THE DOG^*.

NEITHER majeſty and elegance of form, ſtrength of body, freedom of movement, nor other external qualities, conſtitute the principal dignity of animated beings. In man, [2] we prefer genius to figure, courage to ſtrength, and ſentiment to beauty; and, therefore, we are induced to think, that the chief excellence of an animal conſiſts alſo of internal qualities. By theſe he differs from an automation, riſes above the vegetable tribes, and approaches the human ſpecies. It is ſentiment which ennobles, go⯑verns, and gives activity to all his organs and propenſities. Hence the perfection of an ani⯑mal depends on ſentiment alone; and, in pro⯑portion to its extent, his faculties, reſources, and relations with the reſt of the univerſe, are aug⯑mented. When his ſentiment is delicate, and improved by education, he is then fit to aſſociate with man, to concur with his deſigns, to aid, to defend, and to careſs him. By a frequent per⯑formance of theſe ſervices, he conciliates the fa⯑vour of his maſter, and, from a tyrant, converts him into a friend and protector.

The dog, independent of the beauty of his figure, his ſtrength, vivacity, and nimbleneſs, poſſeſſes every internal excellence which can at⯑tract the regard of man. A paſſionate, and even a ferocious and ſanguinary temper, renders the wild dog formidable to all animals. But, in the [3] domeſtic dog, theſe hoſtile diſpoſitions vaniſh, and are ſucceeded by the ſofter ſentiments of attachment, and the deſire of pleaſing. He runs with chearfulneſs and alacrity to his maſter's foot, where he lays down his courage, his ſtrength, and his talents. He attends for or⯑ders, which he is always ſolicitous to execute. He conſults, he interrogates, he ſupplicates his maſter. A ſingle glance of the eye is ſufficient; for he knows the external ſigns of our inten⯑tions and wiſhes. Without being endowed, like man, with the faculty of thinking, his feelings are extremely delicate, and he has more fidelity and ſteadineſs in his affection. He is not cor⯑rupted by ambition, by intereſted views, or by a deſire of revenge; and he has no fear, but that of diſpleaſing. He is all zeal, ardour, and obe⯑dience. More apt to recal benefits than out⯑rages, he is not diſcouraged by blows or bad treatment, but calmly ſuffers, and ſoon forgets them; or he remembers them only to increaſe his attachment. Inſtead of flying, or diſcover⯑ing marks of reſentment, he expoſes himſelf to torture, and licks the hand from which he re⯑ceived the blow. To the cruelty of his maſter, [...] only oppoſes complaint, patience, and ſub⯑miſſion.

More tractable than man, and more plaint than any other animal, the dog is not only ſoon inſtructed, but even conforms himſelf to the manners, movements, and habits of thoſe who [4] govern him. He aſſumes the very tone of the family in which he lives. Like other ſervants, he is haughty with the great, and ruſtic with the peaſant. Always eager to obey and to pleaſe his maſter, or his friends, he pays no attention to ſtrangers, and furiouſly repels beggars, whom he diſtinguiſhes by their dreſs, their voice, and their geſtures. When the charge of a houſe or garden is committed to him during the night, his boldneſs increaſes, and he ſometimes becomes perfectly ferocious. He watches, goes the rounds, ſmells ſtrangers at a diſtance, and, if they ſtop, or attempt to leap any barrier, he inſtant⯑ly darts upon them, and, by barking, and other marks of paſſion, alarms the family and neigh⯑bourhood. Equally furious againſt thieves as againſt rapacious animals, he attacks and wounds them, and forces from them whatever they have been attempting to carry off: But, contented with victory, he lies down upon the ſpoil, and will not touch it even to ſatisfy his appetite, ex⯑hibiting, at the ſame time, an example of cou⯑rage, temperance, and fidelity.

To conceive the importance of this ſpecies in the order of Nature, let us ſuppoſe that it never exiſted. Without the aſſiſtance of the dog, how could man have conquered, tamed, and reduced the other animals into ſlavery? How could he ſtill diſcover, hunt down, and deſtroy noxious and ſavage beaſts? For his own ſafety, and to render him maſter of the animated world, it was [5] neceſſary to form a party among the animals themſelves, to conciliate by careſſes thoſe which were capable of attachment and obedience, in order to oppoſe them to the other ſpecies. Hence the training of the dog ſeems to have been the firſt art invented by man; and the reſult of this art was the conqueſt and peaceable poſſeſſion of the earth.

Moſt animals are ſuperior to man in agility, ſwiftneſs, ſtrength, and even in courage: Na⯑ture has fortified and armed them better. Their ſenſes, and particularly that of ſmelling, are like⯑wiſe more perfect. To have brought over to our intereſt a bold and tractable ſpecies, like that of the dog, was to acquire new ſenſes and fa⯑culties. The machines and inſtruments we have invented to improve, or to extend our other ſenſes, are not nearly ſo uſeful as thoſe preſented to us ready made by Nature, which, by ſupply⯑ing the defects of our ſmelling, have furniſhed us with great and permanent reſources for con⯑queſt and dominion. The dog, ever faithful to man, will always maintain a portion of this em⯑pire; he will always preſerve a degree of ſupe⯑riority above the other animals. He reigns at the head of a flock, and is better heard than the voice of the ſhepherd. Safety, order, and diſ⯑cipline, are the fruits of his vigilance and acti⯑vity. Sheep and cattle are a people ſubjected to his management, whom he prudently conducts and protects, and never employs force againſt [6] them, but for the preſervation of peace and good order.

But in war againſt his enemies, or wild ani⯑mals, he makes a full diſplay of his courage and intelligence. Here his natural and acquired ta⯑lents are united. As ſoon as the din of arms is heard, as ſoon as the horn, or the voice of the hunter, gives the alarm, the dog, ſparkling with redoubled ardour, demonſtrates his joy by the moſt lively emotions: He announces, by his movements and cries, his impatience for the combat, and his paſſion for victory. Sometimes he moves ſilently along, reconnoitres the ground, and endeavours to diſcover and ſurpriſe the e⯑nemy. At other times, he traces the animal's ſteps, and, by different accents, indicates the di⯑ſtance, the ſpecies, and even the age of the fu⯑gitive. Puſhed, intimidated, and deſpairing of ſafety from flight alone, the poor animal like⯑wiſe exerts its faculties, and oppoſes craftineſs to ſagacity^*. The reſources of inſtinct are now worthy of admiration. To make him loſe the ſcent, the creature doubles, returns on its former ſteps, bounds, and wiſhes to detach itſelf from the earth; at one leap it often clears a highway, or a hedge, and ſwims over brooks and rivers. But, always purſued, and being unable to conceal or annihilate its body, the animal endeavours to ſtart another of leſs experience, and, after run⯑ning together till the former imagines that the [7] two ſcents or traces are confounded, it then ſuddenly ſeparates, in order to let the other fall a victim to the deceived enemy.

But the dog, by the ſuperiority he has acqui⯑red from habit and education, and from the pe⯑culiar fineneſs of his ſenſations, loſes not the ob⯑ject of his purſuit. By the acuteneſs of his ſcent, he unravels all the windings of the labyrinth, all the falſe routs which were intended to de⯑ceive him; and, inſtead of abandoning the ene⯑my for an indifferent animal, he redoubles his ardour, he overtakes, attacks, ſlays, and extin⯑guiſhes his thirſt and his rage in the blood of the victim.

The propenſity to hunting, or to war, is e⯑qually ſtrong in man as in other animals. The whole knowledge of the Savage is confined to fighting and hunting. All carnivorous animals, which have weapons and ſtrength, hunt natu⯑rally. The lion and the tiger, whoſe ſtrength is ſo great as to inſure them of victory, hunt a⯑lone, and without artifice. Wolves, foxes, and wild dogs, hunt in packs, aſſiſt each other with much art, and mutually ſhare in the prey. When the natural talents of the dog have been impro⯑ved by education, when he has learned to re⯑preſs his ardour, and to regulate his movements, he then hunts artificially, and is always certain of ſucceſs.

In deſert and depopulated countries, there are wild dogs, which, in their manners, differ not from [8] wolves, excepting by the facility with which they may be tamed. They unite in troops, and attack wild boars, and bulls, and even lions and tigers. The wild dogs of America are of the domeſtic race, and were tranſported thither from Europe. Some of them have been abandoned in theſe deſerts, where they have multiplied ſo prodigiouſly, that they ſpread over the inhabited countries in great packs, and attack the domeſtic cattle, and even inſult the natives, who are ob⯑liged to diſperſe and kill them, like other fero⯑cious animals. Wild dogs, though they have no knowledge of man, when approached with gentleneſs, ſoon ſoften, become familiar, and remain faithfully attached to their maſters. But the wolf, though taken young, and brought up in the houſe, is only gentle when a mere cub, never loſes his taſte for prey, and ſooner or later indulges his inclination for rapine and deſtruc⯑tion.

The dog may be ſaid to be the only animal whoſe fidelity is unſhaken; who always knows his maſter, and the friends of the family; who diſtinguiſhes a ſtranger as ſoon as he arrives; who underſtands his own name, and the voices of the domeſtics; who confides not in himſelf; who calls on his loſt maſter by cries and lamen⯑tation; who, in long journeys, which he has travelled but once, remembers and finds out the roads: In fine, the dog is the only animal whoſe [9] natural talents are conſpicuous, and whoſe edu⯑cation is always ſucceſsful.

Of all animals, the dog is alſo moſt ſuſcep⯑tible of impreſſions, moſt eaſily modified by moral cauſes, and moſt ſubject to alterations oc⯑caſioned by phyſical influence. His tempera⯑ment, faculties, and habits, very prodigiouſly; and even the figure of his body is by no means conſtant. In the ſame country, one dog differs greatly from another; and, in different climates, the very ſpecies ſeems to be changed. From theſe cauſes, the number and mixture of races are ſo great, that it is almoſt impoſſible to re⯑cogniſe or enumerate them. To the ſame cauſes muſt be attributed thoſe remarkable varieties in ſize, figure, length of muzzle, form of the head, length and direction of the ears and tail, colour, quantity of hair, &c. In a word, nothing ſeems to be permanent in theſe animals but their in⯑ternal organization, and the faculty of procrea⯑ting together. As thoſe which differ moſt from each other are capable of intermixing and of producing fertile individuals, it is evident, that all dogs, however diverſified, conſtitute but one ſpecies.

In this numerous variety of races, it is diffi⯑cult to inveſtigate the character of the primitive ſtock from which they have all ſprung. How ſhall the effects produced by the influence of climate, food, &c. be diſtinguiſhed? How ſhall we perceive the changes introduced by the [10] mixture of different races when in a wild, or in a domeſtic ſtate? In the progreſs of time, all theſe cauſes alter the moſt permanent forms; and the original ſtamp of Nature never preſerves its purity in beings which have been long under the management of man. This original im⯑preſſion is beſt preſerved in thoſe animals that have the independent choice both of their cli⯑mate and food, the moſt antient of which are ſtill faithfully repreſented by their deſcendants. But thoſe which man has ſubdued, tranſported from climate to climate, and changed their food, their habits, and manner of living, muſt neceſ⯑ſarily have ſuffered the greateſt alterations in their form; and, it is a well known fact, that there are more varieties among the domeſtic than the wild animals: And, of all domeſtic animals, as the dog is moſt cloſely attached to man, lives as irregularly, and is endowed with diſpoſitions which render him docile, obedient, ſuſceptible of every impreſſion, and ſubmiſſive to every reſtraint, it is not ſurpriſing that he ſhould likewiſe exhibit the greateſt variety in figure, ſize, colour, and other qualities.

But other cauſes concur in producing theſe changes. The life of the dog is ſhort; his pro⯑lific powers are great; and, as he is perpetually under the eye of man, whenever by any acci⯑dent, which is not uncommon in Nature, ſome individuals, marked with ſingular characters, ap⯑peared, they would be perpetuated by prevent⯑ing [11] their intermixture with any other kinds, as is done at preſent when we want to procure new races of dogs, or of other animals. Be⯑ſides, though every ſpecies were equally antient, the number of generations, from the creation, being greater in thoſe whoſe lives are ſhort, their varieties, alterations, and even degenera⯑tion, muſt become more conſpicuous; becauſe they are farther removed from the original ſtock than thoſe which live longer. Man is at pre⯑ſent eight times nearer Adam, than the dog to his firſt parent; becauſe man lives eighty years, and the dog only ten. If, therefore, by any cauſe, theſe two ſpecies had an equal tendency to degenerate, the alteration would be ten times more ſtrongly marked in the dog than in man.

Thoſe ſmall animals whoſe lives are ſo ſhort, that they are ſucceeded every year by a new generation, are infinitely more ſubject to varia⯑tions of every kind than thoſe which live longer. The ſame remark is applicable to annual plants; ſome of which may be conſidered as of an arti⯑ficial or factitious nature. Wheat, for example, has been ſo greatly altered by man, that it is now no where to be found in a natural ſtate. It has a ſimilarity to darnel, dog's-graſs, and ſeveral other graſſes; but ſtill we know not to which of theſe plants it ought to be referred: And, as it is annually renewed, is uſed as the common food of man, and more cultivated than any other vegetable, its nature, of courſe, has [12] undergone the greateſt alterations. Hence man is able, not only to make every individual in the univerſe anſwer his own ends, but, with the aſ⯑ſiſtance of time, he can change, modify, and improve their ſpecies. This is the chief power he poſſeſſes over Nature. To have transformed a barren herb into wheat, is a kind of creation, of which, however, we have no reaſon to boaſt, ſince it is only by the ſweet of our brows, and reiterated culture, that we are able to extract from the earth a ſcanty, and often a bitter ſub⯑ſiſtance.

Hence, both in the animal and vegetable king⯑doms, the ſpecies which have received the high⯑eſt culture from man, have undergone the great⯑eſt changes from their original condition: And, as we are often unable to recogniſe their primi⯑tive form, as in the example of wheat and other grain, it is not impoſſible, that, among the nu⯑merous varieties of dogs which at preſent ſubſiſt, not one of them ſhould reſemble the firſt ani⯑mal of the ſpecies that virtually gave birth to the whole.

Nature, however, when not reſtrained, never fails to reſume her rights. Wheat, when ſown on uncultivated ground, degenerates the very firſt year; and, if ſown for a ſucceſſion of ages upon the ſame ground, this degeneration would gradually proceed till the plant acquired its ori⯑ginal from. By an experiment of this kind, the time required by Nature for deſtroying the [13] effects of art, and reſuming her priſtine ſtate, might be diſcovered. This experiment might be eaſily performed on plants: But, in animals, there is little hope of its ſucceſs; becauſe it is difficult to manage them with ſufficient dexte⯑rity, or to overcome their invincible repugnance againſt every thing that reſtrains or counteracts their natural or acquired habits. We cannot, therefore, expect to learn, by this method, the primitive race of dogs, or of other animals which are ſubjected to permanent varieties. But, to ſupply the place of facts which cannot be a⯑ſcertained, we may collect particular marks, and from theſe draw probable conjectures.

The domeſtic dogs which were abandoned in the deſerts of America, and have lived in a wild ſtate during 150 or 200 years, though original⯑ly derived from altered races, muſt, during ſo long a courſe of time, have made greater or ſmaller approaches toward their primitive form. Travellers, however, inform us, that they re⯑ſemble our grey-hounds^*. They make the ſame remark with regard to the wild dogs of Congo^†, which, like thoſe of America, make war in packs againſt tigers, lions, &c. But o⯑thers, without comparing the wild dogs of St Domingo to grey-hounds, only obſerve, that they have generally a long flat head, a ſlender [14] muzzle, a ferocious air, and meagre bodies; that they are exceedingly ſwift in the chace, hunt in the moſt perfect manner, and eaſily tame, when taken young^*. Thus theſe wild dogs are very meagre and fleet; and, as the common grey-hounds differs little, in other reſpects, from the Iriſh grey-hound, or from the ſhepherd's dog, it is probable that thoſe wild dogs rather belong to this kind than to the true grey-hound race; for, on the other hand, the more antient travel⯑lers tell us, that the native dogs of Canada had erect ears, like the fox, and reſembled our vil⯑lage or ſhepherd's dog^†; that thoſe belonging to the ſavages of the Antilles had very long heads and ears, and approached to the figure of foxes^‡; that the Indians of Peru had only a large and a ſmall kind, which they called Alco ^‖; and that thoſe of the Iſthmus of America were very ugly, and had long, coarſe hair, which likewiſe implies erect ears^§. Hence it is appa⯑rent, that the original dogs of America, before they had any communication with thoſe of Eu⯑rope, were all of one race, and that they ap⯑proached moſt to the dogs with ſlender muzzles, erect ears, and coarſe hair, like the ſhepherd's [15] dog: And I am ſtill farther convinced that the wild dogs of St Domingo are not genuine grey⯑hounds, becauſe the latter is ſo rare in France, that they are brought, for the uſe of the King, from Conſtantinople and other parts of the Le⯑vant, and becauſe I never knew of any grey⯑hounds being tranſported to France from St Do⯑mingo, or any of our American colonies. Beſides, by conſulting what travellers have ſaid concer⯑ning the dogs of different countries, we find that all the dogs of cold climates have long muzzles and erect ears; that thoſe of Lapland are ſmall, and have long hair, erect ears, and ſharp muz⯑zles^*; that the Siberian dogs^†, and thoſe called wolf-dogs, are larger than the Lapland kind; but their ears are ſtill erect, their hair coarſe, and their muzzle ſharp; that thoſe of Iceland^‡ are nearly ſimilar to the Siberian dog; and, in the ſame manner, that the native dogs of the Cape of Good Hope^‖, and other warm climates, have pointed muzzles, erect ears, long trailing tails, and clear, but long, rough hair; that thoſe dogs are excellent for guarding flocks, and, of courſe, that they reſemble the ſhepherd's dog, not only in figure, but in inſtinct; that, in ſtill warmer climates, as at Madagaſcar^§, Madura^*, [16] Calicut^*, and Malabar^†, the native dogs have all long muzzles, erect ears, and have ſuch a re⯑ſemblance to the ſhepherd's dog, that, when I⯑riſh grey-hounds, ſpaniels, water-dogs, bull-dogs, blood-hounds, grey-hounds, &c. were tranſported thither, they degenerated at the ſe⯑cond or third generation; laſtly, that, in exceſ⯑ſive warm countries, as in Guiney^‡, this dege⯑neration is ſtill quicker; for, in three or four years, they loſe their voice, bark no more, but make a diſmal kind of howling noiſe; and their progeny have erect ears, like the fox. The na⯑tive dogs of thoſe countries are ugly animals, with ſharp muzzles, long erect ears, and long pointed tails. There is no hair on their bo⯑dies; their ſkin is commonly ſpotted, but ſome⯑times of a uniform colour: In a word, they are diſagreeable to the eye, and ſtill more ſo to the touch.

We may, therefore, ſuppoſe, with ſome de⯑gree of probability, that the ſhepherd's dog ap⯑proaches nearer to the primitive race than any of the other kinds; for in every country inha⯑bited by ſavage or by half civilized men, the native dogs reſemble this race more than any other. Beſides, in the whole of the New Con⯑tinent, there was no other variety; neither is there any other at the ſouth and north extre⯑mities [17] of our own continent; and in France, and other temperate climates, they are very nu⯑merous, though greater attention has been paid to the rearing of other more beautiful kinds, than to the preſervation of this race, which has no recommendation but its utility, and for that reaſon has been abandoned to the care of the ſheep-farmers. If it be farther conſidered, that this dog, notwithſtanding his uglineſs, and his wild and melancholy aſpect, is ſuperior in in⯑ſtinct to all others; that he has a decided cha⯑racter, independent of education; that he a⯑lone is born fully trained; that, guided ſole⯑ly by natural powers, he applies himſelf ſpon⯑taneouſly to the keeping of flocks, which he executes with amazing fidelity, vigilance, and aſſiduity; that he conducts them with an admi⯑rable and uncommunicated intelligence; that his talents, at the ſame time aſtoniſh and give re⯑poſe to his maſter, while other dogs require the moſt laborious inſtruction to train them to the purpoſes for which they are deſtined; we will be confirmed in the opinion, that the ſhepherd's dog is the true dog of Nature; that he has been preferably beſtowed on us for the extent of his utility; that he has a ſuperior relation to the general order of animated beings, who mutually depend on each other; and, laſtly, that he ought to be regarded as the origin and model of the whole ſpecies.

In the frozen regions of the north, the human ſpecies is deformed, ruſtic, and diminutive. Lap⯑land, [18] Greenland, and all countries where the cold is exceſſive, produce only dwarfiſh and ugly men. But, in the neighbouring and leſs rigo⯑rous regions of Finland, Denmark, &c. the moſt beautiful race ſudenly appears; for, in figure, colour, and ſtature, they are perhaps the hand⯑ſomeſt of the human kind. The ſame phaeno⯑menon is exhibited in the dog-ſpecies. The Lapland dogs are very ugly, and ſo ſmall, that they exceed not a foot in length^*. Thoſe of Siberia, though leſs ugly, have erect ears, and a ſavage aſpect: But, in the neighbouring climate, where we meet with the handſome men already mentioned^†, we find alſo the moſt beautiful and largeſt dogs. The dogs of Tartary, of Albania, of the north of Greece, of Denmar, and of Ire⯑land, are the largeſt and ſtrongeſt of the ſpecies, and are uſed for drawing carriages. The Iriſh grey-hounds are of a very antient race, and ſtill exiſt, though their number is ſmall, in their ori⯑ginal climate. They were called by the antients dogs of Epirus, and Albanian dogs. Pliny has recorded, in moſt elegant and energetic terms, a combat between one of theſe dogs, firſt with a lion, and then with an elephant^‡. They are [19] much larger than the maſtiff. In France, they are ſo rare, that I never ſaw above one of them, which appeared, when ſitting, to be about five feet high, and reſembled in figure the Daniſh dog^*; but greatly exceeded him in ſtature. He was totally white, and of a mild and peaceable diſpoſition. We find, then, in all the temperate climates, as in Britain, France, Germany, Spain, and Italy, men and dogs of all races. This va⯑riety proceeds partly from the influence of cli⯑mate, and partly from the great concourſe and intermixture of foreigners. With regard to dogs, I ſhall mark, with all poſſible attention, the ſimilarities and diſcrepancies which ſhelter, care, food, and climate, have produced among theſe animals.

The Daniſh dog^†, the Iriſh grey-hound^‡, and the common grey-hound^‖, though they appear to be different, are only the ſame dog. The Daniſh dog is but a more corpulent Iriſh [20] grey-hound; and the common grey-hound is the Iriſh grey-hound rendered thinner and more delicate by culture; for theſe three dogs, though perfectly diſtinguiſhable at firſt ſight, differ not more from each other than a Dutchman, a Frenchman, and an Italian. If we ſuppoſe the Iriſh grey-hound to have been a native of France, he would have produced the Daniſh dog in a colder climate, and the common grey-hound in a warmer one: And this conjecture is even ve⯑rified by experience; for the Daniſh dogs come to us from the north, and the grey-hounds from Conſtantinople and the Levant. The ſhepherd's dog^*, the Pomeranian or wolf-dog^†, the Sibe⯑rian dog^‡, to which may be joined the Lapland dog, the Canadian dog, the Hottentot dog, and all thoſe which have erect ears, conſtitute but one kind. They differ from the ſhepherd's dog only in ſtature, in being more or leſs groſs, or in the length, coarſeneſs, or buſhineſs of their hair. The hound^‖, the harrier^§, the turnſpit^**, the water-dog^††, and even the ſpaniel^‡‡, may be regarded as one dog. Their figure and in⯑ſtincts are nearly the ſame; and they differ only in the length of their legs, and the ſize of their ears, which, however, in all of them are long, ſoft, and pendulous. Theſe dogs are natives of France; and I am uncertain whether the Dalma⯑tian [21] dog^*, or, as it is called, the harrier of Ben⯑gal, ought to be disjoined from them; for it differs from our harrier only in colour. I am convinced that this dog is not an original native of Bengal, or of any other part of India, and that it is not, as has been pretended, the Indian dog mentioned by the antients, and ſaid to have been produced between a dog and a tiger; for it has been known in Italy above 170 years ago, and not conſidered as a dog brought from India, but as a common harrier: 'Canis ſagax, vulgo brachus,' ſays Aldrovandus, 'an unius vel varii coloris ſit, parum refert; in Italia eligitur varius et maculoſae lynci perſi⯑milis; cum tamen niger color, vel albus, aut fulvus, non ſit ſpernendus^†.'

Britain, France, Germany, &c. appear to have given birth to the hound, the harrier, and the turnſpit: When tranſported into climates a little warmer, as Turkey or Perſia, theſe dogs dege⯑nerate. But the ſpaniels and water-dogs are natives of Spain and Barbary, where the tem⯑perature of the climate renders the hair of all animals longer and finer than in any other coun⯑try. The bull-dog^‡, what is improperly called the ſmall Daniſh dog, for it has no other reſem⯑blance [22] to the Daniſh dog^* than the ſhortneſs of its hair, the naked or Turkiſh dog^†, and the Iceland dog^‡, conſtitute but one race, which, being tranſported from cold countries, where the fur is always ſtrong, into the warmer climates of Africa and India, have loſt their hair; for the naked dog is improperly called the Turkiſh dog: It is not in the temperate climate of Tur⯑key that dogs loſe their hair, but in Guiney, and the warm regions of India. The Turkiſh dog is nothing but the ſmall Daniſh dog, which has firſt been tranſported to a very warm climate, where it caſt its hair, and then afterwards brought to Turkey, and propagated carefully on account of its ſingularity. The firſt of them, ſays Aldrovandus, which appeared in Europe, were brought into Italy in his own time, where they could not be propagated, becauſe the cli⯑mate was too cold for them. But, as he gives no deſcription of theſe naked dogs, we know not whether they were ſimilar to what is now called the Turkiſh, nor, conſequently, whether they can be referred to the ſmall Daniſh dog; becauſe dogs of every kind loſe their hair in very warm climates^‖; and, as formerly remarked, they alſo loſe their voice. In ſome countries, they are perfectly mute; in others, they loſe only the faculty of barking, but howl like wolves, [23] or yelp like foxes. This change ſeems to make them approach to their natural ſtate; for both their figure and inſtincts are altered: They aſ⯑ſume an ugly aſpect, and their ears become erect and pointed^*. It is only in temperate climates that dogs preſerve their ardour, courage, ſagacity, and other talents. They loſe every thing, when tranſported to very hot countries. But, as if Na⯑ture never made any being perfectly uſeleſs, in climates where dogs cannot ſerve the purpoſes for which we employ them, they are in great requeſt for the table, and their fleſh is preferred by the Negroes to that of all other animals. They ſell dogs in the market as dear as mutton, veniſon, or game of any kind, a roaſted dog being the moſt luxurious feaſt to a Negro. Perhaps this remarkable appetite for dogs fleſh is owing to a change produced in its quality by the heat of the country; for, in our climates, it is extremely diſagreeable. But I am inclined to think that this appetite depends more on the nature of man than that of the dog; for the ſavages of Canada, who inhabit a cold country, are equally fond of dogs fleſh with the Negroes; and our miſſionaries ſometimes eat of it without diſguſt. P. Sabard Theodat remarks, 'that dogs are uſed, as we [24] uſe mutton, at feaſts. I have ſeveral times been preſent at theſe dog-feaſts, which at firſt ſtruck me with a degree of horror; but, after taſting it twice, I found that the fleſh was good, and had a flavour ſomewhat reſembling that of pork^*.'

In our climates, the wolf and fox make the neareſt approach to the dog, particularly to the ſhepherd's dog, which I conſider as the original ſtock of the ſpecies: And, as their internal ſtructure is almoſt entirely the ſame, and their external differences very ſlight, I wiſhed to try if they would intermix and pro⯑duce together. I hoped, at leaſt, to make them copulate; and, if they produced not fertile in⯑dividuals, I expected to procure mules which would participate of the nature of both animals. With this view, I reared a ſhe-wolf, taken in the woods at the age of three months, along with an Iriſh grey-hound of the ſame age. They were ſhut up together in a pretty large court, to which no other beaſt could have acceſs, and where they were provided with a ſhelter for their retirement. They were equally ſtrangers to any individual of their own ſpecies, and knew no perſon but the man who gave them their victuals. They were kept in this ſtate three years, without the ſmalleſt reſtraint. During the firſt year, they played perpetually, and ſeem⯑ed to be extremely fond of each other. The [25] ſecond year they began to quarrel about their food, though they were ſupplied in a plentiful manner. The wolf always began the diſpute. When meat and bones were given them on a large wooden diſh, the wolf, inſtead of ſeizing the meat, inſtantly drove off the dog, then laid hold of the edge of the plate ſo dexterouſly as to allow nothing to fall, and carried off the whole. I have ſeen her run, in this manner, with the diſh in her teeth, five or ſix times round the wall, and never ſet it down, unleſs to take breath, to devour the meat, or to attack the dog, when he approached. The dog was ſtronger than the wolf: But, as he was leſs ferocious, we began to be apprehenſive for his life, and therefore furniſhed him with a collar. After the ſecond year, theſe quarrels and combats became more frequent, and more ſerious, and a collar was alſo given to the wolf, whom the dog now handled more roughly than before.

During theſe two years, not the ſmalleſt ſymp⯑tom of deſire appeared either in the one or the other. At the end of the third year, they began to feel all the ardour of paſſion; but diſ⯑covered no marks of love. This condition, in⯑ſtead of ſoftening and making them approach each other, rendered them more untractable and ferocious. Nothing now was heard but diſmal howlings, and cries of reſentment. In three weeks they were both very meagre; but never approached but to tear each other. At laſt they [26] fought ſo cruelly that the dog killed the wolf. The dog was ſhot ſome days after, becauſe, as ſoon as he was ſet at liberty, he ſprung with fury upon poultry, dogs, and even men.

I had, at the ſame time, three young foxes, two males and a female, which were taken with nets, and kept in ſeparate apartments. One of them was ſecured by a long, light chain, and a hut was built for ſheltering him. I kept him ſeveral months; and, though he had a melan⯑choly air, and kept his eyes fixed upon the fields, of which he had a view from his hut, yet both his health and appetite were good. A bitch in ſeaſon was preſented to him; but, as ſhe would not remain near the fox, ſhe was chained in the ſame place, and both were amply provided with victuals. The fox neither bit nor maletreated her. During ten days that they lived together, there was not the ſmalleſt quarrel, neither night nor day, nor during the time of feeding. The fox even approached her pretty familiarly; but, as ſoon as he had ſcented her too near, the mark of deſire diſappeared, he mournfully return⯑ed to his hut, and no commixture took place. When the ardour of this bitch was gone, another, and afterwards a third, and a fourth, were ſuc⯑ceſſively preſented to him. He treated them with the ſame gentleneſs, and the ſame indif⯑ference. To aſcertain whether this indifference was owing to a natural repugnance, or to a ſtate of reſtraint, he was furniſhed with a female of [27] his own ſpecies, which he covered more than once the firſt day. The female was diſſected ſome weeks after, and four foetus's were found in the uterus. The male fox was then let looſe in a cloſe court, and ſucceſſively furniſhed with ſeveral bitches in ſeaſon: He diſcovered neither hatred nor love to them; and he died of chagrin and melancholy a few months afterwards.

From theſe experiments we learn, that the wolf and fox are very different in their natures from the dog; that their ſpecies are ſo diſtinct and remote from each other, as to prevent their commixture, at leaſt in our climates; that, con⯑ſequently, the dog derives not his origin from the wolf or the fox; and that the nomencla⯑tors^*, who regard theſe two animals as wild dogs, or who imagine the dog to be a wolf or a fox become domeſtic, and give the whole three the common name of Dog, have deceived themſelves by not ſufficiently ſtudying Nature^†. [28] In warm climates, there is a ferocious animal which differs leſs from the dog than the wolf or fox: This animal, called the Jackal, has been well deſcribed by travellers. They are very numerous in Aſia, and Africa, in the neigh⯑bourhood of Trebiſond^*, round Mount Cauca⯑ſus, in Mingrelia^†, Natolia^‡, Hyrcania^‖, Per⯑ſia, India, Guiney, and at Surat^§, Goa, Guza⯑rat, Bengal, Congo^**, and ſeveral other places. Though this animal is conſidered by the natives as a wild dog, yet, as it is doubtful whether they intermix and produce together, we ſhall treat of the jackal, the wolf, and the dog, as ſeparate and diſtinct ſpecies.

I pretend not abſolutely to affirm, that the jackal, or even the wolf and fox, in no age or country, never intermixed with dogs. The contrary is aſſerted poſitively by the antients. Ariſtotle^†† remarks, that, though animals of different ſpecies intermingle ſeldom; yet it cer⯑tainly happens among dogs, foxes, and wolves: He adds, that the Indian dogs proceed from an⯑other ſimilar wild beaſt and the dog. This wild beaſt, to which he gives no name, is probably [29] the jackal. But he obſerves, in another place^†, that the Indian dogs proceed from a commix⯑ture between the tiger and the bitch. This no⯑tion is extremely improbable; beeauſe the tiger, both in his form and diſpoſitions, differs much more from the dog than the wolf, the fox, or the jackal. Ariſtotle indeed appears to violate his own argument; for, after telling us, that the Indian dogs proceeded from a wild beaſt ſi⯑milar to the wolf or fox, he ſays afterwards, that they proceed from the tiger, without men⯑tioning whether this conjunction was made be⯑tween the tiger and bitch, or between the dog and tigreſs: He only adds, that the affair did not ſucceed till the third trial; that the firſt lit⯑ter conſiſted ſolely of tigers; that dogs were chained in the deſerts, and, unleſs the tiger was in ſeaſon, they were often devoured; that the great heat, and ſcarcity of water, made the pro⯑duction of monſters and prodigies very frequent in Africa, becauſe numbers of animals were o⯑bliged to aſſemble in the ſame place in order to drink, where they often grew familiar and cou⯑pled together. All this ſeems to be not only conjectural and uncertain, but ſuſpicious, and unworthy of credit; for, the more narrowly we examine the nature of animals, we perceive that inſtinct is the moſt certain criterion for judging of them. By the moſt attentive inſpection of their internal parts, we diſcovér only ſlight dif⯑ferences. [30] The horſe and aſs, though perfectly ſimilar in their internal ſtructure, are very dif⯑ferent in their natures. The internal parts of the bull, the ram, and the he-goat, are exactly the ſame; yet they conſtitute three ſpecies more remote from each other than the aſs and horſe: The ſame remark is applicable to the dog; the fox, and the wolf. We derive more light from inſpecting the external form. But as, in ſpecies which are not remote, there are, even external⯑ly, more reſemblances than diſcrepancies, this inſpection is not ſufficient to determine whether they belong to the ſame or to different ſpecies. In a word, when the ſhades are ſtill lighter, they muſt be combined with the information derived from inſtinct. It is from the diſpoſitions of animals that we ought to judge of their na⯑tures: If we ſuppoſe two animals perfectly ſi⯑milar in form, but very different in their diſpo⯑ſitions, they would neither join nor produce to⯑gether, but conſtitute two diſtinct ſpecies.

This mode of judging concerning the diffe⯑rences of neighbouring ſpecies, is the only one that can be employed when we want to diſtin⯑guiſh the numerous varieties which take place in the ſame ſpecies. We know thirty fixed va⯑rieties of dogs, though we certainly are not ac⯑quainted with the whole. Of theſe thirty va⯑rieties, there are ſeventeen which ought to be a⯑ſcribed to the influence of climate, namely, the ſhepherd's dog, the Pomeranian dog, the Sibe⯑rian [31] dog, the Iceland dog, the Lapland dog, the Iriſh grey-hound, the common grey-hound, the maſtiff, the great Daniſh dog, the hound, the har⯑rier, the terrier, the ſpaniel, the water dog, the ſmall Daniſh dog, the Turkiſh dog, and the bull-dog. The other thirteen, which are the mongrel Turkiſh dog, the grey-hound with hair like an wolf, the ſhock-dog, or lap-dog, the baſtard pug-dog, the pug-dog, the Calabrian, Burgos, and Alicant dogs, the lion-dog, the ſmall water dog, the dog of Artois, and the King Charles's dog, are nothing but mongrels produced by the commixture of the above ſeven⯑teen races; and, by tracing each of theſe mon⯑grels back to the two races from which they ſprung, their natures will then be ſufficiently a⯑ſcertained. But, if we want to know the rela⯑tions which ſubſiſt between the firſt ſeventeen races, we muſt attend to their inſtincts, their figure, and many other circumſtances. I have put into one group the ſhepherd's dog, the Po⯑meranian dog, the Siberian dog, the Lapland and Iceland dogs, becauſe a ſtronger reſemblance takes place between them than between any of the other kinds, and becauſe all of them have ſharp muzzles like the fox, erect ears, and an inſtinct which induces them to follow and pro⯑tect flocks. The grey-hound, the large Daniſh dog, and the Iriſh grey-hound have, beſide their ſimilarity in figure and length of muzzle, the ſame diſpoſitions: They are found of running, and of following horſes and carriages. They [32] have little ſcent, and hunt rather by the eye than the noſe. The hounds, the harriers, the ſpaniels, the terriers, and the water-dogs, are the true hunting dogs. Though they differ a little in figure, they have all thick muzzles, and the ſame inſtincts; and therefore they ought to be ranked together. The ſpaniel, for example, has been called by ſome naturaliſts, canis aviarius terreſtris, and the water-dog, canis aviarius aqua⯑ticus. The only difference in diſpoſition be⯑tween theſe two dogs is, that the water-dog, with his long, buſhy-hair, takes the water more chearfully than the others, whoſe hair is ſmooth and ſhort. Laſtly, the ſmall Daniſh dog and the Turkiſh dog muſt be joined together, ſince the latter is ſaid to be the ſame dog with the former, only deprived of his hair by the effects of heat. There remains only the bull-dog, which, from the ſhortneſs of his muzzle, reſembles the little Daniſh dog, but differs from him ſo much, both in figure and inſtinct, as to form a particular variety. He ſeems alſo to affect a particular climate: He comes from Britain, and it is dif⯑ficult to preſerve the breed in France. The mongrels that proceed from him, which are the maſtiff and the pug-dog, ſucceed better. All theſe dogs have very ſhort muzzles, little ſcent, and often ſend forth a diſagreeable ſmell. The fineneſs of ſcent ſeems to depend more on the largeneſs than the length of the muzzle; for the grey-hound, the large Daniſh dog, and the [33] Iriſh grey-hound, have leſs ſcent than the hound, the harrier, the tarrier, the ſpaniel, or the wa⯑ter-dog, who have all, in proportion to their ſize, ſhorter, but broader muzzles, than the for⯑mer.

The greater or leſſer perfection of the ſenſes forms not, in man, an eminent or remarkable quality; but beſtows on the other animals all their merit, and produces, as a cauſe, all the ta⯑lents of which they are ſuſceptible. I mean not to enumerate all the qualities of hunting dogs. The ſuperiority they poſſes over other animals, by the excellence and acuteneſs of their ſenſe of ſmelling, is well known. But details of this kind are remotely connected with natural hi⯑ſtory. Beſides, the artifices and dexterity, though derived ſolely from nature, employed by wild animals to conceal themſelves, or to a⯑void the purſuit of the dogs, are perhaps more worthy of admiration than the moſt refined me⯑thodical exhibitions derived from the art of hunting.

The dog, like every other animal which pro⯑duces above one or two at a time, is not perfect⯑ly formed immediately after birth. Dogs are commonly brought forth blind. The two eye⯑lids are not ſimply glued together, but ſhut up with a membrane, which is torn off as ſoon as the muſcles of the upper eye-lid acquire ſtrength ſufficient to overcome this obſtacle to viſion, which generally happens about the tenth or [34] twelfth day. At this period, the bones of the head are not completed, the body and muzzle are turgid, and the whole figure is ill defined. But, in leſs than two months, they learn to uſe all their ſenſes; their growth is rapid, and they ſoon acquire ſtrength. In the fourth month, they loſe ſome of their teeth, which, as in other ani⯑mals, are ſoon replaced, and never again fall out. The number of teeth is forty-two, namely, ſix cutting and two canine teeth in each jaw, and fourteen grinders in the upper and twelve in the under. But the number of grinders is not uniform, being greater or leſs in particular dogs. When very young, both males and fe⯑males ſquat down a little to void their urine: In the ninth or tenth month, they begin to raiſe the thigh, when they perform this operation; and, at the ſame period, they acquire the capa⯑city of procreating. The male is ready at all times; but the female receives him only at cer⯑tain fixed ſeaſons, which generally happen twice a-year, and more frequently in winter than in ſummer. The ardour of the female continues ten, twelve, and ſometimes fifteen days; and it is known by external ſigns, which appear ſome days before ſhe admits the male: The parts become moiſt and prominent; and this phaenomenon is always accompanied with a ſmall flux of blood. The male diſcovers the condition of the female by a peculiar ſmell; but ſhe ſeldom receives him for the firſt ſix or ſeven [35] days. One embrace is ſometimes ſufficient to make her conceivé a great number of young; but, when not reſtrained, ſhe will admit ſeveral dogs every day. She ſeems to have no predi⯑lection, excepting in favour of the largeſt dogs, without regarding their figure or beauty. Hence it frequently happens, that a ſmall female, who has admitted a large male, dies in bringing forth her young.

But a ſingularity in theſe animals, ariſing from the ſtructure of their organs, they are incapable of ſeparating, after conſummation, but are ob⯑liged to remain united as long as the erection ſubſiſts. The dog, like ſeveral other animals, has not only a bone in the penis, but, in the middle of the corpus cavernoſum, there is a large hollow ring, which, in time of copulation, ſwells to a conſiderable ſize. The female, on the o⯑ther hand, has a larger clitoris than perhaps any other animal; beſides, in the time of coition, a large firm protuberance ariſes, and remains, per⯑haps, longer than that of the male, and prevents him from retiring till it ſubſides; for, immedi⯑ately after conſummation, he changes his poſi⯑tion, in order to repoſe on his four legs; his a⯑ſpect is melancholy, and the efforts for ſepara⯑tion never proceed from the female.

The time of geſtation is nine weeks, or 63 days, ſometimes 62 or 61, but never leſs than 60. The females produce ſix, ſeven, and ſome⯑times even twelve puppies. The largeſt and [36] talleſt are more prolific than the ſmaller kinds, which often produce only four or five, and ſometimes but one or two, eſpecially at the firſt litters, which, in all animals, are always leſs nu⯑merous than the ſubſequent ones.

Dogs, though extremely ardent in their a⯑mours, continue to propagate during life, which is generally limited to fourteen or fifteen years, though ſome have been known to live to the age of twenty. The duration of life in the dog, as in other animals, is proportioned to the time of his growth, which is not comple⯑ted in leſs than two years, and he lives four⯑teen. His age may be diſcovered by his teeth, which, when young, are white, ſharp, and point⯑ed: But, as he increaſes in years, they become black, blunt, and unequal. It may likewiſe be known by the hair, which turns grey on the muzzle, front, and round the eyes.

Theſe animals, which are naturally vigilant, active, and frolickſome, by being over-fed in our houſes, become ſo heavy and ſlothful, that they paſs their lives in ſleeping and eating. Their ſleep, which is almoſt perpetual, is accompanied with dreams, which is perhaps a gentle mode of exiſting. They are naturally voracious; and yet they can endure very long abſtinence. In the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences, we have the hiſtory of a bitch, that, having been forgot in a country-houſe, lived forty days, without any other nouriſhment than the wool of a ma⯑treſs, [37] which ſhe had torn to pieces^* Water ſeems to be more neceſſary to dogs than victuals; for they drink often and very plentifully: It is even a vulgar opinion, that, when they want water too long, they become mad. It is alſo a peculiarity in dogs, that they make great efforts, and ſeem to ſuffer much pain, in voiding their excrement. This happens not, as Ariſtotle al⯑ledges^†, becauſe their inteſtines become narrow⯑er in approaching the anus. On the contrary, it is certain, that, in the dog, as in other ani⯑mals, the great inteſtines enlarge as they proceed downward, and that the rectum is larger than the colon. The dry temperament of this ani⯑mal, and not the ſtrangulations of the colon, which are too diſtant from the rectum, is ſuffi⯑cient to produce this effect.

