CHAP. XV.
CURIOSITIES RESPECTING ANIMALS.—(Concluded.)
Remarkable Strength of Affection in Animals—Surprising Instances of their Sociality—Unaccountable Faculties possessed by some Animals—Remarkable Instances of Fasting in Animals—Extraordinary Adventures of a Sheep—Sagacity of a Monkey—Astonishing Instance of Sagacity in a Horse—Sagacity of Dogs—Curious Anecdotes of a Dog—Remarkable Dog.
| Far as creation’s ample range extends, The scale of sensual, mental powers, ascends: Mark, how it mounts to man’s imperial race, From the green myriads in the peopled grass! What modes of sight, betwixt each wide extreme, The mole’s dim curtain, and the lynx’s beam: Of smell, the headlong lioness between, And hound sagacious, on the tainted green: Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood. To that which warbles thro’ the vernal wood: The spider’s touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line: In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true, From pois’nous herbs extracts the healing dew: How instinct varies in the grovelling swine, Compar’d, half-reasoning elephant, with thine! ’Twixt that and reason, what a nice barrier, For ever separate, yet for ever near! Pope. |
Remarkable Strength of Affection in Animals.—Mr. White, in his Natural History, &c. of Selborne, speaking of the natural affection of brutes, says, “The more I reflect on it, the more I am astonished at its effects. Nor is the violence of this affection more wonderful, than the shortness of its duration. Thus, every hen is in her turn the virago of the yard, in proportion to the helplessness of her brood; and will fly in the face of a dog or sow in defence of those chickens, which, in a few weeks, she will drive before her with relentless cruelty. This affection sublimes the passions, quickens the invention, and sharpens the sagacity, of the brute creation. Thus, a hen, just become a mother, is no longer that placid bird she used to be, but, with feathers standing on end, wings hovering, and clucking note, she runs about like one possessed. Dams will throw themselves in the way of the greatest danger, in order to avert it from their progeny. Thus a partridge will tumble along before a sportsman, in order to draw away the dogs from her helpless covey. In the time of nidification, the most feeble birds will assault the most rapacious. All the hirundines of a village are up in arms at the sight of a hawk, whom they will persecute till he leaves that district. A very exact observer has often remarked, that a pair of ravens, nestling in the rock of Gibraltar, would suffer no vulture or eagle to rest near their station, but would drive them from the hill with amazing fury; even the blue thrush, at the season of breeding, would dart out from the clefts of the rocks, to chase away the kestrel or the sparrow-hawk. If you stand near the nest of a bird that has young, she will not be induced to betray them by an inadvertent fondness, but will wait about at a distance with meat in her mouth for an hour together. The fly-catcher builds every year in the vines that grow on the walls of my house. A pair of these little birds had one year inadvertently placed their nest on a naked bough, perhaps in a shady time, not being aware of the inconvenience that followed; but a hot sunny season coming on before the brood was half fledged, the reflection of the wall became insupportable, and must inevitably have destroyed the tender young, had not affection suggested an expedient, and prompted the parent birds to hover over the nest all the hotter hours, while, with wings expanded and mouths gaping for breath, they screened off the heat from their suffering offspring. A farther instance I once saw of notable sagacity in a willow-wren, which had built in a bank in my fields. This bird, a friend and myself had observed as she sat in her nest; but we were particularly careful not to disturb her, though we saw she eyed us with some degree of jealousy. Some days after, as we passed that way, we were desirous of remarking how this brood went on; but no nest could be found, till I happened to take up a large bundle of long green moss as it were carelessly thrown over the nest, in order to deceive the eye of any impertinent intruder.”
Next in order is the account of Surprising Instances of Sociality in Animals.—A wonderful spirit of sociality in the brute creation, independent of sexual attachment, has been frequently remarked. Many horses, though quiet with company, will not stay one minute in a field by themselves; the strongest fences cannot restrain them. A horse has been known to leap out of a stable window, through which dung was thrown, after company; and yet in other respects was remarkably quiet. Oxen and cows will not fatten by themselves, but will neglect the finest pasture that is not recommended by society. It would be needless to instance in sheep, which constantly flock together. But this propensity seems not to be confined to animals of the same species. Mr. White mentions a doe that was brought up from a little fawn with a dairy of cows. “With them it goes to the field, and with them it returns to the yard. The dogs of the house take no notice of this doe, being used to her; but if strange dogs come by, a chase ensues; while the master smiles to see his favourite securely leading her pursuers over hedge, or gate, or style, till she returns to the cows, who with fierce lowings and menacing horns drive the assailants quite out of the pasture.”—Even great disparity of kind and size does not always prevent social advances and mutual fellowship. Of this the following remarkable instance is given by the same author.
“A very intelligent and observant person has assured me, that in the former part of his life, keeping but one horse, he happened also on a time to have but one solitary hen. These two incongruous animals spent much of their time together in a lonely orchard, where they saw no creature but each other. By degrees an apparent regard began to take place between these two sequestered individuals. The fowl would approach the quadruped with notes of complacency, rubbing herself gently against his legs; while the horse would look down with satisfaction, and move with the greatest caution and circumspection, lest he should trample on his diminutive companion. Thus by mutual good offices each seemed to console the vacant hours of the other.”
In the Gentleman’s Magazine for March, 1788, we have the following anecdotes of a raven, communicated by a correspondent who does not sign his name, but says it is at the service of the doubtful. The raven alluded to lived at the Red Lion at Hungerford; his name was Ralph. “You must know then, (says the writer,) that coming into that inn, my chaise ran over or bruised the leg of my Newfoundland dog, and while we were examining the injury done to the dog’s foot, Ralph was evidently a concerned spectator; for, the minute the dog was tied up under the manger with my horse, Ralph not only visited him, but fetched him bones, and attended upon him with particular and repeated proofs of kindness. The bird’s notice of the dog was so marked, that I observed it to the hostler; for I had not heard a word before of the history of this benevolent creature. John then told me, that he had been bred from his pin-feather in intimacy with a dog; that the affection between them was mutual; and that all the neighbourhood had often been witnesses of the innumerable acts of kindness they had conferred upon each other. Ralph’s poor dog, after a while, unfortunately broke his leg; and during the long time he was confined, Ralph waited upon him constantly, carried him provisions daily, and scarcely ever left him alone! One night by accident the hostler had shut the stable-door, and Ralph was deprived of his friend the whole night; but the hostler found in the morning the bottom of the door so pecked away, that had it not been opened, Ralph would in another hour have made his own entrance-port. I then inquired of my landlady, (a sensible woman,) and heard what I have related confirmed by her, with several other singular traits of the kindnesses this bird shews to all dogs in general, but particularly to maimed or wounded ones. I hope and believe, however, Ralph is still living; and the traveller will find I have not over-rated this wonderful bird’s merit.”
To these instances of attachment between incongruous animals from a spirit of sociality, or the feelings of sympathy, may be added the following instance of fondness from a different motive, recounted by Mr. White, in the work already so often quoted.