The ant-eater is slow in its movements—never attempting to escape. When hard pressed it stops, and, seated on its hind-legs, waits for the aggressor. Its object is to receive him between its fore-legs; and one has only to look at its arms and claws in order to fancy what a frightful squeeze it would give. Nothing but death, they say, will make the creature relax its grasp. It is asserted that the jaguar—the tiger of South America, and the most formidable beast of the New World—dares not attack it. This Azara, with good reason, doubts. A single bite from a jaguar, or the stroke of his paw, would fracture an ant-eater's skull before it had time to turn round; for the movements of this edentate quadruped are as sluggish as those of the toothed carnivorous tyrant are rapid.

As seen in its handsome and roomy cage, the ant-eater gives us an impression of dulness and stupidity; and always smelling and listening and looking at the door where its keeper introduces its food, its mind, when awake, appears to be constantly occupied about "creature comforts." In the course of the day it laps up with its darting tongue, and sucks in through its long taper snout a dozen eggs, and almost the whole of a rabbit, chopped into a fine mince-meat. With such dainty fare, and with the anxious attention which it receives from its sagacious curators, it is scarcely surprising that it thrives; and when the warm weather comes, it will be a fine sight to see these animals enjoying the range of a paddock, which will doubtless be provided for their use, and exercising their brawny forelimbs and powerful claws in pulling down conical mounds, which may remind them of departed joys and balmier climes. Nor will it be the least charm of the spectacle that it will enable us to compare this living species with other Edentata of South America—such as the Megatherium, now only found in the fossil state, but so admirably restored by Mr Hawkins for the Crystal Palace.

We need not dwell on the admirable adaptation of the ant-eater to its position and to its few and simple wants. To those who have not studied "the works of the Lord," it may appear uncouth and unattractive. Compared with a dog, it is stupid; and alongside of a lion, it is slow. It has not the symmetry of the horse, nor the beautiful markings of the zebra and leopard. But its Creator has given it the instincts, the form, the muscular powers, and the colours which best answer its purpose. And no one can say that it is plain and ugly, who looks at its legs so prettily variegated with white and black, and its noble black collar.

Those of our readers who wish further information will find it in the Literary Gazette for October 8, 1853. In that article it is easy to recognise the Roman hand of the facile princeps among living comparative anatomists. Long may it be before either of our new acquaintances in the Garden afford him a subject for dissection; but when that day arrives, we hope that he will not delay to publish the memoir.[187]—A. White, in "Excelsior" (with additions).

FOOTNOTES:

[183] Sydney Smith, "Review of Waterton's Wanderings." Edinburgh Review, 1826. Works, vol. ii. p. 145.

[184] From [Greek: myrmex], ant; [Greek: phago], I eat; jubata, maned.

[185] "Wanderings in South America" (Third Journey), p. 159, (ed. 1839).

[186] "A Narrative of Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro," by Alfred R. Wallace, 1853, p. 452.



RHINOCEROS AND ELEPHANT.

Two genera of the bulkiest among terrestrial beasts. Just imagine the great rhinoceros at the Zoological Gardens taking it into its head, with that little eye, target hide, and bulky bones, and other items about it, to fondle its keeper!—he was nearly crushed to death. How the great thick-skinned creature enjoys a bath!

As for the elephant, he is a mountain of matter as well as of animal intelligence. Sir Emerson Tennant in his "Ceylon," but especially in his "Natural History," volumes, has given some truly readable chapters on the Asiatic elephant. We could have extracted many an anecdote, even from recent works, of the intelligent sagacity of the Indian as well as the African elephants. The account of the shooting of Mr Cross's well-known elephant Chunie, at Exeter Change, has been very curiously and fully detailed by Hone in his "Every-Day Book." A skull of an elephant in the British Museum, shows how wonderfully an elephant is at times able to defend itself from attack. Many a shot that "rogue elephant" had received, years before the three or four Indian sportsmen, who presented its skull as a trophy, succeeded in planting a shot in its brain, or in its heart. Think of the feelings of Lord Clive's relations, at the prospect of his sending home an elephant for a pet. The good folks, not without some motive, as the great Indian ruler conceived, other than mere love for him, had been sending him presents. Samuel Rogers, who wrote the neatest of hands, records that Clive wrote the worst and certainly the most illegible of scrawls. Instead of "elephant," as they read it, their liberal relative had written "equivalent!"

THE LORD KEEPER GUILFORD AND HIS VISIT TO THE RHINOCEROS IN THE CITY OF LONDON.[188]

It is strange to read in the life of the Lord Keeper Guilford, that his lordship's court enemies, "hard put to it to find, or invent, something tending to the diminution of his character," took advantage of his going to see a rhinoceros, to circulate a foolish story of him, which much annoyed him. It was in the reign of James II. his biographer thus records it. The rhinoceros, referred to, was the first ever brought to England. Evelyn, in his "Memoirs," says, that it was sold for L2000, a most enormous sum in those days (1685).

Roger North relates the story:—"It fell out thus—a merchant of Sir Dudley North's acquaintance had brought over an enormous rhinoceros, to be sold to showmen for profit. It is a noble beast, wonderfully armed by nature for offence, but more for defence, being covered with impenetrable shields, which no weapon would make any impression upon, and a rarity so great that few men, in our country, have in their whole lives the opportunity of seeing so singular an animal. This merchant told Sir Dudley North that if he, with a friend or two, had a mind to see it, they might take the opportunity at his house before it was sold. Hereupon Sir Dudley North proposed to his brother, the Lord Keeper, to go with him upon this exhibition, which he did, and came away exceedingly satisfied with the curiosity he had seen. But whether he was dogged to find out where he and his brother housed in the city, or flying fame carried an account of the voyage to court, I know not; but it is certain that the very next morning a bruit went from thence all over the town, and (as factious reports used to run) in a very short time, viz., that his lordship rode upon the rhinoceros, than which a more infantine exploit could not have been fastened upon him. And most people were struck with amazement at it, and divers ran here and there to find out whether it was true or no. And soon after dinner some lords and others came to his lordship to know the truth from himself, for the setters of the lie affirmed it positively as of their own knowledge. That did not give his lordship much disturbance, for he expected no better from his adversaries. But that his friends, intelligent persons, who must know him to be far from guilty of any childish levity, should believe it, was what roiled him extremely, and much more when they had the face to come to him to know if it were true. I never saw him in such a rage, and to lay about him with affronts (which he keenly bestowed upon the minor courtiers that came on that errand) as then; for he sent them away with fleas in their ear. And he was seriously angry with his own brother, Sir Dudley North, because he did not contradict the lie in sudden and direct terms, but laughed as taking the question put to him for a banter, till, by iteration, he was brought to it. For some lords came, and because they seemed to attribute somewhat to the avowed positiveness of the reporters, he rather chose to send for his brother to attest than to impose his bare denial, and so it passed; and the noble earl (of Sunderland), with Jeffries, and others of that crew, made merry, and never blushed at the lie of their own making, but valued themselves upon it as a very good jest."

And so it passed. What a sensation would have been caused by the sudden apparition in that age of a few numbers of Punch. What a subject for a cartoon, some John Leech of 1685 would have made of the stately Lord Keeper on the back of a rhinoceros, and the infamous Judge Jeffries leering at him from a window.

THE ELEPHANT AND HIS TRUNK.

Canning and another gentleman were looking at a picture of the deluge; the ark was seen in the middle distance, while in the fore-sea an elephant was struggling with his fate. "I wonder," said the gentleman, "that the elephant did not secure an inside place!"—"He was too late, my friend," replied Canning; "he was detained packing up his trunk."[189]

SIR RICHARD PHILLIPS AND JELLY MADE OF IVORY DUST.—A VEGETARIAN TAKEN IN.

The biographers of James Montgomery[190] relate an amusing anecdote of Sir Richard Phillips, the eccentric London bookseller and author. He visited Sheffield in October 1828. "He had lived too long amidst the bustle and business of the great world, and was too little conscious of any feeling at all like diffidence, to allow him to hesitate about calling upon any person, whether of rank, genius, or eccentricity, when the success of his project was likely to be thereby promoted. The time selected by the free and easy knight for his unannounced visitation of Montgomery was Sunday at dinner time. He was at once asked to sit down and partake of the chickens and bacon which had just been placed on the table, but here was a dilemma; Sir Richard, although neither a Brahmin nor a Jew, avowed himself a staunch Pythagorean—he could eat no flesh! Luckily there was a plentiful supply of carrots and turnips, and—jelly. But was the latter made from calves' feet? Montgomery assured his guest that it was not; but, added he, with a conscientious regard for his visitor's scruples, from ivory dust. We believe the poet fancied the hypothesis of an animal origin of this viand could not be very obscure; it was, however, swallowed; the clever bibliopole perhaps believing, with some of the Sheffield ivory-cutters, that elephants, instead of being hunted and killed for their tusks, shed them when fully grown, as bucks do their antlers!"

