Animal Intelligence

Chapter XVII Monkeys, Apes and Baboons

We now come to the last group of animals which we shall have occasion to consider, and these, from an evolutionary point of view, are the most interesting. Unfortunately, however, the intelligence of apes, monkeys, and baboons has not presented material for nearly so many observations as that of other intelligent mammals. Useless for all purposes of labour or art, mischievous as domestic pets, and in all cases troublesome to keep, these animals have never enjoyed the improving influences of hereditary domestication, while for the same reasons observation of the intelligence of captured individuals has been comparatively scant. Still more unfortunately, these remarks apply most of all to the most man-like of the group, and the nearest existing prototypes of the human race: our knowledge of the psychology of the anthropoid apes is less than our knowledge of the psychology of any other animal. But notwithstanding the scarcity of the material which I have to present, I think there is enough to show that the mental life of the Simiadæ is of a distinctly different type from any that we have hitherto considered, and that in their psychology, as in their anatomy, these animals approach most nearly to Homo sapiens.

Emotions

Affection and sympathy are strongly marked—the latter indeed more so than in any other animal, not even excepting the dog. A few instances from many that might be quoted will be sufficient to show this.

Mr. Darwin writes:—

Rengger observed an American monkey (a Cebus) carefully driving away the flies which plagued her infant; and Duvancel saw a Hylobates washing the faces of her young ones in a stream. So intense is the grief of female monkeys for the loss of their young, that it invariably caused the death of certain kinds kept under confinement by Brehm in North Africa. Orphan monkeys were always adopted and carefully guarded by the other monkeys, both male and female.271

Again, Jobson says that whenever his party shot an orang-outang from their boat, the body was carried off by others before the men could reach the shore.

So, again, James Forbes, F.R.S., in his ‘Oriental Memoirs,’ narrates the following remarkable instance of the display of solicitude and care for a dead companion exhibited by a monkey:—

One of a shooting-party under a banian tree killed a female monkey, and carried it to his tent, which was soon surrounded by forty or fifty of the tribe, who made a great noise and seemed disposed to attack their aggressor. They retreated when he presented his fowling-piece, the dreadful effect of which they had witnessed and appeared perfectly to understand. The head of the troop, however, stood his ground, chattering furiously; the sportsman, who perhaps felt some little degree of compunction for having killed one of the family, did not like to fire at the creature, and nothing short of firing would suffice to drive him off. At length he came to the door of the tent, and, finding threats of no avail, began a lamentable moaning, and by the most expressive gesture seemed to beg for the dead body. It was given him; he took it sorrowfully in his arms and bore it away to his expecting companions. They who were witnesses of this extraordinary scene resolved never again to fire at one of the monkey race.

Of course it is not to be supposed from this instance that all, or even most monkeys display any care for their dead. A writer in ‘Nature’ (vol. ix., p. 243), for instance, says expressly that such is not the case with Gibbons (Hylobates agilis), which he has observed to be highly sympathetic to injured companions, but ‘take no notice whatever’ of dead ones.

Regarding their sympathy for injured companions this writer says:—

I keep in my garden a number of Gibbon apes (Hylobates agilis); they live quite free from all restraint in the trees, merely coming when called to be fed. One of them, a young male, on one occasion fell from a tree and dislocated his wrist; it received the greatest attention from the others, especially from an old female, who, however, was no relation; she used before eating her own plantains to take up the first that were offered to her every day, and give them to the cripple, who was living in the eaves of a wooden house; and I have frequently noticed that a cry of fright, pain, or distress from one would bring all the others at once to the complainer, and they would then condole with him and fold him in their arms.

Captain Hugh Crow, in his ‘Narrative of my Life,’ relates an interesting tale of the conduct of some monkeys on board his ship. He says:—

We had several monkeys on board; they were of different species and sizes, and amongst them was a beautiful little creature, the body of which was about ten inches or a foot in length, and about the circumference of a common drinking glass. This interesting little animal, which, when I received it from the Governor of the Island of St. Thomas, diverted me by its innocent gambols, became afflicted by the malady which unfortunately prevailed in the ship. It had always been a favourite with the other monkeys, who seemed to regard it as the last born and the pet of the family; and they granted it many indulgences which they seldom conceded to one another. It was very tractable and gentle in its temper, and never took advantage of the partiality shown to it. From the moment it was taken ill their attention and care of it redoubled; and it was truly affecting and interesting to see with what anxiety and tenderness they tended and nursed the little creature. A struggle often ensued among them for priority in those offices of affection; and some would steal one thing and some another, which they would carry to it untasted, however tempting it might be to their own palates. Then they would take it up gently in their fore-paws, hug it to their breasts, and cry over it as a fond mother would over her suffering child. The little creature seemed sensible of their assiduities, but it was wofully overpowered by sickness. It would sometimes come to me and look me pitifully in the face, and moan and cry like an infant, as if it besought me to give it relief; and we did everything we could think of to restore it to health: but, in spite of the united attention of its kindred tribes and ourselves, the interesting little creature did not survive long.

Here is a case which I myself witnessed at the Zoological Gardens, and published in the ‘Quarterly Journal of Science,’ from which I now quote:—

A year or two ago there was an Arabian baboon and an Anubis baboon confined in one cage, adjoining that which contained a dog-headed baboon. The Anubis baboon passed its hand through the wires of the partition, in order to purloin a nut which the large dog-headed baboon had left within reach—expressly, I believe, that it might act as a bait. The Anubis baboon very well knew the danger he ran, for he waited until his bulky neighbour had turned his back upon the nut with the appearance of having forgotten all about it. The dog-headed baboon, however, was all the time slyly looking round with the corner of his eye, and no sooner was the arm of his victim well within his cage than he sprang with astonishing rapidity and caught the retreating hand in his mouth. The cries of the Anubis baboon quickly brought the keeper to the rescue, when, by dint of a good deal of physical persuasion, the dog-headed baboon was induced to leave go his hold. The Anubis baboon then retired to the middle of his cage, moaning piteously, and holding the injured hand against his chest while he rubbed it with the other one. The Arabian baboon now approached him from the top part of the cage, and, while making a soothing sound very expressive of sympathy, folded the sufferer in its arms—exactly as a mother would her child under similar circumstances. It must be stated, also, that this expression of sympathy had a decidedly quieting effect upon the sufferer, his moans becoming less piteous so soon as he was enfolded in the arms of his comforter; and the manner in which he laid his cheek upon the bosom of his friend was as expressive as anything could be of sympathy appreciated. This really affecting spectacle lasted a considerable time, and while watching it I felt that, even had it stood alone, it would in itself have been sufficient to prove the essential identity of some of the noblest among human emotions with those of the lower animals.

As a beautiful instance of the display of sympathy, I may narrate an occurrence which was witnessed by my friend Sir James Malcolm—a gentleman on the accuracy of whose observation I can rely. He was on board a steamer where there were two common East India monkeys, one of which was older and larger than the other, though they were not mother and child. The smaller monkey one day fell overboard amidships. The larger one became frantically excited, and running over the bulwarks down to a part of the ship which is called ‘the bend,’ it held on to the side of the vessel with one hand, while with the other it extended to her drowning companion a cord with which she had been tied up, and one end of which was fastened round her waist. The incident astonished everyone on board, but unfortunately for the romance of the story the little monkey was not near enough to grasp the floating end of the cord. The animal, however, was eventually saved by a sailor throwing out a longer rope to the little swimmer, who had sense enough to grasp it, and so to be hauled on board.

The following account of the behaviour of a wounded monkey seems to suggest the presence of a class of emotions similar to those which we know as feelings of reproach. The observer was Capt. Johnson:—

I was one of a party of Jeekary in the Bahar district; our tents were pitched in a large mango garden, and our horses were picquetted in the same garden a little distance off. When we were at dinner a Syer came to us, complaining that some of the horses had broken loose in consequence of being frightened by monkeys (i.e. Macacus Orhesus) on the trees. As soon as dinner was over I went out with my gun to drive them off, and I fired with small shot at one of them, which instantly ran down to the lowest branch of the tree, as if he were going to fly at me, stopped suddenly, and coolly put his paw to the part wounded, covered with blood, and held it out for me to see. I was so much hurt at the time that it has left an impression never to be effaced, and I have never since fired a gun at any of the tribe. Almost immediately on my return to the party, before I had fully described what had passed, a Syer came to inform us that the monkey was dead. We ordered the Syer to bring it to us, but by the time he returned the other monkeys had carried the dead one off, and none of them could anywhere be seen.

This case is strikingly corroborated by the following allusion to Sir W. Hoste’s Memoirs, given by Jesse as follows:—

One of his officers, coming home after a long day’s shooting, saw a female monkey running along the rocks, with her young one in her arms. He immediately fired, and the animal fell. On his coming up, she grasped her little one close to her breast, and with her other hand pointed to the wound which the ball had made, and which had entered above her breast. Dipping her finger in the blood, and then holding it up, she seemed to reproach him with being the cause of her death, and consequently that of the young one, to which she frequently pointed. ‘I never,’ says Sir William, ‘felt so much as when I heard the story, and I determined never to shoot one of these animals as long as I lived.’272

Mr. Darwin says that most persons who have observed monkeys have seen them show a sense of the ludicrous. Here is an instance which I have myself observed, and now quote from my article in the ‘Quarterly Journal of Science:’—

Several years ago I used to watch carefully the young orang-outang in the Zoological Gardens, and I am quite sure that she manifested a sense of the ludicrous. One example will suffice. Her feeding tin was of a somewhat peculiar shape, and when it was empty she used sometimes to invert it upon her head. The tin then presented a comical resemblance to a bonnet, and as its wearer would generally favour the spectators with a broad grin at the time of putting it on, she never failed to raise a laugh from them. Her success in this respect was evidently attended with no small gratification on her part.

