The Project Gutenberg eBook of Animal Intelligence, The International Scientific Series, Volume XLIV., by George J. Romanes.

I have recently learnt from the publishers of the 'International Scientific Series' that they have made arrangements with Sir John Lubbock to bring out in the same series a work of his on Ants and Bees. Necessarily, therefore, the material to be dealt with in his work will to a large extent overlap that which is presented by my chapters on the same insects; but after consulting with the publishers, and also with Sir John Lubbock, it has seemed to me undesirable to omit these chapters on account of the circumstances here stated. For, on the one hand, the facts will not lose their value from being twice told; and on the other, it is desirable that the present member of the Series should form in itself, so far as its Author can make it, a complete résumé of all the more important facts of Animal Intelligence.

ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE.

PREFACE.

My object in the work as a whole is twofold. First, I have thought it desirable that there should be something resembling a text-book of the facts of Comparative Psychology, to which men of science, and also metaphysicians, may turn whenever they may have occasion to acquaint themselves with the particular level of intelligence to which this or that species of animal attains. Hitherto the endeavour of assigning these levels has been almost exclusively in the hands of popular writers; and as these have, for the most part, merely strung together, with discrimination more or less inadequate, innumerable anecdotes[vi] of the display of animal intelligence, their books are valueless as works of reference. So much, indeed, is this the case, that Comparative Psychology has been virtually excluded from the hierarchy of the sciences. If we except the methodical researches of a few distinguished naturalists, it would appear that the phenomena of mind in animals, having constituted so much and so long the theme of unscientific authors, are now considered well-nigh unworthy of serious treatment by scientific methods. But it is surely needless to point out that the phenomena which constitute the subject-matter of Comparative Psychology, even if we regard them merely as facts in Nature, have at least as great a claim to accurate classification as those phenomena of structure which constitute the subject-matter of Comparative Anatomy. Leaving aside, therefore, the reflection that within the last twenty years the facts of animal intelligence have suddenly acquired a new and profound importance, from the proved probability of their genetic continuity with those of human intelligence, it would remain true that their systematic arrangement is a worthy object of scientific endeavour. This, then, has been my first object, which, otherwise stated, amounts merely to passing the animal kingdom in review in order to give a trustworthy account of the grade of psychological development which is presented by each group. Such is the scope of the present treatise.

My second, and much more important object, is that of considering the facts of animal intelligence in their relation to the theory of Descent. With the exception of Mr. Darwin's admirable chapters on the mental powers and moral sense, and Mr. Spencer's great work on the Principles of Psychology, there has hitherto been no earnest attempt at tracing the principles which have been probably concerned in the genesis of Mind. Yet there is[vii] not a doubt that, for the present generation at all events, no subject of scientific inquiry can present a higher degree of interest; and therefore it is mainly with the view of furthering this inquiry that I have undertaken this work. It will thus be apparent that the present volume, while complete in itself as a statement of the facts of Comparative Psychology, has for its more ultimate purpose the laying of a firm foundation for my future treatise on Mental Evolution. But although, from what I have just said, it will be apparent that the present treatise is preliminary to a more important one, I desire to emphasise this statement, lest the critics, in being now presented only with a groundwork on which the picture is eventually to be painted, should deem that the art displayed is of somewhat too commonplace a kind. If the present work is read without reference to its ultimate object of supplying facts for the subsequent deduction of principles, it may well seem but a small improvement upon the works of the anecdote-mongers. But if it is remembered that my object in these pages is the mapping out of animal psychology for the purposes of a subsequent synthesis, I may fairly claim to receive credit for a sound scientific intention, even where the only methods at my disposal may incidentally seem to minister to a mere love of anecdote.

It remains to add a few words on the principles which I have laid down for my own guidance in the selection and arrangement of facts. Considering it desirable to cast as wide a net as possible, I have fished the seas of popular literature as well as the rivers of scientific writing. The endless multitude of alleged facts which I have thus been obliged to read, I have found, as may well be imagined, excessively tedious; and as they are for the most part recorded by wholly unknown observers, the labour of reading[viii] them would have been useless without some trustworthy principles of selection. The first and most obvious principle that occurred to me was to regard only those facts which stood upon the authority of observers well known as competent; but I soon found that this principle constituted much too close a mesh. Where one of my objects was to determine the upper limit of intelligence reached by this and that class, order, or species of animals, I usually found that the most remarkable instances of the display of intelligence were recorded by persons bearing names more or less unknown to fame. This, of course, is what we might antecedently expect, as it is obvious that the chances must always be greatly against the more intelligent individuals among animals happening to fall under the observation of the more intelligent individuals among men. Therefore I soon found that I had to choose between neglecting all the more important part of the evidence—and consequently in most cases feeling sure that I had fixed the upper limit of intelligence too low—or supplementing the principle of looking to authority alone with some other principles of selection, which, while embracing the enormous class of alleged facts recorded by unknown observers, might be felt to meet the requirements of a reasonably critical method. I therefore adopted the following principles as a filter to this class of facts. First, never to accept an alleged fact without the authority of some name. Second, in the case of the name being unknown, and the alleged fact of sufficient importance to be entertained, carefully to consider whether, from all the circumstances of the case as recorded, there was any considerable opportunity for mal-observation; this principle generally demanded that the alleged fact, or action on the part of the animal, should be of a particularly marked and unmistakable kind, looking to the end which the action is said to have accomplished.[ix] Third, to tabulate all important observations recorded by unknown observers, with the view of ascertaining whether they have ever been corroborated by similar or analogous observations made by other and independent observers. This principle I have found to be of great use in guiding my selection of instances, for where statements of fact which present nothing intrinsically improbable are found to be unconsciously confirmed by different observers, they have as good a right to be deemed trustworthy as statements which stand on the single authority of a known observer, and I have found the former to be at least as abundant as the latter. Moreover, by getting into the habit of always seeking for corroborative cases, I have frequently been able to substantiate the assertions of known observers by those of other observers as well or better known.

So much, then, for the principles by which I have been guided in the selection of facts. As to the arrangement of the facts, I have taken the animal kingdom in ascending order, and endeavoured to give as full a sketch as the selected evidence at my disposal permitted of the psychology which is distinctive of each class, or order, and, in some cases, family, genus, or even species. The reason of my entering into greater detail with some natural groups than with others scarcely requires explanation. For it is almost needless to say that if the animal kingdom were classified with reference to Psychology instead of with reference to Anatomy, we should have a very different kind of zoological tree from that which is now given in our diagrams. There is, indeed, a general and, philosophically considered, most important parallelism running through the whole animal kingdom between structural affinity and mental development; but this parallelism is exceedingly rough, and to be traced only in broad outlines, so that although it is convenient for[x] the purpose of definite arrangement to take the animal kingdom in the order presented by zoological classification, it would be absurd to restrict an inquiry into Animal Psychology by any considerations of the apparently disproportionate length and minute subdivision with which it is necessary to treat some of the groups. Anatomically, an ant or a bee does not require more consideration than a beetle or a fly; but psychologically there is need for as great a difference of treatment as there is in the not very dissimilar case of a monkey and a man.

Throughout the work my aim has been to arrive at definite principles rather than to chronicle mere incidents—an aim which will become more apparent when the work as a whole shall have been completed. Therefore it is that in the present volume I have endeavoured, as far as the nature and circumstances of the inquiry would permit, to suppress anecdote. Nevertheless, although I have nowhere introduced anecdotes for their own sake, I have found it unavoidable not to devote much the largest part of the present essay to their narration. Hence, with the double purpose of limiting the introduction of anecdotes as much as possible, and of not repeating more than I could help anecdotes already published, I have in all cases, where I could do so without detriment to my main object, given the preference to facts which have been communicated to me by friends and correspondents. And here I may fitly take the opportunity of expressing my thanks and obligations to the latter, who in astonishing numbers have poured in their communications during several years from all quarters of the globe. I make this statement because I desire to explain to all my correspondents who may read this book, that I am not the less sensible of their kindness because its bounty has rendered it impossible for me to send acknowledgments in[xi] individual cases. However, I should like to add in this connection that it does not follow, because I have only quoted a small percentage of the letters which I have received, that all of the remainder have been useless. On the contrary, many of these have served to convey information and suggestions which, even if not reserved for express quotation in my forthcoming work, have been of use in guiding my judgment on particular points. Therefore I hope that the publication of these remarks may serve to swell the stream of communications into a yet larger flow.[1]

In all cases where I have occasion to quote statements of fact, which in the present treatise are necessarily numerous, I have made a point of trying to quote verbatim. Only where I have found that the account given by an author or a correspondent might profitably admit of a considerable degree of condensation have I presented it in my own words.

And here I have to express my very special obligations to Mr. Darwin, who not only assisted me in the most generous manner with his immense stores of information, as well as with his valuable judgment on sundry points of difficulty, but has also been kind enough to place at my disposal all the notes and clippings on animal intelligence which he has been collecting for the last forty years, together with the original MS. of his wonderful chapter on 'Instinct.' This chapter, on being re-cast for the 'Origin of Species,' underwent so merciless an amount of compression that the original draft constitutes a rich store of hitherto unpublished material. In my second work I shall have occasion to draw upon this store more largely than in the present one, and it is needless to add[xii] that in all cases where I do draw upon it I shall be careful to state the source to which I am indebted.

[The above was written when I sent this work to the publishers several months ago, and I have thought it best to leave the concluding paragraph as it originally stood. But in making this explanation, I cannot allude to the calamity which has since occurred without paying my tribute, not alone to the memory of the greatest genius of our age, but still more, and much more, to the memory of a friend so inexpressibly noble, kind, and generous, that even my immense admiration of the naturalist was surpassed by my loving veneration for the man.]

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

Now, in this mode of procedure what is the kind of activities which may be regarded as indicative of mind? I certainly do not so regard the flowing of a river or the blowing of the wind. Why? First, because the objects are too remote in kind from my own organism to admit of my drawing any reasonable analogy between them and it; and, secondly, because the activities which they present are of invariably the same kind under the same circumstances; they afford no evidence of feeling or purpose. In other words, two conditions require to be satisfied before we even begin to imagine that observable activities are indicative of mind: first, the activities must be displayed by a living organism; and secondly, they must be of a kind to suggest the presence of two elements which we recognise as the distinctive characteristics of mind as such—consciousness and choice.

So far, then, the case seems simple enough. Wherever we see a living organism apparently exerting intentional choice, we might infer that it is conscious choice, and therefore that the organism has a mind. But further reflection shows us that this is just what we cannot do; for although it is true that there is no mind without the power of conscious choice, it is not true that all apparent choice is due to mind. In our own organisms, for instance, we find a great many adaptive movements performed without choice or even consciousness coming into play at all—such, for instance, as in the beating of our hearts. And not only so, but physiological experiments and pathological lesions prove that in our own and in other organisms the mechanism of the nervous system is sufficient, without the intervention of consciousness, to produce muscular movements of a highly co-ordinate and apparently intentional character. Thus, for instance, if a man has his back broken in such a way as to sever the nervous connection between his brain and lower extremities,[3] on pinching or tickling his feet they are drawn suddenly away from the irritation, although the man is quite unconscious of the adaptive movement of his muscles; the lower nerve-centres of the spinal cord are competent to bring about this movement of adaptive response without requiring to be directed by the brain. This non-mental operation of the lower nerve-centres in the production of apparently intentional movements is called Reflex Action, and the cases of its occurrence, even within the limits of our own organism, are literally numberless. Therefore, in view of such non-mental nervous adjustment, leading to movements which are only in appearance intentional, it clearly becomes a matter of great difficulty to say in the case of the lower animals whether any action which appears to indicate intelligent choice is not really action of the reflex kind.

On this whole subject of mind-like and yet not truly mental action I shall have much to say in my subsequent treatise, where I shall be concerned among other things with tracing the probable genesis of mind from non-mental antecedents. But here it is sufficient merely to make this general statement of the fact, that even within the experience supplied by our own organisms adaptive movements of a highly complex and therefore apparently purposive character may be performed without any real purpose, or even consciousness of their performance. It thus becomes evident that before we can predicate the bare existence of mind in the lower animals, we need some yet more definite criterion of mind than that which is supplied by the adaptive actions of a living organism, howsoever apparently intentional such actions may be. Such a criterion I have now to lay down, and I think it is one that is as practically adequate as it is theoretically legitimate.

Objectively considered, the only distinction between adaptive movements due to reflex action and adaptive movements due to mental perception, consists in the former depending on inherited mechanisms within the nervous system being so constructed as to effect particular adaptive movements in response to particular stimulations,[4] while the latter are independent of any such inherited adjustment of special mechanisms to the exigencies of special circumstances. Reflex actions under the influence of their appropriate stimuli may be compared to the actions of a machine under the manipulations of an operator; when certain springs of action are touched by certain stimuli, the whole machine is thrown into appropriate movement; there is no room for choice, there is no room for uncertainty; but as surely as any of these inherited mechanisms are affected by the stimulus with reference to which it has been constructed to act, so surely will it act in precisely the same way as it always has acted. But the case with conscious mental adjustment is quite different. For, without at present going into the question concerning the relation of body and mind, or waiting to ask whether cases of mental adjustment are not really quite as mechanical in the sense of being the necessary result or correlative of a chain of physical sequences due to a physical stimulation, it is enough to point to the variable and incalculable character of mental adjustments as distinguished from the constant and foreseeable character of reflex adjustments. All, in fact, that in an objective sense we can mean by a mental adjustment is an adjustment of a kind that has not been definitely fixed by heredity as the only adjustment possible in the given circumstances of stimulation. For were there no alternative of adjustment, the case, in an animal at least, would be indistinguishable from one of reflex action.

It is, then, adaptive action by a living organism in cases where the inherited machinery of the nervous system does not furnish data for our prevision of what the adaptive action must necessarily be—it is only here that we recognise the objective evidence of mind. The criterion of mind, therefore, which I propose, and to which I shall adhere throughout the present volume, is as follows:—Does the organism learn to make new adjustments, or to modify old ones, in accordance with the results of its own individual experience? If it does so, the fact cannot be due merely to reflex action in the sense above described,[5] for it is impossible that heredity can have provided in advance for innovations upon, or alterations of, its machinery during the lifetime of a particular individual.

In my next work I shall have occasion to consider this criterion of mind more carefully, and then it will be shown that as here stated the criterion is not rigidly exclusive, either, on the one hand, of a possibly mental element in apparently non-mental adjustments, or, conversely, of a possibly non-mental element in apparently mental adjustments. But, nevertheless, the criterion is the best that is available, and, as it will be found sufficient for all the purposes of the present work, its more minute analysis had better be deferred till I shall have to treat of the probable evolution of mind from non-mental antecedents. I may, however, here explain that in my use of this criterion I shall always regard it as fixing only the upper limit of non-mental action; I shall never regard it as fixing the lower limit of mental action. For it is clear that long before mind has advanced sufficiently far in the scale of development to become amenable to the test in question, it has probably begun to dawn as nascent subjectivity. In other words, because a lowly organised animal does not learn by its own individual experience, we may not therefore conclude that in performing its natural or ancestral adaptations to appropriate stimuli consciousness, or the mind-element, is wholly absent; we can only say that this element, if present, reveals no evidence of the fact. But, on the other hand, if a lowly organised animal does learn by its own individual experience, we are in possession of the best available evidence of conscious memory leading to intentional adaptation. Therefore our criterion applies to the upper limit of non-mental action, not to the lower limit of mental.

Of course to the sceptic this criterion may appear unsatisfactory, since it depends, not on direct knowledge, but on inference. Here, however, it seems enough to point out, as already observed, that it is the best criterion available; and further, that scepticism of this kind is logically bound to deny evidence of mind, not only in the case of the lower animals, but also in that of the[6] higher, and even in that of men other than the sceptic himself. For all objections which could apply to the use of this criterion of mind in the animal kingdom would apply with equal force to the evidence of any mind other than that of the individual objector. This is obvious, because, as I have already observed, the only evidence we can have of objective mind is that which is furnished by objective activities; and as the subjective mind can never become assimilated with the objective so as to learn by direct feeling the mental processes which there accompany the objective activities, it is clearly impossible to satisfy any one who may choose to doubt the validity of inference, that in any case other than his own mental processes ever do accompany objective activities. Thus it is that philosophy can supply no demonstrative refutation of idealism, even of the most extravagant form. Common sense, however, universally feels that analogy is here a safer guide to truth than the sceptical demand for impossible evidence; so that if the objective existence of other organisms and their activities is granted—without which postulate comparative psychology, like all the other sciences, would be an unsubstantial dream—common sense will always and without question conclude that the activities of organisms other than our own, when analogous to those activities of our own which we know to be accompanied by certain mental states, are in them accompanied by analogous mental states.

The theory of animal automatism, therefore, which is usually attributed to Descartes (although it is not quite clear how far this great philosopher really entertained the theory), can never be accepted by common sense; and even as a philosophical speculation it will be seen, from what has just been said, that by no feat of logic is it possible to make the theory apply to animals to the exclusion of man. The expression of fear or affection by a dog involves quite as distinctive and complex a series of neuro-muscular actions as does the expression of similar emotions by a human being; and therefore, if the evidence of corresponding mental states is held to be inadequate in the one case, it must in consistency be held similarly[7] inadequate in the other. And likewise, of course, with all other exhibitions of mental life.

It is quite true, however, that since the days of Descartes—or rather, we might say, since the days of Joule—the question of animal automatism has assumed a new or more defined aspect, seeing that it now runs straight into the most profound and insoluble problem that has ever been presented to human thought—viz. the relation of body to mind in view of the doctrine of the conservation of energy. I shall subsequently have occasion to consider this problem with the close attention that it demands; but in the present volume, which has to deal only with the phenomena of mind as such, I expressly pass the problem aside as one reserved for separate treatment. Here I desire only to make it plain that the mind of animals must be placed in the same category, with reference to this problem, as the mind of man; and that we cannot without gross inconsistency ignore or question the evidence of mind in the former, while we accept precisely the same kind of evidence as sufficient proof of mind in the latter.

And this proof, as I have endeavoured to show, is in all cases and in its last analysis the fact of a living organism showing itself able to learn by its own individual experience. Wherever we find an animal able to do this, we have the same right to predicate mind as existing in such an animal that we have to predicate it as existing in any human being other than ourselves. For instance, a dog has always been accustomed to eat a piece of meat when his organism requires nourishment, and when his olfactory nerves respond to the particular stimulus occasioned by the proximity of the food. So far, it may be said, there is no evidence of mind; the whole series of events comprised in the stimulations and muscular movements may be due to reflex action alone. But now suppose that by a number of lessons the dog has been taught not to eat the meat when he is hungry until he receives a certain verbal signal: then we have exactly the same kind of evidence that the dog's actions are prompted by mind as we have that the actions of a man are so prompted.[2] Now we find[8] that the lower down we go in the animal kingdom, the more we observe reflex action, or non-mental adjustment, to predominate over volitional action, or mental adjustment. That is to say, the lower down we go in the animal kingdom, the less capacity do we find for changing adjustive movements in correspondence with changed conditions; it becomes more and more hopeless to teach animals—that is, to establish associations of ideas; and the reason of this, of course, is that ideas or mental units become fewer and less definite the lower we descend through the structure of mind.

It is not my object in the present work to enter upon any analysis of the operations of mind, as this will require to be done as fully as possible in my next work. Nevertheless, a few words must here be said with regard to the main divisions of mental operation, in order to define closely the meanings which I shall attach to certain terms relating to these divisions, and the use of which I cannot avoid.

The terms sensation, perception, emotion, and volition need not here be considered. I shall use them in their ordinary psychological significations; and although I shall subsequently have to analyse each of the organic or mental states which they respectively denote, there will be no occasion in the present volume to enter upon this subject. I may, however, point out one general consideration to which I shall throughout adhere. Taking it for granted that the external indications of mental processes which we observe in animals are trustworthy, so that we are justified in inferring particular mental states from particular bodily actions, it follows that in consistency we must everywhere apply the same criteria.

For instance, if we find a dog or a monkey exhibiting marked expressions of affection, sympathy, jealousy, rage, &c., few persons are sceptical enough to doubt that the complete analogy which these expressions afford with[9] those which are manifested by man, sufficiently prove the existence of mental states analogous to those in man of which these expressions are the outward and visible signs. But when we find an ant or a bee apparently exhibiting by its actions these same emotions, few persons are sufficiently non-sceptical not to doubt whether the outward and visible signs are here trustworthy as evidence of analogous or corresponding inward and mental states. The whole organisation of such a creature is so different from that of a man that it becomes questionable how far analogy drawn from the activities of the insect is a safe guide to the inferring of mental states—particularly in view of the fact that in many respects, such as in the great preponderance of 'instinct' over 'reason,' the psychology of an insect is demonstrably a widely different thing from that of a man. Now it is, of course, perfectly true that the less the resemblance the less is the value of any analogy built upon the resemblance, and therefore that the inference of an ant or a bee feeling sympathy or rage is not so valid as is the similar inference in the case of a dog or a monkey. Still it is an inference, and, so far as it goes, a valid one—being, in fact, the only inference available. That is to say, if we observe an ant or a bee apparently exhibiting sympathy or rage, we must either conclude that some psychological state resembling that of sympathy or rage is present, or else refuse to think about the subject at all; from the observable facts there is no other inference open. Therefore, having full regard to the progressive weakening of the analogy from human to brute psychology as we recede through the animal kingdom downwards from man, still, as it is the only analogy available, I shall follow it throughout the animal series.

It may not, however, be superfluous to point out that if we have full regard to this progressive weakening of the analogy, we must feel less and less certain of the real similarity of the mental states compared; so that when we get down as low as the insects, I think the most we can confidently assert is that the known facts of human psychology furnish the best available[10] pattern of the probable facts of insect psychology. Just as the theologians tell us—and logically enough—that if there is a Divine Mind, the best, and indeed only, conception we can form of it is that which is formed on the analogy, however imperfect, supplied by the human mind; so with 'inverted anthropomorphism' we must apply a similar consideration with a similar conclusion to the animal mind. The mental states of an insect may be widely different from those of a man, and yet most probably the nearest conception that we can form of their true nature is that which we form by assimilating them to the pattern of the only mental states with which we are actually acquainted. And this consideration, it is needless to point out, has a special validity to the evolutionist, inasmuch as upon his theory there must be a psychological, no less than a physiological, continuity extending throughout the length and breadth of the animal kingdom.

In these preliminary remarks only one other point requires brief consideration, and this has reference to the distinction between what in popular phraseology is called 'Instinct' and 'Reason.' I shall not here enter upon any elaborate analysis of a distinction which is undoubtedly valid, but shall confine my remarks to explaining the sense in which I shall everywhere use these terms.

Few words in our language have been subject to a greater variety of meanings than the word instinct. In popular phraseology, descended from the Middle Ages, all the mental faculties of the animal are termed instinctive, in contradistinction to those of man, which are termed rational. But unless we commit ourselves to an obvious reasoning in a circle, we must avoid assuming that all actions of animals are instinctive, and then arguing that because they are instinctive, therefore they differ from the rational actions of man. The question really lies in what is here assumed, and we can only answer it by examining in what essential respect instinct differs from reason.

This mode of 'looking upon instinct' is merely to exclude the subject from the sphere of inquiry, and so to abstain from any attempt at definition.

Innumerable other opinions might be quoted from well-known writers, 'looking upon instinct' in widely different ways; but as this is not an historical work, I shall pass on at once to the manner in which science looks upon it, or, at least, the manner in which it will always be looked upon throughout the present work.

Without concerning ourselves with the origin of instincts, and so without reference to the theory of evolution, we have to consider the most conspicuous and distinctive features of instinct as it now exists. The most important point to observe in the first instance is that instinct involves mental operations; for this is the only point that serves to distinguish instinctive action from reflex. Reflex action, as already explained, is non-mental neuro-muscular adaptation to appropriate stimuli; but instinctive action is this and something more; there is in it the element of mind. Such, at least, is instinctive action in the sense that I shall always allude to it. I am, of course, aware that the limitation which I thus impose is one which is ignored, or not recognised, by many writers even among psychologists; but I am persuaded that if we are to have any approach to definiteness in the terms which we employ—not to say of clearness in our ideas concerning the things of which we speak—it is most desirable to restrict the word instinct to mental as distinguished from non-mental activity. No doubt it is often difficult, or even impossible, to decide whether or not a given action implies the presence of the mind-element—i.e., conscious as distinguished from unconscious adaptation; but this is altogether a separate matter, and has nothing to do with the question of[12] defining instinct in a manner which shall be formally exclusive, on the one hand of reflex action, and on the other of reason. As Virchow truly observes, 'it is difficult or impossible to draw the line between instinctive and reflex action;' but at least the difficulty may be narrowed down to deciding in particular cases whether or not an action falls into this or that category of definition; there is no reason why the difficulty should arise on account of any ambiguity of the definitions themselves. Therefore I endeavour to draw as sharply as possible the line which in theory should be taken to separate instinctive from reflex action; and this line, as I have already said, is constituted by the boundary of non-mental or unconscious adjustment, with adjustment in which there is concerned consciousness or mind.

Having thus, I hope, made it clear that the difficulty of drawing a distinction between reflex and instinctive actions as a class is one thing, and that the difficulty of assigning particular actions to one or the other of our categories is another thing, we may next perceive that the former difficulty is obviated by the distinction which I have imposed, and that the latter only arises from the fact that on the objective side there is no distinction imposable. The former difficulty is obviated by the distinction which I have drawn, simply because the distinction is itself a definite one. In particular cases of adjustive action we may not always be able to affirm whether consciousness of their performance is present or absent; but, as I have already said, this does not affect the validity of our definition; all we can say of such cases is that if the performance in question is attended with consciousness it is instinctive, and if not it is reflex.

And the difficulty of assigning particular actions to one or other of these two categories arises, as I have said, merely because on the objective side, or the side of the nervous system, there is no distinction to be drawn. Whether or not a neural process is accompanied by a mental process, it is in itself the same. The advent and development of consciousness, although progressively converting reflex action into instinctive, and instinctive into[13] rational, does this exclusively in the sphere of subjectivity; the nervous processes engaged are throughout the same in kind, and differ only in the relative degrees of their complexity. Therefore, as the dawn of consciousness or the rise of the mind-element is gradual and undefined, both in the animal kingdom and in the growing child, it is but necessary that in the early morning, as it were, of consciousness any distinction between the mental and the non-mental should be obscure, and generally impossible to determine. Thus, for instance, a child at birth does not close its eyes upon the near approach of a threatening body, and it only learns to do so by degrees as the result of experience; at first, therefore, the action of closing the eyelids in order to protect the eyes may be said to be instinctive, in that it involves the mind-element:[3] yet it afterwards becomes a reflex which asserts itself even in opposition to the will. And, conversely, sucking in a new-born child, or a child in utero, is, in accordance with my definition, a reflex action; yet in later life, when consciousness becomes more developed and the child seeks the breast, sucking may properly be called an instinctive action. Therefore it is that, as in the ascending scale of objective complexity the mind-element arises and advances gradually, many particular cases which occupy the undefined boundary between reflex action and instinct cannot be assigned with confidence either to the one region or to the other.

We see then the point, and the only point, wherein instinct can be consistently separated from reflex action; viz., in presenting a mental constituent. Next we must consider wherein instinct may be separated from reason. And for this purpose we may best begin by considering what we mean by reason.

The term 'reason' is used in significations almost as various as those which are applied to 'instinct.' Sometimes[14] it stands for all the distinctively human faculties taken collectively, and in antithesis to the mental faculties of the brute; while at other times it is taken to mean the distinctively human faculties of intellect.