J. T. SMITH AND THE ELEPHANT.

That gossiping man, J. T. Smith, once Keeper of the Prints in the British Museum, and author of "Nollekens and his Times," relates, that when he and a friend were returning late from a club, and were approaching Temple Bar, "about one o'clock, a most unaccountable appearance claimed our attention,—it was no less than an elephant, whose keepers were coaxing it to pass through the gateway. He had been accompanied with several persons from the Tower wharf with tall poles, but was principally guided by two men with ropes, each walking on either side of the street, to keep him as much as possible in the middle, on his way to the menagerie, Exeter Change, to which destination, after passing St Clement's Church, he steadily trudged on, with strict obedience to the command of his keepers.[191]

"I had the honour afterwards of partaking of a pot of Barclay's entire with this same elephant, which high mark of his condescension was bestowed when I accompanied my friend, the late Sir James Wintel Lake, Bart., to view the rare animals in Exeter Change,—that gentleman being assured by the elephant's keeper that, if he would offer the beast a shilling, he would see the noble animal nod his head and drink a pot of porter. The elephant had no sooner taken the shilling, which he did in the mildest manner from the palm of Sir James's hand, than he gave it to the keeper, and eagerly watched his return with the beer. The elephant then, after placing his proboscis to the top of the tankard, drew up nearly the whole of the beverage. The keeper observed, 'You will hardly believe, gentlemen, but the little he has left is quite warm;' upon this we were tempted to taste it, and it really was so. This animal was afterwards disposed of for the sum of one thousand guineas."

THE ELEPHANT AND THE TAILOR.

This old story has been often told, but never so well as by Sydney Smith in one of his lectures at the Royal Institution. "Every one knows the old story of the tailor and the elephant, which, if it be not true, at least shows the opinion the Orientals, who know the animal well, entertain of his sagacity. An eastern tailor to the Court was making a magnificent doublet for a bashaw of nine tails, and covering it, after the manner of eastern doublets, with gold, silver, and every species of metallic magnificence. As he was busying himself on this momentous occasion, there passed by, to the pools of water, one of the royal elephants, about the size of a broad-wheeled waggon, rich in ivory teeth, and shaking, with its ponderous tread, the tailor's shop to its remotest thimble. As he passed near the window, the elephant happened to look in; the tailor lifted up his eyes, perceived the proboscis of the elephant near him, and, being seized with a fit of facetiousness, pricked the animal with his needle; the mass of matter immediately retired, stalked away to the pool, filled his trunk full of muddy water, and, returning to the shop, overwhelmed the artisan and his doublet with the dirty effects of his vengeance."

DR JOHNSON ALLUDED TO AS "AN ELEPHANT."

"If an elephant could write a book, perhaps one that had read a great deal would say, that an Arabian horse is a very clumsy, ungraceful animal." This was written by Horace Walpole to Miss Berry, in 1791, in allusion to Dr Johnson's depreciation of Thomas Gray the poet.[192] It is an acute observation, well worth being wrought out. There is a grandeur and even a grace about this bulky beast and its motions well deserving the study of any one who has the opportunity. Elephants in our streets are not now so rare as they used to be. We saw three in one procession in the streets of Edinburgh in 1865.

ELEPHANT'S SKIN.

"Did any of you ever see an elephant's skin?" asked the master of an infant school in a fast neighbourhood. "I have!" shouted a six-year-old at the foot of the class. "Where?" inquired the master, amused by his earnestness. "On the elephant!" was the reply.

FOOTNOTES:

[187] This memoir has been published, and the subject of it was this very ant-eater. Professor Owen has introduced many striking facts from the history of its structure, in his lecture delivered at Exeter Hall, 1863, and published by the Messrs Nisbet.

[188] "The Life of the Right Hon. Francis North, Baron Guilford, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, under King Charles II. and King James II., &c." By the Hon. Roger North. A New Edition, in three vols., 1826, vol. ii. p. 167.

[189] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 329.

[190] "John Holland and James Everett," vol. iv. p. 283.

[191] "A Book for a Rainy Day," p. 92.



FOSSIL PACHYDERMATA.

CUVIER AND THE FOSSIL.

George Cuvier was perhaps the first man who, by his admirable works and researches, gave zoology its true place among the sciences.

His discoveries of the structure of molluscous and other animals of the obscurer orders are perhaps eclipsed by his researches in osteology. He has enabled the comparative anatomist to tell from a small portion of bone not only the class, but the order, genus, and even the species to which animal that bone belonged.

Mrs Lee,[193] in her Life of the Baron, gives an example of his enthusiasm in his researches.

M. Laurillard was afterwards his secretary and the draftsman who executed nearly all the drawings in his "Ossemens fossiles." At the time of this story he had not particularly attracted Cuvier's notice.

"One day Cuvier came to his brother Frederic to ask him to disengage a fossil from its surrounding mass, an office he had frequently performed. M. Laurillard was applied to in the absence of F. Cuvier. Little aware of the value of the specimen confided to his care, he cheerfully set to work, and succeeded in getting the bone entire from its position. M. Cuvier, after a short time, returned for his treasure, and when he saw how perfect it was, his ecstasies became incontrollable; he danced, he shook his hands, he uttered expressions of delight, till M. Laurillard, in his ignorance both of the importance of what he had done, and of the ardent character of M. Cuvier, thought he was mad. Taking, however, his fossil foot in one hand, and dragging Laurillard's arm with the other, he led him up-stairs to present him to his wife and sister-in-law, saying, 'I have got my foot, and M. Laurillard found it for me.' It seems that this skilful operation confirmed all M. Cuvier's previous conjecture concerning a foot, the existence and form of which he had already guessed, but for which he had long and vainly sought. So occupied had he been by it, that, when he appeared to be particularly absent, his family were wont to accuse him of seeking his fore-foot. The next morning the able operator and draftsman was engaged as secretary."

FOOTNOTES:

[192] "Letters of Horace Walpole," edited by Peter Cunningham, ix., 319.

[193] "Memoirs of Baron Cuvier," by Mrs R. Lee (formerly Mrs T Ed. Bowdich), 1833, p. 93.



SOW.

A very gross but useful animal, which can, by feeding, be stuffed into such a state of fatness as only one who has seen a Christmas cattle show in England could believe it possible for beast to acquire. Dean Ramsay, in a happy anecdote, refers to a good quality of the sow as food. He tells, that a Scottish minister had been persuaded to keep a pig, and that the good wife had been duly instructed in the mysteries of black-puddings, pork-chops, pig's-head, and other modes of turning poor piggy to account. The minister remarked to a friend, "Nae doubt there's a hantle o' miscellaneous eating aboot a pig." The author of "A Ramble," published by Edmonstone and Douglas in 1865, has devoted some most amusing pages of his work to an account of "Pig-sticking in Chicago," as witnessed by him during the late American war. The wholesale and scientific off-hand way in which living pigs enter into one part of a machine, and come out prepared pork, could only have been devised by a Yankee.



The essay of Charles Lamb on Roast Pig, and his history of how the Chinaman discovered it, is a most characteristic bit of the productions of Elia. We have cut from a recent paper, what seems an authentic story, of one of this race having obtained a kind of mausoleum. We hope it is not a hoax, but that it is as genuine as all that is in one of "Murray's Handbooks:"—

MONUMENT TO A PIG.—"Up to the present time," says the Europe of Frankfort, "no monument that we are aware of had ever been erected to the memory of a pig. The town of Luneburg, in Hanover, has wished to fill up that blank; and at the Hotel de Ville, in that town, there is to be seen a kind of mausoleum to the memory of a member of the swinish race. In the interior of that commemorative structure is to be seen a glass case, inclosing a ham still in good preservation. A slab of black marble attracts the eye of visitors, who find thereon the following inscription in Latin, engraved in letters of gold—'Passer-by, contemplate here the mortal remains of the pig which acquired for itself imperishable glory by the discovery of the salt springs of Luneburg.'"

THE WILD BOAR (Sus scrofa).

We have a specimen of the family of swine in that well-known and useful animal, with whose portrait Sir Charles Bell furnishes the reader, as an example of a head as remote as possible from the head of him who designed and executed the Elgin marbles. Although the learned anatomist brought forward the profile of this animal as the type of a "non-intellectual" being, yet there are instances enough on record to show that pigs are not devoid of intelligence, and are even, when trained, capable of considerable docility. "Learned pigs," however, such as are exhibited at country fairs, are a rare occurrence, and the family to which they belong is essentially one "gross" in character, and far from gainly in appearance. The most handsome of the race is one from West Africa, recently added to the Zoological Gardens, and described by Dr Gray under the name of Potamochaerus penicillatus. The wild swine of Africa are, with this bright exception, anything but handsome, either in shape or colour; and the large excrescences on their cheeks and face give the "warthogs" a ferocious look, which corresponds with their habits. In the East there are several species of wild swine. One of the most celebrated is the Babyrusa of the Malay peninsula, distinguished by its long recurved teeth, with which it was once fancied that they suspended themselves from trees, or rather supported themselves when asleep. Mrs M'Dougall[194] refers to the wild hogs of Borneo, which seem to be dainty in their diet, as they think nothing of a swim of four miles from their jungle home to places on the river where they know there are trees laden with ripe fruit. These Borneo swine are active creatures too, as they can leap fences nearly six feet high. In South America the sow family is represented by the Peccaries (Dicotyles), of which there are two species, one of which is very abundant in the woods, and forms a most important article in the diet of the poor Indians. They, too, can swim across rivers, and although their legs are short, they can run very fast.