But perhaps the strongest evidence of monkeys having an appreciation of the ludicrous is the same as that which we have seen to be presented in the case of certain dogs—namely, in the animals disliking ridicule. Abundant evidence on this head in the case of monkeys will be given further on.

That monkeys enjoy play no one can question who spends an hour or two in the monkey-house at the Zoological Gardens. According to Savage, chimpanzees congregate together for the sole purpose of play, when they beat or drum with pieces of stick on sonorous pieces of wood.273

Curiosity is more strongly pronounced in monkeys than in any other animals. We all know the interesting illustration on this head furnished by the experiment of Mr. Darwin, who, in order to test the statement of Brehm that monkeys have an instinctive dread of snakes, and yet cannot ‘desist from occasionally satiating their curiosity in a most human fashion, by lifting up the lid of the box in which the snakes were kept,’ took a stuffed snake to the monkey-house at the Zoological Gardens. Mr. Darwin says:—

The excitement thus caused was one of the most curious spectacles I ever beheld..... I then placed a live snake in a paper bag, with the mouth loosely closed, in one of the larger compartments. One of the monkeys immediately approached, cautiously opened the bag, peeped in, and instantly dashed away. Then I witnessed what Brehm has described, for monkey after monkey, with head raised high and turned on one side, could not resist taking a momentary peep into the upright bag, at the dreadful object lying quietly at the bottom.274

Allied, perhaps, to curiosity, and so connected with the emotions, is what Mr. Darwin calls ‘the principle of imitation.’ It is proverbial that monkeys carry this principle to ludicrous lengths, and they are the only animals which imitate for the mere sake of imitating, as has been observed by Desor, though an exception ought to be made in favour of talking birds. The psychology of imitation is difficult of analysis, but it is remarkable as well as suggestive that it should be confined in its manifestations to monkeys and certain birds among animals, and to the lower mental levels among men. As Mr. Darwin says:—

The principle of imitation is strong in man, and especially, as I have myself observed, with savages. In certain morbid states of the brain, this tendency is exaggerated to an extraordinary degree; some hemiplegic patients and others, at the commencement of inflammatory softening of the brain, unconsciously imitate every word that is uttered, whether in their own or in a foreign language, and every gesture or action which is performed near them.

The same sort of tendency is often observable in young children, so that it seems to be frequently distinctive of a certain stage or grade of mental evolution, and particularly in the branch Primates. Other animals, however, certainly imitate each other’s actions to a certain extent, as I shall have occasion fully to notice in my next work.

As for the sterner emotions, rage may be so pronounced as to make a monkey exhaust itself with beating about its cage, or a baboon bite its own limbs till the blood flows.275 Jealousy occurs in a correspondingly high degree, while retaliation and revenge are shown by all the higher monkeys when injury has been done to them, as any one may find by offering an insult to a baboon. The following is a good case of this, as it shows what may be called brooding resentment deliberately preparing a satisfactory revenge. Mr. Darwin writes:—

Sir Andrew Smith, a zoologist whose scrupulous accuracy was known to many persons, told me the following story of which he was himself an eye-witness. At the Cape of Good Hope, an officer had often plagued a certain baboon, and the animal, seeing him approaching one Sunday for parade, poured water into a hole and hastily made some thick mud, which he skilfully dashed over the officer as he passed by, to the amusement of many bystanders. For long afterwards the baboon rejoiced and triumphed whenever he saw his victim.276

General Intelligence

Coming now to the higher powers, I shall give a few cases to show that monkeys certainly surpass all other animals in the scope of their rational faculty. Professor Croora Robertson writes me:—

I witnessed the following incident in the Jardin des Plantes, now many years ago; but it struck me greatly at the time, and I have narrated it repeatedly in the interval. A large ape—I believe anthropoid, but cannot tell the species—was in the great iron cage with a number of smaller monkeys, and was lording it over them with many wild gambols, to the amusement of a crowd of spectators. Many things—fruits and the like—had been thrown between the bars into the cage, which the ape was always forward to seize. At last some one threw in a small hand looking-glass, with a strongly made frame of wood. This the ape at once laid hold of, and began to brandish like a hammer. Suddenly he was arrested by the reflection of himself in the glass, and looked puzzled for a moment; then he darted his head behind the glass to find the other of his kind that he evidently supposed to be there. Astonished to find nothing, he apparently bethought himself that he had not been quick enough with his movement. He now proceeded to raise and draw the glass nearer to him with great caution, and then with a swifter dart looked behind. Again finding nothing, he repeated the attempt once more. He now passed from astonishment to anger, and began to beat with the frame violently on the floor of the cage. Soon the glass was shattered, and pieces fell out. Continuing to beat, he was in the course of one blow again arrested by his image in the piece of glass still remaining in the frame. Then, as it seemed, he determined to make one trial more. More circumspectly than ever the whole first part of the process was gone through with; more violently than ever the final dart made. His fury over this last failure knew no bounds. He crunched the frame and glass together with his teeth, he beat on the floor, he crunched again, till nothing but splinters was left.

Mr. Darwin writes: ‘Rengger, a most careful observer, states that when first he gave eggs to his monkeys in Paraguay, they smashed them, and thus lost much of their contents; afterwards they generally hit one end against some hard body, and picked off the bits with their fingers. After cutting themselves only once with any sharp tool, they would not touch it again, or would handle it with the greatest caution. Lumps of sugar were often given them wrapped up in paper; and Rengger sometimes put a live wasp in the paper, so that in hastily unfolding it they got stung; after this had once happened, they always first held the packet to their ears to detect any movement within.’277

The powers of observation and readiness to establish new associations thus rendered apparent, display a high level of general intelligence. Mr. Darwin further observes that Mr. Belt ‘likewise describes various actions of a tamed cebus, which, I think, clearly show that this animal possessed some reasoning power.’ The following is the account to which Mr. Darwin here refers, and I quote it in extenso, because, as I shall presently show, I have myself been able to confirm most of the observations on another monkey of the same genus:—

It would sometimes entangle itself round a pole to which it was fastened, and then unwind the coils again with the greatest discernment. Its chain allowed it to swing down below the verandah, but it could not reach to the ground. Sometimes, when there were broods of young ducks about, it would hold out a piece of bread in one hand, and when it had tempted a duckling within reach, seize it by the other, and kill it with a bite in the breast. There was such an uproar amongst the fowls on these occasions, that we soon knew what was the matter, and would rush out and punish Mickey (as we called him) with a switch; so that he was ultimately cured of his poultry-killing propensities. One day, when whipping him, I held up the dead duckling in front of him, and at each blow of the light switch told him to take hold of it, and at last, much to my surprise, he did so, taking it and holding it tremblingly in one hand. He would draw things towards him with a stick, and even used a swing for the same purpose. It had been put up for the children, and could be reached by Mickey, who now and then indulged himself in a swing on it. One day I had put down some bird-skins on a chair to dry, far beyond, as I thought, Mickey’s reach; but, fertile in expedients, he took the swing and launched it towards the chair, and actually managed to knock the skins off in the return of the swing, so as to bring them within his reach. He also procured some jelly that was set out to cool in the same way. Mickey’s actions were very human-like. When any one came near to fondle him, he never neglected the opportunity of pocket-picking. He would pull out letters, and quickly take them from their envelopes.278

I shall now proceed to state some further facts, showing the high level of intelligence to which monkeys of various kinds attain.

The orang which Cuvier had used to draw a chair from one end to the other of a room, in order to stand upon it so as to reach a latch which it desired to open; and in this we have a display of rationally adaptive action which no dog has equalled, although, as in the case before given of the dog dragging the mat, it has been closely approached. Again, Rengger describes a monkey employing a stick wherewith to prise up the lid of a chest, which was too heavy for the animal to raise otherwise. This use of a lever as a mechanical instrument is an action to which no animal other than a monkey has ever been known to attain; and, as we shall subsequently see, my own observation has fully corroborated that of Rengger in this respect. More remarkable still, as we shall also subsequently see, the monkey to which I allude as having myself observed, succeeded also by methodical investigation, and without any assistance, in discovering for himself the mechanical principle of the screw; and that monkeys well understand how to use stones as hammers is a matter of common observation since Dampier and Wafer first described this action as practised by these animals in the breaking open of oyster-shells. The additional observation of Gernelli Carreri of monkeys thrusting stones into the open valves of oysters so as to save themselves the trouble of smashing the shells, though not incredible, requires confirmation. But Mr. Haden, of Dundee, has communicated to me the following very remarkable appreciation of mechanical principles which he himself observed in a monkey (species not noted), and which would certainly be beyond the mental powers of any other animal:—

‘A large monkey, confined alone in a large cage, had its sleeping-place in the form of a kind of hut in the centre of the cage. Springing near the hut was a tree, or imitation tree, the main branch of which ascended over the top of the hut, and then came forwards away from it. Whether the roof of the hut enabled this animal to gain any part of this branch, I did not observe, but only remarked its method at the time of gaining the part of the branch which led frontwards, and away from the hut. This could be done by means of the hut door, which, when opened, swung beneath this part of the branch. The door, either by accident or by the design of its construction, swung to each time the animal opened it to mount upon its top edge. After one or two efforts to mount by it in spite of its immediate swinging to, the creature procured a thick blanket which lay in the cage, and threw it over the door, having opened the same, so that its complete swinging to was prevented sufficiently for the creature to mount upon its free edge, and so gain that part of the branch which ran above it.’

