Some of Our Wild Animals and Their Habits
Unknown Author
Table of Contents
The Mole
DEAR children, I purpose to write you a number of short papers, if the Lord will, about certain little animals whose ways are exceedingly interesting. Some of these live underground, others are fond of water, the while others again delight to scramble amongst the trees. The Mole is the first I will describe, for perhaps he is the most peculiar and striking in his habits amongst the underground dwellers.
You and I like the bright sunshine, and we love to gaze on beautiful green fields. Not so the Mole; he loves darkness. God has fitted him for a special mode of life in which good sight is not much needed, and where, if he had eyes, like a rat or similar animals, they would be to him a source of constant pain.
The Mole is a wonderful little workman, not more than six or seven inches in length; and his body, paws, head, and snout all testify that he is made to burrow under the ground. His body is the shape of a cylinder. His head and forepart, larger than behind, very strong; and the muscles by which he works, very powerful. There is a peculiar bone too in his snout, which greatly helps him in penetrating the ground; but, as you will see in the picture, he seems to have nothing in the shape of a neck; you will see by the engraving of the front paw how well it is fitted to scoop out the soil, which with its hind feet it casts behind it. The Mole then lives underground, where he makes a wonderful little fortress; and from this a great number of galleries or tunnels which have been properly called his hunting-ground. He works with great rapidity; place him on a lawn, and give him time to half bury himself, and he will be a clever man that can with a spade prevent his getting away into the earth. The only tools he has to work with are his queer-shaped snout and his fore feet or hands; with these he scratches away the earth in front of him and flings it behind him, and in this way he will often work his way through very hard soil. His skin has to bear a lot of hard rubbing, of course and here we may easily see how well God has suited the Mole for his peculiar way of living; as indeed God has all the creatures He has made. But there are two striking features about his skin which greatly help the underground digger. It is so tough, that it requires a very sharp knife to cut it, and then it is covered with a beautifully soft and exceedingly thick fur, far richer than any velvet can be made. This tough skin and rich fur enable it to endure an immense amount of friction in working out his many tunnels and in constantly running through them without receiving any injury, and at the same time prevent any earth or mud clinging to him: so that though he lives in dirt he is himself always beautifully clean. Except he is attacked or flooded out by water, the Mole seldom comes to the surface till after the sun has gone down. His eyes are made for darkness, not for the blaze of light; indeed at first sight he seems to have none, for they are very small, completely hidden by the thick fur and in the light he closes them so tightly that it is quite impossible to find them.
The little engraving we give you herewith will enable you to form some idea of the wonderful fortress and hunting grounds of this little industrious excavator.
Its fortress consists of a central chamber hollowed out in the shape of a dome, which has been beaten so hard by the architects as to make it impervious to the water. It is not easy to describe the shape and make of this habitation. A circular gallery is formed at the base and communicates with a small upper gallery by means of five passages. Within the lower and under the upper of these galleries, is the chamber, which is connected with the upper gallery by three similar passages. From this lower chamber another road is seen extending downwards a few inches, when it again rises and joins one of the main high roads. From this habitation high roads are excavated and extend in opposite directions, sometimes to a great distance; and again from these high roads a great number of smaller alleys branch off in all directions. These are the hunting-grounds of the Mole; so that you see though he be a little creature he loves a large house and plenty of domain to roam in. The Mole. is fond of a solitary life and lives alone most of the year, the male and female coming together but for a short time twice a year, after which they again resume their solitary life. The female makes with great care a separate nest for her young, whom she watches and feeds with solicitude. The nursery of the female is quite as ingenious as the home of the male; it is always placed at a point where many galleries meet, is very large and the roof sustained by pillars at equal distances from each other. This is made dry, warm, and comfortable by a thick layer of herbage and leaves.
The "little gentleman in black," as he is sometimes called, is said to be very brave, and will fight hard in defense of his home, young ones, and grounds. His many queer passages, give him a great advantage when attacked, for he can scarcely ever be driven into a corner, and he can run as fast underground as his pursuers can above it. He is moreover a wonderfully voracious animal, living altogether on insects and other small creatures, but he especially loves the earth-worm. It has forty-four teeth, which never cease working from morning to night. Its sense of hunger is much like a frenzy, and when it attacks an animal larger than itself it instantly bores its snout into it's body, almost burying itself, and will speedily eat up the whole carcass. It is a perfect eating machine, and said to be the most voracious eater in the world, A French naturalist once said if we could magnify the mole into the size of an elephant, we should be face to face with the most terrific brute the world ever knew.
The greatest enemy the Mole has is the farmer. There has long been a conviction that he does a great amount of mischief and every effort has been made to exterminate him. No doubt he does some damage; but others contend he does an immense amount of good, that in fact he is the farmer's best friend. This point, however, I will not undertake to settle.
You must not mistake the little hills of fresh earth you see thrown up as true mole-hills; they are simply tracks he has made in pursuing some worm near the surface, but the moment he sees the light, back he goes into the earth as quickly as possible. The hill that contains the nest or house is much larger and generally out of sight, under roots, or bushes, or in some sheltered place. The Mole also must be well supplied with water, for such voracious eating makes him very thirsty. And here again his ingenuity serves him well. If he be near water he will run round a tunnel direct to it; but if not he will dig deep water-tight pits, by which he secures a constant supply. In very dry weather, however, he finds it impossible to gather meat or drink near the surface, for all insects must have water, and both worms and moles have to make their way deep into the earth.
Did you ever hear that a mole-hill caused the death of an English King? The horse of King William the Third stumbled on one, by which his royal master was thrown and killed.
The Mole until about eighty years ago had the reputation of being blind and deaf, because neither eyes nor ears could be seen, but it was proved by a celebrated French courtier that it can both see and hear. His name was Henry le Court, who, having fled from the horrors of the French Revolution, gave himself up to the study of this interesting little animal, about which he has given many instructive details and quite a history of his habits. To settle the question as to the Mole being able to hear, and the rapidity with which it can travel, he placed a number of little flags of paper attached to straws at certain distances, the straws penetrating into the highway along which the Mole would have to run in reaching its fortress. Near the end of this road, when he knew the Mole was at its furthest point, he inserted a horn, the mouth-piece of which stood out of the ground. No sooner had he blown a blast than down went one flag after another with amazing rapidity, as the poor frightened Mole rushed along his subterranean passage to secure safety in his fortress.
I should think the Count found much more real pleasure in watching the habits of such little creatures than he had ever found in the vain and crowded halls of a fashionable French court.
The Beaver
"BEAVERS may become so domesticated as to answer to their names, and follow those to whom they are accustomed, in the same manner as a dog would do; and they are as much pleased at being fondled as any animal. In cold weather they were kept in my own sitting-room, where they were the constant companions of the Indian women and children, and were so fond of their company, that when the Indians were absent for any considerable time, the Beaver discovered great signs of uneasiness, and on their return, showed equal marks of pleasure, by fondling on them, crawling into their laps, lying on their backs; sitting, erect like a squirrel, and behaving like children who see their parents but seldom."