It is chiefly in the warmer parts of the world that the species of this family are found. They are all distinguished by the middle toes of each foot being larger than the others, and armed with hoofs,[195] the side toe or toes being shorter, and scarcely reaching the ground. The nose terminates in a truncated, tough, grissly disk, which is singularly well adapted for the purpose of the animals, which all grub in the ground for their food. In some parts of France it is said that they are trained to search for truffles.

Having briefly alluded to different species "de grege porci," we now limit ourselves to our immediate subject.

The wild boar, at no very remote period, was found in the extensive woods which covered great portions of this island. The family of Baird derives its heraldic crest of a wild boar's head from a grant of David I., King of Scotland. This monarch was hunting in Aberdeenshire, and when separated from his attendants, the infuriated pig turned upon him; one of his people came up and killed it, and in memory of his feat received from the grateful king the device still borne by the family. The name of a Scottish parish, and of one of the oldest baronial families in Scotland—Swinton of Swinton, in Berwickshire—is derived also from this animal, the first of the Swintons having cleared that part of the country from the wild swine which then infested it. It is curious to know that some large fields in the neighbourhood of Swinton still carry in their names traces of these early occupants. Dr Baird informed the writer that there are four of these fields so distinguished:—"Sow-causeway," and "Pikerigg," where the wild swine used to feed ("pick their food"); "Stab's Cross," where Sir Alan Swinton with his spear pierced some monarch of the race; and "Alan's Cairn," where a heap of stones was raised as a monument of his hardihood. In the southern part of our island only the nobility and gentry were allowed to hunt this animal; and in the reign of William the Conqueror any one convicted of killing a wild boar in any of the royal demesnes was punished with the loss of his eyes.

In many parts of the Continent the wild boar is still far from rare, and affords, to those who are fond of excitement, that peculiar kind of "pleasure" which involves a certain amount of danger. Scenes somewhat similar to those depicted by Snyders may still be witnessed in some parts of Germany; and in the sketches of Mr Wolf, the able artist whose designs illustrate these papers, we have seen animated studies of this truly hazardous sport.

The nose of the wild boar is very acute in the sense of smell. A zealous sportsman tells us, "I have often been surprised, when stealing upon one in the woods, to observe how soon he has become aware of my neighbourhood. Lifting his head, he would sniff the air inquiringly, then, uttering a short grunt, make off as fast as he could."[196] The same writer has also sometimes noticed in a family of wild boars one, generally a weakling, who was buffeted and ill-treated by the rest. "Do what he would, nothing was right; sometimes the mother, uttering a disapproving grunt, would give him a nudge to make him move more quickly, and that would be a sign for all the rest of his relations to begin showing their contempt for him too. One would push him, and then another; for, go where he might, he was sure to be in the way." In the extensive woods frequented by this animal in Europe, abundant supplies of food are met with in the roots of various plants which it grubs up, in the beech-mast, acorns, and other tree productions, which, during two or three months of the year, it finds on the ground. Although well able to defend itself, it is a harmless animal, and being shy, retires to those parts of the forests most remote from the presence of man. A site in the neighbourhood of water is preferred to any other.

Travellers in the East frequently refer to this animal and to its ravages when it gets into a rice-field or a vineyard; for although its natural food be wild roots and wild fruits, if cultivated grounds be in the neighbourhood, its ravages are very annoying to the husbandmen, who can fully and feelingly understand the words of the Psalmist, "The boar out of the wood doth waste it" (Ps. lxxx. 13).

Messrs Irby and Mangles,[197] as they approached the Jordan, saw a herd of nine wild pigs, and they found the trees on the banks of a stream near that river all marked with mud, left by the wild swine in rubbing themselves. A valley which they passed was grubbed up in all directions with furrows made by these animals, so that the soil had all the appearance of having been ploughed up.

Burckhardt mentions the occurrence of the wild boar and panther together, or the ounce, as he calls it, on the mountain of Rieha, and also in the wooded part of Tabor. He mentions "a common saying and belief among the Turks, that all the animal kingdom was converted by their prophet to the true faith, except the wild boar and buffalo, which remained unbelievers; it is on this account that both these animals are often called Christians. We are not surprised that the boar should be so denominated; but as the flesh of the buffalo, as well as its Leben or sour milk, is much esteemed by the Turks, it is difficult to account for the disgrace into which that animal has fallen among them; the only reason I could learn for it is, that the buffalo, like the hog, has a habit of rolling in the mud, and of plunging into the muddy ponds in the summer time up to the very nose, which alone remains visible above the surface."[198] Wild boars were frequently fallen in with by this traveller during his Syrian travels in the neighbourhood of rush-covered springs, where they could easily return to their "wallowing in the mire;" he also met with them on all the mountains he visited in his tour. In the Ghor they are very abundant, and so injurious to the Arabs of that valley that they are unable to cultivate the common barley on account of the eagerness with which the wild swine feed on it, and are obliged to grow a less esteemed kind, with six rows of grains which the swine will not touch.

Messrs Hemprich and Ehrenberg tell us that the wild boar is far from scarce in the marshy districts around Rosetta and Damietta, and that it does not seem to differ from the European species. The head of a wild boar which these travellers saw at Bischerre, a village of Lebanon, closely resembled the European variety, except in being a little longer. The Maronites there, who ate its flesh in their company, called it chansir,[199] a name evidently identical with the Hebrew word chasir, which occurs in the Bible. The Turks, according to Ehrenberg, keep swine in their stables, from a persuasion that all devils who may enter will be more likely to go into the pigs than the horses, from their alliance to the former unclean animals.—A. White, in "Excelsior."



THE RIVER PIG, OR PAINTED PIG OF THE CAMAROON.[200]

The other day we revisited the Zoological Gardens, and found that two old friends had got—the one, a companion, the other, a neighbour. The latter was the bulky hippopotamus, now most bearish, and more and more unmistakably showing the minute accuracy of those master lines in the Book of Job, in which Behemoth's portrait, pose, and character are depicted. The former was the subject of this article—evidently, as far as colour goes, "the chieftain of the porcine race."

The poet tells us, however, "Nimium ne crede colori;" and observation, as well as the Scripture, shows us daily that "fair havens" in summer are but foul places to "winter in;" that fair speeches, and a flattering tongue, and the kisses of an enemy, "are deceitful;" and that beneath a fine spotted or barred coat, the jaguar and the tiger, the cobra and the hornet, conceal both the power and the propensity for mischief. So with our old friend Potamochoerus. The pretty creature,—beauty is relative—the Cameroon pig is the prettiest, the gaudiest of the race,—the pretty creature, we repeat, is of a fine bay red, made to look more bright from the circumstance of the face, ears, and front of the legs being black, while the red is relieved, and the black is defined, by the pencilled lines of white which edge the ears, streak over and under the eye, and ornament the long whiskers, another long white line traversing the middle of the back; a very attractive combination of colour—the painting of "Him who made the world"—and one which must make the Potamochoerus penicellatus most conspicuous among the bright green shrubs and dark marshes of the rivers of equinoctial Africa, on whose banks the race has been planted. The present largest specimen was taken, when a "piggie," by a trading captain, as it was swimming across the Cameroon River. He brought it to Liverpool; Dr Gray, of the British Museum, gave an account of it in the "Illustrated Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London for 1852"—an excellent work—where its figure, drawn and coloured by the hand of Wolf, shows the condition of the African sow four years ago. It was then a round, comfortable, kind-looking creature, which one might almost have fondled as a pet. The pig now looks rather a dangerous beast, and its beauty is not increased by its face having grown longer, and by the bump and hollow on each cheek being larger and deeper; nor is its mouth so attractive or innocent, now that its tusks—those ivory daggers and knives of the family of Swine—have grown longer. The creature, partly it may be from familiarity, jumps up against the iron palisade which separates the visitor from its walk, but a poor pannage as a substitute for its African home. We would advise him to read the notice: "Visitors are requested not to tease the animals;" "not to touch" would be a good reprint—for few, we fancy, would try to tease.

One, however, especially a lady, likes to know and to feel texture; and sadly used the fine, mild Edward Cross, of Exeter Change and the Surrey Zoological Gardens, once the Nestor as well as the King among keepers of wild beasts—a gentle, gentlemanly, white-haired, venerable man,—sadly, we say, used Mr Cross to lament that there were parasols, and that he could not keep them out of his garden. Mr C. told the writer that he lost many a beast and bird from the pokes of that insinuating weapon. We dissuade any lady from touching or going near a zebra's mouth, or the horns of an ibex or an algazel, or the pointed bill of a heron or stork, or from putting her hand near this fine painted pig.

