is in general undisputed master of the forest.

It was once customary for those who were unable to pay sixpence for the sight of the wild beasts in the tower of London, to bring a dog or a cat, as a gift to the beasts, in lieu of money to the keeper. Among others, a man had brought a pretty black spaniel, which was thrown into the cage of the great lion. Immediately the little animal trembled and shivered, crouched, and threw himself on his back, put forth his tongue, and held up his paws, as if praying for mercy. In the mean time, the lion, instead of devouring him, turned him over with one paw, and then with the other. He smelled of him, and seemed desirous of courting a further acquaintance. The keeper, on seeing this, brought a large mess of his own family dinner. But the lion kept aloof, and refused to eat, keeping his eye on the dog, and inviting him, as it were, to be his taster. At length, the little animal's fears being somewhat abated, and his appetite quickened by the smell of the food, he approached slowly, and, with trembling, ventured to eat. The lion then advanced gently, and began to partake, and they finished their meal very quietly together.

From this day, a strict friendship commenced between them, consisting of great affection and tenderness on the part of the lion, and the utmost confidence and boldness on the part of the dog; insomuch that he would lay himself down to sleep, within the fangs and under the jaws of his terrible patron. In about twelve months the little spaniel sickened and died. For a time the lion did not appear to conceive otherwise than that his favorite was asleep. He would continue to smell of him, and then would stir him with his nose, and turn him over with his paws. But finding that all his efforts to wake him were vain, he would traverse his cage from end to end, at a swift and uneasy pace. He would then stop, and look down upon him with a fixed and drooping regard, and again lift up his head, and roar for several minutes, as the sound of distant thunder. They attempted, but in vain, to convey the carcass from him. The keeper then endeavored to tempt him with a variety of food, but he turned from all that was offered, with loathing. They then put several living dogs in his cage, which he tore in pieces, but left their carcasses on the floor. His passions being thus inflamed, he would grapple at the bars of his cage, as if enraged at his restraint from tearing those around him to pieces. Again, as if quite spent, he would stretch himself by the remains of his beloved associate, lay his paws upon him, and take him to his bosom; and then utter his grief in deep and melancholy roaring, for the loss of his little play-fellow. For five days he thus languished, and gradually declined, without taking any sustenance or admitting any comfort, till, one morning, he was found dead, with his head reclined on the carcass of his little friend. They were both interred together.

A lion, when about three months old, was caught in the forests of Senegal, and tamed by the director of the African company in that colony. He became unusually tractable and gentle. He slept in company with cats, dogs, geese, monkeys, and other animals, and never offered any violence to them. When he was about eight months old, he formed an attachment to a terrier dog, and this attachment increased afterward to such an extent, that the lion was seldom happy in the absence of his companion. At the age of fourteen months, the lion, with the dog in company, was transported to France. He showed so little ferocity on shipboard, that he was allowed at all times to have the liberty of walking about the vessel. When he was landed at Havre, he was conducted with only a cord attached to his collar, and attended by his favorite play-fellow, to Versailles. Soon after their arrival, the dog died, when the lion became so disconsolate, that it was found necessary to put another dog into his den. This dog, terrified at the sight of such an animal, endeavored to conceal himself; and the lion, surprised at the noise, killed him by a stroke with one of his paws.

M. Felix, some years since the keeper of the national menagerie at Paris, added two lions to the collection, a male and a female. He had become endeared to them by kind treatment, so that scarcely any one else could control them, and they manifested their regard in a great many ways. The gentleman, however, was taken very sick, and was confined for some time to his bed. Another person was necessarily intrusted with the care of these lions. From the moment that M. Felix left, the male sat, sad and solitary, at the end of his cage, and refused to take food from the hands of the stranger, for whom, it was evident, he entertained no little dislike. The company of the female seemed to displease him. In a short time he became so uneasy, that no one dared to approach him. By and by, however, his old master recovered, and with the intention of surprising the animal, he crept softly to the cage, and showed only his face between the bars. But the male lion knew him at once. He leaped against the bars, patted him with his paws, licked his hands and face, and actually trembled with pleasure. The female also ran to him; but the other drove her back, and was on the point of quarreling with her, so jealous was he lest she should receive any of the favors of M. Felix. Afterward, however, the keeper entered the cage, caressed them both by turns, and pacified them.