We have seen that the mole excavates vast hunting grounds under the surface of the earth, where he builds his castle; but the Beaver delights in the water. It is amphibious, that is, it can live in or out of the water. The Beaver is nearly exterminated all over Europe. It is now seven hundred years since it was found in Wales. When first America was discovered it was very numerous along the lakes and rivers, but when the Indians found how much Europeans valued its fine fur skin, they became its inveterate foes, and soon made them almost as scarce in America as in Europe. A few may be seen in some public collections of wild animals, and recently a Scotch nobleman has formed a beaver colony in his park, which will no doubt become an object of great attraction.
The Beaver is a remarkable creature, being part bird, part beast, and part fish. Internally, in some points, it is like a bird. Its tail is covered with scales like a fish; and its feet are webbed like those of a water-fowl.
In the formation of all living creatures how wisely and wonderfully God has fitted them for every condition of life; some for the air, some for the earth; some for the water, and some again, like the Beaver, both for water and land. How surely we may learn useful lessons too from all. These persevering little creatures show us what immense works can be accomplished by a number of small weak things combining their strength and energies for one common end. Beavers spend most of their life in the water, and there they build their houses. But the water must be so deep that the keen frosts of winter will not freeze it to the bottom. If it were not so, some winter morning they would find themselves shut up, close prisoners, and must surely perish of hunger; for the only entrance being under the water, they would find it impossible to cut their way through a solid block of ice. How is such a calamity to be avoided? Well, they are knowing little things, these Beavers, and they can tell exactly to what depth the water will freeze, and if it is not deep enough they do what all little boys are fond of doing, they immediately set to work and construct a dam across the stream, by which they raise the water to its required height.
How you and I would like to have seen several hundreds of these industrious creatures busy at such wonderful work! Of course God has fitted them for what they have to do. A dam must be made of wood, stones, clay and rubbish. God has given them teeth like two sharp chisels, and they can gnaw through a tree six or eight inches thick in a surprisingly short time: and they will so cut through it that it always falls into, or towards the water. Then some will cut it into suited lengths, others will lop off the branches, while others again will float the logs, or carry in their mouths the branches, to the appointed place. Logs and branches, however, would never make a dam, and this they know right well, so off scamper another company in search of stones and clay, which they carry in a marvelous way in their front paws, while they swim with their hind feet and remarkably broad tail. It was once thought that they carried heavy loads of clay on their tails while pushing a log in front, but this has been found quite incorrect. The tail makes both a scull and a rudder, and some say it is used to beat down the clay and stones in building their dams.
The dam, however, is only part of their labor, but a most important one, and in which the whole colony unites. This completed, the construction of houses, or lodges as they are called, is their next employment, and in this they divide up into small companies, each company building its own habitation. These lodges are made of the same materials as the dam, are generally in deep water, and often quite a number will be built together so as to strengthen each other, but each having a separate entrance and no communication between them. The walls are generally about four feet thick, though sometimes even thicker, and are built in the form of an irregular cone. They have each a cavity, measuring about three feet across, in which the Beavers reside. These huts have only one entrance which, as we have said, is always under water, below freezing depth, and on the side farthest from the shore.
Beavers also make holes in the banks, within diving distance of their huts, in which they can rise and breathe, and when they are disturbed at their home, they get into these holes without appearing on the surface of the water. These places of refuge in the banks are called " washes."
The food of the Beaver consists of moist bark and wood, and of a root which is found at the bottom of streams and lakes. The store of food for the winter consists of logs of the willow, birch, and a few other trees. These are stored in the water near the hut to which it belongs, and each family keeps to its own store. God has implanted some very delicate instincts in the Beaver. When at work there are no collisions between the laden little animals, for each has a road for itself and keeps to it. If the dam be built across a quiet stream, it is carried straight across, but if the stream be strong, the dam is made to curve toward the current, so as to offer a greater resistance to it.
In neighbourhoods where the Beaver is hunted it forsakes its habits of building, and contents itself with a modest hole in the hank of a stream, but even then it is easily detected by the branches it leaves about after stripping them of their bark, upon which it feeds. The Beaver has a very fine fur, of a light brown color, and, as I have told you, it is for this beautiful fur it is trapped in great numbers. Until lately this fur was much used as a covering for hats, so much so, indeed, that when I was a boy, all gentlemen's hats, and ladies' riding hats, were called "Beavers."
If it were not for the marks left on the trees, the Beaver would be a most difficult animal to find—when once it leaves off living in a big house, and takes to a hole in the bank—for it remains quietly at home in the daytime and does all its work at night. It has a wonderfully keen scent, and it is able to detect the recent presence of its great enemy, the trapper, very quickly. It is a very peaceable animal, and will always run away rather than fight. It is truly a lover of peace, and well would it be for us to follow its example.
But the mention of examples makes me think of Him who once lived on earth, whose life was a perfect example of all that is lovely and holy and pure. You know well who He was, and you know what was the end of that holy and blessed life—a shameful death, the death of the cross. And why, think you, was he hunted to death? It was because He was so like His Father, God; He made men think of Him; and they did not like that, because conscience told them how unlike and contrary to God were all their thoughts and ways, and so they could not bear to have such a holy One in the world, and they cast him out of it. And the whole world to-day, stands guilty of the murder of the Son of God! Do you ever think, dear children, that the time is coming when God will ask this world what they have done with His Son, whom he sent to be its deliverer? And every one who has not turned to God and confessed his guilt, will be charged with having, with wicked hands, killed the Holy One and the Just. Oh, how solemn is this!
The Squirrel
OF the few wild animals that run about our woods, none have so many foreign relations as our lovely little friend, the Squirrel. There are several varieties in other countries: in England we have but one. On the whole, they are much alike, both in their description and their funny little ways, but in some details they differ. Some delight to skip about the highest branches of lofty trees, and are seldom seen anywhere else; some, not true Squirrels, though they are generally so called, live chiefly underground, and are called ground or burrowing Squirrels; and most curious of all—some little animals, in many ways, very like Squirrels, have a peculiar skin or membrane growing from their sides, which, when the little creatures leap, are extended and spread out by their legs and feet, and enables them to float on the air almost as swallows, or gulls do, when they glide along without flapping their wings. Some of these animals are larger than a full-grown wild rabbit, and are called flying foxes, and other small ones, about four inches long, flying squirrels. These almost winged animals, have been known to take leaps quite a hundred yards in length, of course in a slightly downward direction; but on the level they are able to jump half that distance.
These are not found in England at all, nor are they common in any part of the world. As you will be more interested in the pretty little fellow so often seen in our own woods, I will describe to you some of the ways of the British Squirrel.
