Illustrative Anecdotes of the Animal Kingdom

Order III

CARNARIA,

BUTCHERING ANIMALS.

This order includes bats, hedgehogs, bears, dogs, wolves, foxes, lions, weasels, &c.

Bats.

These creatures, partaking both of the nature of quadrupeds and birds, have excited the wonder of mankind in all ages. There is a great variety of species, from the common bat of our climate to the vampyre of South America, whose wings stretch to the extent of two feet. These animals live in caves and crevices during the day, and sally forth at evening to catch their prey. For this reason, there is a popular disgust of the whole tribe; yet the species in our climate are a harmless race. We cannot say as much of the larger kinds, which sometimes darken the air, by their abundance, in hot climates. One species, already mentioned, is a formidable animal.

Captain Stedman, in his “Narrative of a Five Years’ Expedition against the revolted Negroes of Surinam,” relates that, on awaking about four o’clock one morning in his hammock, he was extremely alarmed at finding himself weltering in congealed blood, and without feeling any pain whatever. “The mystery was,” says Captain Stedman, “that I had been bitten by the vampyre, or spectre of Guiana, which is also called the flying dog of New Spain; and by the Spaniards, perrovolador. This is no other than a bat of monstrous size, that sucks the blood from men and cattle, while they are fast asleep, even, sometimes, till they die; and, as the manner in which they proceed is truly wonderful, I shall endeavor to give a distinct account of it.

“Knowing, by instinct, that the person they intend to attack is in a sound slumber, they generally alight near the feet, where, while the creature continues fanning with his enormous wings, which keeps one cool, he bites a piece out of the tip of the great toe, so very small, indeed, that the head of a pin could scarcely be received into the wound, which is, consequently, not painful; yet, through this orifice, he continues to suck the blood, until he is obliged to disgorge. He then begins again, and thus continues sucking and disgorging until he is scarcely able to fly, and the sufferer has often been known to pass from time to eternity. Cattle they generally bite in the ear, but always in places where the blood flows spontaneously. Having applied tobacco ashes as the best remedy, and washed the gore from myself and hammock, I observed several small heaps of congealed blood, all round the place where I had lain, upon the ground; on examining which, the surgeon judged that I had lost at least twelve or fourteen ounces of blood.”

“Some years ago,” says Mr. Waterton, in his “Wanderings in South America,” “I went to the River Paumaron, with a Scotch gentleman, by name Tarbet. We hung our hammocks in the thatched loft of a planter’s house. Next morning, I heard this gentleman muttering in his hammock, and now and then letting fall an imprecation or two, just about the time he ought to have been saying his morning prayers. ‘What is the matter, sir?’ said I, softly; ‘is any thing amiss?’ ‘What’s the matter?’ answered he, surlily; ‘why, the vampyres have been sucking me to death.’ As soon as there was light enough, I went to his hammock, and saw it much stained with blood. ‘There,’ said he, thrusting his foot out of the hammock, ‘see how these infernal imps have been drawing my life’s blood.’ On examining his foot, I found the vampyre had tapped his great toe. There was a wound somewhat less than that made by a leech. The blood was still oozing from it. I conjectured he might have lost from ten to twelve ounces of blood. Whilst examining it, I think I put him into a worse humor, by remarking that a European surgeon would not have been so generous as to have blooded him without making a charge. He looked up in my face, but did not say a word. I saw he was of opinion that I had better have spared this piece of ill-timed levity.”

HEDGEHOG.

This animal belongs exclusively to the eastern continent, and is well known from the thick and sharp prickles with which its back and sides are covered, and the contractile power by which it can draw its head and belly within the prickly covering of its back, so as to give it the appearance of a ball. It is found near hedges and thickets, from the fruits and herbage of which it obtains its food. It also feeds upon small animals, such as snails and beetles.

The sagacity of the hedgehog is celebrated in antiquity. We are informed by Plutarch, that a citizen of Cyzicus thus acquired the reputation of a good meteorologist: A hedgehog generally has its burrow open in various points; and, when its instinct warns it of an approaching change of the wind, it stops up the aperture towards that quarter. The citizen alluded to, becoming aware of this practice, was able to predict to what point the wind would next shift.

Though of a very timid disposition, the hedgehog has been sometimes tamed. In the year 1790, there was one in the possession of a Mr. Sample, in Northumberland, which performed the duty of a turnspit as well, in all respects, as the dog of that denomination. It ran about the house with the same familiarity as any other domestic animal.

In the London Sporting Magazine for 1821, there is an account of one, which, after having been tamed in a garden, found its way to the scullery, and there made regular search for the relics of the dinner plates; having its retreat in the adjoining cellar. It was fed after the manner itself had selected. Milk was given in addition to the meat; but it lost its relish for vegetables, and constantly rejected them. It soon became as well domesticated as the cat, and lived on a footing of intimacy with it.

THE MOLE.

Of this animal there are several species; they burrow in the earth, and form avenues from one nest to another, like the crossing streets of a city. Their eyes are small, and so buried in fur as to be invisible, except on close inspection.

Mole-Catching.—It has been a common opinion that moles were destructive to the crops; and in Europe, much pains have been taken to destroy them. The mole-catcher—in general a quiet old man, who passes his winter in making his traps, in the chimney-corner—comes forth, in the spring, with his implements of destruction. His practised eye soon discovers the tracks of the mole, from the mound which he throws up to some neighboring bank, or from one mound to another. It is in this track, or run, that he sets his trap, a few inches below the surface of the ground. As the mole passes through this little engine of his ruin, he disturbs a peg which holds down a strong hazel rod in a bent position. The moment the peg is moved, the end of the rod which is held down flies up, and with it comes up the poor mole, dragged out of the earth which he has so ingeniously excavated, to be gibbeted, without a chance of escape.

There was a Frenchman, of the name of Le Court, who died a few years since,—a man of great knowledge and perseverance, and who did not think it beneath him to devote his whole attention to the observation of the mole. He established a school for mole-catching; and taught many what he had acquired by incessant perseverance—the art of tracing the mole to his hiding-place in the ground, and cutting off his retreat. The skill of this man once saved, as was supposed, a large and fertile district of France from inundation by a canal, whose banks the moles had undermined in every direction.

More recently, it has been doubted whether moles are really so mischievous to the farmer as has been supposed. It is said that they assist in draining the land, and thus prevent the foot-rot in sheep. Mr. Hogg, the Ettrick shepherd, says, “If a hundred men and horses were employed on a common-sized pasture-farm—say from 1500 to 2000 acres—in raising and draining manure for a top-dressing to the land, they would not do it so effectually, so equally, and so neatly, as the natural number of moles on the farm would do for themselves.”

Moles are said to be very ferocious animals; and, as an evidence of this, we are told that a mole, a toad, and a viper, were enclosed in a glass case; the mole despatched the other two, and devoured a great part of both of them.

THE BEAR.

Of this animal there are many species; among which, the white bear of the polar regions, and the grisly bear of the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains, are the largest and most formidable. The brown bear is common to both continents. The most remarkable of the other species are the Bornean, spectacled, large-lipped, Thibetian, and Malayan.

The Brown or Black Bear.—Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—This species, like the rest of the family, is a solitary animal; for he only remains associated with his mate for a short period, and then retires to his winter retreat, which is usually in the hole of a rock, the cavity of a tree, or a pit in the earth, which the animal frequently digs for himself. He sometimes constructs a kind of hut, composed of the branches of trees, which he lines with moss. In these situations he continues, for the most part, in a lethargic state, taking no food, but subsisting entirely on the absorption of the fat which he has accumulated in the course of the summer.

The modes that are adopted, by the inhabitants of different countries, for taking or destroying bears, are various. Of these, the following appear to be the most remarkable: In consequence of the well-known partiality of these animals for honey, the Russians sometimes fix to those trees where bees are hived a heavy log of wood, at the end of a long string. When the unwieldy creature climbs up, to get at the hive, he finds himself interrupted by the log; he pushes it aside, and attempts to pass it; but, in returning, it hits him such a blow, that, in a rage, he flings it from him with greater force, which makes it return with increased violence; and he sometimes continues this, till he is either killed, or falls from the tree.

In Lapland, hunting the bear is often undertaken by a single man, who, having discovered the retreat of the animal, takes his dog along with him, and advances towards the spot. The jaws are tied round with a cord, to prevent his barking; and the man holds the other end of this cord in his hand. As soon as the dog smells the bear, he begins to show signs of uneasiness, and, by dragging at the cord, informs his master that the object of his pursuit is at no great distance.

When the Laplander, by this means, discovers on which side the bear is stationed, he advances in such a direction that the wind may blow from the bear to him, and not the contrary; for otherwise, the animal would, by his scent, be aware of his approach, though not able to see the enemy, being blinded by sunshine. The olfactory organs of the bear are exquisite. When the hunter has advanced to within gunshot of the bear, he fires upon him; and this is very easily accomplished in autumn, as he is then more fearless, and is constantly prowling about for berries of different kinds, on which he feeds at this season of the year. Should the man chance to miss his aim, the furious beast will directly turn upon him in a rage, and the little Laplander is obliged to take to his heels with all possible speed, leaving his knapsack behind him on the spot. The bear, coming up to this, seizes upon it, biting and tearing it into a thousand pieces. While he is thus venting his fury, the Laplander, who is generally a good marksman, reloads his gun, and usually destroys him at the second shot; if not, the bear in most cases runs away.

Bear-baiting was a favorite amusement of our English ancestors. Sir Thomas Pope entertained Queen Mary and the Princess Elizabeth, at Hatfield, with a grand exhibition of a “bear-baiting, with which their highnesses were right well content.” Bear-baiting was part of the amusement of Elizabeth, among “the princely pleasures of Kenilworth Castle.” Rowland White, speaking of the queen, then in her sixty-seventh year, says,—“Her majesty is very well. This day she appoints a Frenchman to do feats upon a rope, in the Conduit Court. To-morrow she has commanded the bears, the bull, and the ape, to be bayted, in the tilt-yard. Upon Wednesday, she will have solemn dauncing.” The office of chief master of the bear was held under the crown, with a salary of 16d. per diem. Whenever the king chose to entertain himself or his visitors with this sport, it was the duty of the master to provide bears and dogs, and to superintend the baiting; and he was invested with unlimited authority to issue commissions, and to send his officers into every county in England, who were empowered to seize and take away any bears, bulls, or dogs, that they thought meet, for his majesty’s service. The latest record, by which this diversion was publicly authorized, is a grant to Sir Saunders Duncombe, October 11, 1561, “for the sole practice and profit of the fighting and combating of wild and domestic beasts, within the realm of England, for the space of fourteen years.” Occasional exhibitions of this kind were continued till about the middle of the eighteenth century.

We are told, in Johnston’s Sketches of India, that “bears will often continue on the road, in front of a palanquin, for a mile or two, tumbling, and playing all sorts of antics, as if they were taught to do so. I believe it is their natural disposition; for they certainly are the most amusing creatures imaginable, in a wild state. It is no wonder they are led about with monkeys, to amuse mankind. It is astonishing, as well as ludicrous, to see them climb rocks, and tumble, or rather roll, down precipices. If they are attacked by a person on horseback, they stand erect on their hind legs, showing a fine set of white teeth, and make a crackling kind of noise. If the horse comes near them, they try to catch him by the legs; and, if they miss him, they tumble over and over several times. They are easily speared by a person mounted on horseback, that is bold enough to go near them.”

Bears ascend trees with great facility. Of their fondness for climbing, we have the following curious instance: In the end of June, 1825, a tame bear took a notion of climbing up the scaffolding placed round a brick stalk, erecting by Mr. G. Johnstone, at St. Rollox. He began to ascend very steadily, cautiously examining, as he went along, the various joists, to see if they were secure. He at length, to the infinite amusement and astonishment of the workmen, reached the summit of the scaffolding, one hundred and twenty feet high. Bruin had no sooner attained the object of his wishes, than his physiognomy exhibited great self-gratulation; and he looked about him with much complacency, and inspected the building operations going on. The workmen were much amused with their novel visitor, and every mark of civility and attention was shown him; which he very condescendingly returned, by good-humoredly presenting them with a shake of his paw. A lime bucket was now hoisted, in order to lower him down; and the workmen, with all due courtesy, were going to assist him into it; but he declined their attentions, and preferred returning in the manner he had gone up. He afterwards repeated his adventurous visit.

“Bears,” says Mr. Lloyd, “are not unfrequently domesticated in Wermeland. I heard of one that was so tame, that his master, a peasant, used occasionally to cause him to stand at the back of his sledge when on a journey; but the fellow kept so good a balance, that it was next to impossible to upset him. When the vehicle went on one side, bruin threw his weight the other way, and vice versa. One day, however, the peasant amused himself by driving over the very worst ground he could find, with the intention, if possible, of throwing the bear off his equilibrium, by which, at last, the animal got so irritated, that he fetched his master, who was in advance of him, a tremendous thwack on the shoulders with his paw. This frightened the man so much, that he caused the beast to be killed immediately.”

Of the ferocity of the bear there are many instances on record. A brown bear, which was presented to his late majesty, George III., while Prince of Wales, was kept in the Tower. By the carelessness of the servant, the door of the den was left open; and the keeper’s wife happening to go across the court at the same time, the animal flew out, seized the woman, threw her down, and fastened upon her neck, which he bit; and without offering any further violence, lay upon her, sucking the blood out of the wound. Resistance was in vain, as it only served to irritate the brute; and she must inevitably have perished, had not her husband luckily discovered her situation. By a sudden blow, he obliged the bear to quit his hold, and retire to his den, which he did with great reluctance, and not without making a second attempt to come at the woman, who was almost dead, through fear and loss of blood. It is somewhat remarkable, that, whenever he happened to see her afterwards, he growled, and made most violent struggles to get at her. The prince, upon hearing of the circumstance, ordered the bear to be killed.