Sir George Davis, who was English consul at Naples about the middle of the seventeenth century, happening on one occasion to be in Florence, visited the menagerie of the grand duke. At the farther end of one of the dens he saw a lion which lay in sullen majesty, and which the keepers informed him they had been unable to tame, although every effort had been used for upward of three years. Sir George had no sooner reached the gate of the den, than the lion ran to it, and evinced every demonstration of joy and transport. The animal reared himself up, purred like a cat when pleased, and licked the hand of Sir George, which he had put through the bars. The keeper was astonished and frightened for the safety of his visitor, entreated him not to trust an apparent fit of phrensy, with which the animal seemed to be seized; for he was, without exception, the most fierce and sullen of his tribe which he had ever seen. This, however, had no effect on Sir George, who, notwithstanding every entreaty on the part of the keeper, insisted on entering the lion's den. The moment he got in, the delighted lion threw his paws upon his shoulders, licked his face, and ran about him, rubbing his head on Sir George, purring and fawning like a cat when expressing its affection for its master. This occurrence became the talk of Florence, and reached the ears of the grand duke, who sent for Sir George, and requested an interview at the menagerie, that he might witness so extraordinary a circumstance, when Sir George gave the following explanation: "A captain of a ship from Barbary gave me this lion, when quite a whelp. I brought him up tame; but when I thought him too large to be suffered to run about the house, I built a den for him in my court-yard. From that time he was never permitted to be loose, except when brought to the house to be exhibited to my friends. When he was five years old, he did some mischief by pawing and playing with people in his frolicsome moods. Having griped a man one day a little too hard, I ordered him to be shot, for fear of myself incurring the guilt of what might happen. On this a friend, who happened to be then at dinner with me, begged him as a present. How he came here, I do not know." The Grand Duke of Tuscany, on hearing his story, said it was the very same person who had presented him with the lion.

Part of a ship's crew being sent ashore on the coast of India for the purpose of cutting wood, the curiosity of one of the men having led him to stray to a considerable distance from his companions, he was much alarmed by the appearance of a large lioness, who made toward him; but, on her coming up, his fear was allayed, by her lying down at his feet, and looking very earnestly, first in his face, and then at a tree some little distance off. After repeating these looks several times, she arose, and proceeded toward the tree, looking back, as if she wished the sailor to follow her. At length he ventured, and, coming to the tree, perceived a huge baboon, with two young cubs in her arms, which he immediately supposed to be those of the lioness, as she crouched down like a cat, and seemed to eye them very steadfastly. The man being afraid to ascend the tree, decided on cutting it down; and having his axe with him, he set actively to work, when the lioness seemed most attentive to what he was doing. When the tree fell, she pounced upon the baboon, and, after tearing her in pieces, she turned round, and licked the cubs for some time. She then returned to the sailor, and fawned round him, rubbing her head against him in great fondness, and in token of her gratitude for the service done her. After this, she carried the cubs away one by one, and the sailor rejoined his companions, much pleased with the adventure.

A French gentleman relates a remarkable anecdote about a combat which he saw on the banks of the Niger, between a Moorish chief and a lion. The prince took the Frenchman and his company to a place adjoining a large wood which was much infested with wild beasts, and directed them all to climb the trees. They did so. Then, getting upon his horse, and taking three spears and a dagger, he entered the forest, where he soon found a lion, which he wounded with one of the spears. The enraged animal sprang with great fury at his assailant, who, by a feigned flight, led him near the spot where the company were stationed. He then turned his horse, and in a moment darted another spear at the lion, which pierced his body. He alighted, and the lion, now grown furious, advanced with open jaws; but the prince received him on the point of his third spear, which he forced into his throat. Then, at one leap, springing across his body, he cut open his throat with his dagger. In this contest, the Moor's skill was such, that he received only a slight scratch on the thigh.

Allow me, in concluding these stories about lions, to recite one from the French. It is fabulous, as you will perceive; but fables are not to be despised. The design of the fable is to illustrate the truth that in a community, every one may be more or less useful. "War having been declared between two nations of animals (for, notwithstanding their instinct, they are as foolish as men), the lion issued a proclamation of the fact to his subjects, and ordered them to appear in person at his camp. Among the great number of animals that obeyed the orders of their sovereign, were some asses and hares. Each animal offered his services for the campaign. The elephant agreed to transport the baggage of the army. The bear took it upon him to make the assaults. The fox proposed to manage the ruses and the stratagems. The monkey promised to amuse the enemy by his tricks. 'Sire,' said the horse, 'send back the asses; they are too lazy--and the hares; they are too timid, and subject to too frequent alarms.' 'By no means,' said the king of the animals; 'our army would not be complete without these. The asses will serve for trumpeters, and the hares will make excellent couriers.'"