To give a clear idea of the different kinds of dogs, of their degeneration in particular climates, and of the mixture of their races, I have ſub⯑joined a table, or genealogical tree, in which all theſe varieties may be eaſily diſtinguiſhed. This tree is drawn in the form of a geographical chart, preſerving as much as poſſible the poſition of the different climates to which each variety naturally belongs. The ſhepherd's dog is the root of the tree. This dog, when tranſported into Lapland, or other very cold climates, aſ⯑ſumes an ugly appearance, and ſhrinks into a [38] ſmaller ſize. But, in Ruſſia, Iceland, and Si⯑beria, where the climate is leſs rigorous, and the people a little more advanced in civilization, he ſeems to be better accompliſhed. Theſe changes are occaſioned ſolely by the influence of thoſe climates, which produce no great alte⯑ration in the figure of this dog; for, in each of theſe climates, his ears are erect, his hair thick and long, his aſpect wild, and he barks leſs fre⯑quently, and in a different manner, than in more favourable climates, where he acquires a finer poliſh. The Iceland dog is the only one that has not his ears entirely erect; for their extre⯑mities are a little inclined; and Iceland, of all the northern regions, has been longeſt inhabit⯑ed by half civilized men.

The ſame ſhepherd's dog, when brought into temperate climates, and among a people perfect⯑ly civilized, as Britain, France, Germany, whould, by the mere influence of the climate, loſe his ſavage aſpect, his erect ears, his rude, thick, long hair, and aſſume the figure of a bull-dog, the hound, and the Iriſh grey-hound. The bull-dog and Iriſh grey-hound have their ears ſtill partly erect, and very much reſemble, both in their manners and ſanguinary temper, the dog from which they derive their origin. The hound is fartheſt removed from the ſhepherd's dog; for his ears are long and entirely pendu⯑lous. The gentleneſs, docility, and even the ti⯑midity of the hound, are proofs of his great de⯑generation, [39] or rather of the great perfection he has acquired by the long and careful education beſtowed on him by man.

The hound, the harrier, and the terrier, con⯑ſtitute but one race; for, it has been remarked, that, in the ſame litter, hounds, harriers, and terriers, have been brought forth, though the female hound had been covered by only one of theſe three dogs. I have joined the common harrier to the Dalmatian dog, or harrier of Ben⯑gal, becauſe they differ only in having more or fewer ſpots on their coat. I have alſo linked the turnſpit, or terrier with crooked legs, with the common terrier; becauſe the defect in the legs of the former has originally proceeded from a diſeaſe ſimilar to the rickets, with which ſome individuals had been affected, and tranſmitted the deformity to their deſcendants.

The hound, when tranſported into Spain and Barbary, where all animals have fine, long, buſhy hair, would be converted into the ſpaniel and water-dog. The great and ſmall ſpaniel, which differ only in ſize, when brought into Britain, have changed their white colour into black, and become, by the influence of climate, the great and little King Charles's dog: To theſe may be joined the Pyrame^*, which is only a King Charles's dog, black like the others, but marked with red on the four legs, and a ſpot of [40] the ſame colour above each eye, and on the muzzle.

The Iriſh grey-hound, tranſported to the north, is become the great Daniſh dog; and, when carried to the ſouth, was converted into the common grey-hound. The largeſt grey-hounds come from the Levant, thoſe of a ſmaller ſize from Italy; and thoſe Italian grey-hounds, carried into Britain, have been ſtill farther dimi⯑niſhed.

The great Daniſh dog, tranſported into Ire⯑land, the Ukraine, Tartary, Epirus, and Alba⯑nia, has been changed into the Iriſh grey-hound, which is the largeſt of all dogs.

The bull-dog, tranſported from Britain to Denmark, is become the little Daniſh dog; and the latter, brought into warm climates, has been converted into the Turkiſh dog. All theſe races, with their varieties, have been produced by the influence of cliamte, joined to the effects of ſhelter, food, and education. The other dogs are not pure races, but have proceeded from commixtures of thoſe already deſcribed. I have marked, in the table, by dotted lines, the double origin of theſe mongrels.

The grey-hound, and Iriſh grey-hound, have produced the mongrel grey-hound, called alſo the grey-hound with wolf's hair. The muzzle of this mongrel is leſs pointed than that of the true grey-hound, which is very rare in France.

[41] The great Daniſh dog, and the large ſpaniel, have produced the Calabrian dog, which is a beautiful animal, with long buſhy hair, and lar⯑ger than the Iriſh grey-hound.

The ſpaniel and terrier have produced the dog called Burgos.

From the ſpaniel and little Daniſh dog, has proceeded the lion-dog, which is now very rare.

The dogs with long, fine, criſped hair, called the Bouffe dogs, and which are larger than the water-dog, proceed from the ſpaniel and water-dog.

The little water-dog comes from the water-dog and ſmall ſpaniel.

From the bull-dog and Iriſh grey-hound, pro⯑ceeds a mongrel called the maſtiff, which is lar⯑ger than the bull-dog, and reſembles the latter more than the Iriſh grey-hound.

The pug-dog proceeds from the bull-dog and ſmall Daniſh dog.

All theſe dogs are ſimple mongrels, and are produced by the commixture of two pure races. But there are other dogs, called double mongrels, becauſe they proceed from the junction of a pure race with a mongrel.

The baſtard pug-dog is a double mongrel from a mixture of the pug-dog with the little Daniſh dog.

The Alicant dog is alſo a double mongrel, proceeding from the pug-dog and ſmall ſpaniel.

[42] The Malteſe, or lap-dog, is a double mon⯑grel, produced between the ſmall ſpaniel and little water-dog.

Laſtly, there are dogs which may be called triple mongrels, becauſe they are produced by two mixed races. Of this kind are the Artois and Iſlois dogs, which are produced by the pug-dog and the baſtard pug-dog; to which may be added the dogs called ſtreet-dogs, which reſemble no particular kind, becauſe they proceed from races which have previouſly been ſeveral times mixed.

THE CAT^*.

THE cat is an unfaithful domeſtic, and kept only from the neceſſity we find of oppo⯑ſing him to other domeſtics ſtill more incommodi⯑ous, and which cannot be hunted; for we make no account of thoſe people, who, being fond of all brutes, fooliſhly keep cats for their amuſe⯑ment. Though theſe animals, when young, are frolickſome and beautiful, they poſſeſs, at the [50] ſame time, an innate malice, and perverſe diſpo⯑ſition, which increaſe as they grow up, and which education learns them to conceal, but not to ſubdue. From determined robbers, the beſt education can only convert them into flattering thieves; for they have the ſame addreſs, ſubtlety and deſire of plunder. Like thieves, they know how to conceal their ſteps and their deſigns, to watch opportunities, to catch the proper moment for laying hold of their prey, to fly from pu⯑niſhment, and to remain at a diſtance till ſollici⯑ted to return. They eaſily aſſume the habits of ſociety, but never acquire its manners; for they have only the appearance of attachment or friendſhip. This diſingenuity of character is betrayed by the obliquity of their movements, and the duplicity of their eyes. They never look their beſt benefactor in the face; but, ei⯑ther from diſtruſt or falſeneſs, they approach him by windings, in order to procure careſſes, in which they have no other pleaſure than what a⯑riſes from flattering thoſe who beſtow them. Very different from that faithful animal the dog, whoſe ſentiments totally centre in the perſon and happineſs of his maſter, the cat appears to have no feelings which are not intereſted, to have no affection that is not conditional, and to carry on no intercourſe with men, but in the view of turning it to his own advantage. By theſe diſ⯑poſitions, the cat has a greater relation to man [51] than to the dog, in whom there is not the ſmal⯑leſt mark of inſincerity or unjuſtice.

The form and temperament of the cat's body perfectly accord with his temper and diſpoſitions, He is jolly, nimble, dexterous, cleanly, and vo⯑luptuous. He loves eaſe, and chooſes the ſoft⯑eſt and warmeſt ſituations for repoſe. He is likewiſe extremely amorous, and, what is ſingu⯑lar in the animal world, the female ſeems to be more ardent than the male. She not only in⯑vites and goes in queſt of him, but announces, by loud cries, the fury of her paſſion, or rather the preſſure of her neceſſities; and, when the male diſdains her, or flies from her, ſhe purſues, tears, and, though their embraces are always ac⯑companied with the moſt acute pain, compels him to comply with her deſires. This paſſion⯑ate ardour of the female continues only nine or ten days, and it happens generally twice a-year, though often thrice, and even four times. The period of geſtation is 55 or 56 days, and four or five are commonly produced at a litter. As the male has an inclination to devour the young, the female carefully conceals them; and, when ap⯑prehenſive of a diſcovery, ſhe takes them up, one by one, in her mouth, and hides them in holes, and in places which are inacceſſible. After ſuck⯑ling them a few weeks, ſhe preſents them with mice, or young birds, to learn them to eat fleſh. But, by an unaccountable caprice, theſe ſame careful, tender, and affectionate mothers, ſome⯑times [52] aſſume an unnatural ſpecies of cruelty, and devour their own offspring.

Young cats are gay, vivacious, and frolick⯑ſome, and, if nothing was to be apprehended from their claws, would afford excellent amuſe⯑ment to children. But their toying, though al⯑ways light and agreeable, is never altogether in⯑nocent, and is ſoon converted into habitual ma⯑lice. As their talents can only be exerted with advantage againſt ſmall animals, they lie in wait, with great patience and perſeverance, to ſeize birds, mice, and rats, and, without any inſtruc⯑tion, become more expert hunters than the beſt trained dogs. Naturally averſe to every kind of reſtraint, they are incapable of any ſyſtem of education. It is related, however, that the Greek Monks of the iſland of Cyprus had trained cats to hunt and deſtroy ſerpents, with which that iſland was much infeſted^*. But this hunting muſt rather be aſcribed to their general deſire of ſlaughter, than to any kind of tractability or obedience; for they delight in watching, attack⯑ing, and deſtroying all weak animals indiſcrimi⯑nately, as birds, young rabbits, hares, rats, mice, bats, moles, frogs, toads, lizards, and ſerpents. They have not that docility and fineneſs of ſcent, for which the dog is ſo eminently diſtinguiſhed. They hunt only by the eye: Neither do they properly purſue, but lie in wait, and attack ani⯑mals by ſurpriſe; and, after ſporting with them, [53] and tormenting them for a long time, they at laſt kill them without any neceſſity, and even when well fed, purely to gratify their ſangui⯑nary appetite.

The moſt obvious phyſical cauſe of their watching and catching other animals by ſurpriſe, proceeds from the advantage they derive from the peculiar ſtructure of their eyes. In man and moſt other animals, the pupil is capable of a certain degree of contraction and dilatation. It enlarges a little when the light is faint, and con⯑tracts when the light is too ſplendid. But, in cats and night birds, as the owls, &c. the con⯑traction and dilatation are ſo great, that the pu⯑pil, which is round in the dark, becomes, when expoſed to much light, long and narrow like a line. Hence theſe animals ſee better in the night than in the day. The pupil of the cat, during the day, is perpetually contracted, and it is only by a ſtrong effort that he can ſee with a ſtrong light. But, in the twilight, the pupil reſumes its natural roundneſs, the animal en⯑joys perfect viſion, and takes advantage of this ſuperiority to diſcover and ſurpriſe his prey.

Though cats live in our houſes, they are not entirely domeſtic. Even the tameſt cats are not under the ſmalleſt ſubjection, but may rather be ſaid to enjoy perfect liberty; for they act only to pleaſe themſelves; and it is impoſſible to re⯑tain them a moment after they chooſe to go off. Beſides, moſt cats are half wild. They know [54] not their maſters, and only frequent barns, of⯑fices, or kitchens, when preſſed with hunger.

Though greater numbers of them are reared than of dogs, as they are ſeldom ſeen, their num⯑ber makes leſs impreſſion on us. They contract a ſtronger attachment to our houſes than to our perſons. When carried to the diſtance of a league or two, they return of their own accord, probably becauſe they are acquainted with all the retreats of the mice, and all the paſſages and outlets of the houſe, and becauſe the labour of returning is leſs than that which would be ne⯑ceſſary to acquire the ſame knowledge in a new habitation. They have a natural antipathy at water, cold, and bad ſmells. They are fond of baſking in the ſun, and of lying in warm places. They are alſo fond of perfumes, and willingly allow themſelves to be taken and careſſed by perſons who carry aromatic ſubſtances. They are ſo delighted with valerian root, that it ſeems to throw them into a tranſport of pleaſure. To preſerve this plant in our gardens, we are under the neceſſity of fencing it round with a rail; for the cats ſmell it at a diſtance, collect about it in numbers, and, by frequently rubbing, and paſ⯑ſing and repaſſing over it, they ſoon deſtroy the plant.

Cats require fifteen or eighteen months before they come to their full growth. In leſs than a year, they are capable of procreating, and re⯑tain this faculty during life, which extends not [55] beyond nine or ten years. They are, however, extremely hardy and vivacious, and are more nervous than other animals which live longer.

Cats eat ſlowly, and with difficulty: Their teeth are ſo ſhort and ill placed, that they can tear, but not grind their food. Hence they al⯑ways prefer the moſt tender victuals, as fiſhes, which they devour either raw or boiled. They drink frequently; their ſleep is light; and they often aſſume the appearance of ſleeping, when they are only meditating miſchief. They walk ſoftly, and without making any noiſe. As their hair is always clean and dry, it is eaſily electri⯑fied, and the ſparks become viſible when it is rubbed acroſs with the hand in the dark. Their eyes alſo ſparkle in the dark like diamonds, and ſeem to throw out, in the night, the light they imbibe during the day.

The wild cat couples with the domeſtic kind; and, conſequently, they belong to the ſame ſpe⯑cies. It is not uncommon to ſee both males and females quit their houſes in the ſeaſon of love, go to the woods in queſt of wild cats, and after⯑wards return to their former habitations. It is for this reaſon that ſome domeſtic cats ſo per⯑fectly reſemble the wild cat. The only real dif⯑ference is internal; for the inteſtines of the do⯑meſtic cat are commonly much longer than thoſe of the wild cat. The latter, however, is larger and ſtronger than the domeſtic kind; his lips are always black; his ears are alſo ſtiffer; his [56] tail larger, and his colours more conſtant. In this climate there is only one ſpecies of wild cat; and it appears from the teſtimony of tra⯑vellers, that this kind is found in all climates, without being ſubject to much variety. They exiſted in America before its diſcovery by the Europeans. A hunter brought one of them to Chriſtopher Columbus^*, which was of an ordi⯑nary ſize, of a browniſh grey colour, and having a very long and ſtrong tail. They were like⯑wiſe found in Peru^†, though not in a domeſtic ſtate, and alſo in Canada^‡, in the country of the Illinois, &c. They have been ſeen in many places of Africa, as in Guiney^‖, and the Gold Coaſt; at Madagaſcar^§, where the natives keep them in a domeſtic ſtate; and at the Cape of Good Hope^**, where M. Kolbe ſays there is likewiſe a wild kind, of a blue colour; but they are not numerous. Theſe blue, or rather ſlate coloured cats, are alſo found in Aſia. 'In Perſia,' ſays Pietro della Valle^††, 'there is a ſpecies of cats which properly belong to the province of Chorazan. Their figure and ſize are the ſame with thoſe of the common cat. Their beauty conſiſts in the colour of their hair, which is grey, and uniformly the ſame over the whole body, excepting that it is darker on the back [57] and head, and clearer on the breaſt and belly, where it approaches to whiteneſs, with that agreeable mixture of clare-obſcure, to uſe the language of the painters, which has always a wonderful effect. Beſides, their hair is fine, ſhining, ſoft as ſilk, and ſo long, that, though not frizled, it forms ringlets in ſome parts, and particularly under the throat. Theſe cats are among other cats, what the water-dog is among other dogs. The moſt beautiful part of the body is the tail, which is very long, and covered with hair five or ſix inches in length. They extend and turn it upon their backs, like the ſquirrel, the point reſembling a plume of feathers. They are very tame; and the Portugueſe have brought them from Perſia into India.' The ſame author adds, that he had four couple of theſe cats, which he intend⯑ed to bring to Italy. From this deſcription it appears, that the Perſian cats reſemble, in co⯑lour, thoſe we call Chartreux cats, and that, ex⯑cepting in colour, they have a perfect reſemblance to the cat of Angora. It is probable, therefore, that the cat of Chorazan in Perſia, the cat of Angora in Syria, and the Chartreux cat, conſti⯑tute but one race, whoſe beauty proceeds from the particular influence of the climate, as the Spaniſh cats, which are red, black, and white, owe their beauty to the climate of Spain. It may be re⯑marked in general, that, of all climates on the habitable parts of the globe, thoſe of Spain and [58] Syria are moſt favourable to the production of beautiful varieties in natural objects. In Spain and Syria, the ſheep, the goats, the dogs, the cats, the rabbits, &c. have the fineſt wool, the moſt beautiful and longeſt hair, and the moſt a⯑greeable and variegated colours. Theſe climates, it would appear, ſoften Nature, and embelliſh the form of all animals.

The wild cat, like moſt other animals in a ſa⯑vage ſtate, has coarſe colours, and hard hair. But, when rendered domeſtic, the hair ſoftens, the colours vary; and, in the favourable climates of Chorazan and Syria, the hair grows long, fine, and buſhy; all the colours become more de⯑licate; the black and red change into a ſhining brown, and the greyiſh brown is converted into an aſh-coloured grey. By comparing the wild cat with the Chartreux cat, it will be found, that they differ only in this degradation in the ſhades of colour. As theſe animals have al⯑ways more or leſs whiteneſs on the ſides and belly, it is apparent, that, to produce cats entire⯑ly white and with long hair, like the cats of An⯑gora, nothing farther is requiſite, than to join thoſe which have the greateſt quantity of white, as has been done to procure white rabbits, dogs, goats, ſtags, &c. In the Spaniſh cat, which is only another variety of the wild kind, the colours, inſtead of being weakened by uniform ſhades, as in the cat of Syria, are exalted, and have be⯑come more lively and brilliant; the yellow is [59] changed into red, the brown into black, and the grey into white. Theſe cats, though tranſport⯑ed into America, have not degenerated, but pre⯑ſerve their beautiful colours. 'In the Antilles,' ſays Father Tertre, 'there are a number of cats, which have probably been brought from Spain. They are moſtly marked with red, white, and black. Several of our countrymen, after eat⯑ing the fleſh, carry the ſkins of theſe cats into France. When we firſt arrived at Guadaloupe, the cats were ſo accuſtomed to feed on par⯑tridges, pigeons, thruſhes, and other ſmall birds, that they diſdained the rats; but, when the game was much diminiſhed, they attacked the rats with great fury^*,' &c. In general, cats are not ſubject, like dogs, to degeneration, when tranſported into warm climates. 'The European cats,' Boſman remarks, 'when car⯑ried to Guiney, change not, like the dogs, but preſerve their original figure^†,' &c. Their nature is indeed more conſtant; and, as their do⯑meſtic ſtate is neither ſo complete, ſo univerſal, nor, perhaps, ſo antient as that of the dog, it is not ſurpriſing that they are alſo leſs variegated. Our domeſtic cats, though they differ in colour, form no diſtinct races. The climates of Spain and Syria have alone produced permanent varie⯑ties: To theſe may be added the climate of Pe-chi-ly in China, where the cats have long [60] hair and pendulous ears, and are the favourites of the ladies^*. Theſe domeſtic cats with pen⯑dulous ears, of which we have full deſcriptions, are ſtill farther removed from the wild and pri⯑mitive race, than thoſe whoſe ears are erect.

We ſhall here terminate the hiſtory of the cat, and at the ſame time that of domeſtic animals. The horſe, the aſs, the ox, the ſheep, the goat, the hog, the dog, and the cat, are our only do⯑meſtic animals. We add not to this liſt, the camel, elephant, rain-deer, &c. which, though domeſtic in other countries, are ſtrangers to us; and we ſhall not treat of foreign animals, till we have given the hiſtory of the wild animals which are natives of our own climate. Beſides, as the cat may be conſidered as only half-do⯑meſtic, he forms the ſhade between domeſtic and wild animals; for we ought not to rank among domeſtics thoſe troubleſome neighbours, mice, rats, and moles, which, though they inhabit our houſes and gardens, are perfectly wild and free. Inſtead of being attached or ſubmiſſive to man, they fly from him, and preſerve entire, in their obſcure retreats, their manners, their habits, and their liberty.

We have ſeen, in the hiſtory of each domeſtic animal, the great influence which education, ſhelter, and the careful hand of man, have upon the manners, diſpoſitions, and even the form of [61] animals. We have ſeen, that theſe cauſes, join⯑ed to the effects of climate, modify and change the ſpecies to ſuch a degree, as to make them very different from what they are in a natural ſtate, and, at the ſame time, introduce ſuch changes among individuals of the ſame ſpecies, that they would be regarded as different animals, if they preſerved not the faculty of intermixing and producing fertile individuals, which is the only eſſential characteriſtic of ſpecies. We have ſeen, that the different races of domeſtic ani⯑mals obſerve, in different climates, nearly the ſame order as the races of the human kind; that, like men, they are ſtronger, larger, and more courageous in cold countries, milder and more civilized in temperate climates, and weak⯑er and more deformed in very warm regions; and that, in temperate climates, and among po⯑liſhed people, the varieties of each ſpecies are moſt numerous and diverſified, and exhibit the moſt evident marks of the antiquity of their ſla⯑very: Pendulous ears, variegated colours, fine long hair, are effects produced by their long continuance in a domeſtic ſtate. Moſt wild a⯑nimals have erect ears. The ears of the wild boar are erect and ſtiff; but thoſe of the dome⯑ſtic hog are inclined and half-pendulous. A⯑mong the Laplanders, the ſavages of America, the Hottentots, the Negroes, and other unpoliſh⯑ed people, all the dogs have erect ears; but they are generally ſoft and pendulous in Spain, France, [62] Britain, Turkey, Perſia, China, and other civi⯑lized nations. The ears of the domeſtic cat are not ſo ſtiff and erect as thoſe of the wild kind; and in China, a nation which has been very long in a ſtate of civilization, and whoſe climate is mild, there are cats with pendulous ears. It is for this reaſon, that the goat of Angora, whoſe ears are pendulous, ſhould be regarded as a va⯑riety fartheſt removed from the natural ſtate. The ſtrong and marked influence of the climate of Syria, joined to the domeſtic condition of theſe animals among a people very antiently civilized, would, in the progreſs of time, pro⯑duce this variety, which cannot be preſerved in any other climate. In the goats of Angora, brought forth in France, the ears are neither ſo long nor ſo pendulous as in thoſe of Syria, and would probably, after a certain number of ge⯑nerations, reſume the ears and coarſe hair of our common goat.

OF WILD ANIMALS.

IN the hiſtory of man, and of domeſtic animals, we have ſeen Nature under reſtraint, ſeldom perſect, often changed and deformed, and per⯑petually encompaſſed with fetters, or loaded with foreign ornaments. She is now to appear na⯑ked, and adorned with ſimplicity alone; but her attractions will be heightened by native beau⯑ty, by the freedom of her demeanour, the ſpright⯑lineſs of her movements, and other marks of true dignity and independence. We are to ſee her traverſing the ſurface of the earth, like a ſo⯑vereign, dividing her empire among the animals, aſſigning to each his proper element, climate, and ſubſiſtence. We ſhall ſurvey her in the fo⯑reſts, in the waters, and in the plains, dictating her ſimple but immutable laws, impreſſing upon every ſpecies indelible characters, diſpenſing her bounty with equity, compenſating evil with good, giving to ſome ſtrength and courage, ac⯑companied with hunger and voracity; to others gentleneſs, temperance, and agility, attended with reſtleſſneſs and timidity; and to all, liber⯑ty, uniform manners, and ardour in love, which is always eaſily gratified, and always followed with a happy fecundity.

[67] Love and liberty are the moſt ineſtimable gifts which Nature has to beſtow. Do theſe animals we call wild, becauſe they are not ſubject to our caprice, require more to render them completely happy? But they alſo enjoy a perfect equality; they are neither the ſlaves nor the tyrants of each other. The individual has no occaſion, like man, to dread the reſt of his ſpecies. They have peace among themſelves, and war never ap⯑proaches them, but from ſtrangers, or from man. They have, therefore, great reaſon to fly from the human race, to conceal themſelves from our obſervation, to take up their abode in ſolitudes remote from the habitations of men, to provide for their ſafety by all the reſources afforded them by inſtinct, and to withdraw themſelves from the power of man, uſing, in every manner, that liberty beſtowed on them by Nature, at the ſame time that ſhe has given them the deſire of inde⯑pendence.

Some animals, and they are the moſt gentle, innocent, and tranquil, content themſelves with retiring, and paſſing their lives in our fields. Thoſe which are more fierce and ſuſpicious, hide themſelves in the deepeſt receſſes of the foreſt. Others, as if they knew there was no ſafety on the ſurface of the earth, dig ſubterraneous a⯑bodes, take refuge in caverns, or gain the ſum⯑mits of the moſt inacceſſible mountains. Laſtly, the moſt ferocious and formidable kinds, inha⯑bit only deſerts, and reign as monarchs in thoſe [68] burning climates, where man, equally ſavage as themſelves, is unable to conquer them.

As all beings, however free, are ſubjected to phyſical laws, and as the brute animals, as well as man, feel the influences of the heavens and the earth, it appears, that the ſame cauſes which have ſoftened and civilized the human ſpecies in our climates, have produced ſimilar effects upon every other ſpecies. The wolf, which is per⯑haps the moſt ferocious animal in the Temperate Zone, is not nearly ſo terrible or ſo cruel as the tiger, the panther, and the lion of the Torrid Zone, or the white bear, the lynx, and the hy⯑aena of the Frozen Zone. This difference, as if Nature, to give more harmony to her produc⯑tions, had adapted the climate to the ſpecies, or the ſpecies to the climate, is not only general, but, in each particular ſpecies, the climate is form⯑ed for the manners, and the manners for the climate.

In America, where the heat, under the ſame latitudes, is leſs, and the air and earth ſofter than in Africa, the tiger, the lion, the panther, have nothing formidable but the name. They are no longer thoſe tyrants of the foreſt, thoſe bold and intrepid enemies of man, thoſe rapacious mon⯑ſters which perpetually thirſt for blood and car⯑nage. Theſe animals, in America, generally fly from man, and attack not other wilds beaſts with open force, but lie in wait to ſurpriſe them: They may even be ſubdued, and almoſt tamed. Hence, if ferociouſneſs and cruelty were natural [69] to them, they muſt have degenerated, or rather felt the influence of climate. Under a mild cli⯑mate, their nature has been ſoftened; every ex⯑ceſs of temper has been moderated; and thoſe changes have only rendered them more con⯑formable to the quality of the country they in⯑habit.

The vegetables which cover the earth, and are more cloſely connected with it than the animal that feeds upon them, participate alſo more of the nature of the climate. Every country, every degree of temperature, has its peculiar plants. At the foot of the Alps, we find the vegetables of France and Italy, and, on their ſummit, thoſe of the northern regions: We even meet with the ſame plants on the frozen ridges of the African mountains. On the ſouth ſide of the mountains which divide the Mogul empire from the king⯑dom of Caſhmire, we ſee all the Indian plants, and we are ſurpriſed to find, on the oppoſite ſide, nothing but the European kinds. Intemperate climates likewiſe produce drugs, perfumes, poi⯑ſons, and all vegetables whoſe qualities are high⯑ly exalted. The productions of temperate cli⯑mates, on the contrary, are always mild: The ſofteſt and moſt wholeſome herbs, the ſweeteſt fruits, the gentleſt animals, and the moſt poliſh⯑ed men, are peculiar to thoſe happy climates. Thus, the earth produces plants, the earth and plants make animals, and the earth, plants, and animals, give birth to man; for the qualities of vegetables proceed immediately from the earth [70] and the air; the temperature and other relative qualities of herbivorous animals are derived from the plants upon which they feed; and the phy⯑ſical qualities of man, and other creatures which are nouriſhed partly by fleſh and partly by plants, depend, though more remotely, on the ſame cauſes, whoſe influence extends even to diſpo⯑ſitions and manners. Figure and ſize, which ap⯑pear to be abſolute and determined qualities, de⯑pend, however, like the relative qualities, upon the influence of climate, and concur in proving that every thing is moderate in temperate re⯑gions. The ſize of our largeſt quadrupeds have no proportion to that of the elephant, the rhinoce⯑ros, or hyppopotamus. Our largeſt birds are ſmall, when compared with the oſtrich, the con⯑dor, or the caſſawary; and what compariſon is there between the fiſhes, the lizards, and the ſer⯑pents of our climates, with the whale, the wal⯑rus, and manati, which people the northern ſeas, or the crocodiles, the large lizards, and the enor⯑mous ſerpents which infeſt the land and waters of the ſouth? And, if we examine each ſpecies in different climates, we ſhall find ſenſible vari⯑eties both in ſize and in figure^*. Theſe chan⯑ges are produced in a ſlow and imperceptible manner. Time is the great workman of nature. He moves with regular and uniform ſteps. He performs no operation ſuddenly; but, by de⯑grees, [71] or ſucceſſive impreſſions, nothing can re⯑ſiſt his power; and thoſe changes which at firſt are imperceptible, become gradually ſenſible, and at laſt are marked by reſults too conſpicuous to be miſapprehended.

Wild and free animals, without excepting man, are, of all animated beings, leaſt ſubject to changes or variations of any kind. As they are at abſolute liberty in the choice of their food and their climate, their nature is more permanent than that of domeſtic animals, which are enſlaved, tranſported, maletreated, and fed, without con⯑ſulting their inclination or taſte. Wild animals live perpetually in the ſame manner. They ne⯑ver wander from climate to climate. The wood where they are brought forth is a country to which they are faithfully attached, and they ne⯑ver depart from it, unleſs they perceive that they can no longer live there in ſafety. They fly not ſo much from their natural enemies, as from the preſence of man. Nature has furniſhed them with reſources againſt the other animals, and put them on a level; they know their ſtrength, their addreſs, their deſigns, their haunts, and, if un⯑able to avoid them, oppoſe force to force: In a word, they are ſpecies of the ſame genus. But how can they defend themſelves againſt a being who can ſeize without ſeeing, and kill without approaching them?

It is man, therefore, who diſturbs and diſperſes wild animals, and renders them a thouſand more [72] ſavage than they would naturally be; for moſt of them require only tranquility, and a moderate uſe of the air and earth. Nature even teaches them to live together, to unite into families, and to form ſocieties. In countries not totally en⯑groſſed by man, ſome veſtiges of theſe ſocieties ſtill remain. We there perceive common works carried on, deſigns that, though not founded on reaſon, appear to be projected upon rational con⯑ventions, the execution of which ſuppoſes union at leaſt, and a joint co-operation of labour. It is not by force or phyſical neceſſity, like the ants, the bees, &c. that the beavers labour and build houſes; for they are neither conſtrained by ſpace, nor time, nor number, but unite from choice. Thoſe which agree, dwell together; and thoſe which do not agree, remove; and ſome of them have been remarked which, being conſtantly repulſed by others, were obliged to betake themſelves to a ſolitary life. It is only in diſtant and deſert countries, where they dread not the approach of man, that they incline to render their dwellings more fixed and commodious, by conſtructing houſes, or a kind of villages, which have no ſmall reſemblance to the feeble and primitive ef⯑forts of a naſcent republic. In countries, on the contrary, ſpread over by men, they carry terror along with them. The ſociety of animals is then at an end. All induſtry ceaſes, and eve⯑ry art is ſtifled. They think no more of build⯑ing, and neglect every conveniency. Perpetu⯑ally [73] preſſed by fear and neceſſity, their only de⯑ſire is the bare preſervation of life, and their on⯑ly occupation is flight and concealment. If the human ſpecies, as is reaſonable to ſuppoſe, ſhall, in the progreſs of time, people equally the whole ſurface of the earth, the hiſtory of the beaver, in a few ages, will be regarded as a ridiculous fable.

We may, therefore, conclude, that the talents and faculties of animals, inſtead of augmenting, are perpetually diminiſhing. Time fights againſt them. The more the human ſpecies multiplies and improves, the more will the wild animals feel the effects of a terrible and abſolute tyrant, who, hardly allowing them an individual exiſt⯑ence, deprives them of liberty, of every aſſocia⯑ting principle, and deſtroys the very rudiments of their intelligence. What advances they have made, or may ſtill make, conveys little informa⯑tion of what they have been, or might acquire. If the human ſpecies were annihilated, to which of the animals would the ſceptre of the earth belong?

The STAG, or RED DEER^*.

THE ſtag is one of thoſe innocent, gentle, and peaceable animals, which ſeem to be deſtined to embelliſh and animate the ſolitudes of the foreſt, and to occupy, at a diſtance from man, the tranquil retreats of thoſe gardens of nature. The elegance and lightneſs of his [75] figure, the commodiouſneſs of his ſtature, the flexibility and nervouſneſs of his limbs, his gran⯑deur, ſtrength, and ſwiftneſs, and his head, which is rather adorned than armed with living bran⯑ches, that, like the leaves of trees, are annually renewed, ſufficiently diſtinguiſh him from the o⯑ther inhabitants of the wood. As he is alſo the nobleſt of theſe animals, he miniſters to the plea⯑ſure, and has occupied the leiſure, of the great⯑eſt heroes. The exerciſe of the chace ſhould always ſucceed, or rather precede, the fatigues of war. To know the management of horſes and arms, are talents common to the warrior and the hunter. To be accuſtomed to fatigue, addreſs, dexterity, and quickneſs of movement, ſo neceſſary for the ſupport of courage, are qua⯑lities acquired in the chace, and extremely uſe⯑ful in battle. Hunting is a moſt delightful ſchool of a neceſſary art. It is the only amuſe⯑ment which entirely diveſts us of care, the only recreation that is not accompanied with effemi⯑nacy, and gives vivacity and pleaſure, without languor or diſguſt.

How can men, who, from their ſituation in life, are perpetually harraſſed with company, be better employed than in hunting? Always ſur⯑rounded with a multitude, teaſed with the im⯑portunity of their demands, obliged to give their attention to affairs which are foreign to them, agitated by the ſolicitations of men of high rank, and conſtrained and fettered in proportion to [76] their elevation, great men would feel only the weight of their own grandeur, and exiſt only for others, if they did not occaſionally abſtract themſelves from a croud of paraſites and flatter⯑ers. To preſerve ſelf-enjoyment, to recal per⯑ſonal attachments, and receive private friend⯑ſhip, ſentiments a thouſand times more precious and intereſting than all the ideas of grandeur, retirement from the tumult and buſineſs of the world is ſometimes neceſſary; and what retire⯑ment can be more various and animated than the chace? what exerciſe more uſeful to the body? what amuſement more agreeable to the mind?

Perpetual action, or intercourſe with man, is equally painful as perpetual thinking. Nature never intended man for the contemplation of abſtract ſubjects. To be occupied, without re⯑laxation, in difficult ſtudies, to lead a ſedentary life, and to make the cloſet the centre of our ex⯑iſtence, is equally unnatural as to paſs our days in tumult and agitation, continually drawn along by the movements of other men, and obliged to keep a jealous and conſtrained watch over our own conduct, looks, and geſtures. Whatever ideas we may conceive of the dignity of human nature, it is apparent, that public exhibition is not exiſtence, and that we are leſs fitted for thinking than for action, for reaſoning than en⯑joyment. True pleaſure conſiſts in the unre⯑ſtrained uſe of ourſelves. Our beſt gifts are thoſe we receive from Nature. She preſents us [77] with the uſeful and inexhauſtible enjoyments which ariſe from the air, the earth, the fields, and the foreſts. Hence a taſte for hunting, fiſhing, gardening, and agriculture, is natural to all men: And, in ſocieties leſs complicated than ours, there are only two ranks, both of them connected with this mode of life; the Nobles, whoſe buſineſs is arms and hunting; and the Vulgar, who are occupied in cultivating the earth.

In poliſhed ſocieties, where every thing is im⯑proved and brought nearer perfection, to render hunting more delightful and ſprightly, to ennoble this moſt beneficial and reſpectable of all exer⯑ciſes, it has been formed into an art. The chace of the ſtag requires a ſpecies of knowledge, which can only be learned by experience: It implies a royal aſſemblage of men, horſes, and dogs, all ſo trained, practiſed, and diſciplined, that their movements, their reſearches, and their ſkill, muſt concur in producing one common end. The huntſman ſhould know the age and the ſex of the animal; he ſhould be able to di⯑ſtinguiſh with preciſion, whether the ſtag he has harboured ^* with his hound be a knobber ^†, a young ſtag^‡, in his ſixth or ſeventh year, or [78] and old ſtag^*. The chief marks which convey this intelligence is derived from the foot ^†, and the excrement. The foot of the ſtag is better formed than that of the hind, or female. Her leg ^‡ is more groſs and nearer the heel. The impreſſions of his feet are rounder, and farther removed from each other. He moves more re⯑gularly, and brings the hind foot into the im⯑preſſion made by the fore foot. But the di⯑ſtance between the ſteps of the hind are ſhorter, and her hind feet ſtrike not ſo regularly the track of the fore feet. As ſoon as the ſtag ac⯑quires his fourth horns, he is eaſily diſtinguiſh⯑ed; but, to know the foot of a young ſtag from that of a hind, requires repeated experience. Stags of ſix, ſeven, &c. years, are ſtill more eaſily known; for their fore foot is much lar⯑ger than the hind foot; the older they are, the ſides of their feet are the more worn^§; the diſtance of their ſteps are more regular than thoſe of young ſtags; they always place their hind foot exactly in the track of the fore foot, excepting, when they ſhed their horns, the old [79] ſtags miſplace ^*, at this ſeaſon, nearly as often as the young ones; but in this they are more regular than the hind or young ſtag, placing the hind foot always at the ſide of the fore foot, and never beyond or within it.

When the huntſman, from the dryneſs of the ſeaſon, or other circumſtances, cannot judge by the foot, he is obliged to trace the animal back⯑wards, and endeavour to find his dung. This mark requires, perhaps, greater experience than the knowledge of the foot; but, without it, the huntſman would be unable to give a proper re⯑port to the company. After the report of the huntſman, and the dogs are led to the refuge of the ſtag, he ought to encourage his hound, and make him reſt upon the track of the ſtag till the animal be unharboured. Inſtantly the alarm is given to uncouple the dogs, which ought to be enlivened by the voice and the horn of the huntſman. He ſhould alſo diligently obſerve the foot of the ſtag, in order to diſcover whether the animal has ſtarted, and ſubſtituted another in his place. But it is then the buſineſs of the hunters to ſepa⯑rate alſo, and to recall the dogs which have gone aſtray after falſe game. The huntſman ſhould always accompany his dogs, and encourage, with⯑out preſſing them too hard. He ſhould aſſiſt them in detecting all the arts of eſcape uſed by the ſtag; for this animal has remarkable [80] addreſs in deceiving the dogs. With this view, he often returns twice or thrice upon his former ſteps; he endeavours to raiſe hinds or younger ſtags to accompany him, and draw off the dogs from the object of their purſuit: He then flies with redoubled ſpeed, or ſprings off at ſide, lies down on his belly, and conceals himſelf. In this caſe, when the dogs have loſt his foot, the huntſmen, by going backwards and forwards, aſſiſt them in recovering it. But, if they cannot find it, they ſuppoſe that he is reſting within the circuit they have made, and go in queſt of him. But, if they are ſtill unable to diſcover him, there is no other method left, but, from view⯑ing the country, to conjecture where he may have taken refuge, and repair to the place. As ſoon as they have recovered his foot, and put the dogs upon the track, they purſue with more ad⯑vantage, becauſe they perceive that the ſtag is fatigued. Their ardour augments in proportion to his feebleneſs; and their ſcent becomes more diſtinct as the animal grows warm. Hence they redouble their cries and their ſpeed; and, though the ſtag practiſes ſtill more arts of eſcape than formerly, as his ſwiftneſs is diminiſhed, his arts and doublings become gradually leſs effectual. He has now no other reſource but to fly from the earth which he treads, and get into the waters, in order to cut off the ſcent from the dogs. The huntſmen go round theſe waters, and again put the dogs on the track of his foot. The ſtag, af⯑ter [81] taking to the water, is incapable of running far, and is ſoon at bay ^* But he ſtill attempts to defend his life, and often wounds the dogs, and even the huntſmen when too forward, by blows with his horns, till one of them cuts his hams to make him fall, and then puts an end to his life by a blow of a hanger. They now ce⯑lebrate the death of the ſtag by a flouriſh of their horns; the dogs are allowed to trample upon him, and at laſt partake richly of the victory by devouring his fleſh.

Every ſeaſon is not equally proper for hunt⯑ing the ſtag with hounds. In ſpring, when the leaves begin to unfold and to adorn the foreſts, when the earth is covered with freſh herbage and flowers, their perfumes diminiſh the ſenſa⯑tion of the dogs; and, as the ſtag is then in his greateſt vigour, it is extremely difficult for them to come up with him. It is likewiſe a ſettled point among hunters, that, when the hinds are about to bring forth, the chace is moſt difficult, and that, at this period, the dogs often quit a fa⯑tigued ſtag, and purſue any hind which bounds before them. In the ſame manner, in the begin⯑ning of autumn, when the rutting ſeaſon commen⯑ces, the hounds hunt without ardour: The ſtrong odour of love renders, perhaps, the ſcent more un⯑intereſting; and, perhaps, at this ſeaſon, the odour of all ſtags is nearly the ſame. During the winter [82] ſnows, it is alſo improper to hunt the ſtag; be⯑cauſe the hounds have no acuteneſs of ſcent, and ſeem to purſue the foot rather by the eye than the noſe. As, in this ſeaſon, the ſtags find not ſufficient nouriſhment in their retreats, they iſ⯑ſue forth into the more open parts of the coun⯑try, and even into the ſown fields. They aſ⯑ſemble in flocks in the month of December, and, when the froſts are ſevere, they ſeek ſhelter on the ſea-coaſts, or in covered places, where they lock themſelves faſt together, and acquire warmth by mutual reſpiration. When the rigours of winter decline, they frequent the borders of the foreſt, and make depredations on the riſing wheat. In ſpring, they ſhed their horns, which fall off ſpontaneouſly, or by rubbing them gently againſt the branches of trees. It is ſeldom that both horns fall off at the ſame time, the one ge⯑nerally preceding the other a day or two. The old ſtags caſt their horns firſt, which happens a⯑bout the end of February or beginning of March. An aged ſtag, or one in his ſeventh year or up⯑wards, does not caſt his horns before the middle of March; a ſtag of ſix years ſheds his horns in April; young ſtags, or thoſe from three to five years old, ſhed their horns in the beginning, and thoſe which are in their ſecond year, not till the middle or end of May. But, in all this there is much variety; for old ſtags ſometimes caſt their horns ſooner than thoſe which are young⯑er. Beſides, the ſhedding of the horns is ad⯑vanced [83] by a mild, and retarded by a ſevere and long winter.

As ſoon as the ſtags caſt their horns, they ſe⯑parate from each other, the young ones only keeping together. They no longer haunt the deepeſt receſſes of the foreſt, but advance in⯑to the cultivated country, and remain among bruſhwood during the ſummer, till their horns are renewed. In this ſeaſon, they walk with their heads low to prevent their horns from rubbing againſt the branches; for they con⯑tinue to have ſenſibility till they acquire their full growth. The horns of the oldeſt ſtags are not half completed in the middle of May, and acquire their full length and hardneſs before the end of July. Thoſe of the younger ſtags are proportionally later both in ſhedding and being renewed. But, as ſoon as they have acquired their full dimenſions and ſolidity, the ſtags rub them againſt the trees, in order to clear them of a ſkin with which they are covered: And, as they continue this friction for ſeveral days ſuc⯑ceſſively, it is ſaid^*, that the horns retain the colour peculiar to the juices of the trees againſt which they have been rubbed; that they become red when rubbed againſt beeches and birches, brown againſt oaks, and black againſt elms and trembling poplars. It is likewiſe ſaid, that the horns of young ſtags, which are ſmoother, take not ſo deep a tincture from the trees as thoſe of [84] old ſtags, which are rougher, and cloſer cover⯑ed with little prominences; becauſe it is thoſe prominences which retain the coloured juices of the trees. But I cannot believe that this is the true cauſe; for I have kept tamed ſtags in an incloſure where there was not a ſingle tree, and yet their horns were coloured in the ſame man⯑ner as in thoſe which inhabit the foreſts.