But the bear is also capable of generous attachment. Leopold, Duke of Lorraine, had a bear called Marco, of the sagacity and sensibility of which we have the following remarkable instance: During the winter of 1709, a Savoyard boy, ready to perish with cold in a barn, in which he had been put by a good woman, with some more of his companions, thought proper to enter Marco’s hut, without reflecting on the danger which he ran in exposing himself to the mercy of the animal which occupied it. Marco, however, instead of doing any injury to the child, took him between his paws, and warmed him by pressing him to his breast, until next morning, when he suffered him to depart, to ramble about the city. The young Savoyard returned in the evening to the hut, and was received with the same affection. For several days he had no other retreat; and it added not a little to his joy, to perceive that the bear regularly reserved part of his food for him. A number of days passed in this manner without the servants’ knowing any thing of the circumstance. At length, when one of them came to bring the bear its supper, rather later than ordinary, he was astonished to see the animal roll his eyes in a furious manner, and seeming as if he wished him to make as little noise as possible, for fear of awaking the child, whom he clasped to his breast. The bear, though ravenous, did not appear the least moved with the food which was placed before him. The report of this extraordinary circumstance was soon spread at court, and reached the ears of Leopold, who, with part of his courtiers, was desirous of being satisfied of the truth of Marco’s generosity. Several of them passed the night near his hut, and beheld, with astonishment, that the bear never stirred as long as his guest showed an inclination to sleep. At break of day, the child awoke, was very much ashamed to find himself discovered, and, fearing that he would be punished for his temerity, begged pardon. The bear, however, caressed him, and endeavored to prevail on him to eat what had been brought to him the evening before, which he did at the request of the spectators, who afterwards conducted him to the prince. Having learned the whole history of this singular alliance, and the time which it had continued, Leopold ordered care to be taken of the little Savoyard, who, doubtless, would have soon made his fortune, had he not died a short time after.

Munster relates the following story of a man being strangely relieved from a perilous situation: A countryman in Muscovy, in seeking for honey in the woods, mounted a stupendous tree, which was hollow in the centre of its trunk; and, discovering that it contained a large quantity of comb, descended into the hollow, where he stuck fast in the honey, which had been accumulated there to a great depth; and every effort on his part to extricate himself proved abortive. So remote was this tree, that it was impossible his voice could be heard. After remaining in this situation for two days, and allaying his hunger with the honey, all hope of being extricated was abandoned, and he gave himself up to despair. At last a bear, who, like himself, had come in search of honey, mounted the tree, and descended the hollow cleft, “stern forward.” The man was at first alarmed, but mustered courage to seize the bear with all the firmness he could; upon which the animal took fright, made a speedy retreat, and dragged the peasant after it. When fairly out of the recess, he quitted his hold, and the bear made the best of its way to the ground, and escaped.

It would appear that, in the remote regions of the United States, the common black bear is occasionally found of a cinnamon color, and sometimes even white. Tanner gives us the following account: “Shortly after this, I killed an old she-bear, which was perfectly white. She had four cubs; one white, with red eyes and red nails, like herself; one red, and two black. In size, and other respects, she was the same as the common black bear; but she had nothing black about her but the skin of her lips. The fur of this kind is very fine, but not so highly valued by the traders as the red. The old one was very tame, and I shot her without difficulty; two of the young ones I shot in the hole, and two escaped into a tree.

“I had but just shot them when there came along three men, attracted, probably, by the sound of my gun. As these men were very hungry, I took them home with me, fed them, and gave them each a piece of meat, to carry home. Next day, I chased another bear into a low poplar-tree; but my gun being a poor one, I could not shoot him.

“A few days after, as I was hunting, I started, at the same moment, an elk and three young bears; the latter ran into a tree. I shot at the young bears, and two of them fell. As I thought one or both must only be wounded, I sprang towards the root of the tree, but had scarcely reached it when I saw the old she-bear coming in another direction. She caught up the cub which had fallen near her, and, raising it with her paws, while she stood on her hind feet, holding it as a woman holds a child, she looked at it for a moment, smelled the ball-hole, which was in its belly, and perceiving it was dead, dashed it down, and came directly towards me, gnashing her teeth, and walking so erect that her head stood as high as mine. All this was so sudden, that I scarce reloaded my gun, having only time to raise it, and fire, as she came within reach of the muzzle. I was now made to feel the necessity of a lesson the Indians had taught me, and which I very rarely neglected—that is, to think of nothing else before loading it again.”

Some years ago, a boy, of New Hampshire, found a very young cub, near Lake Winnipeg, and carried it home with him. It was fed and brought up about the house of the boy’s father, and became as tame as a dog.

Every day its youthful captor had to go to school at some distance, and, by degrees, the bear became his daily companion. At first, the other scholars were shy of the creature’s acquaintance; but, ere long, it became their regular playfellow, and they delighted in sharing with it the little store of provisions which they brought, for their sustenance, in small bags. After two years of civilization, however, the bear wandered to the woods, and did not return. Search was made for him, but in vain.

Four succeeding years passed away, and, in the interval, changes had occurred in the school alluded to. An old dame had succeeded to the ancient master, and a new generation of pupils had taken the place of the former ones. One very cold, winter day, while the schoolmistress was busy with her humble lessons, a boy chanced to leave the door half way open, on his entrance, and, suddenly, a large bear walked in.

The consternation of the old lady, and her boys and girls, was unspeakable. Both schoolmistress and pupils would fain have been abroad; but the bear was in the path, and all that could be done was to fly off, as far as possible, behind the tables and benches. But the bear troubled nobody. He walked quietly up to the fireplace, and warmed himself, exhibiting much satisfaction in his countenance during the process.

He remained thus about a quarter of an hour, and then walked up to the wall where the provender bags and baskets of the pupils were suspended. Standing on his hind feet, he took hold of these successively, put his paws into them, and made free with the bread, fruit, and other eatables, therein contained. He next tried the schoolmistress’s desk, where some little provisions usually were; but finding it firmly shut, he went up again to the fire, and, after a few minutes’ stay before it, he walked out by the way he came in.

As soon as the schoolmistress and her pupils had courage to move, the alarm was given to the neighbors. Several young men immediately started after the bear, and, as its track was perfectly visible upon the snow, they soon came up with it, and killed it. Then it was that, by certain marks upon its skin, some of the pursuers recognized, in the poor bear, no enemy, but an old friend of their own recent school days. Great regret was felt at the loss of the creature. It was like killing a human friend rather than a wild animal.

Landor furnishes us with the following account: A man in Sweden set off one morning to shoot the cock of the woods. This bird is so extremely shy, that he may rarely be met with, except in the pairing season, when, every morning, he renews his song. He usually commences just before sunrise, beginning in a loud strain, which gradually sinks into a low key, until he is quite entranced with his own melody; he then droops his wings to the earth, and runs to the distance of several feet, calling, Cluck, cluck, cluck! during which time, he is said to be incapable of seeing, so wrapped up is he in his own contemplations, and may be caught even with the hand by those who are near enough, as the fit lasts only a few moments. If unready, wait for the next occasion; for, should he advance a step, except when the bird is thus insensible, he will certainly be overheard, and the victim escape.

The man I began to speak of, being, early one morning, in pursuit of this bird, heard his song at a short distance, and, as soon as the clucking commenced, of course advanced as rapidly as he could, and then remained motionless, till these particular notes were again sounded. It was quite dusk, the sun not having yet risen; but the song seemed to come from an open space in the forest, from which the sun was just emerging. He could not see many yards before him, and only followed the direction of the sound. It so happened that, from another point, but at no great distance, a bear was advancing on the bird, just in the manner of, and with the same steps as the man.

The hunter, whilst standing motionless, thought he perceived a dark object on one side of him; but it did not much engage his attention; at the usual note, he moved on toward the game, but was surprised to see that the black object had also advanced in an equal degree, and now stood on a line with him. Still he was so eager after the bird, that he could think of nothing else, and approached close to his prey before he perceived that a large bear stood within a few feet of him; in fact, just as they were about to spring on the bird, they caught sight of one another, and each thought proper to slink back. After having retreated a short distance, the man began to think it would be rather inglorious to yield the prize without a struggle; and there being now more light, he returned to the spot, when it appeared that the bear had also taken the same resolution, and was actually advancing over the same open space I have mentioned, growling, and tearing up the grass with her feet. Though the man had only shot in his gun, he fired without hesitation, and immediately took to his heels and fled, conceiving the bear to be close in his rear, and returned not to pause till he gained his own habitation. Having armed himself anew, and taken a companion with him, he again repaired to the spot, where he found the bear lying dead on the ground, some of the shots having entered her heart.

The American black bear lives a solitary life in forests and uncultivated deserts, and subsists on fruits, and on the young shoots and roots of vegetables. Of honey he is exceedingly fond, and, as he is a most expert climber, he scales the loftiest trees in search of it. Fish, too, he delights in, and is often found in quest of them, on the borders of lakes and on the sea-shore. When these resources fail, he will attack small quadrupeds, and even animals of some magnitude. As, indeed, is usual in such cases, the love of flesh, in him, grows with the use of it.

As the fur is of some value, the Indians are assiduous in the chase of the creature which produces it. “About the end of December, from the abundance of fruits they find in Louisiana and the neighboring countries, the bears become so fat and lazy that they can scarcely run. At this time they are hunted by the Indians. The nature of the chase is generally this: the bear chiefly adopts, for his retreat, the hollow trunk of an old cypress-tree, which he climbs, and then descends into the cavity from above. The hunter, whose business it is to watch him into this retreat, climbs a neighboring tree, and seats himself opposite to the hole. In one hand he holds his gun, and in the other a torch, which he darts into the cavity. Frantic with rage and terror, the bear makes a spring from his station; but the hunter seizes the instant of his appearance, and shoots him.

“The pursuit of the bear is a matter of the first importance to some of the Indian tribes, and is never undertaken without much ceremony. A principal warrior gives a general invitation to all the hunters. This is followed by a strict fast of eight days, in which they totally abstain from food, but during which the day is passed in continual song. This is done to invoke the spirits of the woods to direct the hunters to the places where there are abundance of bears. They even cut the flesh in divers parts of their bodies, to render the spirits more propitious. They also address themselves to the manes of the beasts slain in the preceding chases, and implore these to direct them, in their dreams, to an abundance of game. The chief of the hunt now gives a great feast, at which no one dares to appear without first bathing. At this entertainment, contrary to their usual custom, they eat with great moderation. The master of the feast touches nothing, but is employed in relating to the guests ancient tales of feasts in former chases; and fresh invocations to the manes of the deceased bears conclude the whole.

“They then sally forth, equipped as if for war, and painted black. They proceed on their way in a direct line, not allowing rivers, marshes, or any other impediment, to stop their course, and driving before them all the beasts they find. When they arrive at the hunting-ground, they surround as large a space as they can, and then contract their circle, searching, at the same time, every hollow tree, and every place capable of being the retreat of a bear; and they continue the same practice till the chase is expired.

“As soon as a bear is killed, a hunter puts into his mouth a lighted pipe of tobacco, and, blowing into it, fills the throat with the smoke, conjuring the spirit of the animal not to resent what they are about to do to its body, or to render their future chases unsuccessful. As the beast makes no reply, they cut out the string of the tongue, and throw it into the fire. If it crackle and shrivel up, which it is almost sure to do, they accept this as a good omen; if not, they consider that the spirit of the beast is not appeased, and that the chase of the next year will be unfortunate.”

When our forefathers first settled in America, bears were common in all parts of the country along the Atlantic. Many adventures with them took place, some of which are recorded in the histories of the times. The following is said to have occurred at a later period:—

Some years since, when the western part of New York was in a state of nature, and wolves and bears were not afraid of being seen, some enterprising pilgrim had erected, and put in operation, a sawmill, on the banks of the Genesee. One day, as he was sitting on the log, eating his bread and cheese, a large, black bear came from the woods towards the mill. The man, leaving his luncheon on the log, made a spring, and seated himself on a beam above; when the bear, mounting the log, sat down with his rump towards the saw, which was in operation, and commenced satisfying his appetite on the man’s dinner. After a little while, the saw progressed enough to interfere with the hair on bruin’s back, and he hitched along a little, and kept on eating. Again the saw came up, and scratched a little flesh. The bear then whirled about, and, throwing his paws around the saw, held on, till he was mangled through and through, when he rolled off, fell through into the flood, and bled to death.

The Grisly Bear.—This creature, which is peculiar to North America, is, perhaps, the most formidable of the bruin family in magnitude and ferocity. He averages twice the bulk of the black bear, to which, however, he bears some resemblance in his slightly elevated forehead, and narrow, flattened, elongated muzzle. His canine teeth are of great size and power. The feet are enormously large—the breadth of the fore foot exceeding nine inches, and the length of the hind foot, exclusive of the talons, being eleven inches and three quarters, and its breadth seven inches. The talons sometimes measure more than six inches. He is, accordingly, admirably adapted for digging up the ground, but is unable to climb trees, in which latter respect he differs wholly from most other species. The color of his hair varies to almost an indefinite extent, between all the intermediate shades of a light gray and a black brown; the latter tinge, however, being that which predominates. It is always in some degree grizzled, by intermixture of grayish hairs. The hair itself is, in general, longer, finer, and more exuberant, than that of the black bear.

The neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains is one of the principal haunts of this animal. There, amidst wooded plains, and tangled copses of bough and underwood, he reigns as much the monarch as the lion is of the sandy wastes of Africa. Even the bison cannot withstand his attacks. Such is his muscular strength, that he will drag the ponderous carcass of the animal to a convenient spot, where he digs a pit for its reception. The Indians regard him with the utmost terror. His extreme tenacity of life renders him still more dangerous; for he can endure repeated wounds which would be instantaneously mortal to other beasts, and, in that state, can rapidly pursue his enemy; so that the hunter who fails to shoot him through the brain is placed in a most perilous situation.