It is quite small; not so large in body as a common house rat, but its tail when spread out, is so large and full, that it makes quite a shade from the heat of the sun, and a screen from cold breezes, for it is larger than its whole body, and gives the Squirrel an air of great importance, as it sits in its favorite attitude, cleverly holding a nut with its paws, while rapidly gnawing a hole in the shell. But that hole is so small you would wonder how the kernel could ever be got through it; and you would be likely to say, "What clever fingers the Squirrel must have, to enable him to extract kernels from their tiny shells, and damage the nuts so little." Well, we seldom call the terminations of an animal's four legs "fingers," but I think we have a right to do so in this case, for the Squirrel has on its fore paws or hands a set of very nimble digits or fingers, with the thumbs set in opposition to the fingers, very much as our thumbs are, and the end of each is furnished with a fine strong claw, by means of which it not only extracts kernels from nuts, but clings to the bark of trees so securely, and runs and jumps about the trees, with no more fear of falling, and with little less speed than a bird would fly. Everything about these little creatures suggests quickness—the sharp pointed ears, tipped with tufts of hair, the bright eyes that seem to take notice of every leaf that stirs, and his graceful limbs are so quick that if you succeed in surprising him, he would place several trees between himself and you before you were sure that you had seen it.
In this, as in all that God has made, we can see evidence of the handiwork of a wise, and good Creator. The Squirrel is exceedingly timid, always prefers running away to fighting, and God has so made him that no animal can get away faster than he. Other animals have different ways, and means of self-protection, either strong fighting qualities, natural shields, or good power of getting away, while some combine both. You will find it interesting and not at all difficult, to note the differences between various animals in this particular.
The Squirrel has a nice soft fur, of a reddish brown color on the back and sides, and white underneath. He makes very comfortable quarters in the forks of large branches, and if there be a hollow place caused by decay, so much the better.
It makes a good large nest of hay, dry leaves, twigs and moss, binding them together very cleverly, leaving only a tiny hole at the top, and this it roofs over.
The Squirrel is a provident little creature. He knows very well that the nuts which he loves so much, will be all gone long before the coming winter is over; and so either in holes in the same tree in which he builds his nest or near to it in the ground, he lays by a large stock of nuts for his winter's supply.
Sometimes he is killed for the sake of his comfortable home by the Martin, who cannot build for itself; but this is not often; and in parts of Europe where wild boars roam through the forests, large colonies of Squirrels are robbed of these winter stores by the hungry pigs, who come rooting around every tree whose hollow base is likely to contain the Squirrels' harvest. In some countries in Europe, Squirrels travel from one country to another, thousands at a time in large companies, and sometimes meet with a lake, or a river that bars their way. They are not stopped, however, but strange to say, all together leave the shore, and return into the forest, and each gets a large piece of bark, floats it, gets on it, and sails away, the bushy tail finding a new occupation, that of propelling the frail little vessel, by means of the wind. Unfortunately for the Squirrels, the lakes and rivers, though calm near shore, are often rough in the middle, or a wind springs up, and the poor little ships are all upset, and the passengers drowned. Some naturalists deny that Squirrels do take to the nautical profession in this way, but most agree in supporting the statement that they do.
The Fox
FOXES, I think I may say, but for the sport they provide for the hunter, would have been exterminated in our country long ago. He is about the most destructive of all our wild animals, making terrible ravages on the poultry yard, and is a sworn foe to rabbits, hares, and other small creatures. Great efforts are made by the lovers of this sport to keep up a supply for their exciting diversion. For this, however, the farmer has to pay dearly. Spite of every precaution, the fox will run off with your lambs, ducks, geese, and poultry-dainties on which he chiefly lives. If hard pushed by hunger, Master Reynard will take himself to field-mice, frogs, weasels, and even insects. Such as live near the sea-coast, for want of other food, will devour crabs, shrimps, or shell-fish. What makes the Fox so great an enemy to the farmer is the ugly fact that he is not content with destroying sufficient to satisfy his hunger. If once he gets the chance, he will kill every living thing in the poultry-yard, and before he begins to eat, will carry off the whole and bury what he is unable to devour. In France and Italy the Fox is exceedingly destructive to the vine-yards, by feeding on the grapes of which he is very fond. My young readers will remember the fable of the Fox and the Grapes as an illustration of this.
Of all animals the Fox has the most significant eye, by which he expresses every passion of love, fear, and hatred. As you all know, the great characteristic of the Fox is his cunning: "As cunning as a Fox" is a daily proverb. The female generally has from five to eight cubs. The entire care of these is cast on herself. Her nest is made generally at the bottom of a deep burrow, and formed of dry leaves, moss, and hay. She manifests the greatest solicitude for her young, employing every artifice to keep them concealed, and if attacked, defends them with undaunted courage. Should she suspect that her home is discovered, she will seek what she conceives a more secure retreat, and carry them thither one by one. When attacked she will run for an hour with one in her mouth, and never drop it till she becomes breathless from the chase, Sometimes she has been known to deposit her cubs at a bottom of a hollow tree, ascending and descending twenty feet to get to them.
Foxes when young are exceedingly playful, and like kittens are fond of catching their own tails. If captured very early, and treated with great kindness, the Fox may show some regard for the person who feeds it, but never seems to lose its suspicious character. It has never been known to manifest the attachment or gratitude of the dog. It is ever shy of strangers, and will often repay a kindly approach with a snappish bite. But it is quite impossible to tame a full grown Fox. If taken captive it is very impatient of restraint, makes every effort to obtain its freedom, and if unable to succeed, refuses food, becomes spiritless, dejected, and dies. Foxes, like the dog, have a good many intonations of the voice: they can yelp, bark, and scream, and they have a peculiar murmur when pleased. Foxes have wonderfully keen senses, especially those of hearing and scenting. Their limbs are exceedingly pliant, and they are very swift on foot. Without doubt the brushy tail of the Fox is one of his most marked features; it is so flexible that he can wrap it round his nose, which it often does in cold weather. He is a very solitary animal, nearly always dwelling alone, and, as I have said, always leaves the charge of the cubs to the mother. He displays great intelligence in escaping detection; never trusts to his courage until perfectly exhausted, but then will turn round and defend himself to the last gasp.
During the day the Fox keeps as snug as possible, rarely being seen out, except it be, on some warm day, when he will seek a retired spot to bask and sleep in the sun. It is when the shades of evening come creeping on, this destructive fellow steals forth with motionless step to prowl for prey. With his acute senses of hearing and smell he listens and sniffs the wind. Alive to every sound and scent, his eyes gleam as he creeps along in a crouching attitude. Stealthily he surprises the rabbit gambolling near his burrow; the hare, with all her quickness, cannot escape him, and the poultry on their perch constantly fall a prey to his cunning.
The speed of the Fox is very great, and his powers of endurance such that he has been known to run before the hounds for fifty miles on a stretch. He has remarkable craft in eluding a pack of hounds, and an old Fox, who has had many a tough run, is more than a match for the sagacity of twenty or thirty dogs.
They have a great love of liberty, and have been known to bite off their own legs when caught in a trap, rather than be taken. On one occasion a fox was observed tenaciously to stick to the wood, instead of taking, as is their wont, to the open country; he dogged from point to point, leaping over first one dog and then another, performing remarkable evolutions, and for a long time eluded his enemies. At last he had to give in, and poor Reynard was killed; but you may judge the surprise of the hunters, who had witnessed all this long-continued agility, when they found he had only three legs!
When hard pressed they neither lose their self-possession nor their courage; they resort to every expedient that cunning can dictate to baffle or elude their pursuers, and if all fails the Fox dies, defending himself to the last.