The following, which I quote from ‘Nature’ (vol. xxiii., p. 533), also displays high intelligence:—

One of the large monkeys at the Alexandra Palace had been for some time suffering from the decay of the right lower canine, and an abscess, forming a large protuberance on the jaw, had resulted. The pain seemed so great, it was decided to consult a dentist as to what should be done; and, as the poor creature was at times very savage, it was thought that if the tooth had to be extracted, gas should be used for the safety of the operation. Preparations were made accordingly, but the behaviour of the monkey was quite a surprise to all who were concerned. He showed great fight on being taken out of the cage, and not only struggled against being put into a sack prepared with a hole cut for his head, but forced one of his hands out, and snapped and screamed, and gave promise of being very troublesome. Directly, however, Mr. Lewen Moseley, who had undertaken the operation, managed to get his hand on the abscess and gave relief, the monkey’s demeanour changed entirely. He laid his head down quietly for examination, and, without the use of the gas, submitted to the removal of a stump of a tooth as quietly as possible.

According to D’Osbonville, certain monkeys that he observed in the wild state were in the habit of administering corporal chastisement to their young. After suckling and cleansing them, the mothers used to sit down and watch the youngsters play. These would wrestle, throw and chase each other, &c.; but if any of them grew malicious, the dams would spring up, and, seizing their offspring by the tail with one hand, correct them severely with the other.

We have already seen that dogs and cats display the idea of maintaining discipline among their progeny.

According to Houzeau the sacred monkey of India (Semnopithecus entellus) is very clever in catching snakes, and in the case of poisonous species destroy the fangs by breaking them against stones.279

Of the fact that monkeys act in co-operation, many proofs might be given, but one will suffice.

Lieutenant Schipp, in his Memoirs, says:—

A Cape baboon having taken off some clothes from the barracks, I formed a party to recover them. With twenty men I made a circuit to cut them off from the caverns, to which they always fled for shelter. They observed my movements, and detaching about fifty to guard the entrance, the others kept their post. We could see them collecting large stones and other missiles. One old grey-headed one, who had often paid us a visit at the barracks, was seen distributing his orders, as if a general. We rushed on to the attack, when, at a scream from him, they rolled down enormous stones on us, so that we were forced to give up the contest.

I shall here bring to a close my selections from the literature of monkey psychology, because I wish to devote a good deal of space to detailing a number of observations which have not yet been published. Thinking it desirable for the purposes of this work that an intelligent monkey should be subjected to close observation for some length of time, I applied to Mr. Sclater for the loan of one from the collection of the Zoological Society. He kindly consented to my proposal, and I selected a specimen of Cebus fatuellus, which appeared to me to be the most intelligent monkey in the collection. Not having facilities for keeping the animal in my own house, I consigned him to the charge of my sister (who lives close by), with the request that she should carefully note all points of interest connected with his intelligence. Therefore, from the day of his arrival till that of his departure she kept a diary, or note-book, in which all the observations that she made when I was absent were entered. It was originally my intention to make an abstract of this note-book; but on afterwards reading it through for this purpose, it seemed to me that I should rather spoil matters by attempting a condensation. There is a certain graphic effect incidental to the diary form and spontaneous style of diction—the notes, of course, not having been written with a view to verbatim publication; and besides, as the psychology of monkeys has been so little studied, I think it is well to give all the details of a continuous series of observations. It is desirable to add that on occasions subsequent to the taking of this or that particular note, I generally had the opportunity of verifying the observation myself; but I may state that I attach no more importance to this circumstance than I should to verifying an observation of my own; for as a careful observer of animals I have quite as much confidence in my sister as in myself. It only remains to explain that my mother, being an invalid, is confined most of the time to her bedroom; and that the monkey was kept there for the first six weeks of his stay at her house, partly in order that he might be under constant observation, and partly also to furnish her with an entertaining pet. The following are my sister’s notes in extenso and without alteration:—

Brown Capuchin (Cebus fatuellus—Linn.), Brazil.

Diary, 1880.

December 18th. Arrived in box with keeper. Seemed rather frightened and screamed a good deal on being transferred from small box to a larger one.

19th. Took him out of the box he had been in all night and fastened chain on to collar. Was meek and subdued, hiding his face in my lap.

20th. Has become much more lively and somewhat aggressive, especially towards the servants. He has taken a fancy to my mother, and (she holding his chain) he plays with her in a gentle and affectionate manner in her bed, but flies angrily at any of the servants who come near the bed. I observed to-day that he breaks walnuts (which are too hard for him to crack with his teeth) by striking them with the flat bottom of a dish he has for drinking out of. He is ceaselessly active all day, and at night covers himself very neatly with warm shawls, and sleeps soundly till about eight o’clock.

21st. I notice that the love of mischief is very strong in him. To-day he got hold of a wine-glass and an egg-cup. The glass he dashed on the floor with all his might, and of course broke it. Finding, however, that the egg-cup would not break for being thrown down, he looked round for some hard substance against which to dash it. The post of the brass bedstead appearing to be suitable for the purpose, he raised the egg-cup high over his head and gave it several hard blows. When it was completely smashed he was quite satisfied. He breaks a stick by passing it down between a heavy object and the wall, and then hanging on to the end, thus breaking it across the heavy object. He frequently destroys an article of dress by carefully pulling out the threads (thus unripping it) before he begins to tear it with his teeth in a more violent manner. If he gets hold of anything that he sees we do not care about, he soon leaves it again; but if it is an article of value (even if it be only a scrap of paper) which he sees we are anxious about, nothing will induce him to give it up. No food, however inviting, will distract his attention: scolding only makes him more angry, and he keeps the article until it is quite destroyed. To-day I gave him a hammer to break his walnuts with, and he uses it in a proper manner for that purpose.

22nd. To-day a strange person (a dressmaker) came into the room where he is tied up, and I gave him a walnut that she might see him break it with his hammer. The nut was a bad one, and the woman laughed at his disappointed face. He then became very angry, and threw at her everything he could lay hands on; first the nut, then the hammer, then a coffee-pot which he seized out of the grate, and, lastly, all his own shawls. He throws things with great force and precision by holding them in both hands, and extending his long arms well back over his head before projecting the missile, standing erect the while.

23rd. There is continual war between him and Sharp [a small terrier], but they both seem to have a certain mutual respect for each other. The dog makes snatches at nuts, &c., and runs away with them beyond the reach of his chain, and the monkey catches at the dog, but seems afraid to hold him or hurt him. He however pelts him with nuts or bits of carrot, and chatters at him. At other times he holds out his hand as if to make friends, but the dog is too suspicious to go near him. His hostility towards the servants (one especially) increases, so that he will not even take a nut from her without catching fiercely at her hand; he also frequently throws things at her. On the other hand, he allows my mother to do anything with him.

24th. He bit me in several places to-day when I was taking him away from my mother’s bed after his morning’s game there. I took no notice, but he seemed ashamed of himself afterwards, hiding his face in his arms and sitting quiet for a time.280 In accordance with his desire for mischief, he is of course very fond of upsetting things, but he always takes great care they do not fall on himself. Thus he will pull a chair towards him till it is almost over-balanced, then he intently fixes his eyes on the top bar of the back, and when he sees it coming over his way, darts from underneath and watches the fall with great delight; and similarly with heavier things. There is a washhand-stand, for example, with a heavy marble top, which he has with great labour upset several times, and always without hurting himself.281

25th. I observed to-day that if a nut or any object he wishes to get hold of is beyond the reach of his chain, he puts out a stick to draw it towards him, or, if that does not succeed, he stands upright and throws a shawl back over his head, holding it by the two corners so that it falls down his back; he then throws it forward with all his strength, still holding on by the corners; thus it goes out far in front of him and covers the nut, which he then draws towards him by pulling in the shawl. When his chain becomes twisted round the bars of a ‘clothes-horse’ (which is given him to run about upon), and thus too short for his comfort, he looks at it intently and pulls it with his fingers this way and that, and when he sees how the turns are taken, he deliberately goes round and round the bars, first this way, then that, until the chain is quite disentangled. He often carries his chain grasped in his tail and held high over his back to keep it from getting into the way of his feet. He is always rather excited in the morning when I loosen his chain preparatory to taking him to my mother’s bed; jumps about and tugs at the chain. Sometimes, however, if the chain is entangled, and I am rather long in getting it unfastened, he sits quietly down beside me, and begins picking at the chain with his fingers as if to help me to untie it. I cannot say, however, that he succeeds in helping me at all.

26th. He seems very fond of spinning things round. If he gets a whole apple or orange he generally sits spinning it on one end, before beginning to eat it. He eats an orange by biting off a tiny piece of the peel, and putting his long, thin finger deep into the fruit; he then lays the whole orange under a piece of wire netting he has near him, and, putting his mouth to the hole he has made, presses the wire netting down upon the fruit, thus squeezing the juice up into his mouth. When a good deal of juice begins to run out, he holds the orange up over his head and lets the juice run into his mouth.

27th. To-day he obtained possession of a rather valuable document, and, as usual, nothing I could do would persuade him to give it up. He neglected any kind of food I offered him, and only chattered when I coaxed him. When at last I tried threatening him with a cane, he only became savage and flew at me, chattering. My mother now came and sat down in a chair beside him. He immediately jumped into her lap, and remained quite still while she took the paper out of his hands. When, however, she handed it to me and I laughed at her success, he showed his teeth and screamed and chattered at me angrily. I find laughing generally irritates him. Thus, when he is playing with my mother in the bed in the best of humour, as long as I sit quietly on the bed all is well, but if I laugh, for example at any of his affectionate glances, he makes a dart at me to send me off, and then returns with renewed demonstrations of affection to my mother, tumbling head over heels and lying on his back, grinning in a most comical manner, and making a sound very like slight laughter.