One evening, the men in the hindmost of one of Lewis and Clark’s canoes perceived one of these bears lying in the open ground, about three hundred paces from the river; and six of them, who were all good hunters, went to attack him. Concealing themselves by a small eminence, they were able to approach within forty paces unperceived; four of the hunters now fired, and each lodged a ball in his body, two of which passed directly through the lungs. The bear sprang up, and ran furiously, with open mouth, upon them; two of the hunters, who had reserved their fire, gave him two additional wounds, and one, breaking his shoulder-blade, somewhat retarded his motions. Before they could again load their guns, he came so close on them, that they were obliged to run towards the river, and before they had gained it, the bear had almost overtaken them. Two men jumped into the canoe; the other four separated, and, concealing themselves among the willows, fired as fast as they could load their pieces. Several times the bear was struck, but each shot seemed only to direct his fury towards the hunters; at last he pursued them so closely that they threw aside their guns and pouches, and jumped from a perpendicular bank, twenty feet high, into the river. The bear sprang after them, and was very near the hindmost man, when one of the hunters on the shore shot him through the head, and finally killed him. When they dragged him on shore, they found that eight balls had passed through his body in different directions.

Richardson relates the following story of a grisly bear. A party of voyagers, who had been employed all day in tracking a canoe up the Saskatchewan, had seated themselves, in the twilight, by a fire, and were busy in preparing their supper, when a large grisly bear sprang over their canoe that was behind them, and, seizing one of the party by the shoulder, carried him off. The rest fled in terror, with the exception of a man named Bourasso, who, grasping his gun, followed the bear as it was retreating leisurely with its prey. He called to his unfortunate comrade that he was afraid of hitting him if he fired at the bear; but the latter entreated him to fire immediately, as the animal was squeezing him to death. On this he took a deliberate aim, and discharged his piece into the body of the bear, which instantly dropped its prey to pursue Bourasso. He escaped with difficulty, and the bear retreated to a thicket, where it is supposed to have died. The man who was rescued had his arm fractured, and was otherwise severely bitten by the bear, but finally recovered.

The White Bear.—The polar bear is considerably larger than the brown or black bear, and is covered with a long, thick fur, of a bright white beneath and of a yellowish tinge above. Besides the difference in external appearance, there is a remarkable distinction between the brown and the polar bears; for the former prefers, as his abode, the wooded summits of alpine regions, feeding principally on roots and vegetables; while the latter fixes his residence on the sea-coast, or on an iceberg, and seems to delight in the stormy and inhospitable precincts of the arctic circle, where vegetation is scarcely known to exist, feeding entirely on animal matter. But it cannot be regarded as a predatory quadruped, for it seems to prefer dead to living animal food, its principal subsistence being the floating carcasses of whales. It also preys upon seals, which it catches with much keenness and certainty, as they ascend to the surface of the ocean to breathe; and sometimes fish are caught by them, when they enter shoals or gulfs. They move with great dexterity in the water, and capture their prey with apparent ease. It is only when these bears quit their winter quarters, and especially when the female has to protect her young, that they manifest great ferocity.

While the Carcass, one of the ships of Captain Phipps’s voyage of discovery to the north pole, was locked in the ice, early one morning the man at the mast-head gave notice that three bears were making their way very fast over the Frozen Ocean, and were directing their course towards the ship. They had no doubt been invited by the scent of some blubber of a sea-horse, which the crew had killed a few days before, and which, having been set on fire, was burning on the ice at the time of their approach. They proved to be a she-bear and her two cubs; but the cubs were nearly as large as the dam. They ran eagerly to the fire, and drew out from the flames part of the flesh of the sea-horse that remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously.

The crew of the ship threw great lumps of the flesh they had still left upon the ice, which the old bear fetched away singly, laying every piece before the cubs as she brought it, and, dividing it, gave each a share, reserving but a small portion to herself. As she was fetching away the last piece, they levelled their muskets at the cubs, and shot them both dead, at the same time wounding the dam in her retreat, but not mortally. It would have drawn tears of pity from any but the most unfeeling, to have marked the affectionate concern expressed by this poor animal, in the dying moments of her expiring young. Though she was sorely wounded, and could but just crawl to the place where they lay, she carried the lump of flesh she had just fetched away, as she had done the others, tore it in pieces, and laid it down before them. When she saw they refused to eat, she laid her paws first upon the one, then upon the other, and endeavored to raise them up, making, at the same time, the most pitiable moans.

Finding she could not stir them, she went off, and, when she had got to some distance, looked back, and moaned; and that not availing to entice them away, she returned, and, smelling round them, began to lick their wounds. She went off a second time, as before, and having crawled a few paces, looked again behind her, and for some time stood moaning. But still her cubs not rising to follow, she returned to them anew, and, with signs of inexpressible fondness, went round, pawing them successively. Finding, at last, that they were cold and lifeless, she raised her head towards the ship, and growled a curse upon the destroyers, which they returned with a volley of musket-balls. She fell between her cubs, and died licking their wounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE RACCOON.

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

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

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

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

THE COATI.

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

THE BADGER.

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

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

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

THE GLUTTON.

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

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

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

THE WEASEL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE POLECAT.

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

THE FERRET.

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

THE MINK.

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

THE MARTEN.

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

THE SABLE.

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

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

THE SKUNK.

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

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

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

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

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

THE OTTER.

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

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

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

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

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

THE DOG.

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

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

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

Among other remarkable exploits of Sirrah, illustrative of his sagacity, Mr. Hogg relates that, upon one occasion, about seven hundred lambs, which were under his care at weaning time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off, in three divisions, across the neighboring hills, in spite of all that he and an assistant could do to keep them together. The night was so dark that he could not see Sirrah; but the faithful animal heard his master lament their absence in words which, of all others, were sure to set him most on the alert; and, without more ado, he silently set off in quest of the recreant flock. Meanwhile, the shepherd and his companion did not fail to do all in their power to recover their lost charge; they spent the whole night in scouring the hills for miles round, but of neither the lambs nor Sirrah could they obtain the slightest trace. It was the most extraordinary circumstance that had ever occurred in the annals of pastoral life. They had nothing to do, as day had dawned, but to return to their master, and inform him that they had lost his whole flock of lambs, and knew not what was become of one of them. “On our way home, however,” says Mr. Hogg, “we discovered a lot of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine called the Flesh Cleuch, and the indefatigable Sirrah standing in front of them, looking round for some relief, but still true to his charge. The sun was then up; and when we first came in view, we concluded that it was one of the divisions, which Sirrah had been unable to manage until he came to that commanding situation. But what was our astonishment when we discovered that not one lamb of the whole flock was wanting! How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark is beyond my comprehension. The charge was left entirely to himself from midnight until the rising sun; and if all the shepherds in the Forest had been there to have assisted him, they could not have effected it with greater propriety. All that I can further say is, that I never felt so grateful to any creature under the sun, as I did to my honest Sirrah that morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The instances in which persons have been saved from drowning by the Newfoundland dog, are innumerable. The following anecdote is the more remarkable, as it does not appear that the affectionate animal was of that species. A young man belonging to the city of Paris, desirous of getting rid of his dog, took it along with him to the River Seine. He hired a boat, and, rowing into the stream, threw the animal in. The poor creature attempted to climb up the side of the boat, but his master, whose intention was to drown him, constantly pushed him back with the oar. In doing this, he fell himself into the water, and would certainly have been drowned, had not the dog, as soon as he saw his master struggling in the stream, suffered the boat to float away, and held him above the water till assistance arrived, and his life was saved.

Of the alertness of the dog in recovering the lost property of its master, we shall furnish a striking instance. M. Dumont, a tradesman of the Rue St. Denis, Paris, offered to lay a wager with a friend that, if he were to hide a six-livre piece in the dust, his dog would discover and bring it to him. The wager was accepted, and the piece of money secreted, after being carefully marked. When they had proceeded some distance from the spot, M. Dumont signified to his dog that he had lost something, and ordered him to seek it. Caniche immediately turned back, while his master and his companion pursued their walk to the Rue St. Denis.

Meanwhile a traveller, who happened to be just then returning in a small chaise from Vincennes, perceived the piece of money, which his horse had kicked from its hiding-place; he alighted, took it up, and drove to his inn in Rue Pont-aux-Choux, and Caniche had just reached the spot in search of the lost piece when the stranger picked it up. He followed the chaise, went into the inn, and stuck close to the traveller. Having scented out the coin, which he had been ordered to bring back, in the pocket of the latter, he leaped up incessantly at and about him. The gentleman, supposing him to be some dog that had been lost or left behind by his master, regarded his different movements as marks of fondness; and as the animal was handsome, he determined to keep him. He gave him a good supper, and, on retiring to bed, took him with him to his chamber. No sooner had he pulled off his breeches, than they were seized by the dog; the owner, conceiving he wanted to play with them, took them away again. The animal began to bark at the door, which the traveller opened, under the idea that he wanted to go out. Caniche instantly snatched up the breeches, and away he flew. The stranger posted after him with his night-cap on, and nearly sans culottes.

Anxiety for the fate of a purse full of double Napoleons, of forty francs each, which was in one of the pockets, gave redoubled velocity to his steps. Caniche ran full speed to his master’s house, where the stranger arrived a moment afterwards, breathless and furious. He accused the dog of robbing him. “Sir,” said the master, “my dog is a very faithful creature, and if he has run away with your breeches, it is because you have in them money which does not belong to you.” The traveller became still more exasperated. “Compose yourself, sir,” rejoined the other, smiling; “without doubt there is in your purse a six-livre piece with such and such marks, which you picked up in the Boulevard St. Antoine, and which I threw down there with a firm conviction that my dog would bring it back again. This is the cause of the robbery which he has committed upon you!” The stranger’s rage now yielded to astonishment; he delivered the six-livre piece to the owner, and could not forbear caressing the dog which had given him so much uneasiness and such an unpleasant chase.

A shepherd on the Grampian Mountains, having left his child at the foot of the hill, was soon enveloped in mist; and, unable to return to the precise place, he could not discover the child. In vain he searched for it in the midst of the mist, not knowing whither he went; and when, at length, the moon shone clearly, he found himself at his cottage, and far from the hill. He searched in vain next day, with a band of shepherds. On returning to his cottage, he found that the dog, on receiving a piece of cake, had instantly gone off. He renewed the search for several days, and still the dog had disappeared, during his absence, taking with it a piece of cake. Struck with this circumstance, he remained at home one day, and when the dog, as usual, departed with his piece of cake, he resolved to follow him. The dog led the way to a cataract at some distance from the spot where the shepherd had left his child.

The banks of the waterfall almost joined at the top, yet, separated by an abyss of immense depth, presented that abrupt appearance which so often astonishes and appals the traveller amidst the Grampian Mountains. Down one of these rugged and almost perpendicular descents the dog began, without hesitation, to make his way, and at last disappeared in a cave, the mouth of which was almost upon a level with the torrent. The shepherd with difficulty followed; but, on entering the cave, what were his emotions when he beheld his infant eating, with much satisfaction, the cake which the dog had just brought him, while the faithful animal stood by, eyeing his young charge with the utmost complacence. From the situation in which the child was found, it appears that he had wandered to the brink of the precipice, and either fallen or scrambled down till he reached the cave, which the dread of the torrent had afterwards prevented him from leaving. The dog, by means of his scent, had traced him to the spot, and afterwards prevented him from starving by giving up to him his own daily allowance. He appears never to have quitted the child by night or day, except when it was necessary to go for its food, and then he was always seen running at full speed to and from the cottage.

The memory of the dog Gelert has been preserved by tradition, and celebrated in poetry. In the neighborhood of a village at the foot of Snowdon, a mountain in Wales, Llewellyn, son-in-law to King John, had a residence. The king, it is said, had presented him with one of the finest greyhounds in England, named Gelert. In the year 1205, Llewellyn one day, on going out to hunt, called all his dogs together; but his favorite greyhound was missing, and nowhere to be found. He blew his horn as a signal for the chase, and still Gelert came not. Llewellyn was much disconcerted at the heedlessness of his favorite, but at length pursued the chase without him. For want of Gelert the sport was limited; and, getting tired, he returned home at an early hour, when the first object that presented itself to him at the castle gate was Gelert, who bounded with the usual transport to meet his master, having his lips besmeared with blood. Llewellyn gazed with surprise at the unusual appearance of his dog.

On going into the apartment where he had left his infant son and heir asleep, he found the bed-clothes all in confusion, the cover rent and stained with blood. He called on his child, but no answer was made, from which he hastily concluded that the dog must have devoured him; and, giving vent to his rage, plunged his sword to the hilt in Gelert’s side. The noble animal fell at his feet, uttering a dying yell which awoke the infant, who was sleeping beneath a mingled heap of the bed-clothes, while beneath the bed lay a great wolf covered with gore, whom the faithful and gallant hound had destroyed. Llewellyn, smitten with sorrow and remorse for the rash and frantic deed which had deprived him of so faithful an animal, caused an elegant marble monument, with an appropriate inscription, to be erected over the spot where Gelert was buried, to commemorate his fidelity and unhappy fate. The place to this day is called Beth-Gelert, or the Grave of the Greyhound.

“Here never could the spearman pass,
   Or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
   Llewellyn’s sorrow proved.
And here he hung his horn and spear,
   And oft, as evening fell,
In fancy’s piercing sounds would hear
   Poor Gelert’s dying yell.”

The bull-dog would appear the least likely to combat with a heavy sea, and yet the following circumstances are well authenticated: On board a ship, which struck upon a rock near the shore, there were three dogs, two of the Newfoundland variety, and one a small but firmly-built English bull-dog. It was important to have a rope carried ashore, and it was thought that one of the Newfoundland dogs might succeed; but he was not able to struggle with the waves, and perished; and the other Newfoundland dog, being thrown over with the rope, shared the same fate. But the bull-dog, though not habituated to the water, swam triumphantly to land, and thus saved the lives of the persons on board. Among them was his master, a military officer, who still has the dog in his possession.