Dr. Johnson defines it as 'the power by which man deduces one proposition from another, and proceeds from premises to consequences.' This definition presupposes language, and therefore ignores all cases of inference not thrown into the formal shape of predication. Yet even in man the majority of inferences drawn by the mind never emerge as articulate propositions; so that although, as we shall have occasion fully to observe in my subsequent work, there is much profound philosophy in identifying reason with speech as they were identified in the term Logos, yet for purposes of careful definition so to identify intellect with language is clearly a mistake.

More correctly, the word reason is used to signify the power of perceiving analogies or ratios, and is in this sense equivalent to the term 'ratiocination,' or the faculty of deducing inferences from a perceived equivalency of relations. Such is the only use of the word that is strictly legitimate, and it is thus that I shall use it throughout the present treatise. This faculty, however, of balancing relations, drawing inferences, and so of forecasting probabilities, admits of numberless degrees; and as in the designation of its lower manifestations it sounds somewhat unusual to employ the word reason, I shall in these cases frequently substitute the word intelligence. Where we find, for instance, that an oyster profits by individual experience, or is able to perceive new relations and suitably to act upon the result of its perceptions, I think it sounds less unusual to speak of the oyster as displaying intelligence than as displaying reason. On this account I shall use the former term to signify the lower degrees of the ratiocinative faculty; and thus in my usage it will be opposed to such terms as instinct, reflex action, &c., in the same manner as the term reason is so opposed. This is a point which, for the sake of clearness, I desire the reader to retain in his memory. I shall always speak of intelligence and intellect in antithesis to instinct, emotion,[15] and the rest, as implying mental faculties the same in kind as those which in ourselves we call rational.

Now it is notorious that no distinct line can be drawn between instinct and reason. Whether we look to the growing child or to the ascending scale of animal life, we find that instinct shades into reason by imperceptible degrees, or, as Pope expresses it, that these principles are 'for ever separate, yet for ever near.' Nor is this other than the principles of evolution would lead us to expect, as I shall afterwards have abundant occasion to show. Here, however, we are only concerned with drawing what distinction we can between instinct and reason as these faculties are actually presented to our observation. And this in a general way it is not difficult to do.

We have seen that instinct involves 'mental operations,' and that by this feature it is distinguished from reflex action; we have now to consider the features by which it is distinguished from reason. These are accurately, though not completely, conveyed by Sir Benjamin Brodie, who defines instinct as 'a principle by which animals are induced, independently of experience and reasoning, to the performances of certain voluntary acts, which are necessary to their preservation as individuals, or to the continuance of the species, or in some other way convenient to them.'[4] This definition, as I have said, is accurate as far as it goes, but it does not state with sufficient generality and terseness that all instinctive action is adaptive; nor does it clearly bring out the distinction between instinct and reason which is thus well conveyed by the definition of Hartmann, who says in his 'Philosophy of the Unconscious,' that 'instinct is action taken in pursuance of an end, but without conscious perception of what the end is.' This definition, however, is likewise defective in that it omits another of the important differentiæ of instinct—namely, the uniformity of instinctive action as performed by different individuals of the same species. Including this feature, therefore, we may more accurately and completely define instinct as mental action (whether in animals or human beings),[16] directed towards the accomplishing of adaptive movement, antecedent to individual experience, without necessary knowledge of the relation between the means employed and the ends attained, but similarly performed under the same appropriate circumstances by all the individuals of the same species. Now in every one of these respects, with the exception of containing a mental constituent and in being concerned in adaptive action, instinct differs from reason. For reason, besides involving a mental constituent, and besides being concerned in adaptive action, is always subsequent to individual experience, never acts but upon a definite and often laboriously acquired knowledge of the relation between means and ends, and is very far from being always similarly performed under the same appropriate circumstances by all the individuals of the same species.

Thus the distinction between instinct and reason is both more definite and more manifold than is that between instinct and reflex action. Nevertheless, in particular cases there is as much difficulty in classifying certain actions as instinctive or rational, as there is in cases where the question lies between instinct and reflex action. And the explanation of this is, as already observed, that instinct passes into reason by imperceptible degrees; so that actions in the main instinctive are very commonly tempered with what Pierre Huber calls 'a little dose of judgment or reason,' and vice versâ. But here, again, the difficulty which attaches to the classification of particular actions has no reference to the validity of the distinctions between the two classes of actions; these are definite and precise, whatever difficulty there may be in applying them to particular cases.

Another point of difference between instinct and reason may be noticed which, although not of invariable, is of very general applicability. It will have been observed, from what has already been said, that the essential respect in which instinct differs from reason consists in the amount of conscious deliberation which the two processes respectively involve. Instinctive actions are actions which, owing to their frequent repetition, become[17] so habitual in the course of generations that all the individuals of the same species automatically perform the same actions under the stimulus supplied by the same appropriate circumstances. Rational actions, on the other hand, are actions which are required to meet circumstances of comparatively rare occurrence in the life-history of the species, and which therefore can only be performed by an intentional effort of adaptation. Consequently there arises the subordinate distinction to which I allude, viz., that instinctive actions are only performed under particular circumstances which have been frequently experienced during the life-history of the species; whereas rational actions are performed under varied circumstances, and serve to meet novel exigencies which may never before have occurred even in the life-history of the individual.

Thus, then, upon the whole, we may lay down our several definitions in their most complete form.

Reflex action is non-mental neuro-muscular adjustment, due to the inherited mechanism of the nervous system, which is formed to respond to particular and often recurring stimuli, by giving rise to particular movements of an adaptive though not of an intentional kind.

Instinct is reflex action into which there is imported the element of consciousness. The term is therefore a generic one, comprising all those faculties of mind which are concerned in conscious and adaptive action, antecedent to individual experience, without necessary knowledge of the relation between means employed and ends attained, but similarly performed under similar and frequently recurring circumstances by all the individuals of the same species.

Reason or intelligence is the faculty which is concerned in the intentional adaptation of means to ends. It therefore implies the conscious knowledge of the relation between means employed and ends attained, and may be exercised in adaptation to circumstances novel alike to the experience of the individual and to that of the species.

CHAPTER I.

Protozoa.

But, without denying that conscious determination may here be present, or involving ourselves in the impossible task of proving such a negative, we may properly affirm that until an animalcule shows itself to be teachable by individual experience, we have no sufficient evidence derived or derivable from any number of such apparently intelligent movements, that conscious determination is present. Therefore, I need not wait to quote the observations of the sundry microscopists who detail facts more or less similar to the above, with expressions of their belief that microscopical organisms display a certain degree of instinct or intelligence as distinguished from mechanical, or wholly non-mental adjustment. But there are some observations relating to the lowest of all animals, and made by a competent person, which are so remarkable that I shall have to quote them in full. These observations are recorded by Mr. H. J. Carter, F.R.S., in the 'Annals of Natural History,' and in his opinion prove that the beginnings of instinct are to be found so low down in the scale as the Rhizopoda. He says:—'Even Athealium will confine itself to the water of the watch-glass in which it may be placed when away from sawdust and chips of wood among which it has been living; but if the watch-glass be placed upon the sawdust, it will very soon make its way over the side of the watch-glass and get to it.'

This is certainly a remarkable observation: for it seems[20] to show that the rhizopod distinguishes the presence of the sawdust outside the watch-glass, and crawls over the brim of the latter in order to get into more congenial quarters, while it is contented with the water in the watch-glass so long as there is no sawdust outside. But to proceed:

With regard to these remarkable observations it can only, I think, be said that although certainly very suggestive of something more than mechanical response to stimulation, they are not sufficiently so to justify us in ascribing to these lowest members of the zoological scale any rudiment of truly mental action. The subject, however,[22] is here full of difficulty, and not the least so on account of the amœba not only having no nervous system, but no observable organs of any kind; so that, although we may suppose that the adaptive movements described by Mr. Carter were non-mental, it still remains wonderful that these movements should be exhibited by such apparently unorganised creatures, seeing that as to the remoteness of the end attained, no less than the complex refinement of the stimulus to which their adaptive response was due, the movements in question rival the most elaborate of non-mental adjustments elsewhere performed by the most highly organised of nervous systems.

Cœlenterata.

Dr. Eimer attributes 'voluntary action' to the Medusæ, and indeed draws a sharp distinction between what he considers their 'involuntary' and 'voluntary' movements. In this distinction, however, I do not at all concur; for although I am well acquainted with the difference between the active and slow rhythm upon which the distinction is founded, I see no evidence whatever for supposing that the difference involves any psychological element. The active swimming is produced by stimulation, and is no doubt calculated to lead to the escape of the organism; but this fact certainly does not carry us beyond the ordinary possibilities of reflex action. And even when, as in some species is constantly the case, bouts of active swimming appear to arise spontaneously or without observable stimulation, the fact is to be attributed to a liberation of overplus ganglionic energy, or to some unobservable stimulation; it does not justify the supposition of any psychical element being concerned.[6]

M'Crady gives an interesting account of a medusa which carries its larvæ on the inner sides of its bell-shaped body. The manubrium, or mobile digestive cavity[23] of the animal, depends, as in the other Medusæ, from the summit of the concave surface of the bell, like a clapper or tongue. Now M'Crady observed this depending organ to be moved first to one side and then to the other side of the bell, in order to give suck to the larvæ on the sides of the bell—the larvæ dipping their long noses into the nutrient fluids which that organ of the parent's body contained. I cite this case, because if it occurred in one of the higher animals it would probably be called a case of instinct; but as it occurs in so low an animal as a jelly-fish, it is unreasonable to suppose that intelligence can ever have played any part in originating the action. Therefore we may set it down as the uncompounded result of natural selection.

Some species of medusæ—notably Sarsia—seek the light, crowding into the path of a beam, and following it actively if moved. They derive advantage from so doing, because certain small crustacea on which they feed likewise crowd into the light. The seeking of light by these medusæ is therefore doubtless of the nature of a reflex action which has been developed by natural selection in order to bring the animals into contact with their prey. Paul Bert has found that Daphnia pulex seeks the light (especially the yellow ray), and Engelmann has observed the same fact with regard to certain protoplasmic organisms. But in none of these or other such cases is there any evidence of a psychical element being concerned in the process.

Echinodermata.

Some of the natural movements of these animals, as also some of their movements under stimulation, are very suggestive of purpose; but I have satisfied myself that there is no adequate evidence of the animals being able to profit by individual experience, and therefore, in accordance with our canon, that there is no adequate evidence of their exhibiting truly mental phenomena. On the other hand, the study of reflex action in these organisms is full of interest—so much so that in my next work I shall take them as typical organisms in this connection.[7]

Mr. Darwin has now in the press a highly interesting work on the habits of earth-worms. It appears from his observations that the manner in which these animals draw down leaves, &c., into their burrows is strongly indicative of instinctive action, if not of intelligent purpose—seeing that they always lay hold of the part of the leaf (even though an exotic one) by the traction of which the leaf will offer least resistance to being drawn down. But as this work will so shortly be published, I shall not forestall any of the facts which it has to state, nor should I yet like to venture an opinion as to how far these facts, when considered altogether, would justify any inference to a truly mental element as existing in these animals.

Of the land leeches in Ceylon, Sir E. Tennent gives an account which likewise seems to bespeak intelligence as occurring in annelids. He says:—

CHAPTER II.

Some evidence of intelligence seems to be displayed by the razor-fish. For the animals dislike salt, so that when this is sprinkled above their burrows in the sand, they come to the surface and quit their habitations. But if the animal is once seized when it comes to the surface and afterwards allowed to retire into its burrow, no amount of salt will force it again to come to the surface.[10]

With regard to snails, L. Agassiz writes: 'Quiconque a eu l'occasion d'observer les amours des limaçons, ne saurait mettre en doute la séduction déployée dans les mouvements et les allures qui préparent et accomplissent le double embrassement de ces hermaphrodites.'[11]

Again, Mr. Darwin's MS. quotes from Mr. W. White [12] a curious exhibition of intelligence in a snail, which does not seem to have admitted of mal-observation. This gentleman 'fixed a land-shell mouth uppermost in a chink of rock; in a short time the snail protruded itself to its utmost length, and, attaching its foot vertically above, tried to pull the shell out in a straight line. Not succeeding, it rested for a few minutes and then stretched out its body on the right side and pulled its utmost, but failed. Resting again, it protruded its foot on the left side, pulled with its full force, and freed the shell. This exertion of force in three directions, which seems so geometrically suitable, must have been intentional.'

If it is objected that snail shells must frequently be liable to be impeded by obstacles, and therefore that this display of manœuvring on the part of their occupants is to be regarded as a reflex, I may remark that here again we have one of those incessantly recurring cases where it is difficult to draw the line between intelligence and non-intelligence. For, granting that the action is to a certain extent mechanical, we must still recognise that the animal while executing it must have remembered each of the two directions in which it had pulled ineffectually before it began to pull in the third direction; and it is improbable that snail shells are so frequently caught in positions from which a pull in only one direction will[27] release them, that natural selection would have developed a special instinct to try pulling successively in three directions at right angles to one another.

The only other instance that I have met with of the apparent display of intelligence in snails is the remarkable one which Mr. Darwin gives in his 'Descent of Man,' on the authority of Mr. Lonsdale. Although the interpretation which is assigned to the fact seems to me to go beyond anything that we should have reason to expect of snail intelligence, I cannot ignore a fact which stands upon the observation of so good an authority, and shall therefore quote it in Mr. Darwin's words:—

In this case the fact must be accepted, seeing that it stands on the authority of an accurate observer, and is of so definite a kind as not to admit of mistake. Consequently we are shut up to the alternative of supposing the return of the healthy snail to its mate a mere accident, and their both going over the wall into the well-stocked garden another mere accident, or acquiescing in the interpretation which Mr. Darwin assigns. Now, if we look closely into the matter, the chances against the double accident in question are certainly so considerable as to render the former supposition almost impossible. On the other hand, there is evidence to prove, as I shall immediately show, that a not distantly allied animal is unquestionably able to remember a particular locality as its home, and habitually to return to this locality after feeding. Therefore, in view of this analogous and corroborative[28] case, the improbability of the snail remembering for twenty-four hours the position of its mate is very much reduced; while the subsequent communication, if it took place, would only require to have been of the nature of 'follow me,' which, as we shall repeatedly find, is a degree of communicative ability which many invertebrated animals possess. Therefore, in view of these considerations, I incline to Mr. Darwin's opinion that the facts can only be explained by supposing them due to intelligence on the part of the snails. Thus considered, these facts are no doubt very remarkable; for they would appear to indicate not merely accurate memory of direction and locality for twenty-four hours, but also no small degree of something akin to 'permanent attachment,' and sympathetic desire that another should share in the good things which one has found.[14]

The case to which I have just alluded as proving beyond all doubt that some Gasteropoda are able to retain a very precise and accurate memory of locality, is that of the common limpet.

Mr. J. Clarke Hawkshaw publishes in the Journal of the Linnæan Society the following account of the habits in question:—

It appears certain from these observations, which to some extent were anticipated by those of Mr. F. C. Lukis,[16] that limpets, after every browsing excursion, return to one particular spot or home; and the precise memory of direction and locality implied by this fact seems to justify us in regarding these actions of the animal as of a nature unquestionably intelligent.

Coming now to the cephalopoda, there is no doubt that if a larger sphere of opportunity permitted, adequate observation of these animals would prove them to be much the most intelligent members of the sub-kingdom. Unfortunately, however, this sphere of opportunity has hitherto been very limited. The following meagre account is all that I have been able to gather concerning the psychology of these interesting animals.

According to Schneider,[17] the Cephalopoda show unmistakable[30] evidence of consciousness and intelligence. This observer had an opportunity of watching them for a long time in the zoological station at Naples; and he says that they appeared to recognise their keeper after they had for some time received their food from him. Hollmann narrates that an octopus, which had had a struggle with a lobster, followed the latter into an adjacent tank, to which it had been removed for safety, and there destroyed it. In order to do this the octopus had to climb up a vertical partition above the surface of the water and descend the other side.[18] According to Schneider, the Cephalopoda have an abstract idea of water, seeking to return to it when removed, even though they do not see it. But this probably arises from the sense of discomfort due to exposure of their skin to the air; and if we can call it an 'idea,' it is doubtless shared by all other aquatic Mollusca when exposed to air.

CHAPTER III.

Powers of Special Sense.

Taking first the sense of sight, Sir John Lubbock made a number of experiments on the influence of light coloured by passing through various tints of stained glass, with the[32] following results. The ants which he observed greatly dislike the presence of light within their nests, hurrying about in search of the darkest corners when light is admitted. The experiments showed that the dislike is much greater in the case of some colours than in that of others. Thus under a slip of red glass there were congregated on one occasion 890 ants, under green 544, under yellow 495, and under violet only 5. To our eyes the violet is as opaque as the red, more so than the green, and much more so than the yellow. Yet, as the numbers show, the ants had scarcely any tendency to congregate under it: there were nearly as many under the same area of the uncovered portion of the nest as under that shaded by the violet glass. It is curious that the coloured glasses appear to act on the ants in a graduated series, which corresponds with the order of their influence on a photographic plate. Experiments were therefore made to test whether it might not be the actinic rays that were so particularly distasteful to the ants; but with negative results. Placing violet glass above red produces the same effect as red glass alone. Obviously, therefore, the ants avoid the violet glass because they dislike the rays which it transmits, and do not prefer the other colours because they like the rays which they transmit. Sodium, barium, strontium, and lithium flames were also tried, but not with so much effect as the coloured glass.

It has just been observed that the relative dislike which Sir John Lubbock's ants showed to lights of different colours seems to be determined by the position of the colour in the spectrum—there being a regular gradation of intolerance shown from the red to the violet end. As these ants dislike light, the question suggests itself that the reason of their graduated intolerance to light of different colours may be due to their eyes not being so much affected by the rays of low as by those of high refrangibility. In this connection it would be interesting to ascertain whether ants of the genus Atta show a similarly graduated intolerance to the light in different parts of the spectrum; for both Moggridge and MacCook record of this genus that it not only does not shun the light, but seeks it—coming to[33] the glass sides of their artificial nests to enjoy the light of a lamp. Possibly, therefore, the scale of preference to lights of different colours would be found in this genus to be the reverse of that which Sir John Lubbock has found in the case of the British species.

As regards hearing, Sir John Lubbock found that sounds of various kinds do not produce any effect upon the insects. Tuning-forks and violin notes, shouting, whistling, &c., were all equally inefficient in producing the slightest influence upon the animals; and experiments with sensitive flames, microphone, telephone, &c., failed to yield any evidence of ants emitting sounds inaudible to human ears.

Lastly, as regards the sense of smell, Sir John Lubbock found that on bringing a camel's-hair brush steeped in various strong scents near where ants were passing, "some went on without taking any notice, but others stopped, and evidently perceiving the smell, turned back. Soon, however, they returned, and passed the scented pencil. After doing this two or three times, they generally took no further notice of the scent. This experiment left no doubt on my mind." In other cases the ants were observed to wave about and throw back their antennæ when the scented pencil was brought near.

That ants track one another by scent was long ago mentioned by Huber, and also that they depend on this sense for their power of finding supplies which have been previously found by other ants. Huber proved their power of tracking a path previously pursued by their friends, by drawing his finger across the trail, so obliterating the scent at that point, and observing that when the ants arrived at that point they became confused and ran about in various directions till they again came upon the trail on the other side of the interrupted space, when they proceeded on their way as before. The more numerous and systematic experiments of Sir John Lubbock have fully corroborated Huber's observations, so far as these points are concerned. Thus, to give only one or two of these experiments; in the accompanying woodcut (Fig. 1) A is the nest, B a board, n f g slips of paper, h and m[34] similar slides of glass, on one of which, h, there was placed pupæ, while the other, m, was left empty. Sir John Lubbock watched two particular (marked) ants proceeding from A to h and back again, carrying the pupæ on h to the nest A. Whenever an ant came out of A upon B he transposed the slips f and g. Therefore at the angle below n there was a choice presented to the ant of taking the unscented pathway leading to the full glass h, or the scented pathway leading to the empty glass m. The two marked ants, knowing their way, always took the right turn at the angle; but the stranger ants, being guided only by scent, for the most part took the wrong turn at the angle, so going to the empty glass m. For out of 150 stranger ants only 21 went to h, while the remaining 129 went to m. Still the fact that all the stranger ants did not follow the erroneous scent-trail to m, may be taken to indicate that they are also assisted in finding treasure by the sense of sight, though in a lesser degree. Therefore Sir John Lubbock concludes that in finding treasure 'they are guided in some cases by sight, while in others they track one another by scent.'

As further evidence showing how much more ants depend upon scent than upon sight in finding their way, the following experiment may be quoted. In the accompanying woodcut (Fig. 2) the line marked 1, 2, 3 represents the edge of a paper bridge leading to the nest; A the top of a pencil which is standing perpendicularly upon a board, represented by the general black surface; B the top of the same pencil when moved a distance of a few inches from its first position A. On the top of this pencil were placed some pupæ. Sir John Lubbock, after contriving this arrangement, marked an ant and put it upon the pupæ on the top of the pencil. After she had made two journeys carrying pupæ from the pencil to the nest (the tracks she pursued being represented by the two thick white lines), while she was in the nest he moved the pencil to its position at B. The thin[35] white line represents the course then pursued by the ant in its endeavours to find the pencil, which was shifted only a few inches from A to B. That is, 'the ants on their journey to the shifted object travelled very often backwards and forwards and round the spot where the coveted object first stood. Then they would retrace their steps towards the nest, wander hither and thither from side to side between the nest and the point A, and only after very repeated efforts around the original site of the larvæ reach, as it were, accidentally the object desired at B.' Therefore the ants were clearly not guided by the sight of the pencil.

The same thing is well shown by another form of experiment. 'Some food was placed at the point a (Figs. 3 and 4) on a board measuring 20 inches by 12 inches,[36] and so arranged that the ants in going straight from it to the nest would reach the board at the point b, and after passing under the paper tunnel c, would proceed between five pairs of wooden bricks, each 3 inches in length and 1¾ inches in height. When they got to know their way they went quite straight along the line d e to a. The board was then twisted as shown in Fig. 4. 'The bricks and tunnel being arranged exactly in the same direction as before, but the board having been moved, the line d e was now outside them. The change, however, did not at all discompose the ants; but instead of going, as before, through the tunnel and between the rows of bricks to a, they walked exactly along the old path to e.' Keeping the board steady, but moving the brick pathway to the left-hand corner of the board where the food was next placed (Fig. 5), had the effect of making the ant first go to the old position of the food at a, whence it veered to a new position, which we may call x. The bricks and food were then moved towards the right-hand corner of the board—i.e. over a distance of 8 inches (Fig. 6). The ant now first went to a,[37] then to x, and not finding the food at either place, set to work to look for it at random, and was only successful after twenty-five minutes' wandering.

And, as evidence how much more dependence they place upon scent in finding their way than upon any other of their faculties, it is desirable to quote yet one further experiment, which is of great interest as showing that when their sense of smell is made to contradict their sense of direction, they follow the former, notwithstanding, as we shall presently see, the wonderful accuracy of the information which is supplied to them by the latter. 'If, when F. niger were carrying off larvæ placed in a cup on a piece of board, I turned the board round so that the side which had been turned towards the nest was away from it, and vice versâ, the ants always returned over the same track on the board, and, in consequence, directly away from home. If I moved my board to the other side of my artificial nest, the result was the same. Evidently they followed the road, not the direction.'

There can be little doubt that ants have a sense of taste, as they are so well able to distinguish sugary substances; and it is unquestionable that in their antennæ they possess highly elaborated organs of touch.

Sense of Direction.

As evidence of the accuracy and importance of the sense of direction in the Hymenoptera, we must here adduce Sir John Lubbock's highly interesting experiments on ants—leaving his experiments in this connection on bees and wasps to be considered in the next chapter. He first accustomed some ants (Lasius niger) to go to and fro to food over a wooden bridge. When they had got quite accustomed to the way, he watched when an ant was upon a bridge which could be rotated, and while she[38] was passing along it, he turned it round, so that end b was at c, and c at b. 'In most cases the ant immediately turned round also; but even if she went on to b or c, as the case might be, as soon as she came to the end of the bridge she turned round.' Next, between the nest and the food he placed a hat-box twelve inches in diameter and seven inches high, cutting two small holes, so that the ants in passing from the nest to the food had to pass in at one hole and out at the other. The box was fixed upon a central pivot, so as to admit of being rotated easily without much friction or disturbance. When the ants had well learnt their way, the box was turned half round as soon as an ant had entered it, 'but in every case the ant turned too, thus retaining her direction.' Lastly, Sir John took a disk of white paper, which he placed in the stead of the hat-box between the nest and the food. When an ant was on the disk making towards the food, he gently drew the disk to the other side of the food, so that the ant was conveyed by the moving surface in the same direction as that in which she was going, but beyond the point to which she intended to go. Under these circumstances 'the ant did not turn round, but went on' to the further edge of the disk, when she seemed 'a good deal surprised at finding where she was.'

These experiments seem to show that the mysterious 'sense of direction,' and consequent faculty of 'homing,' are in ants, at all events, due to a process of registering, and, where desirable, immediately counteracting any change of direction, even when such change is gently made by a wholly closed chamber in which the animal is moving, and not by any muscular movements of the animal itself. And the fact that drawing the moving surface along in the same direction of advance as that which the insect is pursuing does not affect the movements of the latter, seems conclusively to show that the power of registration has reference only to lateral movements of the travelling surface; it has no reference to variations in the velocity of advance along the line in which the animal is progressing.[19]

Little need here be said to prove that ants display some powers of memory; for many of the observations and experiments already detailed constitute a sufficient demonstration of the statement that they do. Thus, for instance, the general fact that whenever an ant finds her way to a store of food or larvæ, she will return to it again and again in a more or less direct line from her nest, constitutes ample proof that the ant remembers the way to the store. It is of considerable interest, however, to note that the nature of this insect-memory appears to be, as far as it goes, precisely identical with that of memory in general. Thus, a new fact becomes impressed upon their memory by repetition, and the impression is liable to become effaced by lapse of time. More evidence on both these features of insect-memory will be adduced when we come to treat of the intelligence of bees; but meanwhile it is enough to refer to the fact that in his experiments on ants, Sir John Lubbock found it necessary to teach the insects by a repetition of several lessons their way to treasure, if that way was long or unusual.

With regard to the duration of memory, it does not appear that any experiments have been made; but the following observation by Mr. Belt on this point in the case of the leaf-cutting ant may here be stated. In June 1859 he found his garden invaded by these ants, and following up their paths he found their nest about a hundred yards[40] distant. He poured down their burrows a pint of common brown carbolic acid, mixed with four buckets of water. The marauding parties were at once drawn off from the garden to meet the danger at home, and the whole formicarium was disorganised, the ants running up and down again in the utmost perplexity. Next day he found them busily employed bringing up the ant-food from the old burrows, and carrying it to newly formed ones a few yards distant. These, however, turned out to be only intended as temporary repositories; for in a few days both the old and the new burrows were entirely deserted, so that he supposed all the ants to have died. Subsequently, however, he found that they had migrated to a new site, about two hundred yards from the old one, and there established themselves in a new nest. Twelve months later the ants again invaded his garden, and again he treated them to a strong dose of carbolic acid. The ants, as on the previous occasion, were at once withdrawn from the garden, and two days afterwards he found 'all the survivors at work on one track that led directly to the old nest of the year before, where they were busily employed in making fresh excavations. Many were bringing along pieces of ant-food' from the nest most recently deluged with carbolic acid to that which had been similarly deluged a year before, and from which all the carbolic acid had long ago disappeared. 'Others carried the undeveloped white pupæ and larvæ. It was a wholesale and entire migration;' and the next day the nest down which he had last poured the carbolic acid was entirely deserted. Mr. Belt adds: 'I afterwards found that when much disturbed, and many of the ants destroyed, the survivors migrate to a new locality. I do not doubt that some of the leading minds in this formicarium recollected the nest of the year before, and directed the migration to it.'