28th. His chain is fastened to the marble slab of a washhand-stand, placed on the floor against the wall. It is too heavy for him to pull along by his chain without hurting himself, so when he desires to do any mischief which is beyond the reach of his chain, he deliberately goes to the marble and pushes an arm down between an upright part of it and the wall, until he has moved the whole slab sufficiently far from the wall to admit of his slipping down behind the upright part himself. He then places his back against the wall and his four hands against the upright part of the marble, and pushes the slab as far as he can stretch his long legs. He only does this, however, when he is bent on mischief, as the fact of food being beyond the reach of his chain does not furnish a strong enough inducement to lead him to take so much exertion. Thus to-day he began to pull the glazed leather cover off a trunk which was near him. I pulled the trunk away, and when he found it was out of his reach he ran and pushed the marble towards the trunk in the manner I have described, and when he knew his chain was then sufficiently long to reach the trunk, he ran to the latter and hastily resumed his destructive process.

29th. I notice that nothing the person does who has hold of his chain offends him. I mean, although he is furiously angry at having anything taken away from him, he is not at all angry if he is pulled away by his chain. If he is trying to bite a person, and another person takes hold of his chain behind him and so prevents his spring forward, he does not turn to bite the person who has taken hold of his chain, as a dog would do under similar circumstances, but quietly submits to be thus held. He seems to look upon his confinement and management by a chain as a natural law against which it is useless to struggle. On the other hand, he seems to be quite aware of the place where his chain is fastened, and to know that if he were clever enough to undo it he would be free. After we found he could move about the marble slab of the washhand-stand in the way described, we had a ring sunk in the floor to tie him to. The moment the chain was fastened to that282 he began to investigate its new connection, and continued to do so for hours, passing the chain rapidly backward and forwards through the ring. When he found this did not loosen it, he began to hammer it and the ring also with all his strength, and this he continued to do for the rest of the day.

30th. He still continues to work at the chain where it is fastened to the ring. He passed the whole of the chain through the ring so many times with his fingers that it became quite blocked up in the ring, which made it very short, and it took me a quarter of an hour to disentangle it. He was very much interested in this process, sitting quietly beside me and watching my fingers intently, sometimes gently pulling my fingers on one side in order to see better, and sometimes casting a quick intelligent glance into my face as if asking how I did it. After I had disentangled and lengthened the chain he worked at it again for hours, but took care not to twist it into the ring a second time.

31st. To-day he hurt himself by getting one of his toes caught in a hinge of the clothes-horse. He did not make any fuss, although the accident must have been somewhat a painful one, nor did he try to pull the toe out, which would have been useless and only hurt him more; but he sat almost motionless, making slight complaining noises until I discovered that there was something wrong with him. When I began to extricate his foot, he remained perfectly passive—although I dare say I hurt him a good deal—and only looked at me gratefully.

January 1, 1881. He has now quite given up trying to loosen his chain himself; having tried every way and failed, he has evidently become hopeless about it. He now resents being tied up. When I loosen him he is quite pleased, and when I tie him he waits until he is quite sure he is being tied, and not loosened, and then he flies at me and bites me.

10th. As he is always tied up in the same place he has no new opportunities given him of showing his intelligence. His attachment to my mother has increased. When she goes out he immediately gives up all play and mischief, and does nothing but run round and round in a restless manner, making a peculiar sweet calling noise, such as he never makes when she is in the room, listening intently between times. As long as she remains away he takes no rest or amusement, nor does he ever, or hardly ever, become angry; but the moment she returns he begins all his old ways again, usually becoming more savage at other people than before.

My mother frequently takes things away from him, and he never resents it to her as he would do to any other person. He generally, however, chatters angrily at some one else when my mother removes anything he wishes to keep. At first I thought he was deceived in the matter—that he could not believe it possible that his best friend could deprive him of what he valued, and so thought someone else must have done it. But the same thing has now happened so frequently that I can hardly think he is not really aware of who takes the things away. He seems rather to think it politic to keep on good terms with one person, and that although he does see her remove the things, and feels angry in consequence, he thinks it more prudent to vent his anger upon someone with whom he has already quarrelled. He always shows more irritation when my mother gives anything to me after having taken it away from him, than when she keeps it herself (as mentioned on December 26), and this may be the reason partly why he resents these matters to me; he thinks when I obtain possession of anything he wants that it is a sort of triumph to me. In the same way my mother may laugh as much as she likes whether he is with her or not, but if I laugh at all at anything it generally results in something being thrown at me. If my mother calls out to the servants—if, for instance, a servant has left the room and my mother calls her back—he becomes very angry at the servant, and salutes her on her return with a shower of missiles. Sometimes my mother pretends to scold or beat the servants, and then he joins with great energy, by way of supporting his friend. If I scold or beat the servants he does not mind so much. When my mother comes back after being out he does not show any great demonstrations of joy. He screams out with pleasure when he hears her voice approaching on the stairs, but does not make much ado when she enters the room. While my mother is out I can do anything I like with him, just as she can when she is at home. Perhaps being in low spirits he does not feel angry, or perhaps he thinks it prudent to be amiable when his best friend is away. When my mother comes back, all his ill-temper returns at once and even in an increased degree towards other people, and he immediately resumes playing with all his toys.

11th. When he throws things at people now he first runs up the bars of the clothes-horse; he seems to have found out that people do not much care for having things thrown at their feet, and he is not strong enough to throw such heavy objects as a poker or a hammer at people’s heads; he therefore mounts to a level with his enemy’s head, and thus succeeds in sending his missile to a greater height and also to a greater distance.

14th. To-day he obtained possession of a hearth-brush, one of the kind which has the handle screwed into the brush. He soon found the way to unscrew the handle, and having done that he immediately began to try to find out the way to screw it in again. This he in time accomplished. At first he put the wrong end of the handle into the hole, but turned it round and round the right way for screwing. Finding it did not hold, he turned the other end of the handle and carefully stuck it into the hole, and began again to turn it the right way. It was of course a very difficult feat for him to perform, for he required both his hands to hold the handle in the proper position and to turn it between his hands in order to screw it in, and the long bristles of the brush prevented it from remaining steady or with the right side up. He held the brush with his hind hand, but even so it was very difficult for him to get the first turn of the screw to fit into the thread; he worked at it, however, with the most unwearying perseverance until he got the first turn of the screw to catch, and he then quickly turned it round and round until it was screwed up to the end. The most remarkable thing was that, however often he was disappointed in the beginning, he never was induced to try turning the handle the wrong way; he always screwed it from right to left. As soon as he had accomplished his wish, he unscrewed it again, and then screwed it in again the second time rather more easily than the first, and so on many times. When he had become by practice tolerably perfect in screwing and unscrewing, he gave it up and took to some other amusement. One remarkable thing is that he should take so much trouble to do that which is no material benefit to him. The desire to accomplish a chosen task seems a sufficient inducement to lead him to take any amount of trouble. This seems a very human feeling, such as is not shown, I believe, by any other animal. It is not the desire of praise, as he never notices people looking on; it is simply the desire to achieve an object for the sake of achieving an object, and he never rests nor allows his attention to be distracted until it is done.

16th. When he is angry, and has at hand only those things which he wishes to keep, he makes a great show of throwing them at people, but always retains a hold. Thus if he has had a plaything a long time and is tired of it, he throws it right at a person without the least hesitation; but if he has a new thing which he values, he goes through all the appropriate motions for throwing, but only brings the object down with a noise upon the ground, taking care not to let go his hold. He beats people with a long cane he has, and when he cannot reach people he strikes it with all his strength upon the ground to show what he would do if he had the chance. There is no more comical sight than to see him hurriedly climbing his screen in fierce anger, taking (not without great difficulty) his long and awkward stick up with him in order to be high enough to give a good blow to a person. The dog is quite afraid of the stick in the monkey’s hands, although he is too petted to be afraid of it in a person’s. The monkey is jealous of the dog lying in the arm-chair in which he sometimes seats himself with my mother, so he pokes the stick at the dog (as the chair is beyond the reach of his chain) and makes him get off.

18th. He was very angry to-day at a servant girl sweeping out his place with a long brush, and he seized the brush every time the servant attempted to sweep. My mother then took it, and he at once became not only quite good-tempered, but assisted her in sweeping, by gathering the rubbish in the corners of his place into little heaps with his hands, and putting the heaps into the way of the brush.

20th. To-day he broke his chain, and flew at a servant savagely, but seeing my mother he immediately jumped into her lap. While another chain was being prepared he got to the trunk where his nuts are kept. I have long noticed that he looks upon that trunk as in some special sense his own property. There are other things kept in the trunk as well as the nuts, and if any person goes to the trunk for anything he becomes furiously angry. Indeed nothing makes him so angry as people opening the trunk, and this is not because he wants nuts out of it, for he always has more than he can eat beside him, and generally refuses to take any that are offered to him. Well, to-day, as soon as the breaking of his chain enabled him to get to the trunk, he began picking at the lock with his fingers. I then gave him the key, and he tried for two full hours without ceasing to unlock the trunk with this key. It was a very difficult lock to open, being slightly out of order, and requires the lid of the trunk to be pressed down before it would work, so I believe it was absolutely impossible for him to open it, but he found in time the right way to put the key in, and to turn it backwards and forwards, and after every attempt he pulled the lid upwards to see if it were unlocked. That this was the result of observing people is obvious, from the fact that after every time he put the key into the lock and failed to open the trunk, he passed the key round and round the outside of the lock several times. The explanation of this is that, my mother’s sight being bad, she often misses the lock when putting in the key, and then feels round and round the lock with the key; the monkey therefore evidently seems to think that this feeling round and round the lock with the key is in some way necessary to the success of unlocking the lock, so that, although he could see perfectly well how to put the key in straight himself, he went through this useless operation first.