Among the instances of sagacity, mingled with an affection for its master, may be mentioned those cases in which the dog notices or detects thefts, and restores lost or stolen articles to its master. An acquaintance of Lord Fife’s coachman had put a bridle belonging to the earl in his pocket, and would have abstracted it, had he not been stopped by a Highland cur, that observed him, barked at him, and absolutely bit his leg. This was unusual conduct in the dog; but the wonder of the servants ceased when they saw the end of the bridle peeping out of the visitor’s pocket; and it being delivered up, the dog became quiet. It is well known that in London, the other year, a box, properly directed, was sent to a merchant’s shop to lie there all night, and be shipped off with other goods next morning, and that a dog, which accidentally came into the shop with a customer, by his smelling it, and repeatedly barking in a peculiar way, led to the discovery that the box contained not goods, but a rogue who intended to admit his companions and plunder the shop in the night-time.

A man who frequented the Pont Neuf in Paris, and whose business it was to brush the boots of persons passing by, taught his dog, which was a poodle, to roll himself in the mud, and then brush by gentlemen so as to soil their boots. In this way, the animal largely contributed to support the trade of his master.

There were two friends—one living in London, the other at Guildford. These were on terms of the greatest intimacy, and for many years it had been the custom of the London family to pass the Christmas with the one at Guildford. Their usual practice was to arrive to dinner the day before, and they were always accompanied by a large spaniel, who was as great a favorite of the visited as of the visitors.

At the end of about seven years, the two families had an unfortunate misunderstanding, which occasioned an omission of the usual Christmas invitation. About an hour before dinner, the Guildford gentleman, who was standing at the window, exclaimed to his wife, “Well, my dear, the W.’s have thought better of it, for I declare they are coming as usual, although we did not invite them; for here comes Cæsar to announce them;” and the dog came trotting up to the door, and was admitted, as usual, into the parlor.

The lady of the house gave orders to prepare beds; dinner waited an hour; but no guests arrived. Cæsar, having staid the exact number of days to which he had been accustomed, set off for home, and reached it in safety. The correspondence which subsequently occurred had the happy effect of renewing the intercourse of the estranged friends; and as long as Cæsar lived, he paid the annual visit in company with his master and mistress.

A terrier, belonging to the Marchioness of Stafford, having lost a litter of puppies, was quite disconsolate, till, perceiving a brood of young ducks, she immediately seized them, and carried them to her lair, where she kept them, following them out and in, and nursing them in her own way with the most affectionate anxiety. When the ducklings, obeying their instinct, went into the water, their foster-mother exhibited the utmost alarm, and as soon as they returned to land, she snatched them up, one by one, in her mouth, and ran home with them.

The next year, the same animal, being again deprived of her puppies, seized two cock chickens, which she reared with infinite care. When they began to crow, their foster-mother was as much annoyed as she had been with the swimming of the young ducks, and never failed to repress their attempts at crowing.

A man engaged in smuggling lace into France from Flanders, trained an active and sagacious spaniel to aid him in his enterprise. He caused him to be shaved, and procured for him the skin of another dog of the same hair and the same shape. He then rolled the lace round the body of the dog, and put over it the other skin so adroitly that the trick could not be easily discovered. The lace being thus arranged, the smuggler would say to the docile messenger, “Homeward, my friend.” At these words, the dog would start, and pass boldly through the gates of Malines and Valenciennes in the face of the vigilant officers placed there to prevent smuggling.

Having thus passed the bounds, he would await his master at a little distance in the open country. There they mutually caressed and feasted, and the merchant placed his rich package in a place of security, renewing his occupation as occasion required. Such was the success of this smuggler, that, in less than five years, he amassed a handsome fortune, and kept his coach.

Envy pursues the prosperous. A mischievous neighbor at length betrayed the lace merchant; notwithstanding all his efforts to disguise the dog, he was suspected, watched, and discovered. But the cunning of the dog was equal to the emergency. Did the spies of the custom-house expect him at one gate, he saw them at a distance, and ran to another; were all the gates shut against him, he overcame every obstacle; sometimes he leaped over the wall; at others, passing secretly behind a carriage, or running between the legs of travellers, he would thus accomplish his aim. One day, however, while swimming a stream near Malines, he was shot, and died in the water. There was then about him five thousand crowns’ worth of lace—the loss of which did not afflict his master, but he was inconsolable for the loss of his faithful dog.

A dog belonging to a chamois-hunter, being on the glaciers in Switzerland, with an Englishman and his master, observed the former approaching one of the crevices in the ice, to look into it. He began to slide towards the edge; his guide, with a view to save him, caught his coat, and both slid onward, till the dog seized his master’s clothes, and preserved them both from inevitable death.

Dogs have a capacity to act upon excitements of an artificial nature. A dog, in Paris, at the commencement of the revolution, was known to musicians by the name of Parade, because he regularly attended the military at the Tuileries, stood by and marched with the band. At night he went to the opera, and dined with any musician who intimated, by word or gesture, that his company was asked; yet always withdrew from any attempt to be made the property of any individual.

The Penny Magazine furnishes a still more singular instance of the desire of excitement, in a dog which, for several years, was always present at the fires in London. Some years ago, a gentleman residing a few miles from London, in Surrey, was roused in the middle of the night by the intelligence that the premises adjoining his house of business were on fire. The removal of his furniture and papers, of course, immediately called his attention; yet, notwithstanding this, and the bustle that is ever incident to a fire, his eye every now and then rested on a dog, whom, during the progress of the devouring element, he could not help noticing, running about, and apparently taking a deep interest in what was going on—contriving to keep himself out of every body’s way, and yet always present amidst the thickest of the stir.

When the fire was got under, and the gentleman had leisure to look about him, he again observed the dog, who, with the firemen, appeared to be resting from the fatigues of duty, and was led to make inquiries respecting him. Stooping down, and patting the animal, he addressed a fireman near him, and asked him if the dog were his.

“No, sir,” replied the man, “he does not belong to me, nor to any one in particular. We call him the firemen’s dog.”

“The firemen’s dog? Why so? Has he no master?”

“No, sir; he calls none of us master, though we are all of us willing to give him a night’s lodging, and a pennyworth of meat; but he won’t stay long with any of us. His delight is to be at all the fires of London, and, far or near, we generally find him on the road as we are going along; and sometimes, if it is out of town, we give him a lift. I don’t think that there has been a fire for these two or three years past which he has not been at.”

Three years after this conversation, the same gentleman was again called up in the night to a fire in the village where he resided, and, to his surprise, he again met “the firemen’s dog,” still alive and well, pursuing, with the same apparent interest and satisfaction, the exhibition of that which generally brings with it ruin and loss of life. Still he called no man master, disdained to receive bed or board from the same hand more than a night or two at a time, nor could the firemen trace out his ordinary resting-place.

To this long list, we might add many other anecdotes, in evidence of the varied powers of the canine family. We have endeavored to select those only which are well authenticated. Some of these are sufficiently marvellous, but there are many other well-attested accounts equally wonderful. Mr. Hogg seems to imagine that mankind are prepared to believe any thing in respect to dogs which partakes of the mysterious, and accordingly plays off the following quiet joke upon his readers:—

“It’s a good sign of a dog when his face grows like his master’s. It’s proof he’s aye glow’ring up in his master’s e’en to discover what he’s thinking on; and then, without the word or wave of command, to be aff to execute the wull o’ his silent thocht, whether it be to wean sheep, or to run doon deer. Hector got so like me, afore he dee’d, that I remember, when I was owre lazy to gang to the kirk, I used to send him to take my place in the pew, and the minister never kent the difference. Indeed, he once asked me next day what I thocht of the sermon; for he saw me wonderfu’ attentive amang a rather sleepy congregation.

“Hector and me gied ane anither sic a look! and I was feared Mr. Paton would have observed it; but he was a simple, primitive, unsuspecting old man—a very Nathaniel without guile, and he jaloused nothing; tho’ both Hector and me was like to split; and the dog, after laughing in his sleeve for mair than a hundred yards, couldn’t stand’t nae longer, but was obliged to loup awa owre a hedge into a potato field, pretending to scent partridges.”

THE WOLF.

This is a fierce and savage beast, resembling in form and size the Newfoundland dog. It hunts in packs, and attacks deer, sheep, and sometimes even man himself. When taken young, it may be tamed. It is found in the northern portions of both continents. In North America, there are several varieties.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—Mr. Cuvier gives an account of a wolf that had all the obedience and affection that any dog could evince. He was brought up by his master in the same manner as a puppy, and, when full grown, was sent to the menagerie at Paris. For many weeks, he was quite disconsolate at the separation from his master, refused to take food, and was indifferent to his keepers. At length he became attached to those about him, and seemed to have forgotten his old affections.

On his master’s return, however, in a year and a half, the wolf heard his voice among the crowd in the gardens, and, being set at liberty, displayed the most violent joy. He was again separated from his friend; and again, his grief was as extreme as on the first occasion.

After three years’ absence, his master once more returned. It was evening, and the wolf’s den was shut up from any external observation; yet, the moment the man’s voice was heard, the faithful animal set up the most anxious cries, and, on the door of his cage being opened, he rushed to his friend, leaped upon his shoulders, licked his face, and threatened to bite his keepers when they attempted to separate them. When the man again left him, he fell sick, and refused all food; and from the time of his recovery, which was long very doubtful, it was always dangerous for a stranger to approach him.

A story is told of a Scotch bagpiper, who was travelling in Ireland one evening, when he suddenly encountered a wolf who seemed to be very ravenous. The poor man could think of no other expedient to save his life, than to open his wallet, and try the effect of hospitality; he did so, and the savage beast swallowed all that was thrown to him with such voracity, that it seemed as if his appetite was not in the least degree satisfied.

The whole stock of provisions was of course soon spent, and now the man’s only resource was in the virtues of his bagpipe; this the monster no sooner heard than he took to the mountains with the same precipitation with which he had left them. The poor piper did not wholly enjoy his deliverance; for, looking ruefully at his empty wallet, he shook his fist at the departing animal, saying, “Ay! Are these your tricks? Had I known your humor, you should have had your music before your supper.”

In Sweden, frequent attacks are made upon the people by wolves, during the winter, as they are then often in a famishing condition. In one instance, a party of sixteen sledges were returning from a dance on a cold and starlight night. In the middle of the cavalcade was a sledge occupied by a lady; at the back of the vehicle sat the servant; and at her feet, on a bear skin, reposed her favorite lapdog. In passing through a wood, a large wolf suddenly sprang out, and, jumping into the sledge, seized the poor dog, and was out of sight before any steps could be taken for his rescue.

A Swedish peasant was one day crossing a large lake on his sledge, when he was attacked by a drove of wolves. This frightened the horse so much that he went off at full speed. There was a loose rope hanging from the back of the vehicle that had been used for binding hay; to the end of this a noose happened to be attached. Though this was not intended to catch a wolf, it fortunately effected that object; for one of the ferocious animals getting his feet entangled in it, he was immediately destroyed, owing to the rapidity with which the horse was proceeding.

The poor man at length reached a place of safety. Though he had been dreadfully frightened during the ride, he not only found himself much sooner at the end of his journey than he expected, but richer by the booty he had thus unexpectedly gained—the skin of a wolf in this country being worth about two dollars and a half.

A peasant in Russia was once pursued in his sledge by eleven wolves. Being about two miles from home, he urged his horse to the very extent of his speed. At the entrance to his residence was a gate, which being shut at the time, the frightened horse dashed open, and carried his master safely into the courtyard. Nine of the wolves followed them into the enclosure, when fortunately the gate swung back, and shut them all as it were in a trap. Finding themselves thus caught, the animals seemed to lose all their ferocity; and, as escape was impossible, slunk into holes and corners, molesting no one, and offering no resistance. They were all despatched without further difficulty.

The prairie wolf is said to be wonderfully cunning and sagacious. Instances have been known of his burrowing under ground to procure the bait from a trap, rather than run the chance of being caught above. Many and curious are the devices prepared to ensnare this animal, but very few have succeeded. This variety of wolf is common in the prairies of the western country, where it hunts deer by running them down. Sometimes a large number associate together, and, forming a crescent, creep slowly towards a herd of deer, so as not to alarm them. They then rush on with hideous yells, and drive the poor animals towards a precipice, seeming to know that, when they are once at full speed, they will all follow one another over the cliff. The wolves then descend at leisure, and feed upon their slaughtered victims.

A farmer in France, one day looking through the hedge in his garden, observed a wolf walking round a mule, but unable to get at him on account of the mule’s constantly kicking with his hind legs. As the farmer perceived that the beast was so well able to defend himself, he did not interfere. After the attack and defence had lasted a quarter of an hour, the wolf ran off to a neighboring ditch, where he several times plunged into the water.

The farmer imagined that he did this to refresh himself after the fatigue he had sustained, and had no doubt that his mule had gained a complete victory; but in a few minutes the wolf returned to the charge, and, approaching as near as he could to the head of the mule, shook himself, and spouted a quantity of water into the animal’s eyes, which caused him immediately to shut them. That moment, the wolf leaped upon him, and killed the poor animal before the farmer could come to his assistance.

In the commencement of the reign of Louis XIV., of France, in the depth of winter, a party of dragoons were attacked, at the foot of the mountains of Jurat, by a multitude of wolves; the dragoons fought bravely, and killed many hundreds of them; but at last, overpowered by numbers, they and their horses were all devoured. A cross is erected on the place of combat, with an inscription in commemoration of it, which is to be seen at this day.

THE FOX.

This animal, which resembles a small dog, is widely distributed over the colder portions of both continents. There are several species, as the red, gray, black, silver, arctic, &c. In all ages and countries, the fox has been remarkable for his cunning, and, from the time of Æsop to the present day, has figured, in allegory and fable, as the personification of artifice and duplicity.