Now, I do not insist that the facts necessarily point to this conclusion; for it may have been that the leaders of the migration simply stumbled upon the old and vacant nest by accident, and finding it already prepared as a nest, forthwith proceeded to transfer the food and pupæ to it. Still, as the two nests were separated from one another by[41] so considerable a distance, this hypothesis does not seem probable, and the only other one open to us is that the ants remembered the site of their former home for a period of twelve months. And this conclusion is rendered less improbable from a statement of Karl Vogt in his 'Thierstaaten,' to the effect that for several successive years ants from a certain nest used to go through certain inhabited streets to a chemist's shop 600 mètres distant, in order to obtain access to a vessel filled with syrup. As it cannot be supposed that this vessel was found in successive working seasons by as many successive accidents, it can only be concluded that the ants remembered the syrup store from season to season.

I shall now pass on to consider a class of highly remarkable facts, perhaps the most remarkable of the many remarkable facts connected with ant psychology.

It has been known since the observations of Huber that all the ants of the same nest or community recognise one another as friends, while an ant introduced from another nest, even though it be an ant of the same species, is known at once to be a foreigner, and is usually maltreated or put to death. Huber found that when he removed an ant from a nest and kept it away from its companions for a period of four months it was still recognised as a friend, and caressed by its previous fellow-citizens after the manner in which ants show friendship, viz., by stroking antennæ. Sir John Lubbock, after repeating and fully confirming these observations, extended them as follows. He first tried keeping the separated ant away from the nest for a still longer period than four months, and found that even after a separation of more than a year the animal was recognised as before. He repeated this experiment a number of times, and always with the same invariable difference between the reception accorded to a foreigner and a native—no matter, apparently, how long the native had been absent.

Considering the enormous number of ants that go to make a nest, it seems astonishing enough that they should be all personally known to one another, and still more astonishing that they should be able to recognise members[42] of their community after so prolonged an absence. Thinking that the facts could only be explained, either by all the ants in the same nest having a peculiar smell, or by all the members of the same community having a particular pass-word or gesture-sign, Sir John Lubbock, with the view of testing this theory, separated some ants from a nest while still in the condition of pupæ, and, when they emerged from that state as perfect insects, transferred them back to the nest from which they had been taken as pupæ. Of course in this case the ants in the nest could never have seen those which had been removed, for a larval ant is as unlike the mature insect as a grub is unlike a beetle; neither can it be supposed that a larva, hatched out away from the nest, should retain, when a perfect insect, any smell belonging to its parent nest—more especially as it had been hatched out by ants in another nest;[20] nor, lastly, is it reasonable to imagine that the animal, while still a larval grub, can have been taught any gesture-signal used as a pass-word by the matured animals. Yet, although all these possible hypotheses seem to be thus fully excluded by the conditions of the experiment, the result showed unequivocally that the ants recognised their transformed larvæ as native-born members of their community.

Lastly, Sir John Lubbock tried the experiment of going still further back in the life-history of the ants before separating them from the nest. For in September he divided a nest into two halves, each having a queen. At this season there were neither larvæ nor eggs. The following April both the queens began to lay eggs, and in August—i.e. nearly a year after the original partitioning of the nest—he took some of the ants newly hatched from the pupæ in one division, and placed them in the other division, and vice versâ. In all cases these ants were received by the members of the other half of the divided nest as friends, although if a stranger were introduced into either half it was invariably killed. Yet the ants which[43] were thus so certainly recognised by their kindred ants as friends had never, even in the state of an egg, been present in that division of the nest before. On this highly remarkable fact Sir John Lubbock says:—

We must, therefore, conclude with reference to this subject that the mode whereby recognition is undoubtedly effected is as yet wholly unintelligible; and I have introduced these facts under the heading of memory only because this heading is not more inappropriate than any other that could be devised for their reception.

It ought here to be added also that the power of thus recognising members of their community is not confined by the limits of blood-relationship, for in an experiment made by Forel it was shown that Amazon ants recognised their own slaves almost instantaneously after an absence of four months.

Under this heading I may also adduce the evidence as to enormous masses, or, as we might say, a whole nation of ants recognising each other as belonging to the same[44] nationality. New nests often spring up as offshoots from the older ones, and thus a nation of towns gradually spreads to an immense circumference around the original centre. Forel describes a colony of F. exsecta which comprised more than two hundred nests, and covered a space of nearly two hundred square mètres. 'All the members of such a colony, even those from the furthermost nest, recognise each other and admit no stranger.'

Similarly, MacCook describes an 'ant town' in the Alleghany Mountains of North America ('Trans. Amer. Entom. Soc.,' Nov. 1877) which was inhabited by F. exsectoïdes. It consists of 1,600 to 1,700 nests, which rise in cones to a height of from two to five feet. The ground below is riddled in every direction with subterranean passages of communication. The inhabitants are all on the most friendly terms, so that if any one nest is injured it is repaired by their united forces.

It remains to be added in connection with this subject that the recognition is not automatically invariable, but when 'ants are removed from a nest in the pupa state, tended by strangers, and then restored, some at least of their relatives are certainly puzzled, and in many cases doubt their claims to consanguinity. I say some, because while strangers under the circumstances would have been immediately attacked, these ants were in every case amicably received by the majority of the colony, and it was sometimes several hours before they came across one who did not recognise them.'

It may also be added that Lasius flavus behaves towards strangers quite differently and much more hospitably than is the case with L. niger. The stranger shows no alarm, but, on the contrary, will voluntarily enter the strange nest, and she is there received with kindness; although from the attention she excites, and the numerous communications which take place between her and her new friends, Sir John was 'satisfied that they knew she was not one of themselves. . . . . Very different is the behaviour of L. niger under similar circumstances. I tried the same experiment with them. There was no communications with the antennæ, there was no cleaning,[45] but every ant which the stranger approached flew at her like a little tigress. I tried this experiment four times; each stranger was killed and borne off to the nest.'

Emotions.

The pugnacity, valour, and rapacity of ants are too well and generally known to require the narration of special instances of their display. With regard to the tenderer emotions, however, there is a difference of opinion among observers. Before the researches of Sir John Lubbock it was the prevalent view that these insects display marked signs of affection towards one another, both by caressing movements of their antennæ, and by showing solicitude for friends in distress. Sir John, however, has found that the species of ants on which he has experimented are apparently deficient both in feelings of affection and of sympathy—or, at least, that such feelings are in these species much less strongly developed than the sterner passions.

He tried burying some specimens of Lasius niger beneath an ant-road; but none of the ants traversing the road made any attempt to release their imprisoned companions. He tried the same experiment with the same result on various other species. Even when the friends in difficulty are actually in sight, it by no means follows that their companions will assist them. Of this, he says, he could give almost any number of instances. Thus, when ants are entangled in honey, their companions devote themselves to the honey, and entirely neglect their friends in distress; and when partly drowned, their friends take no notice. When chloroformed or intoxicated their own companions either do not heed them, or else 'seem somewhat puzzled at finding their intoxicated fellow-creatures in such a condition, take them up, and carry them about for a time in a somewhat aimless manner.' Further experiments, however, on a larger scale, went to show that chloroformed ants were treated as dead, i.e. removed to the edge of the parade-board and dropped over into the surrounding moat of water; while intoxicated[46] ants were generally carried into the nest, if they were ants belonging to that community; if not, they were thrown overboard. This care shown towards intoxicated friends appears to indicate a dim sense of sympathy towards afflicted individuals; but that this emotion or instinct does not in the case of these species extend to healthy individuals in distress seems to be proved, not only by the experiments of burying already described, but also by the following:—

We must not, however, too readily assent to this general conclusion, that ants as a whole are deficient in the tenderer emotions; for although the case is doubtless so with the species which Sir John examined, it appears to be certainly otherwise with other species, as we shall presently see. But first it may be well to point out that even the hard-hearted species with which Sir John had to do seem not altogether devoid of sympathy with sick or mutilated friends, although they appear to be so towards healthy friends in distress. Thus the care shown to intoxicated friends seems to indicate, if not, as already observed, a dim sense of sympathy, at least an instinct to preserve the life of an ailing citizen for the future benefit of the community. Sir John also quotes some observations of Latreille showing that ants display sympathy with mutilated companions; and, lastly, mentions an instance which he has himself observed of the same thing. A specimen of F. fusca congenitally destitute of antennæ was attacked and injured by an ant of another species. When separated by Sir John, another ant of her own species came by. 'She examined the poor sufferer carefully, then picked her up tenderly, and carried her away into the nest. It would have been difficult for any one who witnessed this scene to have denied to this ant the possession of humane feelings.' Moggridge is also of opinion that the habit of throwing sick and apparently dead ants[48] into the water, is 'in part to be rid of them, and partly, perhaps, with a view to effecting a possible cure; for I have seen one ant carry another down the twig which formed their path to the surface of the water, and, after dipping it in for a minute, carry it laboriously up again, and lay it in the sun to dry and recover.'

But that some species of ants display marked signs of what we may call sympathy even towards healthy companions in distress, is proved by the following observation of Mr. Belt. He writes:[21]—

This observation seems unequivocal as proving fellow-feeling and sympathy, so far as we can trace any analogy between the emotions of the higher animals and those of[49] insects. That insects with such highly organised social habits, and depending so greatly on the principles of co-operation, should manifest emotions or instincts of an incipiently altruistic character, is no more than we should antecedently expect on the general principle of survival of the fittest. Our only surprise should be that these emotions, or instincts, should appear to be so feebly developed in some species of ants, and, as we shall subsequently see, also of bees. But it may be worth while in this connection to point out that the valuable observation of Mr. Belt above quoted refers to the species of ant which, as we shall subsequently find, presents the most highly organised instincts of co-operation that are to be met with among ants, and therefore the greatest dependence of the welfare of the individual on that of the community. And the same remark is applicable to our native species, F. sanguinea, which the Rev. W. W. F. White has repeatedly seen rescuing buried companions very much in the manner described by Mr. Belt; and he does not appear to be acquainted with Mr. Belt's observations. He figures one case in which he saw three ants co-operating to dig out a buried comrade.[22]

Powers of Communication.

Huber, Kirby and Spence, Dugardin, Burmeister, Franklin, and other observers have all expressed themselves as more or less strongly of the opinion that members of the same community of ants, and other social Hymenoptera, are able to communicate information to one another by some system of language or signs. The facts, however, on which their opinion rests have not been stated with that degree of caution and detail which the acceptance of the conclusion requires. Thus, Kirby and Spence give only one instance of supposed communication between ants,[23] and even this one is inconclusive, as the facts described admit of being explained by supposing that the ants simply tracked one another by scent; while Huber[50] merely deals in general statements as to 'contact of antennæ,' without narrating any particulars of his observations. Therefore, until within the last few years there was really no sufficient evidence to sustain the general opinion that ants are able to communicate with one another; but the observations which I shall now detail must be regarded as fully substantiating that general opinion by facts as abundant and conclusive as the most critical among us can desire. I shall first narrate in his own words the more important of Sir John Lubbock's experiments in this connection:—

The results of these experiments were that during[51] 47½ hours the ants which had access to a glass containing numerous larvæ brought 257 friends to their assistance; while during an interval 5½ hours longer those which visited the glass with only two or three larvæ brought only 82 friends; and, as already mentioned, no single ant came to the glass which contained no larvæ. Now, as all the glasses were exposed to similar conditions, and as the roads to the first two must, in the first instance at all events, have been equally scented by the passage of ants over them, these results look very conclusive as proving some power of definite communication, not only that larvæ are to be found, but even where the largest store is to be met with.

Further experiments proved, as we might have expected, that although an ant is able to communicate to her friends in the nest that she has found treasure somewhere outside, she is not able to describe to them its precise locality. Thus, having exposed larvæ and placed an ant upon them as before, Sir John watched every time she came out of the nest with friends to assist her, but instead of allowing her to pilot the way, he took her up and carried her to the larvæ, allowing her to return with a larva upon her own feet. Under these circumstances the friends, although evidently coming out with the intention of finding some treasure, were never able to find it; but wandered about in various directions for a while, and then returned to the nest. Thus, during two hours she brought out in her successive journeys altogether no less than 120 ants, of which number only 5 in their unguided wanderings happened to find the sought-for treasure. This result seems to prove, as we might have expected, that the communication is of the nature of some sign amounting to no more than a 'follow me.' Other experiments confirmed this result, and also brought out the fact that 'some species act much more in association than others—Formica fusca, for instance, much less than Lasius niger.' Thus Sir John Lubbock placed some honey before a marked specimen of the former species; but although she visited and revisited the honey during an entire day, she brought out no friends to share it; and although in her journeys to and from the nest she happened to pass and repass many other individuals, they took no notice of each other.

The obvious objection to these experiments, that an ant observing a friend bringing home food or a pupa might infer, without being told, that by accompanying the friend on the return journey she 'might participate in the good things,' has been partly met by the fact already stated, viz., that there is so very marked a difference in the result if, on experimenting on two ants, one had access to a large treasure and the other only to a small one. But[53] to put this matter beyond question, Sir John Lubbock tried the experiment of pinning down a dead fly, so that the ant which found it was unable, with all her tugging, to move it towards the nest. At length she went back to the nest for assistance, and returned accompanied by seven friends. So great was her excitement, however, that she outran these friends, 'who seemed to have come out reluctantly, as if they had been asleep, and were only half awake;' and they failed to find the fly, slowly meandering about for twenty minutes. After again tugging for a time at the fly, the first ant returned a second time to the nest for assistance, and in less than a minute came out with eight friends. They were even less energetic than the first party, and having lost sight of their guide in the same manner as happened before, they all returned to the nest. Meanwhile several of the first party, which had all the while been meandering about, found the fly, and proceeded to dismember it, carrying the trophy to the nest, and calling out more friends in the ordinary way. This experiment was repeated several times and on different species, always with the same result. Now, as Sir John remarks, 'the two cases (i.e. those in which the ant brought out friends to her assistance even when she had no booty to show) surely indicate a distinct power of communication. . . . . It is impossible to doubt that the friends were brought out by the first ant; and as she returned empty-handed to the nest, the others cannot have been induced to follow her by merely observing her proceedings. I conclude, therefore, that they possess the power of requesting their friends to come and help them.'

In order to ascertain whether the signs which communicating ants make to one another are made by means of sound, Sir John Lubbock placed near a nest of Lasius flavus six small upright pillars of wood about 1½ inch high, and on one of these he put a drop of honey. 'I then put three ants to the honey, and when each had sufficiently fed, I imprisoned her, and put another; thus always keeping three ants at the honey, but not allowing them to go home. If, then, they could summon their friends by sound, there ought soon to be many ants at the honey.'[54] The result showed that the ants were not able thus to call to one another from a distance.

As additional proof of the general fact that at all events some ants have the power of communicating information to one another, it will be enough here to quote an exceedingly interesting observation of the distinguished geologist Hague. The quotations are taken from his letters written to Mr. Darwin, and published in Nature:[24]—

In a subsequent volume of 'Nature' (viii. p. 244), Mr. Darwin publishes another letter which he received from Mr. Hague upon the same subject. It seems that Mr. Moggridge suggested to Mr. Darwin that, as he and others had observed ants to be repelled by the mere scent of a finger drawn across their path, the observation of Mr. Hague might really resolve itself into a dislike on the part of the ants to cross a line over which a finger had been drawn, and have nothing to do with intelligent terror inspired by the sight of their slaughtered companions. The following is Mr. Hague's reply to Mr. Darwin's request for further experiments to test this point:—

With this quotation I shall conclude the present division of the chapter; for, looking to all the other observations previously mentioned, there can be no question concerning the general fact that ants have the power of communicating with one another. And under subsequent headings abundant additional evidence on this point will be found implicated with the other facts detailed.

Habits General in Sundry Species.

Swarming.—The precise facts with regard to the swarming of ants are not yet certainly established. As regards some of the facts, however, there is no doubt. The winged males and females first quit the nest in enormous numbers, and choose some fine afternoon in July or August for their wedding flight. The entrances to the nest are widened by the workers and increased in number, and there is a great commotion on the surface of the nest. The swarm takes place as a thick cloud of all the male and female insects, rising together to a considerable height. The flight continues for several hours, usually circling round some tree or tower, and it is during the flight that fertilisation is effected. After it is effected, the swarm returns to the ground, when the males perish, either from falling a prey, in their shelterless condition, to birds or spiders, or, on account of not being able to feed themselves, from starvation. 'The workers, or neuter ants, of their own[58] colony have lost all interest in them from the moment of their return, and trouble themselves no more about them, for they well know that the males have now fulfilled their vocation.' The great majority of the fertilised females share the same fate as the males. But a small proportion find concealment in holes, which they either dig for themselves, or happen to find ready made, and there found a new colony. The first thing they do is to pull off their now useless wings, by scratching and twisting them, one after the other, with the clawed ends of their feet. They then lay their eggs, and become the queens of new colonies.

Forel says that no fertilised female ever returns to her original home; but that the workers keep back a certain number of females which are fertilised before the swarming takes place; in this case the workers pull off the wings of the fertilised females. The majority of observers, however, maintain that some of the females composing the swarm return to their native home to become mothers where they had been children. Probably both statements are correct. A writer in the 'Groniger Deekblad' for June 16, 1877, observes that, looking to the injurious effects of in-breeding, the facts as related by Forel are less probable than those related by other observers, and that, if they actually occur, the females fertilised before flight are probably kept by the ants as a sort of 'reserve corps to which the workers resort only in case of need, and if they fail to secure any returning queens.'

Nursing.—The eggs will not develop into larvæ unless nursed. The nursing is effected by licking the surface of the eggs, which under the influence of this process increase in size, or grow. In about a fortnight, during which time the workers carry the eggs from higher to lower levels of the nest, and vice versâ, according to the circumstances of heat, moisture, &c., the larvæ are hatched out, and require no less careful nursing than the eggs. The workers feed them by placing mouths together and regurgitating food stored up in the crop or proventriculus into the intestinal tract of the young. The latter show their hunger by 'stretching out their little brown heads.'[59] Great care is also taken by the workers in cleaning the larvæ, as well as in carrying them up and down the chambers of the nest for warmth or shelter.

When fully grown the larvæ spin cocoons, and are then pupæ, or the 'ants' eggs' of bird-fanciers. These require no food, but still need incessant attention with reference to warmth, moisture, and cleanliness. When the time arrives for their emergence as perfect insects, the workers assist them to get out of their larval cases by biting through the walls of the latter. It is noticeable that in doing this the workers do not keep to any exact time, but free them sometimes earlier and sometimes later, in accordance with their rate of development. 'The little animal when freed from its chrysalis is still covered with a thin skin, like a little shirt, which has to be pulled off. When we see how neatly and gently this is done, and how the young creature is then washed, brushed, and fed, we are involuntarily reminded of the nursing of human babies. The empty cases, or cocoons, are carried outside the nest, and may be seen heaped together there for a long time. Some species carry them far away from the nest, or turn them into building materials for the dwelling.'[25]

Education.—The young ant does not appear to come into the world with a full instinctive knowledge of all its duties as a member of a social community. It is led about the nest, and 'trained to a knowledge of domestic duties, especially in the case of the larvæ.' Later on the young ants are taught to distinguish between friends and foes. When an ants' nest is attacked by foreign ants, the young ones never join in the fight, but confine themselves to removing the pupæ; and that the knowledge of hereditary enemies is not wholly instinctive in ants is proved by the following experiment, which we owe to Forel. He put young ants belonging to three different species into a glass case with pupæ of six other species—all the species being naturally hostile to one another. The young ants did not quarrel, but worked together to tend the pupæ. When the latter hatched out, an artificial colony was formed of[60] a number of naturally hostile species all living together after the manner of the 'happy families' of the showmen.

Habit of keeping Aphides.—It is well known that various species of ants keep aphides, as men keep milch cows, to supply a nutritious secretion. Huber first observed this fact, and noticed that the ants collected the eggs of the aphides and treated them exactly as they treated their own, guarding and tending them with the utmost care. When these eggs hatch out the aphides are usually kept and fed by the ants, to whom they yield a sweet honey-like fluid, which they eject from the abdomen upon being stroked on this region by the antennæ of the ants. Mr. Darwin, who has watched the latter process, observes with regard to it,—

The facts also show that the yielding of the secretion to the ants is, as it were, a voluntary act on the part of the aphides, or, perhaps more correctly, that the instinct to yield it has been developed in such a relation to the requirements of the ants, that the peculiar stimulation supplied by the antennæ of the latter is necessary to start the act of secretion; for in the absence of this particular stimulation the aphides will never excrete until compelled to do so by the superabundance of the accumulating secretion. The question, therefore, directly arises how, on evolutionary[61] principles, such a class of facts is to be met; for it is certainly difficult to understand the manner in which this instinct, so beneficial to the ants, can have arisen in the aphides, to which it does not appear, at first sight, to offer any advantages. Mr. Darwin meets the difficulty thus: 'Although there is no evidence that any animal performs an action for the exclusive good of another species, yet each tries to take advantage of the instincts of others;' and 'as the secretion is extremely viscid, it is no doubt a convenience to the aphides to have it removed; therefore probably they do not excrete solely for the good of the ants.'[26]

Some ants which keep aphides build covered ways, or tunnels, to the trees or shrubs where the aphides live. Forel saw a tunnel of this kind which was taken up a wall and down again on the other side, in order to secure a safe covered way from the nest to the aphides. Occasionally such covered ways, or tubes, are continued so as to enclose the stems of the plants on which the aphides live. The latter are thus imprisoned by the walls of the tube, which, however, expand where they take on this additional function of stabling the aphides, so that these insects are really confined in tolerably large chambers. The doors of these chambers are too small to allow the aphides to escape, while large enough for the ants to pass in and out. Forel saw such a prison or stable shaped like a cocoon, and about a centimètre long, which was hanging on the branch of a tree, and contained aphides carefully tended by the ants. Huber records similar observations.

Sir John Lubbock has made an interesting addition to our knowledge respecting this habit as practised by a certain species of ant (Lasius flavus), which departs in a very remarkable manner from the habit as practised by other species. He says: 'The ants took the greatest care of these eggs, carrying them off to the lower chambers with the utmost haste when the nest was disturbed.' But the most interesting of Sir John Lubbock's observations in this connection is new, and reveals an astonishing[62] amount of method shown by the ants in farming their aphides. He says:—

The following, which is taken from Büchner's 'Geistesleben der Thiere' is perhaps a still more striking performance of the same kind as that which Sir John Lubbock observed:—

Aphides are not the only insects which ants employ as cows, several other insects which yield sweet secretions being similarly utilised in various parts of the world. Thus, gall insects and cocci are kept in just the same way as aphides; but MacCook observed that where aphides and cocci are kept by the same ants, they are kept in separate chambers, or stalls. The same observer saw caterpillars of the genus Lycœna kept by ants for the sake of a sweet secretion which they supply.

Habit of making Slaves.—This habit, or instinct, obtains among at least three species of ant, viz., Formica rufescens, F. sanguinea, and strongylognathus. It was originally observed by P. Huber in the first-named species. Here the species enslaved is F. fusca, which is appropriately coloured black. The slave-making ants attack a nest of F. fusca in a body; there is a great fight with much slaughter, and, if victorious, the slave-makers carry off the pupæ of the vanquished nest in order to hatch them out as slaves. Mr. Darwin gives an account of a battle which he himself observed.[29]

When the pupæ hatch out in the nest of their captors, the young slaves begin their life of work, and seem to regard their master's home as their own; for they never attempt to escape, and they fight no less keenly than their masters in defence of the nest. F. sanguinea content themselves with fewer slaves than do F. rufescens; and the work that devolves upon the slaves differs according to the species which has enslaved them. In the nests of F. sanguinea the comparatively few captives are kept as household slaves; they never either enter or leave the nest, and so are never seen unless the nest is opened. They are then very conspicuous from the contrast which their black colour and small size present to the red colour and much larger size of F. rufescens. As the slaves are by this species kept strictly indoors, all the outdoor work of foraging, slave-capturing, &c., is performed by the masters; and when for any reason a nest has to migrate, the masters carry their slaves in their jaws. F. rufescens, on the other hand, assigns a much larger share of labour to the slaves, which, as we have already seen, are present in much larger numbers to take it. In this species the males and fertile females do no work of any kind; and the workers, or sterile females, though most energetic in capturing slaves, do no other kind of work. Therefore the whole community is absolutely dependent upon its slaves. The masters are not able to make their own nests or to feed their own larvæ. When they migrate, it is the slaves that determine the migration, and, reversing the order of things that obtains in F. sanguinea, carry their masters in their jaws. Huber shut up thirty masters without a slave and with abundance of their favourite food, and also with their own larvæ and pupæ as a stimulus to work; but they could not feed even themselves, and many died of hunger. He then introduced a single slave, and she at once set to work, fed the surviving masters, attended to the larvæ, and made some cells.

In order to confirm this observation, Lespès placed a piece of sugar near a nest of slave-makers. It was soon found by one of the slaves, which gorged itself and returned to the nest. Other slaves then came out and did[66] likewise. Then some of the masters came out, and, by pulling the legs of the feeding slaves, reminded them that they were neglecting their duty. The slaves then immediately began to serve their masters with the sugar. Forel also has confirmed all these observations of Huber. Indeed, in the case of F. rufescens, the structure of the animal is such as to render self-feeding physically impossible. Its long and narrow jaws, adapted to pierce the head of an enemy, do not admit of being used for feeding, unless liquid food is poured into them by the mouth of a slave. This fact shows of how ancient an origin the instinct of slave-making must be; it has altered in an important manner a structure which could not have been so altered prior to the establishment of the instinct in question.

Mr. Darwin thus sums up the differences in the offices of the slaves in the nests of F. sanguinea and F. rufescens respectively:—

Mr. Darwin further observes that 'this difference in the usual habits of the masters and slaves in the two countries probably depends merely on the slaves being captured in greater numbers in Switzerland than in England;' and records that he has observed in a community of the English species having an unusually large stock of slaves that 'a few slaves mingled with their masters[67] leaving the nest, and marched along the same road to a tall Scotch fir tree, twenty-five yards distant, which they ascended together, probably in search of aphides or cocci.' And, according to Huber, the principal office of the slaves in Switzerland is to search for aphides.

Mr. Darwin also made the following observation:—'Desiring to ascertain whether F. sanguinea could distinguish the pupæ of F. fusca, which they habitually make into slaves, and which are an unwarlike species, from F. flava, which they rarely capture, and never without a severe fight,' he found 'it was evident that they did at once distinguish them;' for while 'they eagerly and instantly seized the pupæ of F. fusca, they were much terrified when they came across the pupæ, or even the earth from the nest, of F. flava, and quickly ran away; but in about a quarter of an hour, shortly after the little yellow ants had crawled away (from their nest having been disturbed by Mr. Darwin), they took heart and carried off the pupæ.'