Soon after the ſtags have poliſhed their horns, they begin to feel the impreſſions of love. To⯑wards the end of Auguſt or beginning of Sep⯑tember, they leave the coppice, return to the foreſts, and ſearch for the hinds. They cry with a loud voice; their neck and throat ſwell; they become perfectly reſtleſs, and traverſe, in open day, the fields and the fallow grounds; they ſtrike their horns againſt trees and hedges; in a word, they ſeem to be tranſported with fury, and run from country to country till they find the hinds or females, whom they purſue and compel into compliance; for the female at firſt avoids and flies from the male, and never ſubmits to his embraces till ſhe be fatigued with the purſuit. The old hinds likewiſe come in ſeaſon before the younger ones. When two ſtags approach the ſame hind, they muſt fight before they enjoy. If nearly equal in ſtrength, they threaten, paw the ground, ſet up terrible cries, and attack each other with ſuch fury, that they often inflict mortal wounds with the ſtrokes of their horns. The combat never terminates but in the defeat or [85] flight of one of the rivals. The conqueror loſes not a moment in enjoying his victory, un⯑leſs another rival approaches, whom he is again obliged to attack and repel. The oldeſt ſtags are always maſters of the field; becauſe they are ſtronger and more furious than the young ones, who muſt wait patiently till their ſuperiors tire, and quit their miſtreſſes. Sometimes, however, the young ſtags accompliſh their purpoſes when the old ones are fighting, and, after a haſty gra⯑tification, fly off. The hinds prefer the old ſtags, not becauſe they are moſt courageous, but be⯑cauſe they are much more ardent. They are likewiſe more inconſtant, having often ſeveral females at a time; and, when a ſtag has but one hind, his attachment to her does not continue above a few days: He then leaves her, goes in queſt of another, with whom he remains a ſtill ſhorter time; and, in this manner, paſſes from one to another, till he is perfectly exhauſted.

This ardour of love laſts only three weeks, during which the ſtags take very little food, and neither ſleep nor reſt. Night and day, they are either walking, running, fighting, or enjoying the hinds. Hence, at the end of the rutting ſeaſon, they are ſo meagre and exhauſted, that they recover not their ſtrength for a conſiderable time. They generally retire to the borders of the foreſts, feed upon the cultivated fields, where they find plenty of nouriſhment, and remain there till their ſtrength is re-eſtabliſhed. The [86] rutting ſeaſon of old ſtags commences about the beginning, and ends about the 20th day of September. In thoſe of ſix or ſeven years old, it begins about the 10th of Septem⯑ber, and concludes in the beginning of Octo⯑ber. In young ſtags, or thoſe in their third, fourth, or fifth year, it begins about the 20th of September, and terminates about the 15th of October; and, at the end of October, the rut⯑ting is all over, excepting among the prickets, or thoſe which have entered into their ſecond year; becauſe they, like the young hinds, are lateſt of coming into ſeaſon. Hence, at the beginning of November, the ſeaſon of love is entirely finiſh⯑ed; and the ſtags, during this period of weak⯑neſs and laſſitude, are eaſily hunted down. In ſeaſons when acorns and other nuts are plenti⯑ful, the ſtags ſoon recover their ſtrength, and a ſecond rutting frequently happens at the end of October; but it is of much ſhorter duration than the firſt.

In climates warmer than that of France, the rutting time, like the ſeaſons, is more forward. Ariſtotle informs us^*, that, in Greece, it com⯑mences in the beginning of Auguſt, and termi⯑nates about the end of September. The hinds go with young eight months and ſome days, and ſeldom produce more than one fawn. They bring forth in May or the beginning of June, and ſo anxiouſly conceal their fawns, that they often expoſe themſelves to be chaced, with a [87] view to draw off the dogs, and afterwards return to take care of their young. All hinds are not fertile; for ſome of them never conceive. Theſe barren hinds are groſſer and fatter than thoſe which are prolific, and alſo come ſooneſt in ſea⯑ſon. Some hinds are ſaid to have horns like the ſtag, which is not altogether improbable. The young are not called fawns or calves after the ſixth month: The knobs of their horns then begin to appear, and they take the name of knobbers till their horns lengthen into ſpears, and then they are called brocks or ſtaggards. During the firſt ſeaſon, they never leave their mothers. In winter, the ſtags and hinds, of all ages, keep together in flocks, which are always more nu⯑merous in proportion to the rigour of the ſeaſon. They ſeparate in ſpring: The hinds retire to bring forth; and, during this period, the flocks conſiſt only of knobbers and young ſtags. In general, the ſtags are inclined to aſſociate, and nothing but fear or neceſſity obliges them to diſperſe. The ſtag is capable of generating at the age of eighteen months: Thoſe brought forth during the ſpring of the preceding year, cover the hinds in autumn; and it is preſume⯑able that theſe embraces are prolific. The fol⯑lowing circumſtances, however, may render this opinion doubtful: The ſtags have not then ac⯑quired above a half or two thirds of their growth, which is not completed till the eighth year of their age; and their horns continue to increaſe [88] during the ſame period. But it ought to be re⯑marked, that the fawn ſoon gathers ſtrength; that, during the firſt, and even the ſecond year, his growth is very quick; and that he has al⯑ready a redundance of nouriſhment, becauſe his horns are conſiderably long, which is the moſt certain mark of ability to impregnate. It is al⯑lowed, that animals, in general, are not capable of procreating till they have nearly acquired their full growth. But thoſe which have fixed ſeaſons for rutting or ſpawning, ſeem not to ob⯑ſerve this law. Fiſhes ſpawn and are prolific be⯑fore they have attained a fourth, or even an eighth part of their growth; and, among qua⯑drupeds, thoſe which, like the deer-hind, have determined ſeaſons for rutting, procreate earlier than other animals.

There are ſo many relations between the nu⯑trition, the production of the horns, the rutting, and the generation of theſe animals, that, to have a clear conception of the particular effects which reſult from them, it is neceſſary to give a gene⯑ral recapitulation of what I formerly advanced on the ſubject of reproduction^*. Generation depends ſolely on a redundance of nouriſhment. During the growth of an animal, which is al⯑ways moſt rapid in infancy, the nouriſhment is entirely exhauſted in the extenſion and deve⯑lopement of the body. Hence there is no re⯑dundance, conſequently no production or ſecre⯑tion [89] of ſeminal fluid, and, of courſe, young ani⯑mals are incapable of procreation. But, when they have attained the greateſt part of their growth, the redundance of nouriſhment begins to manifeſt itſelf by new productions. In man, the beard, the hair, the prominency of the breaſts, and the expanſion of the organs of generation, appear at the age of puberty. In the brute cre⯑ation; and particularly in the ſtag, this redun⯑dance produces effects ſtill more remarkable, as the growth of the horns, the ſwelling of the teſti⯑cles, the turgidity of the neck and throat, the fat, the rutting, &c. And, as the growth of the ſtag is at firſt very rapid, only a year paſſes before the redundance of nouriſhment begins to ſhow itſelf by the production of horns: If brought forth in May, the rudiments of the horns appear in the ſame month of the following year; and they continue to lengthen and acquire ſolidity, in pro⯑portion to the quantity of nouriſhment taken by the animal. About the end of Auguſt, they are fully grown, and ſo denſe and inſenſible, that the animal rubs them againſt the trees, in order to deprive them of the ſkin or ſcurf with which they are covered. At the ſame time, the fat, which is likewiſe produced by the redundance of nouriſhment, ceaſes to accumulate, and begins to be determined toward the organs of genera⯑tion, and to excite in the ſtag that ardour of de⯑ſire which renders him perfectly furious. That the production of horns, and the ſecretion of ſemen depend on the ſame cauſe, is evident [90] from this fact, that, when the organs neceſ⯑ſary for the ſecretion of ſemen are deſtroy⯑ed by caſtration, the production of the horns is likewiſe prevented; for, if this operation is performed after the horns are ſhed, they are never renewed; and if, on the contrary, it is done when the horns are perfect, they never fall off. In a word, after caſtration, the animal remains during life in the ſame condition it was before that operation. As it feels no longer the ardour of rutting, the concomitant ſymptoms likewiſe diſappear. There is no long⯑er any accumulation of fat or ſuet, no more turgidity of the neck and throat, and the diſpo⯑ſition of the creature becomes more gentle and tranquil. The parts cut off, therefore, were ne⯑ceſſary, not only for collecting the redundant nouriſhment, but likewiſe for puſhing it to the ſurface of the body in the form of fat, and particularly to the top of the head, where it gives riſe to the horns, and for giving vigour and ſpirit to the animal. Caſtrated ſtags, it is true, become fat; but they produce no horns; their neck and throat never ſwell; and their fat is never ſo highly exalted as that of entire ſtags, which, in the rutting ſeaſon, have an odour ſo ſtrong, as to be perceived at a great diſtance; and their fleſh is ſo infected with it, that it is un⯑eatable, offenſive to the ſmell, and putrifies in a very ſhort time; while that of the caſtrated ſtag may be preſerved freſh, and eat at all ſeaſons. The difference between the horns of ſtags of the [91] ſame age, of which ſome are thick, and others thin and ſlender, which is ſolely owing to a de⯑fect of food, is another proof that the horns are produced by redundant nouriſhment: For a ſtag which inhabits a rich country, where he is not diſturbed by dogs or men, but is allowed to feed and ruminate in peace, will always have the high⯑eſt, wideſt, largeſt, and moſt branchy horns. But thoſe which live in ſituations where they can neither find repoſe nor a ſufficient quantity of food, will have horns with few branches, ſlender ſtems, and brow-antlers. Thus it is eaſy to judge, by the horns of the ſtag, whether he has lived in a rich and peaceful country, or the oppoſite. Thoſe which are in bad condi⯑tion, have been wounded, or much diſturbed by hunting, are ſeldom fat, or have fine horns; their rutting time is alſo later; and their horns are neither ſo ſoon ſhed or renewed. Hence every circumſtance concurs in demonſtrating that the horns, like the ſeminal fluid, are no⯑thing but the redundant and ſuperfluous organic nouriſhment, which could not be exhauſted in expanding and ſupporting the animal body.

It is, therefore, apparent, that penury of food both retards the growth and diminiſhes the ſize of the horns; and, perhaps, it is not impoſſible, by retrenching the quantity of food, to ſuppreſs entirely this production, without having recourſe to caſtration. It is, however, certain, that caſtra⯑ted ſtags eat leſs food than thoſe which are un⯑mutilated; and the females of this ſpecies, as [92] well as thoſe of the fallow-deer, the roe, and the elk, have no horns, becauſe they eat leſs than the males; and becauſe, at the very time that a redundance of nouriſhment would naturally hap⯑pen, they are with young, and, inſtead of ſhow⯑ing itſelf externally, it is firſt exhauſted in nou⯑riſhing the foetus, and afterwards in nouriſhing the fawn. The objection, that the female rain-deer, which has horns like the male, rather ſup⯑ports than weakens this argument; for, of all horned animals, the rain-deer, in proportion to his ſize, has the largeſt and moſt voluminous horns, often extending, before and behind, the whole length of the body. He likewiſe abounds moſt in fat^*; and, beſides, the horns of the female are much ſmaller than thoſe of the male. This example, therefore, proves no more than that, when the redundance is ſo great as not to be ex⯑hauſted by geſtation and the growth of the foe⯑tus, it breaks through the body, and forms a new production, as in the male, only ſmaller in ſize, becauſe the quantity of redundant matter is leſs.

What I have remarked concerning nouriſh⯑ment ought not to be extended to the maſs or volume of the aliments, but only to the quanti⯑ty of organic particles, that living, active, and prolific matter which unfolds and ſupports all a⯑nimated beings. The reſt is nothing but dregs, which may be more or leſs in quantity, without inducing any change upon the body: And, as the [93] lichen rangiferinus, or rain-deer liverwort, is the ordinary food of the rain-deer, and is more ſubſtan⯑tial than the leaves, the bark, or the buds of trees, it is not ſurpriſing, that this animal ſhould have a greater redundance of organic particles, and, conſequently, larger horns, and more fat, than the common ſtag. It muſt be acknowledged, however, that the organic matter which produ⯑ces the horns is not perfectly diſengaged from uſeleſs particles, and that it preſerves, after paſ⯑ſing the body of the animal, marks of its former vegetable ſtate. The horns of the ſtag ſhoot, grow, and are diſpoſed like the branches of a tree. Its ſubſtance is, perhaps, leſs oſſeous than lignous. To uſe the expreſſion, it is a vegetable grafted upon an animal, participating of the na⯑ture of both, and forming one of thoſe ſhades by which nature always bounds the extremities of her productions, and which ſhe employs to con⯑nect ſubſtances that are greatly removed from each other.

In the animal, as formerly remarked^*, both extremities of the bones grow at a time. The ful⯑crum upon which the extending power is exerted, is in the middle of the bone, which part is always firſt oſſified, and from which the two extremes progreſſively recede, and continue ſoft till the bone acquires its full length. In the vegetable, on the contrary, only one extremity of the wood grows. The bud, which unfolds to form a [94] branch, is attached to the old wood by its infe⯑rior extremity, and upon this fulcrum the power of longitudinal extenſion acts. This remark⯑able difference between the vegetation of bones and the ſolid parts of plants, does not take place in the horns of ſtags. On the contrary, nothing can be more ſimilar to the growth of a tree. The horns extend at one extremity only, the o⯑ther ſerving for a fulcrum. They are firſt tender as an herb, and then harden like wood. The ſkin which covers and grows along with them is their bark, and it is rubbed off after they attain their full ſize. As long as they continue to grow, their extremities are ſoft; and they likewiſe di⯑vide into ſeveral branches. In a word, every circumſtance is ſimilar, and correſponds in the developement of both. Hence the organic par⯑ticles, which conſtitute the living ſubſtance of the ſtag, ſtill retain the impreſſion of the vegetable; becauſe they arrange themſelves in the ſame or⯑der as the parts of plants. Here it is apparent, that matter has an influence upon form. The ſtag which inhabits the foreſt, and feeds only on the ſprigs of trees, takes ſo ſtrong an impreſſion from the wood, that he produces a ſpecies of tree, which preſerves indelible and evident marks of its origin. This effect, though ſingular, is not ſolitary, and depends on a general cauſe, which I have already pointed out.

Both in animals and vegetables, the character, or mould, of each ſpecies, is the moſt conſtant [95] and unalterable thing in Nature: What is moſt variable and deſultory, is the matter of which they are compoſed. Matter, in general, ſeems to be indifferent to all forms, and capable of receiving every poſſible impreſſion. The organic or li⯑ving particles of this matter paſs from vegetables to animals, without deſtruction or alteration, and form equally the living ſubſtance of the herb, of the wood, of the fleſh, and of the bones. Ac⯑cording to this view, it appears that matter can never have any influence on form, and that no kind of food, provided the animal can ex⯑tract the organic particles, and aſſimilate them by nutrition, could induce any change upon the form, or have any other effect than to ſupport and ex⯑pand the body, by modelling itſelf upon all the particles of the interior mould, and intimately penetrating them. What proves this point is, that animals which live upon herbage, a ſub⯑ſtance very different from that of their own bodies, extract from it materials ſufficient for the production of fleſh and blood, and that they are nouriſhed and grow as well as animals who feed upon fleſh alone. However, by examining Nature more minutely, we ſhall find, that theſe organic particles ſometimes do not perfectly aſſi⯑milate themſelves to the internal mould, and that matter has often a ſenſible influence upon form. Size, for example, which is one of the attributes of form, varies in every ſpecies, according to the difference of climate. The quality and quantity [96] of fleſh, two other attributes of form, change ac⯑cording to the difference of food. This organic matter, therefore, which the animal aſſimilates to its own body by nutrition, is not abſolutely indifferent to the reception of every form, nor deprived of the original figure which it poſſeſſed. It retains ſome characters of its primitive ſtate. It acts, therefore, by its proper form upon that of the organized body to which it affords nou⯑riſhment; and, though this action is almoſt im⯑perceptible, and infinitely inferior to the power which obliges the organic particles to aſſimilate themſelves to the internal mould that receives them, yet, in the progreſs of time, ſenſible ef⯑fects muſt reſult from it. The ſtag, who inha⯑bits the foreſts, and lives ſolely upon wood, pro⯑duces and carries about with him a ſpecies of trees, which is nothing but the redundant part of his nouriſhment. The beaver, who lives in the waters, and feeds upon fiſhes, has a tail co⯑vered with ſcales. The fleſh of the otter, and of moſt water fowls, is a lent diet, a kind of fiſhy fleſh. We may, therefore, preſume, that animals perpetually nouriſhed by the ſame food, howe⯑ver ſtrong the original impreſſion of nature, would, in proceſs of time, acquire a tincture from the qualities of this food, and undergo a kind of transformation, by an aſſimilation contrary to the firſt. The nouriſhment would no longer aſ⯑ſimilate itſelf entirely to the form of the animal, but the animal would partly aſſimilate itſelf to [97] the form of the nouriſhment, as we perceive in the horns of the ſtag and the tail of the beaver.

In the ſtag, the horns are an acceſſory, a part foreign to the animal, and only regarded as be⯑longing to him, becauſe it proceeds from his body. But it is really a vegetable production, ſince it retains the characters of that vegetable from which it derives its origin, and reſembles the wood of trees, in the manner of its growth, ramification, ſolidity, drying, and ſeparation; for, after acquiring its greateſt denſity, it ceaſes to extract nouriſhment, it falls ſpontane⯑ouſly, like a ripe fruit from the branch. The very name given to this production in our lan⯑guage, is an indication that it has been regarded as wood^*, and not as a horn, a bone, a tuſk, &c. And, though this theory ſeems to be ſuffi⯑ciently eſtabliſhed by the preceding reaſoning, yet I ought not to paſs over a fact recorded by the antients. Ariſtotle^†, Theophraſtus^‡, and Pliny^‖, tell us, that ivy has been ſeen growing round the young horns of ſtags. If this fact be [98] true, and it may eaſily be determined by experi⯑ment, an analogy ſtill more intimate will be e⯑ſtabliſhed between the wood of the ſtag and that of trees.

The horns and tuſks of other animals are not only different from the wood of the ſtag; but, in their growth, texture, and form, both external and internal, there is nothing analogous to wood. The nails, the claws, the hairs, the feathers, the ſcales of animals, grow, it is admitted, by a ſpe⯑cies of vegetation; but this vegetation differs widely from that of wood. The horns of oxen, goats, antelopes, &c. are hollow within; but the wood of the ſtag is equally ſolid through its whole extent. The ſubſtance of theſe horns is the ſame with that of the nails, claws, and ſcales: But the horns of the ſtag reſemble wood more than any other ſubſtance. The inſide of all hollow horns is covered with a kind of peri⯑oſteum, and they contain in their cavity a bone, or core, which ſupports them; they never ſhed, but grow during the life of the animal; and its age may be learned by their rings or annual circles. Inſtead of growing by their ſuperior ex⯑tremity, like the wood of the ſtag, they grow like nails, feathers, and hairs, by their inferior extremity. In the ſame manner, the tuſks of the elephant, walrus, and wild boar, and all o⯑ther animals, are hollow within, and grow only by their inferior extremity. Thus horns and [99] tuſks have no more analogy to the wood of the ſtag than nails, hairs, or feathers.

Vegetation may, therefore, be reduced to three kinds. The firſt, in which the growth proceeds from the ſuperior extremity, as in plants, trees, and the wood of the ſtag; the ſecond, where the growth advances from the inferior extremity, as in horns, nails, claws, hairs, feathers, ſcales, tuſks, teeth, and other external parts of animal bodies; the third, in which the growth proceeds from both extremities at the ſame time, as in bones, cartilages, muſcles, tendons, and other in⯑ternal parts of animals. The material cauſe of all theſe three ſpecies, is the redundance of organic nouriſhment; and the aſſimilation of this nou⯑riſhment by the internal mould, which receives it, is the effect. Thus the growth of an animal is always more or leſs rapid, in proportion to the quantity of this redundant nouriſhment; and, after the greateſt part of growth is acquired, it is determined to the ſeminal reſervoirs, endea⯑vours to eſcape from the body, and to produce, by means of copulation, new organized beings. The difference between animals, which, like the ſtag, have fixed ſeaſons, and other animals which can engender at all times, proceeds entirely from their manner of feeding. Man and domeſtic a⯑nimals, who have daily an equal quantity of food, and often too much, are perpetually in a capacity for procreation. The ſtag, on the con⯑trary, and moſt wild animals, who ſuffer greatly [100] in the winter for want of food, have then no⯑thing redundant, and are incapable of generating till they recruit during the ſummer. It is im⯑mediately after this ſeaſon that the ſtag begins to rut; and, by the great waſte he ſuffers at this period, he continues, during winter, in a ſtate of languor and debility. His fleſh is then ſo meagre, and his blood ſo impoveriſhed, that worms breed under his ſkin, which ſtill augment his miſery, and he does not get quit of them till the ſpring, when he acquires new life and vigour by the active nouriſhment furniſhed to him by the freſh productions of the earth.

Thus the life of the ſtag is ſpent in alternate plenty and want, vigour and debility, health and ſickneſs, without having any change introduced into his conſtitution by theſe oppoſite extremes. He lives as long as other animals which are not ſubjected to ſuch viciſſitudes. As he grows five or ſix years, he lives ſeven times that number, or from 35 to 40 years^*. What has been re⯑ported concerning the longevity of the ſtag me⯑rits no credit. It is only a popular prejudice which prevailed in the days of Ariſtotle, and which that philoſopher conſidered as improbable, becauſe neither the time of geſtation, nor of the growth of the young ſtag, indicated long life^†. [101] This authority ought to have aboliſhed the pre⯑judice: But it has been renewed, in the ages of ig⯑norance, by a fabulous account of a ſtag taken by Charles VI. in the foreſt of Senlis, with a collar upon which was written this inſcription, Caeſar hoc me donavit. The love of the marvellous inclined men to believe that this animal had lived a thouſand years, and had his collar from a Ro⯑man Emperor, rather than to ſuppoſe that he came from Germany, where all the Emperors take the name of Caeſar.

The horns of the ſtag augment annually both in height and thickneſs, from the ſecond to the eighth year, and continue nearly in equal beauty during all the vigour of life. But when he grows old, his horns decline. Our ſtags have ſeldom more than twenty or twenty-two ant⯑lers or palms; and this number, even when at the higheſt pitch of vigour and perfection, is by no means conſtant; for it varies every year, ac⯑cording to the quantity of nouriſhment and re⯑poſe the animal has enjoyed: The largeneſs of the horns depends on the ſame cauſe; and their quality is alſo determined by the kind of nou⯑riſhment they receive. Like the wood of the foreſt, the wood of the ſtag is large, tender, and light in moiſt and fertile countries, and ſhort, hard, and heavy, in dry and barren regions.

The ſize and ſtature of the animals them⯑ſelves likewiſe differ according to the places they inhabit. The ſtags which frequent the [102] valleys, or hills abounding in grain, are larger and taller than thoſe which feed upon dry and rocky mountains. The latter are low, thick, and ſhort. Neither are they equally ſwift; but they run longer than the former: They are alſo more vicious, and have longer hair on their heads. Their horns are commonly ſhort and black, like a ſtunted tree, the bark of which is always of a darker colour. But the horns of the ſtags which feed in the plains are high, and of a clear reddiſh colour, like the wood and bark of trees which grow in a good ſoil. Theſe little ſquat ſtags never frequent the lofty woods, but keep always among the coppices, where they can more eaſily elude the purſuit of the dogs. The Corſican appears to be the ſmalleſt of theſe mountain-ſtags. He exceeds not the half of the height of the ordinary kind, and may be regarded as a terrier among ſtags. His colour is brown, his body is ſquat, and his legs are ſhort. And, what convinces me, that the ſize and ſtature of ſtags in general depend on the quantity and quality of their food, is, that, ha⯑ving reared one at my houſe, and fed him very plentifully for four years, he was much taller, thicker, and plumper at that age than the oldeſt ſtags in my woods, which are, however, of a very good ſize.

Yellow is the moſt common colour of the ſtag. But many of them are brown, and others [103] red. White ſtags are more rare, and ſeem to be a race that has become domeſtic, but very antient⯑ly; for both Ariſtotle and Pliny mention white ſtags; and they appear then to have been equal⯑ly uncommon as at preſent. The colour of the horns, like that of the hair, depends on the age and nature of the animal, and the impreſſion of the air. The horns of young ſtags are whitiſh, and leſs deeply coloured than thoſe of the old. Stags, whoſe colour is a clear diluted yellow, have often pale ill-coloured horns. Thoſe which are of a lively yellow have generally red horns; and brown ſtags, eſpecially thoſe which have black hair on the neck, have likewiſe black horns. The internal ſubſtance of the horns, it is true, is almoſt equally white in all ſtags; but they differ greatly in ſolidity and texture. Some of them are very ſpongy, and even contain pret⯑ty large cavities. This difference in texture is ſufficient to account for their aſſuming different colours; and it is unneceſſary to have recourſe to the juices of trees, ſince we daily ſee the whiteſt ivory turn yellow or brown after being expoſed to the air, though its texture be much more compact than that of the ſtag's horns.

The ſtag appears to have a fine eye, an acute ſmell, and an excellent ear. When liſtening, he raiſes his head, erects his ears, and hears from a great diſtance. When he is going into a cop⯑pice, or other half covered place, he ſtops to look round him on all ſides, and ſcents the wind, [104] to diſcover if any object is near that might di⯑ſturb him. He is a ſimple, and yet a curious and crafty animal. When hiſſed or called to from a diſtance, he ſtops ſhort, and looks ſted⯑faſtly, and with a kind of admiration, at carria⯑ges, cattle, or men; and, if they have neither arms nor dogs, he moves on unconcernedly, and without flying. He appears to liſten, with great tranquillity and delight, to the ſhepherd's pipe; and the hunters ſometimes employ this artifice to encourage and deceive him. In general, he is leſs afraid of men than of dogs, and is never ſuſpicious, or uſes any arts of concealment, but in proportion to the diſturbances he has recei⯑ved. He eats ſlow, and has a choice in his ali⯑ment; and, after his ſtomach is full, he lies down, and ruminates at leiſure. He ſeems to ruminate with leſs facility than the ox. It is only by violent ſhakes that the ſtag can make the food riſe from his firſt ſtomach. This diffi⯑culty proceeds from the length and direction of the paſſage through which the aliment has to go. The neck of the ox is ſhort and ſtraight; but that of the ſtag is long and arched; and therefore greater efforts are neceſſary to raiſe the food. Theſe efforts are made by a kind of hiccup, the movement of which is apparent, and continues during the time of rumination. His voice is ſtronger, and more quivering, in pro⯑portion as he advances in years. The voice of the hind is ſhorter and more feeble. She never [105] bellows from love, but from fear. The ſtag, during the rutting ſeaſon, bellows in a frightful manner: He is then ſo tranſported, that no⯑thing diſturbs or terrifies him. He is, therefore, eaſily ſurpriſed; as he is loaded with fat, he can⯑not keep long before the dogs. But he is dan⯑gerous when at bay, and attacks the dogs with a ſpecies of fury. He drinks none in winter, nor in ſpring, the dews and tender herbage be⯑ing then ſufficient to extinguiſh his thirſt. But, during the parching heats of ſummer, to obtain drink, he frequents the brooks, the marſhes, and the fountains; and, in the ſeaſon of love, he is ſo over-heated, that he ſearches every where for water, not only to ſatisfy his immoderate thirſt, but to bathe and refreſh his body. He then ſwims eaſier than at any other times on account of his fatneſs. He has been obſerved croſſing very large rivers. It has even been alledged, that, attracted by the odour of the hinds, the ſtags, in the rutting ſeaſon, throw themſelves into the ſea, and paſs from one iſland to another at the diſtance of ſeveral leagues. They leap ſtill more nimbly than they ſwim; for, when purſued, they eaſily clear a hedge or a pale fence of ſix feet high. Their food varies in different ſeaſons. In autumn, after rutting, they ſearch for the buds of green ſhrubs, the flowers of broom or heath, the leaves of brambles, &c. During the ſnows of winter, they feed upon the bark, moſs, &c. of trees; and, in mild weather, [106] they brouze in the wheat-fields. In the begin⯑ning of ſpring, they go in queſt of the catkins of the trembling poplar, willow, and hazel trees, the flowers and buds of the cornel-tree, &c. In ſummer, when they have great choice, they prefer rye to all other grain, and the black berry-bearing alder^* to all other wood. The fleſh of the fawn is very good; that of the hind and knobber not abſolutely bad; but that of the ſtag has al⯑ways a ſtrong and diſagreeable taſte. The ſkin and the horns are the moſt uſeful parts of this animal. The ſkin makes a pliable and very du⯑rable leather. The horns are uſed by cutlers, ſword-ſlippers, &c. and a volatile ſpirit, much employed in medicine, is extracted from them by the chymiſts.

THE FALLOW DEER^*.

NO ſpecies of animals makes ſo near an ap⯑proach to another as the fallow deer to that of the ſtag. But though their ſimilarity be great in every reſpect, they fly from each o⯑ther, never intermix, and, of courſe, give riſe to no intermediate race. It is even rare to find fal⯑low deer in a country much frequented by ſtags, unleſs they are induſtriouſly tranſported into it. Their nature ſeems to be leſs ruſtic and robuſt than that of the ſtag; and they are likewiſe leſs common in the foreſts. They are kept in parks, [114] where they may be ſaid to be half domeſtic. More of them are reared in England than in any other country of Europe; and the Engliſh are extremely fond of their veniſon. The dogs al⯑ſo prefer the fleſh of this deer to that of all other animals; and, after they have once eat of it, they are extremely apt, in the chace of the ſtag or roe deer, to change their courſe when they perceive the ſcent of the fallow deer. In ſome provinces of France, and in the neighbourhood of Paris, there are fallow deer, as alſo in Spain and Germany. Thoſe of America were probably tranſported from Europe. It ſeems to be an a⯑nimal peculiar to the temperate climates; for there are none in Ruſſia, and they are ſeldom met with in Sweden or other northern coun⯑tries^*.

The ſtags are more generally diffuſed over Europe; they are even found in Norway, and all the northern regions, Lapland, perhaps, excepted. They are alſo frequent in Aſia, eſpe⯑cially in Tartary^†, and the northern provinces of China. They are likewiſe found in America; for thoſe of Canada^‡ differ from ours only in the length of their horns, and the direction of [115] their antlers^*, which is ſometimes not ſtraight, as in the common ſtag, but turned backward, ſo that the end of each points to the ſtem of the horns. But this form of the horns is not abſo⯑lutely peculiar to the ſtag of Canada; for we find ſimilar horns engraven in la Venerie de du Fouilloux ^†; and thoſe of the Corſican ſtag have ſtraight antlers; which is a ſufficient proof that the Canadian ſtag is only a variety, to which ſtags of all countries are ſubject. There are likewiſe horns which have a number of antlers on their ſummits, in form of a crown. Theſe are rarely found in France; but, ſays Du Fouilloux^‡, they come from Ruſſia and Germa⯑ny. This is only another variety, and not a different ſpecies from the common kind. Hence, in Canada, as well as in France, moſt ſtags have ſtraight antlers; but in the former, they are lar⯑ger and thicker; becauſe they find, in theſe un⯑inhabited regions, more nouriſhment and repoſe than in populous countries. There are large and ſmall ſtags in America, as well as in Europe. But, however generally this ſpecies is diffuſed, it ſeems to be limited to cold and temperate cli⯑mates. The ſtags of Mexico and South A⯑merica, thoſe of Cayenne, thoſe called Gange ſtags, mentioned in M. Perrault's memoirs, un⯑der [116] the name of Sardinian hinds, thoſe denomi⯑nated Cape ſtags, and thoſe of Guiney, and other warm countries, belong not to the common ſpe⯑cies, as will appear when the particular hiſtory of each is given.

As the fallow deer is leſs ſavage, more deli⯑cate, and approaches nearer to the domeſtic ſtate than the ſtag, he is alſo ſubject to a greater num⯑ber of varieties. Beſides the common and the white fallow deer, there are ſeveral other varie⯑ties, as thoſe of Spain, which are nearly as large as the ſtag; but their neck is not ſo thick, and their colour is darker, with a blackiſh tail, not white below, and longer than that of the com⯑mon kind; thoſe of Virginia, which are almoſt as large as thoſe of Spain, and remarkable for the great ſize of their genital organs: Others have a compreſſed forehead, ears and tail longer than thoſe of the common fallow deer, and marked with a white ſpot upon the hoofs of the hind feet; others are ſpotted with white, black, and yellow; and others are entirely black. All theſe have their horns flatter, broader, and bet⯑ter garniſhed with antlers than thoſe of the ſtag; they likewiſe incline more inwardly, and are more palmated at the points; and, when the horns are very ſtrong, the largeſt antlers are ſometimes terminated by ſmall plams. The tail of the common fallow deer is longer than that of the ſtag, and its hair is brighter. The horns of the fallow deer ſhed, like thoſe of the ſtag; [117] but they fall off later, and are renewed nearly at the ſame time. Their rutting ſeaſon arrives fifteen days or three weeks after that of the ſtag. The males then bellow frequently, but with a low and interrupted voice. They are not ſo furious as the ſtag, nor exhauſt themſelves by rutting. They never depart from their own country in queſt of females; but they diſpute and fight for the poſſeſſion of their miſtreſſes. They aſſociate in herds, which almoſt always keep together. When there is a great number in one park, they generally form themſelves in⯑to two diſtinct troops, which ſoon become ho⯑ſtile, becauſe they both wiſh to occupy the ſame part of the incloſure. Each of theſe troops has its own chief, who marches foremoſt; and he is always the oldeſt and ſtrongeſt of the flock. The others follow him; and the whole draw up in order of battle, to force the other troop from the beſt paſture. The order with which theſe combats are conducted is very ſingular. They make regular attacks, fight with courage, mutu⯑ally ſupport each other, and never think them⯑ſelves vanquiſhed by a ſingle check; for the battle is daily renewed, till the weaker are completely defeated, and obliged to remain in the worſt pa⯑ſture. They love elvated and hilly countries. When chaced, they run not out, like the ſtag, but double, and endeavour to conceal themſelves from the dogs by artifice, and by ſubſtituting an⯑other animal in their place. However, when [118] fatigued and heated, they take the water, but never attempt to croſs ſuch extenſive rivers as the ſtag. Thus, between the chace of the fal⯑low deer and ſtag, there is no material difference. Their knowledge and inſtincts, their ſhifts and doublings, are the ſame, only they are more fre⯑quently practiſed: by the fallow deer. As he is leſs enterpriſing, and runs not ſo far before the dogs, he has oftener occaſion to change, or ſub⯑ſtitute another in his place, to double, return up⯑on his former tracts, &c. which renders the hunt⯑ing of the fallow deer more ſubject to inconve⯑niencies than that of the ſtag. Beſides, as he is ſmaller and lighter, the impreſſions of his feet upon the ground are ſlighter, and the branches he knocks off from the trees with his horns are ſmaller. Hence the dogs are leſs apt to obſerve the change, or ſubſtitution of another animal, and it is more difficult to bring them into the ſcent when at fault.

THE ROE DEER^*.

AS the ſtag is the nobleſt inhabitant of the wood, he occupies the deepeſt ſhades of the foreſt, and the moſt elevated ridges of thoſe mountains which are covered with lofty trees. The roe deer, as if inferior in ſpecies, contents [121] himſelf with a humbler reſidence, and generally dwells among the thick foliage of young bruſh⯑wood. But, if he is inferior to the ſtag in dig⯑nity, ſtrength, and ſtature, he is endowed with more gracefulneſs, vivacity, and courage^*. He is ſuperior in gaiety, neatneſs, and ſprightlineſs. His figure is more elegant and handſome. His eyes are more brilliant and animated. His limbs are more nimble, his movements quicker, and he bounds, ſeemingly without effort, with equal vigour and agility. His coat, or hair, is always clean, ſmooth, and gloſſy. He never wallows in the mire, like the ſtag. He delights in dry and elevated ſituations, where the air is pureſt. He is likewiſe more crafty, conceals himſelf with greater addreſs, is more difficult to trace, and derives ſuperior reſources from inſtinct: For, though he has the misfortune to leave be⯑hind him a ſtronger ſcent than the ſtag, which redoubles the ardour and appetite of the dogs, he knows how to withdraw himſelf from their purſuit, by the rapidity with which he begins his flight, and by his numerous doublings. He delays not his arts of defence till his ſtrength fails him; but, as ſoon as he finds that the firſt efforts of a rapid chace have been unſucceſsful, he repeatedly returns on his former ſteps; and, after confounding, by theſe oppoſite movements, [122] the direction he has taken, after intermixing the preſent with the paſt emanations from his body, he riſes from the earth by a great bound, and, retiring to a ſide, he lies down flat on his belly, and, in this immoveable ſituation, he allows the whole troop of his deceived ene⯑mies to paſs very near him.

The roe deer differs from the ſtag and fallow deer in diſpoſition, temperament, manners, and almoſt every natural habit. Inſtead of aſſocia⯑ting in heards, they live in ſeparate families. The father, mother, and young, go together, and never mix with ſtrangers. They are conſtant in their amours, and never unfaithful like the ſtag. As the females generally produce two fawns, the one male and the other female, theſe young animals, brought up and nouriſhed together, ac⯑quire ſo ſtrong a mutual affection, that they ne⯑ver quit each other, unleſs one of them meets with a misfortune, which never ought to ſepa⯑rate lovers. This attachment is more than love; for, though always together, they feel the ar⯑dour of the rut but once a year, and it continues only fifteen days, commencing at the end of October, and ending before the fifteenth day of November. They are not then, like the ſtag, overloaded with fat: They have no ſtrong ſmell, no fury, in a word, nothing that can change the ſtate of their bodies. During this period, they indeed ſuffer not their fawns to remain with them. The father drives them off, as if he meant [123] to oblige them to yield their place to thoſe which are to ſucceed, and to form new families for themſelves. However, after the rutting ſea⯑ſon is paſt, the fawns return to their mother, and remain with her ſome time; after which they ſeparate forever, and remove to a diſtance from the place which gave them birth.

The female goes with young five months and a half, and brings forth about the end of April or beginning of May. The hinds, as formerly remarked, go with young above eight months; and this difference alone is ſufficient to prove, that theſe animals are ſo remote from each other in ſpecies, as to prevent their ever intermixing or producing an intermediate race. By this dif⯑ference, as well as that of figure and ſize, they approach the goat as much as they recede from the ſtag; for the goat goes with young nearly the ſame time, and the roe deer may be regard⯑ed as a wild goat, which, feeding ſolely on wood, carries wood inſtead of horns. The female, when about to bring forth, ſeparates from the male. To avoid the wolf, who is her moſt dangerous enemy, ſhe conceals herſelf in the deepeſt receſ⯑ſes of the foreſt. In ten or twelve days, the fawns acquire ſtrength ſufficient to enable them to follow her. When threatened with danger, ſhe hides them in a cloſe thicket, and, to preſerve them, preſents herſelf to be chaced. But, not⯑withſtanding all her care and anxiety, the young are ſometimes carried off by men, dogs, or [124] wolves. This is indeed the time of their great⯑eſt deſtruction. Of this ſpecies, which is not very numerous, I know, from experience, that more are deſtroyed in the month of May, than during all the reſt of the year. I often live in a part of the country^* where roe deer are greatly eſteemed. Many fawns are annually brought me alive by men, and others killed by dogs, without reckoning thoſe which are devoured by wolves: And I have obſerved, during the ſpace of more than twenty-five years, that, as if there were a perfect equilibrium between the cauſes of deſtruction and renovation, their number is always nearly equal in the ſame diſtricts. It is not difficult to count them; for they are no where numerous, and they live ſeparately in di⯑ſtinct families: In a coppice, for example, of 100 acres, there will be one family, or from three to five individuals; for a female, which gene⯑rally produces two fawns, ſometimes brings forth but one, and ſometimes, though very ſeldom, three. In another diſtrict, of double the extent, there will be ſeven or eight, that is, two fami⯑lies; and I have remarked, that each diſtrict al⯑ways harbours an equal number, excepting when the winters have been extremely rigorous and long: In this caſe, the whole family is deſtroy⯑ed; but it is replaced by another the following year; and thoſe diſtricts, for which they have a predilection, are always inhabited nearly by an [125] equal number. It is alledged, however, that, in general, their number is diminiſhing. There are whole provinces, it muſt be acknowledged, of France, where not one of them is to be found. Though common in Scotland^*, there are none in England. They are very rare in Italy; and they are now ſcarcer in Sweden than formerly, &c. But this effect may have proceeded from the diminution of foreſts, or from ſome very ſe⯑vere winter, like that of the year 1709, which almoſt deſtroyed the whole roe deer of Burgun⯑dy; ſo that ſeveral years paſſed before the ſpecies was recruited. Beſides, they are not equally fond of every country; for, in the ſame coun⯑tries, they prefer particular places. They love hills, or plains on the tops of mountains. They never ſtay in the deepeſt receſſes of the foreſts, nor in the middle of extenſive woods; but give the preference to the ſkirts or projections of woods which are ſurrounded with cultivated ſields, and to open coppices which produce the berry-bearing alder, brambles, &c.

The fawns continue with their parents eight or nine months, and, when ſeparated, about the end of the firſt years of their age, their firſt horns begin to appear in the form of two knobs much leſs than thoſe of the ſtag. There is ſtill a great⯑er difference between theſe two animals: The horns of the ſtag ſhed in the ſpring, and are re⯑newed [126] in ſummer; but thoſe of the roe deer fall off at the end of autumn, and are replaced in winter. Several cauſes concur in producing theſe different effects. In ſummer, the ſtag takes a great deal of nouriſhment, and grows exceed⯑ingly fat; he next exhauſts himſelf ſo much in the rutting ſeaſon, that the whole winter is neceſſary to recover his vigour. But, during this ſeaſon, inſtead of ſuperabundant nouriſh⯑ment, he is half ſtarved for want of ſubſiſtence, and, conſequently, his horns cannot begin to ſhoot till the ſpring, when his nouriſhment be⯑gins to be redundant. The roe deer, on the contrary, who is never ſo much waſted, has no occaſion for equal reparation; and, as he is ne⯑ver loaded with fat, as no change is produced in him by rutting, but continues always nearly the ſame, he has at all times a redundance of nou⯑riſhment; ſo that even in winter, and a ſhort time after rutting, he ſheds and renews his horns. Thus, in all theſe animals, the redundant orga⯑nic nouriſhment, before it is determined to the ſeminal reſervoirs, and forms the ſeminal fluid, is transferred to the head, and manifeſts itſelf externally by the production of horns; in the ſame manner as in man, the hair and the beard announce and precede the ſecretion of the ſemi⯑nal fluid: And, it is apparent, that theſe vege⯑table productions, as they may be denominated, are formed of a redundant organic ſubſtance, but ſtill imperfect, and mixed with brute particles, [127] ſince they preſerve, in their growth and ſub⯑ſtance, the qualities of vegetables. But the ſe⯑minal fluid, the production of which is not ſo early, is a matter purely organic, deprived en⯑tirely of its brute particles, and perfectly aſſimi⯑lated to the body of the animal.