Fruitless Enterprise.—A fox finding himself hard run by the hounds, at a hunt in Ireland, ran up a stone wall, from which he sprang on the roof of an adjoining cabin, and mounted up to the chimney-top. From that elevated station, he looked all around him, as if reconnoitring the coming enemy. A wily old hound approaching, and having gained the roof, was preparing to seize the fox, when, lo! renard dropped suddenly down the chimney. The dog looked wistfully down the dark opening, but dared not pursue the fugitive.

Meanwhile renard, half enrobed in soot, had fallen into the lap of an old woman, who, surrounded by a number of children, was gravely smoking her pipe, not at all expecting the entrance of this abrupt visitor. “Emiladh deouil!” said the affrighted female, as she threw from her the red and black quadruped. Renard grinned, growled, and showed his fangs; and when the huntsmen, who had secured the door, entered, they found him in quiet possession of the kitchen, the old woman and children having retired, in terror of the invader, to an obscure corner of the room. The fox was taken alive without much difficulty.

Unavailing Artifice.—Two gentlemen in New Jersey went out to hunt rabbits. In a low, bushy swamp, the dogs started a fox, and off they went in swift pursuit. After a chase of two miles, he entered a very dense thicket, and, making a circuit of the place, returned to the point whence he first started. The dogs closely pursuing the fox, he again started for the thicket, when one of the sportsmen shot at him, and he fell apparently dead at his feet. As he stooped to pick him up, however, he rose upon his legs and escaped. For two hours and a half, the thicket was the scene of the wiles of renard; but at last he was taken, and, being carried home by the men, was thrown, apparently quite dead, into the corner of the room.

The family sat down to supper. Finding them all busily engaged, he ventured to reconnoitre, and had cautiously raised himself on his fore legs for the purpose, but, on finding himself observed, resumed his quiescent state. One of the party, to ascertain whether the fox was alive or not, passed a piece of lighted paper under his nose; but the inanimate stone or log appeared not more senseless at that moment. Finding all attempts to get away unavailing, renard submitted to his destiny with a very good grace, and the next morning was as well as ever, bating a slight wound in the shoulder and a dirty skin.

Unexpected Resentment.—Some country people in Germany once caught a pike, but in conveying it home during the night, it escaped. As it was a large fish, they returned with torches to secure their prize, and after some time found it on the grass, having fast hold of a fox by the nose. The animal caught in this novel trap made every effort to escape, without success; and it was not until the pike was killed, that it was possible to separate them. It seems that, after the pike was dropped by the fisherman, renard came across it, and in paying his addresses to it, was received in the manner we have described.

THE HYENA.

This animal, which is the size of a large dog, belongs to Africa. It is very ferocious, feeds on flesh, and prefers that which is in a state of decay. It seems, with the vulture, to be a scavenger to remove masses of putrid flesh, which, in these hot regions, would otherwise breed infection and disease.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—Bruce, in his “Travels in Africa,” gives us the following account of the hyena:—

“One night, being very busily engaged in my tent, I heard something pass behind me towards the bed, but, upon looking round, could perceive nothing. Having finished what I was about, I went out, resolving directly to return, which I did. I now perceived a pair of large blue eyes glaring at me in the dark. I called to my servant to bring a light, and there stood a hyena, near the head of my bed, with two or three large bunches of candles in his mouth. As his mouth was full, I was not afraid of him; so, with my pike, I struck him as near the heart as I could judge. It was not till then that he showed any signs of fierceness; but, feeling his wound, he let the candles drop, and endeavored to climb up the handle of the spear, to arrive at me; so that, in self-defence, I was obliged to draw a pistol from my girdle, and shoot him; nearly at the same time, my servant cleft his skull with a battle-axe.

“The hyena appears to be senseless and stupid during the day. I have locked up with him a goat, a kid, and a lamb, all day, when he was fasting, and found them in the evening alive and unhurt. Repeating the experiment one night, he ate up a young ass, a goat, and a fox, all before morning, so as to leave nothing but some small fragments of the ass’s bones.”

Sparman furnishes us with the following story:—“One night, at a feast near the Cape, a trumpeter, who had got himself well filled with liquor, was carried out of doors in order to cool and sober him. The scent of him soon attracted a spotted hyena, which threw him on his back, and carried him away to Sable Mountain, thinking him a corpse, and consequently a fair prize.

“In the mean time, our drunken musician awoke, sufficiently sensible to know the danger of his situation, and to sound his alarm with his trumpet, which he carried at his side. The beast, as it may be imagined, was greatly frightened, in its turn, and immediately ran away.”

THE LION.

This animal stands at the head of the numerous family of cats, and has often been ranked by naturalists as the lord of the brute creation, and holding the same relation to quadrupeds as the eagle does to birds.

Like all the rest of his genus, the lion steals upon his prey, and, when at a proper distance, rushes upon it with a bound, securing it in his sharp claws. In general he is cowardly; but, in pursuit of his prey, he is, to the last degree, fearless and ferocious. His strength is so great that he can break a man’s skull with the stroke of his paw, and can drag the body of a cow over the ground at a gallop. His roar is terrific, and when heard, the animals around seem agitated with the wildest terror. The lion is common in the hot parts of Africa, and is occasionally found in India.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—Some Hottentots once perceived a lion dragging a buffalo from the plain to a neighboring woody hill. They soon forced him to quit his prey, in order to secure it for themselves. They now found that the lion had had the sagacity to take out those inner parts of the buffalo that it rejected as food, in order to make it easier to carry away the fleshy and eatable parts of the carcass, thus showing reflection on his part.

It is probable that the lion does not easily venture upon any one who puts himself in a posture of defence. The following anecdote would seem to show that this is the case. A young man was walking one day on his lands in the southern parts of Africa, when he unexpectedly met a large lion. Being an excellent shot, he thought himself sure of killing him, and therefore fired. But unfortunately, the charge had been in the piece for some time, and the ball fell before it reached the animal. The young man, seized with panic, now took to his heels; but being soon out of breath, and closely pursued by the lion, he jumped upon a little heap of stones, and there made a stand, presenting the butt-end of his gun to his adversary, fully resolved to defend his life as well as he could.

This movement had such an effect upon the lion, that he likewise came to a stand; and what was still more singular, laid himself down at some paces’ distance from the stones, seemingly quite unconcerned. The sportsman, in the mean while, did not dare to stir a step from the spot; besides, in his flight, he had lost his powder-horn. At length, after waiting a good half hour, the lion rose up, and retreated slowly, step by step, as if it had a mind to steal off; but as soon as it got to a greater distance, it began to bound away with great rapidity.

It is related that Geoffrey de la Tour, one of the knights that went upon the first crusade to the Holy Land, heard, one day, as he rode through a forest, a cry of distress. Hoping to rescue some unfortunate sufferer, the knight rode boldly into the thicket; but what was his astonishment, when he beheld a large lion, with a serpent coiled round his body! To relieve the distressed was the duty of every knight; therefore, with a single stroke of the sword, and regardless of the consequences to himself, he killed the serpent, and extricated the tremendous animal from his perilous situation.

From that hour the grateful creature constantly accompanied his deliverer, whom he followed like a dog, and never displayed his natural ferocity but at his command. At length, the crusade being terminated, Sir Geoffrey prepared to set sail for Europe. He wished to take the lion with him; but the master of the ship was unwilling to admit him on board, and the knight was, therefore, obliged to leave him on the shore. The lion, when he saw himself separated from his beloved master, first began to roar hideously; then, seeing the ship moving off, he plunged into the waves, and endeavored to swim after it. But all his efforts were in vain; and at length, his strength being exhausted, he sank, and the ocean ingulfed the noble animal, whose unshaken fidelity deserved a better fate.

Some years since there was, in a menagerie at Cassel, in Germany, a large lion, whose keeper was a woman, to whom the animal seemed most affectionately attached. In order to amuse the company, this woman was in the habit of putting her hands, and even her head, into the lion’s mouth, without experiencing the least injury. Upon one occasion, however, having introduced her head, as usual, between the animal’s jaws, he made a sudden snap, and killed her on the spot.

Undoubtedly, this catastrophe was unintentional on the part of the lion; probably the hair of the woman’s head irritated his throat, so as to make him sneeze or cough. This supposition is confirmed by the subsequent conduct of the animal; for as soon as he perceived that he had killed his attendant, the good-tempered, grateful creature exhibited the signs of the deepest melancholy, laid himself down by the side of the dead body, which he would not suffer to be removed, refused to take any food, and, in a few days, pined himself to death.

A remarkable instance of docility in a lion once took place in the menagerie at Chester, in England. A strange keeper, having fed a magnificent lion one evening, neglected to fasten the door of the den. The watchman, when going his rounds about three the next morning, discovered the king of beasts deliberately walking about the yard, and surveying the objects with apparent curiosity. The watchman went to call the proprietors, and when they arrived they found the lion couchant upon the top of one of the coaches in the yard. With very little entreaty, the monarch of the forest deigned to descend from his throne, and very graciously followed a young lady, the proprietor’s daughter, back to his den.

Some time ago, for the purpose of seeing the manner in which the lion pounces upon his prey, a little dog was, most cruelly, thrown into the den of one of these animals in the Tower Menagerie. The poor little animal skulked, in terror, to the most remote corner of the lion’s apartment, who, regarding him with complacency, refrained from approaching him. The little trembler, seeing the lion’s mildness, ventured to draw near him; and soon becoming familiar, they lived together thenceforward in the most perfect harmony; and, although the little dog had sometimes the temerity to dispute his share of food with the king of the beasts, yet he magnanimously allowed him to satisfy his appetite before he thought of making a meal himself.

A lioness in the Tower of London once formed such an attachment for a little dog which was kept with her in the den, that she would not eat till the dog was first satisfied. After the lioness had become a mother, it was thought advisable to take the animal away, for fear that her jealous fondness for her whelps might lead her to injure it. But while the keeper was cleaning the den, the dog, by some means, got into it, and approached the lioness with his wonted fondness. She was playing with her cubs; and, seeing the dog approach, she sprang towards him, and, seizing the poor little animal by the throat, seemed in the act of tearing him to pieces; but as if she momentarily recollected her former fondness for him, she carried him to the door of the den, and suffered him to be taken out unhurt.

To the traveller in Africa, the lion is formidable not at night only; he lies in his path, and is with difficulty disturbed, to allow a passage for his wagons and cattle, even when the sun is shining with its utmost brilliancy; or he is roused from some bushy place, on the roadside, by the indefatigable dogs which always accompany a caravan. Mr. Burchell has described, with great spirit, an encounter of this nature:—

“The day was exceedingly pleasant, and not a cloud was to be seen. For a mile or two we travelled along the banks of the river, which in this part abounded in tall mat-rushes. The dogs seemed much to enjoy prowling about, and examining every bushy place, and at last met with some object among the rushes which caused them to set up a most vehement and determined barking. We explored the spot with caution, as we suspected, from the peculiar tone of their bark, that it was, what it proved to be, lions. Having encouraged the dogs to drive them out, a task which they performed with great willingness, we had a full view of an enormous black-maned lion and lioness. The latter was seen only for a minute, as she made her escape up the river, under concealment of the rushes; but the lion came steadily forward, and stood still to look at us. At this moment we felt our situation not free from danger, as the animal seemed preparing to spring upon us, and we were standing on the bank at the distance of only a few yards from him, most of us being on foot and unarmed, without any visible possibility of escaping.

“I had given up my horse to the hunters, and was on foot myself; but there was no time for fear, and it was useless to attempt avoiding him. I stood well upon my guard, holding my pistols in my hand, with my finger upon the trigger; and those who had muskets kept themselves prepared in the same manner. But at this instant the dogs boldly flew in between us and the lion, and, surrounding him, kept him at bay by their violent and resolute barking. The courage of these faithful animals was most admirable; they advanced up to the side of the huge beast, and stood making the greatest clamor in his face, without the least appearance of fear. The lion, conscious of his strength, remained unmoved at their noisy attempts, and kept his head turned towards us. At one moment, the dogs, perceiving his eyes thus engaged, had advanced close to his feet, and seemed as if they would actually seize hold of him; but they paid dearly for their imprudence; for, without discomposing the majestic and steady attitude in which he stood fixed, he merely moved his paw, and at the next instant I beheld two lying dead. In doing this, he made so little exertion, that it was scarcely perceptible by what means they had been killed. Of the time which we had gained by the interference of the dogs, not a moment was lost. We fired upon him; one of the balls went through his side just between the short ribs, and the blood immediately began to flow; but the animal still remained standing in the same position. We had now no doubt that he would spring upon us; every gun was instantly reloaded; but happily we were mistaken, and were not sorry to see him move quietly away; though I had hoped in a few minutes to have been enabled to take hold of his paw without danger.

“This was considered, by our party, to be a lion of the largest size, and seemed, as I measured him by comparison with the dogs, to be, though less bulky, as heavy as an ox. He was certainly as long in body, though lower in stature; and his copious mane gave him a truly formidable appearance. He was of that variety which the Hottentots and boors distinguish by the name of the black lion, on account of the blacker color of the mane, and which is said to be always larger and more dangerous than the other, which they call the pale lion. Of the courage of a lion I have no very high opinion; but of his majestic air and movements, as exhibited by this animal, while at liberty in his native plains, I can bear testimony. Notwithstanding the pain of a wound, of which he must soon afterwards have died, he moved slowly away, with a stately and measured step.”

THE TIGER.