Ants do not appear to be the only animals of which ants make slaves; for there seems to be at least one case[68] in which these wonderful insects enslave insects of another species, which therefore may be said to stand to the ants in the relation of beasts of burden. The case to which I allude is one that is recorded in Perty's 'Intellectual Life of Animals' (2nd ed. p. 329), and is as follows:—

Wars.—On the wars of ants a great deal might be said, as the facts of interest in this connection are very numerous; but for the sake of brevity I shall confine myself to giving only a somewhat meagre account.

One great cause of war is the plundering of ants' nests by the slave-making species. Observers all agree that this plundering is effected by a united march of the whole army composing a nest of the slave-making species, directed against some particular nest of the species which they enslave. According to Lespès and Forel, single scouts or small companies are first sent out from the nest to explore in various directions for a suitable nest to attack. These scouts afterwards serve as guides to the marauding excursion. Forel saw several of these scouts of the species F. rufescens or Amazon carefully inspecting a nest of F. fusca which they had found, investigating especially the entrances. These are purposely made difficult to find by their architects, and it not unfrequently happens that after all precautions and inspections on the part of the invaders, an expedition fails on account of not finding the city gates.

When the scouts have been successful in discovering a suitable nest to plunder, and have completed their strategical investigations of the locality to their satisfaction, they return straight to their own nest or fortress. Forel has then seen them walking about on the surface of their nest for a long time, as if in consultation, or making up[69] their minds. Then some of them entered the nest, soon after which hosts of warriors streamed out of the entrances, and ran about tapping each other with their heads and antennæ. They then formed into column and set out to pillage the nest of the slave ants. The following is the account which Lespès gives of such expeditions:—

The following is also quoted from Büchner's excellent epitome of Forel's observations in this connection:—

On another occasion, while a procession of Amazon ants was on its way to plunder a nest of F. fusca, before it arrived Forel poured out a sack-full of sanguine ants, and made a break in the nest:—

The mode of attack practised by the other best known species of slave-making ant, sanguinea, is somewhat different:—

At other times, however, warlike ants show great and needless cruelty to one another:—

The following account is also taken from Büchner's 'Mind in Animals,' p. 87:—

Battles, however, are not confined to species of ants having warlike and slave-making habits. The agricultural ants likewise at times wage fierce wars with one another. The importance of seeds to these ants, and the consequent value which they set upon them, induce the animals, when supplies are scarce, to plunder each other's nests. Thus Moggridge says,—

The agricultural ants of Texas do not appear to be less pugnacious than their European congeners. Thus MacCook says:—

MacCook, however, says that 'these ants are not always so jealous of territorial encroachment, or at least must have different standards of rights.' For he observed many cases of nests situated within twenty, and even ten feet of one another, without a battle ever occurring between members of the two communities. Therefore, without questioning the accuracy of Lincecum's observations—which, indeed, present no scope for inaccuracy—he adds, 'That neighbouring ants, like neighbouring nations of civilised men, will fall out and wage war Lincecum's examples show. Perhaps we should be quite as unsuccessful in case of these ants as of our human congeners, should we seek a sufficient reason for these wars, or satisfactory cause for these differences in dealing with neighbours which appear from the comparison of Lincecum's observations with mine.'

In connection with the wars of these ants, the following quotations may also be made from the same author:—

Lastly, MacCook records the history of an interesting engagement which he witnessed between two nests of Tetramorium cæspitum. It took place between Broad Street and Penn Square in Philadelphia, and lasted for nearly three weeks. Although all the combatants belonged to the same species, however great the confusion of the fight, friends were always distinguished from foes—apparently by contact of antennæ.

Habit of keeping Domestic Pets.—Many species of ants display the curious habit of keeping in their nests sundry kinds of other insects, which, so far as observation extends, are of no benefit to the ants, and which therefore have been regarded by observers as mere domestic pets. These 'pets' are for the most part species which occur nowhere else except in ants' nests, and each species of 'pet' is peculiar to certain species of ants. Thus Moggridge found 'a large number of a minute shining brown beetle moving about among the seeds' in the nests of the harvesting ant of the south of Europe, 'belonging to the scarce and very restricted genus Colnocera, called by Kraatz C. attæ, on account of its inhabiting the nests of ants belonging to the genus Atta.' He also observed inhabiting the same nests a minute cricket 'scarcely larger than a grain of wheat' (Gryllus myrmecophilus), which had been previously observed by Paolo Savi in the nests of several species of ants in Tuscany, where it lived on the best terms with its hosts, playing round the nests in warm weather, and retiring into them in stormy weather, while allowing the ants to carry it from place to place during migrations. Again, Mr. Bates observes that[84] 'some of the most anomalous forms of coleopterous insects are those which live solely in the nests of ants.' Sir John Lubbock also, and other observers whom we need not wait to cite, mention similar facts. The Rev. Mr. White says that altogether 40 distinct species of Coleoptera, most of which he has in his own collection, are known to inhabit the nests of various species of ants, and to occur nowhere else.

As in all these cases the ants live on amicable terms with their guests, and in some cases even bestow labour upon them (as in carrying them from one nest to another during migration), it is evident that these insects are not only tolerated, but fostered by the ants. Moreover, as it seems absurd to credit ants with any mere fancy or caprice such as that of keeping pets, we can only conclude that these insects, like the aphides, are of some use to their hosts, although we are not yet in a position to surmise what this use can be.

Habits of Sleep and Cleanliness.—It is probable that all species of ants enjoy periods of true sleep alternating with those of activity; but actual observations on this subject have only been made on two or three species. The following is MacCook's account of these habits in the harvesting ant of Texas:—

Ants, like many other insects, are in the habit of cleaning themselves, being, like them, provided by nature with combs and brushes, &c., for the purpose. But, unlike other insects, several species of ants are also in the habit of assisting each other in the performance of their toilet. The author last quoted gives the following account of this process in the genus Atta:—

Similarly, Bates thus describes the cleansing process in another genus of ants (Ecitons):—

Habits of Play and Leisure.—The life of ants is not all work, or, at least, is not so in all species; for in some species, at any rate, periods of recreation are habitually indulged in.

Büchner('Geistesleben der Thiere,' p. 163) gives the following abstract of Huber's celebrated observations in this connection:—

MacCook also gives an account of habits of play as indulged in among ants of the other Hemisphere:—

Funereal Habits.—In another connection it has already been stated that Sir John Lubbock found his ants to be very careful in disposing of the dead bodies of their comrades. This habit seems to be pretty general among many species of ants, and is no doubt due to sanitary requirements, thus becoming developed as a beneficial instinct by natural selection. The funereal habits of the agricultural ant are thus related by MacCook:[32]—

It will be observed that none of these accounts furnish evidence of ants burying their dead, as Pliny asserts to have been the case with ants in the south of Europe. In the Proceedings of the Linnæan Society, however (1861), there is a very definite account of such a practice as obtaining among the ants of Sydney; and although it is from the pen of an observer not well known, the observation seems to have been one about which there could scarcely have been a mistake. The observer was Mrs. Hutton, and this is her account. Having killed a number of 'soldier ants,' and returning half an hour afterwards to the place where the dead bodies were lying, she says:

The Rev. W. Farren White also, in his papers on ants published in the 'Leisure Hour' (1880), after alluding to the above case, corroborates it by some interesting observations of his own. He says:—

Habits Peculiar to Certain Species.

Leaf-cutting Ants of the Amazon (Œcodoma cephalotes).—The mode of working practised by these ants is thus described by Mr. Bates:—

Each ant carries its semicircular piece of leaf upright over its head, so that the home-returning train is rendered very conspicuous. Nearer observation shows that this home-returning or ladened train of workers keeps to one side of the road, while the outgoing or empty-handed train keeps to the other side; so that on every road there is a double train of ants going in opposite directions. When the leaves arrive at the nest they are received by a smaller kind of workers, whose duty it is to cut up the pieces of leaf into still smaller fragments, whereby the leaves seem to be better fitted for the purpose to which, as we shall presently see, they are put. These smaller workers never take any part in the outdoor labours; but they occasionally leave the nest, apparently for the sole purpose of obtaining air and exercise, for when they leave the nest they merely run about doing nothing, and frequently, as if in mere sport, mount some of the semicircular pieces of leaf which the carrier ants are taking to the nest, and so get a ride home.

From his continued observation of these ants, Bates concludes—and his opinion has been corroborated by that[94] both of Belt and Müller—that the object of all this labour is highly interesting and remarkable. The leaves when gathered do not themselves appear to be of any service to the ants as food; but when cut into small fragments and stored away in the nests, they become suited as a nidus for the growth of a minute kind of fungus on which the ants feed. We may therefore call these insects the 'gardening ants,' inasmuch as all their labour is given to the rearing of nutritious vegetables on artificially prepared soil. They are not particular as to the material which they collect and store up for soil, provided that it is a material on which the fungus will grow. Thus they are very partial to the inside white rind of oranges, and will carry off the flowers of certain shrubs while leaving the leaves untouched. But, to quote again from Bates,—

In Büchner's 'Geistesleben der Thiere' there is published an interesting description of the habits of these ants, which was communicated to the author by Dr. Fr. Ellendorf of Wiedenbrück, who has lived many years in Central America. Dr. Ellendorf says that—

This observer made the experiment of interrupting the advance of a column of these ants, with the interesting result which he describes:—

Harvesting Ants (Atta).—The ants which, so far as at[97] present known, practise the peculiar and distinctive habits to be described under this division belong for the most part to one genus, Atta, which, however, comprises a number of species distributed in localised areas over all the four quarters of the globe. Hitherto nineteen species have been detected as having the habits in question. These consist of gathering nutritious seeds of grasses during summer, and storing them in granaries for winter consumption. We owe our present knowledge concerning these insects to Mr. Moggridge,[34] who studied them in the south of Europe, Dr. Lincecum,[35] and Mr. MacCook,[36] who studied them in Texas, and Colonel Sykes [37] and Dr. Jerdon,[38] who made some observations upon them in India. They also occur scattered over a great part of Europe and in Palestine, where they were clearly known to Solomon and other classical writers of antiquity,[39] whose claim to accurate observation, although long disputed (owing to the authority of Huber), has now been amply vindicated.

Mr. Moggridge, who was a careful and industrious observer, found the following points of interest in the habits of the European harvesters. From the nest in various directions there proceed outgoing trains, which may be from twenty to thirty or more yards in length, and each consists of a double row of ants, moving, like the leaf-cutting ants, in opposite directions. Those in the outgoing row are empty-handed, while those in the incoming row are laden. But here the burdens are grass seeds. The roads terminate in the foraging ground, or ant-fields, and the insects composing the columns there become dispersed by hundreds among the seed-yielding grasses. The following is their method of collecting seeds; I quote from Moggridge:—

The recognition of the principle of the division of labour which the latter observation supplies, is further proved by the following quotation from the same author. A dead grasshopper which was being carried into their nest was—

Büchner (loc. cit. p. 101) also makes the following references to the statements of previous observers:—

The recognition of the principle of the division of labour, which is shown by the above observations, is further corroborated by the following quotation from Belt:—

The same thing has been observed, as already stated, of the leaf-cutting ants—those engaged in cutting frequently throwing down the fragments of leaf which they cut to the carriers below. The prevalence of this habit among various species of ants therefore renders credible the following statements of Vincent Gredler of Botzen which are thus recorded in 'der Zool. Gart.,' xv. p. 434:—

Many other instances of the division of labour might be given besides these, and those to be mentioned hereafter in other connections throughout the course of the present chapter; but enough has been said to show that the principle is unquestionably acted upon by sundry species of ants.

That ants are liable to make mistakes, and, when they do, that they profit by experience, is shown by the following experiment made by Moggridge; and many other instances might be given were it desirable:—

When the grain is thus taken into the nest, it is stored in regular granaries, but not until it has been denuded of its 'husks' or 'chaff.' The denuding process is carried on below ground, and the chaff is brought up to the surface, where it is laid in heaps to be blown away by the wind.

It is a remarkable thing, and one not yet understood, why the seed, when thus stored in subterranean chambers just far enough below the surface to favour germination, does not germinate. Moggridge says that out of twenty-one nests and among many thousands of seeds that he examined, he only found twenty-seven cases of incipient germination. Moreover, all these cases occurred in months from November to February, while in the nests opened in October, March, April, and May, no sprouted seeds were discovered, though these are the months highly favourable to germination. He is at a loss to suggest the treatment to which the ants expose the seeds in order to prevent their sprouting. 'Apparently it is not that moisture or warmth or the influence of atmospheric air is denied to the seeds, for we find them in damp soil in genial weather, and often at but a trifling distance below the surface of the ground;' and he has proved that the vitality of the seeds is not impaired, for he succeeded in raising crops of young plants from seeds removed from the granaries.

These experiments consisted in confining a large number of harvesting ants with their queen and larvæ in a glass test-tube partly filled with damp soil and various seeds, the whole being closed with a cork in the mouth of the test-tube. Under these circumstances the seeds all sprouted, showing that mere confinement in an atmosphere of exhalations from the ants did not prevent germination. Another series of experiments, undertaken at the suggestion of Mr. Darwin, on the effects of an atmosphere of formic acid, showed that although this vapour was very injurious to the seeds, it did not prevent their incipient germination. Therefore it yet remains to be ascertained why the seeds do not germinate in the granaries of the ants.

But in whatever way the ants manage to prevent germination, it is certain that they are aware of the importance in this connection of keeping the seeds as dry as possible; for Moggridge repeatedly observed that when the seeds which had been stored proved over-moist, the ants again took them out and spread them in the sun to dry, to be again brought into the nest after a sufficient exposure.

Lastly, he also repeatedly observed the most surprising and interesting fact that when, as we have seen was occasionally the case, the seeds did begin to germinate in the nests, the ants knew the most effective method of preventing the germination from proceeding; for he found that in these cases the ants gnawed off the tips of the radicles. This fact deserves to be considered as one of the most remarkable among the many remarkable facts of ant-psychology.

Passing on now to the harvesting or agricultural ants[103] of Texas, attention was first called to the habits of this insect by Mr. Buckley in 1860,[40] and by Dr. Lincecum, who sent an account of his observations to Mr. Darwin, by whom they were communicated to the Linnæan Society in 1861. Five years later a paper was published in the Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia from the MS. of Dr. Lincecum. Lastly, in 1877 Mr. MacCook went to Texas expressly to study the habits of these insects, and he has recently embodied the results of his observations in a book of three hundred pages.[41] These observations are for the most part confirmatory of those of Lincecum, and for this as well as for reasons to be deduced from the work itself, they deserve to be accepted as trustworthy, notwithstanding that in some cases they are provokingly incomplete. The following is an epitome of these observations.

The ants clear away all the herbage above their nest in the form of a perfect circle, or 'disk,' 15 or 20 feet in diameter, by carefully felling every stalk of grass or weed that may be growing thereon. As the nests are placed in thickly grown localities, the effect of these bald or shaven disks is highly conspicuous and peculiar, exactly resembling in miniature the clearings which the settlers make in the American backwoods. The disk, however, is not merely cleared of herbage, but also carefully levelled, all inequalities of the surface being reduced by building pellets of soil into the hollows to an extent sufficient to make a uniformly flat surface. The action of rain and the constant motion of multitudes of ants cause this flat surface to become hard and smooth. In the centre of the disk is the gateway of the nest. This may be either a simple hole or a hollow cone.

From the disk in various directions there radiate ant-roads or avenues, which are cleared and smoothed like the disk itself, and which course through the thick surrounding grass, branching and narrowing as they go till they eventually taper away. These roads are usually three or four in number before they begin to branch, but may be[104] as many as seven. They are usually two to three inches wide at their origin, but in large nests may be as much as five. MacCook found no road longer than sixty feet, but Lincecum describes one of three hundred feet. Along these hard and level roads there is always passing, during the daytime of the harvesting season, a constant stream of ants—those going from the nest being empty-handed, and those returning to it being laden with seeds. Of course the incoming ants, converging from all quarters upon the road, and therefore increasing in numbers as they approach the nest, require greater space for free locomotion; while the outgoing ants, diverging as they get further from home, also require greater proportional space the less their distance from the nest: hence the gradual swelling in the width of the roads as they approach the nests.

The manner of collecting the seeds in the jungle surrounding the roads is thus described by MacCook:—

But these ants do not confine their harvesting operations to gathering fallen seeds; they will, like the ants of Europe, also cut seeds from the stalk.

The 'granaries' into which the seeds are brought are kept distinct from the 'nurseries' for the pupæ. Their walls, floor, and roof are so hard and smooth, that MacCook thinks the insects must practise upon them 'some rude mason's craft.'

He traced these granaries to a depth of four feet below the surface of the ground, and believes, from the statements of a native peasant, that they, or at least the formicaries, extend to a depth of fifteen feet.

As regards the care that the ants take of the gathered grain, Lincecum describes the same habit as Moggridge and Sykes describe—viz., the sunning of wet seeds to[106] dry. MacCook, however, neglected to make any experiments on this subject. Neither has he been able to throw any light upon the question as to why the stored seeds do not germinate, and is doubtful whether the habit of gnawing the radicle of sprouting seeds, which prevails in the European species, is likewise practised by the American. On two other points of importance MacCook's observations are also incomplete. One of these has reference to an alleged statement, which he is disposed to believe, that when some ants in a community have been killed by poison, the survivors avoid the poison: he, however, made no experiments to test this statement.

The other main point on which his observations are defective has reference to a remarkable statement made by Lincecum in the most emphatic terms. This statement is that upon the surface of their disk the ants sow the seeds of a certain plant, called ant-rice, for the purpose of subsequently reaping a harvest of the grain. There is no doubt that the ant-disks do very often support this peculiar kind of grass, and that the ants are particularly fond of its seed; but whether the plant is actually sown in these situations by the insects, or grows there on account of these situations being more open than the general surface of the ground—this question MacCook has failed to answer, or even to further. We are, therefore, still left with Dr. Lincecum's emphatic assurance that he has witnessed the fact. His account is that the seed of the ant-rice, which is a biennial plant, is sown in time for the autumnal rains to bring up. At the beginning of November a green row or ring of ant-rice, about four inches wide, is seen springing up round the circumference of the disk. In the vicinity of this circular ring the ants do not permit a single spire of any other grass or weed to remain a day, but leave the aristida, or ant-rice, untouched until it ripens, which occurs in June of the next year. After the maturing and harvesting of the seed, the dry stubble is cut away and removed from the pavement or disk, which is thus left unencumbered until the ensuing autumn, when the same species of grass again appears as before, and so on. Lincecum says he has seen[107] the process go on year after year on the same ant-farms, and adds,—

In a second letter Dr. Lincecum, in reply to an inquiry from Mr. Darwin whether he supposed that the ants plant seeds for the ensuing crop, says:—

Now, MacCook found the ant-rice growing as described, but only on some nests. Why it does not grow upon all the nests he does not understand. So far, then, as his observations go, they confirm those of Dr. Lincecum; but he does 'not believe that the ants deliberately sow a crop as Lincecum asserts;' he thinks 'that they have for some reason found it to their advantage to permit the aristida to grow upon their disks, while they clear off all other herbage;' but finally concludes 'that there is nothing unreasonable, nor beyond the probable capacity of the emmet intellect, in the supposition that the crop is actually sown. Simply, it is the Scotch verdict—"Not proven."'

The following facts with regard to 'modes of mining' are worth quoting from MacCook:—

A curious habit has been noticed by most observers to occur in many species of ant, and it is one on which Mr. MacCook has a good deal to say. The habit in question consists in the ants transporting one another from place to place. The carrying ant seizes her comrade by the middle, and hurries along with it held aloft—the ant which is carried remaining quite motionless with all her legs drawn together. Huber supposed the process to be one enjoyable to both the insects concerned, and to be performed by mutual understanding and consent; but MacCook, in common with most other observers, supposes that it is[110] merely a rough and primitive way of communicating to fellow-workers the locality where their services are required. He says:—

The Tree Ant of India and New South Wales.—These ants are remarkable from their habit of forming nests only in trees. According to Col. Sykes' account, the shape of the nest is more or less globular, and about ten inches in diameter. It is formed entirely of cow-dung, which the[111] insects collect from the ground beneath, and work into the form of thin scales. These are then built together in an imbricated manner, like tiles or slates upon the roof of a house, the upper or outer scale, however, being one unbroken sheet, which covers the whole nest like a skull-cap. Below this the scales are placed one upon another in a wavy or scalloped manner, so that numerous little arched entrances are left, and yet, owing to the imbricated manner in which the scales are arranged, the interior of the nest is perfectly protected from rain. This interior consists of a number of irregular cells, the walls of which are formed by the same process as the exterior.

In New South Wales there is another species of ant which also frequents trees, but builds within the stem and branches. In the report of Captain Cook's expedition its habits are thus described:—'Their habitations are the insides of the branches of a tree, which they contrive to excavate, by working out the pith almost to the extremity of the slenderest twig; the tree at the same time flourishing as if it had no such inmate.' On breaking one of the branches the ants swarm out in legions. Some of our native species also have the habit of excavating the interior of trees, though not on so extensive a scale.

Honey-making Ant (Myrmecocystus mexicanus).—This ant is found in Texas and New Mexico. Capt. W. B. Fleeson has observed its habits, and his observations have been communicated to the Californian Academy of Sciences, and also, by Mr. Henry Edwards, to Mr. Darwin. The following are the chief points of interest in Capt. Fleeson's results:—

The nest is placed in sandy soil in the neighbourhood of shrubs and flowers, is a perfect square, and occupies about four or five square feet of ground, the surface of which is kept almost unbroken. But the boundaries of the nest are rendered conspicuous by the guard of black workers (III.), which continuously parade round three of its sides in a close double line of defence, moving in opposite directions. In the accompanying diagram this sentry path is represented by the thick black lines. These always face the same points of the compass, and the direction in which the sentries march is one column from south-west to south-east, and the other column from south-east to south-west—each column, however, moving in regular order round three sides of a square. The southern side of the encampment is left unguarded; but if any enemy approaches on this or any other side, a number of the guards leave their stations, and sally forth to face the foe—raising themselves on their hind tarsi on meeting the enemy, and moving their large mandibles in defiance. Spiders, wasps, beetles, and other insects, if they venture too near the nest, are torn to pieces by the guard in a most merciless manner, and the dead body of the vanquished is speedily removed from the neighbourhood of the nest—the guard then marching back to resume their places in the line of defence, their object in destroying other insects being the defence of their encampment, and not the obtaining of food.

The object of leaving the southern side of the square encampment open is as follows. While some of the black workers are engaged on duty as guard, another and larger division are engaged on duty as purveyors. These enter and leave the quadrangle by its open or southern side along the dotted line marked a to the central point c. The incoming line is composed of individuals each bearing[113] a burden of fragments of flowers or aromatic leaves. These are all deposited in the centre of the quadrangle c. Along the other diagonal e there is a no less incessantly moving double line of yellow workers (I.), whose office it is to convey the supplies deposited by the black workers at c to b, which is the gateway of the fortress. It is remarkable that no black ant is ever seen upon the line e, and no yellow one upon the line a; each keeps his own separate station, and follows his own particular duty with a steadfastness and apparent adherence to discipline that are most astonishing. The hole at d seems to be a ventilating shaft; it is never used as a gateway.

Section of the nest reveals, besides galleries, a small chamber about three feet below the surface, across which is spread, like a spider's web, a network of squares spun by the insects, the squares being about ¼ inch across, and[114] the ends of the whole net being fastened to the earthen walls of the chamber. In each one of the squares, supported by the web, sits one of the honey-making ants (II.). Here these honey makers live in perpetual confinement, and receive a constant supply of flowers, pollen, &c., which is continually being brought them by (I.), and which, by a process analogous to that performed by the bee, they convert into honey.

Such is an epitome of the only account that the world has yet received of the habits and economy of this wonderful insect, whose instincts of military organization seem to be not less wonderful than those of the Ecitons, though in this case they are developed with reference to defence, and not to aggression. It is especially noteworthy that the black and yellow workers are believed to belong to 'two separate genera;' for if this is the case, it is the only one I can recall of two distinct species co-operating for a common end; for even the nearest parallel which we find supplied in other species of ants maintaining aphides, is not quite the same thing, seeing that the aphides are merely passive agents, like Class II., of the honey-making ant, and not actively co-operating members of the community, like Class I.

Ecitons.—We have next to consider the habits of the wonderful 'foraging,' or, as it might be more appropriately called, the military ant of the Amazon. These insects, which belong to several species of the same genus, have been carefully watched by Belt, Bates, and other naturalists. The following facts must therefore be accepted as fully established.

Eciton legionis moves in enormous armies, and everything that these insects do is done with the most perfect instinct of military organization. The army marches in the form of a rather broad and regular column, hundreds of yards in length. The object of the march is the capture and plunder of other insects, &c., for food, and as the well-organised host advances, its devastating legions set all other terrestrial life at defiance. From the main column there are sent out smaller lateral columns, the composing individuals of which play the part of scouts,[115] branching off in various directions, and searching about with the utmost activity for insects, grubs, &c., over every log, under every fallen leaf, and in every nook and cranny where there is any chance of finding prey. When their errand is completed, they return into the main column. If the prey found is sufficiently small for the scouts themselves to manage, it is immediately seized, and carried back to the main column; but if the amount is too large for the scouts to deal with alone, messengers are sent back to the main column, whence there is immediately dispatched a detachment large enough to cope with the requirements. Insects which when killed are too large for single ants to carry, are torn in pieces, and the pieces conveyed back to the main army by different individuals. Many insects in trying to escape run up bushes and shrubs, where they are pursued from branch to branch and twig to twig by their remorseless enemies, until on arriving at some terminal ramification they must either submit to immediate capture by their pursuers, or drop down amid the murderous hosts beneath. As already stated, all the spoils that are taken by the scouts or by the detachments sent out in answer to their demands for assistance, are immediately taken back to the main column. When they arrive there, they are taken to the rear of that column by two smaller columns of carriers, which are constantly running, one on either side of the main column, with the supplies that are constantly pouring in from both sides. Each of these outside columns is a double line, the ants composing one of the two lines all running in the same direction as the main army, and the ants composing the other line all running in the opposite direction. The former are empty-handed carriers, which having deposited their burdens in the rear, are again advancing to the van for fresh burdens. Those composing the other line are all laden with the mangled remains of insects, pupæ of other ants, &c. On either side of the main column there are also constantly running up and down a few individuals of smaller size and lighter colour than the other ants, which seem to play the part of officers; for they never leave their stations, and while running up and[116] down the outsides of the column, they every now and again stop to touch antennæ with some member of the rank and file, as if to give instructions. When the scouts discover a wasp's nest in a tree, a strong force is sent out from the main army, the nest is pulled to pieces, and all the larvæ carried to the rear of the army, while the wasps fly around defenceless against the invading multitude. Or, if the nest of any other species of ant is found, a similarly strong force, or perhaps the whole army is deflected towards it, and with the utmost energy the innumerable insects set to work to sink shafts and dig mines till the whole nest is rifled of its contents. In these mining operations the ants work with an extraordinary display of organized co-operation; for those low down in the shafts do not lose time by carrying up the earth which they excavate, but pass on the pellets to those above; and the ants on the surface, when they receive the pellets, carry them, 'with an appearance of forethought that quite staggered' Mr. Bates, only just far enough to ensure that they shall not roll back again into the shaft, and, after depositing them, immediately hurry back for more. But there is not a rigid division of labour, although the work 'seems to be performed by intelligent co-operation amongst a host of eager little creatures;' for some of them act 'sometimes as carriers of pellets, and at another as miners, and all shortly afterwards assume the office of conveyors of the spoil.' Again, as showing the instincts of co-operation, the following may also be quoted from Bates's account:—

These Ecitons have no fixed nest themselves, but live, as it were, on a perpetual campaign. At night, however, they call a halt and pitch a camp. For this purpose they usually select a piece of broken ground, in the interstices of which they temporarily store their plunder. In the morning the army is again on the march, and before an hour or two has passed not a single ant is to be seen where the countless multitudes had previously covered the ground.