Up jumps Potamochoerus—eye rather vindictive, however—and mark, as that big specimen is foreshortened before you, the profile of the little companion pig of the same species, standing within a few feet, but safe from the poke of any umbrella or parasol; look how innocent and inviting—how quiet, and sleek, and polished, and painted, and mild it looks, all but that little suspicious eye, with its wink oblique, and its malicious twinkle.

Of the habits of this pig we can find no written record, though in the journals of the Scottish or Wesleyan Missionaries there may be some notices of it. We do not know whence the Society procured the second specimen, but it shows that Africa's wild animals, like its chain of internal Caspian seas, and its mountain-ranges and rivers, are becoming gradually known. Old Bosman, who was chief factor for the Dutch on the Gold Coast 150 years ago, refers to the swine near Fort St George d'Elmina being not nearly so wild as those of Europe, and adds, "I have several times eaten of them here, and found them very delicious and very tender meat, the fat being extraordinarily fine."[201] He evidently refers to some other species.

Travellers in South Africa have made us familiar with the habits, and specimens in the Zoological Gardens, in a pannage close to that of the "painted pig," show us the form and ugliness, of the bush pig and flat pig (Choiropotamus Africanus) of that southern land, with their long heads, long legs, upturned tails, and horrid tusks. They have a strange habit of kneeling on their fore-legs. In South Africa they abound; and the natives—our excellent friend, the Rev. Henry Methuen, tells us—often bring their jaws for barter. They are of a dingy, dirty gray; the boar is two feet and a half high, and his tusks sometimes measure "eleven inches and a half each from the jawbone," are five inches and a half in circumference at the base, and are thirteen inches apart at their extremities.

No animal is more formidably armed; and his rapidity and lightness of movement make him a very marked object to the African Nimrod, who, midst "clumps of bush"—be they Proteacae, heaths, or Diosmeae—not unfrequently comes on a herd of wild pigs "headed by a noble boar," with tail erect. We could enter largely on the history of this active species, and quote many a stirring anecdote of travellers' rencontres with this fearless animal. The lion skulks away from him, but the rhinoceros—at least one species—the buffalo, with his formidable front of horn and bone, and the bush pig, with his dreaded tusks, show but little fear; and it is well for the huntsman that he has a sure eye, a steady hand, and a double-barrelled gun, and not a few Caffir followers to help him, should his eye be dim, his hand waver, or his gun "flash in the pan." Dogs avail but little; a deadly gash lays open their ribs, and a side-thrust of a wild boar will cut into the most muscular leg, and for ever destroy its tendons. We have done with pigs, and would only recommend a visit—a frequent visit—to that paradise of animals, the Zoological Gardens, where, a fortnight ago, we saw wild boars from Hesse Darmstadt; wild boars from Egypt; bush pigs from Africa; peccaries from South America; and two painted pigs from West Africa; all "de grege porci," and in excellent health: to say nothing of two hippopotamuses; four "seraphic" giraffes; antelopes (we did not number them); brush turkeys from Australia; an apteryx from New Zealand; the curious white sheathbills from the South Seas; the refulgent metallic green and purple-tinted monaul, or Impeyan pheasant, strutting with outspread, light-coloured tail, just as he courts his plain hen-mate on the Indian mountains; a family of the funny pelicans—cleanliness, ugliness, and contentment in one happy combination; a band of flamingoes; eagles and vultures; the harpy—that Picton of the birds—looking defiance as he stands, with upraised crest, flashing eye, and clenched talons, over his food; the wily otter; the amiable seal, which carries us to the seas and rocks of much-loved Shetland, with their long, winding voes, their bird-frequented cliffs, and outlying skerries; the Indian thrush, which reminds one of a "mavis" at home; the parrot-house, with its fine contrasts of colour and its discordant noises; Penny's Esquimaux dog—poor fellow, a prisoner, unlike to what he was when, with our dear friends Dr Sutherland and Captain Stewart, this very dog breasted the blast before a sledge in the Wellington Channel.[202] Look at that wondrous sloth, organised for a life in a Brazilian forest—those two restless Polar bears; and though last, not least, those wonders of the great deep, "the sea-anemones," the exquisite red and white "feathery" tentacles of the long cylindrical-twisted serpulae, and marvellously-transparent streaked shrimps, all leg, and feeler, and eye, and "nose"—in the salt-water tanks in the Vivarium.—A. White, in "Excelsior."

S. BISSET AND HIS LEARNED PIG.

S. Bisset, formerly referred to, when at Belfast bought a black sucking pig, and after several experiments succeeded in training a creature, so obstinate and perverse by nature, to become most tractable and docile. In August 1783, he took his learned pig to Dublin for exhibition. "It was not only under full command, but appeared as pliant and good-natured as a spaniel. He had taught it to spell the names of any one in the company, to tell the hour, minute, and second, to make his obeisance to the company, and he occasioned many a laugh by his pointing out the married and the unmarried. Some one in authority forced him to leave Dublin, and he died broken-hearted shortly after at Chester, on his way to London, where forty and more years before he had first been induced to train animals."[203]

QUIXOTE BOWLES FOND OF PIGS.

Southey records of Quixote Bowles that he "had a great love for pigs; he thought them the happiest of all God's creatures, and would walk twenty miles to see one that was remarkably fat. This love extended to bacon; he was an epicure in it; and whenever he went out to dinner, took a piece of his own curing in his pocket, and requested the cook to dress it."[204]

ON JEKYLL NEARLY THROWN DOWN BY A VERY SMALL PIG.

"As Jekyll walk'd out in his gown and his wig, He happen'd to tread on a very small pig; 'Pig of science,' he said, 'or else I'm mistaken, For surely thou art an abridgment of Bacon.'"[205]

GOOD ENOUGH FOR A PIG.

An Irish peasant being asked why he permitted his pig to take up its quarters with his family, made an answer abounding with satirical naivete. "Why not? Doesn't the place afford every convenience that a pig can require?"[206]

Mrs Fry, in 1827, visited Ireland on one of her Christian and philanthropic tours. In a letter to her children from Armagh she says—"Pigs abound; I think they have rather a more elegant appearance than ours, their hair often rather curled. Perhaps naturalists may attribute this to their intimate association with their betters!"[207]

THE COUNTRYMAN'S CRITICISM ON THE PIGS IN GAINSBOROUGH'S PICTURE OF THE GIRL AND PIGS.

Thomas Gainsborough, the great English painter, exhibited, in 1782, among pictures of noblemen, gentlemen, and ladies, his well-known "Girl and Pigs."[208]

Wolcot, better known as "Peter Pindar," in his first "Ode to the Royal Academicians," refers to this picture.

"And now, O Muse, with song so big, Turn round to Gainsborough's Girl and Pig, Or Pig and Girl, I rather should have said; The pig in white, I must allow, Is really a well painted sow, I wish to say the same thing of the maid."

"The expression and truth of nature in the Girl and Pigs," remarks Northcote, "were never surpassed. Sir Joshua Reynolds was struck with it, though he thought Gainsborough ought to have made her a beauty." Reynolds, indeed, became the purchaser of the painting at one hundred guineas, Gainsborough asking but sixty. During its exhibition, it is said to have attracted the attention of a countryman, who remarked—"They be deadly like pigs, but nobody ever saw pigs feeding together but what one on 'em had a foot in the trough."

HOOK AND THE LITTER OF PIGS.

Once a gentleman, who had the marvellous gift of shaping a great many things out of orange-peel, was displaying his abilities at a dinner-party before Theodore Hook and Mr Thomas Hill, and succeeded in counterfeiting a pig. Mr Hill tried the same feat; and after destroying and strewing the table with the peel of a dozen oranges, gave it up, with the exclamation, "Hang the pig! I can't make him." "Nay, Hill," exclaimed Hook, glancing at the mess on the table, "you have done more; instead of one pig, you have made a litter."[209]

Hook, we may add, was an original wit. He did not, like most professed wits, study his sayings before, and arrange with his seeming opponent for an imaginary war of words. He was an impromptu wit.

JESTS ABOUT SWINE.

Lord Chancellor Hardwicke's bailiff, having been ordered by his lady to procure a sow of a particular description, came one day into the dining-room when full of company, proclaiming with a burst of joy he could not suppress—"I have been at Royston Fair, my lady, and I have got a sow exactly of your ladyship's size."[210]

* * * * *

John was thought to be very stupid. He was sent to a mill one day, and the miller said—"John, some people say you are a fool! Now, tell me, what you do know, and what you don't know."—"Well," replied John, "I know millers' hogs are fat!"—"Yes, that's well, John; now, what don't you know?"—"I don't know whose corn fats 'em."[211]

PIGS AND SILVER SPOON.

The Earl of P—— kept a number of swine at his seat in Wiltshire, and crossing the yard one day, he was surprised to see the pigs gathered round one trough, and making a great noise. Curiosity prompted him to see what was the cause, and on looking into the trough he perceived a large silver spoon. A servant-maid came out, and began to abuse the pigs for crying so. "Well they may," said his lordship, "when they have got but one silver spoon among them all."