This animal, of which there is but one species, is found in the southern parts of Asia, and the adjacent islands. It is inferior only to the lion in strength, size, and courage. The body is long, the legs rather short, the eyes glassy, and the countenance haggard, savage, and ferocious. It has strength to seize a man and carry him off at full gallop, and its ferocity leads it to slay beyond its desire for food. In contrast to these hideous qualities, its skin is marked with a singular beauty, being of a fawn color, splendidly striped downward with black bands. Its step resembles that of a cat. When taken young, and kindly treated, it grows familiar, and exhibits gentleness and affection towards its keeper.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—Of the muscular powers of the tiger we have the following illustration: A buffalo, belonging to a peasant in the East Indies, having fallen into a quagmire, the man was himself unable to extricate it, and went to call the assistance of his neighbors. Meanwhile, a large tiger, coming to the spot, seized upon the buffalo, and dragged him out. When the men came to the place, they saw the tiger, with the buffalo thrown over his shoulder, in the act of retiring with him towards the jungle. No sooner, however, did he observe the men, than he let fall the dead animal, and precipitately escaped. On coming up, they found the buffalo quite dead, and his whole blood sucked out. Some idea may be gained of the immense power of the tiger, when it is mentioned that the ordinary weight of a buffalo is above a thousand pounds, and consequently considerably more than double its own weight.

The effect of feeding the tiger upon raw flesh, is shown by the following anecdote: A party of gentlemen, from Bombay, found, one day, in a cavern, a tiger’s whelp, which was hidden in an obscure corner. Snatching it up hastily, they cautiously retreated. Being left entirely at liberty, and well fed, the tiger became tame, like the dog, grew rapidly, and appeared entirely domesticated. At length it attained a great size, and began to inspire terror by its tremendous strength and power, notwithstanding its gentleness. Up to this moment, it had been studiously kept from raw meat. But, unfortunately, during its rambles, a piece of flesh dripping with blood fell in its way. The instant it had tasted it, something like madness seemed to seize the animal; a destructive principle, hitherto dormant, was kindled: it darted fiercely, and with glowing eyes, upon its prey—tore it with fury to pieces, and, growling and roaring in the most frightful manner, rushed off, and disappeared in the jungle.

Tigers are sometimes very cunning. One of them was kept at a French factory, at Silsceri, which was secured by a strong chain. This animal used to scatter a portion of the rice that was set before him as far round the front of his den as possible. This enticed the poultry to come and pick it up. The tiger pretended to be asleep, in order to induce them to approach nearer, when he suddenly sprang upon them, and seldom failed to make several of them his prey.

This animal is susceptible of strong attachments. An instance of this is recorded of a tigress of great beauty in the Tower at London. She was extremely docile in her passage home from Calcutta, was allowed to run about the vessel, and became exceedingly familiar with the sailors. On her arrival in London, however, her temper became irascible, and even dangerous, and she exhibited for some days a savage and sulky disposition.

Shortly after, a sailor, who had had charge of her on board the ship, came to the Tower, and begged permission to enter her den. No sooner did she recognize her old friend, than she fawned upon him, licked and caressed him, exhibiting the most extravagant signs of pleasure; and, when he left her, she whined and cried the whole day afterwards. In time, however, she became reconciled to her new keeper and residence.

Some years ago, a tame tiger was led about Madras by some of the natives, without any other restraint than a muzzle, and a small chain round his neck. The men lived by exhibiting, to the curious, the tiger’s method of seizing his prey. The manner in which they showed this, was by fastening a sheep to a stake driven into the earth. The tiger was no sooner brought in sight of it than he crouched, and moved along the ground on his belly, slowly and cautiously, till he came within the limits of a bound, when he sprang upon the sheep with the rapidity of an arrow, and struck it dead in an instant.

Although the tigress sometimes destroys her young ones, she generally shows much anxiety for them. Two cubs were once discovered by some villagers, in India, while their mother was in quest of prey, and presented by them to a gentleman, who had them put in his stable. The creatures made piteous howlings every night, which at last reached the ears of the mother. She came to the spot, and answered their cries by hideous howlings, which so alarmed their keeper that he let the cubs loose, for fear the dam would break the door of the stable. Nothing was seen of them the next morning; the tigress had carried them both off into the jungle.

The tiger is often hunted in India, and frequently the sportsmen are mounted upon elephants. Sometimes the animal is shot, and occasionally he is trodden to death, or laid prostrate on the earth, by the tramp of the elephant. Numerous anecdotes are told of these rencounters, all tending to show the fierce and formidable character of the tiger. It is much more active and ferocious than the lion, and is also more dangerous to the inhabitants who live in the vicinity of its retreats.

THE PANTHER.

This animal, which is a native of Northern Africa, is smaller than the tiger, but it possesses the same ferocious disposition. It preys upon every animal it can master, and man himself sometimes falls a victim to its rapacity. Its color is fawn, spotted with black.

A tame Panther.—Notwithstanding the savage character and habits of this animal, Mr. Bowditch, who resided at Coomassie, in Western Africa, gives us an interesting account of one that he tamed. When he was about a year old, he was taken to Cape Coast, being led through the country by a chain. When he arrived, he was placed in a court, where he became quite familiar with those around him, laying his paws upon their shoulders, and rubbing his head upon them. By degrees all fear of him subsided, and he was allowed to go at liberty within the gates of the castle, having a small boy for a keeper. On one occasion, Sai, as the panther was called, finding the lad sitting upright on the step fast asleep, lifted his paw, and gave him a blow on the side of the head, which knocked him down, and then stood wagging his tail, as if enjoying the mischief he had done.

On another occasion, as an old woman was sweeping the hall with a short broom, which brought her nearly down upon all fours, Sai, who was hidden under the sofa, suddenly leaped upon her back, where he stood in triumph. She screamed violently, and all her fellow-servants scampered away in terror; nor was she released till the governor himself came to her assistance.

After the departure of Mr. Bowditch from the castle, the ship in which he had embarked lay at anchor some weeks in the River Gaboon: while here, an orangoutang was brought on board, and the rage of the panther, who had accompanied his master, was indescribable. His back rose in an arch, his tail was elevated and perfectly stiff, his eyes flashed, and if he had not been restrained, he would have torn the ape in pieces. At the same time, the orang showed the greatest fear and terror.

After sailing to England, the change of climate seemed to affect Sai, and medicine was given him in the shape of pills. These had the desired effect. On reaching the London Docks, he was taken ashore, and presented to the Duchess of York, who had him placed in Exeter ‘Change. Here he remained for some weeks, apparently in good health; but he was taken suddenly ill, and died of an inflammation on the lungs.

THE LEOPARD.

This animal is more slender and graceful than the panther, yet it has all the savage qualities of the feline race. Its skin is exceedingly beautiful, being of a light fawn, marked with black spots. Nothing can surpass the ease, grace, and agility, of its movements.

Hunting the Leopard.—Two boors in Southern Africa, in the year 1822, returning from hunting the hartebeest, fell in with a leopard in a mountain ravine, and immediately gave chase to him. The animal at first endeavored to escape, by clambering up a precipice; but, being hotly pressed, and slightly wounded by a musket-ball, he turned upon his pursuers, with that frantic ferocity which, on such emergencies, he frequently displays: springing upon the man who had fired at him, he tore him from his horse to the ground, biting him, at the same time, very severely on the shoulder, and tearing his face and arms with his claws. The other hunter, seeing the danger of his comrade, sprang from his horse, and attempted to shoot the leopard through the head; but, whether owing to trepidation, the fear of wounding his friend, or the sudden motions of the animal, he unfortunately missed his aim. The leopard, abandoning his prostrate enemy, darted with redoubled fury upon this second antagonist; and so fierce and sudden was his onset, that, before the boor could stab him with his hunting-knife, he struck him in the eyes with his claws, and had torn the scalp over his forehead. In this frightful condition, the hunter grappled with the raging beast, and, struggling for life, they rolled together down a steep declivity. All this passed so rapidly that the other man had scarcely time to recover from the confusion into which his feline foe had thrown him, to seize his gun, and rush forward to aid his comrade—when he beheld them rolling together down the steep bank, in mortal conflict. In a few moments he was at the bottom with them, but too late to save the life of his friend, who had so gallantly defended him. The leopard had torn open the jugular vein, and so dreadfully mangled the throat of the unfortunate man, that his death was inevitable; and his comrade had only the melancholy satisfaction of completing the destruction of the savage beast, which was already much exhausted by several deep wounds in the breast, from the desperate knife of the expiring huntsman.

Captive Leopards.—Mr. Brown gives us the following account: “There are at present in the Tower a pair of these animals, from Asia, confined in the same den. The female is very tame, and gentle in her temper, and will allow herself to be patted and caressed by the keepers, while she licks their hands, and purrs. She, however, has one peculiarity—that she cannot bear many of the appendages which visitors bring with them to the menagerie. She has a particular predilection for the destruction of parasols, umbrellas, muffs, and hats, which she frequently contrives to lay hold of before the unwary spectator can prevent it, and tears them to pieces in an instant. She has been five years in the Tower, during which time she has seized and destroyed several hundreds of these articles, as well as other parts of ladies’ dress. While this creature is in a playful mood, she bounds about her cell with the quickness of thought, touching the four sides of it nearly at one and the same instant. So rapid are her motions, that she can scarcely be followed by the eye; and she will even skim along the ceiling of her apartment with the same amazing rapidity, evincing great pliability of form and wonderful muscular powers. The male has been about two years in the Tower, and is only beginning to suffer familiarities; but he seems jealous of the slightest approach. He is larger than the female, the color of his skin more highly toned, and the spotting more intensely black.”

THE JAGUAR.

This animal is confined to South America, where it is frequently called a tiger. It greatly resembles the panther of Africa in size, appearance, and habits. It inhabits thick forests, and sometimes destroys cows and horses. It also feeds on fish, which it entices to the surface by its spittle, and then knocks them out of the water with its paw.

The Jaguar’s Cave.—From the numerous anecdotes in relation to this animal, we select the following interesting account communicated to the Edinburgh Literary Journal: “On leaving the Indian village, we continued to wind round Chimborazo’s wide base; but its snow-crowned head no longer shone above us in clear brilliancy, for a dense fog was gathering gradually around it. Our guides looked anxiously towards it, and announced their apprehensions of a violent storm. We soon found that their fears were well founded. The thunder began to roll, and resounded through the mountainous passes with the most terrific grandeur. Then came the vivid lightning; flash following flash—above, around, beneath—every where a sea of fire. We sought a momentary shelter in the cleft of the rocks, whilst one of our guides hastened forward to seek a more secure asylum. In a short time he returned and informed us that he had discovered a spacious cavern, which would afford us sufficient protection from the elements. We proceeded thither immediately, and with great difficulty, and some danger, at last got into it.

“When the storm had somewhat abated, our guides ventured out, to ascertain if it were possible to continue our journey. The cave in which we had taken refuge was so extremely dark, that, if we moved a few paces from the entrance, we could not see an inch before us; and we were debating as to the propriety of leaving it, even before the Indians came back, when we suddenly heard a singular groaning or growling, in the farther end of the cavern, which instantly fixed all our attention. Wharton and myself listened anxiously; but our inconsiderate young friend Lincoln, together with my huntsman, crept about on their hands and knees, and endeavored to discover, by groping, whence the sound proceeded.

“They had not advanced far into the cavern, before we heard them utter an exclamation of surprise; and they returned to us, each carrying in his arms an animal singularly marked, about the size of a cat, seemingly of great strength and power, and furnished with immense fangs. The eyes were of a green color; strong claws were upon their feet; and a blood-red tongue hung out of their mouths. Wharton had scarcely glanced at them, when he exclaimed in consternation, ‘We have come into the den of a ——’ He was interrupted by a fearful cry of dismay from our guides, who came rushing precipitately towards us, calling out, ‘A tiger, a tiger!’ and, at the same time, with extraordinary rapidity, they climbed up a cedar-tree which stood at the entrance of the cave, and hid themselves among the branches.

“After the first sensation of horror and surprise, which rendered me motionless for a moment, had subsided, I grasped my fire-arms. Wharton had already regained his composure and self-possession; and he called to us to assist in blocking up the mouth of the cave with an immense stone which fortunately lay near it. The sense of imminent danger augmented our strength; for we now distinctly heard the growl of the ferocious animal, and we were lost, beyond redemption, if he reached the entrance before we could get it closed. Ere this was done, we could distinctly see the tiger bounding towards the spot, and stooping in order to creep into his den by the narrow opening. At this fearful moment, our exertions were successful, and the great stone kept the wild beast at bay.

“There was a small, open space, however, left between the top of the entrance and the stone, through which we could see the head of the animal, illuminated by his glowing eyes, which he rolled, glaring with fury, upon us. His frightful roaring, too, penetrated to the depths of the cavern, and was answered by the hoarse growling of the cubs. Our ferocious enemy attempted first to remove the stone with his powerful claws, and then to push it with his head from its place; and these efforts proving abortive, served only to increase his wrath. He uttered a tremendous, heart-piercing growl, and his flaming eyes darted light into the darkness of our retreat.

“‘Now is the time to fire at him,’ said Wharton, with his usual calmness. ‘Aim at his eyes; the ball will go through his brain, and we shall then have a chance to get rid of him.’

“Frank seized his double-barrelled gun, and Lincoln his pistols. The former placed the muzzle within a few inches of the tiger, and Lincoln did the same. At Wharton’s command, they both drew their triggers at the same moment; but no shot followed. The tiger, who seemed aware that the flash indicated an attack upon him, sprang growling from the entrance, but, finding himself unhurt, immediately turned back, and stationed himself in his former place. The powder in both pieces was wet.

“‘All is now over,’ said Wharton. ‘We have only now to choose whether we shall die of hunger, together with these animals who are shut up along with us, or open the entrance to the bloodthirsty monster without, and so make a quicker end of the matter.’

“So saying, he placed himself close beside the stone, which for the moment defended us, and looked undauntedly upon the lightning eyes of the tiger. Lincoln raved, and Frank took a piece of strong cord from his pocket, and hastened to the farther end of the cave I knew not with what design. We soon, however, heard a low, stifled groaning; the tiger, which had heard it also, became more restless and disturbed than ever. He went backwards and forwards, before the entrance of the cave, in the most wild and impetuous manner; then stood still, and, stretching out his neck towards the forest, broke forth into a deafening howl.