In some respects the Fox is much like the common dog. His teeth and the general formation of his bones are the same, but his lengthened and sharp pointed muzzle, the round head, the erect and triangular ears, the long body, short limbs, and elongated, thick, and bushy tail are altogether different from those of the dog. There is also a wonderful difference in the construction of their eyes. The dog is undisturbed by the brightest light: it is never oppressive to the dog. With the Fox it is not so. Excessive light is painful to him and he is forced to close the pupils of the eye to such an extent as to render their vision very imperfect during the day. But when night comes he can sally forth in the full possession of his perceptive faculties. Here, then, we have a clear proof that, like the owl, the bat, and some other creatures, the Fox is fitted for his night prowling.
The Fox and the Hen
"A hungry fox in quest of prey,
Into an outhouse found his way;
When looking round with skilful search,
He spied a hen upon the perch.
=============================
And thus to her sly Reynard spoke
‘Dear Madam, I'm concerned to hear
You've been unwell for half a year;
I could not quell my strong desire
After your welfare to enquire.
But pray come down and take the air,
You'll ne'er get well while sitting there,
I'm sure it will not hurt your cough;
Do give me leave to help you off.'
‘I thank you Sir,' the hen replied,
‘I'd rather on my roost abide.
'Tis true enough I've been unwell,
And am so now the truth to tell,
And am so nervous, you must know,
I dare not trust myself below;
And therefore say to those who call,
I see no company at all;
For from my perch shall I descend,
I'm certain in my death 'twould end;
As then, I know without presumption,
My cough would, in a consumption! '
Thus cunning people often find
Their crafty overtures declined
By prudent people, whom they thought
For want of wit would soon he caught."
The Hare
ON every creature that God has made we may readily see marks of divine wisdom peculiar to each. Very clearly are they seen in the construction of the Hare. Scarcely any animal has so many enemies, is so defenceless, and none possess more of that preserving passion, timidity or fear. This keeps it alive to every cause of alarm. If carefully examined, each limb and every instinct will be found to be so formed as to give every possibility, not for defending itself, but for making its escape from its enemies. It is of first importance that its hearing should be very acute, and that it should be able to detect sounds of danger from a great distance. So we find its ears are formed on this very principle; they are long, open at the ends, and can be turned in every direction, so that they act like a speaking trumpet to a deaf person. Then its eyes should not only be quick of sight, but able to perceive danger from every side at the same moment. We find they are not only large and prominent, but so fixed as to be able to receive the rays of light from all sides. Swiftness of flight is, perhaps, more essential to the Hare than any other qualities; to secure this its hind legs are remarkably long, and furnished with strong muscles. This formation gives an especial advantage over its enemies in ascending steep places: and so sensible is the Hare of this, that it always makes towards rising ground when pursued.
All these advantages are the more needful as it never burrows underground, like the rabbit, or finds a place of safety in hollow trees, like the fox. And as it is always on the ground, its feet are preserved above and below with a thick and warm covering of hair. Then the Hare is gifted with a large amount of cunning or sagacity. We have spoken of the cunning of the fox when pursued, but the Hare is said to display ten times as much when running before the hounds. She will be seen to go straight away when in view, but the moment she is out of sight of her pursuers, she begins the most remarkably sagacious manoeuvres. She will return in her track some distance, then make three or four enormous leaps, and start off again at a right angle with her former course; she will then, if in a wall country, jump to the top of a wall and run some yards along the top, then descending with a long jump, she will perhaps squat till she sees the result of her manoeuvres. Of course all this is well calculated to throw the dogs off the proper course, as by this means they completely lose the scent of her track.
Should this prove useless, she will try other means, such as running through a flock of sheep, or water, or through a covert and back again, coming out at the same opening and running up the ditch, and off again on a fresh circle. She will pass alongside of a furze or thorn bush, some few feet distance from it, then returning she will carefully follow her former course and from it will throw herself into the bush, calmly waiting till the dogs have rushed by her. Then the Hare shows great skill in wisely husbanding her strength. From experience she soon finds out that the most rapid flight at the commencement is not always the most likely means to secure safety, so she regulates her speed according to the dogs that pursue her. If a common hound, she takes it easily, but if the greyhound, she flees from the very start with all her power. She knows that in passing through shrubs, by contact with them, she leaves a stronger scent on her track, and so when followed by terriers, who hunt by scent, she avoids all thicket, running as much as possible on the beaten roads. But if followed by greyhounds, who are guided entirely by sight and have no scent, she takes a straight course to the woods, where she hopes the better to elude her pursuers.
Thus do we see what a wonderful provision has been made for the protection of the poor timid Hare. And let me assure you, dear young friends, that the more you examine every creature that God has made, the more will this wisdom and care be made manifest.
The Hare prepares no home or hiding place. It conceals itself amongst ferns and other plants, or the underbrush of a young plantation, and sometimes with no other concealment than the uneven ground will afford. Here it crouches during the day, from which it makes a regular track to its adjoining feeding grounds. It is very particular always to go and return exactly on the same track. Its feeding time is the evening or during the night; when it issues forth and it will spend the whole night searching for its food and satisfying hunger. The poacher is a great foe to poor Puss, and in the neighbourhood of preserves their tracks are so numerous and so plainly seen that he has no difficulty in fixing his nets so as to secure his prey.
In favorable circumstances, like the rabbit, the Hare increases very rapidly. They begin to breed when a year old, and will have three successive broods of from three to five each time. The young leverets, as they are called, are born covered with fur, are able to see and can soon find for themselves. But to secure this the soil must be sandy and dry, as well as food plentiful. A damp clay soil is unfavourable, and being tender creatures, they are soon cut off in large quantities by disease. In all large parks, where the fern is allowed to grow thick, it is a beautiful sight, as evening closes in, to watch the quick, nervous, timid actions of the old ones and the gambols of the young leverets.
The oldest of writers mention the Hare-hunt as one of the sports of the ancients. Amongst the Romans its flesh was considered quite a delicacy. It came, however, within the forbidden animals as food by the law of Moses, "because he cheweth not the cud, but divideth not the hoof" (Lev. 11: 6), But in all ages and nations the poor Hare has been an object of sport for the hunter.
The Hare, however, proves most destructive to the farmers' carefully prepared and well tended crops. He eats great quantities of vegetation, but does not confine himself to these. They will sometimes destroy whole fields of young wheat. In winter they scatter and wander a great distance in search of food, and prove very destructive to plantations of young trees by gnawing the bark.
All my boy readers know how common it is to tame the rabbit. He is a common pet. Hares also notwithstanding their great timidity have often been tamed, so as to eat from the hand and run about the house. The writer of the Natural History of Cornwall tells of one of his own training which would play about the garden, but always return to the house. It had a greyhound and a spaniel as companions, which would romp in company and at night lay together on the hearth. This was the more remarkable as both dogs were used in the same hunt, and would often sally forth on their own account in pursuit of hares, but were never known to harm their play fellow and companions. Sonnie had a tame Hare which lived with a hound and two Angora cats. Dr. Townson brought a young one into such a state of familiarity, that he would run and jump about his sofa and bed; it leaped on his knees, patted him with its feet, and frequently whilst he was reading would knock the book out of his hand, as if like a fondled child, to claim the preference of his attention. Indeed I could tell you many such instances, all showing how easy it is to make always any animal attached to you by a little kindness. If you have not read the interesting account that Cowper gives of his Tiney, Puss and Bess, of the much pleasure he found in his solitary hours in watching them gambol, by all means make yourself acquainted with them; and especially with his amusing account of the hunt after one, when men, women, children, and boys, chased poor puss through the village, and of the remarkable manner in which she was rescued from so many dangers.
