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."