“Our two Indian guides took advantage of this opportunity to discharge several arrows from the tree; but the light weapons bounded back harmless from his thick skin. At length, however, one of them struck him near the eye, and the arrow remained sticking in the wound. He now broke anew into the wildest fury, sprang at the tree, and tore it with his claws, as if he would have dragged it to the ground. But having at length succeeded in getting rid of the arrow, he became more calm, and laid himself down, as before, in front of the cave.

“Frank now returned from the lower end of the den, and a glance showed us what he had been doing. In each hand, and dangling from the end of a string, were the two cubs. He had strangled them, and, before we were aware what he intended, he threw them, through the opening, to the tiger. No sooner did the animal perceive them, than he gazed earnestly upon them, and began to examine them closely, turning them cautiously from side to side. As soon as he became aware that they were dead, he uttered so piercing a howl of sorrow, that we were obliged to put our hands to our ears.

“The thunder had now ceased, and the storm had sunk to a gentle gale; the songs of the birds were again heard in the neighboring forest, and the sunbeams sparkled in the drops that hung from the leaves. We saw, through the aperture, how all nature was reviving, after the wild war of elements which had so recently taken place; but the contrast only made our situation the more horrible. The tiger had laid himself down beside his whelps. He was a beautiful animal, of great size and strength; and his limbs, being stretched out at their full length, displayed his immense power of muscle. A double row of great teeth stood far enough apart to show his large red tongue, from which the white foam fell in large drops.

“All at once, another roar was heard at a distance, and the tiger immediately rose, and answered it with a mournful howl. At the same instant, our Indians uttered a shriek, which announced that some new danger threatened us. A few moments confirmed our worst fears; for another tiger, not quite so large as the former, came rapidly towards the spot where we were.

“The howls which the tigress gave, when she had examined the bodies of her cubs, surpassed every thing of horrible that we had yet heard; and the tiger mingled his mournful cries with hers. Suddenly her roaring was lowered to a hoarse growling, and we saw her anxiously stretch out her head, extend her wide and smoking nostrils, and look as if she were determined to discover immediately the murderers of her young. Her eyes quickly fell upon us, and she made a spring forward, with the intention of penetrating our place of refuge. Perhaps she might have been enabled, by her immense strength, to push away the stone, had we not, with all our united power, held it against her.

“When she found that all her efforts were fruitless, she approached the tiger, who lay stretched out beside his cubs, and he rose and joined in her hollow roarings. They stood together for a few moments, as if in consultation, and then suddenly went off at a rapid pace, and disappeared from our sight. Their howlings died away in the distance, and then entirely ceased.

“Our Indians descended from their tree, and called upon us to seize the only possibility of yet saving ourselves, by instant flight, for that the tigers had only gone round the height to seek another inlet into the cave, with which they were, no doubt, acquainted. In the greatest haste the stone was pushed aside, and we stepped forth from what we had considered a living grave. We now heard once more the roaring of the tigress, though at a distance, and, following the example of our guides, we precipitately struck into a side path. From the number of roots and branches of trees, with which the storm had strewed our way, and the slipperiness of the road, our flight was slow and difficult.

“We had proceeded thus for about a quarter of an hour, when we found that our way led along a rocky cliff, with innumerable fissures. We had just entered upon it, when suddenly the Indians, who were before us, uttered one of their piercing shrieks, and we immediately became aware that the tigers were in pursuit of us. Urged by despair, we rushed towards one of the breaks or gulfs in our way, over which was thrown a bridge of reeds, that sprang up and down at every step, and could be trod with safety by the light foot of the Indians alone. Deep in the hollow below rushed an impetuous stream, and a thousand pointed and jagged rocks threatened destruction on every side.

“Lincoln, my huntsman, and myself, passed over the chasm in safety; but Wharton was still in the middle of the waving bridge, and endeavoring to steady himself, when both the tigers were seen to issue from the adjoining forest; and the moment they descried us, they bounded towards us with dreadful roarings. Meanwhile, Wharton had nearly gained the safe side of the gulf, and we were all clambering up the rocky cliff, except Lincoln, who remained at the reedy bridge, to assist his friend to step upon firm ground. Wharton, though the ferocious animals were close upon him, never lost his courage or presence of mind. As soon as he had gained the edge of the cliff, he knelt down, and, with his sword, divided the fastenings by which the bridge was attached to the rock.

“He expected that an effectual barrier would thus be put to the farther progress of our pursuers; but he was mistaken; for he had scarcely accomplished his task when the tigress, without a moment’s pause, rushed towards the chasm, and attempted to bound over it. It was a fearful sight to see the mighty animal suspended for a moment in the air, above the abyss; but the scene passed like a flash of lightning. Her strength was not equal to the distance; she fell into the gulf, and, before she reached the bottom, was torn into a thousand pieces by the jagged points of the rocks.

“Her fate did not in the least dismay her companion. He followed her with an immense spring, and reached the opposite side, but only with his fore claws; and thus he clung to the edge of the precipice, endeavoring to gain a footing. The Indians again uttered a wild shriek, as if all hope had been lost.

“But Wharton, who was nearest the edge of the rock, advanced courageously towards the tiger, and struck his sword into the animal’s breast. Enraged beyond all measure, the wild beast collected all his strength, and, with a violent effort, fixing one of his hind legs upon the cliff, he seized Wharton by the thigh. The heroic man still preserved his fortitude. He grasped the trunk of a tree with his left hand, to steady and support himself, while, with his right hand, he wrenched and violently turned the sword, that was still in the breast of the tiger. All this was the work of an instant. The Indians, Frank, and myself, hastened to his assistance; but Lincoln, who was already at his side, had seized Wharton’s gun, which lay near upon the ground, and struck so powerful a blow with the butt-end upon the head of the tiger, that the animal, stunned and overpowered, let go his hold, and fell back into the abyss.”

THE AMERICAN PANTHER.

This animal, which belongs to North and South America, passes under the various titles of cougar, puma, and panther. The latter is its most common designation. It is about the size of the European panther, but is of a uniform reddish-brown color. It was once common throughout the United States, but it has retired from the more thickly-settled portions to the remote forests of the country. It generally flies from man, but occasions have frequently occurred in which persons have fallen victims to its rage or rapacity.

Fatal Sport.—Some years since, two hunters, accompanied by two dogs, went out in quest of game near the Catskill Mountains. At the foot of a large hill, they agreed to go round it in opposite directions, and, when either discharged his rifle, the other was to hasten towards him to aid in securing the game. Soon after parting, the report of a rifle was heard by one of them, who, hastening towards the spot, after some search, found nothing but the dog, dreadfully lacerated, and dead. He now became much alarmed for the fate of his companion, and, while anxiously looking around, was horror-struck by the harsh growl of a cougar, which he perceived on a large limb of a tree, crouching upon the body of his friend, and apparently meditating an attack on himself. Instantly he levelled his rifle at the beast, and was so fortunate as to wound it mortally, when it fell to the ground along with the body of his slaughtered companion. His dog then rushed upon the wounded cougar, which, with one blow of its paw, laid the poor animal dead by its side. The surviving hunter now left the spot, and quickly returned, with several other persons, when they found the lifeless cougar extended near the dead bodies of the hunter and the faithful dogs.

Terrible Revenge.—The following account is furnished by a correspondent of the “Cabinet of Natural History:” “It was on as beautiful an autumnal day as ever ushered in the Indian summer, that I made an excursion after game among a group of mountains, or rather on a link in the great chain of the Alleghany range, which runs in a north-eastern direction in that part of Pennsylvania which bounds the New York line.

“I had kept the summit of the mountains for several miles, without success, for a breeze had arisen shortly after sunrise, which rattled through the trees, and made it unfavorable for hunting on dry ground; and indeed the only wild animal I saw was a bear, that was feeding on another ridge across a deep valley, and entirely out of reach of my rifle-shot. I therefore descended the mountain in an oblique direction, towards the salt springs, which I soon reached, and, after finding others had preceded me here, I left the spot for another mountain, on which I intended to pass the remainder of the day, gradually working my way home. This mountain was covered with chestnut-trees; and here it was that I caught a glimpse of the bear from the other ridge, and found he had disappeared but a short time previous to my arrival on this mountain. I followed his track for three miles, for chestnuts lay in abundance on the ground, and bears, like hogs, root up the leaves in search of food beneath; and it no doubt had lingered about here eating its meal until my near approach gave warning of its danger. This I could discover, as, the leaves having been wet by the melted frost on the top, a path could be traced where the bear, in running, had turned the dried part of the leaves uppermost. I quickened my pace along the mountainside and around the turn of the mountain, with the hopes of surprising the bear; and, after a rapid chase for the distance above mentioned, all proved fruitless, and I relinquished further pursuit. Warm with this exercise, and somewhat fatigued, I descended the mountain-side, and took my seat beside a stream of water which gently washed the base of the mountain, and emptied itself into the head of the waters of the Susquehannah.

“I had remained, sitting on a fallen tree, whose branches extended considerably into the water, for, perhaps, an hour and a half, when, of a sudden, I heard a rustling among the leaves on the mountain immediately above my head, which, at first, was so distant that I thought it merely an eddy in the wind, whirling the leaves from the ground; but it increased so rapidly, and approached so near the spot where I sat, that instinctively I seized my rifle, ready in a moment to meet any emergency which might offer.

“That part of the mountain where I was seated was covered with laurel and other bushes, and, owing to the density of this shrubbery, I could not discover an object more than ten yards from me; this, as will afterwards appear, afforded me protection; at any rate, it conduced to my success. The noise among the leaves now became tremendous, and the object approached so near, that I distinctly heard an unnatural grunting noise, as if from some animal in great distress. At length, a sudden plunge into the water, not more than twenty yards from me, uncovered to my view a full-grown black bear, intent upon nothing but its endeavors to press through the water and reach the opposite shore. The water, on an average, was not more than two feet deep, which was not sufficient for the animal to swim, and too deep to run through; consequently, the eagerness with which the bear pressed through the water created such a splashing noise as fairly echoed through the hills. With scarcely a thought, I brought my rifle to my shoulder with the intention of shooting; but, before I could sight it correctly, the bear rushed behind a rock which shielded it from my view. This gave me a momentary season for reflection; and, although I could have killed the bear so soon as it had passed the rock, I determined to await the result of such extraordinary conduct in this animal; for I was wonder-struck at actions which were not only strange, but even ludicrous,—there not appearing then any cause for them. The mystery, however, was soon unravelled.

“The stream of water was not more than ten rods in width; and before the bear was two thirds across it, I heard another rustling, on the mountain-side, among the leaves, as if by jumps, and a second plunge into the water convinced me that the bear had good cause for its precipitation; for here, pressing hard at its heels, was a formidable antagonist in an enormous panther, which pursued the bear with such determined inveteracy and appalling growls, as made me shudder as with a chill.

“The panther plunged into the water not more than eighteen or twenty yards from me; and, had it been but one third of that distance, I feel convinced I should have been unheeded by this animal, so intent was it on the destruction of the bear. It must indeed be an extraordinary case which will make a panther plunge into water, as it is a great characteristic of the feline species always to avoid water, unless driven to it either by necessity or desperation; but here nature was set aside, and some powerful motive predominated in the passions of this animal, which put all laws of instinct at defiance, and, unlike the clumsy bustling of the bear through the water, the panther went with bounds of ten feet at a time, and, ere the former reached the opposite shore, the latter was midway of the stream. This was a moment of thrilling interest; and that feeling so common to the human breast, when the strong is combating with the weak, now took possession of mine, and, espousing the cause of the weaker party, abstractedly from every consideration which was in the wrong, I could not help wishing safety to the bear and death to the panther. Under the impulse of these feelings, I once more brought my rifle to my shoulder, with the intention of shooting the panther through the heart; but, in spite of myself, I shrank from the effort. Perhaps it was well I reserved my fire; for, had I only wounded the animal, I might have been a victim to its ferocity.

“So soon as the bear found there was no possibility of escape from an issue with so dreadful an enemy, on reaching the opposite bank of the stream, it shook the water from its hair like a dog, ran about fifteen feet on the bank, and lay directly on its back in a defensive posture. This it had scarcely done, when the panther reached the water’s edge, and then, with a yell of vengeance, it made one bound, and sprang, with outstretched claws, and spitting like a cat, immediately on the bear, which lay in terror on the ground, ready to receive its antagonist; but the contest was soon at an end. Not more easily does the eagle rend in sunder its terror-stricken prey, than did the enraged panther tear in scattered fragments the helpless bear. It appeared but the work of a moment, and that moment was one of unrelenting vengeance; for no sooner did the panther alight on its victim, than, with the most ferocious yells, it planted its hinder claws deep in the entrails of the bear, and, by a few rips, tore its antagonist in pieces. Although the bear was full grown, it must have been young, and deficient in energy; for it was so overcome with dread as not to be able to make the least resistance.

“Satisfied with glutting its vengeance, the panther turned from the bear, and came directly to the water’s edge to drink, and allay the parching thirst created by so great excitement; after which, it looked down and then up the stream, as though it sought a place to cross, that it might avoid the water; then, as if satisfied with revenge, and enjoying its victory, stood twisting and curling its tail like a cat, and then commenced licking itself dry.

“The animal was now within thirty-five yards of me; and seeing no prospect of its recrossing the stream, I took rest for my rifle on a projecting limb of the tree on which I still sat, and fired directly at the panther’s heart. The moment I discharged my rifle, the monster made a spring about six feet perpendicular, with a tremendous growl, which reverberated among the rocks; fell in the same spot whence it sprang, with its legs extended; and lay in this situation, half crouched, rocking from side to side, as if in the dizziness of approaching death. I saw plainly that my fire was fatal; but I had too much experience to approach this enemy until I could no longer discover signs of life. I therefore reloaded my rifle, and with a second shot I pierced immediately behind the ear. Its head then dropped between its paws, and all was quiet.