But Cowper's Hares have become of worldwide fame, and no wonder, for they were the most interesting and amusing Hares you ever read of. The first was given to him by some children when he had just recovered from an illness, and he wanted something to amuse him. It was given him by some children when it was about three months old. They had so neglected the poor little creature, that it was fast losing all its flesh. Mr. Cowper took it out of pity for the poor pining little creature.
When the neighbours saw how pleased Cowper was with the present, he soon had many more offered him, from which he accepted three. These he named Puss, Tiney, and Bess. He had comfortable little houses built for each one to sleep in, and each had a separate apartment, which he took care was kept sweet and clean. In the day time they had a hall in which they all ran, at night each went to his own bed, and never crept into that of the others.
From Cowper's most interesting letters (which, by the bye, if you have not read, I earnestly commend to you as perhaps the most pleasing in our language), we gather most interesting details of their ways.
They were very different in their character and temper. Puss was soon tamed. He would leap into his master's lap, and bite the hair from his temples, and allow himself to be taken up, and to be carried about; and more than once fell asleep on the poet's knee. He was ill three days, during which time Cowper nursed him, kept him away from the others that they might not tease him, and gave him medicine, which soon brought him round. He was very grateful for this kindness, which he showed by licking his master's hand every bit over, first the back of it, then the palm, then each finger separately, and then between all the fingers, as if he did not want to leave any part unlicked. He was perfectly tamed, and he seemed to be happier when with his master than with the other Hares.
Tiney was quite different. Kindness did not seem to have the least effect upon him. He, too, was sick and taken care of; but, if after he was better his master stroked him, or patted him, he would grunt and strike with his fore-feet, and spring forward and bite. He was of a very surly disposition.
Bess, who like the rest was a male, notwithstanding his name, was a Hare of great drollery and humour. He died soon after he was fully grown, and his death was occasioned by his being turned into his box before it had been thoroughly dried after a washing. He was tame from the beginning. The three were always admitted into the parlour after supper, and there they would frisk and bound and play a thousand gambols; and Bess was always the leader, he was so strong and fearless. One evening the cat was in the room, and patted Bess on the cheek, and in return he drummed upon her back with such violence that she was very glad to get away and hide herself. If there was any change in their room, or the place where they were accustomed to be, the Hares found it out immediately and used to go smelling at the spot, Some persons they liked at once, others, whom they saw every day, they would have nothing to do with: Bess died young; Tiney lived to be nine years old, and died at last from being hurt by a fall; Puss lived to be nearly twelve years old, and died of old age.
"Last Wednesday night, while we were at supper, between the hours of eight and nine, I heard an unusual noise in the back parlour, as if one of the Hares was entangled, and endeavouring to disentangle herself. I was just going to rise from the table, when it ceased. In about five minutes, a voice on the outside of the parlour door enquired if one of my Hares had got away. I immediately rushed in to the next room, and found that my poor favorite Puss had made her escape. She had gnawed in sunder the strings of a lattice work with which I thought I had sufficiently secured the window, and which I preferred to any kind of blind, because it admitted plenty of air.
"From thence I hastened to the kitchen, when I saw the redoubtable Thomas Freeman, who told me that having seen her, just after she had dropped into the street, he attempted to cover her with his hat, but see screamed out, and leaped directly over his head. I then desired him to pursue as fast as possible, and added Richard Coleman to the chase, as being nimbler and carrying less weight than Thomas, not expecting to see her again, but desirous to learn, if possible, what became of her.
In something less than an hour, Richard returned almost breathless, with the following account. That soon after he began to run, he left Tom behind him, and came in sight of a numerous hunt, of men, women, children and dogs; that he did his best to keep back the dogs, and presently outstripped the crowd, so that at last the race was disputed between himself and Puss. She ran right through the town, and down the lane that leads to Drophort. A little distance from the house, he got the start and turned her; she rushed for the town again, and soon after she entered it, seeking shelter in Mr. Wagstaff's tan yard. Sturges's harvest men were at supper, and saw her from the opposite side of the way. Then she encounted the tan pits full of water; while she was struggling out of one pit, and plunging into another, and almost drowned, one of the men drew her out by the ears, and secured her. She was then well washed in a bucket to get the lime out of her coat, and brought home in a sack at ten o'clock.
This frolic cost us four shillings, but you may be sure we did not grudge a farthing of it. The poor creature received a little hurt in one of her claws and in one of her ears; and is now almost as well as ever."
The Rabbit
IS many of you are aware, the Rabbit is the most fruitful little animal in our Island, and if it were not prevented from multiplying by many enemies, it would speedily eat up every green thing. An old heathen writer, named Pliny, who, like Solomon, made himself acquainted with nearly everything in the world, well observes that nature "hath showed great kindness in causing those things to be most prolific that are the most harmless and the properest for our food." If we say God instead of nature, this is true of the Rabbit. Pennant, whom I have quoted before, and who wrote much on birds and animals just one hundred and two years ago, tells us they will breed seven times a year, and bring eight young ones each time; should this continue without interruption for four years, one single pair and their progeny, would produce no fewer than 1,274,840 Rabbits.
But, as I have said, they have a large number of enemies who effectually prevent this enormous increase. In our country, an immense number are constantly killed for food. Then the ferret, the squirrel, the weasel and the hawk, are also his deadly foes. Still, ancient history tells us that in the Balcaric Islands, situated not far from Spain, and in the time of the Roman Empire, Rabbits multiplied so plentifully that the whole Islands were overrun, and the people had to implore the help of soldiers from Augustus, the Roman Emperor, to rid them from so great a calamity.
It is pretty clear that the Rabbit has not been many hundred years in our country. The time when it first settled in Britain is unknown. The general conviction is, that it was first introduced to Spain from Africa by the Romans; from which country it gradually spread, and became naturalized throughout the temperate parts of Europe. Five hundred and fifty years ago, they were so scarce in England as to be worth sixpence each, a great sum in that day, and sufficient to purchase a whole pig. History tells us that at a great feast, the installation of the Abbot of St. Austins, six hundred Rabbits were served up as a great dainty. As a proof of how rapidly they increase, I may tell you that it is only a few years since a few were taken to Australia and let loose, and now they have increased to such an extent as to have become quite a nuisance.
I have no doubt many of my boy readers have got their tame rabbits, as I had when I was a boy, and you know their interesting little ways; what they like to eat; how needful it is to keep them from the damp; and that they must only be taken up by their ears; you know too, how tame little Bunny will become, and how gladly he will nibble the parsley from your hand. Much that I have forgotten you will know very well, and your little sisters too, who love them quite as much, and perhaps more tenderly than you do. Moreover, as it is our wild animals I am telling you about, let me give you some account of the Rabbit in its wild state of freedom.