* * * * *

We have heard of one nobleman in Strathearn, who, when a young man, used to be thus addressed by his mother—"William! how are the children and your pigs?"[212]

SYDNEY SMITH ON BEAUTIFUL PIGS.

DEFINITION OF BEAUTY BY A UTILITARIAN.

"Go to the Duke of Bedford's piggery at Woburn, and you will see a breed of pigs with legs so short, that their stomachs trail upon the ground; a breed of animals entombed in their own fat, overwhelmed with prosperity, success, and farina. No animal could possibly be so disgusting, if it were not useful; but a breeder who has accurately attended to the small quantity of food it requires to swell this pig out to such extraordinary dimensions,—the extraordinary genius it displays for obesity,—and the laudable propensity of the flesh to desert the cheap regions of the body, and to agglomerate on those parts which are worth ninepence a pound,—such an observer of its utility does not scruple to call these otherwise hideous quadrupeds a beautiful race of pigs!"[213]

JOSEPH STURGE, WHEN A BOY, AND THE PIGS.

When Joseph Sturge, that good Quaker, was in his sixth year, his biographer, Henry Richard,[214] records that he was on a visit to a friend of his mother's at Frenchay, near Bristol. Sauntering about one day, he came near the house of an eccentric man, a Quaker, who was much annoyed by the depredations of his neighbour's pigs. Half in jest, and half in earnest, he told the lad to drive the pigs into a pond close by. Joseph, nothing loath, set to work with a will, delighted with the fun. The woman, to whom the pigs belonged, came out presently, broom in hand, flourishing it over the young sinner's head. The tempter was standing by, and sought to cover his share of the transaction by shaking his head and saying—"Ah,

'Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.'

The child looked up at him indignantly, and said, 'Thee bee'st Satan then, for thee told'st me to do it.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[194] "Letters from Sarawak," p. 104. 1854.

[195] "Divides the hoof, and is cloven-footed, yet cheweth not the cud" (Lev. ii. 7).

[196] Boner's "Chamois Hunting in the Mountains of Bavaria," p. 97.

[197] "Travels" (Home and Colonial Library), p. 147.

[198] "Travels in Syria and the Holy Land," p. 9.

[199] Symbolae Physicae.

[200] Potamochoerus penicellatus. [Greek: Potamos], a river; [Greek: choiros], a pig; penicellatus, pencilled. It is said to be the Sus porcus of Linnaeus.

[201] "A New and Accurate Description of the Coast of Guinea, written originally in Dutch." London, 1705, p. 247.

[202] See Dr Sutherland's interesting account in his "Journal of a Voyage in Baffin Bay and Barrow's Straits in the years 1850, 1851;" a truly excellent work on the Arctic regions, by one who is now Surveyor of Natal.

[203] See Biography in G. H. Wilson's Eccentric Mirror, i., No. 3, p. 30.

[204] "Common-Place Book," iv. p. 514.

[205] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 107.

[206] Ibid., p. 337.

[207] "Memoir of the Life of Elizabeth Fry," vol. ii. p. 30. 1847.

[208] "Life of Thomas Gainsborough, R.A.," by the late George William Fulcher, edited by his Son, p. 122. 1856.

[209] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 328.

[210] Ibid., p. 2.

[211] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 31. The latter of these jests is attributed by Dean Ramsay to a half-witted Ayrshire man, who said he "kenned a miller had aye a gey fat sow."—Reminiscences, p. 197.

[212] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 269. This worthy nobleman was and is much attached to his home-farm. He is well known in Perthshire.

[213] "Wit and Wisdom of Rev. Sydney Smith," third edition, p. 253. From a lecture at Royal Institution.

[214] "Memoirs of Joseph Sturge," by Henry Richard.



HORSE.

The noblest animal employed by man, and consequently the subject of many volumes of anecdote,—a study for the painter and sculptor, from the days of the Greek and Assyrian artists to the present day. Charles Darwin and Sir Francis Head have given graphic descriptions of the catching of the wild horse, which swarms on the Pampas of South America.

How pathetic to see the led horse following the bier of a soldier! It was, perhaps, the most affecting incident in the long array of the funeral of the great Duke.

In the Museum at Brussels, Dr Patrick Neill observed, in 1817, "the stuffed skin of the horse belonging to one of the Alberts, who governed the Low Countries in the time of the Spaniards. It was shot under him in the field, and the holes made in the thorax by the musket bullets are still very evident."[215]

Poor Copenhagen, the Duke's charger at Waterloo, was buried. Many would have liked his skin or skeleton. The Duke resisted all attempts to give his old friend up for such a purpose. We hope no resurrectionist succeeded in getting up his bones, years after his burial at Strathfieldsaye.

BELL-ROCK HORSE.

The Bell-Rock Lighthouse, built on a dangerous range of rocks twelve miles south by east from Arbroath, was begun by Robert Stevenson on the 17th August 1807, and finished in October 1810. Mr Jervise[216] records that "one horse, the property of James Craw, a labourer in Arbroath, is believed to have drawn the entire materials of the building. The animal latterly became a pensioner of the Lighthouse Commissioners, and was sent by them to graze on the Island of Inchkeith, where it died of old age in 1813. Dr John Barclay, the celebrated anatomist, had its bones collected and arranged in his museum, which he bequeathed at his death to the Royal College of Surgeons, and in their museum at Edinburgh the skeleton of the Bell-Rock horse may yet be seen."

BURKE AND THE HORSE.

An anecdote of the humanity of the great Edmund Burke in the year 1762 has been preserved.[217] "An Irishman, of the name of Johnson, was astonishing the town by his horsemanship. All London crowded to see his feats of agility and his highly-trained steeds. Dr Johnson and Boswell talked of this man's wonderful ability, and the Doctor thought that he fully deserved encouragement on philosophical grounds. He proved what human perseverance could do. One who saw him riding on three horses at once, or dancing upon a wire, might hope, that with the same application in the profession of his choice, he should attain the same success. Burke, always ready to encourage his countrymen, and curious in all the ramifications of ingenuity, went frequently to the circus. The favourite performance of the evening was that of a handsome black horse, which, at the sound of Johnson's whip, would leave the stable, stand with much docility at his side, then gallop about the ring, and on hearing the crack of the lash again return obediently to its master. On one unfortunate occasion, the signal was disregarded. The horse-rider flew into a rage, and by a blow between the ears, struck the noble animal to the earth. The spectators thought the horse was dying, but they had little time to reflect on the sight before they were surprised at seeing a gentleman jump into the ring, rush up to Johnson, and with his eyes flashing, and every muscle in the face quivering with emotion, shout out, 'You scoundrel! I have a mind to knock you down.' And Johnson would certainly have been laid sprawling in the sawdust beside his panting steed, had not the friends of the gentleman interposed, and prevented him inflicting such summary chastisement. This incident was long remembered. When the relater of it, many years afterwards, heard Burke declaiming, on the floor of the House of Commons, against injustice and oppression, his mind naturally reverted to the time when he saw the same hatred of all cruelty displayed by the same individual as he stood over the prostrate body of the poor black horse, prepared to punish the miscreant who had felled it to the ground."

DAVID GARRICK AND HIS HORSE.

In 1778 Sir Joshua Reynolds visited Dr Warton at Winchester College. Here he was particularly noticed by George III. and his queen, who were then making a tour through the summer encampments. The father of Lord Palmerston, and David Garrick, the great actor, with others, visited Warton at the same time.

Mr Northcote[218] relates that a whimsical accident occurred to Garrick at one of the reviews, which Sir Joshua afterwards recounted with great humour.

"At one of those field-days in the vicinity, Garrick found it necessary to dismount, when his horse escaped from his hold and ran off; throwing himself immediately into his professional attitude, he cried out, as if on Bosworth field, 'A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!'"

This exclamation, and the accompanying attitude, excited great amazement amongst the surrounding spectators, who knew him not; but it could not escape his majesty's quick apprehension, for, it being within his hearing, he immediately said, "Those must be the tones of Garrick! see if he is not on the ground." The theatrical and dismounted monarch was immediately brought to his majesty, who not only condoled with him most good humouredly on his misfortune, but flatteringly added, that his delivery of Shakspeare could never pass undiscovered.

This anecdote of Garrick at Winchester is told in the Rev. John Wool's "Life of Warton." Mr Taylor says—"One can't help suspecting Roscius took care to make his speech when he knew the king was within earshot—a little bit of that 'artifice' of his which has left such an impression in the theatre, that the phrase, 'As deep as Garrick,' is still current stage slang."[219]

BERNARD GILPIN'S HORSES STOLEN AND RECOVERED.[220]

The biographer of the saintly Bernard Gilpin, the apostle of the northern counties of England in the days of Edward VI., and Queens Mary and Elizabeth, relates that, by the carelessness of his servant, his horses were one day stolen. The news was quickly propagated, and every one expressed the highest indignation. The thief was rejoicing over his prize, when, by the report of the country, he found whose horses he had taken. Terrified at what he had done, he instantly came trembling back, confessed the fact, returned the horses, and declared he believed the devil would have seized him directly had he carried them off, knowing them to have been Mr Gilpin's. The biographer gives an instance of his benevolent temper. "One day returning home, he saw in a field several people crowding together; and judging that something more than ordinary had happened, he rode up to them, and found that one of the horses in a team had suddenly dropped down, which they were endeavouring to raise; but in vain, for the horse was dead. The owner of it seeming much dejected with his misfortune, and declaring how grievous a loss it was to him, Mr Gilpin bade him not be disheartened; "I'll let you have, honest man, that horse of mine," and pointed to his servant's. "Ah! master," replied the countryman, "my pocket will not reach such a beast as that." "Come, come," says Mr Gilpin, "take him, take him; and when I demand my money, then thou shalt pay me."[221]

No wonder that the horses of the apostolic rector of Houghton-le-Spring were safe, even in those horse-stealing times, and in that Border county.