The Galago.

From a recent English periodical, I have obtained some interesting facts in relation to an animal to which naturalists have given the name of the Galago. In the picture on the opposite page you have a portrait of the animal, drawn from life. He is a very singular looking fellow, as you perceive. Not long ago he was brought to England from Zanguebar, in Africa. The specimen, now being exhibited in London, is the first of this race of quadrupeds which has ever been introduced from its native country into any part of Europe, and it is exciting a great deal of interest among naturalists. Very little is known of the genus to which the animal belongs, all its species being found only in the barbarous countries, very little known, on the eastern coast of Africa. They all climb upon trees, like the squirrel. Their habits are strictly nocturnal. They never venture from their retreats while the faintest gleam of daylight is visible; but at the approach of night they become exceedingly active, springing from tree to tree with all the dexterity of the squirrel. In the day time, they remain, for the most part, in the holes of decayed trees. Their food is gum and pulpy fruits. The country where they live is one of the hottest regions on the globe. On this account, the animal sent to England is very sensitive to the sudden changes of that comparatively northern latitude, and it requires much care to preserve him from the influence of the cold. One of the striking peculiarities of the animal is the appearance of his feet. They resemble the hands of a man, as will be seen by the engraving. This peculiarity admirably fits the galago for the life it leads, as it spends a great part of its time in leaping on the boughs of trees. The specimen in England is remarkably tame and frolicksome, and does not seem altogether happy except when he is fondled and petted, when he enjoys himself immensely. During the night he delights in active motion, climbing and playing like a kitten, often uttering a loud, clucking noise, which ends with a sharp, shrill call, of astonishing volume. The animal is not so large as a fox.

The Bear.

That distinguished author, Oliver Goldsmith, in his "Animated Nature," has given a most interesting account of the habits of the bear, which I wish, for the benefit of my readers, might be embodied in this chapter, though, on the whole, I think the entire account is too long, and I am forced to omit it. Besides, I suppose it would hardly be just to accord such a civility to the bear, while it is denied to the other animals. According to the description of this eminent practical naturalist, the bear is not by any means the unamiable monster he has been represented to be; but has, on the contrary, a great many good traits of character. He has been slandered, grossly slandered, if we may credit Mr. Goldsmith; and for one, I do credit him. He is exceedingly reliable in most of his statements. Now that I am speaking of Mr. Goldsmith, I can scarce refrain from adding that I have been greatly assisted, in the preparation of this volume, by the work of his above alluded to. It is, and ever will be, a valuable book in the library of those who are interested in becoming acquainted with nature, in her varied aspects.

There are three species of bears--the black, the white, and the brown or Syrian bear. The latter, represented in the engraving on the opposite page, is the one to which allusion is made in Scripture.

The bear is capable of strong and generous attachment. Many years ago, Leopold, Duke of Lorraine, in Europe, owned a bear which had become very tame, and which was remarkable for the strength of his love for those whom he happened to fancy. In the winter of 1709, a poor Savoyard boy had been placed in a barn to stay over night. This boy, finding that he was near the hut occupied by the duke's bear, took it into his head to go and pay the bear a visit. It was a singular fancy, to be sure. But as the old proverb says, "There is no accounting for tastes." He had no sooner formed the determination, than off he started to see Marco--for that was the name of the bear. He was cold, I think; and not having any other way of warming himself, he thought he would see if Marco could not be prevailed upon to let him share in the benefit of his shaggy coat for awhile. So in he went, and he and the bear were soon on the best of terms. Marco took him between his paws, and warmed him, by pressing him to his breast, until the next morning, when he allowed him to depart, to ramble about the city. In the evening, the young Savoyard returned to the bear's den, and was received with the same marks of kindness and affection. For several days, the boy made this den his home. The bear saved a part of his food for his companion, and they lived together on the most intimate and friendly terms. A number of days passed in this manner, without the servants knowing any thing about the circumstance, the boy not being in the den when the bear's food was brought. At length, one day, when some one came to bring the generous animal his supper, rather later than usual, the boy was there. The servant then saw the fondness of the bear for the young Savoyard. The boy was asleep. The bear rolled his eyes around, in a furious manner, and seemed to intimate that as little noise as possible must be made, for fear of awaking the child, whom he clasped to his breast. The bear did not move when the food was placed before him. This extraordinary circumstance was related to Leopold, the owner of the bear, who, with a good many others, went to the bear's hut, where they found, with surprise, that the animal never stirred as long as his guest manifested a disposition to sleep. When the little fellow awoke in the morning, he was very much ashamed and alarmed to find that he was discovered, thinking that he should be punished; and he begged the duke's pardon for the liberty he had taken with the bear. The bear, however, caressed his new friend, and tried to prevail upon him to eat a part of the supper which had been brought the previous evening, and which seemed untouched.