When the roe deer has renewed his horns, he rubs them againſt the trees, like the ſtag, in or⯑der to tear off the ſkin with which they are co⯑vered; and this commonly happens in the month of March, before the trees begin to ſhoot. Hence it is not the ſap of the wood which colours the horns of the roe deer. However, the horns are brown when the animal is brown, and yellow when he is red; and, conſequently, the colour of the horns proceeds, as formerly remarked^*, ſolely from the nature of the animal, and the impreſſion of the air. The ſecond horns of the roe have two or three antlers in each ſide; the third, three or four; the fourth, four or five, and they ſeldom have more. We diſtinguiſh the old ones by the thickneſs of the ſtems, the largeneſs of the bur, of the pearlings, &c. As long as the horns continue ſoft, they are ex⯑tremely ſenſible: Of this I have had a ſtriking example: The young ſhoot of a roe buck's horn was cut off with a ball. The animal was ſtunned, and fell down as if he had been dead. The ſhooter, who was near, ſeized him by the foot; but the buck, ſuddenly recovering [128] his ſenſes and his ſtrength, dragged the man, though he was ſtrong and alert, thirty paces in⯑to the wood. After killing him with a knife, we diſcovered that he had received no other wound. Beſides, it is well known, that flies are very troubleſome to the ſtag: When his horns are growing, he retires to the deepeſt parts of the wood, where the flies are leſs numerous; becauſe, when they fix upon the tender horns, the irritation they occaſion is inſupportable. Thus there is an intimate communication be⯑tween the ſoft parts of the horns, and the whole nervous ſyſtem of the animal. The roe buck, who has nothing to apprehend from the flies, becauſe he renews his horns in winter, never re⯑tires in this manner; but he walks with caution, and carries his head low, leſt he ſhould touch the branches.

In the ſtag, the fallow deer, and roe buck, the frontal bone has two proceſſes, or eminences, on which the horns reſt. Theſe proceſſes be⯑gin to ſhoot at the age of five or ſix months, ſoon after acquire their full growth, and, inſtead of riſing higher in proportion as the animal ad⯑vances in years, they annually ſink and dimi⯑niſh; ſo that, in old ſtags or roe bucks, the burs are nearly ſupported upon the frontal bone, the proceſſes of which having then become very broad and very ſhort: This is the moſt certain mark by which the age of theſe animals can be diſtinguiſhed. At firſt ſight, this fact appears to [129] be ſingular, but admits of an eaſy explanation, when it is conſidered, that the horns, ſupported by theſe proceſſes, preſs againſt them during the whole time of growth, which continues for ſe⯑veral months every year: Hence theſe bones, however hard, muſt become broader and ſink lower annually, by the great and long continued preſſure they receive from every renewal of the animal's horns. It is for the ſame reaſon, that, though the ſtems and burs, or rings, always grow thicker in proportion to the animal's age, the height of the horns and the number of antlers diminiſh ſo faſt, that, when he is very old, they are only two thick knobs, with very ſmall antlers.

As the female roe goes with young only five months and a half, and as the growth of the fawn is more rapid than that of the ſtag, the du⯑ration of her life is much ſhorter, ſeldom exten⯑ding, I imagine, beyond twelve or fifteen years. I have reared ſeveral of them; but could never preſerve them above five or ſix years. They are very delicate in the choice of their food, re⯑quire a great deal of exerciſe, fine air, and much room, which is the reaſon why they are unable, excepting in the firſt years of their growth, to re⯑ſiſt the inconveniences of a domeſtic life. To make a male live comfortable, he muſt be furniſhed with a female, and a park of a hundred acres. They may be tamed, but can never be rendered obe⯑dient or familiar. They always retain a por⯑tion [130] of their natural wildneſs, are eaſily terrifi⯑ed, and then run with ſuch force and precipita⯑tion againſt the walls, that they often break their limbs. However tame they may be, they cannot be truſted; for the males particularly are ſubject to dangerous caprices; they take an aver⯑ſion at certain perſons, and make furious attacks with their horns, the blows of which are ſuffi⯑cient to knock a man to the ground, after which they continue to tread on him with their feet. The roe buck bellows not ſo frequently, nor with ſo loud or ſo ſtrong a voice, as the ſtag. The young ones utter a ſhort and plaintive cry, mi....mi, by which they indicate their want of food. This ſound is eaſily imitated; and the mother, deceived by the call, will come up to the very muzzle of the hunter's gun.

In winter, the roe bucks frequent the thickeſt coppices, and feed upon brambles, broom, heath, the catkins of the hazel, willow, &c. In ſpring, they repair to the more open bruſhwood, and eat the buds and young leaves of almoſt every tree. This warm food ferments in their ſto⯑machs, and intoxicates them to ſuch a degree that they are eaſily ſurpriſed. They know not where they are going, and not unfrequently come out of the wood, and ſometimes approach flocks of cattle, and the habitations of men. In ſummer, they dwell in the more elevated coppi⯑ces, from which they ſeldom depart, excepting in very dry weather, when they go to drink at [131] ſome fountain; for, when the dews abound, or the leaves are moiſtened with rain, they ne⯑ver drink. They are delicate in the choice of their food; they eat not with avidity, like the ſtag, and they ſeldom approach the cultivated fields, becauſe they prefer the berry-bearing alder and bramble to grain or pot herbs of any kind.

Though the fleſh of theſe animals be excel⯑lent food; yet it admits of much choice. The quality of their veniſon depends chiefly on the country they inhabit; and even the beſt countries produce good and bad kinds. The fleſh of the brown roe buck is finer than that of the red. All the males, after the age of two years, have hard and ill-taſted fleſh; but that of the females, though farther advanced in years, is more tender. The fleſh of the fawns, when very young, is looſe and ſoft; but, at the age of eighteen months, it is in its higheſt ſtate of per⯑fection. Thoſe which live in plains and val⯑leys are not good; thoſe that come from moiſt countries are ſtill worſe; thoſe brought up in parks are inſipid; and, laſtly, there are no good roe bucks but thoſe of dry and elevated coun⯑tries, interſperſed with hills, woods, cultivated and fallow lands, where they enjoy plenty of air, food, freedom, and ſolitude; for thoſe which have been often diſturbed are meagre, and the fleſh of thoſe that have been often hunted is dry and inſipid.

This ſpecies, which is leſs numerous than that of the ſtag, and very rare in many parts of Eu⯑rope, [132] ſeems to be much more abundant in Ame⯑rica, where there are two varieties, the red, which is the largeſt, and the brown, which has a white ſpot behind, and is ſmaller: And, as they are found in the northern as well as the ſouthern parts of America, it is probable that they differ more from each other than from thoſe of Europe. They are very common, for example, in Louiſiana^*, and larger than thoſe of France. They are likewiſe found in Brazil; for the animal called Cujuacu-apara differs not more from our roe buck than the ſtag of Canada from our ſtag. There is in⯑deed a little variation in the figure of the horns, as appears from Perrault's figure of the Canadi⯑an ſtag, compared with the deſcription and fi⯑gure of the Braſilian ſtag given by Piſo. 'In Brazil,' ſays Piſo, 'there are roe bucks, of which ſome have no horns, and are called Cujuacu-été, and others have horns, and are called Cujuacu-apara. The latter are ſmaller than the former; their hair is ſmooth, gloſſy, and mixed with brown and white, eſpecially when the animals are young; for the white is effaced with age. The foot is divided into two black toes, upon each of which there is a ſmal⯑ler one ſuperinduced; the tail is ſhort; the [133] eyes large and black; the noſtrils open; the horns are of a middle ſize, and fall off annual⯑ly. The female goes with young five or ſix months. They may be tamed^*,' &c. Mar⯑graave adds, 'that the horns of the apara have three branches, and that the inferior branch is longeſt and divided into two.' From theſe de⯑ſcriptions, it is apparent, that the apara is only a variety of our roe buck; and Ray ſuſpects^†, that the Cujuacu-apara is the male, and the Cu⯑juacu-été the female, and that they both belong to the ſame ſpecies. I ſhould willingly aſſent to Mr Ray's opinion, if Piſo had not expreſsly ſaid, that thoſe which have horns are ſmaller than the other kind. It is not probable that, at Bra⯑zil, the females of this ſpecies ſhould be larger than the males, ſince every where elſe they are ſmaller. At the ſame time, though I believe the Cujuacu-apara to be only a variety of our roe buck, to which we may alſo add the Capreolus marinus of Johnſton, I ſhall not decide concern⯑ing the Cujuacu-été till farther information be obtained.

THE HARE^*.

THE moſt numerous ſpecies of animals are by no means the moſt uſeful. Nothing can be more noxious than thoſe multitudes of rats, mice, locuſts, caterpillars, and other inſects, the fecundity of which Nature ſeems rather to permit than to ordain. But the ſpecies of the [138] hare and of the rabbit afford to man the double advantage ariſing from number and utility. The hare is univerſally diffuſed over all the climates of the earth. The rabbits, though originally na⯑tives of particular climates, multiply ſo prodigi⯑ouſly wherever they are tranſported, that, inſtead of being rooted out, much art is neceſſary to di⯑miniſh their number, which is ſometimes incom⯑modious.

When we reflect on the amazing fecundity of each ſpecies, the rapid and prodigious multi⯑plication of particular animals which come forth in myriads to ravage the earth, we are aſtoniſhed that they oppreſs not Nature by their numbers, and, after deſolating her productions, fall vic⯑tims to the univerſal waſte they have created.

We view with terror the approach of thoſe thick clouds, thoſe winged armies of famiſhed in⯑ſects, which ſeem to threaten the whole globe with deſtruction, and, lighting on the fruitful plains of Egypt, or of India, annihilate, in an inſtant, the labours and the hopes of nations; and, ſparing neither grain, nor fruits, nor herbs, nor leaves, nor roots, ſpoil the earth of its ver⯑dure, and convert the richeſt countries into de⯑ſerts. We behold, deſcending from the moun⯑tains of the north, innumerable multitudes of rats, which, like an animated deluge, overwhelm the plains, ſpread over the ſouthern provinces, and, after deſtroying, in their paſſage, every thing that lives or vegetates, finiſh their noxious courſe, [139] by infecting the earth and the air with the pu⯑trid emanations of their dead carcaſſes. In the ſouthern regions, we behold, iſſuing ſuddenly from the deſerts, myriads of ants, which, like an inexhauſtible torrent, preſs forward in continued columns, drive men and animals from their ha⯑bitations, and never retire till they have produ⯑ced an univerſal devaſtation: And, when men, like the animals, were half ſavage, and ſubject to all the laws and exceſſes of Nature, have not ſimilar inundations of the human ſpecies taken place? Have not Normans, Huns, Goths, whole nations, or rather colonies of fierce and brutal people, without habitation or name, ſuddenly iſſued from their caverns, and with no other power but what ariſes from number, overturned cities and empires, and, after laying waſte the earth, repeopled it with men equally new and barbarous as themſelves?

Theſe great events, theſe remarkable aeras in the hiſtory of the human race, are, however, only ſlight viciſſitudes in the ordinary courſe of animated Nature, which, in general, is always the ſame: Its movements are performed on two ſteady pivots, unlimited fecundity, and thoſe in⯑numerable cauſes of deſtruction which reduce the product of this fecundity to a determined mea⯑ſure, and preſerve, at all periods, nearly an e⯑qual number of individuals in each ſpecies. And, as thoſe enormous multitudes of animals, which ſometimes ſuddenly appear, vaniſh without aug⯑menting [140] menting the common ſtock, that of the human ſpecies, in like manner, continues always the ſame. The variations of the latter are only ſlower; becauſe, the life of man being longer than that of ſmall animals, more is neceſſary to bring about the alternate changes of augmenta⯑tion and diminution. But even this time, though it makes a deep impreſſion, becauſe it has been accompanied with horror and deſolation, is only an inſtant in the ſucceſſion of ages: For, in eſti⯑mating the whole human ſpecies who ever exiſt⯑ed, the number of men, like that of all other a⯑nimals, ought, at all periods, to be nearly the ſame, ſince it depends upon the equilibrium of phyſical cauſes; and this equilibrium, to which every thing has been long reduced, cannot be infringed either by the efforts of men, or by any moral circumſtances, which are only particular effects of thoſe phyſical cauſes. Whatever care man may beſtow on his own ſpecies, he will ne⯑ver render it more numerous in one place, but at the expence of an equal diminution in another. When any portion of the earth is overſtocked with men, they diſperſe, or deſtroy each other, and often eſtabliſh ſuch laws and cuſtoms as give too great a check to this exceſs of multiplication. In remarkably prolific climates, as in China, Egypt, and Guiney, the inhabitants baniſh, mu⯑tilate, ſell, or drown their offſpring: In France, and other Catholic countries, they are condemn⯑ed to perpetual celebacy. Thoſe who exiſt, uſurp [141] eaſily the rights of thoſe who have no exiſt⯑ence: Regarding themſelves as neceſſary beings, they annihilate thoſe which are contingent, and, for their own convenience, ſuppreſs future ge⯑nerations. The ſame reſtrictions are laid upon man, without his perceiving it, as are impoſed upon the other animals: We cheriſh or multiply, ne⯑glect or deſtroy our ſpecies, according to the advan⯑tages or inconveniences which reſult from them: And, as all moral effects depend upon phyſical cauſes, which, ever ſince the earth acquired its conſiſtence, are fixed and permanent, the num⯑ber of the human ſpecies, as well as that of all other animals, muſt likewiſe be conſtant and un⯑alterable. Beſides, this ſixed ſtate, this conſtant number, imply not abſolute quantities. All phy⯑ſical and moral cauſes, and the effects that reſult from them, are balanced, and comprehended within certain limits, which are more or leſs ex⯑tended, but never to ſuch a degree as to deſtroy the equilibrium. As the whole univerſe is in perpetual motion, as all the powers of matter mutually act upon and counterbalance each other, every effect is produced by a kind of oſcillations, to the middle points of which we refer the or⯑dinary courſe of Nature, and the extremes are thoſe effects which are fartheſt removed from that courſe. Hence we find, that, both in ani⯑mals and vegetables, an exceſſive multiplication is commonly followed by ſterility: Plenty and ſcarcity alternately ſucceed each other, and of⯑ten [142] ſo quickly, that a tolerable judgment may be formed of the produce of one year by that of the preceding year. Apple, plumb, oak, beech, and moſt fruit and foreſt trees, produce abun⯑dantly but once every other ſeaſon. When ca⯑terpillars, flies, field-mice, and other animals mutliply to exceſs in one year, their number is greatly diminiſhed the following year. If inſects, during theſe fertile ſeaſons, multiplied the next in proportion to their numbers, the whole fruits of the earth, all our domeſtic animals, and even man himſelf, would fall victims to their rapacity. But the cauſes of deſtruction and ſterility imme⯑diately ſucceed thoſe which give riſe to a redun⯑dant multiplication. Neither is this deſtruction occaſioned by contagion: It is a neceſſary con⯑ſequence of too great a maſs of animated matter collected in one place. In every ſpecies, there are particular cauſes of death, as ſhall afterwards be ſhown, which are ſufficient to compenſate the exceſs of preceding generations.

I muſt again remark, that this reaſoning is not to be underſtood in an abſolute or even in a ſtrict ſenſe, eſpecially with regard to thoſe ſpecies which are not left entirely to the guidance of Nature. Man, and the other animals he has taken under his protection and care, are more abundant than they would be without that attention he beſtows on them. But, as this care has alſo its limits, the augmentation which reſults from it, has long been confined by immutable boundaries. And [143] though, in civilized countries, the human ſpecies, as well as domeſtic animals, are more numerous than in other climates, they never multiply to exceſs; becauſe, whenever they become incom⯑modious, their number is diminiſhed by the ſame power that produced them.

In diſtricts appropriated to the pleaſures of the chace, four or five hundred hares are ſometimes killed in the courſe of a ſingle day's ſport. The multiplication of theſe animals is very rapid. From the firſt year of their exiſtence, they are always in a condition for propagating. The fe⯑males go with young only thirty or thirty-one days. They bring forth three or four at a litter, and, immediately afterwards, they receive the male. They likewiſe admit him during the time of geſtation; and, from a peculiar conforma⯑tion of their organs, they have frequent ſuper⯑foetations: For the uterus is only a continua⯑tion of the vagina, and has neither neck nor o⯑rifice, as in other animals; but, in each horn, there is an orifice opening into the vagina, which dilates during the time of bringing forth. Thus the horns are two diſtinct uteri, which can act independent of each other; ſo that the females of this ſpecies are capable of conceiving and bringing forth, at different times, by each ute⯑rus; and, conſequently, ſuperfoetations muſt be as frequent among theſe animals as they are rare in thoſe which have not a double organ.

[144] It is, therefore, apparent, that the female hares may be in ſeaſon and impregnated at all times. Another ſingularity in their ſtructure proves them to be equally laſcivious as they are fertile. The glans of the clitoris is prominent, and nearly as large as that of the male penis; and, as the vulva is hardly viſible, and the male, when young, has neither ſcrotum nor teſticles on the outſide of the body, it is often difficult to diſtinguiſh the females from the males. This peculiarity of ſtructure has given riſe to the fol⯑lowing notions: That hermophradite hares are very common; that the males ſometimes bring forth young; and that ſome are alternately males and females, and perform the functions of ei⯑ther ſex, becauſe the females, being more ardent than the males, often mount upon them, and be⯑cauſe the external reſemblance is ſo great, that, unleſs narrowly examined, the one may eaſily be miſtaken for the other.

The young, when brought forth, have their eyes open. The mother ſuckles them about twenty days; after which they ſeparate, and pro⯑cure their own food. They never remove far from each other, nor from the place where they are littered. They live, however, in ſolitude, each making a form or ſeat at the diſtance of ſixty or eighty paces. Thus, when we meet with one young hare, we are almoſt certain of find⯑ing two or three others in the neighbourhood. They feed more in the night than in the day; [145] they eat herbs, roots, leaves, fruit, grain, pre⯑ferring thoſe plants which have milky juices. During winter, they gnaw the bark indiſcrimi⯑nately from all trees, excepting that of the al⯑der and lime, which they never touch. When reared in houſes, they are fed with lettuce and pot-herbs: But the fleſh of thoſe fed hares is al⯑ways bad taſted.

During the day, they ſleep or repoſe in their form, and are active only in the night, when they move about, feed, and copulate. When the moon ſhines, they are ſeen playing toge⯑ther, leaping and chacing each other. The ſmall⯑eſt motion, or the noiſe of a falling leaf, is ſuf⯑ficient to terrify and make them fly different ways.

Some authors maintain, that hares chew the cud. But I cannot aſſent to this opinion; be⯑cauſe they have one ſtomach only, and its con⯑formation, as well as that of the other inteſtines, are totally different from thoſe of ruminating animals. The caecum of the latter is ſmall, but that of the hare is very large; and, when to the capacity of the ſtomach this large caecum is added, it is eaſy to perceive that this animal, by taking a great quantity of aliment, may live up⯑on herbs alone, like the horſe and aſs, which have alſo a large caecum, and but one ſtomach, and, conſequently, are incapable of ruminating.

Hares ſleep much, but always with open eyes. They have neither eye-lids nor cilia, and their [146] eyes ſeem to be bad. But, as a remuneration, they have an acute ſenſe of hearing, and enor⯑mous ears in proportion to the ſize of their bo⯑dies. Theſe long ears they move with great fa⯑cility, and employ them as a rudder to direct their courſe, which is ſo rapid, that they outſtrip all other animals. As their fore legs are much ſhorter than the hind legs, they run eaſier up than down hill; hence, when purſued, they al⯑ways take to the higheſt grounds. Their run⯑ning is a kind of gallop, a ſucceſſion of quick leaps. Their motion is not accompanied with noiſe; becauſe their feet are covered, both above and below, with hair. They are perhaps the only animals which have hair in the inſide of the mouth.

The duration of their life, like that of other animals, is proportioned to the time of their growth, which is completed in one year, and they live about ſeven. The males are ſaid to live longer than the females. They paſs their days in ſolitude and ſilence; and their voice is never heard but when ſeized or wounded: It is a loud, ſharp cry, having ſome reſemblance to the human voice. They are not ſo ſavage as their manners and habits would indicate: They are gentle, and ſuſceptible of a kind of education. Though eaſily tamed, and even rendered careſ⯑ſing, they never acquire that attachment which is neceſſary to make them domeſtic; for, when taken young, and brought up in the houſe, they [147] take the firſt opportunity of regaining their li⯑berty, and of flying to the fields. As they have a fine ear, ſit ſpontaneouſly on their hind legs, and uſe the fore legs as a kind of hands, they have been trained to beat a drum, to perform geſtures in cadence, &c.

In general, the hare wants neither inſtinct ſufficient for his own preſervation, nor ſagacity for eſcaping his enemies. He forms a ſeat or neſt: In winter, he chooſes ſituations expoſed to the ſouth, and, in ſummer, to the north. With a view to deceive, he conceals himſelf be⯑tween clods or hillocks of the ſame colour with that of his own hair. 'I have ſeen,' ſays Fouil⯑loux, 'a hare ſo ſagacious, that, after hearing the hunter's horn, he ſtarted from his form, and, though at the diſtance of a quarter of a league, went to ſwim in a pool, and lay down on the ruſhes in the middle of it, without being chaced by the dogs. I have ſeen a hare, after running two hours before the dogs, puſh another from his ſeat, and take poſſeſſion of it. I have ſeen others ſwim over two or three ponds, the narroweſt of which was eighty paces broad. I have ſeen others, after a two hours chace, run into a ſheep-fold and lie down among them. I have ſeen others, when hard puſhed, run in among a flock of ſheep, and would not leave them. I have ſeen others, after hearing the noiſe of the hounds, conceal themſelves in the earth. I have ſeen others [148] run up one ſide of a hedge and return by the other, when there was nothing elſe between them and the dogs. I have ſeen others, after running half an hour, mount an old wall, ſix feet high, and clap down in a hole covered with ivy. Laſtly, I have ſeen others ſwim over a river of about eighty paces broad, more than two times, in a length of two hundred paces.'

But theſe facts unqueſtionably exhibit the greateſt efforts of their inſtinct; for their ordi⯑nary reſources are not ſo fine nor ſo complicated: When purſued, they firſt run with rapidity, and then double, or return upon their former ſteps. They always run in the direction that the wind blows. The females run not ſo far from their place of ſtarting as the males; but they double oftener. In general, hares hunted in the place that gave them birth, never remove to a great diſtance from it, but return to their form; and, if chaced two days ſucceſſively, they perform, in the ſecond day, the ſame doublings they had ob⯑ſerved the day before. When a hare runs ſtraight out, and to a great diſtance from the place he ſtarted, it is a proof that he is a ſtran⯑ger. It often happens, that male hares, eſpecial⯑ly during the moſt remarkable period of rutting, which is in the months of January, February, and March, when they have few females near them, perform journies of ſeveral leagues in queſt of mates; but, as ſoon as they are ſtarted by the dogs, they fly back to the place of their [149] nativity, and never more return. The females wander not in this manner. Though longer than the males, they are weaker and leſs agile: But they are more timid; for they never allow the dogs to come ſo near their ſeats as the males, and their doublings are more frequent. They are alſo more delicate, and more ſuſceptible of impreſſions from the weather. They avoid wa⯑ter and dews. But there are males called meaſ⯑led hares, which love marſhy and watery grounds. The fleſh of theſe hares is bad taſted; and, in general, the fleſh of all hares which inhabit val⯑leys, is whitiſh and inſipid; but thoſe of elevated or hilly countries, where the wild thime and o⯑ther ſavory herbs abound, are extremely good. It has even been remarked, that thoſe which live in the low woody grounds of the ſame country, are not near ſo good as thoſe that inhabit the ridges of hills, or the cultivated fields, and vine-yards; and that the fleſh of the female is always more delicate than that of the male.

The nature of the ſoil has a conſiderable influ⯑ence on the hare, as well as upon all other ani⯑mals. The mountain hares are larger than thoſe of the plains, and likewiſe of a different colour. The former are browner, and have more white under the neck than the latter, which are almoſt red. In high mountains, and in northern re⯑gions, they become white during winter, and reſume their uſual colour in the ſummer. Only a few, and perhaps theſe are very old, continue [150] white; for they all turn more or leſs white with age. The hares of Italy, Spain, and Barbary, are ſmaller than thoſe of France and other nor⯑thern nations. According to Ariſtotle, they are ſmaller in Egypt than in Greece.

Hares are equally diffuſed over all climates. They abound in Sweden, Denmark, Poland, Ruſ⯑ſia, France, Britain, Germany, Barbary, Egypt, the iſlands of the Archipelago, and particularly Delos^*, which was called Lagaia by the antient Greeks, becauſe of the number of hares which were found there. Laſtly, hares are numerous in Lapland^†, where they are white for ten months of the year, and reſume their proper co⯑lour only during the two warm months of ſum⯑mer. Hence it appears, that every climate is nearly equal to theſe animals. It has, however, been remarked, that they are leſs frequent in the Eaſt than in Europe, and that they are very rare in South America, though they again make their appearance in Virginia, Canada^‡, in the neighbourhood of Hudſon's bay^§, and the ſtraits of Magellan. But theſe North American hares are perhaps a different ſpecies from ours; for travellers inform us, that they are not only much larger, but that their fleſh is white, and of [151] a different taſte from that of the common kind^*. They add, that the hair of the North American hares never falls off, and that their ſkins are ex⯑cellent, furs. In exceſſively hot countries, as Se⯑negal, Gambia, Guiney^†, and particularly in the cantons of Fida, Apam, Agra, and ſome o⯑ther regions ſituated under the Torrid Zone, both in Africa and America, as in New Holland, and the Iſthmus of Panama, there are animals which have been called hares by travellers, but are rather a ſpecies of rabbit^‡; for the rabbit is a native of warm climates, and is never found very far to the north; but the hares are larger and ſtronger in proportion to the coldneſs of the country they inhabit.

This animal, though ſo much in requeſt for the tables of Europeans, is not reliſhed by the Oriental nations. The fleſh of the hare, it is true, as well as that of the hog, was interdicted by the law of Mahomet, and ſtill more antiently by the Jewiſh law. But it was much eſteemed by the Greeks and Romans: Inter quadrupedes, gloria prima Lepus ^§. It muſt, indeed, be al⯑lowed, that not only the fleſh, but the blood of this animal is excellent. The fat contributes nothing to the delicacy of the fleſh; for the hare, in his natural ſtate of perfect liberty, is [152] never fat; but, when fed in the houſe, he often dies merely by the load of fat he acquires.

The hunting of the hare is the amuſement, and not unfrequently the ſole occupation of the idle: As it requires little apparatus or expence, and is even uſeful, it is a diverſion univerſally agreeable. In the mornings and evenings, the hunter watches, at the edges of the wood, the going out or returning of the hares. During the day, he ſearches for them in their forms. When the air is clear and the ſun brilliant, an expert hunter will diſcover, at a conſiderable di⯑ſtance, a hare that has been chanced, by the fumes which ariſe from its body. Conducted by this mark, I have ſeen men, whoſe eyes were accu⯑ſtomed to this kind of obſervation, part from their company, and go to the diſtance of half a league to kill a hare in its ſeat. Hares allow a very near approach, if they are not advanced upon directly, but by a winding and ſeemingly in⯑attentive motion. They are more afraid of dogs than of men, and ſtart ſooner when they hear or perceive a dog. Though the hares run faſt⯑er than the dogs; yet, as they never fly ſtraight out, but double about the place where they were ſtarted, the grey hounds, who hunt more by the eye than the ſcent, generally overtake and kill them. In ſummer, they frequent the fields, the vineyards in autumn, and the woods or coppices in winter; and, in all ſeaſons, they may be rai⯑ſed and chaced by hounds. They may alſo be [153] taken by birds of prey. A perpetual war is car⯑ried on againſt them by owls, buzzards, eagles, foxes, wolves, and men. So numerous are their enemies, that they eſcape only by chance, and are rarely allowed to enjoy the ſmall protion of time allotted them by Nature.

THE RABBIT^*.

AS the hare and rabbit, though very ſimilar both in external form and internal ſtruc⯑ture, never intermix, they conſtitute two diſtinct ſpecies. However, as it has been maintained by hunters^†, that male hares, in the rutting ſea⯑ſon, purſue and cover female rabbits, I endea⯑voured to diſcover what would reſult from this union. For this purpoſe, I reared together male rabbits and female hares, and female rabbits and male hares. But nothing was produced from theſe trials. I only learned from them, that [156] theſe animals, though very ſimilar in form, are ſo different in their natures, as to be incapable of producing mules. I put a young hare and a young female rabbit in the ſame apartment; but they lived not together three months. As ſoon as they acquired a little ſtrength, they became mortal enemies; and their continual wars ter⯑minated in the death of the hare. Of two male hares farther advanced in life, which I confined ſeparately with a female rabbit, one ſuffered the ſame fate; and the other, which was very ſtrong, and very ardent, perpetually tormented the rab⯑bit with attempts to cover her, and at laſt killed her by wounds, or by too violent careſſes. I made ſimilar trials with three or four male rab⯑bits, and an equal number of female hares; but the latter died in a ſtill ſhorter time. Though nothing was produced, I am inclined to think that they ſometimes actually coupled. It is cer⯑tain, at leaſt, that, notwithſtanding the reſiſtance of the female, the male was gratified: And it was more reaſonable to expect fruit from theſe mixtures than from that of the rabbit and hen, which, according to a certain author, would pro⯑duce chickens covered with hair, or rabbits co⯑vered with feathers ^*. This ridiculous conclu⯑ſion was drawn from a vicious male rabbit, which, having no female, uſed a hen in the ſame man⯑ner as he would any other moveable. It was extremely improbable, that two ſpecies, ſo [157] remote from each other, ſhould be fertile, while nothing reſults from the union of the hare and rabbit, whoſe ſpecies are ſo very analogous.

The fecundity of the rabbit is ſtill greater than that of the hare. Without believing, with Wot⯑ton, that, from a ſingle pair put upon an iſland, ſix millions were found at the end of one year, it is certain that theſe animals multiply ſo pro⯑digiouſly in a country which is commodious for them, that the produce of the earth is not ſuf⯑ficient to afford them ſubſiſtence. They devour herbs, roots, grain, fruits, and even young trees and ſhrubs; and, if not furniſhed with dogs and ferrets, the inhabitants would be obliged to deſert theſe countries. The rabbit not only pro⯑duces more frequently, and in greater number than the hare, but has likewiſe more reſources for eſcaping his enemies. He eaſily abſtracts himſelf from the obſervation of man. The holes which he digs in the earth, where he re⯑tires during the day, and impregnates his mate, protect him from the ravages of the wolf, the fox, and birds of prey. Here the whole family live in perfect ſecurity. The females nouriſh their young about two months, and never allow them to go out of their retreat till they are able to ſhift for themſelves. By this means, they a⯑void all the dangers of youth; while more hares, on the contrary, are deſtroyed during this period than in all the after part of their lives.

[158] This management is alone ſufficient to prove that the rabbit is ſuperior in ſagacity to the hare. The ſtructure of both is the ſame, and might enable them equally to dig retreats in the earth. Both are equally timid; but the talents of the one being weaker than thoſe of the other, he contents himſelf with forming a ſeat on the ſurface of the ground, where he remains perpe⯑tually expoſed; while the rabbit, endowed with a ſuperior inſtinct, digs for himſelf an aſylum in the earth. This labour is unqueſtionably the effect of ſentiment; for domeſtic rabbits never give themſelves the trouble of digging. They diſpenſe with digging retreats, for the ſame rea⯑ſon that domeſtic birds diſpenſe with building neſts, becauſe they are equally ſheltered from the inconveniencies and dangers to which wild birds and wild rabbits are continually liable. It has often been remarked, that, when a warren is attempted to be repleniſhed with domeſtic rabbits, both they and their offspring remain, like the hares, upon the ſurface; and that they never be⯑gin to dig holes for their protection, till after they have endured many hardſhips, and paſſed through ſeveral generations.

The colours of the domeſtic rabbit vary, like thoſe of all other domeſtic animals; for we have white, black, brown, and ſpotted rabbits. The black rabbits are rarer than the white, brown, or variegated kinds. All wild rabbits are brown; and, even among the domeſtic ones, it is ſtill the [159] predominant colour; for, in every litter, though both male and female be white, or both black, or the one white and the other black, ſome of the young are always brown. It is ſeldom that above two or three reſemble the parents. But the brown rabbits, though in a domeſtic ſtate, generally produce young of their own colour only; and it is very rare, and as by accident, that they bring forth white, black, or mixed kinds.

At the age of five or ſix months, theſe animals are capable of procreating. They are ſaid to be conſtant in their amours; and, after attaching themſelves to a particular female, generally ne⯑ver quit her. The female is almoſt perpetually in a condition for receiving the male. She goes with young thirty or thirty-one days, and pro⯑duces from four to eight at a litter. Like the female hare, ſhe has a double uterus, and conſe⯑quently may bring forth at two different times. Superfoetations, however, ſeem to be leſs fre⯑quent in this ſpecies than in that of the hare. This circumſtance may, perhaps, be owing to the conſtancy of the females, and to their indulging in fewer adventures and unſeaſonable embraces.

Some days before bringing forth, they dig a new hole, not in a ſtraight line, but angular; at the bottom of which they make an excavation; and then pull great quantities of hair off their bellies, and make a bed of it for the reception of their young. During the two firſt days, they [160] never leave their offspring: They never go out but when preſſed with hunger, and return as ſoon as they have filled their ſtomach, which they do with ſurpriſing quickneſs. In this manner they tend and ſuckle their young for more than ſix weeks, during which the father has no know⯑ledge of them. He never enters the hole dug by the mother; and the female, when ſhe leaves her young, frequently ſhuts up the mouth of the hole with earth diluted in her own urine. But, when they begin to come to the mouth of the hole, and to eat groundſel, or other herbs, pre⯑ſented to them by the mother, the father ſeems to know them: He takes them between his paws, ſmooths their hair, and licks their eyes. Each of them, one after another, equally partakes of his care and attention. He receives, at the ſame time, many careſſes from the mother; and, in a few days afterwards, ſhe is generally impregnated.

I received the following remarks from M. le Chapt du Moutier, who has amuſed himſelf for ſeveral years in rearing rabbits: 'I began,' ſays he, 'with only one male and one female. The male was perfectly white, and the female brown. In their poſterity, which was very nu⯑merous, the brown greatly predominated; there was a conſiderable number of them white and mixed, and ſome black. When the female is in ſeaſon, the male ſeldom quits her. His con⯑ſtitution is ſo vigorous and ardent, that I have [161] ſeen him embrace the female five or ſix times in leſs than an hour. In the time of coition, the female lies flat on her belly, with her four paws ſtretched out; and ſhe utters ſmall cries, which rather indicate pleaſure than pain. Their manner of coupling reſembles that of the cats, with this difference, that the male bites the neck of the female with leſs violence. Theſe animals pay much reſpect to their fathers, which I diſcovered by the great deference my rabbits entertained for their original father, who was eaſily diſtinguiſhed by his whiteneſs, being the only male of this colour which I preſerved. The family ſoon increaſed: But thoſe who had likewiſe become fathers, were always ſubordi⯑nate to their firſt ſire. Whenever they fought, either for females or food, the grandfather ran up to them with full ſpeed; and, as ſoon as they perceived him, order was re-eſtabliſhed. If he ſurpriſed them in the act, he firſt ſeparated the combatants, and then gave them an exem⯑plary puniſhment. I had ſtill a farther proof of his dominion over his poſterity. Having accuſtomed them to retire into their apartment upon the blowing of a whiſtle, when I gave the ſignal, however diſtant they might be, the grandfather put himſelf at their head, and, though he arrived firſt, he allowed them all to paſs before, and entered laſt himſelf. I fed them with bran, hay, and a good deal of juni⯑per; [162] of this laſt, they eat the berries, the leaves, the bark, and leave nothing but the wood. This food gave a fine flavour to their fleſh, and made it equally good as that of the wild rabbit.'

OF CARNIVOROUS ANIMALS.

HITHERTO we have treated of uſeful animals only. The noxious ſpecies are few in number; and though, upon the whole, what is hurtful ſeems to abound more than what is ſerviceable, yet every thing is well ordered; for, in the phyſical world, evil is ſubſervient to good, and there is nothing really noxious in Na⯑ture. If the deſtruction of animals be hurtful, is not man, conſidered as forming a part of the general ſyſtem of animation, the moſt noxious and pernicious of all beings? He alone ſacri⯑fices and annihilates more individuals than the whole carnivorous tribes. The latter are hurtful only, becauſe they are rivals to man, be⯑cauſe they have the ſame appetites, the ſame taſte for animal food, and becauſe, in obedience to this unavoidable and neceſſary deſire, they ſometimes diſpute with him that prey which he would engroſs for the gratification of his inor⯑dinate appetite; for man always ſacrifices more to his intemperance than to his real wants. Born to deſtroy the ſubordinate races of animals, he would exhauſt all Nature, if, by a fecundity ſu⯑perior to his depredations, ſhe did not repair the [165] perpetual havock he makes. But death is only the miniſter of life, and deſtruction is the parent of reproduction. However great, therefore, the waſte made by man and the carnivorous animals, the fund or total quantity of life is never dimi⯑niſhed; for, in proportion to their premature deſtruction, freſh births are produced.

Large animals conſtitute but a ſmall part of life: The earth teems with the ſmaller tribes. Every plant, every grain, every particle of orga⯑nized matter, contains millions of animated a⯑toms. Vegetables ſeem to be the great fund of ſubſiſtence; but this fund, however inexhauſti⯑ble, would hardly be ſufficient to the ſtill more numerous tribes of inſects. Their fecundity, which is equally great, and often quicker than the reproduction of plants, indicates the ſuperi⯑ority of their numbers: For plants are only re⯑newed every year; but a ſingle ſeaſon gives birth to ſeveral generations of inſects, eſpecially among the minuter tribes. Their multiplication, therefore, if they were not devoured by other animals, would exceed that of vegetables. But many inſects feed upon other inſects: Some tribes, as the ſpeeders, devour indifferently their own as well as many other ſpecies; the whole are eaten by the birds; and the wild and do⯑meſtic fowls ſerve for nouriſhment to man, or become the prey of carnivorous animals. Thus violent deaths are equally neceſſary as natural ones: They are both modes of deſtruction and [166] of reproduction; the one continues Nature in perpetual youth, and the other preſerves the or⯑der of her productions, and limits the number of ſpecies. Both are effects depending upon ge⯑neral cauſes: Every individual drops at the end of a determined period; or, if prematurely cut off, it was becauſe he was ſuperfluous. How many flowers are cropped in the ſpring? What numberleſs beings are extinguiſhed the moment they begin to exiſt? How many germs are an⯑nihilated before they are unfolded? Man and the carnivorous animals feed upon individuals either completely formed, or about to exiſt. Fleſh, eggs, ſeeds, and germs of every ſpecies, conſtitute their ordinary nouriſhment. This waſte alone might limit the exuberance of Na⯑ture. Let us attend to one of thoſe inferior ſpe⯑cies that ſerve for nouriſhment to others. The herrings, for example, preſent themſelves in my⯑riads to our fiſhers; and, after feeding all the monſters of the northern ocean, they furniſh ſubſiſtence to Europe during a certain part of the year. If incredible numbers of them were not devoured by other animals, what would be the effects of ſuch an amazing multiplication? They alone would cover the whole ſurface of the ſea. But, by their numbers, they would ſoon injure and deſtroy each other. For want of ſufficient nouriſhment, their fecundity would diminiſh. Contagion and famine would produce the ſame effects as the preſent conſumption; the number [167] of theſe animals would by no means increaſe; but the number of thoſe who feed upon them would greatly diminiſh. And, as the ſame re⯑mark may be applied to any other ſpecies, they muſt of neceſſity prey upon one another: Hence the killing of animals is both a lawful and an innocent practice, becauſe it is founded in na⯑ture, and they hold their exiſtence under that ſeemingly hard condition.

It muſt be allowed, however, that the motives which have raiſed doubts concerning this matter, do honour to humanity. Animals, at leaſt thoſe who are endowed with ſenſes, and are compoſed of fleſh and blood, are ſenſitive beings: Like us, they are capable of pleaſure, and ſubject to pain. To ſacrifice unneceſſarily thoſe animals who ap⯑proach or live with us, and who, like man, ex⯑hibit ſymptoms of pain when injured, indicates a cruel inſenſibility; for thoſe whoſe nature dif⯑fers greatly from ours, cannot affect us. Natu⯑ral pity is founded on the analogy which takes place between us and the object that ſuffers, and the degree of it is proportioned to the nearneſs of this conformity or reſemblance in ſtructure. The word compaſſion implies a diviſion of ſuffer⯑ing. In man, the ſentiment of pity belongs more to the body than to the mind; and the animals are alſo ſuſceptible of it. They are moved by the voice of pain; they run to ſuccour each o⯑ther; they recoil at the view of a dead body of their own ſpecies. Thus horror and pity are not [168] ſo much paſſions of the mind, as natural affec⯑tions depending on the ſenſibility of the body, and ſimilarity of ſtructure. This emotion, there⯑fore, ought to diminiſh in proportion as different animals recede from each other in their nature and conformation. The beating of a dog, or the killing of a lamb, excite our compaſſion: But we feel no emotion when a tree is felled or an oyſter ſwallowed.

Animals, whoſe organization reſembles that of man, muſt have ſimilar ſenſations; and the livelineſs of theſe ſenſations muſt be proportion⯑ed to the activity and perfection of their ſenſes. Thoſe, on the other hand, whoſe ſenſes are blunt, cannot have exquiſite feelings; and thoſe who are deprived of any organ of ſenſe, muſt like⯑wiſe want the correſpondent ſenſations. Mo⯑tion is a neceſſary effect of the exerciſe of ſenti⯑ment. We formerly proved^*, that, whatever be the organization of an animal, if it be endowed with ſentiment, it muſt exhibit its feelings by external movements. Thus plants, though pro⯑perly organized, are inſenſible beings, as well as thoſe animals who have no apparent motion. In the ſame manner, animals, who, like the ſenſi⯑tive plant, only move their bodies, but are de⯑prived of progreſſive motion, have very little ſentiment; and even thoſe who are endowed with the power of moving progreſſively, but whoſe actions, like thoſe of automations, are ex⯑tremely [169] limited in number, and always perform⯑ed in the ſame manner, have only a ſmall por⯑tion of ſentiment, which is confined to a few objects. In the human ſpecies, there are many automatons: Education, and the mutual com⯑munication of ideas, by means of ſocial inter⯑courſe, augment both the quantity and the viva⯑city of our ſentiments. What a vaſt difference, in this reſpect, between a ſavage and a civilized man, between a female Hottentot and a woman of faſhion? Among the animals, in like manner, thoſe who live in a domeſtic ſtate have their feel⯑ings improved by their frequent intercourſe with man; while thoſe who remain wild preſerve only their natural ſenſibility, which is often more certain, but always more confined than that which is acquired by education and example.

Beſides, conſidering ſentiment entirely as a natural faculty, independent of the movements produced by it, we may ſtill aſcertain its differ⯑ent degrees by phyſical relations, to which too little attention has hitherto been given. To poſ⯑ſeſs a high degree of ſenſibility, the animated body muſt form a whole, not only ſenſible in all its parts, but ſo conſtructed that theſe parts inti⯑mately correſpond with each other, in ſuch a manner, that an impreſſion made upon one, muſt neceſſarily be communicated to all the reſt. There muſt alſo be a common centre, upon which the various impreſſions or vibrations muſt ter⯑minate, and this centre muſt, like a fulcrum, [170] re-act, and reflect all theſe movements. Thus man, and thoſe animals who reſemble him moſt in organization, will be the moſt ſenſible beings. Thoſe, on the contrary, who form not ſo com⯑plete a whole, whoſe parts have a leſs intimate correſpondence, who have ſeveral centres of feeling, and who, under the ſame covering, ſeem not to include one perfect animal, but various centres of exiſtence ſeparate from each other, are beings of much leſs ſenſibility. When a polypus is cut in pieces, each diviſion lives ſepa⯑rately; the head of a waſp, after being divided from the body, lives, moves, and even eats as formerly; a lizard, though cut aſunder, is nei⯑ther deprived of motion nor of feeling; the limbs of a lobſter are renewed after amputation; the heart of a turtle continues to beat long after being cut out of the body; the principal viſcera of inſects, as the heart and lungs, make not a whole in the centre of theſe animals, but extend along the body, and form a ſucceſſion of un⯑connected hearts and wind-pipes: All theſe, and ſimilar animals, whoſe organization is ſo far re⯑moved from that of man, have little ſentiment.

