“Those noxious animals called field-rats, must, within two weeks, depart, and forever remain far aloof from the fields and meadows of Stilf.”
Those who, from extreme youth or illness, were unable to travel so soon, had another two weeks allowed them. Where the rats went to, no one knows.
The most remarkable friend of rats on record, is Susanna, Countess of Eglintoune, who died more than a hundred years ago, at the great age of ninety-one. She had a brilliant youth; natural distinction, beauty and wit combined to make her the brightest star in the society where she moved. In old age, still beautiful and witty, she tried the effect of her charms on rats, as before on human beings, and with equal success. A sliding panel was constructed in the oak wainscot of her dining-room; and the great feature of the day was when, at a certain stage of the dinner, she would first tap loudly on the panel, then open it. Obedient to the signal, a dozen fat, comfortable rats would emerge, and join her at table. After a bountiful meal of such things as are dear to rats, the tap would be repeated, the panel opened, and back would go her long-tailed guests, even as they had come, with perfect decorum.
One rat lived a long time with the naturalist Buckland, and became quite domesticated, wandering at will around the study, examining books and papers, and helping himself from the sugar-bowl. As he was too modest, or too shy to eat before folks, and as a space of nearly two feet separated the table with the sugar from the mantel where stood his cage, Mr. Buckland put up a little ladder. The rat easily learned to climb it, even when loaded with plunder. Judy, a small marmoset, inhabited the same mantel, and the pair had a reprehensible fashion of stealing each other’s food.
Buckland’s pets being as various as his interests, the house was full of them, and a queer lot they were! Joe, a pet hare, also occupied the study, but being averse to civilization, he would hide by day, and only come out at night, hopping across the room—if he thought himself unobserved—to the fire-place, where he would sit up on his legs, so as “to warm his white waistcoat.”
Tiglath-Pileser was a bear, who for a short period attended college with his master, went boating with him, and to parties, and like him wore cap and gown. He once was present at a meeting of the British association in Oxford, and had the honor of being introduced to Sir Charles Lyell, and the Prince of Canino. After so brilliant a career, it is doubly sad to relate that Tiglath-Pileser fell under the ban of the college authorities, and was rusticated for an indefinite period. He died some years ago at the Zoölogical Garden in London.
Jenny (from Gibralter) and Jacko the Capuchin (from South America) were monkeys, and an unfailing source of diversion to Buckland and his friends. Jacko was very delicate, and each year, as winter approached, was provided by his master with a warm close-fitting dress. In spite of this care, he one year grew sickly and thin. Oil was prescribed for him, but refused, until by a happy thought he was allowed to steal it. Even theft, from a commonplace, safe saucer, grew monotonous; and erelong he was detected thieving his medicine at the risk of his life from a lighted lamp.
Other interesting, if less amusing pets—an eagle, a jackal, countless marmots, dormice, squirrels, etc.—evince the interest felt by this lovable scientist in the objects of his study—an interest as affectionate as scientific. Indeed, it is very reassuring to find scientific people more often than otherwise the possessors of hearts as well as brains. Occasionally something happens to make us doubt their humanity, like the experiment of a modern physiologist, who, after teaching a dog to regard him as its friend, had it killed, and the blood of another dog transfused into its arteries. “No sooner was it injected,” we are told, “than the inert head became animated, the eyes opened, and on the Professor calling the dog by its name, it attempted to answer with a caressing look.” Surely, as with Desdemona, that last look of ill-rewarded affection will rise in judgment against the experimenter!