Bruin is famous for hugging his enemies so desperately, that they are glad to get clear of him. But in these hugging fights, he sometimes gets the worst of it, as in the following instance. Some years since, when the western part of the State of New York was but slightly settled, some enterprising emigrant from New England had built a saw-mill on the banks of the Genesee river. One day, as he was eating his luncheon, sitting on the log which was going through the sawing operation at the time, a huge black bear came from the woods, toward the mill. The man, leaving his bread and cold bacon on the log, made a spring, and climbed up to a beam above, to get out of the way of the bear, when the latter, mounting the log which the sawyer had left, sat down, with his back toward the saw, and commenced eating the man's dinner. After awhile, the log on which he sat approached so near the saw, that he got scratched a little, and he hitched away a few feet from the saw, and resumed his dinner. But the saw scratched him again soon, of course, and this time rather more seriously. Bruin got angry, and his anger cost him dearly. He wheeled about, and throwing his paws around the saw, he gave it a most desperate hug. In this position he remained, until he was sawn into two pieces, as if he had been a log. Poor fellow! we ought to pity him, I suppose; but it is pretty difficult to avoid a hearty laugh over his misfortunes.

Here is a story of an encounter between a bear and a bull, which is also rather laughable, although there is a good deal of the tragic in it. A bull was attacked in the forest by a rather small bear, when, striking his horns into his assailant, he pinned him against a tree. In this situation they were both found dead; the bull from starvation, the bear from his wounds.

Some years ago, a New Hampshire boy found a very young cub near Lake Winnepeg, and carried it home with him. It was fed and brought up in the house of the boy's father, and became as tame as a dog. At length, it learned to follow the boy to school, and by degrees, it became his daily companion. At first, the other scholars were somewhat shy of Bruin's acquaintance; but before a great while, it became their constant play-fellow, and they delighted in sharing with it the little store of provisions which they brought for their own dinner. However, it wandered off into the woods again, and for four years, nothing was heard of it. Changes had taken place in the school where the bear used to be a welcome guest. Another generation of pupils had taken the place of the bear's old companions. One very cold winter day, while the schoolmistress was busy with her lessons, a boy happened to leave the door open, and a huge bear walked in. The consternation of the mistress and her pupils was very great, of course. But what could they do? Nothing but look on, and see what would come of this strange visit. However, the bear molested no one. It walked quietly up to the fire, and warmed itself. Then it walked up to the wall, where the dinner baskets hung, and standing on its hind feet, reached them down, and made free with their contents. By and by, it went out. But the alarm was given, and the poor fellow was shot, when it was found out, by some marks on its body, that it was the identical bear that had used to visit the school four years before.

In one of the expeditions from England to the Polar seas, a white bear was seen to perform an ingenious feat in order to capture some walruses. He was seen to swim cautiously to a large, rough piece of ice, on which these walruses were lying, fast asleep, with their cubs. The wily animal crept up some little hillocks of ice, behind the party, and with his fore feet loosened a large block of ice. This, with the help of his nose and paws, he rolled along until he was near the sleepers, and almost over their heads, when he let it fall on one of the old walruses, who was instantly killed. The other walrus, with her cubs, rolled into the water; but the young one of the dead animal remained with its mother. On this helpless creature the bear then leaped down, and completed the destruction of two animals which it would not have ventured to attack openly.

It often happens, that when a Greenlander and his wife are paddling along out at sea, by coming too near a floating field of ice, a white bear unexpectedly jumps into their canoe. Provided he does not upset it by the weight of his body, he sits calmly and demurely in one end of it, like any other passenger, and allows himself to be rowed to the shore. The Greenlander would very cheerfully dispense with the company of the bear; but dares not dispute his right there--it might cost him a pretty rough handling. So he makes a virtue of necessity, and rows his bearship to the shore.