“On examining the panther, no marks of violence appeared, except where my rifle balls had passed completely through, within a foot of each other: but on turning the animal on its back, I discovered it to be a female, and a mother, who, by the enlargement of her teats, had evidently been suckling her young. From this circumstance, I supposed the bear had made inroads on her lair, and probably had destroyed her kittens. I was the more convinced of this from the fact, that I never knew, from my own experience, nor could I learn from the oldest hunters of my acquaintance, an instance wherein a bear and a panther engaged in combat; and again, no circumstance but the above would be sufficient to awaken that vindictive perseverance, in the passions of a panther, which would lead to the annihilation of so formidable an animal as a bear.”

THE CAT.

This animal, which is chiefly known in a domestic state, was originally wild, and is still found in that condition in the forests of Europe and Asia. It was not a native of the American continent, but was brought hither by the European settlers. The quadruped found in our woods, and sometimes called by the name of wild-cat, is a lynx. In a domestic state, the savage habits of the cat are exchanged for a soft, gentle, and confiding character, which renders her a favorite around every fireside. Nor is puss to be admired only for these winning qualities, and her utility as a mouser. She possesses considerable genius, and the memoirs of her race are scarcely less remarkable than those of her natural rival, the dog.

Miscellaneous Anecdotes.—The following story is furnished by a correspondent of the Penny Magazine: “I was once on a visit to a friend in the country, who had a favorite cat and dog, who lived together on the best possible terms, eating from the same plate and sleeping on the same rug. Puss had a young family, and Pincher was in the habit of making a daily visit to the kittens, whose nursery was at the top of the house. One morning, there was a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. Pincher was in the drawing-room, and puss was attending to her family in the garret. Pincher seemed annoyed by the vivid flashes of lightning; and, just as he had crept nearer to my feet, some one entered the room followed by puss, who walked in with a disturbed air, and mewing with all her might. She came to Pincher, rubbed her face against his cheek, touched him gently with her paw, walked to the door, stopped, looked back, and mewed,—all of which said, as plainly as words could have done, ‘Come with me, Pincher;’ but the dog was too much alarmed himself to give any consolation to her, and took no notice of the invitation.

“The cat then returned, and renewed her application, with increased energy; but the dog was immovable, though it was evident that he understood her meaning, for he turned away his head with a half-conscious look, and crept closer to me; and puss soon left the room. Not long after this, the mewing became so piteous, that I could no longer resist going to see what was the matter. I met the cat at the top of the stairs, close by the door of my chamber. She ran to me, rubbed herself against me, and then went into the room, and crept under the wardrobe. I then heard two voices, and discovered that she had brought down one of her kittens, and lodged it there for safety; but her fears and cares being so divided between the kitten above and this little one below, I suppose she wanted Pincher to watch by this one, while she went for the other; for, having confided it to my protection, she hastened up stairs. Not, however, wishing to have charge of the young family, I followed her up, taking the kitten with me, placed it beside her, and moved the little bed farther from the window, through which the lightning flashed so vividly as to alarm poor puss for the safety of her progeny. I then remained in the garret till the storm had passed away.

“On the following morning, much to my surprise, I found puss waiting for me at the door of my apartment. She accompanied me down to breakfast, sat by me, and caressed me in every possible way. She had always been in the habit of going down to breakfast with the lady of the house; but on this morning she had resisted all her coaxing to leave my door, and would not move a step till I had made my appearance. She had never done this before, and never did it again. She had shown her gratitude to me for the care of her little ones, and her duty was done.”

The editor of the “Edinburgh Evening Courant” gives us the following extraordinary story: “A country gentleman of our acquaintance, who is neither a friend to thieves nor poachers, has at this moment, in his household, a favorite cat, whose honesty, he is sorry to say, there is but too much reason to call in question. The animal, however, is far from being selfish in her principles; for her acceptable gleanings she regularly shares among the children of the family in which her lot is cast. It is the habit of this grimalkin to leave the kitchen or parlor, as often as hunger and an opportunity may occur, and wend her way to a certain pastrycook’s shop, where, the better to conceal her purpose, she endeavors slyly to ingratiate herself into favor with the mistress of the house. As soon as the shopkeeper’s attention becomes engrossed in business, or otherwise, puss contrives to pilfer a small pie or tart from the shelves on which they are placed, speedily afterwards making the best of her way home with her booty.

“She then carefully delivers her prize to some of the little ones in the nursery. A division of the stolen property quickly takes place; and here it is singularly amusing to observe the sleekit animal, not the least conspicuous among the numerous group, thankfully munching her share of the illegal traffic. We may add, that the pastrycook is by no means disposed to institute a legal process against poor Mrs. Puss, as the children of the gentleman to whom we allude are honest enough to acknowledge their fourfooted playmate’s failings to papa, who willingly compensates any damage the shopkeeper may sustain from the petty depredations of the would-be philanthropic cat.”

In the month of July, 1801, a woman was murdered in Paris. A magistrate, accompanied by a physician, went to the place where the murder had been committed, to examine the body. It was lying upon the floor, and a greyhound, who was standing by the corpse, licked it from time to time, and howled mournfully. When the gentlemen entered the apartment, he ran to them without barking, and then returned, with a melancholy mien, to the body of his murdered mistress. Upon a chest in a corner of the room a cat sat motionless, with eyes, expressive of furious indignation, steadfastly fixed upon the body. Many persons now entered the apartment; but neither the appearance of such a crowd of strangers, nor the confusion that prevailed in the place, could make her change her position.

In the mean time, some persons were apprehended on suspicion of being the murderers, and it was resolved to lead them into the apartment. Before the cat got sight of them, when she only heard their footsteps approaching, her eyes flashed with increased fury, her hair stood erect, and so soon as she saw them enter the apartment, she sprang towards them with expressions of the most violent rage, but did not venture to attack them, being probably afraid of the numbers that followed. Having turned several times towards them with a peculiar ferocity of aspect, she crept into a corner, with a mien indicative of the deepest melancholy. This behavior of the cat astonished every one present. The effect which it produced upon the murderers was such as almost amounted to an acknowledgment of their guilt. Nor did this remain long doubtful, for a train of accessory circumstances was soon discovered, which proved it to a complete conviction.

A cat, which had a numerous litter of kittens, one summer day in spring, encouraged her little ones to frolic in the vernal beams of the noon, about the stable door, where she dwelt. While she was joining them in a thousand tricks and gambols, a large hawk, who was sailing above the barn-yard, in a moment darted upon one of the kittens, and would have as quickly borne it off, but for the courageous mother, who, seeing the danger of her offspring, sprang on the common enemy, who, to defend itself, let fall the prize. The battle presently became severe to both parties. The hawk, by the power of his wings, the sharpness of his talons, and the strength of his beak, had for a while the advantage, cruelly lacerating the poor cat, and actually deprived her of one eye in the conflict; but puss, no way daunted at the accident, strove, with all her cunning and agility, for her kittens, till she had broken the wing of her adversary. In this state, she got him more within the power of her claws, and, availing herself of this advantage, by an instantaneous exertion she laid the hawk motionless beneath her feet; and, as if exulting in the victory, tore the head off the vanquished tyrant. This accomplished, disregarding the loss of her eye, she ran to the bleeding kitten, licked the wounds made by the hawk’s talons in its tender sides, and purred whilst she caressed her liberated offspring.

In the summer of 1792, a gentleman who lived in the neighborhood of Portsmouth, England, had a cat, which kittened four or five days after a hen had brought out a brood of chickens. As he did not wish to keep more than one cat at a time, the kittens were all drowned, and the same day the cat and one chicken were missing. Diligent search was immediately made in every place that could be thought of, both in and out of the house, to no purpose; it was then concluded that some mischance had befallen both. Four days afterwards, however, the servant, having occasion to go into an unfrequented part of the cellar, discovered, to his great astonishment, the cat lying in one corner, with the chicken hugged close to her body, and one paw laid over it, as if to preserve it from injury. The cat and adopted chicken were brought into a closet in the kitchen, where they continued some days, the cat treating the chicken in every respect as a kitten. Whenever the chicken left the cat to eat, she appeared very uneasy; but, on its return, she received it with the affection of a mother, pressed it to her body, purred, and seemed perfectly happy. If the chicken was carried to the hen, it immediately returned to the cat. The chicken was by some accident killed, and the cat would not eat for several days afterwards, being inconsolable for its loss.

“I had,” says M. Wenzel, “a cat and dog which became so attached to each other, that they would never willingly be asunder. Whenever the dog got any choice morsel of food, he was sure to divide it with his whiskered friend. They always ate sociably out of one plate, slept in the same bed, and daily walked out together. Wishing to put this apparently sincere friendship to the proof, I, one day, took the cat by herself into my room, while I had the dog guarded in another apartment. I entertained the cat in a most sumptuous manner, being desirous to see what sort of a meal she would make without her friend, who had hitherto been her constant table companion. The cat enjoyed the treat with great glee, and seemed to have entirely forgotten the dog. I had had a partridge for dinner, half of which I intended to keep for supper. My wife covered it with a plate, and put it into a cupboard, the door of which she did not lock. The cat left the room, and I walked out upon business. My wife, meanwhile, sat at work in an adjoining apartment.

“When I returned home, she related to me the following circumstances: The cat, having hastily left the dining-room, went to the dog, and mewed uncommonly loud, and in different tones of voice, which the dog, from time to time, answered with a short bark. They then went both to the door of the room where the cat had dined, and waited till it was opened. One of my children opened the door, and immediately the two friends entered the apartment. The mewing of the cat excited my wife’s attention. She rose from her seat, and stepped softly up to the door, which stood ajar, to observe what was going on. The cat led the dog to the cupboard which contained the partridge, pushed off the plate which covered it, and, taking out my intended supper, laid it before her canine friend, who devoured it greedily. Probably the cat, by her mewing, had given the dog to understand what an excellent meal she had made, and how sorry she was that he had not participated in it; but, at the same time, had given him to understand that something was left for him in the cupboard, and persuaded him to follow her thither. Since that time I have paid particular attention to these animals, and am perfectly convinced that they communicate to each other whatever seems interesting to either.”

A cat belonging to an elderly lady in Bath, England, was so attached to her mistress, that she would pass the night in her bedchamber, which was four stories high. Outside of the window was the parapet wall, on which the lady often strewed crumbs for the sparrows that came to partake of them. The lady always sleeping with her window open, the cat would pounce upon the birds, and kill them. One morning, giving a “longing, lingering look” at the top of the wall, and seeing it free from crumbs, she was at a loss for an expedient to decoy the feathered tribe, when, reconnoitring, she discovered a small bunch of wheat suspended in the room, which she sprang at, and succeeded in getting down. She then carried it to the favorite resort of the sparrows, and actually threshed the corn out, by beating it on the wall, then hiding herself. After a while, the birds came, and she resumed her favorite sport of killing the dupes of her sagacity.

A cat belonging to a gentleman of Sheffield, England, carried her notions of beauty so far, that she would not condescend to nourish and protect her own offspring, if they happened to be tinted with colors different from what adorned her own figure, which was what is usually denominated tortoise-shell. She happened, on one occasion only, to produce one kitten, of a jet black. The cruel mother drew the unfortunate little creature out of the bed in which it lay, and, refusing to give it suck, it perished on the cold ground. Some time after, she gave birth to three more, one of which had the misfortune not to be clad in the same colors as the mother. It was therefore ousted by the unnatural parent; and, although again and again replaced in its bed, it was as frequently turned out again. The owner of the cat, finding it useless to persist in what puss had determined should not be, in humanity consigned the kitten to a watery grave,—the victim of a parent’s pride and cruelty.

“I once saw,” says De la Croix, “a lecturer upon experimental philosophy place a cat under the glass receiver of an air-pump, for the purpose of demonstrating that very certain fact, that life cannot be supported without air and respiration. The lecturer had already made several strokes with the piston, in order to exhaust the receiver of its air, when the animal, who began to feel herself very uncomfortable in the rarefied atmosphere, was fortunate enough to discover the source from which her uneasiness proceeded. She placed her paw upon the hole through which the air escaped, and thus prevented any more from passing out of the receiver. All the exertions of the philosopher were now unavailing: in vain he drew the piston; the cat’s paw effectually prevented its operation. Hoping to effect his purpose, he let air again into the receiver, which as soon as the cat perceived, she withdrew her paw from the aperture; but whenever he attempted to exhaust the receiver, she applied her paw as before. All the spectators clapped their hands in admiration of the wonderful sagacity of the animal, and the lecturer found himself under the necessity of liberating her, and substituting in her place another, that possessed less penetration, and enabled him to exhibit the cruel experiment.”

A lady at Potsdam, in Prussia, tells an anecdote of one of her children, who, when about six years old, got a splinter of wood into her foot, early one morning, and, sitting down on the floor of the chamber, cried most vehemently. Her elder sister, asleep in the same apartment, was in the act of getting up to inquire the cause of her sister’s tears, when she observed the cat, who was a favorite playmate of the children, and of a gentle and peaceable disposition, leave her seat under the stove, go up to the crying girl, and, with one of her paws, give her so smart a blow upon the cheek as to draw blood; and with the utmost gravity resume her seat under the stove, and relapse into slumber. As she was otherwise so harmless, the conclusion was, that she intended this as a chastisement for being disturbed, in hopes that she might enjoy her morning nap without interruption.

A lady residing in Glasgow had a handsome cat sent her from Edinburgh. It was conveyed to her in a close basket, and in a carriage. She was carefully watched for two months; but having produced a pair of young ones, at that time she was left to her own discretion, which she very soon employed in disappearing with both her kittens. The lady at Glasgow wrote to her friend in Edinburgh, deploring her loss, and the cat was supposed to have strayed away.

About a fortnight, however, after her disappearance from Glasgow, her well-known mew was heard at the street door of her old mistress in Edinburgh, and there she was with both her kittens! they in the best condition—but she very thin. It is clear that she could only carry one kitten at a time. The distance from Edinburgh to Glasgow being forty miles, she must have travelled one hundred and twenty miles at least! Her prudence must likewise have suggested the necessity of journeying in the night, with many other precautions for the safety of her young.