In man, and in the animals which reſemble him, the diaphragm appears to be the centre of ſenti⯑ment: It is upon this nervous part, which con⯑veys the impreſſion of pain and of pleaſure, that all the movements of the ſenſible ſyſtem are ex⯑erted. The diaphragm makes a tranſverſe divi⯑ſion of the body into two equal parts, the ſupe⯑rior [171] of which includes the heart and lungs, and the inferior contains the ſtomach and inteſtines. This membrane is endowed with ſuch an extreme ſenſibility, and is ſo neceſſary to the communi⯑cation and propagation of feeling, that the ſlight⯑eſt wound, whether in its centre or circumfe⯑rence, is always accompanied with convulſions, and often with death. The brain, therefore, which has been conſidered as the ſeat of ſenſa⯑tion, is by no means the centre of ſentiment; for it may be wounded, and even parts of it cut away, without deſtroying the animal.

Senſation, therefore, ought to be diſtinguiſhed from ſentiment. Senſation is only a vibration, or impreſſion on the ſenſe; but ſentiment is the ſame ſenſation rendered agreeable and diſagree⯑able by the propagation of the vibration through the ſyſtem. The eſſential characteriſtic of ſen⯑timent is pleaſure or pain; for all other move⯑ments, though they paſs within us, are totally indifferent, and do not affect us. All the exter⯑nal motions, and the exerciſe of every animal force, depend on ſentiment, which only acts in proportion as it is affected. The diaphragm, therefore, which we conſider as the centre of ſentiment, is alſo the centre of force, or common fulcrum upon which every force is exerted.

All lively emotions, whether pleaſant or pain⯑ful, ſickneſs, fainting, and every ſenſation that has become agreeable or diſagreeable, are felt internally in the region of the diaphragm. In [172] the brain, on the contrary, there is no indication of ſentiment. We feel only pure ſenſations in the head. We can, indeed, recal any ſenſation, whether agreeable or diſagreeable; and, if this operation, which is performed in the head, be followed by a real and lively ſentiment, we im⯑mediately feel the impreſſion of it in the region of the diaphragm. Thus, in the foetus, where this membrane is not exerciſed, there is no ſen⯑timent, or at leaſt it is ſo feeble as to produce no effect; for the little motions of a foetus are mechanical, and have no dependence either on ſenſation or on the will.

Whatever be the nature of that matter, which ſerves as a vehicle to ſentiment, and gives riſe to muſcular motion, we know that it is pro⯑pagated by the nerves, and that it is inſtantane⯑ouſly communicated from one extremity of the ſyſtem to the other. We know not how this movement is performed, whether by vibrations like thoſe of elaſtic cords, or by a ſubtile fire ſi⯑milar to that of electricity, which reſides not only in animated and unanimated bodies, but is perpetually regenerated by the motion of the heart and lungs, by the friction of the blood in the arteries, and alſo by the action of external cauſes upon the organs of ſenſe. It is certain, however, that the nerves and membranes are the only ſenſible parts of an animal body. The blood, the lymph, the fat, the bones, the fleſh, and all the other ſolids and fluids are, in them⯑ſelves, [173] totally inſenſible. The brain is a ſoft unelaſtic ſubſtance, and, of courſe, incapable of producing or of propagating the vibrations of ſentiment. The meninges, on the contrary, which ſerve as an envelope or covering to all the nerves, are exceedingly ſenſible. Like the nerves, the meninges originate in the head, and, like them, they divide into branches, and extend a⯑long with their moſt minute ramifications. They may be regarded as nerves rendered flat; for they are of the ſame ſubſtance, have nearly the ſame degree of elaſticity, and form a neceſſary part of the ſenſible ſyſtem. If the head, there⯑fore, be the ſeat of ſenſation, it muſt reſide in the meninges, and not in the medullary part of the brain, the ſubſtance of which is entirely dif⯑ferent.

The opinion, that the brain is the fountain of ſenſation, and the centre of all ſenſibility, aroſe from this circumſtance, that the whole nerves, which are the organs of ſenſation, terminate in the brain; and hence it was regarded as the only part fitted to receive every impreſſion or vibra⯑tion. This ſuppoſition appeared ſo ſimple and ſo natural, that the phyſical impoſſibility which it implies, though abundantly evident, was ne⯑ver attended to: How can an inſenſible part, a ſoft inactive ſubſtance, ſuch as the brain, be it⯑ſelf the inſtrument of all ſenſation and motion? How can this ſoft inſenſible ſubſtance not only receive impreſſions, but retain them for a long [174] time, and propagate vibrations through all the ſolid and ſenſible parts of the body? It may, perhaps, be replied, with Deſcartes and Peyronie, that the principle of ſenſation reſides not in the brain, but in the pineal gland, or in the cortical ſubſtance. But, from examining the parts of the brain, it is apparent, that neither the pineal gland nor cortical ſubſtance contain nerves: They are ſurrounded with the inſenſible part of the brain, and ſo ſeparated from the nerves, that they can receive none of their movements. Hence theſe ſuppoſitions, as well as the former, fall to the ground.

But what is the uſe, what are the functions of this noble and principal part of the body? Is not the brain found in every animal? Is it not larger in man, in the quadrupeds, and in the birds, who have all a great deal of ſentiment, than in fiſhes, inſects, and other animals which have little ſentiment? When compreſſed, is not all motion ſuſpended? If this part is not the principle of action, why is it ſo eſſentially ne⯑ceſſary? Why is it even proportioned, in every ſpecies of animals, to the quantity of ſentiment they poſſeſs?

Theſe queſtions, however difficult they may appear, admit of eaſy ſolutions. Upon an at⯑tentive and unprejudiced examination, the brain, as well as the medulla oblongata, and ſpinal marrow, which is a prolongation of the brain, are only a ſpecies of mucilage, and hardly orga⯑nized. [175] We diſcover in it, indeed, the extremi⯑ties of ſmall arteries, which terminate there in vaſt numbers, and carry no blood, but only a white nutritious lymph. Theſe minute arteries, or lymphatic veſſels, when ſeparated from the brain by maceration, appear like very fine threads. The nerves, on the contrary, never penetrate the ſubſtance of the brain, but terminate on its ſur⯑face; but they firſt loſe their ſolidity and elaſti⯑city; and their extremities next the brain are ſoft, and almoſt mucilaginous. Hence the brain, which is nouriſhed by the lymphatic arteries, furniſhes, in its turn, nutriment to the nerves, which ought to be conſidered as a ſpecies of ve⯑getation iſſuing from the brain in trunks and branches, which afterwards divide into an infi⯑nite number of ramifications. The brain is to the nerves, what the ſoil is to plants: The ex⯑tremities of the nerves are the roots which, in every vegetable, are more tender and ſoft than the trunk or branches. They contain a ductile matter proper for the growth and nouriſhment of the nervous tree. This ductile matter they derive from the ſubſtance of the brain itſelf, to which the arteries perpetually carry the neceſ⯑ſary ſupplies of lymph. The brain, therefore, inſtead of being the origin of ſenſation, or the principle of ſentiment, is only an organ of ſecre⯑tion and nutrition, but a very eſſential organ; for, without it, the nerves would neither grow nor be ſupported.

[176] The brain is largeſt in man, quadrupeds, and birds; becauſe the quantity of nerves is great⯑er than in the fiſhes and inſects, whoſe ſentiment, for this reaſon, is feeble: The latter have a ſmall [...], proportioned to the ſmall quantity of [...] it has to nouriſh. On this occaſion, I must remark, that man's brain, as has been al⯑ledged, is not proportionally larger than that of any other animal: There are ſpecies of monkeys and of the cetaceous tribes which have larger brains, in proportion to the ſize of their bodies, than man: And this fact likewiſe proves, that the brain is neither the ſeat of ſenſation, nor the principle of ſentiment; for, if this were the caſe, theſe animals would have finer ſenſations and more ſentiment than the human ſpecies.

Plants abſorb not the ſolid parts of earth or water: Theſe parts muſt be reduced by heat into thin vapours, before they can be ab⯑ſorbed by the roots. In the ſame manner, the nerves are nouriſhed by the ſubtile moiſture of the brain, which is abſorbed by their extremi⯑ties or roots, and from thence conveyed to all the branches of the ſenſitive ſyſtem. This ſyſ⯑tem, as formerly remarked, forms a whole, all the parts of which have ſuch an intimate con⯑nection, that none of them can be injured with⯑out wounding the whole. The ſlighteſt irrita⯑tion of a ſmall nerve, is ſufficient to convulſe the whole body; and the pain and conſequent con⯑ [...]ions cannot be cured but by cutting the nerve [177] above the injured part; and then all the parts upon which this nerve was diſtributed, become for ever immoveable and inſenſible. The brain ought not to be regarded as an organic portion of the nervous ſyſtem; becauſe it has not the ſame properties, nor conſiſts of the ſame ſub⯑ſtance, being neither ſolid, nor elaſtic, nor ſenſible. I acknowledge, that, when compreſſed, ſenſation ceaſes. But this alone proves it to be a body foreign to the nervous ſyſtem, which, acting by its gravity on the extremities of the nerves, preſ⯑ſes and benumbs them, in the ſame manner as a weight applied to the arm, leg, or any other part of the body, benumbs the nerves, and annihilates their ſenſation. It is true, this ceſſation of feel⯑ing, by compreſſion, is only a ſuſpenſion or a benumbing, which vaniſhes the moment the com⯑preſſion is removed, and ſenſation and motion are again renewed. I farther acknowledge, that, by tearing the medullary ſubſtance of the brain, convulſions, privation of feeling, and death itſelf, will enſue. But theſe effects are produced, be⯑cauſe the nerves are entirely deranged, and the whole of them materially injured in their very ſource.

To theſe arguments particular facts might be added, which would equally demonſtrate that the brain is neither the centre of ſentiment, nor the ſeat of ſenſation. We have ſeen animals, and even children, born without head or brain, and yet had ſentiment, motion, and life. There are whole claſſes of animals, as inſects and worms, [178] in whom the brain is not perceptible, having only a part correſponding to the medulla oblon⯑gata and ſpinal marrow. It is, therefore, more rational to place the ſeat of ſenſation in the ſpi⯑nal marrow, which no animal wants, than in the brain, which is not an univerſal part, common to all ſenſitive beings.

The great obſtacle to the advancement of hu⯑man knowledge, lies not in the objects them⯑ſelves, but in our manner of conſidering them. Man's body, however complicated, is more ſimple than his ideas. It is leſs difficult to ſee Nature as ſhe is, than to know her in the dreſs ſhe is exhibited to us. She only wears a veil; but we give her a maſk. We conceal her with prejudi⯑ces. We ſuppoſe that ſhe operates as we act and think. Her actions, however, are evident; but our thoughts are obſcure. To her operations we transfer the abſtractions of our own minds. We judge of her deſigns by our own views; and we perpetually blend her works which are uniform, her facts which are always certain, with the fluctuating illuſions of our own imagina⯑tion.

I ſpeak not here of ſyſtems purely arbitrary, or of frivolous and imaginary hypotheſes, but of the methods generally employed in the inveſtigation of Nature. Even the method of experiment has produced more errors than truths. This method, though the moſt certain, requires great dexteri⯑ty of management: A ſmall deviation either leads [179] to barren regions, or to rare and obſcure objects. We nevertheleſs aſſemble them together, and aſcribe to them general relations and common properties; and, as mankind paſs and repaſs on the crooked paths which have been formed, the road appears to be clear and beaten. Though it terminates in nothing, the whole world fol⯑lows, the method is adopted, and the conſequen⯑ces derived from it are received as fixed princi⯑ples. I might demonſtrate this doctrine by ex⯑poſing the origin of what are called principles in all the ſciences, both abſtract and real: In the former, the general baſis of the principle is abſtraction, or one or two ſuppoſitions: In the latter, the principles are only conſequen⯑ces, good or bad, of the methods which have been obſerved. I ſhall here limit myſelf to the ſcience of anatomy: Did not the firſt man who, contra⯑ry to a repugnance of nature, opened a human body, believe that, by diſſecting and examining its different parts, he would ſoon diſcover its ſtructure, mechaniſm, and functions? But, ha⯑ving found the ſubject to be infinitely more com⯑plicated than he imagined, he was ſoon obliged to renounce his pretenſions, and to inſtitute a method, not for diſtinguiſhing and judging, but ſolely in order that he might ſee the parts in a certain train or order. Many ages were neceſ⯑ſary to bring this method to any degree of per⯑fection; and it alone ſtill occupies the attention of our moſt accompliſhed anatomiſts. This me⯑thod, however, is not the ſcience, but only the [180] road which ought to lead to it, and which perhaps might have led to it, if, inſtead of travelling al⯑ways in the ſame narrow path, anatomiſts had extended the tract, and compared the human body with that of the other animals. What real knowledge can be derived from a ſingle object? Is not every ſcience founded on the compariſon of ſimilar and different objects, of their analogous or oppoſite properties, and of all their relative qualities? Abſolute know⯑ledge, if it has an exiſtence, exceeds the powers of man: We can only judge by the relations of things. When ſolely occupied with the method of inveſtigating a ſubject, and when we con⯑ſider it independent of what is analogous or dif⯑ferent from it, we can never arrive at real knowledge, and far leſs riſe to any general prin⯑ciple: In this caſe, we can only invent names, and make deſcriptions of the object, and of all its parts. Thus, though human bodies have been diſſected for three thouſand years, anatomy is ſtill nothing but à nomenclature; and hardly any advances have been made toward the real object, which is the knowledge of the animal oeconomy. Beſides, the method itſelf is ſtill imperfect, though it ought to be clear and ſimple, ſince it depends on inſpection, and has no end but that of denominations? As this nominal knowledge has been miſtaken for ſcience, ana⯑tomiſts have been anxious to augment the num⯑ber of names, inſtead of limiting the number of [181] objects. They have loaded the ſubject with mi⯑nute and fruitleſs details. They were inclined to diſcover diſcrepances, where every thing was a⯑like. In creating new names, they imagined they were exhibiting new objects; and the de⯑ſcription of a minute part, which had been either overlooked or neglected by former anatomiſts, was dignified with the appellation of a diſcovery. Even the names themſelves being frequent⯑ly ſubſtituted in place of the objects, with which they have no relation, have only ſerved to aug⯑ment the confuſion. Are not the nates and te⯑ſtes ſmall parts of the brain ſimilar to the whole, and unworthy to be diſtinguiſhed by particular denominations? Theſe names, beſtowed origi⯑nally from caprice, at laſt gave riſe to new opi⯑nions and prejudices. Others, given to parts which either did not exiſt, or were imperfectly viewed, have been the ſources of freſh errors. How many functions and uſes have been aſcri⯑bed to the pineal gland, and that pretended void in the brain, called the fornix, while the former is only a ſimple gland, and the exiſtence of the latter is doubtful, being probably pro⯑duced by the hand of the diſſector^*?

The moſt difficult part of ſcience, therefore, is not to know thoſe things which form the di⯑rect object of it, but to ſtrip them of a thou⯑ſand falſe colours under which they have been concealed, to examine the foundation and effects [182] of the method employed by former inquirers, to reject every arbitrary arrangement, and, in fine, to endeavour to detect every error or prejudice that has been adopted. All theſe precautions are neceſſary to uncover Nature; but, to know her, we have only to compare her with herſelf. In the animal oeconomy, her appearance is very myſterious, not only becauſe the ſubject is com⯑plex, but becauſe, having neglected thoſe modes of compariſon, which alone could afford light, we have been left to wander in the darkneſs of vague hypotheſes. The human body has been deſcribed in millions of volumes; while the ana⯑tomy of the other animals has been almoſt en⯑tirely neglected. In the human ſubject, we have diſtinguiſhed, named, and deſcribed the moſt minute parts; while we are ignorant whe⯑ther theſe, or even parts of greater magnitude and improtance, exiſt in other animals. Particu⯑lar functions have been aſcribed to particular organs, without knowing whether the ſame functions are not performed in other beings, though deprived of theſe organs. So that, in the different explications of the animal oeconomy, we labour under the double diſadvantage of ha⯑ving commenced with the moſt complicated ſub⯑ject, and of reaſoning concerning this ſubject without the aid of analogy.

In the courſe of this work, we have obſerved a very different method. Uniformly comparing Nature with herſelf, we have traced her in her [183] relations, in her diſcrepances, and in her ex⯑tremes. To mention here only thoſe parts rela⯑tive to the animal oeconomy, of which we have had occaſion to treat, as the generation, the ſen⯑ſes, the movements, the ſentiment, and the na⯑ture of animals, the reader will eaſily perceive, that, after all the labour beſtowed in diſcarding falſe ideas, in rooting out eſtabliſhed prejudices, and in ſeparating truth from arbitrary conceits, the only art we have employed is that of com⯑pariſon. If we have ſucceeded in throwing light upon thoſe ſubjects, it muſt be aſcribed not ſo much to ingenuity or labour, as to the me⯑thod we have followed, and which we have en⯑deavoured to render as general as our know⯑ledge would permit. Before giving general ideas, we have invariably exhibited the particular re⯑ſults, or effects.

We ſhall now content ourſelves with rela⯑ting a few facts, which will be ſufficient to prove that man, in the ſtate of nature, was never de⯑ſtined to live upon herbs, grain, or fruits; but that, in every period of his exiſtence, he, as well as moſt other animals, eagerly deſired to nou⯑riſh himſelf with fleſh.

The Pythagorean diet, though extolled by antient and modern philoſophers, and even re⯑commended by certain phyſicians, was never indicated by Nature. In the golden age, man was innocent as the dove; his food was acorns, and his beverage pure water from the fountain: [184] Finding every where abundant ſubſiſtence, he felt no anxieties, but lived independent, and al⯑ways in peace both with himſelf and the other animals. But he no ſooner forgot his native dignity, and ſacrificed his liberty to the bonds of ſociety, than war and the iron age took place of that of gold and of peace. Cruelty, and an inſatiable appetite for fleſh and blood, were the firſt fruits of a depraved nature, the corruption of which was completed by the invention of manners and of arts.

Theſe are the reproaches which, in all periods, have been thrown upon man, in a ſtate of ſo⯑ciety, by certain auſtere and ſavage philoſophers: Flattering their private pride, by the humiliation of the whole ſpecies, they have exhibited this unnatural picture, which has no value but in the contraſt: To hold out to man chimerical ideas of happineſs, may, perhaps, be ſometimes uſeful.

Did this ſtate of ideal innocence, of exalted temperance, of entire abſtinence from fleſh, of perfect tranquillity, of profound peace, ever ex⯑iſt? Is it not a fable, where man has been em⯑ployed as an animal, to give us leſſons of moral inſtruction? Is it even poſſible to conceive the exiſtence of virtue previous to ſociety? Does the loſs of this ſavage ſtate merit regret? Was man, while a wild, unſocial animal, more dignified than the poliſhed citizen? Yes; for every evil ſprings from ſociety; and what does it import [185] whether there was virtue in a ſtate of nature, if it gave riſe to happineſs, if man were only leſs miſerable than in his preſent condition? Liberty, health, ſtrength, are not theſe preferable to ef⯑feminacy, ſenſuality, and voluptuouſneſs, ac⯑companied with ſlavery? The abſence of pain is more eſtimable than a thouſand pleaſures: What is happineſs, but to have nothing to deſire?

If this repreſentation were juſt, they ſhould go farther, and tells us, that it is better to vege⯑tate than to live, to have no deſires than to gra⯑tify our appetites, to doze perpetually in apathe⯑tic ſlumbers, than to open our eyes to view the beauties of Nature, and, in a word, to ſink below the condition of brutes, or to become maſſes of inanimate matter attached to the earth, than to be active and ſentient beings, capable of recei⯑ving pleaſure from a thouſand ſources.

But, inſtead of diſputing, let us attend to facts: We ſee not the ideal, but the real ſtate of nature. Is the ſavage inhabitant of the deſert a tranquil being? Is he a happy man? For we muſt not ſuppoſe, with a certain philoſopher, one of the moſt ferocious cenſors of humanity^*, that the diſtance from man, in a pure ſtate of nature, to the ſavage, is greater than from the ſavage to us; that the ages elapſed before the invention of words, have been longer than thoſe which were neceſſary for the perfecting of ſings and of lan⯑guage. I have always thought, that, in reaſon⯑ing [186] concerning facts, all ſuppoſitions ought to be baniſhed, till every thing preſented by Nature be candidly examined. Now, we find that man⯑kind deſcend, by imperceptible degrees, from the moſt enlightened and poliſhed nations, to people of leſs genius and induſtry; from the latter, to others more groſs, but ſtill ſubject to Kings and to laws; from theſe, again, to ſavages, who exhibit as many different ſhades as the poliſhed nations. Some ſavages form numerous nations ſubject to chiefs; ſmaller ſocieties of them are governed by cuſtoms; and the moſt ſolitary and independent ſpecies conſtitute families, and ſub⯑mit to their fathers. Thus an empire and a monarch, a family and a father, are the two ex⯑tremes of ſociety. Theſe extremes are likewiſe the boundaries of nature: If they extended far⯑ther, in traverſing the numberleſs ſolitudes of the globe, we muſt have diſcovered theſe human animals deprived of ſpeech like the monkeys, the males ſeparated from the females, their offspring abandoned to the elements, &c. Even ſuppo⯑ſing the conſtitution of the human body to be very different from what we ſee it, and that its growth were more rapid, it is impoſſible to main⯑tain that man ever exiſted without forming fa⯑milies; becauſe, if not cheriſhed and attended for ſeveral years, the whole children muſt have inevitably periſhed. Whereas, other animals re⯑quire the care of the mother only a few months. This phyſical neceſſity is a perfect demonſtra⯑tion, [187] that the human ſpecies could neither mul⯑tiply nor exiſt independent of ſociety; and that the attachement of parents to children is natural. This attachment muſt unite the parents and chil⯑dren into a ſmall ſociety, which alone would be ſufficient to accuſtom them to make certain ge⯑ſtures, to utter certain ſounds, and inure them to every expreſſion of ſentiment and of deſire. All this is atteſted by facts; for the moſt ſolitary ſa⯑vages have, like other men, the uſe of ſigns and of words.

Thus the ſtate of pure nature is a known ſtate: It is that of the ſavage living in the deſert, but living in family, knowing his children, and be⯑ing known by them, uſing words, and making himſelf underſtood. The ſavage girl picked up in the woods of Champagne, and the man found in the foreſts of Hanover, are not exceptions to this doctrine. They had lived in abſolute ſoli⯑tude; and could not, therefore, have any idea of ſociety, or of the uſe of words: But, if they had ever met, the propenſity of nature would have conſtrained, and pleaſure united them. At⯑tached to each other, they would ſoon have made themſelves underſtood; they would have firſt learned the language of love, and then that of tenderneſs for their offspring. Beſides, theſe ſa⯑vages ſprung from men of ſociety, and muſt have been left in the woods at the age of four or five years; for, before this period, they could not have exiſted. They muſt have been old enough [188] to be able to procure ſubſiſtence, but not to re⯑tain the ideas which had been communicated to them.

Let us, then, examine this man of nature, this ſavage living in the family ſtate. If the family proſpers, he will ſoon become the chief of a nu⯑merous ſociety, of which all the members will have the ſame manners, obſerve the ſame cu⯑ſtoms, and ſpeak the ſame language. At the third or fourth generation, new families will ariſe, who may live ſeparately; but, being uni⯑ted by the common bonds of cuſtoms and lan⯑guage, they will form a ſmall nation, which, in⯑creaſing with time, may, according to circum⯑ſtances, either become one people, or remain in a ſtate ſimilar to that of thoſe ſavage nations with which we are acquainted. If theſe new men live under a mild climate, and upon a fer⯑tile ſoil, they may occupy, in the full poſſeſſion of liberty, a conſiderable ſpace, beyond which, if they meet with nothing but deſerts, or men equally new with themſelves, they will remain ſavage, and become, according to circumſtances, either friends or enemies to their neighbours. But, when under a ſevere climate, or ungrateful ſoil, they find themſelves pinched by numbers, or cramped for want of room, they will make irruptions, form colonies, and blend themſelves with other nations, of which they will either be⯑come the conquerors or the ſlaves. Thus man, in every ſituation, and under every climate, tends [189] equally toward ſociety. It is the uniform effect of a neceſſary cauſe; for, without this natural tendency, the propagation of the ſpècies, and, of courſe, the exiſtence of mankind, would ſoon ceaſe.

Having diſcuſſed the origin of ſociety, and ſhown that it is founded on nature, let us next inquire what are the appetites and taſte of ſa⯑vages. In this inveſtigation, we ſhall find, that none of them live ſolely on fruits, herbs, or grain; that they all prefer fleſh and fiſh to other aliments; that pure water is not pleaſant to them; and that they endeavour either to make for themſelves, or to procure from others, a leſs inſipid beverage. The ſavages of the South drink the water of the date-tree; thoſe of the North ſwallow large draughts of whale oil; o⯑thers make fermented liquors; and the whole, without exception, diſcover a violent paſſion for ardent ſpirits. Their induſtry, dictated by ne⯑ceſſity, and excited by their natural appetites, is confined to the making of inſtruments for hunt⯑ing and fiſhing. A bow and arrows, a club, a net, and a canoe, conſtitute the whole of their arts, and are all deſtined to procure a ſpecies of food correſponding to their taſte: And, what correſponds with their taſte, muſt be agreeable to nature; for, as formerly remarked^*, man would die of inanition, if he took not more ſubſtantial food than herbs alone. Having but one ſto⯑mach [190] mach and ſhort inteſtines, he could not take a ſufficient quantity of ſuch meagre food as would afford him proper nouriſhment. The ſame remark is applicable to fruits and grain; for, though corns and other grains have been high⯑ly improved by culture, and contain a greater quantity of organic nutritive particles, than any of thoſe which are produced ſpontaneouſly by nature; yet, if men were denied any other food, he would only drag out a feeble and a languiſh⯑ing exiſtence.

View thoſe ſolitary enthuſiaſts, who ab⯑ſtain from every thing that has had life, who, from motives of ſanctity, renounce the gifts of the Creator, fly from ſociety, and ſhut themſelves up within ſacred walls, againſt which Nature continually revolts: Confined in thoſe living tombs, where they contemplate nothing but death, their mortified viſages and hollow eyes indicate perpetual efforts to ſupport a lan⯑guiſhing, feeble, and uſeleſs exiſtence. They take food; but their hunger never abates. Though aided by the fervour of a romantic i⯑magination, they are enabled to reſiſt the effects of this cruel abſtinence for a few years only, and may be ſaid rather to die daily than to live.

If man were obliged to abſtain totally from fleſh, he could not, at leaſt in our climates, ei⯑ther exiſt or multiply. This diet may, perhaps, be practicable in ſouthern countries, where the fruits are better concocted, and the plants, roots, [191] and grains more nouriſhing. The Brahmans, however, rather form a ſect, than a people; and their religion, though very antient, has never extended beyond their own climate.

This religion, founded on metaphyſics, is a ſtriking example of the lot of human opinions. By collecting the ſcattered fragments which re⯑main, it is unqueſtionable that the ſciences have been very antiently cultivated, and perhaps ri⯑pened to a degree of perfection beyond what they now are. It has been known, long before the preſent aera, that all animated beings con⯑tained indeſtructible living particles, which paſ⯑ſed from one body into another. This truth, adopted at firſt by philoſophers, and afterwards more generally diffuſed, would only preſerve its purity during the enlightened ages. A revolu⯑tion of dark periods having ſucceeded, no more of the living organic particles were remembered than what was ſufficient to give riſe to the no⯑tion, that the living principle of animals conſti⯑tuted an indeſtructible whole, which ſeparated from the body after death. To this ideal whole they gave the name of Soul, which they ſoon re⯑garded as a being really exiſting in all animals; and, combinging with this chimerical being, the real, but disfigured, idea of the paſſage of living particles, they maintained, that, after death, this ſoul tranſmigrated ſucceſſively and perpetually from one body to another. From this ſyſtem man was not excepted: They quickly aſſociated [192] morality with metaphyſics: They heſitated not to hold, that this ſurviving being retained, in all its tranſmigrations, its former ſentiments, affec⯑tions, and deſires. Weak minds trembled. They contemplated with horror the paſſage of the ſoul from an agreeable lodging to be an inhabitant of an unclean and lotheſome animal. Every new fear engenders a freſh ſuperſtition. In kill⯑ing an naimal, they were terrified leſt they ſhould murder their miſtreſs or their father. They regarded every brute as their neighbour: And, at laſt, both from motives of tenderneſs and of duty, they maintained that they ought to abſtain from every thing endowed with life. This is the origin and progreſs of the moſt an⯑tient religion of India: An origin which ſhows, that truth, when committed to the multitude, is ſoon disfigured; that a philoſophical opinion never becomes popular till it has changed its form; but that, by means of this preparation, it may prove the baſis of a religion, the ſtability of which will be proportioned to the univerſality of the prejudice, and, being founded on truths miſunderſtood, it muſt be environed with obſcu⯑rity, and, of courſe, it will have an air of my⯑ſtery, of grandeur, and of incomprehenſibi⯑lity: In fine, that fear, combining with reve⯑rence, will make this religion degenerate into ſuperſtitious and ridiculous practices, which, however, will take root, and produce rites that at firſt will be ſcrupulouſly obſerved, but will ſo [193] gradually alter with time, that even the opinion which gave them birth, can only be traced in falſe traditions, in proverbs, and in tales puerile and abſurd. From hence we may conclude, that every religion founded on human opinions is falſe and variable; and that, to promulgate the true religion, which depends not on the fancies of men, and which is conſtant, unalterable, and will always be the ſame, is the prerogative of God alone.

But, to return to our ſubject. An entire ab⯑ſtinence from fleſh can have no effect but to en⯑feeble nature. Man, to preſerve himſelf in pro⯑per plight, requires not only the uſe of this ſolid nouriſhment, but even to vary it. To obtain complete vigour, he muſt chooſe that ſpecies of food which is moſt agreeable to his conſtitution; and, as he cannot preſerve himſelf in a ſtate of activity, but by procuring new ſenſations, he muſt give his ſenſes their full ſtretch, and eat a variety of meats, to prevent the diſguſt ariſing from an uniformity of nouriſhment. But he muſt avoid every exceſs, which is ſtill more noxi⯑ous than abſtinence.

Thoſe animals who have but one ſtomach, and ſhort inteſtines, are obliged, like man, to feed upon fleſh. It is an unqueſtionable fact, that all animals which have more ſtomachs than one, and long inteſtines, like the cow, ſheep, goat, &c. are herbivorous, and that thoſe who have but [194] one ſtomach and ſhort inteſtines, like men, dogs, wolves, lions, &c. are carnivorous.

It muſt not, however, be concluded, that her⯑bivorous animals are under a phyſical neceſſity of feeding on herbs alone, though the carnivo⯑rous tribes can by no means ſubſiſt without fleſh. We only maintain, that the former can be ſuffi⯑ciently nouriſhed without the uſe of fleſh; not that they would not have recourſe to this food, if Nature had endowed them with talents a⯑dapted to the purpoſes of ſeizing prey; for we have ſeen ſheep, calves, goats, and horſes, eat, with avidity, milk, eggs, and even fleſh, when cut down and ſeaſoned with ſalt, though they had not been previouſly accuſtomed to ſuch food. We may, therefore, maintain, that the taſte for fleſh is an appetite common to all animals, and that it is exerted with more or leſs vehemence or mo⯑deration according to their particular conforma⯑tion; for this appetite is apparent not only in man and the quadrupeds, but in birds, fiſhes, in⯑ſects, and worms; to the laſt of which, it would appear, all fleſh has been ultimately deſtined by Nature.

Nutrition, in every animal, is performed by organic particles, which, after being ſeparated from the groſs maſs of aliment, by means of digeſtion, mingle with the blood, and are aſſi⯑milated to all the parts of the body: But, independent of this principal effect, which is always proportioned to the quality of food, an⯑other effect is produced, which depends on the [195] quantity or bulk of the nouriſhing ſubſtances. The ſtomach and inteſtines conſiſt of flexible membranes, which occupy a conſiderable ſpace within the body. Theſe membranes, to preſerve them in a proper ſtate of tenſion, and to counter⯑balance the action of the neighbouring organs, require to be always partly filled. If, for want of nouriſhment, this large ſpace be left entirely void, the membranes, having no internal ſup⯑port, collapſe, and adhere to each other, which gives riſe to weakneſs, and all the ſymptoms of extreme want. Thus the aliments, before an⯑ſwering the purpoſes of nutrition, ſerve as a bal⯑laſt to the body. Both their preſence and their volume are neceſſary to maintain the equilibrium between the internal parts, which act and re⯑act againſt each other. When a man dies of hunger, it is not ſo much for want of nouriſh⯑ment, as of a proper poiſe to the body. Thus animals, and eſpecially the moſt voracious tribes, when preſſed with hunger, are ſo eager to fill the internal void, that they ſwallow earth and ſtones. Clay has been found in the ſtomach of a wolf; and I have ſeen ſwine eat it greedily. Moſt birds ſwallow pebbles, &c. This is not the effect of taſte, but of neceſſity; for the moſt craving want is, not to refreſh the blood with new chyle, but to maintain an equilibrium in the action of the great parts of the animal machine.

THE WOLF^*.

THE wolf is one of thoſe animals whoſe carnivorous appetite is ſtrongeſt. Though he has received from Nature the means of gra⯑tifiying this taſte, though ſhe has beſtowed on him arms, craftineſs, ſtrength, agility, and every thing neceſſary for diſcovering, ſeizing, conquer⯑ing, and devouring his prey; yet he often dies of hunger; becauſe men have declared war a⯑gainſt him, put a price on his head, and forced him to fly to the foreſts, where he finds only a few ſpecies of wild animals, who eſcape from him by the ſwiftneſs of their courſe, and whom he cannot ſurpriſe but by chance, or by a patient, [197] and often fruitleſs attendance at thoſe places to which they generally reſort. He is naturally clowniſh and daſtardly; but want makes him ingenious, and neceſſity gives him courage. When preſſed with famine, he braves danger; he attacks thoſe animals which are under the pro⯑tection of man, eſpecially ſuch as he can tranſ⯑port with eaſe, as lambs, ſmall dogs, and kids; and, when ſucceſsful in his bloody expeditions, he returns often to the charge, till, being wound⯑ed, chaced, and maletreated by men and dogs, he retires, during the day, to his den; but iſſues forth in the night, traverſes the country, roams about the cottages, kills all the animals which have been left without, digs the earth under the doors, enters with a dreadful ferocity, and puts every living creature to death before he chooſes to depart, and carry off his prey. When theſe in-roads happen to be fruitleſs, he returns to the woods, ſearches about with avidity, follows the tract of wild beaſts, and purſues them, in the hope that they may be ſtopped and ſeized by ſome o⯑ther wolf, and that he may be a partaker of the ſpoil. In fine, when his hunger is extreme, he loſes the idea of fear; he attacks women and children, and even ſometimes darts upon men, till, becoming perfectly furious by exceſſive ex⯑ertions, he generally falls a ſacrifice to pure rage and diſtraction.

The wolf, both externally and internally, has ſo ſtrong a reſemblance to the dog, that he ſeems [198] to have been formed upon the ſame model. But he exhibits the ſame characters under a maſk. The figure is ſimilar; but the reſult is directly reverſed. Their natural diſpoſitions are ſo op⯑poſite, that they are not only incompatible, but repugnant by nature, and inimical by inſtinct. A young dog trembles at the firſt glance of a wolf. The odour of the wolf, though new and unknown, excites ſuch an averſion in the dog, that he flies, and comes quivering to the feet of his maſter. A maſtiff, who knows his own ſtrength, though terrified at the appearance of a wolf, attacks him with courage, endeavours to put him to flight, and exerts every effort to get rid of an odious object. They never meet, but either flight or death is the conſequence. When the wolf is ſtrongeſt, he mangles and devours his prey. The dog, with more generoſity, con⯑tents himſelf with victory; he finds no ſavory odour in the body of a dead enemy; but aban⯑dons him to be food for the ravens, and even to other wolves; for wolves eat the carcaſſes of each other, and, when one is much wounded, the others follow the blood, and aſſemble in troops to deſpatch him.

The dog, even when wild, is not a fierce ani⯑mal. He is eaſily tamed, and attaches himſelf with fidelity to his maſter. The young wolf may alſo be tamed; but he feels no attachments; Nature in him is too powerful for education: With age, he reſumes his ferocious character, and [199] returns, with the firſt opportunity, to his ſavage ſtate. Dogs, even thoſe of the moſt clowniſh race, love to aſſociate with other animals, and are naturally diſpoſed to accompany them: It is by inſtinct alone, and not by education, that they know how to conduct and guard the flocks. The wolf, on the contrary, is an enemy to all ſociety, and keeps no company even with thoſe of his own ſpecies. When ſeveral wolves ap⯑pear together, it is not a ſociety of peace, but of war; it is attended with tumult and dreadful prowlings, and indicates an attack upon ſome large animal, as a ſtag, an ox, or a formi⯑dable maſtiff. This military expedition is no ſooner finiſhed, than they ſeparate, and each re⯑turns in ſilence to his ſolitude. There is even little intercourſe between the males and females: They feel the mutual attractions of love but once a-year, and never remain long together. The females come in ſeaſon in winter: Many males follow the ſame female; and this aſſociation is more bloody than the former; for they growl, chaff, fight, and tear one another, and often ſa⯑crifice him that is preferred by the female. The female commonly flies a long time, fatigues her admirers, and retires, while they ſleep, with the moſt alert or moſt favourite male.

The ſeaſon of love continues only twelve or fifteen days; it commences with the oldeſt fe⯑males; the young ones are not ſo early diſpoſed. The males have no marked period, but are e⯑qually [200] ready at all times. They go from female to female, according as they are in a condition to receive them: They begin with the old females about the end of December, and finiſh with the young ones in the month of February or begin⯑ning of March. The time of geſtation is about three months and a half^*; and young whelps are found from the end of April to the month of July. This difference in the time of geſta⯑tion between the ſhe-wolf, who carries 100 days, and the bitch, who carries only 60 days, proves that the wolf and dog differ as much in their conſtitutions, and particularly in one of the chief functions of the animal oeconomy, as they do in their tempers. Thus, the wolf and dog have never been regarded as the ſame animal but by the nomenclators of natural hiſtory, who, being acquainted with the ſurface of nature only, ne⯑ver extend their views beyond their own me⯑thods, which are always deceitful, and often er⯑roneous, even in the moſt obvious facts. The dog and wolf cannot copulate, or produce an intermediate race^†. Their diſpoſitions are op⯑poſite, and their conſtitutions different. The wolf lives much longer than the dog; the for⯑mer brings forth but once a-year, and the latter twice or thrice. Theſe diſtinctions are more than ſufficient to demonſtrate the two animals to be of very different kinds. Beſides, upon a [201] cloſer examination, we eaſily perceive, that, even externally, the wolf differs from the dog by eſ⯑ſential and uniform characters. The appearance of the head and form of the bones are by no means the ſame. The cavity of the eye in the wolf is placed obliquely; the orbits are inclined; the eyes ſparkle, and ſhine in the dark; inſtead of barking, he howls; his movements, though quick and precipitate, are more equal and uni⯑form; his body is ſtronger, but not ſo flexible^*; his members are firmer, his jaws and teeth lar⯑ger, and his hair coarſer and thicker.

But theſe animals have a great reſemblance in their internal ſtructure. The wolves copulate like the dogs, and have an oſſeous penis, ſur⯑rounded with a ring, which ſwells and hinders them from ſeparating. When the females are about to bring forth, they ſearch for a concealed place in the inmoſt receſſes of the foreſt. After fixing on the ſpot, they make it ſmooth and plain for a conſiderable ſpace, by cutting and tearing up with their teeth all the brambles and bruſh-wood. They then bring great quantities of moſs, and prepare a commodious bed for their young, which are generally five or ſix, though ſome⯑times they bring forth ſeven, eight, and even nine, but never leſs than three. They come in⯑to the world blind, like the dogs; the mother [202] ſuckles them ſome weeks, and ſoon learns them to eat fleſh, which ſhe prepares for them by tearing it into ſmall pieces. Some time after, ſhe brings them field-mice, young hares, par⯑tridges, and living fowls. The young wolves begin by playing with theſe animals, and at laſt worry them; then the mother pulls off the feathers, tears them in pieces, and gives a part to each of her young. They never leave their den till the end of ſix weeks or two months. They then follow their mother, who leads them to drink in the hollow trunk of a tree, or in ſome neigh⯑bouring pool. She conducts them back to the den, or, when any danger is apprehended, ob⯑liges them to conceal themſelves elſewhere. Though, like other females, the ſhe-wolf is na⯑turally more timid than the male; yet, when her young are attacked, ſhe defends them with intrepedity; ſhe loſes all ſenſe of danger, and becomes perfectly furious. She never leaves them till their education is finiſhed, till they are ſo ſtrong as to need no aſſiſtance or protection, and have acquired talents fit for rapine, which gene⯑rally happens in ten or twelve months after their firſt teeth, which commonly fall out in the ſixth month^*, are replaced.

Both males and females are capable of gene⯑rating at the age of two years. The females, it is probable, like thoſe of other ſpecies, are ſooner mature for this operation than the males. It is [203] certain, however, that they never come in ſeaſon before the ſecond winter after birth, which im⯑plies 18 or 20 months. A ſhe-wolf, which I brought up, diſcovered no marks of love till the third winter, or more than two years and a half. We are aſſured by the hunters^*, that, in every litter, there are more males than females; which confirms the general remark, that, in every ſpe⯑cies, the number of males exceeds that of the females. They likewiſe tell us, that ſome males attach themſelves to the females, after the ſeaſon of love is over, and accompany them till they are about to bring forth; that then the female ſteals off, and anxiouſly conceals her young, leſt the father ſhould devour them immediately af⯑ter birth; but that, when brought forth, he takes an affection for them, ſupplies them with food, and, if deprived of their mother, provides for and protects them himſelf. Theſe facts, however, have the air of fiction, and ſeem contrary to the natural diſpoſitions of the wolf.

Wolves acquire their full growth at the end of two or three years, and live 15 or 20 years. This fact accords with what we have already remarked concerning many other ſpecies, that the time of growth is the ſeventh part of the total duration of life. When old, wolves turn whitiſh, and their teeth are much worn. When full, or fatigued, they ſleep, but more during the day than the night, and it is always a kind of [204] ſlight ſlumber. They drink often; and, in the time of drought, when there is no water in the hollows, or in the trunks of old trees, they re⯑pair, ſeveral times in a day, to the brooks or ri⯑vulets. Though extremely voracious, if ſup⯑plied with water, they can paſs four or five days without meat.

The wolf has great ſtrength, eſpecially in the anterior parts of the body, in the muſcles of the neck and jaws. He carries a ſheep in his mouth, and, at the ſame time, outruns the ſhepherds; ſo that he can only be ſtopped or deprived of his prey by dogs. His bite is cruel, and always more obſtinate in proportion to the ſmallneſs of the reſiſtance; for, when an animal can defend itſelf, he is cautious and circumſpect. He never fights, but from neceſſity, and not from motives of courage. When wounded with a ball, he cries; and yet, when deſpatching him with blud⯑geons, he complains not. He is harder, leſs ſenſible, and more robuſt than the dog. He runs and roams about whole days and nights; and, of all animals, he is perhaps the moſt diffi⯑cult to conquer in the chace. The dog is gentle and courageous; the wolf, though ferocious, is timid. When he falls into a ſnare, he is ſo o⯑vercome with terror, that he may be either kill⯑ed or taken alive, without reſiſtance. He allows himſelf to be chained, muzzled, and led where you pleaſe, without exhibiting the leaſt ſymptom of reſentment or diſcontent. The ſenſes of the [205] wolf are excellent, but particularly his ſenſe of ſmelling, which often extends farther than his eye. The odour of carrion ſtrikes him at the diſtance of more than a league. He likewiſe ſcents live animals very far, and hunts them a long time by following their track. When he iſſues from the wood, he never loſes the wind. He ſtops upon the borders of the foreſt, ſmells on all ſides, and receives the emanations of living or dead animals brought to him from a diſtance by the wind. Though he prefers living to dead animals; yet he devours the moſt pu⯑trid carcaſſes. He is fond of human fleſh, and, if ſtronger, he would, perhaps, eat no other. Wolves have been known to follow armies, to come in troops to the field of battle, where bo⯑dies are careleſsly interred, to tear them up, and to devour them with an infatiable avidity: And, when once accuſtomed to human fleſh, theſe wolves ever after attack men, prefer the ſhep⯑herd to the flock, devour women, and carry off children. Wolves of this vitious diſpoſition are diſtinguiſhed by the name of Loups garoux ^*, or wolves that ſhould be guarded againſt.