THE HERALD AND GEORGE III.'S HORSE.

One day, when Sir Isaac Heard was in company with George III., it was announced that his majesty's horse was ready for hunting. "Sir Isaac," said the king, "are you a judge of horses?"—"In my younger days, please your majesty, I was a great deal among them," was the reply.—"What do you think of this, then?" said the king, who was by this time preparing to mount his favourite; and, without waiting for an answer, added, "We call him Perfection."—"A most appropriate name," replied the courtly herald, bowing as his majesty reached the saddle, "for he bears the best of characters."[222]

ROWLAND HILL AND HIS HORSE AT DUNBAR.

Many stories of the excellent but eccentric Rowland Hill are told, but often with considerable exaggeration. The following may be depended on for its accuracy, as it was told by Robert Haldane.[223] It occurred at Dunbar, in September 1797, during an evangelistic tour Hill and Haldane were making in Scotland. They were sleeping at Mr Cunningham's, when, in the morning, intending to proceed southward, on Mr Hill's carriage being brought to the door, his horse was found to be dead lame. A farrier was sent for, who, after careful examination, reported that the seat of the mischief was in the shoulder, that the disease was incurable, and that they might shoot the poor animal as soon as they pleased. To this proposal Mr Hill was by no means prepared to accede. Indeed, it seemed to Mr Haldane as precipitate as the conduct of an Irish sailor on board the Monarch, who, on seeing another knocked down senseless by a splinter, and supposing his companion to be dead, went up to Captain Duncan, on the quarter-deck, in the midst of the action with Languara, off St Vincent, and exclaimed, "Shall we jerk him overboard, sir?" On that occasion the sailor revived in a short time, and was even able to work at his gun. In the present instance the horse, too, recovered, and was able to carry his master on many a future errand of mercy. Meanwhile, however, the travellers availed themselves of Mr Cunningham's hospitality, and remained for two days more at his place, near Dunbar. In the evening Mr Hill conducted family worship, and after the supplications for the family, domestics, and friends, added a fervent prayer for the restoration of the valuable animal which had carried him so many thousands of miles, preaching the everlasting gospel to his fellow-sinners. Mr Cunningham, who was remarkable for the staid and orderly, if not stiff, demeanour, which characterised the anti-burghers, was not only surprised but grieved, and even scandalised, at what he deemed so great an impropriety. He remonstrated with his guest. But Mr Hill stoutly defended his conduct by an appeal to Scripture, and the superintending watchfulness of Him without whom a sparrow falls not to the ground. He persisted in his prayer during the two days he continued at Dunbar, and, although he left the horse, in a hopeless state, to follow in charge of his servant by easy stages, he continued his prayer, night and morning, till one day, at an inn in Yorkshire, while the two travellers were sitting at breakfast, they heard a horse and chaise trot briskly into the yard, and, looking out, saw that Mr Hill's servant had arrived, bringing up the horse perfectly restored. Mr Hill did not fail to return thanks, and begged his fellow-traveller to consider whether the minuteness of his prayers had deserved the censure which had been directed against them.

A SAYING OF ROWLAND HILL'S.

Rowland Hill rode a great deal, and exercise preserved him in vigorous health. On one occasion, when asked by a medical friend, who was commenting on his invariably good health, what physician and apothecary he employed, he replied, "My physician has always been a horse, and my apothecary an ass!"[224]

HOLCROFT ON THE HORSE.

Thomas Holcroft, the novelist and play-writer, when a lad, was a stable boy to a trainer of running horses. In his memoirs he has written a good deal about the habits of the race-horse. He says of them:—"I soon learned that the safehold for sitting steady was to keep the knee and the calf of the leg strongly pressed against the sides of the animal that endeavours to unhorse you; and as little accidents afford frequent occasions to remind the boys of this rule, it becomes so rooted in the memory of the intelligent, that their danger is comparatively trifling. Of the temperaments and habits of blood-horses there are great varieties, and those very strongly contrasted. The majority of them are playful, but their gambols are dangerous to the timid or unskilful. They are all easily and suddenly alarmed, when anything they do not understand forcibly catches their attention, and they are then to be feared by the bad horseman, and carefully guarded against by the good. Very serious accidents have happened to the best. But, besides their general disposition to playfulness, there is a great propensity in them to become what the jockeys call vicious. High bred, hot in blood, exercised, fed and dressed so as to bring that heat to perfection, their tender skins at all times subject to a sharp curry-comb, hard brushing, and when they take sweats, to scraping with wooden instruments, it cannot be but that they are frequently and exceedingly irritated. Intending to make themselves felt and feared, they will watch their opportunity to bite, stamp, or kick; I mean those among them that are vicious. Tom, the brother of Jack Clarke, after sweating a gray horse that belonged to Lord March, with whom he lived, while he was either scraping or dressing him, was seized by the animal by the shoulder, lifted from the ground, and carried two or three hundred yards before the horse loosened his hold. Old Forrester, a horse that belonged to Captain Vernon, all the while that I remained at Newmarket, was obliged to be kept apart, and being foundered, to live at grass, where he was confined to a close paddock. Except Tom Watson, he would suffer no lad to come near him; if in his paddock, he would run furiously at the first person that approached, and if in the stable, would kick and assault every one within his reach. Horses of this kind seem always to select their favourite boy. Tom Watson, indeed, had attained to man's estate, and in his brother's absence, which was rare, acted as superintendent. Horses, commonly speaking, are of a friendly and generous nature; but there are anecdotes of the malignant and savage ferocity of some, that are scarcely to be credited; at least many such are traditional at Newmarket.

Of their friendly disposition towards their keepers, there is a trait known to every boy that has the care of any one of them, which ought not to be omitted. The custom is to rise very early, even between two and three in the morning, when the days lengthen. In the course of the day, horses and boys have much to do. About half after eight, perhaps, in the evening, the horse has his last feed of oats, which he generally stands to enjoy in the centre of his smooth, carefully made bed of clean long straw, and by the side of him the weary boy will often lie down; it being held as a maxim, a rule without exception, that were he to lie even till morning, the horse would never lie down himself, but stand still, careful to do his keeper no harm.[225]

In one of Thomas Holcroft's novels, "Alwyn; or, The Gentleman Comedian," founded on his own adventures when a travelling actor, he gives the character of an enthusiast who had conceived the idea of establishing a humane asylum for animals, the consequences of which he describes. "I am pestered, plagued, teased, tormented to death. I believe all the cats in Christendom are assembled in Oxfordshire. I am obliged to hire a clerk to pay the people; and the village where I live is become a constant fair. A fellow has set up the sign of the Three Blind Kittens, and has the impudence to tell the neighbours, that if my whims and my money only hold out for one twelvemonth, he shall not care a fig for the king. I thought to prevent this inundation, by buying up all the old cats and secluding them in convents and monasteries of my own, but the value of the breeders is increased to such a degree, that I do not believe my whole fortune is capable of the purchase. Besides I am made an ass of. A rascal, who is a known sharper in these parts, hearing of the aversion I had to cruelty, bought an old one-eyed horse, that was going to the dogs, for five shillings; then taking a hammer in his hand, watched an opportunity of finding me alone, and addressed me in the following manner: 'Look you, master, I know that you don't love to see any dumb creature abused, and so, if you don't give me ten pounds, why, I shall scoop out this old rip's odd eye with the sharp end of this here hammer, now, before your face.' Ay, and the villain would have done it too, if I had not instantly complied; but what was worse, the abominable scoundrel had the audacity to tell me, when I wanted him to deliver the horse first, for fear he should extort a further sum from me, that he had more honour than to break his word. A whelp of a boy had yesterday caught a young hedgehog, and perceiving me, threw it into the water to make it extend its legs; then with the rough side of a knotty stick sawed upon them till the creature cried like a child; and when I ordered him to desist, told me he would not, till I had given him sixpence. There is something worse than all this. The avaricious rascals, when they can find nothing that they think will excite my pity, disable the first animal which is not dignified with the title of Christian, and then bring it to me as an object worthy of commiseration; so that, in fact, instead of protecting, I destroy. The women have entertained a notion that I hate two-legged animals; and one of them called after me the other day, to tell me I was an old rogue, and that I had better give my money to the poor, than keep a parcel of dogs and cats that eat up the village. I perceive it is in vain to attempt carrying on the scheme much longer, and then my poor invalids will be worse off than they were before."[226]

A JOKE OF LORD MANSFIELD'S ABOUT A HORSE.