21st. To-day I gave him a wooden box with the lid nailed on, and an iron spoon, to see if he would use the latter as a lever wherewith to raise the lid. The experiment was somewhat spoiled by my mother putting the handle of the spoon into the crack between the lid and the box to show him how to do it. Therefore I cannot tell whether or not he would have taken this first step himself, if he had had time to do so. However, when the handle of the spoon was in he certainly used it in the proper manner, pulling it down with all his strength at the extreme end, thus drawing the nails out of the box and raising the lid.

22nd. He was sitting on my mother’s knee, and she washing his hands with a little sponge, a process of which he is very fond; she tried to wash his face, and that he disliked very much. Every time she began, the expression of his face became more angry; at last he suddenly jumped off her knee, and made a violent attack on one of the servants who is usually his favourite, although she was doing nothing at all to anger him. This is a good instance of his habit of venting his anger at my mother on other people. He always eats vigorously when he is angry, or after a fit of passion. After a prolonged fit of passion he always lies down on his side as if dead, probably from exhaustion.

30th. He quite understands the meaning of shaking hands. He always holds out his own hand when he wishes to be friendly, especially when a friend is entering or leaving the room. To-day he had been a long time playing with his toys, taking no notice of any one. Suddenly my mother remembered that to-day was my birthday, and (for the first time since he came to the house) shook hands with me in congratulation. He immediately became very angry with me, screamed and chattered and threw things at me, being evidently jealous of the attention my mother was paying me.

February 1st. He has now been moved down to the dining-room, where he is chained between the fireplace and the window. He seems quite miserable on account of the change, as he does not see so much of my mother.

4th. His low spirits continue, and threaten to make him ill. He will not play with anything, but sits moping and shivering in a corner. To-day I found him very cold and unhappy, and warmed his hands for him. He is very meek and gentle, and seems to be getting fond of me.

8th. He has quite recovered his spirits since he took a fancy to me. He likes me now apparently as well as he used to do my mother; that is to say, he allows me to nurse him, and walk about in his place, and even take things away from him. When, however, my mother comes to see him, he does not care for me, although he shows none of his old hostility. To the servants, however, he continues to do so when my mother is present.

10th. We gave him a bundle of sticks this morning, and he amused himself all day by poking them into the fire and pulling them out again to smell the smoking end. He likewise pulls out hot cinders from the grate and passes them over his head and chest, evidently enjoying the warmth, but never burning himself. He also puts hot ashes on his head. I gave him some paper, and, as he cannot, from the length of his chain, quite reach the fire, he rolled the paper up into the form of a stick, and then put it into the fire, pulling it out as soon as it caught light, and watching the blaze in the fender with great satisfaction. I gave him a whole newspaper, and he tore it in pieces, rolled up each piece as I have described, to make it long enough to reach the fire, and so burnt it all piece by piece. He never once burnt his own fingers during the operation.

13th. He can open and shut the folding shutters with ease, and this seems to be an amusement to him. He also unscrewed all the knobs that belong to the fender. The bell-handle beside the mantelpiece he likewise took to bits, which involves the unscrewing of three screws.

15th. He is so amiable to me now that he constantly gives me bits of things that he himself is eating, evidently expecting me to share his repast with him. Sometimes this attention on his part is not altogether agreeable. For instance, to-day he thrust into my hand, when I was not looking, a quantity of sopped bread and milk out of his pan, no doubt thinking himself very kind-hearted thus to supply me with food.

17th. He offered the dog a bit of toast which he himself was eating, and the dog took a part of it. I think, however, that he had at the same time a sly design of catching the dog with the other hand, but he did not do so—perhaps because I was looking on, and he knows the dog is a friend of mine; but he had a wicked look in his eye while feeding the dog, which he has not when he extends his bounty to me.

19th. When I was brushing him to-day he took the brush away from me. Playthings are especially valuable to him now, as he is not allowed to have any lest he should break the windows with them. For this reason I was afraid to leave the brush with him, but found he was not at all disposed to give it up. I threw other things within his reach, but he carried the brush in his hind hand while going after the other things. At last I sat down and called him gently, when he mildly came up to my lap and put the brush into my two hands, evidently resolving that he would not now quarrel with his only friend.

22nd. His manner of showing his humours is interesting, as illustrating the principle of antithesis. Thus when he is angry he springs forward on all four hands with tail very erect and hair raised, so making himself look much bigger. When affectionate he advances slowly backwards with his body in the form of a hoop, so that the crown of his head rests on the ground, face inwards. He walks on three hands (hair very smooth), and puts the fourth fore-hand out at his back in advance of his body. He expects this hand to be taken kindly, and he then assumes his natural attitude. In that manner of advancing it is obviously impossible that he could bite, as his mouth is towards his own chest, so it is the best way of showing how far he is from thinking of hostility.

February 28, 1881.

The above account may be taken as fully trustworthy. Most of the observations recorded I have myself subsequently verified numberless times. From the account, however, several observations which I happened to make myself in the first instance are designedly omitted, and these I shall therefore now supply.

I bought at a toy-shop a very good imitation of a monkey, and brought it into the room with the real monkey, stroking and speaking to it as if it were alive. The monkey evidently mistook the figure for a real animal, manifesting intense curiosity, mixed with much alarm if I made the figure approach him. Even when I placed the figure upon a table, and left it standing motionless, the monkey was afraid to approach it. From this it would appear that the animal trusted much more to his sense of sight than to that of smell in recognising one of his own kind.

I placed a mirror upon the floor, and the monkey at once mistook his reflection in it for a real animal. At first he was a little afraid of it; but in a short time he gained courage enough to approach and try to touch it. Finding he could not do so, he went round behind the mirror and then again before it a great number of times; but he did not become angry, as the monkey of which Prof. Brown Robertson wrote me. Strange to say, he appeared to mistake the sex of the image, and began in the most indescribably ludicrous manner to pay to it the addresses of courtship. First placing his lips against the glass he rose to his full height on his hind legs, retired slowly, and while doing so turned his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder at the image, and, with a preposterous amount of ‘pinch’ in his back, strutted up and down before the glass with all the appearance of the most laughable foppery. This display was always gone through when at any subsequent time the mirror was placed upon the floor.

From the first time that he saw me, this monkey took as violently passionate an attachment to me as that which he took to my mother. His mode of greeting, however, was different. When she entered the room after an absence, his welcome was of a quiet and contented character; but when I came in, his demonstrations were positively painful to witness. Standing erect on his hind legs at the full length of his tether, and extending both hands as far as he could reach, he screamed with all his strength, in a tone and with an intensity which he never adopted on any other occasion. So loud, indeed, were his rapidly and continuously reiterated screams, that it was impossible for any one to hold even a shouting conversation till I took the animal in my arms, when he became placid, with many signs of intense affection. Even the sound of my voice down two flights of stairs used to set him screaming in this manner, so that whenever I called at my mother’s house I had to keep silent while on the staircase, unless I intended first of all to pay a visit to the monkey.

It has frequently been noticed that monkeys are very capricious in forming their attachments and aversions; but I never knew before that this peculiarity could be so strongly marked as it was in this case. His demonstrations of affection to my mother and myself were piteous; while towards every one else, male or female, he was either passively indifferent or actively hostile. Yet no shadow of a reason could be assigned for the difference. My sister, to whom animals are usually much more attached than they are to me, used always to be forbearingly kind to this one—taking all his bites, &c., with the utmost good humour. Moreover, she supplied him with all his food, and most of his playthings, so that she was really in every way his best friend. Yet his antipathy to her was only less remarkable than his passionate fondness of my mother and myself.

Another trait in the psychology of this animal which is worth observing was his quietness of manner towards my mother. With me, and indeed with every one else, his movements were unrestrained, and generally monkey-like; but with her he was always as gentle as a kitten: he appeared to know that her age and infirmities rendered boisterousness on his part unacceptable.

I returned the monkey to the Zoological Gardens at the end of February, and up to the time of his death in October 1881, he remembered me as well as the first day that he was sent back. I visited the monkey-house about once a month, and whenever I approached his cage he saw me with astonishing quickness—indeed, generally before I saw him—and ran to the bars, through which he thrust both hands with every expression of joy. He did not, however, scream aloud; his mind seemed too much occupied by the cares of monkey-society to admit of a vacancy large enough for such very intense emotion as he used to experience in the calmer life that he lived before. Being much struck with the extreme rapidity of his discernment whenever I approached the cage, however many other persons might be standing round, I purposely visited the monkey-house on Easter Monday, in order to see whether he would pick me out of the solid mass of people who fill the place on that day. Although I could only obtain a place three or four rows back from the cage, and although I made no sound wherewith to attract his attention, he saw me almost immediately, and with a sudden intelligent look of recognition ran across the cage to greet me. When I went away he followed me, as he always did, to the extreme end of his cage, and stood there watching my departure as long as I remained in sight.

In conclusion, I should say that much the most striking feature in the psychology of this animal, and the one which is least like anything met with in other animals, was the tireless spirit of investigation. The hours and hours of patient industry which this poor monkey has spent in ascertaining all that his monkey-intelligence could of the sundry unfamiliar objects that fell into his hands, might well read a lesson in carefulness to many a hasty observer. And the keen satisfaction which he displayed when he had succeeded in making any little discovery, such as that of the mechanical principle of the screw, repeating the results of his newly earned knowledge over and over again, till one could not but marvel at the intent abstraction of the ‘dumb brute’—this was so different from anything to be met with in any other animal, that I confess I should not have believed what I saw unless I had repeatedly seen it with my own eyes. As my sister once observed, while we were watching him conducting some of his researches, in oblivion to his food and all his other surroundings—‘when a monkey behaves like this, it is no wonder that man is a scientific animal!’ And in my next work I shall hope to show how, from so high a starting-point, the psychology of the monkey has passed into that of the man.