Whole countries are ſometimes obliged to arm, in order to deſtroy the wolves. Princes have particular equipages for this ſpecies of hunting, which is both uſeful and neceſſary. Hunters di⯑ſtinguiſh wolves into young, old, and very old. They know them by the tracks of their feet. [206] The older the wolf, his feet is the larger. The ſhe-wolf's feet are longer and more ſlender; her heel is alſo ſmaller, and her toes thinner. A good blood-hound is neceſſary for hunting the wolf; and, when he falls into the ſcent, he muſt be coaxed and encouraged; for all dogs have an averſion from the wolf, and proceed with cold⯑neſs in the chace. When the wolf is raiſed, the grey-hounds are let looſe in pairs, and one is kept for diſlodging him, if he gets under cover; the other dogs are led before as a reſerve. The firſt pair are let after the wolf, and are ſupport⯑ed by a man on horſe-back; then the ſecond pair are let looſe at the diſtance of ſeven or eight hundred paces; and, laſtly, the third pair, when the other dogs begin to join and to teaze the wolf. The whole together ſoon reduce him to the laſt extremity; and the hunters complete the buſi⯑neſs by ſtabbing him with a dagger. The dogs have ſuch a reluctance to the wolf's fleſh, that it muſt be prepared and ſeaſoned, before they will eat it. The wolf may alſo be hunted with beagles or hounds; but, as he darts always ſtraight forward, and runs for a whole day with⯑out ſlopping, the chace is irkſome, unleſs the beagles be ſupported by grey-hounds, to teaze him, and give the hounds time to come up.

In the country, though men, attended with maſtiffs, beat the buſhes, lay ſnares and baits, dig pits, and ſcatter poiſoned pieces of meat; yet the number of theſe deſtructive animals never [207] decreaſes, eſpecially in woody countries. The Britiſh pretend to have cleared their iſland of this rapacious creature; and yet I am aſſured that wolves ſtill exiſt in Scotland^*. As there is little wood in the ſouthern parts of Britain, it was a more eaſy taſk to extirpate the wolf.

The hair and colour of theſe animals vary with the climate, and ſometimes even in the ſame country. In France and Germany, beſide the common wolves, we find ſome with thicker and more yellow coloured hair. Theſe wolves, more wild, though leſs deſtructive, than the other kind, never trouble the flocks or the habitations of men, and live ſolely on hunting. In the nor⯑thern countries, we meet with ſome wolves which are entirely white, and others entirely black; and the latter are larger and ſtronger than the former. The common ſpecies are very generally diffuſed: They are found in Aſia^†, Africa^‡, and America^§, as well as in Europe. The wolves of Senegal^‖ reſemble thoſe of France, only they are larger and more rapacious. The wolves of Egypt^** are ſmaller than thoſe of Greece. In the Eaſt, and particularly in Perſia, wolves are ex⯑hibited as ſpectacles to the people. When young, [208] they are learned to dance, or rather to perform a kind of wreſtling with a number of men. Chardin tell us, that a wolf, well educated in dancing, is ſold at 500 French crowns. This fact proves, that theſe animals, by time and re⯑ſtraint, are ſuſceptible of ſome kind of educa⯑tion. I have brought up ſeveral of them: When young, or during their firſt year, they are very docile, and even careſſing; and, if well fed, they neither diſturb the poultry, nor any other ani⯑mal. But, at the age of 18 months or two years, their natural ferocity returns, and they muſt be chained, to prevent them from running off, and doing miſchief. I brought up one till the age of 18 or 19 months, in a court along with fowls, none of which he ever attacked; but, for his firſt eſſay, he killed the whole in one night, without eating any of them. Another, having broken his chain, run off, after killing a dog with whom he had lived in great familiarity. I kept a ſhe-wolf three years in a large court; and, though ſhut up, when very young, along with a maſtiff dog of the ſame age, ſhe could never ſuf⯑fer him to approach, even when ſhe came in ſea⯑ſon. She provoked, ſhe attacked, ſhe bit the dog, who at firſt only defended himſelf, but at laſt he worried her.

There is nothing valuable in the wolf but his ſkin, which makes a warm, durable fur. His fleſh is ſo bad, that it is rejected with abhorrence by all other quadrupeds; and no animal but a [209] wolf will voluntarily eat a wolf. The ſmell of his breath is exceedingly offenſive. As, to ap⯑peaſe hunger, he ſwallows indiſcriminately every thing he can find, corrupted fleſh, bones, hair, ſkins half tanned and covered with lime, he vo⯑mits frequently, and empties himſelf oftener than he fills. In fine, the wolf is conſummate⯑ly diſagreeable; his aſpect is baſe and ſavage, his voice dreadful, his odour inſupportable, his diſpoſition perverſe, his manners ferocious; o⯑dious and deſtructive when living, and, when dead, he is perfectly uſeleſs.

The BLACK WOLF.

I Deſcribe this animal only as a ſupplement to the article Wolf; for both, I am perſuaded, belong to the ſame ſpecies. In the hiſtory of the wolf^†, it was remarked, that, in the north of Europe, there are ſome wolves which are white, and others black, and that the black kind are the largeſt. The wolf repreſented in the Plate was brought from Canada. It was to⯑tally black, but ſmaller than our wolf: Its ears were ſomewhat larger, more erect, and at a great⯑er diſtance from each other. The eyes were likewiſe a little ſmaller, and appeared to be more diſtant from one another, than in the common wolf. Theſe differences, in my opinion, are too inconſiderable to conſtitute a diſtinct ſpecies. The greateſt difference is that of the ſize. But, as I have oftener than once remarked, all the animals common to the northern parts of Eu⯑rope and America differ in ſize; and the black wolf of Canada being ſmaller than thoſe of Eu⯑rope, only tends to confirm the general fact. Beſides, as he had been taken when very young, and ever afterwards confined with a chain, con⯑ſtraint alone was perhaps ſufficient to prevent []

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[213] him from acquiring his full growth. The com⯑mon wolf is alſo ſmaller, and leſs numerous in Canada than in Europe, and the ſavages eſteem it for its ſkin^*. The black wolf, the lynx, and the fox, are very numerous in North America; and yet the black fox is very rare, and his ſkin is much more beautiful than that of the black wolf, which makes but a very coarſe fur.

I ſhall only add, that this black wolf reſem⯑bled the common wolf, both in figure and diſ⯑poſitions; for he became only rapacious with age, and, like the wolf, he was ferocious with⯑out courage.

THE FOX^*.

THE fox is famous for craftineſs; and he merits, in ſome meaſure, the reputation he has acquired. What the wolf executes by force alone, the fox performs by addreſs, and often with more ſucceſs. Without combating dogs or ſhepherds, without attacking the flocks, or diſinterring the bodies of the dead, the fox is more certain of procuring his food. He ex⯑erts more genius than motion, and all his re⯑ſources are within himſelf. Acute as well as circumſpect, ingenious, and patiently prudent, he diverſifies his conduct, and always reſerves ſome art for unforeſeen accidents. Of his own preſervation he is extremely vigilant. Though equally indefatigable, and even nimbler than the [215] wolf, he truſts not entirely to the ſwiftneſs of his courſe. The fox knows how to enſure ſafe⯑ty, by providing himſelf with an aſylum, where he retires from preſſing dangers, where he dwells, and where he brings up his young. He is not a vagabond, but lives in a ſettled domeſtic ſtate.

This difference, though it appears even among men, has greater effects, and ſuppoſes more power⯑ful cauſes, among the inferior animals. The ſingle idea of a houſe, or ſettled place of abode, in⯑dicates a ſingular attention to ſelf. The choice of ſituation, the art of making and rendering a houſe commodious, and of concealing the ave⯑nues to it, imply a ſuperior degree of ſentiment. The fox is endowed with this quality, and ma⯑nages it with advantage. He fixes his abode on the border of the wood, in the neighbourhood of cottages: He liſtens to the crowing of the cocks and the cries of the poultry. He ſcents them at a diſtance; he chooſes his time with judgment; he conceals his road as well as his deſign; he ſlips forward with caution, ſome⯑times even trailing his body, and ſeldom makes a fruitleſs expedition. If he can leap the wall, or get in underneath, he ravages the court-yard, puts all to death, and then retires ſoftly with his prey, which he either hides under the herbage, or carries off to his kennel. He returns in a few minutes for another, which he carries off, or conceals in the ſame manner, but in a differ⯑ent place. In this way he proceeds till the pro⯑greſs [216] of the ſun, or ſome movements perceived in the houſe, advertiſe him that it is time to ſu⯑ſpend his operations, and to retire to his den. He plays the ſame game with the catchers of thruſhes, wood-cocks, &c. He viſits the nets and bird-lime, very early in the morning, car⯑ries off ſucceſſively the birds which are entangled, and lays them in different places, eſpecially near the ſides of high-ways, in the furrows, under the herbage or bruſhwood, where they ſome⯑times lie two or three days; but he knows per⯑fectly where to find them, when he is in need. He hunts the young hares in the plains, ſeizes old ones in their ſeats, never miſſes thoſe which are wounded, digs out the rabbits in the warrens, diſcovers the neſts of partridges and quails, ſeizes the mothers on the eggs, and deſtroys a vaſt quantity of game. The wolf is not more noxious to the peaſant, than the fox to the gentleman.

The chace of the fox requires leſs apparatus, and is more amuſing, than that of the wolf. To the latter every dog has great reluctance; but all dogs hunt the fox ſpontaneouſly and with plea⯑ſure; for, though his odour be ſtrong, they often prefer him to the ſtag or the hare. He may be hunted with terriers, hounds, &c. Whenever he finds himſelf purſued, he runs to his hole; the terriers with crooked legs, or turnſpits, go in with moſt eaſe. This mode anſwers very well when we want to carry off a whole litter of foxes, both mother and [217] young. While the mother defends herſelf a⯑gainſt the terriers, the hunters remove the earth above, and either kill or ſeize her alive. But, as the holes are often under rocks, the roots of trees, or ſunk too deep in the ground, this me⯑thod is frequently unſucceſsful. The moſt cer⯑tain and moſt common method of hunting foxes, is to begin with ſhutting up their hole, to place a man with a gun near the entrance, and then to ſearch about with the dogs. When they fall in with him, he immediately makes for his hole; but, when he comes up to it, he is met with a diſcharge from the gun. If he eſcapes the ſhot, he flies with full ſpeed, takes a large circuit, and returns again to the hole, where he is fired up⯑on a ſecond time; but, finding the entrance ſhut, he now endeavours to eſcape by darting ſtraight forward, with the deſign of never revi⯑ſiting his former habitation. He is then purſued by the hounds, whom he ſeldom fails to fatigue, becauſe he purpoſely paſſes through the thickeſt parts of the foreſt or places of the moſt difficult acceſs, where the dogs are hardly able to follow him; and, when he takes to the plains, he runs ſtraight out, without ſtopping or doubling.

But the moſt effectual mode of deſtroying fox⯑es, is the laying of ſnares baited with a pigeon, a live fowl, &c. I once ſuſpended on a tree, at the height of nine feet, ſome meat, bread, and bones. The foxes had been at ſevere exerciſe during the night; for, next morning, the earth [218] all around was beaten, by their jumping, as ſmooth as a barn-floor. The fox is exceeding⯑ly voracious; beſide fleſh of all kinds, he eats, with equal avidity, eggs, milk, cheeſe, fruits, and particularly grapes. When the young hares and partridges fail him, he makes war againſt rats, field-mice, ſerpents, lizards, tods, &c. Of theſe he deſtroys vaſt numbers; and this is the only ſervice he does to mankind. He is ſo fond of honey, that he attacks the wild bees, waſps, and hornets. They at firſt put him to flight by a thouſand ſtings; but he retires only for the purpoſe of rolling himſelf on the ground to cruſh them; and he returns ſo often to the charge, that he obliges them to abandon the hive, which he ſoon uncovers, and devours both the honey and wax. In a word, he eats fiſhes, lobſters, graſs-hoppers, &c.

The fox has a great reſemblance to the dog, eſpecially in his internal parts. His head, how⯑ever, is larger in proportion to his body; his ears are alſo ſhorter, his tail thicker, his hair longer and more buſhy, and his eyes more in⯑clined. He differs ſtill more from the dog by a ſtrong offenſive odour which is peculiar to him, and by his natural diſpoſition; for he is not ea⯑ſily, and never fully tamed: He languiſhes when deprived of liberty, and, if kept too long in a domeſtic ſtate, he dies of chagrin. He does not copulate with the female dog^*: If they have [219] no rooted antipathy, they are at leaſt indifferent to each other. Foxes produce but once a year; and the litter commonly conſiſts of four or five, ſeldom ſix, and never leſs than three. When the female is full, ſhe retires, and ſeldom goes out of her hole, where ſhe prepares a bed for her young. She comes in ſeaſon in the winter; and young foxes are found in the month of A⯑pril. When ſhe perceives that her retreat is diſ⯑covered, and that her young have been diſturb⯑ed, ſhe carries them off one by one, and goes in ſearch of another habitation. The young are brought forth blind; like the dogs, they grow 18 months, or two years, and live 13 or 14 years.

The ſenſes of the fox are equally good as thoſe of the wolf; his ſentiment is more deli⯑cate; and the organs of his voice are more pliant and perfect. The wolf ſends forth only fright⯑ful howlings; but the fox barks, yelps, and ut⯑ters a mournful cry like that of the peacock. He varies his tones according to the different ſen⯑timents with which he is affected: He has an accent peculiar to the chace, the tone of deſire, of complaint, and of ſorrow. He has another cry expreſſive of acute pain, which he utters only when he is ſhot, or has ſome of his mem⯑bers broken; for he never complains of any o⯑ther wound, and, like the wolf, allows himſelf to be killed with a bludgeon without complain⯑ing; but he always defends himſelf to the laſt [220] with great courage and bravery. His bite is obſtinate and dangerous; and the ſevereſt blows will hardly make him quit his hold. His yelp⯑ing is a ſpecies of barking, and conſiſts of a quick ſucceſſion of ſimilar tones; at the end of which he generally raiſes his voice ſimilar to the cry of the peacock. In winter, and particularly during froſt and ſnow, he yelps perpetually; but, in ſummer, he is almoſt entirely ſilent, and, during this ſeaſon, he caſts his hair. The ſkins of young foxes, and of thoſe taken in ſummer, are of little value. The fleſh of the fox is not ſo bad as that of the wolf: Dogs, and even men, eat it in au⯑tumn, eſpecially when he has been fattened with grapes; and his ſkin in winter makes excellent furs. He ſleeps ſound, and may be eaſily ap⯑proached without wakening: He ſleeps in a round form, like the dog; but, when he only repoſes himſelf, he extends his hind legs, and lies on his belly. It is in this ſituation that he ſpies the birds along the hedges, who have ſuch an antipathy to him, that they no ſooner perceive him, than they ſend forth ſoft ſhrill cries to ad⯑vertiſe their neighbours of the enemy's approach. The jays and black birds, particularly, follow the fox from tree to tree, ſometimes two or three hundred paces, often repeating the watch-cries.

I brought up ſome young foxes: Their offen⯑ſive odour made it neceſſary to keep them in ſtables or places which were not much frequent⯑ed. This, perhaps, might be one reaſon why [221] they were leſs tame than the wolf, which was kept nearer the houſe. At the age of five or ſix months, the young foxes purſued the ducks and fowls; and, therefore, it became neceſſary to chain them. I kept two males and a female two years. I tried in vain to make the males copu⯑late with bitches: Though they had never ſeen females of their own ſpecies, and were ſtimulated by the ſtrongeſt deſires of nature, they uniform⯑ly rejected the bitches. But, whenever a ſhe-fox was preſented to them, though chained, they in⯑ſtantly covered her, and ſhe brought forth four whelps. The young foxes, who, when at li⯑berty, had darted on the poultry, never attempt⯑ed to touch a ſingle fowl, after they were chain⯑ed. A living hen was generally fixed near them for a whole night; and, though victuals were kept from them for many hours; yet, in ſpite of hunger and of opportunity, they never forgot that they were chained, and diſturbed not the hen.

The fox is ſo extremely ſubject to the influ⯑ences of climate, that the varieties of this ſpecies are almoſt as numerous as thoſe of the domeſtic animals. Moſt of our foxes are reddiſh; but ſome of them are found of a ſilver gray: In both, the end of the tail is white. In Burgun⯑dy, the latter are called coal foxes; becauſe their feet are remarkably black. Their bodies have alſo the appearance of being ſhorter, becauſe they are better clad with hair. There are ſome [222] who are really longer than the other kinds, and of a dirty gray colour, nearly the ſame with that of old wolves. But it is uncertain whether this difference conſtitutes a real variety, or is produ⯑ced by the age of the animal, who, perhaps, grows whiter as he advances in years. In the northern regions, the foxes are of all colours, black, blue, gray, iron-coloured, ſilver gray, white, white with yellow feet, white with black heads, white with the extremity of the tail black, reddiſh with the throat and belly entirely white; and, laſtly, ſome of them have a black line along the ſpine, croſſed with another black line over the ſhoulder. The latter are larger than the other kinds, and have black throats. The com⯑mon ſpecies are more generally diffuſed than any of the others. We find them in every part of Europe^*, in the northern and temperate regions of Aſia^†, and in America^‡; but they are very rare in Africa, and in the countries bordering on the Equator. Travellers who pretend to have ſeen them in Calicut^‖, and other ſouthern pro⯑vinces of India, have miſtaken the jackal for the fox. Ariſtotle himſelf falls into a ſimilar error, when he tells us^§, that the foxes of Egypt are ſmaller than thoſe of Greece; for what he calls [223] the ſmall foxes of Egypt are polecats^*, whoſe odour is intollerable. Our foxes, who belong o⯑riginally to cold climates, have ſpread over all the temperate regions, but have never penetrated farther ſouth than Spain and Japan^†. What demonſtrates them to be natives of cold coun⯑tries is, that all the varieties of the ſpecies are to be found in the high latitudes, and no where elſe: Beſides, they ſupport with eaſe the moſt extreme cold, and live in the neighbourhood of both poles^‡. The fur of the white foxes is not much valued, becauſe the hairs fall eaſily off; the ſilver gray is better; and the blue and croſs kinds are in great requeſt, on account of their rarity; but the black is the moſt precious; next to that of the ſable, it is the beſt and deareſt fur. We find foxes in Spitzbergen^‖, in Greenland^§, in Lapland, and in Canada^**. In the latter [224] country, there are likewiſe croſſed foxes; the common ſpecies is not ſo red as in Europe; and the hair is longer and more buſhy.

THE BADGER^*.

THE Badger is an indolent, diffident, ſolitary animal. He retires to the moſt ſecret places, to the inmoſt receſſes of the foreſt, and there digs a ſubterranean habitation. He ſeems to fly ſo⯑ciety, and even the light, and ſpends three [227] fourths of life in his dark abode, from which he never departs but in queſt of ſubſiſtence. As his body is long, his legs ſhort, his claws, eſpecial⯑ly thoſe of the fore-feet, very long and ſtrong, he digs and penetrates the earth with greater facility than any other animal. He makes his hole winding and oblique. The fox, who can⯑not dig with equal dexterity, avails himſelf of the operations of the badger: Being unable to make him quit his habitation by force, the fox prac⯑tiſes every art to render him uneaſy: He ſtands ſentinel at the entrance of the hole, and even de⯑files it with his ordure. He afterwards takes poſſeſſion, enlarges, and fits it up for his own accommodation. The badger, though obliged to change his habitation, leaves not his country. He goes only to a ſmall diſtance, where he digs a freſh hole, from which he never removes but in the night; and, as he never goes far, he re⯑turns upon the approach of danger. This is his only mean of ſafety; for he cannot eſcape by flight: His legs are too ſhort for quick motion. When at ſome diſtance from his hole, he is ſoon overtaken by the dogs. They ſeldom, however, accompliſh their purpoſe without aſſiſtance. The hair of the badger is very thick, and his legs, jaws, teeth, and claws, are exceedingly ſtrong. Theſe natural weapons he uſes with courage and dexterity: He lies on his back, reſiſts all the ef⯑forts of the dogs, and wounds them in the moſt dangerous manner. He is, beſides, very tena⯑cious [228] of life, fights long, makes a brave defence, and perſiſts to the very laſt extremity.

Formerly, when badgers were more common, terriers were trained to hunt and to take them in their holes. The badger defends himſelf by retiring and throwing back the earth, in order to ſtop or bury the dogs. He can only be taken by opening the hole above, after the dogs have puſhed him to the end of it. The people lay hold of him with pincers, and then muzzle him, to prevent his biting. I have kept ſome of them, which had been taken in this manner, a conſide⯑rable time. The young ones are eaſily tamed; they play with the dogs, and follow the perſon who feeds them. But, when taken old, they continue always ſavage. They are neither miſ⯑chievous nor ravenous, like the wolf and fox; and yet they are carnivorous. They eat every thing preſented to them, as fleſh, eggs, cheeſe, butter, bread, fiſh, fruit, nuts, grain, roots, &c. But raw fleſh they prefer to every other food. They ſleep the whole night and three fourths of the day; and yet they are ſubject to a lethargic or benummed ſtate during winter, like the mar⯑mottes or dormice. This great quantity of ſleep makes them fat, though they eat but little; and, for the ſame reaſon, they can ſupport hunger with eaſe, and often remain in their holes three or four days together, eſpecially during ſnow.

They keep their habitations extremely clean, and never defile them with their ordure. The [229] male is ſeldom found with the female. When about to bring forth, ſhe cuts down the herbage, bundles it up, and trails it with her feet to the bottom of the hole, where ſhe makes a commo⯑dious bed for herſelf and her young. She brings forth in ſummer; and the litter commonly con⯑ſiſts of three or four. When ſomewhat advan⯑ced, ſhe brings them victuals. She now travels in the night to greater diſtances than formerly. She uncovers the earth from bee-hives, and car⯑ries off the honey; ſhe ruſhes into the burrows of rabbits, and ſeizes their young; ſhe likewiſe lays hold of field-mice, lizards, ſerpents, graſſ-hoppers, and birds eggs, which ſhe conveys to her offspring, whom ſhe often leads to the mouth of the hole, in order to ſuckle or to feed them.

Theſe animals are naturally chilly: Thoſe brought up in the houſe would never quit the corner of the fire, and often approach ſo near as to burn their feet, which do not readily heal. They are ſubject to the itch, and often infect the dogs which enter their holes, unleſs they be after⯑wards carefully waſhed. The hair of the badger is always rude and greaſy. Between the anus and tail, there is a pretty large fiſſure, penetra⯑ting only about an inch deep, from which con⯑tinually exudes an unctuous ill ſcented liquor, which the animal is found of ſucking. The fleſh of the badger has not a very bad taſte; and coarſe furs, collars for dogs, coverings for horſes, &c. are made of his ſkin.

THE OTTER^*.

THE Otter is a voracious animal, but fonder of fiſh than of fleſh: He never quits the margins of rivers or of lakes, and often depopu⯑lates the fiſh-ponds. He ſwims with more eaſe than the beaver; for the latter has membranes on his hind-feet only, and the toes of his fore⯑feet are ſeparate; but the otter has membranes on all his feet. He ſwims almoſt as quick as he walks. He never goes to the ſea like the bea⯑ver; but traverſes the freſh waters and rivers to very conſiderable diſtances. He often ſwims [233] under the water, and, after remaining pretty long, aſcends to the ſurface for air. Properly ſpeaking, he is not an amphibious animal, or an animal that can live equally in air or in water. He is not formed for continuing in the latter ele⯑ment; for, like other terreſtrial creatures, he re⯑quires the aid of reſpiration. When in purſuit of a fiſh, if he chances to be entangled in a net, he drowns; and we perceive that he has not had time to cut a ſufficient quantity of the meſhes to effectuate his eſcape. His teeth reſemble thoſe of the martin; but they are proportionally long⯑er and ſtronger. For want of fiſhes, crabs, frogs, water-rats, or other food, he gnaws the young twigs, and eats the bark of aquatic trees; he likewiſe eats the young herbage in the ſpring. He is neither afraid of cold nor of moiſture. The female comes in ſeaſon in winter, brings forth in March, and the litter conſiſts of three or four. Young animals are generally beautiful; but the young otter is not ſo handſome as the old. A head ill-ſhaped, ears placed low, eyes ſmall and covered, a lurid aſpect, aukward mo⯑tions, an ignoble and deformed figure, and a kind of mechanical cry which he repeats every mo⯑ment, ſeem to indicate a ſtupid animal. The ot⯑ter, however, acquires induſtry with age, ſuf⯑ficient, at leaſt, to carry on a ſucceſsful war a⯑gainſt the fiſhes, who, both with regard to ſen⯑timent and inſtinct, are much inferior to other animals. But I can hardly allow him to have [234] the talents of the beaver, or even the habits aſcri⯑bed to him, ſuch as that of always aſcending the rivers, in order to ſwim the more eaſily down the current, when loaded with his prey^* that of fitting up and flooring his houſe to exclude the water; that of hoarding a ſtore of fiſhes, in caſe of a ſcarcity; and, laſtly, that of being ea⯑ſily tamed, of fiſhing for his maſter, and even bringing the fiſh into the kitchen. All I know is, that the otters dig no habitations for them⯑ſelves; that they take poſſeſſion of the firſt hole they find, under the roots of poplars or willows, in the cliffs of rocks, and even in piles of float⯑ing wood; that they depoſit their young on beds made of twigs and herbs; that we find in their habitations, heads and bones of fiſhes; that they often change their places of abode; that they baniſh their young at the end of ſix weeks or two months; that thoſe I attempted to tame, endea⯑voured to bite, though they were only taking milk, and unable to eat fiſh; that ſome days af⯑ter, they became more gentle, perhaps becauſe they were weak or ſick; that, ſo far from be⯑ing eaſily accuſtomed to a domeſtic life, all of them which I attempted to bring up, died young; that the otter is naturally of a ſavage and cruel diſpoſition; that, when he gets into a fiſh pond, he is equally deſtructive as the polecat in a hen⯑houſe; that he kills many more fiſhes than he can eat, and then carries off one in his mouth.

[235] Though the otter does not caſt his hair, his ſkin is browner, and ſells dearer in winter than in ſummer; it makes a very fine fur. His fleſh has a diſagreeable fiſhy taſte. His retreats ex⯑hale a noxious odour, from the remains of pu⯑trid fiſhes; and his own body has a bad ſmell. The dogs chace the otter ſpontaneouſly, and eaſily apprehend him when at a diſtance from water or from his hole. But, when ſeized, he defends himſelf, bites the dogs moſt cruelly, and ſome⯑times with ſuch force as to break their leg-bones, and never quits his hold till death looſes his jaws. The beaver, however, who is not a very ſtrong animal, purſues the otters, and permits them not to live upon the banks poſſeſſed by the latter.

This ſpecies, though not very numerous, is ſpread over Europe from Sweden to Naples; and we find them even in North America^*. They were well known to the Greeks^†, and probably extend over all the temperate climates, eſpecially in places which abound with water; for the otter can neither dwell in burning ſands, nor in dry deſerts. He equally flies barren rivers, and thoſe that are too much frequented. I believe none of them are to be found in very warm countries; for the jiya or carigueibeju^‡‡, which is found [236] at Cayenne^*, and has been named the Braſilian otter, appears to be a different ſpecies: Where⯑as the North American otter reſembles the Eu⯑ropean in every article, excepting that his fur is blacker and finer than that of the Swediſh or Muſcovite otter^†.

THE MARTIN.^*

MOST naturaliſts have deſcribed the Mar⯑tin and the pine-weaſel, or yellow-breaſted martin, as animals of the ſame ſpecies. Geſner^† and Ray, in imitation of Albertus, affirm, that they intermix promiſcuouſly. This fact, however, which is ſupported by no other evidence, appears, at leaſt, to be doubtful: I be⯑lieve, on the contrary, that theſe animals have no intercourſe, but form two diſtinct and inde⯑pendent [240] pendent ſpecies. To illuſtrate this point, I ſhall give a few reaſons. If the pine-weaſel were only a wild martin, or the martin a domeſtic pine-weaſel, the firſt would conſtantly preſerve the ſame characters, and the latter would be ſubject to variations; as the wild cat uniformly remains the ſame, while the domeſtic cat aſſumes all ſorts of colours. The martin, on the con⯑trary, never varies, but preſerves its peculiar cha⯑racters as conſtantly as the pine-weaſel retains thoſe which are proper to it. This alone is a ſuf⯑ficient proof, that thoſe two animals are ſpecifi⯑cally different, and that the one is not a ſimple variety of the other. Beſides, there is no rea⯑ſon for regarding the martin as a domeſtic ani⯑mal: He is no more domeſtic than the fox or the polecats, who, like him, approach the habitations of men in queſt of their prey; and he has no greater communication with mankind than the other animals we call wild or ſavage. The mar⯑tin, therefore, differs from the pine-weaſel both in diſpoſition and temperament; for the latter flies the open fields, lives in the moſt ſecret receſſes of the foreſt, and is never found, in great num⯑bers, in cold climates: But the martin approaches our habitations, takes up his abode in old build⯑ings, in hay-lofts, and in holes of the walls. The ſpecies is likewiſe ſpread in great numbers over all the temperate countries, and is even found in warm regions, as in Madagaſcar^*, and [241] the Maldiva iſlands^†, and is never ſeen in high latitudes.

The martin has a fine countenance, a lively eye, ſupple limbs, and a flexible body. His movements are all exceedingly nimble; he rather bounds and leaps, than walks. He climbs rough walls with eaſe and alacrity; enters the pigeon or hen-houſes, eats the eggs, pigeons, fowls, &c. and the female often kills great numbers, and tranſports them to her young. He likewiſe ſeizes mice, rats, moles, and birds in their neſt. I kept one of theſe animals a conſiderable time. He tamed to a certain degree; but never form⯑ed any attachment, and continued always ſo wild that it was neceſſary to chain him. He made war againſt the rats, and attacked the poultry, whenever they came in his way. He often got looſe, though chained by the middle of the body. At firſt, he went to no great diſtance, and re⯑turned in a few hours, but without diſcovering any ſymptoms of joy or of affection to any par⯑ticular perſon. He, however, called for victuals, like a cat or a dog. Afterwards he made longer excurſions, and, at laſt, he thought proper ne⯑ver to return. He was then about a year and a half old, ſeemingly the age at which nature aſ⯑ſumes her full aſcendency. He eat every thing preſented to him, except ſalad and herbs. He was fond of honey, and preferred hemp-ſeed to every other grain. We remarked, that he [242] drank very often; that he ſometimes ſlept two days ſucceſſively; that, at other times, he would ſleep none for two or three days; that, before ſleeping, he folded himſelf in a round form, and covered his head with his tail; and that, while awake, his motions were ſo violent, ſo perpetual, and ſo incommodious, that, though he had not diſturbed the fowls, we found it neceſſary to chain him, to prevent him from breaking every thing. We have had in our poſſeſſion ſeveral other martins of a more advanced age, which had been taken in nets; but they continued to be totally ſavage, bit all who attempted to touch them, and would eat nothing but raw fleſh.

Martins, it is ſaid, go with young as long as cats. We meet with young ones from ſpring to autumn; and, therefore, it is probable that they bring forth more than once a year. The younger females litter only three or four at a time; but the more aged produce ſix or ſeven. When a⯑bout to bring forth, they take up their abode in magazines of hay, in holes of walls, which they ſtuff with ſtraw and herbs, in clefts of rocks, or in the hollow trunks of trees; and, when di⯑ſturbed, they remove their young, who ſeem to grow very ſoon to maturity; for the one I kept had nearly attained its full growth in one year; Hence we may conclude, that thoſe animals live only eight or ten years. They have a kind of muſky ſmell, which is not very diſagreeable. The pine-weaſel and the martin, like ſome other [243] animals, have two veſicles, one on each ſide of the extremity of the rectum, which contain an odoriferous matter, ſimilar to that procured from the civet cat. Their fleſh retains a little of this odour; and yet that of the pine-weaſel is not bad. The fleſh of the martin is more diſagree⯑able, and his ſkin is likewiſe much leſs valuable.

The PINE-WEASEL, or YEL⯑LOW-BREASTED MAR⯑TIN^*.

THIS animal is a native of northern regions, where the ſpecies is ſo nume⯑rous, that the quantity of their furs annually conſumed is perfectly aſtoniſhing. There are very few of them in the temperate climates, and they exiſt not in very warm countries. Some of them are found in the foreſts of Burgundy, and likewiſe in thoſe of Fountainbleau; but, in general, they are as rare in France as the martin is frequent. There are none of thoſe animals in Britain; becauſe they have no extenſive foreſts in that country. They fly equally inhabited countries and uncovered fields. They dwell in the woods, and conceal not themſelves among [246] the rocks, but traverſe the foreſt and climb the trees. They live by hunting, and deſtroy pro⯑digious quantities of birds, by eating their eggs. They ſeize ſquirrels, field-mice, &c. They al⯑ſo eat honey, like the martin and polecat. They never appear in the open fields, in the meadows, or in the vineyards. They approach not the dwellings of men; and they differ ſtill farther from the martin in their manner of making their eſcape from the hunters. When the martin is purſued by a dog, he inſtantly runs to his hay⯑loft or his hole. The pine-weaſel, on the con⯑trary, runs a long time before the dogs, then climbs the trunk of a tree, and, from this ſtation, he views them as they paſs. The track which he leaves in the ſnow appears to be that of a large animal, becauſe he always leaps, and both feet make but one mark. He is ſomewhat larger than the martin, and yet his head is ſhorter. His legs are longer, and conſequently he runs more eaſily. His neck is yellow; but that of the martin is white. His hair is finer, more buſhy, and leſs ſubject to fall off. The female pre⯑pares not a bed for her young; and yet lodges them moſt commodiouſly. The ſquirrels build neſts in the tops of trees, with equal art as the birds. When the pine-weaſel is about to bring forth, ſhe climbs to the ſquirrel's neſt, baniſhes the poſſeſſor, enlarges the entry to it, and there depoſits her young. She likewiſe uſes the old neſts of ducks or buzzards, and holes of antient [247] trees, from which ſhe diſlodges the wood-peckers and others birds. She brings forth in the ſpring, and her litter conſiſts only of two or three. Though her young come into the world blind, they ſoon acquire a conſiderable growth. She brings to them eggs and birds; and afterwards leads them out to hunt along with herſelf. The birds are ſo well acquainted with their enemies, that, when they perceive the pine-weaſel, they utter the ſame mournful cry to advertiſe his ap⯑proach, as when they ſee a fox. What ſhows that the birds are animated with hatred, rather than fear, is, that they follow at a diſtance, and utter this peculiar cry againſt all carnivorous a⯑nimals, as the wolf, the fox, the pine-weaſel, the wild cat, &c. but never againſt the ſtag, the roe, the hare, &c.

The pine-weaſels are very frequent in the northern parts of America, Europe, and Aſia. Many of them are brought from Canada, and they extend as far as Hudſon's bay^*; and, in Aſia, as far north as the kingdom of Tonquin^† and the empire of China^‡. They ought not to be confounded with the ſable, an animal whoſe fur is much more precious. The ſable is black; but the pine-weaſel is brown and yellow. The moſt valuable part of the ſkin of the latter is the brown, which extends along the whole back to the extremity of the tail.

THE POLECAT^*.

In the villages, they live upon poultry; and, in the country, they hunt for prey. During the ſummer, they take up their abode in rabbit⯑holes, in the cliffs of rocks, or in the hollow trunks of trees, from which they iſſue out in the night, and roam about the fields and woods, ſearching for the neſts of partridges, larks, and quails. They climb trees in queſt of the neſts of other birds. They lie in watch for rats, field-mice, and moles; and carry on a perpetual war againſt the rabbits, who cannot eſcape them, as they enter with eaſe into their holes. A ſingle family of polecats is ſufficient to deſtroy a whole warren. This would be a ſimple me⯑thod of diminiſhing the number of rabbits in places where they are too abundant.

[250] The polecat is ſomewhat leſs than the mar⯑tin: His tail is alſo ſhorter, his muzzle ſharper, and his hair blacker and more buſhy: He has white hair on his front, and likewiſe on the ſides of the noſe and round the mouth. He differs ſtill more from the martin in his voice; the mar⯑tin has a ſharp piercing cry; the cry of the pole⯑cat is blunter. Each of them, as well as the pine-weaſel and ſquirrel, have a deep grunting tone, which they often repeat when irritated. Laſtly, the odour of the martin is very different from that of the polecat, which, inſtead of being agreeable, is extremely foetid; and, from this circumſtance, the animal obtained its Latin name putorius. He ſends forth this inſupportable odour to a great diſtance, eſpecially when irri⯑tated. The dogs will not eat the fleſh of the polecat; and even his ſkin, though good, is in no eſtimation, becauſe it never loſes entirely its natural ſmell. This odour proceeds from two veſicles near the anus, from which an unctuous matter continually exudes; and the effluvia of it is extremely offenſive in the polecat, ferret, weaſel, badger, &c.; but it conſtitutes, on the contrary, a ſpecies of perfume, in the civet-cat, pine-weaſel, martin, &c.

THE FERRET^*.

WHETHER the ferret and polecat belong to different ſpecies, has been a ſubject of doubt with ſome naturaliſts^†. The reſemblance of colour of ſome ferrets to that of the polecat may have given riſe to this doubt. The polecat, however, is a native of temperate climates, and is a wild animal, like the martin. But, the fer⯑ret is a native of warm countries, and cannot ſubſiſt, even in France, unleſs in a domeſtic ſtate. The ferret alone is uſed in hunting rabbits, be⯑cauſe he is more eaſily tamed than the polecat. Both, indeed, have a ſtrong and diſagreeable odour. But the moſt convincing proof of their being different animals, is, that they have no in⯑tercourſe with one another, and differ in a num⯑ber [253] of eſſential characters. The body of the ferret is thinner and more lengthened, his head narrower, and his muzzle ſharper, than thoſe of the polecat. He is not endowed with the ſame inſtinct in finding ſubſiſtence, but, at leaſt in our climates, muſt be carefully nouriſhed with⯑in doors, and cannot exiſt in the fields; for thoſe who are loſt in the burrows of rabbits never multiply, but probably periſh during the winter. The ferret alſo, like other domeſtic animals, varies in colour; and is equally common in warm regions^*, as the polecat is rare.

The female ferret is leſs than the male: When in ſeaſon, ſhe is ſo extremely ardent, that, we are aſſured, ſhe dies, if her deſires be not gratifi⯑ed^†. Ferrets are brought up in caſks or boxes, where they are furniſhed with beds of hemp or flax. They ſleep almoſt continually. Whene⯑ver they awake, they ſearch eagerly for food, which conſiſts of brawn, bread, milk, &c. They produce twice every year: The female goes ſix weeks with young: Some of them devour their young as ſoon as they are brought forth, inſtantly come again in ſeaſon, and have three litters, which generally conſiſt of five or ſix, and ſome⯑times ſeven or eight, and even nine.

This animal is by nature a mortal enemy to the rabbit. Whenever a dead rabbit is, for the firſt time, preſented to a young ferret, he flies [254] upon it, and bites it with fury; but, if it be alive, he ſeizes it by the throat or the noſe, and ſucks its blood. When let into the burrows of rabbits, he is muzzled, that he may not kill them in their holes, but only oblige them to come out, in order to be caught in the nets. If the ferret is let in without a muzzle, he is in danger of being loſt; for, after ſucking the blood of the rabbit, he falls aſleep; and even ſmoking the hole is not a certain method of recalling him; be⯑cauſe the holes have often ſeveral entries which communicate with each other, and the ferret re⯑tires into one of theſe, when incommoded with the ſmoke. Boys likewiſe uſe the ferret for catching birds in the holes of walls or of old trees.

According to Strabo, the ferret was brought from Africa into Spain; which is by no means improbable, as Spain is the native climate of rab⯑bits, and the country where formerly theſe ani⯑mals moſt abounded. It may, therefore, be pre⯑ſumed, that, in order to diminiſh their number, which perhaps was incommodious, ferrets were imported for the purpoſe of hunting rabbits in a profitable manner, in place of multiplying mar⯑tins, which would have deſtroyed the rabbits without bringing any advantage to the hunters.

The ferret, though eaſily tamed and rendered docile, is extremely iraſcible. His odour is al⯑ways diſagreeable; but, when he is irritated, it becomes much more offenſive. His eyes are [255] lively, and his aſpect is inflammatory; all his movements are nimble, and he is, at the ſame time, ſo vigorous, that he can eaſily maſter a rabbit, though at leaſt four times larger than himſelf.

Notwithſtanding the authority of commenta⯑tors, it is ſtill uncertain whether the ferret be the ictis of the Greeks. 'The ictis,' ſays Ariſtotle, 'is a ſpecies of wild weaſel, ſmaller than the little Malteſe dog, but reſembling the weaſel in its hair, in the whiteneſs of the under part of the body, and likewiſe in the craftineſs of its manners. It admits of being tamed; and makes great havock among the bee-hives, be⯑ing extremely found of honey. It alſo attacks birds, and, like the cat, has an oſſeous penis^*.' 1. There appears to be a contradiction in ſaying that the ictis is a ſpecies of wild weaſel, which admits of being tamed; for the common weaſel, which, in this country, is the moſt ſavage of the two, is perfectly irreclaimable. 2. The ferret, though larger than the weaſel, can never be com⯑pared, for ſize, to the lap-dog. 3. The ferret appears not to have the cunning of the weaſel, nor indeed any craftineſs at all: Laſtly, he never attacks the bee-hives, nor is he fond of honey. I inquired of M. le Roi, inſpector of the royal chaces, concerning this laſt fact. His anſwer follows: 'M. de Buffon may be aſſured, that the ferrets have no predilection for honey; [256] but, when hungry, may be made to eat to it. I have fed them ſeveral days with bread ſoak⯑ed in water mixed with honey. The two laſt days, they eat it in pretty large quantities; but the weakeſt of them began to be ſenſibly ema⯑ciated.' This is not the firſt time that M. le Roi has obliged me with important facts. Ha⯑ving no ferrets, I tried the ſame experiment on the ermine, by giving him only pure honey to eat, and a little milk for drink: But he died in a few days. Thus neither the ermine nor the ferret are fond of honey, like the ictis of the antients; which inclines me to think, that the word ictis is perhaps only a generic name; or, if it marks any particular ſpecies, it ought rather to be applied to the martin or polecat, both of which poſſeſs the craftineſs of the weaſel, attack the bee-hives, and are extremely fond of honey.

THE WEASEL^*.