Another and larger species of Eciton (E. humata) hunts sometimes in dense armies, and sometimes in columns, according to the kind of prey of which they are in search. When in columns they are seeking for the nests of a certain species of ant which have their young in holes of rotten logs. These Ecitons when seeking for these nests hunt about, like those just described, in columns, which branch off in various directions. When a fallen log is reached, the column spreads over it, searching through all the holes and cracks. Mr. Belt says of them:—

The columns of this species 'are composed almost entirely of workers of different sizes;' but, as in the species previously mentioned, 'at intervals of two or three yards there are larger and lighter coloured individuals that often stop, and sometimes run a little backward, stopping and touching some of the ants with their antennæ,' and looking 'like officers giving orders and directing the march of the column.'

It was this ant which, as previously stated, showed sympathy and fellow-feeling with companions in difficulties.

The habits of E. drepanophora are closely similar to those of the species already described; and, indeed,[120] except in matters of detail, all the species of Ecitons have much the same habits. Mr. Bates records an interesting observation which he made on one of the moving columns of this species. He says: 'When I interfered with the column or abstracted an individual from it, news of the disturbance was quickly communicated to a distance of several yards to the rear, and the column at that point commenced retreating.' The main column is in this species narrower, viz., 'from four to six deep,' but extends to a great length, viz., half a mile or more. It was this species of Eciton that the same naturalist describes as enjoying periods of leisure and recreation in the 'sunny nooks of the forest.'

Lastly, there are two species of Eciton totally blind, and their habits differ from those of the species which we have hitherto considered. Bates writes of them:—

Annornia arcens.—This is the so-called 'driver' or 'marching' ant of West Africa, which in habits and intelligence closely resembles the military ants of the other hemisphere. I shall therefore not wait again to describe these habits in detail. Like the Ecitons, the marching ants of Africa have no fixed nest, but make temporary halts in the shade of hollow trees, overhanging rocks, &c. They march in large armies, and, like the Ecitons, always in the form of a long close column; but in this case the relative position of the carriers of spoil and larvæ is reversed,[122] for while these occupy the middle place the soldiers and officers march on either side. These have large heads armed with powerful jaws, and never take part in carrying; their function is to maintain order, act as scouts, and attack prey. The habits of these ants resemble most closely those of the blind Ecitons in that they very frequently, and indeed generally, build covered ways; they do so apparently in order to protect themselves from the heat of the African sun. Their line of march is therefore marked by a continuous arch or tunnel, which is always being constructed by the van of the column. The structure is made of earth moulded together by saliva, and is very quickly built. But it is only built in places where the line of march is exposed to the sunlight; at night, or in the shadow of trees or long grass, it is not made. If their camp is flooded by a tropical rainstorm, the ants congregate in a close mass, with the younger ants in the centre; they thus form a floating island.

It is remarkable that ants of different hemispheres should manifest so close a similarity with respect to all these wonderful habits. The Chasseur ants of Trinidad, and, according to Madame Merian, the ants of visitation of Cayenne, also display habits of the same kind.

General Intelligence of Various Species.

Many of the foregoing facts display an astonishing degree of intelligence as obtaining among ants; for I think that however much latitude we may be inclined to allow to 'blind instinct' in the way of imitating actions elsewhere due to conscious purpose, some at least of these foregoing facts can only be fairly reconciled with the view that the insects know what they are doing and why they are doing it. But as I am myself well aware of the difficulty that arises in all such cases of drawing the line between purposeless instinct and purposive intelligence, I have thought it desirable to reserve for this concluding division of the present chapter several isolated facts which have been observed among sundry species of ants, and which do not[123] seem to admit of being reasonably comprised under the category of instinctive action, if by the latter we mean action pursued without knowledge of the relation between the means adopted and the ends attained.

It will be remembered that our test of instinctive as distinguished from truly intelligent action is simply whether all individuals of a species perform similar adaptive movements under the stimulus supplied by similar and habitual circumstances, or whether they manifest individual and peculiar adaptive movements to meet the exigencies of novel and peculiar circumstances. The importance of this distinction may be rendered manifest by the following illustrations.

We have already seen that the ants which Sir John Lubbock observed display many and complex instincts, which together might seem to justify us in anticipating that animals which present such wonderful instincts must also present sufficient general intelligence to meet simple though novel exigencies by such simple adaptations as the unfamiliar circumstances require. Yet experiments which he made in this connection seem to show that such is not the case, but that these ants, with all their wealth of instinctive endowments, are utterly destitute of intelligent resources; they have abundance of common and detailed knowledge (supposing the adaptations to be made consciously) how to act under certain complex though familiar circumstances, but appear quite unable to originate any adaptive action to obviate even the simplest conceivable difficulty, if this is of a kind which they have not been previously accustomed to meet. Thus, on a horizontal rod B supported in a saucer of water S, and therefore inaccessible to the ants from beneath, he placed some larvæ A. On the nest N he then placed a block of wood C D, constructed so that the portion D should touch[124] the larvæ at A. When the ants had made a number of journeys over C D A and back again, he raised the block C D so that there was an interval ³/₁₀ of an inch between the end of the block D and the larvæ at A.

In another experiment he interposed a light straw bridge on the way between the nest and the larvæ, and when the ants had well learnt the way, he drew the bridge a short distance towards the nest, so that a small chasm was made in the road. The ants tried hard and ineffectually to reach across it, but it did not occur to them to push the straw into its original position.

The following experiment is still more illustrative of the absence of intelligence, because the adjustive action required would not demand the exercise of such high powers of imagination and abstraction as would have been required for the moving forwards of the paper drawbridge.

Another and somewhat similar experiment consisted in placing an upright stick A, supporting at an angle another stick B, which nearly but not quite touched the ground at C. At the end of the stick B there were placed some larvæ in a horizontal glass cell at D. Into this cell were also placed a number of ants along with the larvæ. The drop from D to C was only ½ an inch; 'still, though the ants reached over and showed a great anxiety to take this short cut home, they none of them faced the leap, but all went round by the sticks, a distance of nearly 7 feet.' Sir John then reduced the interruption to ²/₅ of an inch, so that the ants could even touch the glass cell with their antennæ; yet all day long the ants continued to go the long way round rather than face the drop. Next, therefore, he took still longer sticks and tapes, and arranged them as before, only horizontally instead of vertically. He also placed some fine earth under the glass cell containing the larvæ. The ants as before continued to go the long way round (16 feet), though the drop could not have hurt either themselves or the larvæ, and though even this drop might have been obviated by heaping up the fine earth into a little mound ¹/₈ of an inch high, so as to touch the glass cell.

It is desirable, however, here to state that all species of ants do not show this aversion to allowing themselves to drop through short distances; for Moggridge describes the harvesting ants of Europe as seeming rather to enjoy acrobatic performances of this kind; and the same fact is recorded by Belt of the leaf-cutting ants of the Amazons. Dr. Bastian, in his work on 'Brain as an Organ of Mind,' suggests that the 'seeming lack of intelligence betrayed by our English ants, from their disinclination to take a small leap, may be due simply to their defective sight'[126] (pp. 241-2). But even this consideration does not extenuate the stupidity of the ants which failed to heap up the fine earth to reach the glass cell which they were able to touch with their antennæ.

That the species of ants on which Sir John Lubbock experimented were not, however, quite destitute of intelligence is proved by the result of the following experiment:—

This experiment was several times repeated on L. niger and on L. flavus, always with the same result.

Thus, then, we may conclude that the reasoning power of these ants, although shown by the first experiments to be almost nil, is shown by this experiment to be not quite nil; for the attempt to meet the exigencies of the case by first going round the box to seek another entrance, before taking the labour to remove the earth from the known entrance, implies a certain rudimentary degree of adaptive capacity which belongs to the category of the rational.

Another point of considerable interest, as bearing on the general intelligence of ants, is one that was brought out as the result of a laborious series of hourly observations, extending without intermission from 6.30 A.M. to 10 P.M. for a period of three months. The object of these observations was to ascertain whether the principle of the[127] division of labour is practised by the ants. The result of these observations was to show that during the winter-time, when the ants are not active, certain individuals are told off to forage for supplies, and that when any casualty overtakes these individuals, others are told off to supply their places. Thus, in the words of Sir John Lubbock's analysis of his lengthy tables,—

The facts, therefore, certainly seem to indicate that certain ants are told off as foragers, and that during winter, when but little food is required, two or three such foragers are sufficient to provide it.

Although Sir John Lubbock's ants showed such meagre resources of intelligent adjustment, other species of ants, which we have already had occasion to consider, appear to be as remarkable in this respect as they are in respect of[128] their instinctive adjustments. Unfortunately observations on this subject are very sparse, but such as they are they hold out a strong inducement for any one who has the opportunity to experiment with the view of testing the intelligence of those species in connection with which the following observations have been made.

P. Huber records that a wall which had been partly erected by ants was observed by him—

Ebrard, in his 'Etudes de Mœurs' (p. 3), gives the following remarkable instance of the display of intelligence of F. fusca:—

Espinas also observed ('Thierischen Gesellschaften,' German translation, 1879, p. 371) that each single ant made its own plan and followed it until a comrade, which had caught the idea, joined it, and then they worked together in the execution of the same plan.

And again, as showing apparently intelligent adaptation of their usual habits to altered circumstances, he gives an account of the behaviour of these ants when a great crowd of them were confined by him in a glass jar containing earth. He says:—

Concerning the harvesting ant of Texas, the following quotation may be made, under the present head, from MacCook. After remarking that these ants always select sunny places wherein to build their nests, or disks, he goes on to say that within a few paces of his tent—

He also gives us a still more remarkable observation, which indeed, I must candidly say, does not appear to me credible. I am, therefore, glad to add that it does not appear very distinctly from the account whether the author himself made the observation, or had it narrated to him by his guide. But here is the observation in his own words:—

From this account it is not very clear whether the writer himself saw evidence of the former denudation of the tree, and if so whether there was any indication, other than the word of the farmer, that the denudation had been effected by the ants. To make this conclusion credible the best conceivable evidence would be required, and this, unfortunately, is just what we find wanting. Somewhat the same remarks may be made on the following quotation from the same writer, though in this case his view is to some extent supported by an observation of Moggridge, as well as by that of Ebrard already quoted:—

The observation of Moggridge, to which I have alluded as in some measure rendering support to the foregoing, is as follows. Speaking of European harvesters which he kept in an artificial nest for the purposes of close observation, he says:[133]—

Lastly, the statements of these three observers taken together serve to render credible the following quotation from Bingley,[43] who says that in Captain Cook's expedition in New South Wales ants were seen by Sir Joseph Banks and others—

This remarkable fact also seems to be corroborated by the following independent observation of Sir E. Tennent:—

I shall now pass on to the remarkable observation communicated to Kirby by Colonel Sykes, F.R.S., and which is thus narrated by Kirby in his 'History, Habits, and Instincts of Animals:'—

Colonel Sykes was a good observer, so that this statement, standing upon his authority, ought not, perhaps, to be questioned. But in all cases of remarkable intelligence displayed by animals, we naturally and properly desire corroboration, however good the authority may be on which the statement of such cases may rest. I will, therefore, add the following instances of the ingenious and determined manner in which ants overcome obstacles, and which so far lend confirmation to the above account.

Professor Leuckart placed round the trunk of a tree, which was visited by ants as a pasture for aphides, a broad cloth soaked in tobacco-water. When the ants returning home down the trunk of the tree arrived at the soaked cloth, they turned round, went up the tree again to some of the overhanging branches, and allowed themselves to drop clear of the obnoxious barrier. On the other hand, the ants which desired to mount the tree first examined the nature of the barrier, then turned back and procured from a distance little pellets of earth, which they carried in their jaws and deposited one after another upon the tobacco-cloth till a road of earth was made across it, over which the ants passed to and fro with impunity.

This interesting, and indeed surprising observation of Leuckart's is, in turn, a corroboration of an almost identical one made more than a century ago by Cardinal Fleury, and communicated by him to Réaumur, who published it in his 'l'Histoire des Insectes' (1734). The Cardinal smeared the trunk of a tree with birdlime in order to prevent the ants from ascending it; but the insects overcame the obstacle by making a road of earth, small stones, &c., as in the case just mentioned. In another instance the Cardinal saw a number of ants make a bridge across a vessel of water surrounding the bottom of an orange-tree tub. They did so by conveying a number of little pieces of wood, the choice of which material instead of earth or stones, as in the previous case,[136] seems to betoken no small knowledge of practical engineering.

Büchner also gives the following case on the authority of Karl Vogt (loc. cit., p. 128). An apiary of a friend was invaded by ants:—

The same author publishes the following very remarkable observation, quoted from a letter to him by Dr. Ellendorf:—

This observation is strikingly, though unconsciously, confirmed by a recent writer in the Leisure Hour (1880, pp. 718-19), who having been much troubled by small red ants in the tropics swarming over his provisions, placed the latter in a meat-safe detached from the wall and standing on four legs, each of which was placed in a little tin vessel containing water. Eight or ten days afterwards[138] he found his provisions in the safe swarming with ants as before, and on investigating their mode of access to them found—

Another observer, writing from the same part of the world to Büchner, gives a still more wonderful account of the ingenuity of Ecitons in crossing water. This observer[139] is Herr H. Kreplin, of Heidemühl (Station Ducherom), 'who lived for nearly twenty years in South America as an engineer, and had often the opportunity of seeing the driver ants in the forests there.' He writes to Büchner, under date May 10, 1876, as follows:—

It is remarkable that the military or driving ants of Africa exhibit precisely similar devices for the bridging of streams, namely, by forming a chain of individuals over which the others pass. By means of similar chains they also let themselves down from trees. It must be observed,[140] however, that these and all the above observations, being independently made and separately recorded, serve to corroborate one another so strongly that we can entertain no reasonable doubt concerning the wonderful facts which they convey.

I shall now bring these numerous instances to a close with a quotation from Mr. Belt, which reveals in the most unequivocal manner surprising powers of observation and rational action on the part of the leaf-cutting ants of South America, whose general habits we have already considered:—

Anatomy and Physiology of Nerve-centres and Sense-organs.

The foregoing facts concerning the intelligence of ants fully justifies Mr. Darwin's observation that 'the brain of an ant is one of the most marvellous atoms of matter in the world, perhaps more so than the brain of a man.' It may therefore be interesting in this particular case to depart from the lines otherwise laid down throughout the present work, and to devote a short section to the anatomy and physiology of this nerve-centre with its appended organs of sense.

The brain of an ant, then, is proportionally larger than that of any other insect. (See Titus Graber, 'Insects,' vol. i. p. 255.) In structure, also, the brain of an ant is in advance of that of other insects, its nearest analogue being the brain of a bee. The superiority of development is particularly remarkable with reference to the 'stalked bodies' of Dujardin; and these are largest in neuter[141] workers, which are the most intelligent members of the community.

Injury of the brain causes, as in higher animals, tetanic spasms and involuntary reflex movements, followed by stupefaction.

The antennæ appear to be the most important of the sense-organs, as their removal produces an extraordinary disturbance in the intelligence of the animal. An ant so mutilated can no longer find its way or recognise companions, and therefore is unable to distinguish between friends and foes. It is also unable to find food, ceases to engage in any labour, and loses all its regard for larvæ, remaining permanently quiet and almost motionless. A somewhat similar disturbance, or rather destruction, of the mental faculties is observable as a result of the same mutilation in the case of bees.[45]

CHAPTER IV.

Powers of Special Sense.

Bees and wasps have much greater powers of sight than ants. They not only perceive objects at a greater distance, but are also able to distinguish their colours. This was proved by Sir John Lubbock, who placed honey on slips of paper similarly formed, but of different colours; when a bee had repeatedly visited a slip of one colour (A), he transposed the slips during the absence of the bee; on its return the insect did not fly to slip B, although this now occupied the position which had been previously occupied by slip A, but again visited slip A, although this now occupied the position which had been previously occupied by slip B. Therefore, as these experiments were again and again repeated both on bees and wasps with uniform results, there can be no question that the insects by their first visits to slip A established an association between the colour of A and the honey upon it, such that, when they again returned and found B in the place of A, they were guided by their memory of the colour rather than by their memory of the position. It was thus shown that the insects could distinguish green, red, yellow, and blue. These experiments also brought out the further fact that both bees and wasps exhibit a marked preference for some colours over others. Thus, in a series of black, white, yellow, orange, green, blue, and red slips, two or three bees paid twenty-one visits to the orange and yellow, and only four to all the other slips. The slips were then moved,[144] after which, out of thirty-two visits, twenty-two were to the orange and yellow. Another colour to which a similar preference is shown is blue.

As regards scent, Sir John found that on putting a few drops of eau de Cologne at the entrance of a beehive, 'immediately a number (about 15) came out to see what was the matter.' Other scents had a similar effect; but on repetition several times the bees became accustomed to the scent, and no longer came out.

As in ants, so in bees, Sir John's experiments failed to yield any evidence of a sense of hearing. But in this connection we must not forget the well-known fact, first observed by Huber, that the queen bee will answer by a certain sound the peculiar piping of a pupa queen; and again, by making a certain cry or humming noise, will strike consternation suddenly on all the bees in the hive—these remaining for a long time motionless as if stupefied.

Sense of Direction.

The following are Sir John Lubbock's observations upon this subject in the case of bees and wasps:—

This observation shows how strong must be the instinct in a wasp to take the shortest way home, and how much the insect depends upon its sense of direction in so doing. It also shows how long a time it requires to learn by individual experience the properties of a previously unknown[145] substance such as glass. But to this latter point we shall presently have occasion to return.

Next we must adduce evidence to show that in way-finding the 'sense of direction' in bees appears to be largely supplemented by observation of particular objects.

Sir John Lubbock observes: 'I never found bees to return if brought any considerable distance at once. By taking them, however, some twenty yards each time they came to the honey, I at length trained them to come to my room;' that is to say, bees require to learn their way little by little before they can return to a store of honey which they may have been fortunate enough to find; their general sense of direction is not in itself a sufficient guide. This, at least, is the case where, as in the experiments in question, the bees are carried from the hive to the store of honey (here a distance of less than 200 yards): possibly if they had found the honey by themselves flying towards it, and so probably taking note of objects by the way, one journey might have proved sufficient to teach them the way. But, whether or not this would have been the case, the fact that when carried they required also to be taught the way piece by piece, is conclusive proof that their sense of direction alone is not sufficient to enable them to traverse a route of 200 yards a second time.

The same result is brought out by other experiments conducted on a different plan, though not apparently with this object. 'My room is square, with two windows on the south-west side, where the hive was placed, and one on the south-east.' Besides the ordinary entrance from outside, the hive had a small postern door opening into the room.

These observations show that even when a bee is not carried from the hive to the honey, but herself flies to it, her sense of direction is not alone sufficient to enable her to find the way back to the hive—or, rather, to the unaccustomed entrance to the hive from which she had come out. Probably if the side window had been open, the bee would have returned to the hive round the corner of the house, and through the entrance to which she was most accustomed. But as it was she had to learn, by five or[147] six journeys, the way between the postern entrance and the food.

But the following observation on a wasp is in this connection the most conclusive.

A marked wasp visited honey exposed in the room before mentioned. 'The next morning she came—

But that the sense of direction is of much service to bees in finding the locality of their hives seems to be indicated by the following observation thus narrated, on the authority of the authors themselves, by Messrs. Kirby and Spence:—

The observation, however, is not so conclusive as its authors suppose; for there is nothing to show that the bees did not take note of particular objects on their accustomed routes, and so learn these routes by stages. It would be worth while in this connection to try the effect of hooding the eyes of a bee, or, if this were deemed too disturbing an experiment, removing the hive bodily to a distance from its accustomed site, and observing whether the bees start away boldly as before for long flights, or learn their new routes by stages.

Mr. John Topham, of Marlborough House, Torquay, writing to 'Nature,'[46] says:—

A closely similar observation has been told me by a friend, Mr. George Turner. He found that when he removed a beehive only a yard or two from its accustomed site, the bees, on returning home, flew in swarms around the latter, and for a long time were unable to find the hive. And several other similar cases might be adduced. Lastly, Thompson says:—

On the other hand, the writer of the article on 'Bees' in the 'Encyclopædia Britannica' says that in certain parts of France it is the habit of bee-keepers to place a number of hives upon a boat, which, in charge of a man, floats slowly down a river. The bees are thus continuously changing their pasture-ground, and yet do not lose their locomotive hives.

It may be here worth while to add, parenthetically, as the only authentic observation with which I am acquainted concerning the distance that bees are accustomed to forage, the following statement of Prof. Hugh Blackburn. Writing from Glasgow University to 'Nature,'[48] he says that bees are found in a certain peach-house every spring at the time of blossom, although, so far as he can ascertain, the beehives nearest to the peach-house in question are his own, and these are at a distance of ten miles.

On the whole, then, and in the absence of further experiments, we must conclude it to be probable that the sense of direction with which hymenopterous insects are, as shown by some of Sir John Lubbock's experiments, unquestionably endowed, is of no small use to them in finding their way from home to food and vice versâ; although it appears certain, from other of his experiments, that this sense of direction is not in all cases a sufficient guide, and therefore requires to be supplemented by the definite observation of landmarks.

But the most conclusive evidence on this latter point is afforded by a highly interesting observation of Mr. Bates on the sand-wasps at Santurem, which may here be suitably introduced, as the insects are not distantly allied. He describes these animals as always taking a few turns in the air round the hole they had made in the sand before leaving to seek for flies in the forest, apparently in order to mark well the position of the burrow, so that on their return they might find it without difficulty. This observation has been since confirmed in a striking manner by Mr. Belt, who found that the sand-wasp takes the most precise bearings of an object the position of which she desires to remember. This observation is so interesting that it deserves to be rendered in extenso:—

Memory.

We may here first allude to an observation of Sir John Lubbock already quoted in another connexion (see p. 147). It is here evident that the wasp, after finding the store of honey in the room, and after finding the window closed in the 'wasp-line' direction to its nest,[152] required three repeated lessons from Sir John before she learnt that the window on the other side of the room, and away from the direction of her nest, afforded no obstacle to her exit. Having learnt this, the fourth time she came she again flew to the closed window as before, and then, as if but dimly remembering that there was another opening somewhere that offered no such mysterious resistance to her passage, 'she took two or three turns round the room, and then flew out through the open window.' Having now taken the bearings of all the room upon her own wings, and having again found the difference between the two windows in respect of resistance, although in all other respects so much alike, the next time she came she made in the first instance as it were an experimental flight towards the closed window, but clearly had the alternative of going to the open one in her memory; for on finding the window closed as before, she did not alight, but flew straight from the closed to the open window. The same thing happened once again, but now, with the distinction between the two windows thus fully learnt, and with it the perception that in this case 'the shortest cut was the longest way round,' she never again flew to the closed window; in the forty successive visits which she paid through the remainder of that day, and the hundred visits or so which she made during the two following days, she seems to have uniformly flown to the open window.

As evidence of forgetfulness, it will be enough to refer to the case of another wasp which, under precisely similar circumstances to those just detailed, learnt her way out of the open window one day, having made fifty passages through it in five hours. Yet Sir John remarks,—

It is further of interest to note, as showing the similarity of the memory displayed by these insects with that of the higher animals, that there are considerable individual differences to be found in the degree of its manifestation.

This latter observation is important, as proving that bees can remember for at least a whole day the locality where they have found honey only once before, and that they so far think about their past experiences as to return to that locality when foraging.

As the association of ideas by contiguity is the principle which forms the basis of all psychology, it is desirable to consider still more attentively this the earliest manifestation that we have of it in the memory of the Hymenoptera. That it is not exercised with exclusive reference to locality is proved by the following observation of Sir John Lubbock:—

One other observation which goes to prove that other things besides locality are noted and remembered by bees may here be quoted. Sir John placed a bee in a bell jar, the closed end of which he held towards a window. The bee buzzed about at that end trying to[154] make for the open air. He then showed her the way out of the open end of the jar, and after having thus learnt it, she was able to find the way out herself. This seems to show that the bee, like the wasp on the closed window-pane, was able to appreciate and to remember the difference between the quality of glass as resisting and air as permeable, although to her sense of vision the difference must have been very slight. In other words, the bee must have remembered that by first flying away from the window, round the edge of the jar, and then towards the window, she could surmount the transparent obstacle; and this implies a somewhat different act of memory from that of associating a particular object—such as honey—with a particular locality. It is noteworthy that a fly under similar circumstances did not require to be taught to find its way out of the jar, but spontaneously found its own way out. This, however, may be explained by the fact that flies do not always direct their flight towards windows, and therefore the escape of this one was probably not due to any act of intelligence.

While upon the subject of memory in the Hymenoptera, it is indispensable that we should again refer to the observation of Messrs. Belt and Bates already alluded to on pages 150-51. For it is from that observation rendered evident that these sand-wasps took definite pains, as it were, to teach themselves the localities to which they desired to return. Mr. Bates further observed that after thus taking a careful mental note of the place, they would return to it without a moment's hesitation after an absence of an hour. The observation of Mr. Belt, already quoted in extenso, proves that these mental notes may be taken with the utmost minuteness, so that even in the most intricate places the insect, on its return, is perfectly confident that it has not made a mistake.

With regard to the duration of memory, Stickney relates a case in which some bees took possession of a hollow place beneath a roof, and having been then removed into a hive, continued for several years to return and occupy the same hole with their successive swarms.[50]

Similarly Huber relates an observation of his own showing the duration of memory in bees. One autumn he put some honey in a window, which the bees visited in large numbers. During the winter the honey was taken away and the shutters shut. When they were again opened in the spring the bees returned, although there was no honey in the window.

These two cases amply prove that the memory of bees is comparable with that of ants, which, as we have seen from analogous facts, also extends at least over a period of many months.

Emotions.

Sir John Lubbock's experiments on this head go to show that the social sympathies of bees are even less developed than he found them to be in certain species of ants. Thus he says:—

Réaumur, however ('Insects,' vol. v., p. 265), narrates a case in which a hive-bee was partly drowned and so rendered insensible; the others in the hive carefully licked and otherwise tended her till she recovered. This seems to show that bees, like ants, are more apt to have their sympathies aroused by the sight of ailing or injured companions than by that of healthy companions in distress; but Sir John Lubbock's observations above quoted go to prove that even in this case display of sympathy is certainly not the rule.

Powers of Communication.

Huber says that when one wasp finds a store of honey 'it returns to its nest, and brings off in a short time a hundred other wasps;' and this statement is confirmed by Dujardin, who witnessed a somewhat similar performance in the case of bees—the individual which first found a concealed store informing other individuals of the fact, and so on till numberless individuals had found it.

Although the systematic experiments of Sir John Lubbock have not tended to confirm these observations with regard to bees and wasps, we must not too readily allow his negative results to discredit these positive observations—more especially as we have seen that his later experiments have fully confirmed the opinion of these previous authors with respect to ants. His experiments on bees and wasps consisted in exposing honey in a hidden situation, marking a bee or wasp that came to it, and observing whether it afterwards brought any companions to share the booty. He found that although the same insect would return over and over again, strangers came so rarely that their visits could only be attributed to accidental and independent discovery. Only if the honey were in an exposed situation, where the insects could see one another feeding, would one follow the other to the food.