All I need to say about its description is, that it is very like the hare, only smaller. Its habits are very different. The hare provides itself with no well-formed home; but is content to squat in any concealed place on ground: it lives a solitary life; it always trusts to flight or stratagem for safety; it never seeks security in the earth or in trees; nor does it ever prepare a nest for its young. In all these particulars the habits of the Rabbit are very opposite. He likes to live in a country which has deep dells, and steep banks of red sandstone or sand. If on the surface there is a rich growth of tender grasses, and sweet-smelling herbs, Bunny is all the more delighted.. In these sand-hills he digs deep burrows, along which he forms quite a number of chambers. Here is his home, and to this he immediately flies in case of danger. He is said to be very particular about the formation of this burrow or dwelling. If possible, the entrance is lower than any other part of it, so that it may never be flooded by rains. At the very end of a separate burrow the female builds a home or nursery for her baby Bunnies. She bestows great care on this home, making a most comfortable nest of moss and dry leaves, and then thickly lining it with the soft warm fur from her own body.
In this we see a clear illustration of those wonderful instincts which God has given to all His creatures. If the Rabbit took no more precaution for the protection of its young, perhaps every one of them would perish. The hare provides no nest whatever, because her young have no need of such a shelter.
They are born covered with fur, and able to see and can almost immediately find for themselves. How different with the young of the Rabbit! They are so naked, that the least exposure to cold would destroy them; they are totally blind and helpless for ten or twelve days, and not able to leave the burrow till they are four or five weeks old. It is said that every time she leaves her family the mother carefully covers them up to protect them from the cold. Now who has taught those two animals in some things so much alike, all this difference in the care needed for their young? It is not experience; for the young mother Bunny makes as much provision for her first family as her last. No, we can trace all this forethought and tender affection, as in a thousand other instances, to the wisdom and care of Him who at first made all things "very good."
Rabbits, like hares, are found most where there is a rich covering of ferns, in parks or commons covered with furze and especially in woods, from which they sally forth in search of food. They are so valuable for the market, and increase so rapidly that large commons or waste lands are devoted to their feeding and increase. These are called Rabbit warrens, and here immense numbers congregate together, where at the close of the day, and especially on a warm moonlight night, many hundreds may be seen for hours, sporting in the most amusing manner. They will gambol together and chase each other with wonderful rapidity, but the moment there is the least alarm, their flight to the burrows is instant and surprising.
The Weasel
THE Weasel is one of the fiercest little animals in England and like most fierce large animals, as the lion, the tiger, the leopard, and the fox, lives on flesh, and so is called carnivorous, which means flesh-eating. There are several kinds in England, the common Weasel, the Marten, and the Polecat. They are much alike in shape and habits, but different in size and color. The length of the Polecat is seventeen inches, exclusive of the tail, which is six inches. The Marten, says Pennant, is the most beautiful of the British beasts of prey. It is eighteen inches long, the tail ten, or if measured to the ends of the hair at the point, twelve inches. The common Weasel is the least of all, the length of the head and body not exceeding six or seven inches, and the tail not more than two and a half inches long. The Polecat is white about the mouth; the head, throat, breast, legs, and thighs are wholly of a deep chocolate color, almost black. The sides are covered with hairs of two colors; the ends of which are of a dark hue, like the other parts, the middle of a full tawny, or yellow, color. The back, sides and tail of the Marten are covered with a fine thick down, and with long hair intermingled; the bottom is of a dark grey color, the middle bright chestnut, the tops black, the head brown, with some slight cast of red; the throat and breast are white, the belly similar color as the back, but rather paler. The whole upper part of the common Weasel, the head, tail, legs, and feet are of a red tawny brown. The whole under-side of the body, from the chin to the tail, is white; but beneath the corners of the mouth on each jaw is a spot of brown. Besides these there is another kind of Weasel, called the Stoat, or Ermine Weasel. In nearly every particular its description much resembles that of the common Weasel, the chief difference being that it attacks and lives on larger animals than any of the others, as hares and leverets, and its skin is very much more valuable. There is this peculiarity also about it, that with us in winter it partially changes its color, becoming nearly white. In the most northern parts of Europe, the Ermine becomes in the winter most brilliantly white, except the ends of the tail, which remain perfectly black. In Norway, Lapland, Russia, and other northern cold countries, they are found in prodigious numbers, and the trade in their skins is an exceedingly large branch of business. Many hundred thousand are annually imported into England, both from the countries just named and also from the northern parts of Canada. Most of the comfortable furs which keep you warm in the cold winter days have once clothed this little, elegant, but vicious, animal.
Having pointed out to you some particulars in which the various members of this family differ, I will now tell you some things wherein they all agree, both as to their form and habits. They are all long and slender, have a sharp pointed nose and very short legs. Their construction fits them admirably for the manner in which they hunt their prey. They can creep into the most tiny holes. They are most nimble and active, run very fast, will creep up the sides of walls with great agility, and spring with vast force. In running, the belly seems to touch the ground; in preparing to jump, it arches its back, which assists it greatly to take a long spring. Their feet are broad, the claws large and sharp, well adapted for climbing trees, where, in this country, it chiefly lives.
The chief characteristic of the whole Weasel family is their fierceness. They feed on rats, mice, squirrels, and birds. If once they can get into a poultry-house or a rabbit warren, they kill all the inmates, and then content themselves with drinking the blood and eating the brains of their victims. They are bold and fearless little fellows, and there is scarcely any small animal they will not attack. As you will see, by one of the stories I shall tell you, they will even in some cases attack a man. Their bite is very painful, indeed so much does the wound inflame, and so long is it before it heals, that some think it is really poisonous. In attacking a mouse or a rat it springs at once on its head, pierces its brain with its long, sharp teeth, and its victim is dead in a moment, and without suffering any pain. In attacking a larger animal, it usually fastens itself on the neck, just below the ear, bites through the veins, which it tears open, and its victim bleeds to death. It never eats its prey where it kills it, hut carries it off to its young, or its retreat.
The common Weasel is much more domesticated than the other kinds, and will be frequently found near out-houses, barns, and granaries, where it performs good service to the farmer, and makes some atonement for its depredations on the poultry by ridding his stacks and buildings of rats and mice, which, from there great numbers, often destroy an immense quantity of grain. The Weasel hunts by scent, like a dog, and follows mice and even moles with the utmost perseverance,. tracking them through all their runs or winding galleries. All these small animals have great dread of the Weasel, and will fly with the greatest alarm if one approaches their haunts. It will even cross the water in their pursuit if its prey be in sight, nor does swiftness avail, for onwards. will the Weasel travel till its victim falls from exhaustion.
The Weasel breeds two or three times in a year, having a litter of five or six at each birth. She makes her nest of dried leaves; a hole in a bank side, among brambles, or in an old tree is the usual place of her retreat. Should the mother be attacked, she will defend herself and her little ones with great courage and fight to the last.