THE Weaſel is as common in temperate and warm climates^†, as it is rare in the nor⯑thern regions. The ermine, on the contrary, a⯑bounds in the north, is ſeldom met with in temperate climates, and never in warm countries. Theſe animals, therefore, form two diſtinct ſpe⯑cies. The common weaſel ſometimes turns white during the winter, even in our climate. This circumſtance might give riſe to its being regarded as of the ſame ſpecies with the ermine. This mark is common to both: But there are others in which they differ. The ermine is red⯑diſh in ſummer and white in winter; but the end of its tail is uniformly black. The end of the weaſel's tail is yellow, even when the animal [258] turns white in winter. It is, beſides, always leſs, and its tail much ſhorter than that of the ermine. The weaſel dwells not, like the er⯑mine, in woods and deſerts, but near the habi⯑tations of men. I have kept both ſpecies toge⯑ther; but animals which differ in climate, in conſtitution, and in diſpoſition, never intermix. It is true, ſome weaſels are larger or ſmaller than others; but the difference never exceeds an inch in the whole length of the body. But the er⯑mine is two inches longer than the largeſt wea⯑ſel. Neither of them can be tamed, but are kept wild in iron cages. Neither of them voluntarily eat honey, nor attack the bee⯑hives, like the polecat and martin. Thus the ermine is not the ſavage weaſel, nor the ictis of Ariſtotle, which, he ſays, is eaſily tamed, and very fond of honey. The weaſel and ermine, inſtead of being eaſily tamed, are ſo wild, that they will not eat when any perſon looks at them: They are in perpetual agitation, always endeavouring to conceal themſelves: And, if a man wants to keep them, he muſt furniſh them with a bundle of wool or flax, in which they wrap and hide themſelves from the light. Thither they drag every thing they can lay hold of, and never eat but in the night. They allow freſh meat to lie three or four days, and even till it corrupt, before they touch it. They ſleep three fourths of the day, and watch their prey during the night. When a weaſel gets among the poultry, he attacks not the cocks or old hens, [259] but ſingles out the chickens and young birds, whom he kills with a ſingle bite on the head, and then carries off the whole one by one. He likewiſe breaks the eggs, and ſucks them with incredible avidity. In winter, they generally live in granaries and barns, where they often re⯑main during the ſpring, and bring forth their young among the hay and ſtraw. During this period, the female makes war, with more ſucceſs than the cat, againſt the rats and mice, who can⯑not eſcape her, becauſe ſhe follows them into their holes. She mounts the pigeon-houſes, and deſtroys the pigeons, ſparrows, &c. In ſummer, they retire farther from houſes, eſpeci⯑ally into low grounds, about mills, along rivu⯑lets, conceal themſelves among bruſh-wood, in order to ſurpriſe birds, and often take up their abode in old willows, where the female brings forth her young: She prepares for them a bed of ſtraw, leaves, and other herbage, and litters, in the ſpring, from three to five. The young, like thoſe of the polecat, pine-weaſel, and mar⯑tin, are born blind; but they very ſoon acquire growth and ſtrength enough to follow their mo⯑ther in the chace. The weaſels attack ſerpents, water-rats, moles, field-mice, &c. and, over⯑running the meadows, they devour quails and partridges, together with their eggs. Their mo⯑tion conſiſts of inequal and precipitant leaps; and, when they want to mount a tree, they make a ſudden bound, by which they are at once ele⯑vated [260] ſeveral feet high. They leap in the ſame manner when they attempt to ſeize a bird.

Theſe animals, as well as the polecat and fer⯑ret, have a diſagreeable odour, which is ſtronger in ſummer than in winter; and, when purſued or irritated, their ſmell is felt at a conſiderable diſtance. They move always with caution and with ſilence, and never cry, but when they are hurt. Their cry is ſharp, rough, and very ex⯑preſſive of reſentment. As their own odour is offenſive, they ſeem not to be ſenſible of a bad ſmell in other bodies. A peaſant in my neigh⯑bourhood took three new-littered weaſels out of the carcaſs of a wolf that had been hung on a tree by the hind feet. The wolf was almoſt en⯑tirely putrified, and the female weaſel had made a neſt of leaves and herbage for her young in the thorax of this putrid carcaſs.

THE ERMINE^*.

THE weaſel with a black tail, is called the ermine, and roſelet by the French; the ermine when it is white, and the roſelet when it is red or yellowiſh. Though leſs frequent than the ordinary weaſel, they are ſtill found in con⯑ſiderable numbers, eſpecially in the antient fo⯑reſts, and ſometimes, during winter, in fields bordering upon woods. It is eaſy, at all ſeaſons, to diſtinguiſh them from the common weaſel; [263] for the end of their tail is always of a deep black, and the borders of the ears and toes are white.

We have little to add to what we formerly remarked concerning this animal^*. We ſhall only obſerve, that it changes its colour, as uſual, in winter. I had one ſent me, in the beginning of March 1757, which was then white. I kept it till April 1758, when it would probably have become white, had it been at liberty; but it was confined in an iron cage, againſt the bars of which it perpetually rubbed, and, as it had not been ſufficiently expoſed to the cold, it ſtill pre⯑ſerved its ſummer coat. It remains as ſavage as ever, and has loſt nothing of its bad ſmell. In every other circumſtance, it is a healthy vivaci⯑ous animal, has lively eyes, a fine countenance, and movements ſo rapid, that it is impoſſible to follow them with the eye. It has always been fed with eggs and fleſh; but it touches not meat till it has become putrid. It never inclined to eat honey; and, being deprived of victuals for three days, it died, after having taken a ſmall quantity of honey. The ſkin of this animal is very precious. The furs of the ermine are finer and fairer than thoſe of the white rabbit; but they ſoon turn yellowiſh; and, indeed, the er⯑mines of our climate have always a ſlight tincture of yellow.

This animal is very frequent in the north, e⯑ſpecially in Ruſſia, Norway, and Lapland^†, where, [264] as in every other place, they are reddiſh in ſum⯑mer and white in winter. They feed upon ſmall animals, and particularly a ſpecies of rat, which abounds in Norway and Lapland, to be after⯑wards mentioned. The ermines are rare in tem⯑perate climates, and are never found in warm countries. The Cape animal, called the ermine by Kolbe^*, and whoſe fleſh, he remarks, is wholeſome and agreeable to the palate, has no affinity to the ermine. The weaſels of Cayenne, deſcribed by M. Barrere^†, and the gray ermines of Tartary, and of the northern parts of China, mentioned by ſome travellers^‡, are alſo animals different from our weaſels and ermines.

The GRISON, or GRAY WEASEL^*.

THIS animal is analagous to the weaſel and ermine. M. Allamand gave the firſt de⯑ſcription and figure of it under the name of the griſon, in the 15th volume of the Dutch edition of my work, which he deſcribes in the following manner.

'I received,' ſays he, 'from Surinam, the ſmall animal repreſented in the plate^†. In the catalogue it was called the gray weaſel, from which circumſtance I derived the name griſon, becauſe I know not how it is denominated in the country where it is found. The whole up⯑per part of its body is covered with deep brown hair, having white points, which gives a gray⯑iſh brown colour: Under the head and neck is a bright gray, becauſe the hairs there are very ſhort, and the white part is of equal length with the brown. The muzzle, the under part of the body and legs, are black; which ſingu⯑larly contraſts with the gray colour on the head and neck.'

'The griſon has a greater reſemblance to the weaſel than to any other animal. But it be⯑longs not to the weaſel tribe; for its body is not long enough, and its legs are too long. It is not mentioned by any author or traveller. I ſhewed it to ſeveral perſons who had lived long in Surinam; but none of them knew it; hence it either muſt be a rare animal, even in its native country, or it muſt live only in de⯑ſert and unfrequented places. The length of its body is about ſeven inches. I have not been able to learn any thing of its hiſtory.'

THE SQUIRREL^*.

THE ſquirrel is a little neat animal, and may be conſidered as in a ſtate between ſavage and domeſtic. The gentleneſs, docility, and inoffenſiveneſs of his manners, entitle him to re⯑gard and protection. Though he ſometimes ſeizes birds, he is neither carnivorous nor deſtruc⯑tive. Fruits, almonds, nuts, beech-maſt, and a⯑corns, are his common food. He is handſome, lively, alert, and extremely vigilant and indu⯑ſtrious. He has eyes full of fire, a fine counte⯑nance, a nervous body, and very nimble limbs. The beauty of his figure is heightened by a tail [269] reſembling a plume of feathers, which he raiſes the length of his head, and under which he ſhades himſelf from the ſun and weather. The under part of his body is furniſhed with an apparatus equally remarkable, and which indi⯑cates ſtrong generative powers. The ſquirrel partakes leſs of the nature of quadrupeds than moſt others of that tribe. He generally reſts almoſt on end, and uſes his fore-feet like hands, in carrying his food to his mouth. Inſtead of concealing himſelf under the earth, he is perpe⯑tually in the air. He approaches the birds by his lightneſs; and, like the feathered tribes, he dwells on the tops of trees, and traverſes the foreſts by leaping from one tree to another. He like⯑wiſe builds his neſt in the trees, gathers grains and ſeeds, drinks the dews, and deſcends not to the earth, but when the trees are agitated by ſtorms. He is never found in the open fields, nor in the plains. He approaches not the habitations of men, and never remains among bruſhwood; but delights in the lofty trees of the foreſt. Of wa⯑ter he is ſtill more afraid than of the earth; and we are aſſured, that, when he wants to paſs a ri⯑ver or lake, he employs the bark of a tree for a ſhip, and uſes his tail for the rudder and ſails^*. [270] He ſleeps not, like the dormouſe, during the winter, but is at all ſeaſons awake and lively; and, if the foot of the tree where he repoſes be touched, he inſtantly leaves his little neſt, and flies to another tree, or ſhelters himſelf under a branch. He collects nuts during ſummer, hides them in the trunks or hollows of old trees, and has recourſe to them for his winter food: He like⯑wiſe ſearches for them in the ſnow, and ſcratches off the ſurface of it with his feet. His voice is ſhrill, and ſtill more piercing than that of the martin. When irritated, he makes a murmur⯑ing or grumbling noiſe. He is too light for walking; his movements conſiſt of little leaps; and ſometimes he makes conſiderable bounds. His claws are ſo ſharp, and his motion ſo quick, that he inſtantaneouſly climbs beech trees, though their bark be exceedingly ſmooth.

During the fine ſummer nights, the ſquirrels are heard crying, when purſuing each other a⯑mong the trees. They ſeem to dread the heat of the ſun; for, during the day, they remain in their neſts, from which they iſſue, in the night, to eat, to frolick, and to make love. Their habita⯑tion is clean, warm, impenetrable to rain, and generally ſituated in the cleft of a tree. They begin the work by carrying ſmall ſticks, [271] which they mix and interlace with moſs: They then preſs and ſtamp it, to give it firmneſs and capacity for holding themſelves and their young. Only a ſmall ſtrait aperture is left near the top, hardly ſufficient to allow them to paſs. Above this aperture is a conical cover which ſhelters the whole, and makes the rain run off the ſides. They generally produce three or four at a litter: The females come in ſeaſon in the ſpring, and bring forth in May, or the beginning of June. They caſt their hair in winter, and the new fur is redder than the former. They comb and dreſs themſelves with their hands and teeth, are very cleanly, and have no bad ſmell. Their fleſh makes pretty good eating. The hair of their tail is uſed for pencils; but their ſkin is only an indifferent fur.

Several ſpecies of quadrupeds border upon that of the ſquirrel; but there are few varieties in the ſpecies itſelf. Some are of an aſh-colour; but the greateſt number are reddiſh. The ſmall gray kind is a different ſpecies, and continues always gray: And, without mentioning the fly⯑ing ſquirrels, the white ſquirrel of Cambaia^*, which is very ſmall, that of Madagaſcar^†, called Tſitſihi, which is gray, and neither beautiful nor eaſily tamed, the white ſquirrel of Siam^‡, the gray ſpotted ſquirrel of Bengal^§, the ſtriped [272] ſquirrel of Canada^*, the black ſquirrel^†, the large gray ſquirrel of Virginia^‡, the ſquirrel of New Spain, with white ſtripes^§, the white ſquirrel of Siberia^‖, the variegated ſquirrel, or mus ponticus, the ſmall American ſquirrel, that of Braſil, that of Barbary, the palm-rat, &c. form ſo many diſtinct and independent ſpecies of qua⯑drupeds.

THE RAT^*.

NATURE, by deſcending gradually from great to ſmall, from ſtrong to weak, coun⯑terbalances every part of her works. Attentive ſolely to the preſervation of each ſpecies, ſhe creates a profuſion of individuals, and ſupports by numbers the ſmall and the feeble, whom ſhe hath left unprovided with arms or with courage. She has not only put thoſe inferior animals in a condition to perpetuate and to reſiſt by their own numbers, but ſhe ſeems, at the ſame time, to have afforded a ſupply to each by multiplying the neighbouring ſpecies. The rat, the mouſe, the field-mouſe, the water-rat, the ſhort tailed [276] field mouſe, the fat ſquirrel, the garden ſquirrel, the dormouſe, the ſhrew-mouſe, and ſeveral o⯑thers, whom I mention not, becauſe they belong not to our climate, form ſo many diſtinct and ſeparate ſpecies, but ſo analogous to each other, that, if any one ſhould happen to fail, the gap in the genus would hardly be perceptible. It is this great number of neighbouring ſpecies which hath given to naturaliſts the idea of genera; an idea which can only be employed when we view objects in general, but which vaniſhes whenever we conſider nature in detail.

Men at firſt gave diſtinct names to objects which appeared to differ from each other; and, at the ſame time, they gave general denominations to objects that ſeemed to be nearly ſimilar. A⯑mong a rude people, and in the infancy of all lan⯑guages, there is hardly any thing but general terms, or vague and ill-formed expreſſions for objects of the ſame order, though very different from each other. An oak, a beech, a linden-tree, a fir, a pine, a yew, would, at firſt, have no other name but that of a tree; afterwards the oak, the beech, and the yew, would all be called oak; when theſe were diſtinguiſhed from the fir, the pine, and the yew, the three latter would be called fir. Particular names could only be in⯑vented in conſequence of a minute examination of each different ſpecies; and the numbers of theſe names are augmented in proportion to the extent of our knowledge of Nature: The more [277] we examine her, proper and particular names will become more frequent. When natural ob⯑jects, therefore, are repreſented to us, under ge⯑neral denominations, or by claſſes and genera, it is recalling the darkneſs peculiar to the infant ſtate of human knowledge. Ignorance is the parent of genera; but ſcience will for ever con⯑tinue to create and to multiply proper names; and I ſhall never heſitate in adding to their num⯑ber, as often as I have occaſion to delineate dif⯑ferent ſpecies.

Several ſpecies of ſmall animals have been confounded under the generic name of Rat: But we ſhall confine this name ſolely to the com⯑mon rat, which is of a blackiſh colour, and in⯑feſts the habitations of men. The rat common⯑ly frequents granaries and barns, and from thence, when food is ſcarce, comes into our houſes. He is a carnivorous, or rather an om⯑nivorous animal: He ſeems only to prefer hard ſubſtances to thoſe which are tender or ſucculent. He gnaws linen, cloaths, furniture, makes holes in the walls, lodges in the ceilings, and in the void ſpaces between the wall and the wainſcot⯑ting. From theſe lurking places the rats iſſue in queſt of food, and tranſport thither every ſub⯑ſtance they can drag, forming conſiderable ma⯑gazines, eſpecially when they have young to provide for. The female brings forth ſeveral times a year, but always in the ſummer ſeaſon. The litter generally conſiſts of five or ſix. They [278] are fond of warmth, and, in winter, inſinuate themſelves near the chimneys, or lodge among hay or ſtraw: In ſpite of cats, poiſon, and ſnares, theſe animals multiply ſo greatly, that they of⯑ten do much damage. In old country-houſes where grain is kept, and where the vicinity of barns and magazines of hay facilitates their re⯑treat, they often increaſe ſo prodigiouſly, that the poſſeſſors are obliged to remove and deſert their habitations, unleſs the rats happen to de⯑ſtroy each other. It is well known, that rats, when pinched for food, eat one another. When a famine is created by too great a number being crouded into one place, the ſtrong kill the weak, open their heads, and firſt eat the brain, and then the reſt of the body. Next day, the war is re⯑newed, and continues in the ſame manner till moſt of them are deſtroyed. This is the reaſon why theſe animals, after being extremely trouble⯑ſome, diſappear all of a ſudden, and return not for a long time. The ſame thing happens to field-mice, whoſe prodigious multiplication is in⯑terrupted only by the hoſtilities they exerciſe on each other, when proviſions become ſcarce. This ſudden deſtruction is aſcribed by Ariſtotle to the operation of rains. But rats are not expoſed to rain, and the field-mice know how to guard themſelves againſt its effects; for the holes they inhabit are not even moiſt.

The rats are as laſcivious as they are voraci⯑ous: They ſqueak during their amours, and cry [279] when they fight. They prepare a bed for their young, and ſoon learn them to eat. When the young begin to iſſue from their hole, the mo⯑ther watches, defends, and even fights with the cats, in order to ſave them. A large rat is more miſchievous, and nearly as ſtrong as a young cat. The fore-teeth of the rat are long and ſtrong: The cat is not a good biter; and, as ſhe uſes only her claws, ſhe requires both to be vi⯑gorous and accuſtomed to fight. The weaſel, though ſmaller, is a more dangerous and formi⯑dable enemy, becauſe he follows the rat into his hole. Their ſtrength being nearly equal, the combat often continues long: But the method of uſing their arms is very different. The rat wounds only by reiterated ſtrokes with his fore-teeth, which are rather deſtined for gnawing than bi⯑ting; and, being ſituated at the extremity of the lever, or jaw, they have not much force. But the weaſel bites cruelly with the whole jaw, and, inſtead of letting go his hold, he ſucks the blood from the wounded part; and, therefore, the rat uniformly falls a ſacrifice to the weaſel.

Of this ſpecies, as in all thoſe which conſiſt of numerous individuals, there are many varieties. Beſide the common rat, which is blackiſh, ſome are brown, others gray, reddiſh, and even totally white. The white rats have red eyes, like the white rabbit, the white mouſe, and all the other a⯑nimals which are perfectly white. The whole ſpe⯑cies, and its varieties, appear to be natives of the [280] temperate climates, and are more diffuſed over the warm than the cold regions. There were no rats originally in America^*; but thoſe imported from Europe multiplied ſo prodigiouſly, that they were long the ſcourge of the colonies, where they had no enemies but large ſerpents, who ſwallow⯑ed them alive. They have been carried by ſhips into the Eaſt Indies, and all the iſlands of the In⯑dian Archipelago^†; and are found likewiſe in Africa^‡. But, towards the north, they have ne⯑ver multiplied beyond Sweden; for what are called Norwegian and Lapland rats, are animals of a different ſpecies.

THE MOUSE^*.

THE Mouſe is much ſmaller, equally nume⯑rous, and more generally diffuſed than the rat. It has the ſame inſtinct, the ſame conſtitu⯑tion and natural diſpoſitions, and differs only by its weakneſs, and the habits which reſult from this circumſtance. Timid by nature, and familiar from neceſſity, fear and want are the ſources of all its movements. He never iſſues from his hole but in queſt of food, and runs in again upon the leaſt alarm. He goes not, like the rat, from houſe to houſe, unleſs he be forced, and is not near ſo deſtructive. His manners are gentle, and he may be tamed to a certain degree; but he ne⯑ver [283] diſcovers the ſmalleſt attachment to his bene⯑factors. It is not, indeed, eaſy to love thoſe who are perpetually laying ſnares for us. Though weak, the mouſe has many enemies, from whom he has no means of eſcape, but thoſe of agility and minuteneſs. Owls, birds of prey, cats, wea⯑ſels, and even rats, make war upon the mice. They are ſhot, caught in traps, and deſtroyed by millions. In a word, they ſubſiſt by their a⯑mazing fecundity alone.

They bring forth at all ſeaſons, and ſeveral times in the year. The litter generally conſiſts of five or ſix. In leſs than fifteen days, the young are ſtrong enough to diſperſe, and to pro⯑cure food for themſelves. The duration of life in thoſe ſmall animals muſt, therefore, be ſhort, ſince their growth is ſo rapid; and this circum⯑ſtance ſtill farther augments the idea of their pro⯑digious multiplication. Ariſtotle tells us, that, having ſhut up a pregnant mouſe in a veſſel, a⯑long with plenty of grain, he, in a ſhort time af⯑ter, found 120 mice, all ſprung from the ſame mother.

Theſe little animals are by no means ugly; they have a vivacious and elegant air. That ſpe⯑cies of horror ſome people feel at them, ariſes from the ſurpriſe and inconveniencies they ſome⯑times occaſion. All mice are whitiſh under the belly, and ſome are altogether white. Others are more or leſs brown and black. The ſpecies is generally diffuſed over Europe, Aſia, and Africa; [284] and, it is alledged, that thoſe of America, where they are very numerous, came originally from the Old Continent. It is, however, certain, that this little animal follows man, and flies from uninha⯑bited places, probably on account of its natural appetite for bread, cheeſe, butter, oil, and other aliment which men prepare for themſelves.

The Long-tailed FIELD MOUSE^*.

THIS animal is leſs than the rat, and larger than the mouſe. It never lives in houſes, but is found in the fields and woods. Its eyes are remarkably large and prominent; and it differs ſtill more from the rat and mouſe, by the colour of its hair, which is whitiſh under the belly, and of a reddiſh brown on the back. It is very gene⯑rally and copiouſly diffuſed, eſpecially in elevated countries. It ſeems to take a conſiderable time in arriving at full growth, becauſe it varies greatly in ſize. The largeſt are between four and five inches long; and the ſmaller ones, which appear likewiſe to be adults, are an inch ſhorter. And, as we find them of all intermediate ſizes, both the [286] great and ſmall are unqueſtionably the ſame ſpe⯑cies. Ignorance of this fact has, probably, led ſome naturaliſts to make two ſpecies of them, the one called the great field-rat, and the other the field-mouſe. Ray, who firſt fell into this blunder, ſeems to acknowledge that he knew but one ſpecies^*. And, though the ſhort deſcriptions he has given each ſpecies appear to differ, we ought not to conclude that both exiſt: 1. Becauſe he him⯑ſelf knew but one; 2. Becauſe, after all the re⯑ſearches I have made, I have not been able to diſ⯑cover more than one kind; becauſe Geſner, and other naturaliſts, mention only one ſpecies, under the name of mus agreſtis major, which they ſay is very common; and becauſe Ray ſays that the other kind, called mus domeſticus medius, is alſo very common: Hence, it is apparent, that none of theſe authors have ever ſeen both kinds, ſince they acknowledge both to be very common; 4. Becauſe, in this ſingle ſpecies, individuals are found of a larger and leſſer ſize, this circumſtance might lead them to conſider the ſmall as of one ſpecies, and the large of another; Laſtly, becauſe the deſcriptions are too vague and inaccurate to eſtabliſh a ſpecific difference.

The antients, indeed, mention two ſpecies, the one under the denomination of mus agreſtis ma⯑jor, the other under that of mus agreſtis minor. Theſe two ſpecies are very common, and we know [287] them as well as the antients: The firſt is our long⯑tailed field-mouſe; the ſecond is not the mus do⯑meſticus medius of Ray, but another animal, known by the name of the ſhort-tailed field-mouſe, or little field-rat. And, as it differs both from the rat and the long-tailed field-mouſe, I have given it its Italian name, compagnoli or compag⯑nol.

The long-tailed field-mouſe, as I formerly re⯑maked, lives in dry and elevated grounds. In the woods and adjacent fields, they are found in vaſt numbers. They retire into holes among the bruſhwood and under the trunks of trees, where they amaſs great quantities of acorns, nuts, and beech-maſt; ſometimes a whole buſhel is found in a ſingle hole; and this hoard is not propor⯑tioned to the wants of the animal, but to the ca⯑pacity of the place where it is depoſited. Theſe holes are generally more than a foot under ground, and often divided into two apartments, the one for living in along with their young, and the o⯑ther for a magazine. I have frequently ſeen great damage done to the plantations by theſe animals. They carry off the new ſown acorns; by follow⯑ing the furrow of the plough, they dig up one after another, not leaving a ſngle ſeed. This happens chiefly in thoſe ſeaſons when the acorns are ſcarce: Not finding enough in the woods, they come in queſt of them in the cultivated fields, and do not eat them on the ſpot, but tranſport them to their holes, where they amaſs ſuch quan⯑tities, [288] tities, that they often corrupt. Theſe creatures alone do more miſchief in a nurſery of trees than all the birds and other animals put together. The only way to prevent this damage is, to lay traps at ten paces aſunder through the extent of the ſown ground. No other apparatus is neceſſary than a roaſted walnut placed under a flat ſtone, ſupport⯑ed by a ſtick. The animals come to eat the wal⯑nut, which they prefer to acorns; and, as the walnut is fixed to the ſtick, whenever they touch it, the ſtone falls and cruſhes them to death. I have uſed the ſame expedient for the deſtruction of the ſhort-tailed field-mouſe, who likewiſe de⯑ſtroy acorns. When I began this operation, I deſired all the mice that were caught by the traps to be brought to me, and found, with aſtoniſh⯑ment, that above 100 were taken each day, from a piece of ground conſiſting only of about 40 French arpents. From the 15th of November to the 8th of December, above 2000 were ſlain in this manner. Their numbers gradually decreaſed till the froſt became ſevere, when they retire to their holes, and feed upon the magazines they have collected. It is more than 20 years ſince I made this trial, which I always repeated when I ſowed tree-ſeeds, and never failed to catch vaſt quantities of theſe mice. They abound chiefly in autumn, their numbers being much leſs in the ſpring: For, if proviſions fail during the winter, the ſtrong devour the weak. The long-tailed field mice likewiſe eat the ſhort-tailed ſpecies, and [289] even thruſhes, blackbirds, and other birds which they find entangled in ſnares. They firſt eat the brain, and then the reſt of the body. I once kept a dozen of theſe mice in a cage, and furniſh⯑ed them with food every morning at eight o'clock. One day they were neglected for about a quar⯑ter of an hour, when one of their number was eaten up by the reſt; next day another fuffered the ſame fate; and, in a few days, only one re⯑mained: All the others had been killed, and part⯑ly devoured; and even the ſurvivor himſelf had his feet and tail mutilated.

The rat is very prolific; but the long-tailed field-mouſe is more ſo. The latter brings forth more than once a year, and the litters often con⯑ſiſt of nine or ten, while thoſe of the rat never exceed five or ſix. In one hole I have found two mothers and twenty young. This animal is very generally diffuſed over Europe. It is found in Sweden, and is called by Linnaeus^* mus cauda longa, corpore nigro ſlaveſcente, abdomine albo. It is very common in France, Italy, and Switzer⯑land: Geſner calls it mus agreſtis major ^†. The ſpecies is alſo numerous in Germany and in Bri⯑tain, where it is called the field-mouſe. It has for enemies, wolves, foxes, weaſels, birds of prey, and its own ſpecies.

The WATER-RAT^*.

THIS animal is about the ſize of a rat; but, from its manners and diſpoſitions, has a much greater reſemblance to the otter than to the common rat. Like the otter, it frequents the freſh water, and is found on the margins of rivers, brooks, and pools, and lives moſtly on fiſhes. Gudgeons, minnows, blays, and the fry of carps, pikes, and barbels, are its ordinary food. [291] He likewiſe eats frogs, water-inſects, and ſome⯑times the roots of plants. He has not, like the otter, membranes between his toes. This error has been copied from Willoughby by Ray and other naturaliſts. Though all his toes be ſe⯑parate, he ſwims with eaſe, keeps long under the water, and carries off his prey to be devour⯑ed upon the graſs, or in his hole. He is ſome⯑times ſurpriſed by fiſhers when ſearching for craw-fiſh; and he endeavours to eſcape by biting their fingers, or leaping into the water. His head is ſhorter, his muzzle thicker, his hair more buſhy, and his tail much ſhorter, than thoſe of the rat. Like the otter, he avoids large rivers, or rather thoſe which are much frequented. He never viſits houſes or barns, but keeps upon the margins of waters, from which he wanders not upon dry land ſo far as the otter, who is ſome⯑times found at the diſtance of a league from wa⯑ter. Water-rats are ſeldom met with in elevated places, or in dry plains, but are extremely nu⯑merous in moiſt and marſhy vallies. The fe⯑males come in ſeaſon about the end of winter, and bring forth in the month of April, the litter generally conſiſting of ſix or ſeven. Perhaps they bring forth more than once a year; but of this we have no proper knowledge. Their fleſh is not intollerably bad, being eaten by the pea⯑ſants, as well as the otter, during the ſeaſon of lent. They are found every where over Europe, [292] excepting in the polar regions. If we may cre⯑dit Bellon, they inhabit the banks of the Nile: However, the figure he gives of them has ſo lit⯑tle reſemblance to our water-rat, that it is proba⯑ble the Nile rats form a different ſpecies of ani⯑mals.

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The Short-tailed FIELD-MOUSE^*.

THE Short-tailed Field-mouſe is ſtill more common and more generally diffuſed than the long-tailed kind. The latter never appears in high grounds; but the former is found every where, in the woods, the fields, the meadows, and even in the gardens. It is remarkable for the thickneſs of its head, and the ſhortneſs of its tail, which exceeds not an inch in length. It digs holes in the earth, where it amaſſes grain, filberts, and acorns: But it appears to prefer corn to every other food. In the month of July, when the grain is ripe, the ſhort-tailed field-mice aſſemble from all quarters, and often do great da⯑mage [294] by cutting the ſtalks of the corn, in order to come at the ears. They follow the reapers, and eat up all the fallen or neglected grain. When the gleanings are devoured, they flock to the new-ſown fields, and prematurely de⯑ſtroy the crop of the enſuing year. In winter, moſt of them retire into the woods, where they feed upon filberts, acorns, and the ſeeds of trees. In particular years, they appear in numbers ſo immenſe, that they would deſtroy every thing, if they continued long: But they always kill and eat one another during a ſcarcity of proviſions. They, beſides, become the prey of the long-tailed field-mouſe, the fox, the wild cat, and the wea⯑ſels.

In its internal ſtructure, this animal reſembles the water-rat more than any other; but differs from him externally by ſeveral eſſential charac⯑ters: 1. By the ſize; the ſhort-tailed field mouſe is not above three inches long; but the water⯑rat is ſeven inches: 2. By the dimenſions of the head and body, thoſe of the former being pro⯑portionally thicker than thoſe of the latter: 3. By the length of the tail, which, in this field-mouſe, exceeds not a third of the length of the animal's body; but the length of the tail of the water-rat is near two thirds of its body: Laſtly, By its manners and diſpoſitions: It feeds not upon fiſh⯑es, nor goes into water, but nouriſhes itſelf with acorns, corn, and tuberous roots, ſuch as thoſe of the dandelion, &c. Their holes reſemble thoſe []

[295] of the long-tailed field-mouſe, and are often di⯑vided into two apartments; but they are neither ſo ſpacious nor ſo deep in the earth. Several of them frequently live together. When the fe⯑males are about to bring forth, they make beds of herbs for their young. They produce in ſpring and ſummer, and the litter generally con⯑ſiſts of five or ſix, and ſometimes of ſeven or eight.

THE GUINEA-PIG^*.

THIS little animal, though a native of Bra⯑ſil and of Guiney, lives and propagates in the temperate, and even in the cold climates, when protected from the inclemency of the ſea⯑ſons. Though they multiply prodigiouſly in France, their numbers are never great; becauſe the care they require is not compenſated by the profits ariſing from them. Their ſkin is hardly of any value, and their fleſh, though eatable, is [297] not ſo good as to be much demanded; but, it might be improved, by keeping them in warrens, where they would have the benefit of freſh air, and the liberty of chooſing herbs agreeable to their taſte. Thoſe kept in houſes have nearly the ſame bad taſte with warren-rabbits; and thoſe kept in gardens during ſummer, have an inſipid, but leſs diſagreeable ſavour.

The temperament of theſe animals is ſo hot and premature, that they copulate five or ſix weeks after their birth. They acquire not, how⯑ever, their full growth before the 8th or 9th month. But this increaſe of ſize conſiſts only of fat; for the ſolid parts are fully unfolded before the age of ſix months. The females go with young only three weeks; and I have known them bring forth at the age of two months. The firſt litter conſiſts of four or five; the ſecond of five or ſix; and the ſucceeding ones of ſeven or eight, and ſometimes of ten or twelve. The mother ſuckles her young twelve or fifteen days; ſhe baniſhes them as ſoon as ſhe receives the male, which happens, at fartheſt, three weeks after her deli⯑very; and, if any of them perſiſt in following her, they are maletreated and ſlain by the father. Thus theſe animals produce at leaſt every two months; and, as their young bring forth in the ſame ſpace, we are aſtoniſhed at their rapid and numerous multiplication. From a ſingle couple we may have 1000 in one year. But their deſtruction is as rapid as their propagation. They [230] are killed by cold and by moiſture; they allow themſelves, without reſiſtance, to be eaten by the cats; even the mothers defend not their young from their deſtroyers; not having time to form an attachment to their young, they make no ef⯑forts to ſave them. The males are ſtill leſs ſolli⯑citous about their offspring, and even allow them⯑ſelves to be devoured, without reſiſtance. They ſeem to have no diſtinct ſentiment, but that of love. When under the influence of this paſſion, they are ſuſceptible of anger, fight cruelly, and e⯑ven kill each other in diſputing the poſſeſſion of a female. They paſs their lives in ſleeping, eat⯑ing, and amours. Their ſleep is ſhort, but fre⯑quent; they eat every hour, both day and night; and they indulge in mutual embraces as often as they eat. Though perpetually throwing out urine, they never drink. They feed on all kinds of herbs, but eſpecially on parſley, which they prefer to grain or to bread. They are likewiſe fond of apples and other fruits. They eat preci⯑pitantly, like the rabbit, little at a time, but very often. They make a kind of grunting noiſe, ſi⯑milar to that of a young pig. A kind of chirp⯑ing noiſe marks the time of their amours, and they raiſe a ſharp cry when they feel pain. They are extremely delicate, and ſo impatient of cold, that it is difficult to preſerve them through the winter. They muſt be kept in a dry, warm, wholeſome place. When they feel cold, they aſ⯑ſemble and crowd cloſe together; and they often []

[299] all periſh in this ſituation. By nature they are gentle and tame. They do no miſchief; but they are equally incapable of good; for they ne⯑ver form any attachments. Mild by conſtitution, docile through weakneſs, almoſt inſenſible to e⯑very object, they have the appearance of living machines conſtructed for the purpoſes of propa⯑gation, and of repreſenting a ſpecies.

THE HEDGE-HOG^*.

[...] 'That the fox knows many things, and the hedge-hog but one important thing,' is a proverbial ſaying of the antients^†. The latter knows how to de⯑fend himſelf without fighting, and to wound without making an attack. Having little ſtrength, and leſs agility for flight, he has received from [301] Nature a ſpinous armour, with the faculty of rol⯑ling himſelf up like a ball, and of preſenting on all ſides thoſe ſharp weapons, which repel the e⯑nemy. The more he is haraſſed, he rolls him⯑ſelf up the cloſer. His fears tend ſtill farther to defend him; for, by throwing out his urine, the ſmell and humidity of which ſpreads over his whole body, he completely diſguſts the enemy. Thus moſt dogs content themſelves with barking, and never chooſe to ſeize the hedge-hog. The fox, however, accompliſhes his end, by wounding the animal's feet, and making the blood run into its mouth. But the hedge-hog is proof againſt the weaſel, the martin, the polecat, the ferret, and birds of prey. From the head to the tail, both male and female are equally covered with ſpines, and only the under parts of their bodies are garniſh⯑ed with hair. But thoſe arms, which are ſo uſeful to them in defending againſt enemies, become exceeding inconvenient when they want to u⯑nite. They cannot copulate in the manner of other quadrupeds, but face to face, either on end, or lying. The females come in ſeaſon in the ſpring, and bring forth in the beginning of ſum⯑mer. I have frequently had the mother and her young brought to me in the month of June. The litter generally conſiſts of three or four, and ſome⯑times of five. When very young, they are white, and the buds of the ſpines are only viſible through the ſkin. I tried to rear ſome of them, by put⯑ting the mother and her young in a barrel, with, [302] plenty of proviſions: But, in place of ſuckling, ſhe devoured them one after another. This was not the effect of hunger; for ſhe eat bread, meat, and fruits. One would never have imagined that an animal ſo ſlow and indolent, could be ſo im⯑patient of confinement. It even poſſeſſes the ſame ſpecies of malevolence with that of the mon⯑key. A hedge-hog that had ſlipped into the kitchen, took the meat out of a ſmall kettle, and defiled it with his ordure. I kept males and fe⯑males in a room together; but, though they li⯑ved, they never coupled. I left ſeveral of them in my gardens, where they did ſo little miſchief, that it could hardly be perceived. They live up⯑on fallen fruits; and dig the earth to a ſmall depth with their noſes. They eat may-bugs, beetles, graſhoppers, worms, and ſome roots. They are likewiſe fond of fleſh-meat, which they devour either raw or roaſted. In the country, they are frequently found in the woods, under the trunks of old trees, in the cliffs of rocks, and particularly among the ſtones collected upon the fields and vineyards. I am uncertain whether they climb trees, as ſome naturaliſts aſſert^*, or uſe their ſpines for tranſporting fruits or grapes. They ſeize with the mouth every thing they eat; and, though they abound in our foreſts, they have never been diſcovered upon trees, but are always found in holes or under the moſs. They [303] ſtir not during the day, but go about the whole night. They approach not the habitations of men; but, though they ſometimes appear in the meadows, they prefer dry and elevated grounds. They are taken by the hand, never fly, nor de⯑fend themſelves with their feet or their teeth; but, when touched, they roll up in the form of a ball, and will not extend themſelves, unleſs they be plunged in water. They ſleep during the winter; and, therefore, the proviſions they are ſaid to amaſs in ſummer, would be entirely uſe⯑leſs to them. They eat little, and can live long without food. Their blood is nearly as cold as that of thoſe animals who ſleep during winter. Their fleſh makes not good eating; and their ſkin, of which no uſe is now made, was former⯑ly employed for heckling hemp.

Some authors mention two ſpecies of hedge⯑hog, one with a ſnout like a hog, and the o⯑ther with a muzzle reſembling that of a dog. But I know only one ſpecies, of which there are even no varieties in our climates. The hedge-hogs are very generally diffuſed: They are found every where in Europe, excepting in the cold regions of Norway, Lapland, &c. There are hedge-hogs, ſays Flacourt^*, in Madagaſcar, and they are cal⯑led Sora. The hedge-hog mentioned by Ta⯑chard^†, ſeems to be another animal; and the [304] hedge-hogs of America^*, and of Siberia^†, are the ſpecies which approach neareſt to that of the common kind. Laſtly, the hedge-hog of Ma⯑lacca^‡ ſeems to come nearer the porcupine than the hedge-hog.

THE SHREW MOUSE^*.

THE Shrew Mouſe ſeems to form a link in the chain of ſmall animals, and to fill the interval between the rat and the mole, which, though they reſemble each other in ſize, differ greatly in figure, and are very diſtant ſpecies. The ſhrew is ſtill ſmaller than the mouſe, and has [306] an affinity to the mole, by its long noſe; by its eyes, which, though larger than thoſe of the mole, are much concealed, and more minute than thoſe of the mouſe; by the number of its toes, having five on each foot; by the tail and legs, e⯑ſpecially the hind-legs, which are ſhorter than thoſe of the mouſe; by the ears; and, laſtly, by the teeth. This little animal has a ſtrong and peculiar odour, which is very diſagreeable to the cats, who purſue and kill, but never eat the ſhrews. It is probably this bad ſmell, and the reluctance of the cats, which have given riſe to the vulgar prejudice, that the bite of the ſhrew-mouſe is ve⯑nomous, and particulary hurtful to horſes. But the ſhrew is neither venomous, nor is it capable of biting; for the aperture of its mouth is not large enough to take in a duplicature of another animal's ſkin, which is abſolutely neceſſary to the action of biting. The diſeaſe of horſes, vulgarly aſcribed to the bite of the ſhrew-mouſe, is a ſwel⯑ling or blotch, and proceeds from an internal cauſe, which has no relation to a bite. This animal, eſpecially in winter, frequents hay-lofts, ſtables, barns, and dung-hills. It feeds upon grain, in⯑ſects, and putrid fleſh. In the country, it fre⯑quents the woods, and lives upon grain. It con⯑ceals itſelf under moſs and the leaves and trunks of trees, and ſometimes in the holes abandoned by the mole, or in ſmaller holes which it digs with its muzzle and claws. The ſhrew produ⯑ces an equal number, though not ſo frequently, [307] as the mouſe. Its cry is alſo much ſharper; but it is not near ſo agile. It is eaſily taken; becauſe it both ſees and runs badly. The colour of the ſhrew is a mixture of brown and red; but ſome are aſh-coloured, and others nearly black, though all of them are white under the belly. They are very common in Europe; but they ſeem not to exiſt in America. The Braſilian animal mentioned by Marcgrave^*, under the name of the ſhrew mouſe, which, he ſays, has two black liſts on the back, is larger, and ſeems to be a dif⯑ferent ſpecies.

The WATER SHREW, or BLIND MOUSE^*.

THE Water Shrew, though a native of this climate, was unknown to any naturaliſt till M. Daubenton^† diſcovered, and gave an exact deſcription of it^‡. This animal is taken near the ſources of fountains, at the riſing and ſetting of the fun. During the day, it lies concealed in clefts of rocks, or in holes upon the banks of ri⯑vulets. It brings forth in the ſpring, and the litter generally conſiſts of nine.

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THE MOLE^*.

THE Mole, though not blind, has eyes ſo ſmall, and ſo covered, that it can have little benefit from the ſenſe of ſeeing. In recompenſe, Nature has beſtowed on it a profuſe portion of the [310] ſixth ſenſe, remarkable veſſels and reſervoirs^*, a prodigious quantity of ſeminal fluid, enormous teſticles, a penis of immoderate length; and all theſe parts are concealed within the body, which muſt render them more hot and ac⯑tive. Of all animals the mole is moſt amply en⯑dowed with generative organs, and conſequent⯑ly with their relative ſenſations. It has, beſides, a delicate ſenſe of touch; a ſkin as ſoft as vel⯑vet; a very fine ear, and ſmall hands, with five fingers, very different from the extremities of o⯑ther quadrupeds, and nearly ſimilar to the hu⯑man hand; great ſtrength in proportion to the ſize of its body; a compact ſkin; and a perpetual vigour. So lively and reciprocal an attachment ſubſiſts between the male and female, that they ſeem to dread or to diſreliſh all other ſociety. They enjoy the placid habits of repoſe and of ſolitude, the art of ſecuring themſelves from diſ⯑quiet and injury, of inſtantaneouſly making an aſylum or habitation, of extending its dimenſions, and of finding a plentiful ſubſiſtence, without the neceſſity of going abroad. Theſe are the man⯑ners, the diſpoſitions, and the talents of the mole; and they are unqueſtionably preferable to talents [311] more brilliant and more incompatible with hap⯑pineſs, than the moſt profound obſcurity.

The mole ſhuts up the entrance of her retreat, and ſeldom leaves it, unleſs compelled by the ad⯑miſſion of water, or when its manſion is demo⯑liſhed by art. She makes a round vault in the meadows, and generally a long trench in the gar⯑dens; becauſe it is eaſier to remove cultivated ground, than a turf rendered compact and ſolid by the roots of herbs. She continues not long in miry nor in hard ſtony ground, but delights in a ſoft earth, ſtored with eſculent roots, and well peopled with inſects and worms, which conſtitute her chief nouriſhment.

As the moles ſeldom leave their ſubterranean abodes, they have few enemies, and eaſily elude the carnivorous animals. The overflowing of rivers is their greateſt ſcourge: During inunda⯑tions, they are ſeen ſwimming in vaſt numbers, and uſing every effort to gain the more elevated grounds; but moſt of them periſh, as well as their young, who remain in their holes. With⯑out this devaſtation, the great talents they have for multiplying would render them extremely incommodious to man. They couple about the end of winter, and go but a ſhort time with young; for we find them very ſmall in the month of May. They generally bring forth four or five at a time; and it is eaſy to diſtinguiſh the hillocks under which they litter; for they are larger, and made with more art than the common kind. I believe thoſe [312] animals bring forth more than once a year; but of this I cannot be certain: It is a fact, however, that we meet with young ones from April to Au⯑guſt. Perhaps ſome of them may be later in coupling than others.

