[80] Callant, anglicè boy.
[81] Hirple, anglicè limp.
[82] Lord Brougham, in his “Dialogues on Instinct,” gives anecdotes showing the great sagacity of animals. He writes—“The cunning of foxes is proverbial; but I know not if it was ever more remarkably displayed than in the Duke of Beaufort’s country; where Reynard, being hard pressed, disappeared suddenly, and was, after strict search, found in a water-pool up to the very snout, by which he held on to a willow-bough hanging over the pond. The cunning of a dog, which Serjeant Wilde tells me of as known to him, is at least equal. He used to be tied up as a precaution against hunting sheep. At night he slipped his head out of the collar, and returning before dawn, put on the collar again to conceal his nocturnal excursions.”
All animals are more or less cunning. The cunning of monkeys—I do not quite like using that word: it hardly does them justice—is nearly as proverbial as the cunning of foxes—but it is not so generally admitted that the monkey has an innate sense of the ludicrous; and it would surprise many to be told that its mischievous propensities frequently arise, not from a spirit of wanton destructiveness, but from a consciousness of fun—from a feeling of enjoyment at thinking of, or witnessing the embarrassments created by its pranks. Yet it is so. Captain H——e, when in the 7th Fusiliers, mentioned to me that the sailors of the ship in which he returned from the Mediterranean had two pet monkeys on board. The older one not being so tame as the smaller, a belt with a short rope was fastened round his waist, in order that he might be occasionally tied up, and as this belt had chafed him he greatly disliked its being touched. One hot day when the monkeys were lying beside each other on the deck, apparently asleep, H——e observed the little one raise himself softly, look at his companion, and feeling assured that he was asleep, sink down quietly, close his eyes, and give the obnoxious belt a sudden twitch. The other instantly sprang up,—perceiving, however, nothing near him but the little fellow (seemingly) in a deep slumber, he laid himself down to continue his siesta. After a while the young tormentor cautiously peered round; when satisfied that his friend was again in the arms of “Mr. Murphy,” he repeated the disagreeable twitch with yet greater success,—the old chap becoming this time delightfully puzzled.
A third time the little rascal, after the same precautions as before, endeavoured to play off his trick,—but he was foiled at his own weapons. The old gentleman suspecting him, had cunningly pretended to be asleep; and on the small paw quietly approaching his sensitive loins, he jumped up—seized the culprit in the very fact, and forthwith gave him a drubbing that taught him more respectful manners during the remainder of the voyage.
But to return for a moment to foxes. A story is told in the family of Mr. C——s R——n ([286]) of the sagacity of these animals, to which he gives implicit credence. Adjacent to their old family house stands a yet older high tower, the summit of which commands an extensive view of the surrounding country, and consequently of the several rides leading to the building. From this elevated position his grandfather was one morning watching the hounds drawing some neighbouring covers, when he saw a fox steal away unobserved, and hide himself in a few furze-bushes. The pack passed by at some distance from him, and Monsieur Reynard must have begun congratulating himself upon his escape, when to his horror he perceived two lagging skirters approaching his place of concealment. Instead of breaking away in an opposite direction, he at once went forth to greet them,—lay down, playfully wagging his tail,—and gave them a pressing, and doubtless sincere, invitation to join in a game of romps. The ruse was successful. The hounds came up, paid him the compliment of sniffing at him as he rolled on his back humbly admitting his inferiority, and then cantered off to join their companions. Upon this, Pug at once retreated to his first covert.
[83] Is not the capability of forming a good judgment in unusual circumstances more dependent upon the exercise of the reasoning than the instinctive faculties?
[84] So adroitly obtruding (or forcing) a particular card of an outspread pack upon the notice of an unsuspecting party, that he unhesitatingly selects that identical card. This trick is performed very effectively, having previously concealed the eight of a suit, by temporarily converting the seven into the eight by lightly sticking on a bit of paper cut into proper shape, and of the same colour as the suit. The metamorphosed card is forced upon one of the audience, and the exhibitor manages unperceived to remove the deception with his little finger when reshuffling the cards.
[85] This would account for the showman’s wish to increase the size of the circle ([436]), and keep his audience at a respectable distance, well out of hearing.
[86] We speak not of the delightful Neilgherry hills, nor the valleys of the magnificent Himalaya mountains.