I know all my readers like stories, especially really true ones, and now let me tell you several about these fierce, destructive little creatures. One day, while riding over his grounds, a gentleman saw a kite suddenly pounce down and take up something in its talons. Shortly, however, the kite began to show signs of great distress; at one moment rising swiftly in the air, at another flying down with all its might, wheeling round and round, and trying to shake off something that was clinging to it. After a sharp fight, down came the kite with a sharp flap, quite dead. On approaching, he saw a Weasel quietly running away, apparently unhurt. On turning the bird over, it was found that the Weasel had eaten a hole through the skin under the wing, and torn through the large blood vessels.
A Weasel was once seen to attack an eagle, and and after allowing himself to be carried high in the air, it succeeded in biting through the throat of the king of birds, and then both fell to the ground. The eagle died, but the Weasel was unhurt.
From all this, you would perhaps conceive that the whole Weasel tribe are nothing less than horrid little monsters. But wait a little, till I relate another and a very different story, and then you may see what a wonderful power kindness has over even the fiercest animals. Thus runs the tale:—A certain lady had a tame Weasel, which she greatly petted, and which became exceedingly fond of her. "If I pour some milk into my hand," says the lady, "it will drink a good deal, but if I do not pay it this compliment, it will scarcely take a drop. When satisfied, it generally goes to sleep. My chamber is the place of its residence, and I have found a method of dispelling its strong smell by perfumes. By day it sleeps in a quilt, into, which it gets by an unsewn place which it has discovered on the edge; during the night it is kept in a wired box or cage, which it always enters with reluctance, and leaves with pleasure. If it be set at liberty before my time of rising, after a thousand little playful tricks, it gets into my bed, and goes to sleep on my hand or my bosom. If I am up first, it spends a full half-hour in caressing me, playing with my fingers like a little dog, jumping on my head and on my neck, and running round on my arms and body with a lightness and elegance which I have never found in any other animal. If I present my hands at the distance of three feet, it jumps into them without ever, missing. It exhibits great address and cunning to compass its ends, and seems to disobey certain prohibitions merely through caprice.
"During all its actions it seems solicitous to divert and to be noticed; looking at every jump and at every turn to see whether it be observed or not. If no notice be taken of its gambols, it ceases them immediately, and betakes itself to sleep, and even when awakened from the soundest sleep, it instantly resumes its gaiety, and frolics about in as sprightly a manner as before. It never shows any ill-humour unless when confined or teased too much, in which case it expresses its displeasure by sort of murmur, very different from that which it utters when pleased. In the midst of twenty people this little animal distinguishes my voice, seeks me out, and springs over everybody to come to me. His play with me is the most lively and caressing imaginable. With his two little paws, he pats me on the chin, with an air and manner expressive of delight. This, and a thousand other preferences, show that his attachment to me is real. When he sees me dressed for going out, he will not leave me, and it is not without some trouble that I can disengage myself from him; he then hides himself behind a cabinet near the door, and as I pass, jumps upon me with so much swiftness that I can scarcely perceive him. He seems to resemble a squirrel in vivacity, agility, voice, and his manner of murmuring. During the summer he squeaks and runs about the house all the night long; but since the beginning of the cold weather, I have not observed this. Sometimes, when the sun shines while he is playing on the bed, he turns and tumbles about and murmurs for a while.
"From his delight in drinking milk out of my hand, into which I pour a very little at a time, and his custom of sipping the little drops and edges of the fluid, it seems probable that he drinks dew in the same manner. He seldom drinks water, and then only for want of milk, and with great caution, seeming only to refresh his tongue once or twice, and even to be afraid of that fluid. During the hot weather it rained a good deal. I presented to him some rain-water in a dish, and endeavoured to make him go into it, but could not succeed. I then wetted a piece of linen cloth in it, and put it near him, and he rolled upon it with extreme delight.
"One singularity in this charming animal is his curiosity. It is impossible to open a drawer or a box, or even to look at a paper, but he will examine it also. If he gets into any place where I am afraid of permitting him to stay, I take a piece of paper or a book and look attentively at it, on which he immediately runs upon my hand and surveys with an inquisitive air whatever I happen to hold. I must further observe that he plays with a young cat and dog, both of considerable size-getting about their necks, backs and paws without their doing him the slightest injury."
Nor is this the only instance of such an attachment. A gentleman, named Strozza, felt so strong an attachment to a Weasel, that at its death he wrote a short Latin poem whieh has been thus translated; and which, you will see describes the same kind of tenderness and gentle insinuating ways as the story I have just told you. They are beautiful lines, and well worthy of our young friends' perusal.
"Loving and loved! Thy master's grief
Thou could'st the uncounted hours beguile;
And nibbling at his fingers soft,
Watch anxious for the approving smile.
Or, stretching forth the playful feet,
Around in wanton gambols rove;
Or gently sip the rosy lip,
And in light murmurs speak thy love."
The Otter
I HAVE no doubt, as each of our wild animals has come before us, we have felt how wonderfully God has adapted every one for the sphere in which it is destined to live, both for procuring food suited to it, and for defending itself against its natural enemies. This is especially true of the animal I have now to describe. The Otter is aquatic; that is, it spends much of its time in the water. Hence we see that from its nose to the very tip of its tale it is so formed as to be admirably adapted to aquatic habits. Let me describe its shape and make. From the snout to the end of the tail it is three feet three inches long, the tail being no less than sixteen inches in length. The head and nose are broad and flat, the neck short, and equal in thickness to the head; the body long, the tail broad at the base, tapering off to a point at the end, and it is flattened the whole way from the top to its point. Now no shape could be more adapted for swift motion through the water that this. The eyes are very small, and placed nearer the nose than is usual with quadrupeds—just in that position that, whether the animal is behind, above, or below the fish it is in pursuit of, it can with slight effort see where it is—the ears are extremely short and their opening narrow. The opening of the mouth is small, lips strong and capable of being brought very close together; the nose and the corners of the mouth are supplied with very long whiskers. It has no fewer than thirty-six teeth. Its legs are very short but remarkably strong and broad, and the joints so constructed that the animal is capable of turning them quite back, and bringing them in a line with its body, so as to perform the same service as fins to a fish. Besides this, each foot is supplied with five toes, connected with strong, broad webs, like those of a swan. It would be impossible to conceive of an animal more perfectly fitted to live on the land, and at the same time find its food in the water.
As fish is its natural food, it must live near the water; and to be able to catch its slippery, but most active prey, it must have wonderful agility and power when in the water. Such we find to be the case. It swims and dives with great swiftness. Then its fur, too, is just fitted for the water. It consists of an under coat of close, short, and waterproof wool, and an outer one of long, coarse, glossy hairs. The Otter is exceedingly shy, as much as possible retiring from all observation. On this account, it wanders forth and seeks its food more in the night than in the day. It displays great sagacity in forming its habitation; burrowing underground on the banks of some river or lake, the entrance to which it always makes below the surface of the water. This burrow it continues a great distance, working upwards towards the surface of the earth. Along this lengthy passage the Otter will make a number of lodges, that in case of high floods he may have a place of safe retreat. One singular feature about the Otter's habits is that, fond as it is of the water, where it must spend so much of its time, no animal is more particular to provide itself with a comfortable, dry nest. You may wonder how it manages to get air to breathe, seeing the entrance to its nest or lodge is always below the water. Thus it provides for by making a very small opening from its lodge to the surface of the ground, just large enough to admit sufficient air, and no larger. Such is its sagacity that even this small opening is always made in the center of some thick bush, so as more effectually to conceal its retreat. It is here, in a snug, dry bed of leaves, the female Otter brings forth and rears her little family of four or five young ones. She is very motherly in all her attentions; caring for their wants with solicitude, and defending them with great courage.