Footnotes

1 Letters may be addressed to me directly at 18 Cornwall Terrace, Regent’s Park, London, N W.

2 Of course it may be said that we have no evidence of prompting in either case; but this is the side issue which concerns the general relation of body and mind, and has nothing to do with the guarantee of inferring the presence of mind in particular cases.

3 I.e., ancestral as well as individual. If the race had not always had occasion to close the eyelids to protect the eyes, it is certain that the young child would not so quickly learn to do so in virtue of its own individual experience alone; and as the action cannot be attributed to any process of conscious inference, it is not rational; but we have seen that it is not originally reflex; therefore it is instinctive.

4 Psychological Researches, p. 187.

5 H. J. Carter, F.R.S., Annals of Natural History, 3rd Series, 1863, pp. 45-6.

6 For an account of the natural movements of the Medusæ and the effects of stimulation upon them, see Croonian Lecture in Phil. Trans. 1875, and also Phil. Trans. 1877 and 1879.

7 See Croonian Lecture, 1881, in forthcoming issue of Phil. Trans.

8 Natural History of Ceylon, p. 481.

9 This fact is also stated by Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. iii. p. 454, and is now turned to practical account in the so-called ‘Oyster-schools’ of France. The distance from the coast to Paris being too great for the newly dredged oysters to travel without opening their shells, they are first taught in the schools to bear a longer and longer exposure to the air without gaping, and when their education in this respect is completed they are sent on their journey to the metropolis, where they arrive with closed shells, and in a healthy condition.

10 Bingley, loc. cit., vol. iii. p. 449.

11 De l’Espèce et de la Classe, &c., 1869, p. 106.

12 A Londoner’s Walk to Edinburgh, p. 155 (1856).

13 Descent of Man, pp. 262-3.

14 The facts, however, in order to sustain such conclusions, of course require corroboration, and it is therefore to be regretted that Mr. Lonsdale did not experimentally repeat the conditions.

15 Journal Linn. Soc. vol. xiv. p. 406 et seq.

16 Mag. Nat. Hist. 1831, vol. iv. p. 346.

17 Thieresche Wille, § 78.

18 Leben der Cephalopoden, s. 21.

19 While this MS. is passing through the press Sir John Lubbock has read another paper before the Linnæan Society, which contains some important additional matter concerning the sense of direction in ants. It seems that in the experiment above described, the hat-box was not provided with a cover or lid, i.e. was not a ‘closed chamber,’ and that Sir John now finds the ants to take their bearings from the direction in which they observe the light to fall upon them. For in the experiment with the uncovered hat-box, if the source of light (candle) is moved round together with the rotating table which supports the box, the ants continue their way without making compensating changes in their direction of advance. The same thing happens if the hat-box is covered, so as to make of it a dark chamber. Direction of light being the source of their information that their ground is being moved, we can understand why they do not know that it is being moved when it is moved in the direction of their advance, as in the experiment with the paper slip.

20 It is to be noted that although ants will attack stranger ants introduced from other nests, they will carefully tend stranger larvæ similarly introduced.

21 The Naturalist in Nicaragua, 1874, p. 26.

22 See Leisure Hour, 1880, p. 390.

23 Introduction to Entomology, vol. ii. p. 524.

24 Vol. vii. pp. 443-4.

25 Büchner, Geistesleben der Thiere, pp. 66-7.

26 Origin of Species, 6th ed. pp. 207-8.

27 Loc. cit. p. 121.

28 Loc. cit. p. 123.

29 Origin of Species, 6th ed. p. 218.

30 Geistesleben der Thiere, pp. 145-9.

31 Loc. cit.

32 Loc. cit. p. 337.

33 Loc. cit. p. 97.

34 Harvesting Ants and Trap-door Spiders, London, 1873 and Supplement, 1874.

35 Journal Linn. Soc., vol. vi. p. 29, 1862.

36 Agricultural Ant of Texas, Philadelphia, 1880.

37 Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond., i. 103, 1836.

38 Madras Journ. Lit. Sc., 1851.

39 For this see Moggridge, loc. cit. pp. 6-10, where, besides Prov. iv. 6-8, and xxx. 25, quotations are given from Horace, Virgil, Plautus, and others.

40 Proc. Phil. Acad. Nat. Sci., xii. p. 445.

41 Agricultural Ant of Texas (Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, 1880).

42 Missionary Travels, p. 328.

43 Animal Biography, ‘Ants.’

44 Büchner, Geistesleben der Thiere, English translation, p. 49.

45 While this work is passing through the press, an interesting Essay has been published by Mr. MacCook on the Honey-making Ant. I am not here able to refer to this Essay at greater length, but have done so in a review in Nature (March 2, 1882.)—G. J. R.

46 Vol. ix. p. 484.

47 Passions of Animals, p. 53.

48 Vol. xii. p. 68.

49 ‘Three months’ in the Journal of the Linnæan Society, but Sir John Lubbock informs me that this is a misprint.

50 See Kirby and Spence, vol. ii. p. 591.

51 Letter to Mr. Darwin, published in Nature, vol. x., p. 102.

52 Vol. xii., pp. 25-6.

53 Loc. cit.

54 Art. ‘Bees,’ Encycl. Brit.

55 Dr. Kemp, Indications of Instinct.

56 The Bee, 1877, No. 1.

57 Dr. Lindley Kemp, Indications of Instinct.

58 Handcock on Instinct, p. 18.

59 Introd. Ent., ii, p. 465.

60 Origin of Species, ‘Cell-making Instinct.’

61 Origin of Species, p. 225.

62 Mind in Animals, pp. 252-3.

63 For a complete account of these habits see Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. iii., pp. 272-5.

64 Mém. sur les Insectes, tom. vi., p. 39.

65 Vol. i., pp. 22-3 (3rd ed.).

66 Vol. xvii., p. 373.

67 See Brehm, Thierleben, ix., p. 252.

68 An exactly similar case is recorded by Stodmann in his Travels in Surinam, ii., p. 286.

69 Nature, ix., p. 189.

70 See Kirby and Spence, vol. ii., p. 229.

71 Loc. cit., p. 189.

72 Ibid., p. 119.

73 Geistesleben der Thiere, pp. 194 and 199-200.

74 Phil. Trans., loc. cit.

75 Body and Mind, p. 275.

76 Nature, xxiii., pp. 149-50.

77 Naturalist on the Amazon, p. 83.

78 For many other confirmations see Sir E. Tennent, Nat. Hist. Ceylon, pp. 468-69.

79 Kirby, vol. ii., p. 298.

80 Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 145.

81 Loc. cit., p. 316 et seq.

82 Hist. Habits and Inst. of Animals, vol. ii. p. 296.

83 Nature, vol. xx., p. 581.

84 Harvesting Ants and Trap-door Spiders, p. 120.

85 ‘The History and Habits of Epeira aurelia,’ in Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist. for June 1865.

86 Harvesting Ants and Trap-door Spiders, p. 126. This admirable work, with its appendix, contains a very full account of the whole economy of the interesting animals with which it is concerned.

87 Loc. cit., p. 319.

88 Gleanings, vol. i., p. 103.

89 Naturalist in Nicaragua, p. 19.

90 Quoted by Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. iii., p. 118.

91 Loc. cit., p. 344.

92 Büchner, loc. cit., p. 344.

93 Quoted in Strauss, Insects, s. 389.

94 Kirby and Spence, loc. cit., pp. 321-2.

95 Life and Recollections, vol. ii., p. 356.

96 Quoted by Bingley, loc. cit., vol. iii., pp. 150-51.

97 Gleanings, vol. ii., pp. 165-6.

98 American Journ. Sc. and Art, vol. x., Oct. 1875.

99 Animal Biography, vol. iii., pp. 244-5.

100 Nature, vii., p. 49.

101 Intr. to Ent., ii., p. 475.

102 Ibid., p. 475.

103 Œuvres, ix., p. 370.

104 Trans. Ent. Soc., vol. ii.

105 Introd. Ent., Letter xi.

106 Westwood, Trans. Ent. Soc., vol. ii., p. 1.

107 Kirby and Spence, Entomology, Letter xvi.

108 Trans. Ent. Soc. France, vol. i., p. 201.

109 Introduction to Entomology, Letter xxvi.

110 Phil. Frags., translated by Huxley, Taylor’s Mag., 1853, p. 196.

111 Silliman’s American Journal, Feb. 1872.

112 Ransom, Ann. and Mag. Nat. Hist., 1865, xvi., p. 449.

113 Quoted from Francis Day, F.L.S., ‘Instincts and Emotions of Fish,’ Journ. Linn. Soc., vol. xv., pp. 36-7, where see for other cases of nest-building among fish.