Lord Campbell[227] tells an anecdote of George Wood, a celebrated special pleader at the time when Lord Mansfield was Chief-Justice. Though a subtle pleader, George was very ignorant of horse-flesh, and had been cruelly cheated in the purchase of a horse on which he had intended to ride the circuit. He brought an action on the warranty that the horse was "a good roadster, and free from vice." At the trial before Lord Mansfield, it appeared that when the plaintiff mounted at the stables in London, with the intention of proceeding to Barnet, nothing could induce the animal to move forward a single step. On hearing this evidence, the Chief-Justice with much gravity exclaimed, "Who would have supposed that Mr Wood's horse would have demurred when he ought to have gone to the country." Any attempt, adds Lord Campbell, to explain this excellent joke to lay gents would be vain, and to lawyers would be superfluous.

GENERAL SIR JOHN MOORE AND HIS HORSE AT THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA.

Charles Napier served in Lord William Bentinck's brigade during the retreat of the truly great and ill-used Moore at the battle of Corunna; he was covered with wounds, and was carried off a prisoner. In his "Biography" General Sir William Napier[228] has published a most interesting description of the part his brother took in that battle, and written in his own words. I extract a few vivid lines in which Moore and his horse are brought before you. A heavy French column was descending rapidly on the British line at the part where Napier was. "Suddenly I heard the gallop of horses, and turning saw Moore. He came at speed, and pulled up so sharp and close he seemed to have alighted from the air; man and horse looking at the approaching foe with an intenseness that seemed to concentrate all feeling in their eyes. The sudden stop of the animal, a cream-coloured one, with black tail and mane, had cast the latter streaming forward, its ears were pushed out like horns, while its eyes flashed fire, and it snorted loudly with expanded nostrils, expressing terror, astonishment, and muscular exertion. My first thought was, it will be away like the wind; but then I looked at the rider, and the horse was forgotten. Thrown on its haunches the animal came, sliding and dashing the dirt up with its fore-feet, thus bending the general forward almost to its neck; but his head was thrown back, and his look more keenly piercing than I ever before saw it. He glanced to the right and left, and then fixed his eyes intently on the enemy's advancing column, at the same time grasping the reins with both his hands, and pressing the horse firmly with his knees; his body thus seemed to deal with the animal, while his mind was intent on the enemy, and his aspect was one of searching intenseness, beyond the power of words to describe; for a while he looked, and then galloped to the left, without uttering a word."

NEITHER HORSES NOR CHILDREN CAN EXPLAIN THEIR COMPLAINTS.

Dr Mounsey, the Chelsea doctor, an eccentric physician, who was a great friend of David Garrick, related to Taylor that he was once in company with another physician and an eminent farrier. The physician stated that among the difficulties of his profession, was that of discovering the maladies of children, because they could not explain the symptoms of their disorder. "Well," said the farrier, "your difficulties are not greater than mine, for my patients, the horses, are equally unable to explain their complaints."—"Ah!" rejoined the physician, "my brother doctor must conquer me, as he has brought his cavalry against my infantry!"[229]

HORSES WITH NAMES.

In this country most horses have a name, but in Germany this custom must be unusual. Perthes, when on his way from Hamburg to Frankfort, remarked at Boehmte—"It is a pleasing custom they have here of giving proper names to horses. The horse is a noble and intelligent animal, and quite as deserving of such a distinction as the dog; and when it has a name, it has made some advance towards personality."[230]

"OLD JACK" OF WATERLOO BRIDGE.

In building Waterloo Bridge, the finest of Rennie's bridges, the whole of the stone required was hewn in some fields on the Surrey side. Nearly the whole of this material was drawn by one horse called "Old Jack," a most sensible animal. Mr Smiles, in his "Life of John Rennie,"[231] thus speaks of this favourite old horse—"His driver was, generally speaking, a steady and trustworthy man; though rather too fond of his dram before breakfast. As the railway along which the stone was drawn passed in front of the public-house door, the horse and truck were usually pulled up, while Tom entered for his 'morning.' On one occasion the driver stayed so long that 'Old Jack,' becoming impatient, poked his head into the open door, and taking his master's coat collar between his teeth, though in a gentle sort of manner, pulled him out from the midst of his companions, and thus forced him to resume the day's work."

SYDNEY SMITH AND HIS HORSES.

Sydney Smith, when rector of Foston-le-Clay, in Yorkshire, a living which he got from Lord Chancellor Erskine in 1806, was in the habit of riding a good deal. His daughter says that, "either from the badness of his horses, or the badness of his riding, or perhaps from both (in spite of his various ingenious contrivances to keep himself in the saddle), he had several falls, and kept us in continual anxiety."[232] He writes in a letter—"I used to think a fall from a horse dangerous, but much experience has convinced me to the contrary. I have had six falls in two years, and just behaved like the three per cents. when they fall. I got up again, and am not a bit the worse for it any more than the stock in question." In speaking of this he says, "I left off riding for the good of my parish and the peace of my family; for, somehow or other, my horse and I had a habit of parting company. On one occasion I found myself suddenly prostrate in the streets of York, much to the delight of the Dissenters. Another time my horse Calamity flung me over his head into a neighbouring parish, as if I had been a shuttlecock, and I felt grateful it was not into a neighbouring planet; but as no harm came of it, I might have persevered perhaps, if, on a certain day, a Quaker tailor from a neighbouring village to which I had said I was going to ride, had not taken it into his head to call, soon after my departure, and request to see Mrs Sydney. She instantly, conceiving I was thrown, if not killed, rushed down to the man, exclaiming, 'Where is he?—where is your master?—is he hurt?' The astonished and quaking snip stood silent from surprise. Still more agitated by his silence, she exclaimed, 'Is he hurt? I insist upon knowing the worst!'—'Why, please, ma'am, it is only thy little bill, a very small account, I wanted thee to settle,' replied he, in much surprise.

"After this, you may suppose, I sold my horse; however, it is some comfort to know that my friend, Sir George, is one fall ahead of me, and is certainly a worse rider. It is a great proof, too, of the liberality of this county, where everybody can ride as soon as they are born, that they tolerate me at all.

"The horse 'Calamity,' whose name has been thus introduced, was the first-born of several young horses bred on the farm, who turned out very fine creatures, and gained him great glory, even amongst the knowing farmers of Yorkshire; but this first production was certainly not encouraging. To his dismay a huge, lank, large-boned foal appeared, of chestnut colour, and with four white legs. It grew apace, but its bones became more and more conspicuous; its appetite was unbounded—grass, hay, corn, beans, food moist and dry, were all supplied in vain, and vanished down his throat with incredible rapidity. He stood, a large living skeleton, with famine written in his face, and my father christened him 'Calamity.' As Calamity grew to maturity, he was found to be as sluggish in disposition as his master was impetuous; so my father was driven to invent his patent Tantalus, which consisted of a small sieve of corn, suspended on a semicircular bar of iron, from the ends of the shafts, just beyond the horse's nose. The corn, rattling as the vehicle proceeded, stimulated Calamity to unwonted exertions; and under the hope of overtaking this imaginary feed, he did more work than all the previous provender which had been poured down his throat had been able to obtain from him."

He was very fond of his young horses, and they all came running to meet him when he entered the field. He began their education from their birth; he taught them to wear a girth, a bridle, a saddle; to meet flags, music; to bear the firing of a pistol at their heads from their earliest years; and he maintained that no horses were so well broken as his! At p. 388 she records, "At ten we always went down-stairs to prayers in the library. Immediately after, if we were alone, appeared the 'farmer' at the door, lantern in hand. 'David, bring me my coat and stick,' and off he set with him, summer and winter, to visit his horses, and see that they were all well fed, and comfortable in their regions for the night. He kept up this custom all his life!"

* * * * *

Sydney Smith, when at Foston, used to exercise his skill in medicine on the poor, and often did much good; his daughter gives some instances of his practice as a farrier.

"On one occasion, wishing to administer a ball to Peter the Cruel,[233] the groom, by mistake, gave him two boxes of opium pills in his bran mash, which Peter composedly munched, boxes and all. My father, in dismay, when he heard what had happened, went to look, as he thought, for the last time on his beloved Peter; but soon found, to his great relief, that neither boxes nor pills had produced any visible effects on him. Another time he found all his pigs intoxicated; and, as he declared, 'grunting "God save the King" about the stye,' from having eaten some fermented grains which he had ordered for them. Once he administered castor-oil to the red cow, in quantities sufficient to have killed a regiment of Christians; but the red cow laughed alike at his skill and his oil, and went on her way rejoicing."[234]

* * * * *

Sydney Smith tells a story, or made one, of a clergyman who was rather absent. "I heard of a clergyman who went jogging along the road till he came to a turnpike. 'What is to pay?'—'Pay, sir, for what?' asked the turnpike man.—'Why, for my horse, to be sure.'—'Your horse, sir? what horse? here is no horse, sir.'—'No horse? God bless me!' said he, suddenly, looking down between his legs, 'I thought I was on horseback.'"[235]

JUDGE STORY AND THE NAMES HE GAVE HIS HORSES.