In the early part of the settlement of this country, an expedition was sent to explore a part of the territory now called Missouri. Bears were found there, at that time, in great abundance, and of very large size. Some of the men belonging to the expedition were in a canoe one day, when they discovered a bear lying in the open grounds, about three hundred paces from the river. Six of the men, all good hunters, immediately went to attack him, and concealing themselves by a small eminence, came within forty paces of him before they were perceived. Four of the hunters now fired, as nearly as they could at the same instant, and each lodged a ball in his body, two of which entered the lungs. The furious animal then sprang up, and ran upon the men, with his mouth wide open, ready for a terrible attack. As he came near, the two hunters who had reserved their fire gave him two rounds, one of which, breaking his shoulder, retarded his progress for a moment; but before they could reload, he was so near that they were obliged to run to the river. Before they reached it, he had almost overtaken them. Two jumped into the canoe; the other four separated, and concealing themselves among the willows, fired as fast as they could reload. They hit him several times; but instead of weakening the monster, each shot only seemed to direct him toward the hunters, till at last he pursued two of them so closely, that they threw aside their guns and pouches, and jumped down a perpendicular bank of some fifteen feet into the river. The bear sprang after them, and was within a few feet of the hindermost, when one of the hunters on the shore shot him in the head, and finally killed him. They dragged him to the shore, and found that eight balls had passed through him, in different directions.

While a British frigate was locked in the ice of the Polar seas, three bears were discovered one morning, directing their course toward the ship. They had undoubtedly been attracted by the scent of a part of the carcass of a sea-horse that the crew had killed a few days before, which had been set on fire, and was burning on the ice at the time of their approach. They proved to be a female bear and her two cubs; but the cubs were nearly as large as the mother. They ran eagerly to the fire, and drew out of the flames a part of the flesh of the sea-horse which remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously. Some of the crew threw large pieces of the flesh from the ship upon the ice, which the old bear took, one by one, and laid before her cubs. Then she divided each piece, and reserved only a very small portion for herself. As she was carrying away the last piece, several of the men on board the ship aimed their muskets at the two cubs, and shot them dead; after which they shot at the old bear, and wounded her, though not mortally. One of the gentlemen who witnessed this spectacle says that it would have drawn pity from any but the most unfeeling hearts, to mark the affectionate concern expressed by this poor beast, as she saw that her young were dying. Though she was sorely wounded herself, and could but just crawl to the place where they lay, she carried the last piece of flesh to them, as she had done with the others, and divided it for them. When she perceived that they refused to eat, she put her paws first upon one and then upon the other, and endeavored to raise them up. All this time it was deeply affecting to hear her moans. When she found she could not stir her dying cubs in this manner, she went away some distance from them, looking back occasionally, and moaning, as if in the utmost distress. This means not availing to entice them away from the spot, she returned, and commenced smelling around them, and licking their wounds. Then she went off a second time, as before, and having crawled a few paces, looked again behind her, and for some time stood still, uttering the most piteous cries. But still her cubs did not rise to follow her, and she returned to them, and with signs of the greatest fondness, went around them separately, placing her paws upon them tenderly, and giving utterance to the same cries of distress. Finding, at last, that they were cold and lifeless, she raised her head toward the ship, and growled in indignation for the murder. Poor creature! the men on board returned her angry cry with a shower of musket balls. She fell between her cubs, and died licking their wounds.

Hans Christian Andersen, in his "Picture Book without Pictures," relates an anecdote, in his droll way, about a tame bear, who got loose, when the man who was exhibiting him was at dinner, and who found his way into the public house, and went straight to a room where there were three children, the eldest of whom was only some six or eight years old. But, Hans, you may tell the rest of the story in your own peculiar language: "The door sprang open, and in stepped the great rough bear! He had grown tired of standing out there in the yard, and he now found his way up the steps. The children were very much frightened at the great, grim-looking beast, and crept each one of them into a corner. But he found them all out, and rubbed them with his nose. He did them no harm, not the slightest. 'It is certainly a big dog,' thought they; and so they patted him kindly. He laid himself down on the floor, and the smallest boy tumbled over him, and amused himself by hiding his curly head in the thick black hair of the animal. The eldest boy now took his drum, and made a tremendous noise; and the bear rose up on his hind legs, and began to dance. It was charming. Each boy took his weapons--for they had been playing at soldiers before their visitor arrived. The bear must have a gun too, and he held it like a regular militia man. What a fine comrade they had found!--and so they marched about the room--'one, two! one, two!' Presently, however, the door opened. It was the children's mother. You should have seen her--her face as white as a sheet; her half-opened mouth, her staring eyes. The smallest of the children ran up to her mother, and shouted with all her might, 'Mama, we are playing at soldiers!'"