114 Ibid.

115 Kaup, Catal. Lopho. Fish in Brit. Mus. 1856, p. i.

116 Yarrell, Brit. Fishes, 2nd ed. ii. p. 436.

117 Compt. Rend., Nov. 4, 1872, p. 1127.

118 Phil. Trans. Royal Society, 1747.

119 F. Day, loc. cit.

120 Shelley, Lines written in the Bay of Lerici.

121 See Smiles, Lives of Engineers, vol. iii., p. 69.

122 See ‘On the Jaculator-Fish,’ by Schlosser, Phil. Trans. 1764.

123 Natural History of Ceylon, p. 351.

124 Kirby, Hist. Habits and Instincts of Animals, vol i. p. 119.

125 F. Day, loc. cit.

126 Hist. des Poiss., Introd., cxxx.

127 For sundry other similar cases see Mr. Day’s excellent paper already quoted.

128 Cuv., Anim. Kingd. x. p. 636.

129 F. Day, loc. cit.

130 Account of the United States, vol. ii., p. 9.

131 April 11, 1870.

132 See Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 406.

133 Smiles, Life of Edwards, p. 124.

134 Passions of Animals, p. 229.

135 Naturalist on the Amazon, pp. 285-6.

136 Ibid. The astonishing facts relating to the migration of turtles in the laying season will be treated under the general heading ‘Migration’ in my forthcoming work.

137 Gleanings, vol. i., pp. 163-4.

138 The tortoise which has gained such immortal celebrity by having fallen under the observation of the author of the Natural History of Selborne, likewise distinguished persons in this way. For ‘whenever the good old lady came in sight, who had waited on it for more than thirty years, it always hobbled with awkward alacrity towards its benefactress, whilst to strangers it was altogether inattentive.’

139 This gentleman was Lord Arthur Russell.

140 The Times, July 25, 1872.

141 See Annas. and Mag. of Nat. Hist., 2nd series, vol. ix., p. 333.

142 Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 118; see also Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., pp. 447-8.

143 Natural History of Ceylon, p. 314.

144 Tennent, loc. cit., p. 299.

145 Curiosities, &c., p. 126. Wilson also, in his American Ornithology, gives the following sufficiently credible account of the memory of a crow:—‘A gentleman who resided on the Delaware, a few miles below Easton, had raised [reared] a crow, with whose tricks and society he used frequently to amuse himself. This crow lived long in the family, but at length disappeared, having, as was then supposed, been shot by some vagrant gunner, or destroyed by accident. About eleven months after this, as the gentleman one morning, in company with several others, was standing on the river shore, a number of crows happened to pass by; one of them left the flock, and flying directly towards the company, alighted on the gentleman’s shoulder, and began to gabble away with great volubility, as one long-absent friend naturally enough does on meeting another. On recovering from his surprise the gentleman instantly recognised his old acquaintance, and endeavoured, by several civil but sly manœuvres, to lay hold of him; but the crow, not altogether relishing quite so much familiarity, having now had a taste of the sweets of liberty, cautiously eluded all his attempts; and suddenly glancing his eye on his distant companions, mounted in the air after them, soon overtook and mingled with them, and was never afterwards seen to return.’

146 Journal of Mental Science, July 1879.

147 Couch, Illustrations of Instinct, p. 165.

148 Gleanings, vol. i., pp. 112-13.

149 Couch, Illustrations of Instinct, p. 232.

150 See especially Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., pp. 327-29.

151 Gleanings, pp. 58-9.

152 Smiles, Life of Edward, p. 240.

153 History of Mexico, p. 220.

154 Zoologist, vol. ii.

155 Watson, Reasoning Power of Animals, pp. 375-76, where see also some curious cases of male storks slaying their females upon the latter hatching out eggs of other birds. He gives an exactly similar case as having occurred with the domestic cock; and in Bingley (loc. cit., vol. ii., p. 241) there is quoted from Dr. Percival another case of the same kind, in which a cock killed his hen as soon as she had hatched out a brood of young partridges from eggs which had been set to her.

156 See Darwin. Descent of Man, pp. 92, 381, 406, 413.

157 Gould, Birds of Australia, vol. i., pp. 442-45.

158 Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 220.

159 For full information, see Buckland, Curiosities of Natural History, p. 183.

160 Of the crow (carrion and hooded), Edward says: ‘He goes aloft with a crab, and lets it fall upon a stone or a rock chosen for the purpose. If it does not break, he seizes it again, goes up higher, lets it fall, and repeats his operation again and again until his object is accomplished. When a convenient stone is once met with, the birds resort to it for a long time. I myself know a pretty high rock, that has been used by successive generations of crows for about twenty years!’ Also, as Handcock says, ‘a friend of Dr. Darwin saw on the north coast of Ireland above a hundred crows preying upon mussels, which is not their natural food; each crow took a mussel up into the air, twenty or forty yards high, and let it fall on the stones, and thus breaking the shell, got possession of the animal. Ravens, we are told, often resort to the same contrivance.’

161 Couch, Illustrations of Instinct, pp. 192-93.

162 Gleanings, &c., vol. i., p. 71.

163 Ibid.

164 Voyage of a Naturalist, &c., p. 184.

165 Orn. Biog., i., p. 276.

166 Newton, Encycl. Brit., art. ‘Birds.’

167 Catalogue of Birds, &c., p. 16.

168 Gould, Birds of Australia, vol. ii., p. 155, where see for further description.

169 Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 204.

170 See Descent of Man, p. 452 et seq.

171 See Newton, Ency. Brit., art. ‘Birds.’

172 Natural Selection, pp. 232-3.

173 Phil. Trans., vol. lxxviii., p. 221 et seq.

174 The young cuckoo is generally hatched first.

175 Allusion is here made to the fact that the cuckoo lays her eggs at intervals of two or three days, and therefore that if all were incubated by the mother, they would hatch out at different times—a state of things which actually obtains in the case of the American cuckoo, whose nest contains eggs and young at the same time.

176 It is worth while to observe, as bearing on this theory of the origin of this parasitic habit, that even non-parasitic birds occasionally deposit their eggs in nests of other birds. Thus, Professor A. Newton writes in his admirable essay on ‘Birds’ in the Encyclopædia Britannica, ‘Certain it is that some birds, whether by mistake or stupidity, do not unfrequently lay their eggs in the nests of others. It is within the knowledge of many that pheasants’ eggs and partridges’ eggs are often laid in the same nest; and it is within the knowledge of the writer that gulls’ eggs have been found in the nests of eider-ducks, and vice versâ; that a redstart and a pied flycatcher will lay their eggs in the same convenient hole—the forest being rather deficient in such accommodation; that an owl and a duck will resort to the same nest-hole, set up by the scheming woodman for his own advantage; and that the starling, which constantly dispossesses the green woodpecker, sometimes discovers that the rightful heir of the domicile has to be brought up by the intruding tenant.’

177 Origin of Species, p. 215.

178 Tom. i., p. 130.

179 See Birds of India, i., p. 21; Passions of Animals, p. 60; Fac. Men. des Ani., tom. ii., p. 183; Mind in Lower Animals, vol. ii., p. 96; and Descent of Man, p. 74.

180 Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 173.

181 Nature, xx., p. 266.

182 Vol. i., p. 216. See also Descent of Man, p. 80.

183 Menault, Wonders of Instinct, p. 132.

184 Nat. on Amazons, p. 177; Anecdotes, p. 135.

185 Gleanings, vol. ii., p. 96.

186 Ibid., p. 99.

187 Nature, vol. xiii., p. 303.

188 Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, vol. ii, pp. 149-50.

189 Smiles, Life of Edward, pp. 244-6.

190 Passions of Animals, p. 154.

191 See Mr. Darwin’s account in Naturalist’s Voyage round the World, pp. 151-2.

192 Nature, vol. xx., p. 21.

193 Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 308.

194 Natural History of Ceylon, p. 54.

195 Ibid., p. 56.

196 Missionary Travels, p. 328.

197 Ibid., p. 280.

198 Gleanings, &c., vol. i., p. 20.

199 Ibid., vol. ii., p. 20.

200 Ibid., pp. 226-7.

201 Pp. 66 and 97.

202 Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 308.

203 On the Pig, p. 17.

204 Ibid.

205 History of the North American Pinnipeds. The quotations are taken from pp. 348 to 361.

206 Animal Biography, vol. iii., pp. 301-2.

207 Thompson, Passions in Animals, p. 337.

208 Vol. viii., Washington, 1877: ‘A Monograph of the North American Mustelidæ.’

209 It is particularly remarkable that if under these circumstances a rabbit bolts and, seeing the sportsman, doubles back into its burrow, being then certain that the sportsman is waiting, it will usually allow itself to be slowly and painfully killed by the ferret rather than bolt a second time. This is remarkable because it proves the strength of an abiding image or idea in the mind of the animal.

210 See Watson’s Reasoning Power in Animals, and Quarterly Review, c. i., p. 135.

211 See especially Jesse, Gleanings, &c., iii., p. 206; and Quarterly Review, c. i., p. 135.

212 Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 368.

213 The Rat, its Natural History, p. 102.

214 Mrs. Lee, Anecdotes of Animals, p. 264.

215 Jesse, Gleanings, &c., ii., p. 281.

216 Reasoning Power in Animals, p. 293.

217 Loc. cit.

218 Jesse, Gleanings, iii., p. 176.

219 Introduction to Arctic Zoology, p 70.

220 Dr. Henderson, Journal of a Residence in Iceland in 1814 and 1815, vol. ii., p. 187.

221 The American Beaver and his Works (Lippincott & Co. 1868).

222 To obviate this possibility, they often select as their site a place where a spring happens to rise in the bottom of the lake or pond.

223 In times of considerable ‘freshet’ the former case sometimes occurs; the beavers not being able to provide for a very considerable overflow through their dams, the latter become then wholly submerged. When again exposed, the animals take great pains in repairing the injuries sustained.