But we have the more reason not to accept unreservedly[157] the conclusion to which these experiments in themselves might lead, because the very able observer F. Müller states an observation of his own which must be considered as alone sufficient to prove that bees are able to communicate information to one another:—

Again, Mr. Josiah Emery, writing to 'Nature,'[52] with reference to Sir John Lubbock's experiments, says that the faculty of communication which bees possess is so well and generally known to the 'bee-hunters' of America, that the recognised method of finding a bees' nest is to act upon the faculty in question:—

According to De Fravière, bees have a number of different notes or tones which they emit from the stigmata of the thorax and abdomen, and by which they communicate information. He says:—

This account, which is quoted from Büchner, no doubt bears indications of imaginative colouring; but if the observation as to the emission of sounds is correct—and, as we shall see, this point is well confirmed by other observers—it is most likely concerned in communicating by tone a general idea of good or harm: probably in the former case it acts as a sign, 'follow me;' and in the latter as a signal of danger. Büchner further says that, according to Landois, if a saucer of honey is placed before a hive, a few bees come out, which emit a cry of tut, tut, tut. This note is rather shrill, and resembles the cry of[159] an attacked bee. Hereupon a large number of bees come out of the hive to collect the offered honey.

Lastly, under the present heading I shall quote one other observation, for which I am also indebted to[160] Büchner's very admirable collection of facts relating to the psychology of Hymenoptera:—

General Habits.

The active life of bees is divided between collecting food and rearing young. We shall therefore consider these two functions separately.

The food collected consists of two kinds, honey (which, although stored in the 'crop' for the purpose of carriage from the flowers to the cells, appears to be but the condensed nectar of flowers) and so-called 'bee-bread.' This consists of the pollen of flowers, which is worked into a kind of paste by the bees and stored in their cells till it is required to serve as food for their larvæ. It is then partly digested by the nurses with honey, so that a sort of chyle is formed. It is observable that in each flight the 'carrier bees' collect only one kind of pollen, so that it is possible for the 'house bees' (which, by the way, are the younger bees left at home to discharge domestic duties with only a small proportion of older ones, left probably to direct the more inexperienced young) to sort it for storage in different cells. In the result there are several different kinds of bee-bread, some being more stimulating or nutritious than others. The most nutritious has the effect, when given to any female larva, of developing that larva into a queen or fertile female. This fact is well known to the bees, who only feed a small number of larvæ in this manner, and the larvæ which they select so to feed they place in larger or 'royal' cells, with an obvious foreknowledge[161] of the increased dimensions to which the animal will grow under the influence of this food. Only one queen is required for a single hive; but the bees always raise several, so that if any mishap should occur to one, other larvæ may be ready to fall back upon.

Besides honey and bee-bread two other substances are found in beehives. These are propolis and beeswax. The former is a kind of sticky resin collected for the most part from coniferous trees. This is used as mortar in building, &c. It adheres so strongly to the legs of the bee which has gathered it, that it can only be detached by the help of comrades. For this purpose the loaded bee presents her legs to her fellow-workers, who clean it off with their jaws, and while it is still ductile, apply it round the inside of the hive. According to Huber, who made this observation, the propolis is applied also to the insides of the cells. The workers first planed the surfaces with their mandibles, and one of them then pulled out a thread of propolis from the heap deposited by the carrier bees, severed it by a sudden throwing back of the head, and returned with it to the cell which it had previously been planing. It then laid the thread between the two walls which it had planed; but, proving too long, a portion of the thread was bitten off. The properly measured portion was then forced into the angle of the cell by the fore-feet and mandibles. The thread, now converted into a narrow ribbon, was next found to be too broad. It was therefore gnawed down to the proper width. Other bees then completed the work which this one had begun, till all the walls of the cells were framed with bands of propolis. The object of the propolis here seems to be that of giving strength to the cells.

The wax is a secretion which proceeds from between the segments of the abdomen. Having ingested a large meal of honey, the bees hang in a thick cluster from the top of their hive in order to secrete the wax. When it begins to exude, the bees, assisted by their companions, rub it off into heaps, and when a sufficient quantity of the material has been thus collected, the work begins of building the cells. As the cells are used both for storing food and[162] rearing young, I shall consider them later on. Now we have to pass to the labours incidental to propagation.

All the eggs are laid by one queen, who requires during this season a large amount of nourishment, so much, indeed, that ten or twelve working bees (i.e. sterile females) are set apart as her feeders. Leaving the 'royal cell,' she walks over the nursery-combs attended by a retinue of workers, and drops a single egg into each open cell. It is a highly remarkable fact that the queen is able to control the sex of the eggs which she lays, and only deposits drone or male eggs in the drone cells, and worker or female eggs in the worker cells—the cells prepared for the reception of drone larvæ being larger than those required for the worker larvæ. Young queens lay more worker eggs than old queens, and when a queen, from increasing age or any other cause, lays too large a proportion of drone eggs, she is expelled from the community or put to death. It is remarkable, also, under these circumstances, that the queen herself seems to know that she has become useless, for she loses her propensity to attack other queens, and so does not run the risk of making the hive virtually queenless. There is now no doubt at all that the determining cause of an egg turning out male or female is that which Dzierzon has shown, namely, the absence or presence of fertilisation—unfertilised eggs always developing into males, and fertilised ones into females. The manner, therefore, in which a queen controls the sex of her eggs must depend on some power that she has of controlling their fertilisation.

The eggs hatch out into larvæ, which require constant attention from the workers, who feed them with the chyle or bee-bread already mentioned. In three weeks from the time that the egg is deposited, the white worm-like larva has passed through its last metamorphosis. When it has emancipated itself its nurses assemble round it to wash and caress it, as well as to supply it with food. They then clean out the cell which it has left.

When so large a number of the larvæ hatch out as to overcrowd the hive, it is the function of the queen to lead forth a swarm. Meanwhile several larval queens have been[163] in course of development, and matters are so arranged by the foresight of the bees, that one or more young queens are ready to emerge at a time when otherwise the hive would be left queenless. But the young queen or queens, although perfectly formed, must not escape from their royal prison-houses until the swarm has fairly taken place; the worker bees will even strengthen the coverings of these prison-houses if, owing to bad weather or other causes, swarming is delayed. The prisoner queens, which are fed through a small hole in the roof of their cells, now continually give vent to a plaintive cry, called by the bee-keepers 'piping,' and this is answered by the mother queen. The tones of the piping vary. The reason why the young queens are kept such close prisoners till after the departure of the mother queen with her swarm, is simply that the mother queen would destroy all the younger ones, could she get the chance, by stinging them. The workers, therefore, never allow the old queen to approach the prisons of the younger ones. They establish a guard all round these prisons or royal cells, and beat off the old queen whenever she endeavours to approach. But if the swarming season is over, or anything should prevent a further swarm from being sent out, the worker bees offer no further resistance to the jealousy of the mother queen, but allow her in cold blood to sting to death all the young queens in their nursery prisons. As soon as the old queen leaves with a swarm, the young queens are liberated in succession, but at intervals of a few days; for if they were all liberated at once they would fall upon and destroy one another. Each young queen as it is liberated goes off with another swarm, and those which remain unliberated are as carefully guarded from the liberated sister queen as they were previously guarded from the mother queen. When the season is too late for swarming the remaining young queens are liberated simultaneously, and are then allowed to fight to the death, the survivor being received as sovereign.

Similarly, when a strange queen is put into a hive already provided with a queen—

All these facts display a wonderful amount of apparently sagacious purpose on the part of the workers, although they may not seem to reflect much credit on the intelligence of the queens. But in this connection we must remember the observation of F. Huber, who saw two queens, which were the only ones left in the hive, engaged in mortal combat; and when an opportunity arose for each to sting the other simultaneously, they simultaneously released each other's grasp, as if in horror of a situation that might have ended in leaving the hive queenless. This, then, is the calamity to avert which all[165] the instincts both of workers and queens are directed. And that these instincts are controlled by intelligence is suggested, if not proved, by the adaptations which they show to special circumstances. Thus, for instance, F. Huber smoked a hive so that the queen and older bees effected their escape, and took up their quarters a short distance away. The bees which remained behind set about constructing three royal cells for the purpose of rearing a new queen. Huber now carried back the old queen and ensconced her in the hive. Immediately the bees set about carrying away all the food from the royal cells, in order to prevent the larvæ contained therein from developing into queens. Again, if a strange queen is presented to a hive already provided with one, the workers do not wait for their own queen to destroy the pretender, but themselves sting or smother her to death. When, on the other hand, a queen is presented to a hive which is without one, the bees adopt her, although it is often necessary for the bee-master to protect her for a day or two in a trellis cage, until her subjects have become acquainted with her. When a hive is queenless, the bees stop all work, become restless, and make a dull complaining noise. This, however, is only the case if there is likewise a total absence of royal pupæ, and of ordinary pupæ under three days of age—i.e. the age during which it is possible to rear an ordinary larva into a queen.

As soon as the queen has been fertilised, and the services of the drones therefore no longer required, the worker bees fall upon their unfortunate and defenceless brothers to kill them, either by direct stinging or by throwing them out of the hive to perish in the cold. The drones' cells are then torn down, and any remaining drone eggs or pupæ destroyed. Generally all the drones—which may number more than a thousand—are slaughtered in the course of a single day. Evidently the object of this massacre is that of getting rid of useless mouths; but there is a more difficult question as to why these useless mouths ever came into existence. It has been suggested that the enormous disproportion between the present number of males and the single fertile female refers to[166] a time before the social instincts became so complex or consolidated, and when, therefore, bees lived in lesser communities. Probably this is the explanation, although I think we might still have expected that before this period in their evolution had arrived bees might have developed a compensating instinct, either not to allow the queen to lay so many drone eggs, or else to massacre the drones while still in the larval state. But here we must remember that among the wasps the males do work (chiefly domestic work, for which they are fed by their foraging sisters); so it is possible that in the hive-bee the drones were originally useful members of the community, and that they have lost their primitively useful instincts. But whatever the explanation, it is very curious that here, among the animals which are justly regarded as exhibiting the highest perfection of instinct, we meet with perhaps the most flagrant instance in the animal kingdom of instinct unperfected. It is the more remarkable that the drone-killing instinct should not have been better developed in the direction of killing the drones at the most profitable time—namely, in their larval or oval state—from the fact that in many respects it seems to have been advanced to a high degree of discriminative refinement. Thus, to quote Büchner,—

But the philosophy of drone-killing is, I think, even more difficult in the case of the wasps than in that of the bees. For, unlike the bees, whose communities live from year to year, the wasps all perish at the end of autumn, with the exception of a very few fertilised females. As this season of universal calamity approaches, the workers destroy all the larval grubs—a proceeding which, in the opinion of some writers, strikingly exemplifies the beneficence of the Deity! Now, it does not appear to me easy to understand how the presence of such an instinct in this case is to be explained. For, on the one hand, the individual females which are destined to live through the winter cannot be conspicuously benefited by this slaughter of grubs; and, on the other hand, the rest of the community is so soon about to perish, that one fails to see of what advantage it can be to it to get rid of the grubs. If the whole human race, with the exception of a few women, were to perish periodically once in a thousand years, the race would profit nothing by destroying, a few months before the end of each millennium, all sick persons, lunatics, and other 'useless mouths.' I have not seen this difficulty with regard to the massacring instinct in wasps mentioned before, and I only mention it now in order to draw attention to the fact that there seems to be a more puzzling problem presented here than in the case of the analogous instinct as exhibited by bees. The only solution which has suggested itself to my mind is the possibility that in earlier times, or in other climates, wasps may have resembled bees in living through the winter, and that the grub-slaying instinct is in them a survival of one which[168] was then, as in the case of the bees now, a clearly beneficial instinct.

For some days before swarming begins, there is a great excitement and buzzing in the hive, the temperature of which rises from 92° to 104°. Scouts having been previously sent out to explore for suitable quarters wherein to plant the new colony, these now act as guides. The swarm leaves the hive with their queen. The bees which remain behind busy themselves in rearing out the pupæ, which soon arriving at maturity, also quit the hive in successive swarms. According to Büchner, 'secondary swarms with young queens send out no scouts, but fly at random through the air. They clearly lack the experience and prudence of the older bees.' And, regarding the behaviour of the scouts sent out by primary swarms, this author says:—

Wars.—As with ants, so with bees, the great cause of[169] war is plunder; and facts now well substantiated by numberless observers concerning 'robber-bees' indicate a large measure of intelligence. These aim at lessening their labour in collecting honey by plundering the store of other hives. The robberies may be conducted singly or in concert. When the thieving propensity is developed only in individual cases, the thieves cannot rely on force in plundering a foreign state, and so resort to cautious stealth. 'They show by their whole behaviour—creeping into the hive with careful vigilance—that they are perfectly conscious of their bad conduct; whereas the workers belonging to the hive fly in quickly and openly, and in full consciousness of their right.' If such solitary burglars are successful in obtaining plunder, their bad example leads other members of their own community to imitate them; thus it is that the whole bee-nation may develop marauding habits, and when they do this they act in concert to rob by force. In this case an army of bees precipitates itself upon the foreign hive, a battle ensues, and if successful in overcoming resistance, the invaders first of all search out the queen-bee and put her to death, whereby they disorganise their enemies and plunder the hive with ease. It is observed that when this policy is once successful, the spirit of aggrandisement is encouraged, so that the robber-bees 'find more pleasure in robbery than in their own work, and become at last formidable robber-states.' When an invaded hive is fairly overcome by the invaders killing the queen, the owners of the hive, finding that all is lost, not only abandon further resistance, but very often reverse their policy and join the ranks of their conquerors. They assist in the tearing down of their cells, and in the conveyance of the honey to the hive of their invaders. 'When the assailed hive is emptied, the next ones are attacked, and if no effective resistance is offered, are robbed in similar fashion, so that in this way a whole bee-stand may be gradually destroyed.' Siebold observed the same facts in the case of wasps (Polistes gallica). If, however, the battle turns in favour of the defenders, they pursue the flying legions of their enemies to a distance from their home. It sometimes[170] happens that the plundered hive offers no resistance at all, owing to the robbers having visited the same flowers as the robbed, and so probably (having much the same smell) not being recognised as belonging to a different community. The thieves, when they find such to be the case, may become so bold as to stop the bees that are returning to the hive with their loads, of which they deprive them at the entrance of the hive. This is done by a process which one observer, Weygandt,[56] calls 'milking,' and it seems that the milking bee attains the double advantage of securing the honey from the milked one and disarming suspicion of the other bees by contracting its smell and entering the hive loaded, into which it is admitted without opposition to continue its plunder.

Sometimes robber-bees attack their victims in the fields at a distance from the hives. This sort of highway robbery is generally conducted by a gang of four or five robber-bees which set upon a single honest bee, 'hold him by the legs, and pinch him until he unfolds his tongue, which is sucked in succession by his assailants, who then suffer him to depart in peace.'

It is strange that hive-bees of dishonest temperaments seem able to coax or wheedle humble-bees into the voluntary yielding of honey. 'Humble-bees have been known to permit hive-bees to take the whole honey that they have collected, and to go on gathering more, and handing it over, for three weeks, although they refuse to part with it, or seek refuge in flight, when wasps make similar overtures.'[57]

Besides theft and plunder, there are other causes of warfare among bees, which, however, are only apparent in their effects. Thus, for some undiscernible reason, duels are not infrequent, which generally end in the death of one or both combatants. At other times, equally without apparent reason, civil war breaks out in a hive, which is sometimes attended with much slaughter.

Architecture.—Coming now to the construction of the cells and combs, there is no doubt that here we meet with[171] the most astonishing products of instinct that are presented in the animal kingdom. A great deal has been written on the practical exhibition of high mathematical principles which bees display in constructing their combs in the form that secures the utmost capacity for storage of honey with the smallest expenditure of building material. The shortest and clearest statement of the subject that I have met with is the following, which has been given by Dr. Reid:—

Marvellous as these facts undoubtedly are, they may now be regarded as having been satisfactorily explained. Long ago Buffon sought to account for the hexagonal form of the cells by an hypothesis of mutual pressure. Supposing the bees to have a tendency to build tubular[172] cells, if a greater number of bees were to build in a given space than could admit of all the parallel tubes being completed, tubes with flat sides and sharp angles might result, and if the mutual pressure were exactly equal in all directions, these sides and angles would assume the form of hexagons. This hypothesis of Buffon was sustained by such physical analogies as the blowing of a crowd of soap-bubbles in a cup, the swelling of moistened peas in a confined space, &c. The hypothesis, however, as thus presented was clearly inadequate; for no reason is assigned why the mutual pressure, even if conceded to exist, should always be so exactly equal in all directions as to convert all the cylinders into perfect hexagons—even the analogy of the soap-bubbles and the moistened peas failing, as pointed out by Brougham and others, to sustain it, seeing that as a matter of fact bubbles and peas under circumstances of mutual pressure do not assume the form of hexagons, but, on the contrary, forms which are conspicuously irregular. Moreover, the hypothesis fails to account for the particular prismatic shape presented by the cell base. Therefore it is not surprising that this hypothesis should have gained but small acceptance. Kirby and Spence dispose of it thus:—'He (Buffon) gravely tells us that the boasted hexagonal cells of the bee are produced by the reciprocal pressure of the cylindrical bodies of these insects against each other!!'[59] The double note of admiration here may be taken to express the feelings with which this hypothesis of Buffon was regarded by all the more sober-minded naturalists. Yet it turns out to have been not very wide of the mark. As is often the case with the gropings of a great mind, the idea contains the true principle of the explanation, although it fails as an explanation from not being in a position to take sufficient cognizance of all the facts. Safer it is for lesser minds to restrain their notes of exclamation while considering the theories of a greater; however crude or absurd the latter may appear, the place of their birth renders it not impossible that some day they may prove to have been prophetic of truth revealed by fuller knowledge.[173] Usually in such cases the final explanation is eventually reached by the working of a yet greater mind, and in this case the undivided credit of solving the problem is to be assigned to the genius of Darwin.

Mr. Waterhouse pointed out 'that the form of the cell stands in close relation to the presence of adjoining cells.' Starting from this fact, Mr. Darwin says,—

Mr. Darwin next tested this theory by the experiment of introducing into beehives plates of wax, and observing that the bees worked upon these plates just as the theory required. That is to say, they made their cells by excavating a number of little circular pits at equal distances from one another, so that by the time the pits had acquired the width of an ordinary cell, the sides of the pits intersected. As soon as this occurred the bees ceased to excavate, and instead began to build up flat walls of wax on the lines of intersection. Other experiments with very thin plates of vermilion-coloured wax showed that the bees all worked at about the same rate, and on opposite sides of the plates, so that the common bottoms of any two opposite pits were flat. These flat bottoms 'were situated, as far as the eye could judge, exactly along the planes of imaginary intersection between the basins on the opposite sides of the ridge of wax;' so that if the[175] plate of wax had been thick enough to admit of the opposite basins being deepened (and widened) into cells, the mutual intersection of adjacent as well as opposite bottoms would have given rise, as in the first experiment with the thick plate of wax, to the pyramidal bottoms. Experiments with the vermilion wax also showed, as Huber had previously stated, that a number of individual bees work by turns at the same cell; for by covering parts of growing cells with vermilion wax, Mr. Darwin—

Such, omitting details, is the substance of Mr. Darwin's theory. In summary he concludes,—

This theory, while serving as a full and simple explanation of all the facts, has, as we have seen, been so fully substantiated by observation and experiment, that it deserves to be regarded as raised to the rank of a completed demonstration. It differs from the theory of Buffon in two important particulars: it embraces all the facts, and supplies a cause adequate to explain them. This cause is natural selection, which converts the random 'pressure' in Buffon's theory into a precisely regulated principle. Random pressure alone could never produce the beautifully symmetrical form of the hexagonal cell with the pyramidal bottom; but it could and must have produced the intersection of cylindrical cells among possibly many extinct species of bees, such as the Melipona. Whenever this intersection occurred in crowded nests, it must clearly have been of great benefit in securing economy of precious wax; for in every case where a flat wall of partition between two adjacent cells did duty[176] instead of a double cylindrical wall of separate cells, there wax should have been saved. Thus we can see how natural selection would have worked towards the developing of an instinct to excavate cells near enough together to produce intersection; and once begun, there is no reason why this instinct should not have been perfected by the same agency, till we meet with its ideal perfection in the hive-bee. For as Mr. Darwin observes,—

The problem, then, as to the origin and perfection of the cell-making instinct appears thus to have been fully and finally solved. I shall now adduce a few facts to show that while the general instinct of building hexagonal cells has doubtless been acquired by natural selection in the way just explained, it is nevertheless an instinct not wholly of a blind or mechanical kind, but is constantly under the control of intelligent purpose. Thus Mr. Darwin observes,[177]—

Again, Huber saw a bee building upon the wax which had already been put together by her comrades. But she did not arrange it properly, or in a way to continue the design of her predecessors, so that her building made an undesirable corner with theirs. 'Another bee perceived it, pulled down the bad work before our eyes, and gave it to the first in the requisite order, so that it might exactly follow the original direction.' Similarly, to quote Büchner,—

Special Habits.

The Mason-Bee.—This insect closes the roof of its larval cell with a kind of mortar, which sets as hard as stone. A little hole, closed only with soft mud, is, however, left in one part of the roof as a door of exit for the matured insect. It is said that when a mason-bee finds an old and deserted nest, it saves itself the trouble of making a new one—utilising the ready-made nest after having well cleaned it. In Algiers the mason-bees have been observed in this way to utilise empty snail-shells. According to Blanchard, some individuals avoid the labour of making their own nests or houses for their young, by possessing themselves of their neighbours' houses either by craft or by force. 'Does the mason-bee act like a machine,' says E. Menault, 'when it directs its work according[179] to circumstances, possesses itself of old nests, cleanses and improves them, and thereby shows that it can fully appreciate the immediate position? Can one believe that no kind of reflection is here necessary?'

The Tapestry-Bee.—The so-called tapestry-bee digs holes for her larvæ three or four inches deep in the earth, and lines the walls and floor of the chamber with petals of the poppy laid perfectly smooth. Several layers of petals are used, and when the eggs are introduced the chamber is closed by drawing all the leaves together at the top. Loose earth is then piled over the whole structure in order to conceal it. The so-called rose-bee (Megachile centuncularis) displays very similar habits.[63]

The Carpenter-Bee.—This was first observed and described by Réaumur.[64] It makes a long cylindrical tube in the wood of beams, palings, &c. This it divides into a number of successive chambers by partitions made of agglutinated saw-dust built across the tube at right angles to its axis. In each chamber there is deposited a single egg, together with a store of pollen for the nourishment of the future larva. The larvæ hatch out in succession and in the order of their age—i.e. the dates at which they were deposited. To provide for this, the bee bores a hole from the lower cell to the exterior, so that each larva, when ready to escape from its chamber, finds an open way from the tube. The larvæ have to cut their own way out through the walls of their respective chambers, and it is remarkable that they always cut through the wall that faces the tubular passage left by the parent; they never bore their way out in the opposite direction, which, were they to do so, would entail the destruction of all the other and immature larvæ.

The Carding-Bee.—This insect surrounds its nest with a layer of wax, and then with a thick covering of moss. For this purpose a number of bees co-operate, and in order to save time each bee does not find and carry its own moss, but, with a division of labour similar to that[180] which we have already noticed in the case of certain ants, a row of bees is formed, and the bits of moss passed from one to another along the line. There is a long passage to the nest, through which the moss has to be passed, and it is said that at the mouth of the tunnel a guard is stationed to drive away ants or other intruders.

Wasps.—These usually construct their nests of wood-dust, which they scrape off the weather-worn surfaces of boards, palings, &c., and work into a kind of paper with their saliva. If they happen to find any real paper, they perceive that it so much resembles the product of their own manufacture that they utilise it forthwith. The wasps do not require any special cells or chambers for the storage of honey, as they do not lay up any supply for the winter. The cells which they construct are therefore used exclusively for the rearing of larvæ. In form these cells are sometimes cylindrical or globular, but more usually hexagonal, like those of the hive-bee. Although the mode of building is different from that employed by the bees, there can be little doubt that if it were as carefully investigated Mr. Darwin's theory of transition from the cylindrical to the hexagonal form would be found to apply here also, seeing that both forms so frequently occur in the same nest.

The Mason-Wasp.—The habits of this insect are described by Mr. Bates. It constructs its nest of clay. Each pellet that the insect brings it lays on the top of its nest-wall, and then spreads it out with its jaws, and treads it smooth with its feet. The nest, which is suspended on the branch of a tree, is then stocked with spiders and insects paralysed by stinging. The victims, not being wholly deprived of life, keep fresh until required as food of the developing larvæ.

The Butcher-Wasps.—These also paralyse their prey in a similar manner, and for a similar purpose. Fabre removed from a so-called sphex-wasp a killed grasshopper, which it was conveying to its nest and had momentarily laid down at the mouth of the burrow—as these insects always do on returning with prey, in order to see that nothing has intruded into the burrow during[181] their absence. Fabre carried the dead or paralysed grasshopper to a considerable distance from the hole. On coming out the insect searched about until it found its prey. It then again carried it to the mouth of its burrow, and again laid it down while it once more went in to see that all was right at home. Again Fabre removed the grasshopper, and so on for forty times in succession—the sphex never omitting to go through its fixed routine of examining the interior of its burrow every time that it brought the prey to its mouth.

Mr. Mivart, in his 'Lessons from Nature,' points to the instinct of this animal in the stinging of the ganglion of its prey as one that cannot be explained on Mr. Darwin's theory concerning the origin of instincts. In my next work, which will have to deal with this theory, I shall consider Mr. Mivart's difficulty, and also the difficulty first pointed out by Mr. Darwin himself as to why neuter insects, separated as they appear to be from the possibility of communicating by heredity any instinctive acquirements of the individual to the species, should present any instincts at all.

General Intelligence.

Beginning with Sir John Lubbock's observations on this head, I shall first quote his statements with regard to way-finding:—

We shall now conclude this résumé of Sir John Lubbock's observations by quoting two other passages bearing on the general intelligence of bees and wasps:—

This is the wasp which has already been alluded to under the heading 'Memory;' but it is evident that the capacity which the insect displayed of becoming tamed implies no small degree of general intelligence; its hereditary instincts were conspicuously modified by the individual experiences incidental to its domestication.

Passing on now to the statements of other observers, Huber first noticed the remarkable fact that when beehives are attacked by the death's-head moth the bees close the entrance of their hive with wax and propolis to keep out the marauder. The barricade, which is built immediately behind the gateway, completely stops it up—only a small hole being left large enough to admit a bee, and therefore of course too small to admit the moth. Huber specially states that it was not until the beehives had been repeatedly attacked and robbed by the death's-head moth, that the bees closed the entrance of their hive with wax and propolis. Pure instinct would have induced the bees to provide against the first attack. Huber also observed that a wall built in 1804 against the death's-head hawk-moth was destroyed in 1805. In the latter year there were no death's-head moths, nor were any seen during the following. But in the autumn of 1807 a large number again appeared, and the bees at once protected[185] themselves against their enemies. The bulwark was destroyed again in 1808.

Again, Huber (loc. cit., tom. ii., p. 280) gives a case of apparent exercise of reason, or power of inference from a particular case to other and general cases. A piece of comb fell down and was fixed in its new position by wax. The bees then strengthened the attachments of all the other combs, clearly because they inferred that they too might be in danger of falling. This is a very remarkable case, and leads Huber to exclaim, 'I admit that I was unable to avoid a feeling of astonishment in the presence of a fact from which the purest reason seemed to shine out.'