History tells us that the Otter was plentiful when the Romans first invaded our Island, now, as you know, more than 1900 years ago. Our wild, and almost naked, forefathers spent much of their time in hunting the Otter; indeed this sport was one of his chief sources of amusement. And the Otter was as wild as them, and proved himself game worthy of their mettle. But now let me tell you how destructive he is to the fish in our rivers and lakes. He is voracious, bold and active; in the deepest waters, though he must live on the land and breathe the air, he is as much at home as the fish themselves; and swimming with the greatest swiftness and skill, he never misses his prey.
"Cassell's Popular History” aptly describes the great havoc the Otter makes in our waters. "It follows up its prey silently, and with indomitable perseverance, through every turn and maze, ever keeping the victim in sight, which, after a chase of longer or shorter duration, is exhausted, captured, and killed. Nor is the Otter less remarkable for its graceful elegance than for the vigour of its movements in the water. Whoever has witnessed the feeding of those kept in the gardens of the Zoological Society cannot fail to have remarked the fine sweep of the body as the Otter plunges into water, its undulating movements beneath the surface while exploring for the prey, the abrupt and arrow-like velocity of the pursuit, and the easy return to the surface with the captured fish, which is taken to its den and devoured. The Otter then returns to the water and takes another, to be dealt with in the same manner, and this process is repeated till no more fish are left. Sometimes, however, instead of catching them separately, it contrives to bring up several at a time, managing not only to seize them with great dexterity, but to carry them hanging from its mouth. Eight or ten fish serve for a single meal; but it is well known that, in a state of freedom, an Otter slaughters a much larger number of fish than it devours; and thus some idea may be formed of the annual havoc occasioned by a pair of Otters in a river, or preserve for fish, in order to supply the wants of themselves and their young ones."
In more modern, as well as ancient times, Otter-hunting has been a favorite sport. In England the numbers have greatly decreased; but in Wales and Scotland it is still hunted with great and cruel avidity.
Formerly a breed of rough-haired, powerful dogs were employed in aiding the exertions of the hunters. As the water is the congenial element of the Otter, a single dog has there little chance against so active and resolute a foe; nor, indeed, could any number bring him to bay. When forced from his retreat, it is to the water, therefore, that the Otter takes refuge; here a host of dogs assailing him would oblige him to swim beneath the surface as long as he could hold his breath, and, on his rising to breathe, he would be met by a shower of spears, launched at him by the hunters on the bank. Thus attacked on every side, still his activity and resolution would, under ordinary circumstances, enable him to baffle for a long time the most vigilant pursuit of his enemies, and not unfrequently to escape. But, at length the poor animal perished, as too often happened, wounded and oppressed by numbers, yet fighting to the last. In the Highlands of Scotland it is still hunted with dogs of the terrier breed. Parties will sally out with torches at night-time, when the Otter leaves his hole to seek for food. During the day he conceals himself under large bare stones or fragments of rock close to the margin of the sea, forming what is called a cairn.
It is a difficult matter to force him from his retreat.
The Otter hunt, like most others, is an exceedingly cruel sport, and more to be condemned as it answers no useful purpose, and only serves to inflame the bloodthirsty and cruel passions of those engaged in it. If Otters are found in our rivers or places where fish are preserved, traps, nooses, &c., can easily be used to rid the pond or river of so destructive a guest.
The Otter is not confined to fresh water, but in both Scotland and Wales it frequents the sea, and will sometimes be seen a mile from the shore, hunting with great vigour its prey.
It has long been a well-known fact that the Otter can be easily trained when taken young, and taught to hunt fish for his master. Mr. Bell, in his "History of Four-footed Beasts," states how this may be accomplished. "For this purpose," he says, "they should be procured as young as possible, and be first fed with small fish, and water. Then bread and milk is to be alternated with the fish, and the proportion of the former gradually increased till they are led to live entirely on bread and milk. They are then taught to fetch and carry, as dogs are trained; and when they are brought to do this well, a leathern fish, stuffed with wool, is employed as the thing to be fetched. They are afterwards exercised with a dead fish, and chastised if they attempt to tear it. Then they are sent into the water after living fish."
Bishop Heber tells us he once saw nine or ten beautiful Otters, tethered with straw collars and long strings, on the banks of the Mattacolly.
"Some were swimming about at the full length of their strings, or lying half in and half out of the water; others were rolling themselves in the sun on the sandy bank, uttering a shrill whistling noise, as if in play. I was told most of the fishermen in this neighbourhood kept one or more of these animals, who were almost as tame as dogs, and of great use in fishing, sometimes driving the shoals into the nets; sometimes bringing out the larger fish with its teeth."
James Campbell, near Inverness, procured a young Otter, which he brought up and tamed. It would follow him wherever he chose; and if called on by its name would immediately obey. When apprehensive of danger from dogs, it sought the protection of its master, and would endeavor to spring into his arms for greater security. It was frequently employed in catching fish, and would sometimes take eight or ten salmon in a day. If not prevented, it always made an attempt to break the fish close to the tail; and as soon as one was taken away, it dived in pursuit of more.
It was equally dexterous at sea fishing, and took great numbers of young cod and other fish there. When tired, it would refuse to fish any longer, and was then rewarded with as much as it could devour. Having satisfied its appetite, it always coiled itself round, and fell asleep, in which state it was generally carried home. A domesticated Otter belonging to a poor widow, when led forth, plunged into the water and brought out all the fish it could find. Another, belonging to a gentleman in Scotland, was also very tame, and though he often stole away at night to fish by the pale light of the moon, and associate with his kindred by the river side, his master, of course, was too generous to find any fault with his mode of spending his evening hours. In the morning he was always at his post in the kennel, and no animal understood better the secret of keeping his own side of the house. Indeed his pugnacity gave him a great lift in the favour of the gamekeeper, who talked of his feats wherever he went, and avowed, besides, that if the best cur that ever ran "only dared to ‘grin’ at his protege, he would soon make his teeth meet through him." To mankind, however, he was much more civil, and allowed himself to be gently lifted by the tail, though he objected to any interference with his snout, which was with him the seat of honour.
A person who kept a tame Otter taught it to associate with his dogs, who were upon the most friendly terms with it on all occasions, and it would follow him on different excursions in company with his canine attendants. He was in the practice of fishing rivers with nets, on which occasion the Otter proved highly useful to him by going into the water and driving fish into the net. It was very remarkable that dogs accustomed to Otter hunting were so far from offering it the least molestation that they would not even hunt any other Otters while it remained with them; on which account, the owner was under the necessity of parting with it.
Do not all these remarkable incidents tell us the power of real kindness even with some of the wildest of animals !
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