224 Note on Beaver Dams (Proc. Boston Soc. Nat. Hist., 1869, p. 101, et seq.).

225 Plin., Hist. Nat., viii. 1-13.

226 De Solert. Anim., c. 12.

227 Philosophical Transactions, 1799, p. 40.

228 See Bingley, loc. cit., vol. i., pp. 148-51.

229 Hist. Nat., viii., 5.

230 For these and other cases of vindictiveness, see Bingley, loc. cit., vol. i., pp. 156-8.

231 Memoirs, vol. i., p. 448.

232 Zoological Recreations, p. 315.

233 Animal Biography, i., pp. 156-8.

234 Anecdotes of Animals, p. 276.

235 Habits and Instincts of Animals, p. 37.

236 Reasoning Power of Animals, chap. iv.

237 Quoted in Animal World, March 1882.

238 Philosophical Transactions, 1873.

239 Natural History of Ceylon, p. 114.

240 Natural History of Ceylon, p. 140.

241 Natural History of Ceylon, p. 196.

242 Phil. Trans., A.D. 1701, vol. xxiii., p. 1052.

243 Loc. cit., p. 216.

244 Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 64 et seq.

245 Jesse, Gleanings in Natural History, vol. i, p. 19.

246 Descent of Man, p. 96.

247 See Animal Kingdom, vol. iii., p. 374.

248 Reasoning Power of Animals, pp. 54-5.

249 Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. i., p. 155.

250 Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. i., p. 155.

251 See his letter to Sir E. Tennent in Nat. Hist. of Ceylon, pp. 118-20.

252 Indications of Instinct, p. 129.

253 Descent of Man, p. 69.

254 Natural History of Ceylon, pp. 181-94.

255 Natural History of Ceylon, pp. 181-94.

256 Nature, vol. xix., p. 519.

257 Nature, vol. xx., p. 197.

258 Some of my correspondents tell me of pet or drawing-room cats jumping on chairs and looking at bells when they want milk—this being their sign that they want the bell pulled to call the servant who brings the milk; and Mr. Lawson Tait tells me that one of his cats—of course without tuition—has gone a step further, in that she places her paws upon the bell as a still more emphatic sign that she desires it pulled. But Dr. Creighton Browne tells me of a cat which he has that goes a step further than this, and herself rings the bell. This is corroborative of Archbishop Whately’s anecdote. ‘This cat lived many years in my mother’s family, and its feats of sagacity were witnessed by her, my sisters, and myself. It was known, not merely once or twice, but habitually, to ring the parlour bell whenever it wished the door to be opened. Some alarm was excited on the first occasion that it turned bell-ringer. The family had retired to rest, and in the middle of the night the parlour bell was rung violently; the sleepers were startled from their repose, and proceeded downstairs with poker and tongs, to intercept, as they thought, the predatory movements of some burglar; but they were equally surprised to find that the bell had been rung by pussy, who frequently repeated the act whenever she wished to get out of the parlour.’ The cases, however, mentioned in the text are more remarkable than any of these, which, nevertheless, all tend to lead up to them as by a series of steps. Dogs attain to the level of asking by gesture their masters to ring bells. One instance will be sufficient to quote. Mr. Rae says in ‘Nature’ (vol. xix., p. 459): ‘A small English terrier belonging to a friend has been taught to ring for the servant. To test if the dog knew why it rang the bell he was told to do so while the girl was in the room. The little fellow looked up in the most intelligent manner at the person giving the order (his master or mistress, I forget which), then at the servant, and refused to obey, although the order was repeated more than once. The servant left the room, and a few minutes afterwards the dog rang the bell immediately on being told to do so.’
It must also be added that dogs sometimes attain to the level of knocking knockers—though I should think this must be very rare with these animals, as I have only met with one case of it. This, however, is a remarkably good case, not only because it rests upon the authority of a famous observer, but also because it is so very definite as proving an act of reason. Dureau de la Malle had a terrier born in his house. It had never seen a knocker in its native home, and when grown up it was taken by its master to Paris. Getting fatigued by a walk in the streets, the animal returned to the house, but found the door shut, and it endeavoured vainly to attract the attention of those within by barking. At length a visitor called, knocked at the knocker, and gained admittance. The dog observed what had been done, and went in together with the visitor. The same afternoon he went in and out half a dozen times, gaining admittance on each occasion by springing at the knocker.
Lastly, Dr. W. H. Kesteven writes to ‘Nature’ (xx., p. 428) of a cat which used to knock at a knocker to gain admittance, in the way already described of so many other cats; but as showing how much more readily cats acquire this practice than dogs, it is interesting to note that Dr. Kesteven adds that a dog which lived in the same house ascertained that the cat was able to gain admittance by knocking, and yet did not imitate the action, but ‘was in the habit of searching for her when he wanted to come in, and either waiting till she was ready to knock at the door, or inducing her to do it to please him.’

259 Consul E. L. Layard gives in Nature (xx., p. 339) a precisely similar case of a cat habitually and without tuition ringing a bell by pulling at an exposed wire.

260 I have requested Dr. Rae to write out all the particulars of these remarkable observations, and the following is the response which he has kindly made:—‘When trapping foxes in Hudson’s Bay it sometimes happens that certain of these acute animals, probably from having seen their companions caught, studiously avoid the ordinary steel and wooden traps, however carefully set. The trapper then sets one or more guns in a peculiar manner, having a line 15 or 20 yards long uniting the trigger with a bait, on taking hold of which the fox sets the gun off, and commits suicide. The double object of the bait being placed so near the gun is that the fox may be certainly killed—not wounded only—and that the head alone should be hit, and the body not riddled all over with shot, which would spoil the skin. It is also necessary to mention that four or five inches of slack line must be allowed for contraction of the line by change from a dry to a moist atmosphere, which otherwise would cause so great a strain on the trigger that the gun would be discharged without the bait being touched. So as to conceal as far as possible all connection between bait and gun, that part of the line next the bait is carefully hid under the snow.
‘When the fox takes the bait, he will have lifted it five inches (the length of the slack line) from its normal position before the gun goes off; consequently, instead of pointing the gun at the bait, it is aimed fully eight or nine inches higher, at the probable position of the brain of the animal when the gun is discharged.
‘For reasons which scarcely require explanation, foxes very generally go about in pairs (long before the snow disappears), not necessarily always close together, because they have a better chance of finding food if separated some distance from each other.
‘After one or more foxes have been shot, the trapper on visiting his guns perhaps finds that a fox has first cut the line connecting the bait with the gun, and then gone up and eaten the bait; or, if the gun has been set on a drift bank of snow, he or she has scraped a trench ten or twelve inches deep up to the bait, taken hold of it whilst lying in the trench, set the gun off, and then trotted coolly away with the food (taken, one may say, from the gun’s mouth) safe and uninjured, as is clearly evinced by there being no mark of blood on the tracks.
‘In pulling the bait whilst in the trench, the fox would drag it five inches, or the length of the slack line, downwards, and therefore his head and nose would be completely out of harm’s way, both because of the snow protection, and also these parts of his body being twelve or thirteen inches below the line of aim.
‘In the cases seen by myself, and by a friend of greater experience, the trench was always scraped at right angles, or nearly so, to the line of fire of the gun. This at first sight may appear erroneous, but on reflection it really is not so, for if the trench is to be a shelter one—thinking, as the fox must have done, that the gun or something coming from it was the danger to be protected from or guarded against—it must be made across the line of fire, for if scratched in the direction of fire it would afford little or no protection or concealment, and the reasoning power or intelligence of the fox would be at fault.
‘My belief is that one of these knowing foxes had seen his or her companion shot, or found it dead shortly after it had been killed, and not unnaturally attributed the cause of the mishap to the only strange thing it saw near, namely, the gun.
‘It was evident that in all cases they had studied the situation carefully, as was sufficiently shown by their tracks in the snow, which indicated their extremely cautious approach when either the string-cutting or trench-making dodge was resorted to, in attempting to obtain the coveted bait without injury to themselves.’

261 It will be remembered that, from evidence previously detailed, both the wolverine or glutton and certain deer have been shown capable of similarly obviating the danger of gun-traps.

262 Nat. Hist. of Ceylon, p. 35.

263 Descent of Man, p. 74.

264 So many cases are on record of large dogs (especially of the Newfoundland breed) throwing troublesome curs into the water, and again rescuing them if they show danger of drowning, that we can scarcely fail to accept them as true. Such cases exhibit a wonderful play of human-like emotions.

265 Descent of Man, p. 71.

266 For many other instances of sheep-dog sagacity, see Watson, Reasoning Power of Animals, under ‘Shepherd’s Dog.’

267 Naturalist’s Library, vol. x., p. 154 (quoted by Watson).

268 Since my MS. went to press I have myself met with a striking display of the recognition of a portrait by a dog. The portrait was one of myself, and the dog a half-bred setter and retriever of my own.

269 Missionary Travels, chap. i.

270 Illustrations of Instinct, p. 179.

271 Descent of Man, p. 70.

272 Gleanings, vol. iii. pp. 86-7.

273 Boston Journal of Nat. Hist., iv. p. 324.

274 Descent of Man, p. 72.

275 Descent of Man, 71.

276 Ibid., p. 69.

277 Descent of Man, pp. 77-8.

278 Naturalist in Nicaragua, p. 119.

279 Loc. cit., vol. i., p. 305.

280 On subsequent observation (January 14, 1881), I find this quietness was not due to shame at having bitten me, for whether he succeeds in biting any person or not he always sits quiet and dull-looking after a fit of passion, being, I think, fatigued. He has bitten me often since December 24, and seems to enjoy the fun on the whole.

281 These heavy objects he overturns with exceeding caution, balancing them several times carefully, and studying them before finally throwing or pulling them over.

282 January 14, 1881. The marble slab was left with him after the chain had been fastened to the ring; but since that time he has never attempted to move the marble.