A closely similar, and therefore corroborative case of an even more remarkable kind is thus narrated in Watson's 'Reasoning Power of Animals' (p. 448):—

Again, Mr. Darwin's MS. quotes from Sir B. Brodie's 'Psychological Inquiries' (1854, p. 88) the following case, which is analogous to the above, except that the supports required had to be made in a vertical instead of in a horizontal direction:—

Similarly, Dr. Dzierzon, an experienced keeper of bees, and the observer who first discovered the fact of their parthenogenesis, makes the general remark,—

Lastly, as still further corroboration of such facts, I shall quote the following from Jesse's 'Gleanings:'[65]—

Herr Kleine, in his pamphlet on Italian Bees and Bee-keeping (Berlin, 1855), says that on substituting during the absence of the bees a hive filled with empty comb for their own hive, the returning bees exhibit the utmost perplexity. As the substituted hive stands in the exact spot previously occupied by their own hive, the returning bees fly into it without observing the change. But finding only empty combs inside, 'they stop, do not know[187] where they are, come out of the hole again without depositing their loads, fly off, look most carefully round the stand to assure themselves that they have made no mistake, and go in once more when convinced that they are at the right place. The same thing is repeated over and over again, until the bees at last bow to the incomprehensible and unavoidable, lay down their loads, and set to work at those tasks made necessary by the new circumstances of the hive. But as all the newly arriving bees behave in similar fashion, the disturbance lasts till late in the evening, and the uncertainty and anxiety of the bees is so great that the bee-master cannot contemplate it without deep sympathy.' Under such circumstances the bees take quickly to a substituted queen; 'for the feeling of the first comers that they have no right to the new dwelling, having, as they suppose, made some inexplicable mistake which they cannot remedy, prevents them from feeling any hostility to the new queen which they find; they probably consider themselves as merely on sufferance, and feel that they should be grateful that no action is taken against them for their illegal entry, as generally happens in bee-experience.' Hence the writer adopts this device when he desires to exchange or substitute queens.

Dr. Erasmus Darwin, in his 'Zoonomia,' asserts that bees, when transported to Barbadoes, where there is no[188] winter, cease to lay up honey. In contradiction to this statement, however, Kirby and Spence say, 'It is known to every naturalist acquainted with the fact, that many different species of bees store up honey in the hottest climates, and that there is no authentic instance on record of the hive-bees altering in any age or climate their peculiar operations.'

On the other hand, more recent observation has shown that Dr. Darwin's statement is probably correct. For, according to a note in Nature,[66] European bees, when transported to Australia, retain their industrious habits only for the first two or three years. After that time they gradually cease to collect honey till they become wholly idle. In a subsequent number of the same periodical (p. 411) a correspondent writes that the same fact is observable with bees transported to California, but is obviated by abstracting honey as the bees collect it.

There seems to be no doubt that bees and wasps are able to distinguish between persons, and even to recognise those whom they are accustomed to see, and to regard as friends. Bee-masters who attend much to their bees, so as to give the insects a good chance of knowing them, are generally of the opinion that the insects do know them, as shown by the comparatively sparing use of their stings. Again, many instances might be quoted, such as that given by Guerinzius,[67] who allowed a species of wasp native to Natal to build in the doorposts of his house, and who observed that although he often interfered with the nest, he was only once stung, and this by a young wasp; while no Caffre could venture to approach the door, much less to pass through it.[68] This power of distinguishing between persons indicates a higher order of intelligence than we might have expected to meet with among insects; and, according to Bingley, bees will not only learn to distinguish persons, but even lend themselves to tuition by those whom they know. For he says,[189] 'Mr. Wildman, whose remarks on the management of bees are well known, possessed a secret by which he could at any time cause a hive of bees to swarm upon his head, shoulders, or body, in a most surprising manner. He has been seen to drink a glass of wine with the bees all over his head and face more than an inch deep; several fell into the glass, but did not sting him. He could even act the part of a general with them, by marshalling them in battle array on a large table. Then he divided them into regiments, battalions, and companies, according to military discipline, waiting only for his word of command. The moment he uttered the word march! they began to march in a very regular manner in rank and file, like soldiers. To these, his Lilliputians, he also taught so much politeness that they never attempted to sting any of the numerous company which, at different times, resorted to admire this singular spectacle.'

Huber's observation, since amply confirmed, of bees biting holes through the base of corollas in order to get at the honey which the length of the corollas prevent them from reaching in the ordinary way, also seems to indicate a rational adjustment to unusual circumstances. For the bees do not resort to this expedient until they find from trial that they cannot reach the nectar from above; but having once ascertained this, they forthwith proceed to pierce the bottoms of all the flowers of the same species. From an interesting account by Mr. Francis Darwin [69] (unfortunately too long to quote) it appears that, even when the nectar may be reached from above, bees may still resort to the expedient of biting through corollas in order to save time.

In connection with biting holes in corollas I may quote an observation communicated to me by a correspondent, Sir J. Clarke Jervoise. Speaking of a humble-bee, he says: 'I watched him into the flower of a foxglove, and, when out of sight, I closed the lips of the flower with my finger and thumb. He did not hesitate a moment, but cut his way out at the further end as if he had been served the same trick before. I never did it.'

Bees are highly particular in the matter of keeping their hives pure, and their sanitary arrangements often exhibit intelligence of a high order.

It sometimes happens that mice, slugs, &c., enter a beehive. They are then killed and covered with a coating of propolis. Réaumur says [70] that he once saw a snail enter a hive in this way. The hard shell was an effective protection against the stings of the bees, so the insects smeared round the edges of the shell with wax and[191] resin, fastening down the animal to the wall of the hive, so that it died of starvation or want of air. If the encasing of an animal (such as a mouse) with propolis is not sufficient to prevent its putrefaction, the bees gnaw away all the putrescible parts of the carcass and carry them out of the hive, leaving only the skeleton behind. The dead bodies of their companions are also carried out of the hive and deposited at a distance. There is no question about this fact (which it will be remembered is analogous to that already mentioned in the case of ants); according to Büchner, however, bees not only remove their dead, but also, occasionally at least, bury them. But as he gives very inadequate evidence in support of this assertion, we may safely set it aside as insufficiently proven.

Büchner, however, gives an admirable summary, and makes some judicious remarks on the well-known and highly remarkable habit which bees practise for the obvious purpose of ventilating their hives. As this account gives all the facts in a brief compass, I cannot do better than quote it:—

As the following observation on the cautious sagacity of wasps is, so far as I am aware, new, and as it certainly does not admit of mal-observation, I introduce it on the authority of a correspondent, the Rev. Mr. J. W. Mossman, who writes from Tarrington Rectory, Wragby. He found an apple in his orchard which had fallen from a tree in apparently good condition; but on taking it up observed that it was little more than a shell filled with wasps. Giving the apple a shake, he saw a wasp slowly emerging from a single small aperture in the rind:—

With regard to the tactics displayed by hunting wasps I may quote the following cases:—

Mr. Belt, in his work already frequently quoted, gives the following account of a struggle which not unfrequently occurs between wasps and ants for the sweet secretion of 'frog-hoppers:'—

Dr. Erasmus Darwin records an observation ('Zoonomia,' i., p. 183) which, from having since been so widely quoted, deserves to be called classical. He saw a wasp upon the ground endeavouring to remove a large fly which was too heavy for it to carry off. The wasp cut off the head and abdomen, and flew away with the thorax alone. The wind, however, catching the wings of this portion made it still too unwieldy for the wasp to guide. It therefore again alighted, and nipped off first one wing and then the other, when it was able to fly off with its booty without further difficulty.

This observation has since been amply confirmed. I shall quote some of the confirmatory cases.

Again, Büchner (loc. cit., p. 297) gives the following account in the words of his informant, Herr H. Löwenfels, who himself witnessed the incident:—

Büchner also records the two following remarkable observations, which from being so similar corroborate one another. The first is received from Herr Albert Schlüter, who writing from Texas says that he there saw a cicada pursued by a large hornet, which threw itself upon its prey and seemed to sting it to death:—

Depriving bees of their antennæ has the effect of producing an even more marked bewilderment than results from this operation in the case of ants. A queen thus mutilated by Huber ran about in confusion, dropping her eggs at random, and appeared unable to take with precision the food that was offered her. She showed no resentment to a similarly mutilated stranger queen that was introduced: the workers also heeded not the mutilated stranger; but when an unmutilated stranger was introduced they fell upon her. When the mutilated queen was allowed to escape, none of the workers followed.

CHAPTER V.

The termites, like many species of true ants, are divided into two distinct castes, the workers and the soldiers. If a breach is made in the walls of the dome the soldiers rush out to meet the enemy, and fight desperately with any enemy that they may find. Here, again, I cannot do better than quote Büchner's epitome of facts:—

Similar facts have been observed by Fritz Müller of the South American species.

The Termites, being like the Ecitons blind, like them make all their expeditions under the protection of covered ways. These are underground tunnels in all cases where circumstances permit, but on arriving at a rock or other impenetrable obstruction, they build a tubular passage upon the surface. According to Büchner,—

It is needless to give a special description of any of the other habits of these insects, such as their swarming, breeding, &c., for they all more or less closely resemble the analogous habits of ants and bees. It is very remarkable that insects of two distinct orders should both manifest such closely similar social habits of such high complexity, and it rather surprises me that more has not been made of this point by writers opposed to the principles of evolution. Of course if the point were raised, the argument in answer would require to be, either that the similar instincts were derived from common and very remote progenitors (in which case the fact would form by far the most remarkable instance of the permanency of instincts among changing species), or more probably, that similar causes operating in the two orders have produced similar effects—complex and otherwise unique though these effects undoubtedly are.

In connection with the theory of evolution I may conclude this chapter with the following quotation from Smeathman, as it shows how natural relation may develop for the benefit of the species instincts which are detrimental to the individual. Speaking of the soldiers he says:—

CHAPTER VI.

Emotions.

The emotional life of spiders, so far as we can observe it as expressed in their actions, seems to be divided between sexual passion (including maternal affection) and the sterner feelings incidental to their fiercely predatory habits. But the emotions, although apparently few and simple in character, are exceedingly strong in force. In many species the male spider in conducting his courtship has to incur an amount of personal danger at the hands (and jaws) of his terrific spouse, which might well daunt the courage of a Leander. Ridiculously small and weak in build, the males of these species can only conduct the rites of marriage with their enormous and voracious brides by a process of active manœuvring, which if unsuccessful is certain to cost them their lives. Yet their sexual emotions are so strong that, as proved by the continuance of the species, no amount of personal risk is sufficient to deter them from giving these emotions full play. There is no other case in the animal kingdom where courtship is attended with any approach to the gravity of danger that is here observable. Among many animals the males have to meet a certain amount of inconvenience from the coquetry or disinclination of the females; but here the coquetry and disinclination has passed into the hungry determination of a ferocious giantess. The case, therefore, because unique, is of interest from an evolutionary point of view. We can see a direct advantage to species from the danger incurred by males on account of mutual jealousy; for this, giving rise to what Mr. Darwin has[205] called 'the law of battle,' must obviously be a constant source of the creation and the maintenance of specific proficiency; the law of battle determines that only the strongest and most courageous males shall breed. But the benefit to species is not so obvious where the danger of courtship arises from the side of the female. Still, that there must be some benefit is obvious, seeing that the whole structure of the male, if we take that of the female as the original type, has been greatly modified with reference to this danger: had the latter been wholly useless, either it would not have been allowed to arise, or the species must have become extinct. The only suggestion I can make to meet this aberrant case is that the courage and determination required of the male, besides being no doubt of use to him in other relations in life, may be of benefit to the species by instilling these qualities into the psychology both of his male and female descendants.

The courage and rapacity of spiders as a class are too well and generally known to require special illustration. One instance, however, may be quoted to show the strength of their maternal emotions. Bonnet threw a spider with her bag of eggs into the pit of an ant-lion. The latter seized the eggs and tore them away from the spider; but although Bonnet forced her out of the pit, she returned, and chose to be dragged in and buried alive rather than leave her charge.

The only other point that occurs to me with reference to the emotions of spiders is the somewhat remarkable one concerning their apparent fondness of music. The testimony is so varied and abundant on this matter that we can scarcely doubt the truth of the facts. These simply are that spiders—or at any rate some species or individuals—approach a sounding musical instrument, 'especially when the music is tender and not too loud.' They usually approach as near as possible, often letting themselves down from the ceiling of the room by a line of web, and remain suspended above the instrument. Should the music become loud, they often again retreat. Professor C. Reclain, during a concert at Leipsic, saw a spider descend in this way from one of the chandeliers while a violin solo[206] was being played; but as soon as the orchestra began to sound it quickly ran back again.[75] Similar observations have been published by Rabigot, Simonius, von Hartmann, and others.

A highly probable explanation of these facts has recently been given by Mr. C. V. Boys, which relieves us of the necessity of imputing to animals so low in the scale any rudiment of æsthetic emotion as aroused by musical tones. As the observation is an interesting one, I shall quote it in extenso:—

General Habits.

Coming now to general habits, our attention is claimed by the only general habit that is of interest—namely, that of web-building. The instinct of constructing nets for the capture of prey occurs in no other class of animals, while in spiders it not only attains to an extraordinary degree of perfection (so that, in the opinion of some geometers, the instinct is not less wonderful in this respect than is that displayed by the hive-bee in the construction[208] of its cells), but also ramifies into a number of diverse directions. Thus we have, in different species, wide open networks spread between the branches of bushes, &c., closely woven textures in the corners of buildings, earth tubes lined with silk, the strong muslin-like snare of the Mygale, which, as first noticed by Madame Merian,[77] and since confirmed by Bates,[78] is able to retain a struggling humming-bird while this most beautiful animal in creation is being devoured by the most repulsive; and many other varieties might be mentioned. It may at first sight appear somewhat remarkable that this instinct of spreading snares should on the one hand occur only in one class of the animal kingdom, while on the other hand, in the class where it does occur, it should attain such extreme perfection, and run into so much variety. But we must here remember that the development of the instinct obviously depends upon the presence of a web-secreting apparatus, which is a comparatively rare anatomical feature. In caterpillars, which are not predaceous, the web is used only for the purposes of protection and locomotion; and it is easy to see that the spreading of snares would here be of no use to the animals. But in spiders, of course, the case is otherwise. Once granting the power of forming a web, and it is evident that there is much potential service to which this power may be put with reference to the voracious habits of the animal; and therefore it is not to be wondered that both the anatomical structures and their correlated instincts should attain to extreme perfection in sundry lines of development. The origin of the web-building structure was probably due to the use of the web for purposes of locomotion or of cocoon-spinning, as we see it still so used in the same way that it is used by caterpillars for descending from heights, and in the case of the gossamer spider for travelling immense distances through the air. As the anatomical structures in question differ very greatly in the case of spiders and in that of caterpillars, we may wonder why analogous if not homologous[209] structures should never have been developed in the case of any other animal having predaceous habits—especially, perhaps, in that of the imago form of predaceous insects. It is easy to see how, if there were any original tendency to secrete a viscid substance in the neighbourhood of the anus, this might be utilised in descending from low elevations (as certain kinds of slugs use their viscid slime as threads whereby to let themselves down from low branches to the ground); and so we can understand how natural selection might thus have the material supplied out of which to develop such highly specialised organs as the spinnerets of a spider. But if we are inclined to wonder why this should not have happened among other animals, we must remember that any expectation that it should rests on negative grounds; we have no reason to suppose that in any other case the initial tendency to secrete a viscid substance was present. One inference, however, in the case of spiders seems perfectly valid. As this comparatively rare faculty of web-spinning occurs so generally throughout the class, it must have had its earliest origin very far back in the history of that class, though probably not so far back as to include the common progenitors of the spiders and the scorpions, seeing that the latter do not spin webs.

I shall now give a few details on the manner in which spiders' webs are made. Without going into the anatomy of the subject further than to observe that a spider's 'thread' is a composite structure made up of a number of finer threads, which leave their respective spinneret-holes in an almost fluid condition, and immediately harden by exposure to the air, I shall begin at once to describe the method of construction.

The so-called 'geometric spider' constructs her web by first laying down the radiating and unadhesive rays, and then, beginning from the centre, spins a spiral line of unadhesive web, like that of the rays which it intersects. This line, in being woven through the radii in a spiral from centre to circumference, serves as a scaffolding for the spider to walk over, and also keeps the rays properly stretched. She next spins another spiral line, but this[210] time from the circumference to near the centre, and formed of web, covered with a viscid secretion to retain prey. Lastly, she constructs her lair to bide and watch for prey, at some distance from the web but connected with it by means of a line of communication or telegraph, the vibrations of which inform her of the struggling of an insect in the net.[79]

Special Habits.

Water-spider.—The water-spider (Argyroneta aquatica), as is well known, displays the curious instinct of building her nest below the surface of water, and constructing it on the principle of a diving-bell. The animal usually selects still waters for this purpose, and makes her nest in the form of an oval hollow, lined with web, and held secure by a number of threads passing in various directions and fastened to the surrounding plants. In this oval bell, which is open below, she watches for prey, and, according to Kirby,[82] passes the winter after having closed the opening. The air needful for respiration the spider carries from the surface of the water. To do this she swims upon her back in order to entangle an air-bubble upon the hairy surface of her abdomen. With this bubble she descends, 'like a globe of quicksilver,' to the opening of her nest, where she liberates it and returns for more.

The Vagrant or Wolf Spider.—This insect catches its prey by stealthily stalking it until within distance near enough to admit of a sudden dart being successful in effecting capture. Some species, before making the final dart (e.g. Salticus scenicus), fix a line of web upon the surface over which they are creeping, so that whether their station is vertical or horizontal with reference to the prey, they can leap fearlessly, the thread in any case preventing their fall. Dr. H. F. Hutchinson says that he has seen this spider crawling over a looking-glass stalking its own reflection.[83]

Trap-door Spiders.—These display the curious instinct of providing their nests with trap-doors. The nest consists of a tube excavated in the earth to the depth of half a foot or more. In all save one species the tube is unbranched; it is always lined with silk, which is continuous with the lining of the trap-door or doors, of which it forms the hinge. In the species which constructs a branching tube, the branch is always single, more or less straight, takes origin at a point situated a few inches from the orifice of the main tube, is directed upwards at an acute[214] angle with that tube, and terminates blindly just below the surface of the soil. At its point of junction with or departure from the main tube it is provided with a trap-door resembling that which closes the orifice of the main tube, and of such a size and arrangement that when closed against the opening of the branch tube it just fills that opening; while when turned outwards, so as to uncork this opening, it just fills the diameter of the main tube: the latter, therefore, is in this species provided with two trap-doors, one at the surface of the soil, and the other at the fork of the branched tube.

Each species of trap-door spider is very constant in building a particular kind of trap-door; but among the different species there are four several kinds of trap-doors to be distinguished. 1st. The single-door cork nest, wherein the trap-door is a thick structure, and fits into the tube like a cork into a bottle. 2nd. The single-door wafer nest, wherein the trap-door is as thin as a piece of paper. 3rd. The double-door unbranched nest, wherein there is a second trap-door situated a few inches below the first one. And 4th, the double-door branched nest already described. In all cases the trap-doors open outwards, and when the nest is placed, as it usually is, on a sloping bank, the trap-door opens upwards; hence there is no fear of its gaping, for gravity is on the side of holding it shut.

The object of the trap-door is to conceal the nest, and for this purpose it is always made so closely to resemble the general surface of the ground on which it occurs, that even a practised eye finds it difficult to detect the structure when closed. In order to make the resemblance to the surrounding objects as perfect as possible, the spider either constructs the surface of its door of a portion of leaf, or weaves moss, grass, &c., into the texture. Moggridge says,[84]—

If an enemy should detect the trap-door and endeavour to open it, the spider frequently seizes hold of its internal surface, and, applying her legs to the walls of the tube, forcibly holds the trap-door shut. In the double trap-door species it is surmised that the second trap-door serves as an inner barrier of defence, behind which the spider retires when obliged to abandon the first one. In the branched tube species (which, so far as at present known, only occurs in the south of Europe) it is surmised that the spider, when it finds that an enemy is about to gain entrance at the first trap-door, runs into the branch tube and draws up behind it the second trap-door. The surface of this trap-door, being overlaid with silk like the walls of the tube, is then invisible; so that the enemy no doubt passes down the main tube to find it empty, without observing the lateral branch in which the spider is concealed behind the closed door.

As showing that these animals are to no small extent able to adapt their dwellings to unusual circumstances, I shall here quote the following from Moggridge (loc. cit., p. 122):—

The most remarkable fact connected with these animals, if we regard their peculiar instinct from the standpoint of the descent theory, is the wide range of their geographical distribution. In all quarters of the globe species of trap-door spiders are found occurring in more or less localised areas; and as it is improbable that so peculiar an instinct should have arisen independently in more than one line of descent, we can only conclude that the wide dispersion of the species presenting it has been subsequent to the origin and perfecting of the instinct. This conclusion of course necessitates the supposition that the instinct must be one of enormous antiquity; and in this connection it is worthy of remark that we seem to have independent evidence to show that such is the case. It is a principle of evolution that the earlier any structure or instinct appears in the development of the race, the sooner will it appear in the development of the individual; and read by the light of this principle we should conclude, quite apart from all considerations as to the wide geographical distribution of trap-door spiders, that their instincts—as, indeed, is the case with the characteristic instincts of many other species of spiders—must be of immense age. Thus, again to quote Moggridge,—

Regarding the steps whereby the instinct of building trap-doors probably arose, Büchner quotes Moggridge thus:—

General Intelligence.

Coming now to the general intelligence of spiders, I think there can be no reasonable doubt, from the force of concurrent testimony, that they are able to distinguish between persons, and approach those whom they have found to be friendly, while shunning strangers. This power of discrimination, it will be remembered, also occurs among bees and wasps, and therefore its presence in spiders is not antecedently improbable. I myself know a lady who has 'tamed' spiders to recognise her, so that they come out to be fed when she enters the room where they are kept; and stories of the taming of spiders by prisoners are abundant. The following anecdote recorded by Büchner is in this connection worth quoting:—

Jesse relates the following anecdote, which seems to display on the part of a spider somewhat remote adaptation of means to novel circumstances. He confined a spider with her eggs under a glass upon a marble mantelpiece. Having surrounded the eggs with web,—

Mr. Belt gives the following account of the intelligence which certain species of South American spiders display in escaping from the terrible hosts of the Eciton ants:—

Mr. L. A. Morgan, writing to 'Nature' (Jan. 22, 1880), gives an account of a spider conveying a large insect from the part of the web where it was caught to the 'larder,' by the following means. The spider first went two or three times backwards and forwards between the head of the insect and the main strand of the web. After this he went about cutting all the threads around the insect till the latter hung by the head strands alone. The spider then fixed a thread to the tail end, and by this dragged the carcass as far on its way to the larder as the head strands would permit. As soon as these were taut, he made the tail rope fast, went back to the head rope and cut it; then he attached himself to the head and pulled the body towards the larder, until the tail rope was taut. In this way, by alternately cutting the head and tail ropes and dragging the insect bit by bit, he conveyed it safely to the larder.

But the practical acquaintance with mechanical principles which this observation displays is perhaps not so remarkable as that which is sometimes shown by spiders when they find that a widely spread web is not tightly enough stretched, and as a consequence is to an inconvenient extent swayed about by the wind. Under such circumstances these animals have been observed to suspend to their webs small stones or other heavy objects, the weight of which serves to steady the whole system. Gleditsch saw a spider so circumstanced let itself down to the ground by means of a thread, seize a small stone, remount, and fasten the stone to the lower part of its web, at a height sufficient to enable animals and men to walk[221] beneath it. After alluding to this case, Büchner observes (loc. cit., p. 318),—

If so well-observed a fact requires any further confirmation, I may adduce the following account, which is of the more value as corroborative evidence from the writer[222] not appearing to be aware that the fact had been observed before. This writer is Dr. John Topham, whom the late Dr. Sharpey, F.R.S., assured me is a competent observer, and who publishes the account in 'Nature' (xi. 18):—

An almost precisely analogous case, with a sketch, is published by another observer in 'Land and Water,' Dec. 12, 1877.

Scorpions.

Before quitting the Arachnida I must allude to some recent correspondence on the alleged tendency of the scorpion to commit suicide when surrounded by fire. This alleged tendency has long been recognised in popular fables, and has been used by Byron as a poetical metaphor in certain well-known lines. But until the publication of the correspondence to which I allude, no one supposed the tendency in question to have any existence in fact. This correspondence took place in 'Nature' (vol. xi.), and as the subject is an interesting one, I shall reproduce the more important contributions to it in extenso. It was opened by Mr. W. G. Biddie as follows:—

The following corroborative evidence on the subject was then supplied by Dr. Allen Thomson, F.R.S. ('Nature,' vol. xx., p. 577):—

It will be perceived that these observations were not made by Dr. Allen Thomson himself, and that there are certain inherent discrepancies in the account which he has published—such, for instance, as the reason given for trying and repeating the experiment, the method being clearly a cumbersome one to employ if the only object were that of 'disposing of' the animals. Nevertheless, as Dr. Thomson is a high authority, and as I learn from him that he is satisfied regarding the capability and veracity of his informant, I have not felt justified in suppressing his evidence. Still I think that so remarkable a fact unquestionably demands further corroboration before we should be justified in accepting it unreservedly. For if it is a fact, it stands as a unique case of an instinct detrimental alike to the individual and to the species.

CHAPTER VII.

Coleoptera.

Sir John Lubbock, in his first paper on Bees and Wasps, quotes the following case from Kirby and Spence, with the remarks which I append:—

Büchner speaks of the fact that dung-beetles co-operate in their work as one that is well established, but gives no authorities or references.[91] A friend of my own, however, informs me that she has witnessed the fact; and in view of analogous observations made on other species of Coleoptera, I see no reason to doubt this one. Some of these observations I may here append.

Similarly, there is no doubt that the burying beetles (Nicrophorus) co-operate.

Lastly, Clarville gives a case of a burying beetle which wanted to carry away a dead mouse, but, finding it too heavy for its unaided strength, went off, like the beetles previously mentioned, and brought four others to its assistance.[93]

A friend of Gleditsch fastened a dead toad, which he desired to dry, upon the top of an upright stick. The burying beetles were attracted by the smell, and finding that they could not reach the toad, they undermined the stick, so causing it to fall with the toad, which was then buried safe out of harm's way.[94]

A converse exemplification of beetle-intelligence is given by G. Berkeley.[95] He saw a beetle carrying a dead spider up a heath plant, and hanging it upon a twig of the heath in so secure a position, that when the insect had left it Mr. Berkeley found that a sharp shake of the heather would not bring the dead spider down. As the burying[229] beetle preserves its treasure by hiding it out of sight below ground, so this beetle no doubt secured the same end but by other means; 'seeing,' as Mr. Berkeley observes, 'that if it did not hang up its prey, it might fall into the hands of other hunters, it took all possible pains to find out the best store-room for it.'

The above instances of beetle-intelligence lead me to credit the following, which has been communicated to me by Dr. Garraway, of Faversham. On a bank of moss in the Black Forest he saw a beetle alight with a caterpillar which it was carrying, and proceed to excavate a cylindrical hole in the peat, about an inch and a half deep, into which, when completed, it dropped the caterpillar, and then flew away through the pines. 'I was struck,' says my correspondent, 'with the creature's folly in leaving the whole uncovered, as every curious wayfaring insect would doubtless be tempted to enter therein. However, in about a minute the beetle returned, this time carrying a small pebble, of which there were none in the immediate vicinity, and having carefully fitted this into the aperture, fled away into space.'