The son and biographer of the eminent American judge, Joseph Story, relates of him[236]—"To dumb creatures he was kind and considerate, and indignant at any ill usage of them. His sportive nature showed itself in the nicknames which, in parody of the American fondness of titles, he gave to his horses and dogs, as, 'The Right Honourable Mr Mouse,' or 'Colonel Roy.'"

WORDSWORTH ON CRUELTY TO HORSES IN IRELAND.

The Rev. Caesar Otway,[237] in a lecture full of interesting anecdotes, records:—"I remember an observation made to me by one of the most gifted of the human race—one of the stars of this generation—the poet of nature and of feeling—the good and the great Mr Wordsworth. Having the honour of a conversation with him, after he had made a tour through Ireland, I, in the course of it, asked what was the thing that most struck his observation here, as making us differ from the English; and he, without hesitation, said it was the ill treatment of our horses; that his soul was often, too often, sick within him at the way in which he saw these creatures of God abused."

USE OF TAIL.—SHORT-TAILED AND LONG-TAILED HORSES.

In an Irish paper was an advertisement for horses to stand at livery on the following terms:—"Long-tailed horses at 3s. 6d. per week; short-tailed horses at 3s. per week." On inquiry into the cause of the difference, it was answered, that the horses with long tails could brush the flies off their backs while eating, whereas the short-tailed horses were obliged to take their heads from the manger, and so ate less.[238]

FOOTNOTES:

[215] "Journal of Horticultural Tour," p. 306.

[216] "Memorials of Angus and the Mearns," by Andrew Jervise (1861), p. 175.

[217] "History of the Life and Times of Edmund Burke," by Thomas Macknight, vol. i. p. 160.

[218] "Life of Sir Joshua Reynolds," &c., by James Northcote, Esq., R.A. (2d edition), vol. ii. p. 80.

[219] "Life and Times of Sir Joshua Reynolds," by C. R. Leslie and Tom Taylor, M.A., vol. ii. p. 219.

[220] "Lives of Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, and of Bernard Gilpin," by William Gilpin, M.A. (3d edition), 1780, p. 275.

[221] Loc. cit., p. 284.

[222] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 39.

[223] "The Lives of Robert Haldane of Airthrey, and of his Brother, James Alexander Haldane," by Alex. Haldane, Esq., of the Inner Temple (1852), p. 223.

[224] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 318.

[225] "Memoirs of Thomas Holcroft" (ed. 1852), pp. 40, 41.

[226] "Memoirs of the late Thomas Holcroft," written by himself (ed. London, 1852), p. 112.

[227] "Lives of the Chief-Justices of England" (Lord Ellenborough), vol. iii. p. 100.

[228] Vol i. pp. 94-115.

[229] "Physic and Physicians: a Medical Sketch-Book," vol. i. p. 59.

[230] "Memoirs of Frederick Perthes," vol. i. p. 309.

[231] "Lives of the Engineers," vol. ii. p. 185.

[232] "Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith," by his daughter, Lady Holland, vol. i. pp. 172-174.

[233] A horse which he called so.

[234] "Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith," by his daughter, Lady Holland, vol. i. p. 117.

[235] Mrs Marcet, in Lady Holland's Memoirs of her Father, the Rev. Sydney Smith, vol. i. p. 364.

[236] "Life and Letters of Joseph Story, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, and Dane Professor of Law at Harvard University," edited by his son, Wm. W. Story, vol. ii. p. 611.

[237] "The Intellectuality of Domestic Animals: a Lecture Delivered before the Royal Zoological Society of Ireland," p. 25. Dublin, 1847.

[238] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 263.



ASS AND ZEBRA.

It is strange that one of the most sagacious of animals should have supplied us with a by-word for "a fool." Coleridge was conscious of this when, in writing his address to a young ass's foal,[239] he exclaimed—

"I hail thee, brother, spite of the fool's scorn."

How well has he expressed his love for "the languid patience" of its face.

In warmer climes the ass attains a size and condition not seen here, though when cared for in this rougher climate, the donkey assumes somewhat of the size and elegance he has in the East. But who can bear his voice? Surely Coleridge was very fanciful when, in any condition of asshood, he could write—

"Yea, and more musically sweet to me Thy dissonant, harsh bray of joy would be, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast."

The wild ass, as it roams over the plains of Asia, or is seen in the Zoological gardens along with the gracefully-shaped and prettily-striped zebra, must be admired by every one.

COLLINS AND THE OLD DONKEY OF ODELL, COWPER'S MESSENGER AT OLNEY.

In July 1823, William Collins, R.A., visited Turvey, in Bedfordshire. His son remarks—"Besides the attractions presented to the pencil by the natural beauties of this neighbourhood, its vicinity to Olney, the favourite residence of the poet Cowper, gave it, to all lovers of poetry, a local and peculiar charm. Conspicuous among its inhabitants at the time when my father visited it was 'old Odell,' frequently mentioned by Cowper as the favourite messenger who carried his letters and parcels. The extreme picturesqueness and genuine rustic dignity of the old man's appearance made him an admirable subject for pictorial study. Portraits of him, in water-colours and oils, were accordingly made by my father, who introduced him into three of his pictures. The donkey on which he had for years ridden to and fro with letters, was as carefully depicted by the painter as his rider. On visiting 'old Odell' a year or two afterwards, Mr Collins observed a strange-looking object hanging against his kitchen wall, and inquired what it was. 'Oh, sir,' replied the old man, sorrowfully, 'that is the skin of my poor donkey. He died of old age, and I did not like to part with him altogether, so I had his skin dried, and hung up there.' Tears came into his eyes as he spoke of the old companion of all his village pilgrimages. The incident might have formed a continuation of Sterne's exquisite episode in the 'Sentimental Journey.'"[240]

In his picture of "The Cherry-Seller," painted for Mr Higgins of Turvey House, old Odell and his donkey are chief figures.

GAINSBOROUGH KEPT AN ASS.

The Rev. William Gilpin, in his "Forest Scenery," refers to the picturesque beauty of the ass in a landscape Berghem often introduced it; "and a late excellent landscape-painter (Mr Gainsborough), I have heard, generally kept this animal by him, that he might have it always at hand to introduce in various attitudes into his pictures. I have heard also that a plaster cast of an ass, modelled by him, is sold in the shops in London."[241]

IRISHMAN ON THE RAMSGATE DONKEYS.

In former times, when excise officers were not so sharp, there was a good deal of smuggling carried on at Ramsgate. Sir Thomas Dick Lauder[242] tells an anecdote of an Irishman there, who being asked to name the hardest wrought creature in existence, replied, "Och! a Ramsgate donkey, to be sure; for, faith, afthur carrying angels all day, be the powers he is forced to carry speerits all night."

ASS'S FOAL.

Douglas Jerrold and a company of literary friends were out in the country. In the course of their walk they stopped to notice the gambols of an ass's foal. A very sentimental poet present vowed that he should like to send the little thing as a present to his mother. "Do," replied Jerrold, "and tie a piece of paper round its neck, bearing this motto, 'When this you see, remember me.'"[243]

ASS.

A judge, joking a young barrister, said—"If you and I were turned into a horse and an ass, which would you prefer to be?"—"The ass, to be sure," replied the barrister. "I've heard of an ass being made a judge, but a horse never."[244]

Ammonianus, the grammarian, had an ass which, as it is said, when he attended the lectures upon poetry, often neglected his food when laid before him, though at the same time he was hungry, so much was the ass taken with the love of poetry.[245]

WARREN HASTINGS AND THE REFRACTORY DONKEY.

The fondness of the first Governor-General of India for horse exercise, and indeed for the horse itself, was quite oriental, as his biographer relates.[246] He was a fine rider, and piqued himself on his abilities in this way.

"Nothing pleased him," continues Mr Gleig, "more than to undertake some animal which nobody else could control, and to reduce it, as he invariably did, to a state of perfect docility. The following anecdote, which I have from my friend Mr Impey, himself an actor in the little drama, may suffice to show the extent to which this passion was carried. It happened once upon a time, when Mr Impey was, with some other boys, on a visit at Daylesford, that Mr Hastings, returning from a ride, saw his young friends striving in vain to manage an ass which they had found grazing in the paddock, and which one after another they chose to mount. The ass, it appears, had no objection to receive the candidates for equestrian renown successively on his back, but budge a foot he would not; and there being neither saddle nor bridle, wherewith to restrain his natural movements, he never failed, so soon as a difference of opinion arose, to get the better of his rider. Each in his turn, the boys were repeatedly thrown, till at last Mr Hastings, who watched the proceedings with great interest, approached.

"Why, boys," said he, "how is it that none of you can ride?"

"Not ride!" cried the little aspirants; "we could ride well enough, if we had a saddle and a bridle; but he's such an obstinate brute, that we don't think even you, sir, could sit him bare-backed."