The habitation where they depoſit their young merits a particular deſcription; becauſe it is con⯑ſtructed with ſingular intelligence. They begin with raiſing the earth, and forming a pretty high arch. They leave partitions, or a kind of pillars at certain diſtances, beat and preſs the earth, in⯑terweave it with the roots of plants, and render it ſo hard and ſolid, that the water cannot pene⯑trate the vault, on account of its convexity and firmneſs. They then elevate a little hillock below, upon the top of which they lay herbs and leaves, for a bed to their young. In this ſituation, they are above the level of the ground, and conſe⯑quently out of the reach of ordinary inundations, and are, at the ſame time, defended from the rains by the large vault that covers the internal one, upon the convexity of which they reſt, along with their young. This internal hillock, or vault, is pierced on all ſides with ſloping holes, which de⯑ſcend ſtill lower, and ſerve as ſubterraneous paſ⯑ſages for the mother to go in queſt of food for herſelf and her offspring. Theſe by-paths are firm and beaten, extend about twelve or fif⯑teen paces, and iſſue from the manſion like rays from a centre. We likewiſe find, under the ſuperior vault, the remains of the roots of the colchicum, or [313] meadow ſaffron, which ſeem to be the firſt food given to the young. From this deſcription it is apparent, that the mole never comes out but at a conſiderable diſtance from her habitation, and that the moſt ſimple and moſt certain method of taking both the old and the young, is to make a round trench, which will cut off all the commu⯑nicating paſſages. But, as the mole, upon the ſmalleſt noiſe, flies, and endeavours to carry off her young, it will be neceſſary to employ three or four men with ſpades to raiſe the hillock at once, or to make a trench almoſt inſtantaneouſly, and then to ſeize them, or to watch them as they attempt to eſcape.

It has been fooliſhly aſſerted by ſome writers^*, that the mole and badger ſleep during the whole winter, without taking any food. The badger, as we formerly remarked^*, comes out of his hole in winter, as well as in ſummer, in queſt of pro⯑viſions; and it is eaſy to be aſcertained of this fact, by the tracks he leaves upon the ſnow. The mole ſleeps ſo little in winter, that ſhe raiſes the earth in the ſame manner as ſhe does in ſummer; and the country people remark, that a thaw approaches, becauſe the moles make hills. They are, indeed, fond of warm places; and they are often caught by the gardeners in the months of December, January, and February.

[314] The mole frequents cultivated countries only. There are none in the dry deſerts, nor in the cold climates, where the earth is frozen during the greateſt part of the year. The animal called the Siberian mole^*, with green and yellow hair, is a different ſpecies from our mole, which abounds only from Sweden^† to Barbary^‡; for, from the ſilence of travellers, it is preſumeable, that they exiſt not in hot climates. Thoſe of America are likewiſe different: The Virginian mole^§, how⯑ever, has a great reſemblance to ours, excepting in the colour of the hair, which is mixed with a deep purple. But the red mole of America is a different animal^‖. There are only two or three varieties in our common moles; we find them more or leſs brown or black; and we have ſeen them entirely white. Seba deſcribes and gives a figure of a black and white mole, which was found in Eaſt-Frieſland, and was ſomewhat lar⯑ger than our mole^**.

The MOLE of the Cape of Good Hope.

I have here given a figure of a mole found at the Cape of Good Hope, a ſtuffed ſkin of which was ſent me by M. Sonnerat. This mole pretty much reſembles the common ſpecies in the form of its body, in the eyes, in the ears, and in the tail; but it differs in the head, which is lar⯑ger, and in the muzzle, which reſembles that of a Guiney-pig. The fore-feet are likewiſe different: The hair is not black, but dark brown, with a little yellow at the extremity of each hair. The tail is covered with large hairs of a yellowiſh white colour; and, in general, the hair of this mole is longer than that of the European. From all theſe deſcriptions we may conclude, that it is a particular ſpecies, and that, though allied to the common mole, it cannot be regarded as a ſimple variety.

The PENSYLVANIA MOLE.

IN Penſylvania, ſays M. Kalm, there is a ſpe⯑cies of mole, which lives principally on roots. This animal digs, in the fields, ſmall winding ſub⯑terraneous alleys. In proportion to its ſize, it has more ſtrength and rigidity in its paws than moſt other quadrupeds. In digging the earth, it uſes its feet like oars. M. Kalm put one of them into his handkerchief; and he found, that, in leſs than a minute, it had made a number of ſmall holes, as if the cloth had been pierced with a bod⯑kin. It was very miſchievous; and, whenever it found any objects in its way, it immediately perforated them with its teeth. I preſented to it, continues M. Kalm, my ink-piece, which was made of ſteel; it began to bite the ink-piece; but was ſoon repelled by the hardneſs of the metal, and never afterwards inclined to bite any thing that was held out to it. This animal raiſes not the earth, like the moles of Europe, but only makes ſmall paths under the ground^*.

Theſe characters are not ſufficient to give us a proper knowledge of the animal, nor enable us to decide whether it belongs to the mole-tribe.

THE BAT^*

THOUGH all beings are equally perfect in themſelves, ſince they proceed from the hands of the ſame Creator; yet, in relation to man, ſome beings are more accompliſhed, and o⯑thers ſeem to be imperfect or deformed. Of the former kind are all thoſe whoſe figures appear to us to be agreeable and complete; becauſe all their parts and members are proportioned, all their movements and functions eaſy and natural. The latter kind of beings, which to us have a hideous aſpect, comprehends all thoſe whoſe qualities are noxious to man, whoſe nature is uncommon, and whoſe form differs from the ordinary figures from [318] which we received our primary ſenſations, and derived thoſe ideas which ſerve as models to our judgment. The head of a man upon the neck of a horſe, and its body covered with feathers, and terminating in the tail of a fiſh, repreſents a picture of enormous deformity, for no other rea⯑ſon but becauſe it unites what Nature has placed at the greateſt diſtance. An animal, like the bat, which is half a quadruped and half a bird, and which, upon the whole, is neither the one nor the other, muſt be a monſtrous being; becauſe, by uniting the attributes of two oppoſite genera, it reſembles none of thoſe models preſented to us in the great claſſes of nature. It is an imperfect quadruped, and a ſtill more imperfect bird. A quadruped ſhould have four feet, and a bat ſhould have feathers and wings. In the bat, the fore⯑feet, though they ſerve the animal for the double purpoſe of flying and of trailing its body on the ground, are neither wings nor feet. They are deformed extremities, the bones of which are e⯑normouſly lengthened, and united by a mem⯑brane, which is neither covered with feathers nor with hair. They are a ſpecies of pinions, or winged paws, in which we ſee only a claw of an inch in length; and the other four long toes muſt act along with the former; for they have no proper movements or ſeparate functions. They are a kind of hands ten times larger than the feet, and four times longer than the body of the animal. In fine, they are parts which have [319] rather the air of caprice than of a regular pro⯑duction. This membrane covers the arm, forms the wings or hands of the animal, unites with the ſkin of the body, and, at the ſame time, ſurrounds the legs, and even the tail, which, by this bizarre conjunction, becomes, in ſome meaſure, one of its toes. To theſe diſcrepancies and diſpropor⯑tions of the body and its members may be added the deformities of the head, which are often much greater: For, in ſome ſpecies, the noſe is hardly viſible, the eyes are ſunk near the ear, and con⯑founded with the cheeks: In others, the ears are as long as the body, or the face is twiſted into the form of a horſe-ſhoe, and the noſe turned up like a cock's comb. All of them have ſmall, obſcure, covered eyes, a noſe, or rather noſtrils, ill⯑formed, and a mouth extending from ear to ear: They all likewiſe endeavour to conceal themſelves, fly the light, inhabit dark places only, from which they never go out but during the night, return at break of day, and faſten themſelves againſt the walls. Their motion in the air is ra⯑ther a deſultory fluttering, than flying, which they execute very aukwardly. With difficulty they raiſe themſelves from the earth, and never fly to any great height: They quicken, relax, or direct their flight, in a manner the moſt bung⯑ling and imperfect. Their flight is neither rapid nor direct, but conſiſts of quick vibrations, in an oblique and winding direction. They fail not, however, in paſſing, to ſeize flies, gnats, and par⯑ticularly [320] moths, which fly only during the night. Theſe they ſwallow almoſt entire; and we find, in their excrements, portions of wings and other dry and indigeſtible parts of moths. Having one day deſcended into the caverns of Arcy, to exa⯑mine the ſtalactites, I was ſurpriſed to find, in a place covered with alabaſter, and ſo dark and pro⯑found, a kind of earth which was totally differ⯑ent: It was a thick maſs, ſeveral feet in extent, of a blackiſh matter, almoſt entirely compoſed of fragments of the wings and legs of flies and moths, as if immenſe numbers of theſe inſects had aſſembled in order to die and corrupt toge⯑ther. This, however, was nothing elſe but the dung of bats, probably amaſſed during many years in a favourite part of theſe ſubterranean caverns; for, through the whole of theſe caverns, which extend above half a quarter of a league, I ſaw no other collection of this matter; and I i⯑magined that the bats had fixed upon this place for their common abode; becauſe it was reached by a glimmering light from an aperture in the rock, and that they choſe not to go farther, leſt they ſhould be loſt in a darkneſs too profound.

Bats are real quadrupeds: Excepting the fa⯑culty of flying, they have nothing in common with birds. But, as the action of flying implies great ſtrength in the upper and anterior parts of the body, the bats have their pectoral muſcles much ſtronger and more fleſhy than thoſe of quadrupeds; and in this they have an affinity to [321] the birds. They differ from them, however, in every other part of their ſtructure, both external and internal: The lungs, the heart, the organs of generation, and all the other viſcera, are ſimilar to thoſe of quadrupeds, excepting the penis, which is pendulous and looſe, a thing peculiar to man, the monkeys, and the bats. Like the quadru⯑peds, the bats are viviparous, and have teeth and paps. They are ſaid to bring forth but two at a time, and that they ſuckle their young, and even carry them when flying. In ſummer they copu⯑late and bring forth; for they are in a torpid ſtate during winter. Some cover themſelves with their wings, as with a mantle, and ſuſpend them⯑ſelves by the hind feet to the vaults of ſubterrane⯑ous caverns; others ſtick faſt to old walls, or re⯑tire into holes. Wherever they take up their winter abode, they always aſſemble in ſuch num⯑bers as ſecure them againſt the effects of cold. They paſs the winter without food or motion, never awake till the ſpring, and again retire at the end of autumn. They ſupport hunger bet⯑ter than cold: Though carnivorous animals, they can ſubſiſt ſeveral days without food. When they get into a lardner, they fix upon the ſuſpend⯑ed meat, and eat fleſh whether raw or roaſted, freſh or corrupted.

Only two ſpecies of bats have formerly been deſcribed as natives of our climate. Beſide theſe, M. Daubenton has diſcovered other ſix, which are equally numerous and common; and it is [322] therefore aſtoniſhing that they ſhould ſo long have eſcaped notice. Theſe ſeven ſpecies are perfectly diſtinct, and never aſſociate together.

The firſt, which is well known, is the common bat, of which we have already given the ſyno⯑nimes.

The ſecond, or long-eared^*, is likewiſe known to the naturaliſts, and is perhaps ſtill more nu⯑merous than the common bat. The long-eared bat is much leſs than the common ſpecies; its wings are likewiſe ſhorter, its muzzle ſmaller and ſharper, and its ears of an immoderate ſize.

The third ſpecies, which we ſhall denominate the Noctule, from the Italian word notula, was not known, though very common in France, and even more frequent than the two preceding ſpecies. This bat is found under the eaves of houſes, caſtles, and churches, and alſo in the hol⯑lows of old trees. It is nearly as large as the common bat. Its ears are broad and ſhort, its hair reddiſh, and it has a ſharp piercing voice, like the ſound of a ſmall bell^†.

[323] The fourth ſpecies we ſhall call the Serotine. It is ſmaller than the common bat or noctule, and nearly of an equal ſize with the long-eared bat. But it differs from the latter in having ſhort, pointed ears, blacker wings, and the hair of a deeper brown.^*.

The fifth ſpecies we ſhall name Pipiſtrelle, from the Italian word pipiſtrello, which likewiſe ſignifies a bat. The pipiſtrelle is not near ſo large as the common bat, the ſerotine, the noctule, ore⯑ven the long-eared kind. It is the ſmalleſt, and leaſt ugly of all the bats, though the upper lip is turgid, the eyes ſmall and deep ſunk, and the front much covered with hair^†.

The ſixth ſpecies I call Barbaſtelle, from the Italian word barbaſtello, which alſo ſignifies a bat. This animal is nearly of the ſame ſize with the long-eared ſpecies: Its ears are as broad, but not near ſo long. The name barbaſtelle is the bet⯑ter adapted to it, becauſe it appears to have large [324] whiſkers: This, however, is only an appearance occaſioned by the turgidneſs of the cheeks, which form a kind of pudding above the lips. The muzzle is very ſhort, the noſe much flattened, and the eyes near the ears^*.

Laſtly, We ſhall call the ſeventh ſpecies the horſe-ſhoe. The countenance of this animal is remarkably deformed. The moſt ſtriking fea⯑ture is a membrane in the ſhape of a horſe-ſhoe, which ſurrounds the noſe and the upper lip. In France it is very common, and frequents the walls and vaults of old houſes. Some of them are larger, and others ſmaller; but they are otherwiſe ſo ſimilar in form, that we conſider them as of the ſame ſpecies. But, as I have remarked this difference, without finding any of an intermedi⯑ate ſize, I cannot determine whether it is an effect of different ages, or a conſtant variety in the ſame ſpecies^†.

THE FAT SQUIRREL^*.

WE have three ſpecies of this animal, the fat ſquirrel, the garden ſquirrel, and the dormouſe, which, like the marmot, ſleep during the winter. Of theſe the fat ſquirrel is the lar⯑geſt, and the dormouſe the leaſt. Several au⯑thors have confounded theſe three ſpecies, though they are eaſily diſtinguiſhable. The fat ſquirrel is about the ſize of the common ſquirrel, and has its tail covered with long hair: The garden ſquir⯑rel is not ſo large as a rat, has very ſhort hair on its tail, excepting near the extremity, where it is buſhy: The dormouſe is not larger than the common mouſe; the hair on its tail is longer than that of the garden ſquirrel, but ſhorter than that of the fat ſquirrel, and terminates buſhy. [326] The garden ſquirrel differs from the other two, by having black ſpots near its eyes, and the dor⯑mouſe by having whitiſh hair upon its back. All the three are white or whitiſh on the throat and belly; but the garden ſquirrel is of a fine white, the fat ſquirrel only whitiſh, and the dormouſe rather yellowiſh than white, in all the under parts of the body.

Theſe animals are improperly ſaid to ſleep du⯑ring winter; for it is not a ſtate of natural ſleep, but a torpor or numbneſs of the ſenſes and mem⯑bers, produced by a chillneſs of the blood. The internal heat of theſe creatures exceeds not that of the air. When the heat of the air is ten de⯑grees above the freezing point, their temperature is preciſely the ſame. I have plunged the ball of a thermometer into the bodies of ſeveral living garden ſquirrels, and found their internal heat to be always nearly equal to the temperature of the air: I have even ſeen the thermometer ſink a de⯑gree or half a degree when applied to the heart, the temperature of the air being at that time on⯑ly 11°. Now, we know that the heat of man, and of moſt quadrupeds, is always more than 30 degrees. It is not, therefore, ſurpriſing that theſe animals, whoſe heat is ſo ſmall, ſhould fall into a benumbed ſtate, whenever their internal heat is not augmented by that of the external air; and this always happens when the thermo⯑meter exceeds not ten or eleven degrees above the freezing point. This is the true cauſe of the [327] torpid ſtate of what are called the ſleeping ani⯑mals; a cauſe which, though common to all a⯑nimals that ſleep during winter, has hitherto been overlooked. I have diſcovered it in the three animals under conſideration, in the hedge-hogs, and in the bats; and, though I have never had an opportunity of examining the marmot, I am perſuaded that its blood, like that of the other ſleepers, is cold; becauſe it is ſubject to torpor during the winter.

This torpid ſtate continues as long as the cauſe by which it is produced, and ceaſes with the cold. A few degrees of heat above ten or eleven is ſuf⯑ficient to re-animate them; and, if kept in a warm place during the winter, they are never benumbed, but go about, and eat and ſleep from time to time, like other animals. When they feel cold, they roll themſelves up in the form of a ball, in order to expoſe leſs ſurface to the air, and to preſerve their natural warmth. It is in this form that they are found, during the win⯑ter, in hollow trees, and in holes of walls expoſed to the ſouth. There they lie, without the ſmall⯑eſt motion, upon moſs and leaves; and, though toſſed about, they neither extend themſelves, nor exhibit any ſigns of life. From this ſtate no⯑thing can rouſe them but the application of a gentle and gradual heat; for they die when ſud⯑denly brought near a fire. Though, in this ſtate, they have no motion, though their eyes are ſhut, and they ſeem to be deprived of every ſenſation; [328] yet they feel pain when it is acute. A wound, or a burn, makes them contract, and utter a low cry, which they even repeat ſeveral times: Hence their internal ſenſibility, as well as the action of the heart and lungs, ſtill ſubſiſt. It is preſumable, however, that theſe vital motions act not with equal force as when the animal is in its ordinary ſtate. The circulation, it is probable, proceeds in the large veſſels only; the reſpiration is ſlow and feeble; the ſecretions are inconſiderable; and no excrements are voided. There muſt likewiſe be little or no perſpiration, ſince they paſs ſeveral months without eating, which could not happen, if they loſt as much of their ſubſtance by this means, as they do at other times, when they have an opportunity of repairing this natural waſte by taking nouriſhment. They ſtill, how⯑ever, loſe ſome part; becauſe, in long winters, they die in their holes. Perhaps, likewiſe, it is not the duration, but the rigour of the cold that deſtroys them; for they ſoon die when expoſed to a ſtrong froſt. What induces me to think that they periſh not by loſs of ſubſtance, is, that in autumn they are exceedingly fat, and equally ſo when they revive in the ſpring. This quantity of fat ſerves for an internal nouriſhment to the animal, and ſupplies what it loſes by reſpira⯑tion.

As cold is the only cauſe of their torpor, and as they fall not into this ſtate but when the tem⯑perature of the air is below ten or eleven degrees, [329] they frequently revive during the winter; for, in this ſeaſon, there are often many days when the liquor in the thermometer ſtands at 12, 13, 14, and even higher degrees; and, during fine weather of this kind, the dormice come out of their holes in queſt of food, or eat what they had collected in autumn. Ariſtotle, and all the ſucceeding na⯑turaliſts, have aſſerted, that the dormice paſs the whole winter without eating, that, in this ſeaſon of abſtinence, they grow very fat, and that they are better nouriſhed by ſleep alone, than other animals by food. This notion is both abſurd and impoſſible. The dormouſe, who ſleeps four or five months, could only fatten by the air it re⯑ſpires. Suppoſing a part of this air to be convert⯑ed into nouriſhment, an augmentation ſo conſi⯑derable could never reſult from it. It would not even be ſufficient to repair the continual waſte occaſioned by perſpiration. Ariſtotle might be led into this error by the mild winters of Greece, where the dormice ſleep not perpetually, but of⯑ten revive, take plenty of food, and are, therefore, extremely fat, though in a torpid ſtate. The truth is, they are fat at all times, and particularly in ſummer and autumn. Their fleſh reſembles that of the Guiney-pig. The Romans reckoned dormice among their moſt delicate diſhes, and reared them in great quantities. Varro deſcribes the method of making warrens for them; and we learn from Appicius the manner of dreſſing them in the high taſte of his times. In this [330] practice, whether from a diſguſt at theſe animals, becauſe they reſemble rats, or from the badneſs of their fleſh, the Romans have not been follow⯑ed by other nations. I have been informed by peaſants who had eat them, that they were not better than water-rats. Beſides, the fat ſquirrel is the only ſpecies that is eatable; the fleſh of the garden ſquirrel is bad, and has a diſagreeable flavour.

In manners and diſpoſitions, the fat ſquirrel greatly reſembles the common ſpecies. It lives in foreſts, climbs trees, and leaps from branch to branch, with leſs agility indeed, becauſe the ſquir⯑rel has longer legs, and a body more light and meagre. They both, however, live upon the ſame food, namely, filberts, cheſnuts, and wild fruits. The fat ſquirrel likewiſe eats ſmall birds, which he takes in their neſts. He makes not a neſt in the tops of trees, like the ſquirrel; but he makes a bed of moſs in the hollows of their trunks, or in the cliffs of rocks; but he al⯑ways chooſes a dry place. He abhors moiſture, drinks little, and ſeldom deſcends on the ground. He differs ſtill more from the ſquirrel in this cir⯑cumſtance, that the latter is eaſily tamed, and the former continues always wild. They couple in the end of ſpring, and the females bring forth in ſummer, the litter generally conſiſting of four or five. The young grow quickly; and we are aſ⯑ſured that they live only ſix years. In Italy, where theſe animals are ſtill eat, the natives dig [331] pits in the woods, and ſtrew them with ſtraw, moſs, and beach-maſt. They chooſe dry places, under the ſhelter of rocks, and with a ſouth ex⯑poſure. To theſe the fat ſquirrels reſort in great numbers, and the people find them there in a torpid ſtate towards the end of autumn, when they are in the beſt condition for eating. Theſe ſmall animals are bold, and defend their young to the laſt extremity. They bite violently with their fore-teeth, which are very long, and of great ſtrength. They neither fear the weaſel nor ſmall birds of prey. They eſcape from the fox, becauſe he cannot follow them to the tops of trees. Their moſt formidable enemies are the martins and wild cats.

The fat ſquirrels are not very generally dif⯑fuſed. They appear not in very cold climates, ſuch as thoſe of Lapland and Sweden; at leaſt they are not mentioned by the northern natura⯑liſts: The ſpecies they deſcribe is the dormouſe, which is the leaſt of the three. Neither, I ima⯑gine, are they to be met with in very warm coun⯑tries, becauſe our travellers are ſilent on this ar⯑ticle. There are few or none in open countries, like Britain; they require temperate climates a⯑bounding with wood. We find them in Spain, in France, in Greece, in Italy, in Germany, and in Switzerland, where they live in the foreſts up⯑on the hills, and not on the tops of high moun⯑tains, like the marmots, who, though ſubject to torpor from cold, ſeem to delight in froſt and ſnows.

The GARDEN SQUIRREL, GREATER DORMOUSE, or SLEEPER^*.

THE fat ſquirrel dwells in foreſts, and ſeems to avoid the habitations of men. The gar⯑den ſquirrel, on the contrary, lives in gardens, and is ſometimes found in our houſes. The ſpe⯑cies is likewiſe more numerous, and more gene⯑rally diffuſed: There are few gardens which are not infeſted with them. They neſtle in holes of the walls, run upon the trees and eſpaliers, ſingle out the beſt fruits, and devour them when they begin to be mature. They ſeem to prefer peach⯑es, which, if we be deſirous of preſerving, we []

[333] ought to be careful to deſtroy the garden ſquir⯑rels. They alſo climb with eaſe pear, apricot, and plumb-trees; and, when ſoft fruits are not to be had, they eat almonds, filberts, nuts, and even leguminous plants. Of theſe they carry off great quantities into their retreats which they dig in the earth, and particularly in well cultivated gardens; for, in old orchyards, they are often found in the hollows of old trees, where they make beds of herbs, moſs, and leaves. Cold be⯑numbs or makes them ſleep, and they are revived by heat. Eight or ten of them are frequently found in the ſame place, all benumbed, and rolled up, in the midſt of their proviſion of nuts and filberts. They copulate in ſpring, and bring forth in ſummer. The litter conſiſts of five or ſix young, who grow very quickly; but who nevertheleſs are not fertile till the following year. Their fleſh is not eatable, like that of the fat ſquirrel: They have the ſame diſagreeable odour with the domeſtic rat; but the fat ſquirrel has no bad ſmell. They never become ſo fat, and want thoſe fatty follicles with which the inteſtines of the former are entirely inveſted. The garden ſquirrel is found in all the temperate climates of Europe, and even in Poland and Pruſſia; but he appears not to exiſt in Sweden and the more nor⯑therly regions.

The DORMOUSE, or SLEEPER^*.

THE Dormouſe is the leaſt ugly of all the rats. It has brilliant eyes, and a buſhy tail, which is rather fair than red. It never lives in houſes, and ſeldom in gardens; but, like the fat ſquirrel, frequents the woods, and dwells in the hollows of old trees. The ſpecies is by no means ſo numerous as that of the garden ſquirrel. The dormouſe is always found alone in its hole; and there is a conſiderabel difficulty in procuring ſpecimens of them. It appears, however, that they are pretty frequent in Italy, and that they exiſt in northern climates; for Linnaeus men⯑tions them, in his liſt of Swediſh animals^†. But they ſeem not to inhabit Britain; for Mr Ray^‡, who had ſeen them in Italy, ſays, that the little ſleeping rat of England is not red on the back, like that of Italy, and that perhaps it is a different ſpecies. In France, it is the ſame as in Italy, and []

[335] is very well deſcribed by Aldrovandus^*; but he tells us, that there are two ſpecies in Italy; the one is rare, and has the ſmell of muſk; the o⯑ther is common, and has no peculiar odour; and that, at Bologna, they are both called dormice, becauſe of their reſemblance in figure and ſize. We know only the ſecond of theſe ſpecies; for our dormouſe has no ſmell, either good or bad. Like the garden ſquirrel, it wants the fatty folli⯑cles which inveſt the inteſtines of the fat ſquirrel, never becomes ſo fat, and, though its fleſh has no diſagreeable odour, it makes not good eating.

Like the fat and garden ſquirrels, the dormouſe rolls itſelf up and ſleeps in winter, revives in mild weather, and amaſſes nuts and dry fruits. It makes its neſt upon trees, like the common ſquirrel, but generally lower, between the branches of hazels, or bruſhwood. The neſt, which con⯑ſiſts of interwoven herbs, is about ſix inches dia⯑meter, and is only open above. I have been aſ⯑ſured by many countrymen, that they have found theſe neſts in cut woods, and in hedges; that they are ſurrounded with moſs and leaves; and that, in each neſt, there were three or four young. When they grow large, they abandon the neſts, and harbour in the hollows or under the trunks of old trees, where they repoſe, amaſs proviſions, and ſleep during the winter.

THE BROWN RAT^*.

TO this ſpecies of rat, which has only been known for a few years paſt, I have given the appellation of Surmulot. This animal is mentioned by no naturaliſt, excepting M. Briſ⯑ſon, who calls it the wood-rat. It is larger and more miſchievous than the common rat. It has reddiſh hair, a very long naked tail, and the ſpine of the back arched like that of the ſquirrel. Its body is likewiſe thicker; and it has whiſkers like a cat. It is not above nine or ten years ſince this ſpecies was diffuſed through the environs of Paris. From whence theſe animals came, is un⯑certain; but they have multiplied prodigiouſly. Neither is this wonderful, when we conſider that they generally produce from 12 to 15 young at a litter, and ſometimes even the lenght of 19. They were firſt diſcovered at Chantilly, Marly⯑la Ville, and Verſailles, where they committed [337] great ravages. M. le Roy favoured me with great numbers of them, both living and dead, and communicated to me the remarks he had made upon this new ſpecies. The males are larger, ſtronger, and more miſchievous than the females. When hard purſued, or when we attempt to ſeize them, they face about, and bite the ſtick or the hand that ſtrikes them. Their bite is not only cruel, but dangerous; for it is inſtantly follow⯑ed by a conſiderable ſwelling, and the wound, though ſmall, is long in healing. The females bring forth three times a year: Hence two indi⯑viduals of this ſpecies may produce at leaſt 36 young in 12 months. The mothers prepare a bed for their offspring. Some of the females ſent us, whom we kept in cages, were with young; and, two or three days before they brought forth, we obſerved that they gnawed the wood of the cages, and made of the cuttings, which were in conſiderable quantities, a convenient bed for their little ones.

The brown rats have ſome qualities which make them approach to the nature of the water-rat. Though every where diffuſed, they ſeem to pre⯑fer the banks of waters. The dogs purſue them with the ſame remarkable fury as they chace the water-rat. When purſued, and they find it equal⯑ly eaſy to take to the water, or to conceal them⯑ſelves in bruſh-wood, they chooſe the water, enter it without fear, and ſwim with great dexterity and eaſe. This phaenomenon is chiefly exhibited when they cannot regain their holes; for, like the long⯑tailed [338] field-mouſe, they dig ſubterraneous retreats, or rather they neſtle in thoſe made by the rab⯑bits. The brown rats may be taken in their holes by ferrets, who purſue them with equal ar⯑dour as they do the rabbit.

Theſe animals paſs the ſummer in the coun⯑try: And, though they feed principally upon fruits and grain, they eat young hares, partridges, and fowls: When they enter a hen-houſe, like the pole-cat, they kill more than they can eat. Towards the month of November, the mother, and all the young quit the fields, and come in troops into the barns, where they do infinite miſ⯑chief, by mincing the ſtraw, conſuming the grain, and infecting every thing with their ordure. The old males remain in the fields, each inhabiting his own hole, where, like the field-mice, they amaſs acorns, beach-maſt, &c. filling the holes to the top, and remaining themſelves at the bottom. They ſleep not, like the dormouſe; but go out in winter, eſpecially when the weather is mild. Thoſe who take up their abode in barns, baniſh all the mice and rats. It has even been remark⯑ed, that, ſince the multiplication of the brown rat about Paris, the common rats are much leſs frequent.

The ALPINE MARMOT^*.

OF all modern Naturaliſts, Geſner has brought greateſt advantages to the ſcience. To great erudition, he has joined good ſenſe and en⯑larged views. Aldrovandus is only the commen⯑tator of Geſner, and authors of leſs note have im⯑plicitly copied him. We heſitate not, therefore, to borrow facts from him with regard to the Marmots, who are natives of his country, and concerning whom he was better informed than us, though, like him, we have kept ſeveral of them [340] in a ſtate of confinement. What he ſays corre⯑ſponds ſo exactly with our own obſervations, that we doubt not the truth of his remarks, when he retails facts of which we have no knowledge.

The Marmot, when taken young, may be rendered nearly as tame as our domeſtic animals. He learns to ſeize a ſtick, to dance, to perform various geſticulations, and to obey the voice of his maſter. Like the cat, he has an antipathy againſt dogs. When he begins to be familiar in the houſe, and perceives that he is protected by his maſter, he attacks and bites dogs of the moſt formidable kind. Though not ſo large as a hare, he is ſtouter, and his ſtrength is aided by a pe⯑culiar ſuppleneſs and dexterity. With his fore⯑teeth, which are pretty long, he bites moſt cruel⯑ly. He attacks not, however, either dogs or men, unleſs when he is irritated. If not prevented, he gnaws furniture and ſtuffs, and, when confined, even pierces through wood. As his limbs are ſhort, and his toes faſhioned like thoſe of the bear, he often ſits on end, and walks with eaſe on his hind-legs. He carries food to his mouth with the fore-legs, and eats in the manner of a ſquir⯑rel. He runs pretty quick up hill, but ſlowly on a plain. He climbs trees, and mounts between the cliffs of rocks, or two adjoining walls; and the Savoyards, it is ſaid, learned from the mar⯑mots to climb for the purpoſe of ſweeping chim⯑neys. They eat every thing preſented to them, as fleſh, bread, fruit, roots, pot-herbs, may-bugs, [341] graſs-hoppers, &c.; but milk and butter they prefer to every other aliment. Though leſs in⯑clined to theft than the cat, they endeavour to ſlip into the dairy, where they drink great quan⯑tities of milk, making, like the cat, a murmuring noiſe expreſſive of pleaſure. Beſides, milk is the only liquor that is agreeable to them; for they rarely drink water; and they refuſe wine.

As to figure, the marmot has ſome reſem⯑blance both to the bear and to the rat. It is not, however, as Perrault, and ſome others imagined, the arctomys or bear-rat of the antients. Its noſe, lips, and form of the head reſemble thoſe of the hare; it has the hair and claws of the bad⯑ger, the teeth of the beaver, the whiſkers of the cat, the eyes of the fat ſquirrel, and the legs of the bear. The tail is ſhort, and the ears termi⯑nate abruptly. The hair on the back is of a reddiſh brown colour, more or leſs deep: This hair is pretty rude; but that of the belly is red⯑diſh, ſoft, and buſhy. Its voice reſembles the murmuring of a young dog, when careſſed, or in a ſporting humour. But, when irritated or frighted, it makes a whiſtling noiſe, ſo loud and piercing, that it hurts the ear. It loves clean⯑lineſs, and retires, like the cat, to void its ordure. But, like the rat, it has a very ſtrong diſagree⯑able ſmell, eſpecially in ſummer. It is remark⯑ably fat in autumn: Beſides a large epiploon, it has two very thick fatty follicles. All the parts of its body, however, are not equally fat. The [342] back and reins are loaded with firm and ſolid fat, ſimilar to the fleſh of a cow's udder. Thus the marmot would make very good eating, if it had not always a diſagreeble odour, which cannot be concealed but by very ſtrong ſeaſonings.

This animal, which delights in the regions of froſt and ſnow, and which is only found on the tops of the higheſt mountains, is more ſubject than any other to be rendered torpid by cold. In the end of September, or beginning of Octo⯑ber, he retires into his hole, from which he comes not out till the beginning of April. His retreat is made with precaution, and furniſhed with art. It is capacious, broader than long, and very deep, ſo that it can contain ſeveral marmots, without any danger from the corrupting of the air. With their feet and claws, which are admirably adapt⯑ed for the purpoſe, they dig the earth with a⯑mazing quickneſs, and throw it behind them. It is not a hole, or a ſtraight or winding tube, but a ſpecies of gallery made in the form of a Y, each branch of which has an aperture, and both terminate in one, where the animal lodges. As the whole is made on the declivity of a mountain, the innermoſt part alone is on a level. Both branches of the Y are inclined, and the one is uſed for depoſiting the excrements of the animals, and the other for their going out and coming in. The place of their abode is well lined with moſs and hay, of which they make ample proviſion during the ſummer. It is even affirmed, that this [343] labour is carried on jointly; that ſome cut the fineſt herbage, which is collected by others, and that they alternately ſerve as vehicles for tranſ⯑porting it to their dens. One, it is ſaid, lies down on his back, allows himſelf to be loaded with hay, extends his limbs, and others trail him in this manner by the tail, taking care not to o⯑verſet him. Theſe repeated frictions are aſſign⯑ed as the reaſon why the hair is generally rub⯑bed off from their backs. But, it is more pro⯑bable, that this effect is produced by their fre⯑quent digging of the earth, which is ſufficient to peel the hair off their backs. Whatever may be in this, it is certain, that they dwell together, and work in common at their habitations, where they paſs three fourths of their lives. Thither they retire during rain, or upon the approach of dan⯑ger, and never go out but in fine weather, and even then to no great diſtance. One ſtands ſen⯑tinel upon a rock, while the others ſport on the graſs, or are employed in cutting it to make hay. When the ſentinel perceives a man, an eagle, a dog, &c. he alarms the reſt by a loud whiſtle, and is himſelf the laſt to enter the hole.

They make no proviſions for winter, as if they divined that they would then have no uſe for victuals. But, when they perceive the firſt ap⯑proaches of the ſleeping ſeaſon, they ſet to work in ſhutting up the two entrances of their habita⯑tion; and this they perform with ſuch labour and ſolidity, that it is eaſier to dig the earth any [344] where elſe, than in the parts they have fortified. They are at this time very fat, weighing ſome⯑times twenty pounds; and they continue to be plump for three months; but afterwards gradual⯑ly decay, and are extremely emaciated at the end of winter. When diſcovered in their re⯑treats, they are found rolled up in the form of a ball, covered with hay; and they are carried off in ſo torpid a ſtate, that they may be killed without ſeeming to feel pain. The fatteſt are choſen for eating, and the young ones for taming. Like the dormice, they are revived by a gradual heat; and thoſe which are fed in houſes, and kept warm, never become torpid, but are equally lively and active in the winter as in the ſummer. As to the ſleeping of the marmot, we ſhall not repeat what was ſaid under the article of the fat fquirrel. The cooling of the blood is the ſole cauſe of this pheanomenon; and it has been remarked by o⯑ther writers, that, in this torpid condition, the cir⯑culation, as well as all the ſecretions, were ex⯑tremely languid, and that the blood, not being renewed by freſh acceſſions of chyle, has no ſero⯑ſity^*. Whether they remain conſtantly torpid for ſeven or eight months, as is alledged by moſt authors, is uncertain. Their holes are deep, and they live together in numbers; a conſiderable heat, therefore, muſt be preſerved for ſome time, and they may eat the herbage they have amaſſed. We are even told by M. Altmann, in his treatiſe [345] on the animals of Switzerland, that the hunters allow the marmots to remain unmoleſted for three weeks or a month; that they never dig in ſoft weather, or during a warm wind; that, with⯑out theſe precautions, the marmots awaken and dig ſtill deeper; but that, by opening their re⯑treats during hard froſts only, they find them ſo torpid as to be carried off with eaſe. We may, therefore, conclude, that they, in every reſpect, reſemble the dormice; and that, if they remain longer torpid, it is becauſe they inhabit a climate where the winter is longer.

Theſe animals produce but once a year, and the litter generally conſiſts of three or four. The growth of their young is very quick; they live only nine or ten years; and the ſpecies is neither numerous nor much diffuſed. The Greeks were unacquainted with the marmot, or, at leaſt, they have made no mention of it. Among the Latins, Pliny is the firſt who takes notice of it, under the name of mus Alpinus, or Alpine rat: And, indeed, though there are ſeveral ſpecies of rats in the Alps, none of them is ſo remarkable as the marmot, or, like it, live in the ſummits of the higheſt mountains. The other ſpecies confine themſelves to the vallies, the ſides of the hills, or firſt mountains. Beſides, the marmot never deſcends from the heights, but ſeems peculiarly attached to the chain of the Alps, and to prefer a ſouth or eaſt expoſure to that of the north or weſt. He is found, however, in the Appen⯑nines, [346] the Pyrenees, and the higheſt mountains of Germany. The bobak of Poland^*, to which M. Briſſon^†, and, after him, Meſſrs Arnault de Nobleville et Salerne^‡, have given the name of marmot, differs from this animal, not only in colour, but in the number of toes; for it has five toes on the fore feet. The claw of the great toe appears beyond the ſkin; and we find within, the two phalanges of the fifth toe, which is en⯑tirely wanting in the marmot. Hence the bo⯑bak, or Poliſh marmot, the mouax, or marmot of Canada, the cavia, or marmot of Bahama, and the cricet, or marmot of Straſburgh, are all different ſpecies from the Alpine marmot.

The MARMOT of Kamtſchatka.

THE Ruſſian travellers have diſcovered an animal in Kamtſchatka, which they have called a marmot, but of which they have given us only a very ſlight intimation. They tell us, that its ſkin reſembles, at a diſtance, the variegated plumage of a beautiful bird; that, like the ſquir⯑rel, it uſes its fore-feet in eating; and that it feeds on roots, berries, and cedar-nuts. It is worthy of remark, that the expreſſion cedar-nuts preſents a falſe idea; for the true cedar bears cones, and other trees, called by the name of ce⯑dars, bear berries.

The MARMOT of the Cape of Good Hope.

WE owe the firſt notices of this animal to M. Allamand, a learned naturaliſt and profeſſor at Leyden. M. Pallas has deſcribed it under the name of Cavia Capenſis, and M. Voſ⯑maer under that of the Baſtard African Marmot. Both have given a figure of it from the ſame plate, of which M. Allamand has ſent me a copy. [349] In writing on this ſubject to M. Daubenton, he remarks:

'I ſend you the figure of a ſpecies of cabiai, (I know no other name to give it), which I re⯑ceived from the Cape of Good Hope. It is not ſo well drawn as I could wiſh; but, as I have the animal ſtuffed in my cabinet, if you are inclined, I ſhall tranſmit it to you by the firſt opportunity.'

We accepted not this obliging offer of M. Al⯑lamand, becauſe we were ſoon after informed, that one or two of theſe animals had arrived in Holland alive, and hoped that ſome naturaliſt would furniſh us with an exact deſcription. Both Mr Pallas and Voſmaer have accordingly deſcri⯑bed this animal, and I ſhall here give extracts from their remarks.

"This animal," ſays M. Voſmaer, "is known at the Cape of Good Hope, under the name of the Rock Badger, probably becauſe it lives a⯑mong rocks, and under the earth, like the badger; to which, however, it has no reſemblance. It has a greater affinity to the marmot, and yet it differs conſiderably from that animal. . . . . Kolbe is the firſt who mentions this animal, and he ſays, that it reſembles the marmot more than the badger."

We ſhall adopt the name of the Marmot of the Cape, in preference to that of the cavia, becauſe it differs from the cavia or cabiai in many re⯑ſpects: 1. In the climate, the cavia being an [350] animal of South America, while the other is found only in Africa; 2. Becauſe cavia is a Braſilian word, and ought not to be tranſported into Afri⯑ca, ſince it belongs to the true cavia, and to the cavia-cobaia, or Guiney-pig; Laſtly, becauſe the cabiai inhabits only the margins of waters, and has membranes between its toes; but the mar⯑mot of the Cape lives among rocks, and in dry grounds, which it can dig with its claws.

"The firſt animal of this ſpecies," ſays M. Voſmaer, "that appeared in Europe, was ſent by M. Tulbagh to the Prince of Orange, and its ſkin is ſtill preſerved in his cabinet. The colour of the firſt differed greatly from that of another which arrived afterwards: It was very young and very ſmall. That which I am about to de⯑ſcribe was a male, and was ſent me by M. Berg⯑meyer of Amſterdam. . . . . The life of this animal, according to my information, is very me⯑lancholy; for it ſlept much during the voyage. Its motion is ſlow, and performed by leaps. But, perhaps, in a natural ſtate, it is equally active as the rabbit. Its cries were frequent, but ſhort, ſharp, and piercing."

I ſhall obſerve in paſſing, that this character brings the animal ſtill cloſer to the marmot; for the Alpine marmots often make a ſharp whiſ⯑tling noiſe.

"In Holland," continues M. Voſmaer, "they feed this marmot with bread and different kinds of pot-herbs. It is probable that this animal [351] brings forth often, and in great numbers. The form of their feet indicates that they are deſtined for digging the earth. The preſent marmot ha⯑ving died at Amſterdam, I gave it for diſſection to M. Pallas.

"In ſtature, it reſembles the common rabbit, but it is thicker and more collected. The belly is peculiarly groſs; the eyes are beautiful, and of an ordinary ſize. The eye-brows, both above and below, are garniſhed with ſome ſhort black hairs, above which there are five or ſix hairs of the ſame colour, but long, that turn back toward the head. It has ſimilar whiſkers on the upper lip, about the middle of the muzzle.

The noſe is black, naked, and divided by a fine future, which deſcends to the lip. The no⯑ſtrils reſemble a cord broke through the middle. Under the muzzle, on the throat, and the cheeks, are ſome long, rude, black hairs; and hairs of the ſame kind are ſcattered over the whole body. In the palate there are eight deep furrows; the tongue is very thick, tolerably long, garniſhed with ſmall papillae, and oval at the point. In the upper jaw, there are two ſtrong teeth, which protrude over the under jaw, and are conſiderably diſtant from each other, having a kind of triangular appearance. In the under jaw, it has four cloſe cutting teeth, which are very broad, long, and flat. The grinders, of which it has four on each ſide, are alſo large; and a fifth of a ſmaller ſize may be added to the [352] number. Its fore-legs are ſhort, and half cover⯑ed with the ſkin of the body. The feet are black and naked. Thoſe before have four toes, the one in the middle longeſt; and the exterior one is ſhorter, and ſeems to adhere to the third. The toes are armed with round ſhort claws, which ad⯑here to the ſkin like the human nails. There are three toes on the hind feet; the middle one only is furniſhed with a crooked claw, and the exterior toe is ſhorter than the others. The ani⯑mal leaps on its hind legs, like the rabbit. It has not the ſmalleſt veſtige of a tail. The co⯑lour of the hair is gray, or a yellowiſh brown, nearly like that of a wild rabbit; but it is deep⯑er upon the head and back; and the breaſt and belly are whitiſh. There is alſo a whitiſh belt upon the neck and near the ſhoulders. This belt forms not a collar, but terminates at the top of the fore-legs. In general, the hair is ſoft and woolly."