Earwig.

I must devote a short division of this chapter to the earwig. M. Geer describes a regular process of incubation as practised by the mother insect. He placed one with her eggs in a box, and scattered the eggs on the floor of the latter. The earwig, however, carried them one by one into a certain part of the box, and then remained constantly sitting upon the heap without ever quitting it for a moment. When the eggs were hatched, the young earwigs kept close to their mother, following her about everywhere, and often running under her abdomen, just as chickens run under a hen.[96]

A young lady, who objects to her name being published, informs me that her two younger sisters (children) are in the habit of feeding every morning with sugar an earwig, which they call 'Tom,' and which crawls up a certain curtain regularly every day at the same hour, with the apparent expectation of getting its breakfast. This resembles[230] analogous instances which, have been mentioned in the case of spiders.

Dipterous Insects.

The gad-fly, whose eggs are hatched out in the intestines of the horse, exhibits a singular refinement of instinct in depositing them upon those parts of the horse which the animal is most likely to lick. For, according to Bingley and other writers, 'the inside of the knee is the part on which these flies principally deposit their eggs; and next to this they fix them upon the sides, and the back part of the shoulder; but almost always in places liable to be licked by the tongue.' The female fly deposits her eggs while on the wing, or at least scarcely appears to settle when she extends her ovidepositor to touch the horse. She lays only a single egg at a time—flying away a short distance after having deposited one in order to prepare another, and so on.

The following anecdote, which I quote from Jesse, seems to indicate no small degree of intelligence on the part of the common house-fly—intelligence, for instance, the same both in kind and degree as that which was displayed by Sir John Lubbock's pet wasp already mentioned:

Crustacea.

There is no doubt that these are an intelligent group of animals, although I have been able to collect but wonderfully little information upon the subject. Mr. Moseley, F.R.S., in his very interesting work, 'Notes by a Naturalist on the Challenger,' says (p. 70):—

The land crabs of the West Indies and North America descend from their mountain home in May and June, to deposit their spawn in the sea. They travel in such swarms that the roads and woods are covered with them. They migrate in a straight line, and rather than allow themselves to be deflected from it, 'they scale the houses, and surmount every other obstacle that lies in their way' (Kirby). They travel chiefly by night, and when they arrive at the sea-shore they 'bathe three or four different times,' and then 'commit their eggs to the waves.' They return to the mountains by the same route, but only the most vigorous survive the double journey.

Prof. Alex. Agassiz details some interesting observations on the behaviour of young hermit crabs reared by himself 'from very young stages,' when first presented with shells of mollusks. 'A number of shells, some of them empty, others with the animal living, were placed in a glass dish with the young crabs. Scarcely had the shells reached the bottom before the crabs made a rush for the shells, turned them round and round, invariably at the mouth, and soon a couple of the crabs decided to venture in, which they did with remarkable alacrity.' The crabs which obtained for their share the shells still inhabited by living mollusks, 'remained riding round upon the mouth of their future dwelling, and, on the death of the mollusk, which generally occurred soon after in captivity, commenced at once to tear out the animal, and having eaten him, proceeded to take its place within the shell.'[98]

There is a species of small crustacean (Podocerus capillatus) described by Mr. Bates, which builds a nest to contain its eggs. The nest is in the form of a hollow cone, built upon seaweed, and composed of fine thread-like material closely interlaced. 'These nests,' says Mr. Bates, 'are evidently used as a place of refuge and security, in which the parent protects and keeps her brood of young until they are old enough to be independent of the mother's care.'

Dr. Erasmus Darwin tells us, on the authority of a friend on whose competency as an observer he relied, that the common crab during the moulting season stations as[233] sentinel an unmoulted or hard-shelled individual, to prevent marine enemies from injuring moulted individuals in their unprotected state. While thus mounting guard the hard-shelled crab is much more courageous than at other times, when he has only his own safety to consider. But these observations require to be corroborated.

In 'Nature' (xv., p. 415) there is a notice of a lobster (Homarus marinus) in the Rothesay Aquarium which attacked a flounder that was confined in the same tank with him, and having devoured a portion of his victim, buried the rest beneath a heap of shingle, on which he 'mounted guard.' 'Five times within two hours was the fish unearthed, and as often did the lobster shovel the gravel over it with his huge claws, each time ascending the pile and turning his bold defensive front to his companions.'

Mr. Darwin also alludes to the curious instinctive habits of the large shore-crab (Birgus latro), which feeds on fallen cocoa-nuts 'by tearing off the husk fibre by fibre; and it always begins at that end where the three eye-like depressions are situated. It then breaks through one of these eyes by hammering with its heavy front pincers, and turning round, extracts the albuminous core with its narrow posterior pincers.'

Remarkable cases occur of commensalism between certain crabs and sea-anemones, and they betoken much intelligence. Thus Professor Möbius says in his 'Beiträge zur Meeresfauna der Insel Mauritius' (1880) that there are two crabs belonging to different genera which have[234] the habit of firmly grasping a sea-anemone in each claw and carrying them about, presumably to secure some benefit to themselves. The more familiar case of the species of anemone which lives on the shells tenanted by hermit crabs is of special interest to us on account of a remarkable observation published by Mr. Gosse, F.R.S. (Zoologist, June, 1859). He found that on his detaching the anemone (Adamsia) from the shell, the hermit crab always took it up in its claws and held it against the shell 'for the space of ten minutes at a time, until fairly attached by a good strong base.' It was said by the late Dr. Robert Ball that when the common Sagartia parasitica is attached to a stone and a hermit crab is placed in its vicinity, the anemone will leave the stone and attach itself to the hermit's shell (Critic, March 24, 1860).

Intelligence of Larvæ of Certain Insects.

I shall now allude to some of the more interesting facts touching the psychology of insects when in their immature or larval state. This is an interesting topic from the point of view which we occupy as evolutionists, because a caterpillar is really a locomotive and self-feeding embryo, whose entire mental constitution is destined to undergo a metamorphosis no less complete and profound than that which is also destined to take place in its corporeal structure. Yet although the caterpillar has an embryo psychology, its instincts and even intelligence often seem to be higher or more elaborated than is the case with the imago form. Where such is the case the explanation of course must be that it is of more importance to the species that the larval form should be in a certain measure intelligent than that the imago form should be so. Every larva is a potential imago, or breeding individual; therefore its life is of no less value to the species during its larval than during its adult existence; and if certain instincts or grades of intelligence are of more use to it during the former than during the latter period, of course natural selection would determine the unusual event which we seem here in some cases to see—namely, that the[235] embryo should stand on a higher level of psychological development than the adult.

I may most fitly begin under this heading with the remarkable instincts of the so-called 'ant-lion,' which is the larva of a neuropterous insect, the common Myrmeleon (M. formicarium). I quote the following account of its habits from Thompson's 'Passions of Animals' (p. 258):—

Passing on now to the intelligence of caterpillars, Mr. G. B. Buckton, F.R.S., writing from Haslemere, says:—

In this case it appears clear that we have to do with instinct, and not with reason. No doubt it is the congenital habit of these caterpillars to overcome impediments in this way; but the instinct is one of sufficient interest to be here stated.

The same authorities state, as result of their own observation, that the[237]—

The instincts of the larva of the Tinea moth are thus described by Réaumur:—

Réaumur cut off the edge of a newly finished coat, so as to expose the body of the larva at that point. The animal did not set about making a new coat ab initio, as we might expect that it would on the popular supposition that a train of instinctive actions is always as mechanical as the running down of a set of cog-wheels, and that wherever a novel element is introduced the machinery must be thrown out of gear, so that it cannot meet a new emergency of however simple a character, and must therefore re-start the whole process over again from the beginning. In this case the larva sewed up the rent; and not only so, but 'the scissors having cut off one of the projections intended to enter into the construction of[238] the triangular end of the case, it entirely changed the original plan, and made that end the head which had been first designed for the tail.'

Another remarkable case of the variation of instinct in the Lepidoptera is stated by Bonnet. There are usually, he says, two generations of the Angoumois moth: the first appear in early summer, and lay their eggs upon the ears of wheat in the fields; the second appear later in the summer, or in the autumn, and these lay their eggs upon wheat in the granaries; from these eggs there comes the first generation of next year's moths. This is a highly remarkable case—supposing the facts to be as Bonnet states; for it seems that the early summer moths, although born in the granaries, immediately fly to the unreaped fields to lay their eggs in the standing corn, while the autumn moths never attempt to leave the granaries, but lay their eggs upon the stored wheat.[103]

The following additional facts concerning these remarkable habits may be quoted. I take them from the account published by Mr. Davis in 'Loudoun's Magazine of Natural History:'—

De Villiers [108] gives an account of his observations on the manner in which these caterpillars (Cnethocampii pitzocampa) are able to pass information, which does not quite agree with the above observation of Mr. Davis. For he says that, in a train of 600 caterpillars, interference by him in any part of the train was communicated through the whole series instantaneously—all the 600 caterpillars stopping immediately and with one consent like a single organism.

According to Kirby and Spence there is a kind of caterpillar (Pieris cratægi) which lives in little colonies of ten or twelve in common chambers lined with silk. In one part they make of the same material a little bag or pocket, which is used by the community or household as a water-closet. When full of excrement the caterpillars empty it by turning out the pellets with their feet.[109]

Only two other instances of noteworthy intelligence as exhibited by larvæ have fallen within my reading. One of these is mentioned by Réaumur, who says that the larvæ of Hemerobius chrysops chase aphides, and having killed them, clothe themselves in their skins; and the other case is the very remarkable one mentioned in his newly published work by W. MacLachlan, F.R.S., of caddis-worms adjusting the specific gravity of their tubes to suit that of the water in which they live, by attaching heavy or light material to them according as they require sinking or flotation.

CHAPTER VIII.

Emotions.

Fish display emotions of fear, pugnacity; social, sexual, and parental feelings; anger, jealousy, play, and curiosity. So far the class of emotions is the same as that with which we have met in ants, and corresponds with that which is distinctive of the psychology of a child about four months old. I have not, however, any evidence of sympathy, which would be required to make the list of emotions identical; but sympathy may nevertheless be present.

Fear and pugnacity are too apparent in fish to require special proof. The social or gregarious feelings are strongly shown by the numberless species which swim in shoals, the sexual feelings are proved by courtships, and the parental by those species which build nests and guard their young. Schneider saw several species of fish at the Naples Aquarium protecting their eggs. In one case the male mounted guard over a rock where the eggs were deposited, and swam with open mouth against intruders. The following accounts of the nidification of certain species of fish show that the parental instincts are not unlike those which obtain in birds, and are comparable in point of strength with the same instincts as they occur in ants, bees, and spiders.

Again, in detailing Mr. Baker's observations on the three-spined stickleback, published in the Philosophical Transactions, this author says:—

The well-known habit of the lophobranchiate fish, of[246] incubating their eggs in their pouches, also displays highly elaborated parental feeling.[115] M. Risso says that when the young of the pipe-fish are hatched out, the parents show them marked attachment, and that the pouch then serves them as a place of shelter or retreat from danger.[116]

Anger is strikingly shown by many fish, and notoriously by sticklebacks when their territory is invaded by a neighbour. These animals display a strange instinct of appropriating to themselves a certain part of the tank in which they may be confined, and furiously attacking any other stickleback which may presume to cross the imaginary frontier. Under such circumstances of provocation I have seen the whole animal change colour, and, darting at[247] the trespasser, show rage and fury in every movement. Of course, here, as elsewhere, it is impossible to be sure how far apparent expression of an emotion is due to the presence of that mental state which we recognise as the emotion in ourselves; but still the best guide we have to follow is that of apparent expression.

Following this principle, we are also entitled to attribute to fish the emotions conducive to play; for nothing can well be more expressive of sportive glee than many of their movements. As for jealousy, the fights of many male fish for the possession of females constitutes evidence of emotion which would be called by this name in the higher animals. Schneider, in his recent work already often quoted, says that he has observed a male fish (Labrus) show jealousy only towards other individual males of his own species—chasing these away from the neighbourhood of his female, but not objecting to the approach of fish of other species.

Curiosity is shown by the readiness, or even eagerness, with which fish will approach to examine any unfamiliar object. So much is this the case that fishermen, like hunters, sometimes trade upon this faculty:—

Stephenson, the engineer, on sinking lighted lanterns in the water, also found that fish were attracted to them.[121]

Special Habits.

As curious instances of special instincts in fish we may notice the well-known habit of the angler (Lophius piscator), which conceals itself in mud and seaweed, while waving in the water certain filaments with which it is provided above its snout. Other fish, attracted by these moving objects, approach, and are thereupon seized by the[248] angler. We must also allude to the Chelmon rostratus, which shoots its prey by means of a drop of water projected from the mouth with considerable force and unerring aim. The mark thus shot at is always some small object, such as a fly, at rest above the surface of the water, so that when suddenly hit it falls into the water.[122] This remarkable instinct can only, I think, have originated as a primordially intentional adjustment, and as such shows a high degree of intelligence on the part of these fishes' ancestors. Moreover, the wonderful co-ordination of sight and muscular movements required to judge the distance, to make due allowance for refraction, and to aim correctly, shows that the existing representatives are not unworthy of their ancestors.

Several species of fish in different parts of the world have the habit of quitting pools which are about to dry up, and taking excursions across country in search of more abundant water. Eels have this habit, and perform their migrations by night. Dr. Hancock, in the 'Zoological Journal,' gives an account of a species of Doras, the individuals of which are about a foot in length, and travel by night in large shoals, or 'droves,' when thus searching for water. A strong serrated arm constitutes the first ray of the pectoral fin; and, using this as a kind of foot, the animal pushes itself forward by means of its tail, thus moving nearly as fast as a man can walk. Another migrating fish (Hydrargzra) was found by thousands in the fresh waters of Carolina by Bosc. It travels by leaps, and, according to Bosc, always directs itself towards the nearest water, although he purposely placed them so that they could not see it.

But perhaps the strangest among this class of habits is that of the climbing perch (Perca scandens), first discovered by Daldorff in Tranquebar; for this animal not only creeps over land, but even climbs the fan palm in search of certain Crustacea which form its food. In climbing it uses its open gill-covers as hands wherewith to suspend itself, while it deflects its tail laterally upwards so as to bring to bear upon the bark certain little spines with[249] which its anal fin is provided; it then pushes itself upwards by straightening the tail, while it closes the gill-covers not to prevent progress, and so on. Sir E. Tennent, however, without disputing the evidence that these fish do climb trees, says,—

A great number of species of fish perform migrations. In relation to intelligence, the most interesting of these is the migration of salmon, which annually leave the sea to spawn in rivers, though there is some doubt whether the same individuals spawn every year. There is no doubt, however, that the same individuals frequently, though not invariably, revisit the same rivers for their successive spawnings. This fact may be due either to the remembrance of locality, similar to that which is unquestionably manifested by birds, or to the salmon not swimming far along the coast during other seasons of the year, and therefore in the spawning season when seeking a river happening to hit upon the same one. The latter hypothesis is one which Mr. Herbert Spencer tells me he is inclined to adopt, and, being a salmon-fisher, he has paid attention to the subject. He informs me of an observation by a friend of his own, who saw a salmon, when about to spawn, swimming along the coast-line, and all round a boathouse, apparently seeking any stream that it might first encounter.

The distances up rivers to which salmon will swim in the spawning season is no less surprising than the energy with which they perform the feat, and the determination with which they overcome all obstacles. They reach Bohemia by the Elbe, Switzerland by the Rhine, and, which is much more wonderful, the Cordilleras of America by the Maragnon.

General Intelligence.

With reference to the general intelligence of fish, allusion may first be made to their marked increase of wariness in waters which are much fished. This shows no small degree of intelligence, for the caution is proved to be the result of observation by the fact that young trout under such circumstances are less wary than old ones. Moreover, many fish will abandon old haunts when much disturbed. Again, according to Kirby, the carp thrusts itself into the mud in order that the net may pass over it, or, if the bottom be stony, makes great leaps to clear it.

Lacepède [126] relates that some fish, which had been kept for many years in a basin of the Tuileries, would come when called by their names. Probably it was the sound of the voice and not the articulate words to which they responded; for Lacepède also relates that in many parts of Germany trout, carp, and tench were summoned to their food by the sound of a bell; and the same thing has been recorded of various fish in various localities, notably by Sir Joseph Banks, who used to collect his fish by sounding a bell.[127]

In 'Nature' (vol. xi., p. 48) Mr. Mitchell gives the following instance of intelligence on the part of a small perch. Having one day disturbed its nest full of young fry, Mr. Mitchell next day went to look for the nest; 'but we searched in vain for the fish and her young. At length, a few yards further up stream, we discovered the parent guarding her fry with jealous care in a cavity scooped out of the coarse sand. . . . . This is the first and only instance that has come under my notice of a fish watching over her young, and conveying them, when threatened with danger, to some other place.'

In 'Nature' (December 19, 1878) there is also published a communication which was made by Mr. J. Faraday to the Manchester Anglers' Association, concerning a skate which he observed in the aquarium of that town:—

It will be observed, however, that this observation is practically worthless, from the observer having neglected to repeat the conditions in order to show that the movements of the fish were not, in their adaptation to these circumstances, purely accidental. Therefore I should not have alluded to this observation, had I not found that it has been quoted by several writers as a remarkable display of intelligence on the part of the fish.

I must not take leave of this class without making some allusion to the alleged habits of the so-called 'pilot-fish,' and also to those of 'thresher' and 'sword-fish.' I class these widely different habits together because they are alike in being dubious; different observers give different accounts, and therefore, until more information is[252] forthcoming, we must suspend our judgment with regard to the habits in question. The following describes what these habits are believed by many observers to be.

Captain Richards, R.N., says that he saw a blue shark following a bait which was thrown out to him from the ship. The shark, which was attended by four pilot-fish, repeatedly approached the bait; but every time he did so one of the latter rushed in and prevented him. After a time the shark swam away; but when he had gone a considerable distance, he turned back again, swam quickly after the vessel, and before the pilot-fish could overtake him, seized the bait and was caught. While hoisting him on board, one of the pilots was seen to cling to his side until above water, when it dropped off. All the pilots then swam about for a time, as if searching for their friend, 'with every apparent mark of anxiety and distress.'[128] Colonel Smith fully corroborates this observation; but Mr. Geoffrey, on the other hand, saw a pilot-fish take great pains to bring a shark to the bait.[129] Probably the truth is that the pilot-fish attend the shark in order to obtain the crumbs that fall from his feasts, and that the cases in which they appear to prevent his taking the bait are without any psychological significance.

With regard to the alleged co-operation of the threshing and sword-fish in the destruction of whales, all that can be said is that the statements, although antecedently improbable, are sufficient in number not to be ignored. Mr. Day appears to accept the evidence as adequate, and gives the following cases:—

CHAPTER IX.

A curious special instinct is met with in the toad Bufo obstetricans, from which it derives its name; for the male here performs the function of an accoucheur to the female, by severing from her body the gelatinous cord by which the ova are attached.

Another special instinct or habit manifested by toads is described by M. Duchemin in a paper before the Academy of Sciences at Paris.[131] The habit consists in the killing of carp by squatting on the head of the fish and forcing the fore-feet into its eyes. Probably this habit arises from sexual excitement on the part of the toads.

I have one case, communicated to me by a correspondent, of a frog which learnt to know her voice, and to come when called. As fish will sometimes do the same[255] thing, the account is sufficiently credible for me to quote:—

A very similar case is recorded by Mr. Pennent [132] of a toad which was domesticated for thirty-six years, and knew all his friends.

There is no doubt that frogs are able to appreciate coming changes of weather, and to adapt their movements in anticipation of them; but these facts show delicate sensibility rather than remarkable intelligence.

The following observation of Edward, the Scottish naturalist, however, shows considerable powers of observation on the part of frogs. After describing the great noise made by a number of frogs on a moonlight night, he says:—

Reptiles.

Like the other cold-blooded Vertebrata, the reptiles are characterised by a sluggishness and low development of mental power which is to some extent proverbial. Nevertheless, that some members of the class present vivid emotions is not to be questioned. Thus, to quote from Thompson:—

Several species of snake incubate their eggs and show parental affection for their young when they are hatched out; but neither in these nor in any other of their emotions do the reptiles appear to rise much above the level of fish. The case, however, which I shall afterwards quote, of the tame snakes kept by Mr. and Mrs. Mann, seems to show a somewhat higher degree of emotional development than could be pointed to as occurring in any lower Vertebrata. Moreover, according to Pliny, so much affection subsists between the male and female asp, that when the one is killed the other seeks to avenge its death; and this statement is so far confirmed—or rather, its origin explained—by Sir Emerson Tennent that he says when a cobra is killed, its mate is often found on the same spot a day or two afterwards.

Passing on to the general intelligence of reptiles, we shall find that this also, although low as compared with the intelligence of birds and mammals, is conspicuously higher than that of fish or batrachians.

Taking first the case of special instincts, Mr. W. F. Barrett, in a letter to Mr. Darwin, bearing the date May 6, 1873, and contained among the MSS. already alluded to, gives an account of cutting open with a penknife the egg of an alligator just about to hatch. The young animal, although blind, 'instantly laid hold of the finger, and attempted to bite.' Similarly, Dr. Davy, in his 'Account of Ceylon,' gives an interesting observation of his own on a young crocodile, which he cut out of the egg,[257] and which, as soon as it escaped, started off in a direct line for a neighbouring stream. Dr. Davy placed his stick before it to try to make the little animal deviate from its course; but it stoutly resisted the opposition, and raised itself into a posture of offence, just as an older animal would have done.

Humboldt made exactly the same observation with regard to young turtles, and he remarks that as the young normally quit the egg at night, they cannot see the water which they seek, and must therefore be guided to it by discerning the direction in which the air is most humid. He adds that experiments were made which consisted in putting the newly hatched animals into bags, carrying them to some distance from the shore, and liberating them with their tails turned towards the water. It was invariably found that the young animals immediately faced round, and took without hesitation the shortest way to the water.

Scarcely less remarkable than the instincts of the young turtles are those of the old ones. Their watchful timidity at the time of laying their eggs is thus described by Bates:—

With regard to the higher intelligence of reptiles, I may quote the following instances.

Three or four different correspondents tell me of cases which they have themselves observed, of snakes and tortoises unmistakably distinguishing persons. In one of these cases the tortoise would come to the call of the favoured person, and when it came would manifest its affection by tapping the boot of this person with its mouth; 'but it would not answer anyone else.' A separation of some weeks did not affect the memory of this tortoise for his friend.[138]

The following interesting observation on the intelligence of snakes shows, not only that these animals are well able to distinguish persons, and that they remember their friends for a period of at least six weeks, but also that they possess an intensity of amiable emotion scarcely to be expected in this class. Clearly the snakes in question were not only perfectly tame, but entertained a remarkable affection for those who tended and petted them. The facts were communicated to me by Mr. Walter Severn, the well-known artist, who was a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Mann, the gentleman and his wife to whom the snakes belonged. Mr. and Mrs. Mann having got into trouble with their neighbours on account of the fear and dislike which their pets occasioned, legal proceedings were instituted, and so the matter came before the public. Mr. Severn then wrote a letter to the Times, in order to show that the animals were harmless. From this letter the following is an extract:—

The end of this python was remarkable and pathetic. Mr. Severn tells me that some years after he had published the above letter Mr. Mann was seized with an apoplectic fit. His wife, being the only other person in the house at the time, ran out to fetch a doctor. She was absent about ten minutes, and on returning found that the serpent during her absence had crawled upstairs from the room below into that where her husband was lying, and was stretched beside him dead. Such being the fact, we are left to speculate whether the double seizure of the man and the snake was a mere coincidence, or whether the sight of its stricken master, acting on the emotions of a possibly not healthy animal, precipitated its death. Looking to the extreme suddenness of the latter, as well as to the fact of the animal having pined so greatly for his friends while it was confined at the Zoological Gardens, I think the probability rather points to the death of the[262] animal having been accelerated by emotional shock. But of course the question is an open one.

So much for the power of reptiles to establish such definite and complete associations as are required for the recognition of persons—associations, however, to which, as we have seen, frogs, and even insects may attain. As for other associations, a correspondent writes to me:—

Considering the enormous distances over which turtles are able to find their way in the season of migration, this display of the homing faculty to so great a degree in a serpent is not to be regarded as incredible.

An account of reptile psychology would be incomplete without some reference to the alleged facts of snakes charming other animals by 'fascination,' and being themselves charmed by the arts of music, &c. The testimony on both subjects is conflicting, and especially with regard to the fascination of other animals by snakes. Thus:—

Many other observations, more or less similar, might be quoted; but, on the other hand, Sir Joseph Fayrer tells me that 'fascination is only fright;' and this appears to be the opinion of all persons who have had the opportunity of looking into the subject in a scientific manner. The truth probably is that small animals are occasionally much alarmed by the sight of a snake looking at them, and as a consequence of this more easily fall a prey. In some cases, it is likely enough, strong terror so unnerves the animal as to make it behave in the manner which the witnesses describe; in making half-palsied efforts to escape, it may actually fall or draw nearer to the object of its dread. Perhaps, therefore, Dr. Barton, of Philadelphia, is a little too severe on previous observers when he says that—

But, be this as it may, it is certainly remarkable, as Sir J. Fayrer in his letter to me observes, 'how little fear some animals show until the moment that they are seized and struck.'

As for snake-charming, the facts seem to be that cobras and other serpents are attracted by the sound of a pipe to creep out of their hiding-places, when they are captured and tamed. It is certain that the fangs are not always drawn, and also that from the first moment of capture, before there has been time for any process of training, a real snake-charmer is able to make the reptile 'dance.' Thus, for instance, Sir E. Tennent publishes the following letter from Mr. Reyne. After describing all his[265] precautions to ensure that the snake-charmer had no tamed snakes concealed about his person, Mr. Reyne proceeds to tell how he made the man accompany him to the jungle, where, attracted by the music of a pipe which the man played, a large cobra came from an ant-hill which Mr. Reyne knew it to occupy:—

Thus the only remarkable thing about the charming of a freshly caught snake seems to be that the charmer is able to make the animal 'dance'—for the fact of the snake approaching the unfamiliar sound of music is not in itself any more remarkable than a fish approaching the unfamiliar sight of a lantern. It does not, however, appear that this dancing is anything more than some series of gestures or movements which may be merely the expressions, more or less natural, of uneasiness or alarm. Anything else that charmed snakes may do is probably the result of training; for there is no doubt that cobras admit of being tamed, and even domesticated. Thus, for instance, Major Skinner, writing to Sir E. Tennent, says:—

Thus, on the whole, we may accept Dr. Davey's opinion—who had good opportunities for observation—that the snake-charmers control the cobras by working upon the well-known timidity and reluctance of these animals to use their fangs till they become virtually tame.

CHAPTER X.

Memory.

The memory of birds is well developed. Thus, although we are much in the dark on the whole subject of migration—so much so that I reserve its discussion with all the problems that this presents for a separate chapter in my next work—we may at least conclude that the return of the same pair of swallows every year to the same nest must be due to the animals remembering the precise locality of their nests. Again, Buckland gives an account of a pigeon which remembered the voice of its mistress after an absence of eighteen months;[145] but I have not been able to[267] meet with satisfactory evidence of the memory of a bird enduring for a longer time than this.

As it is a matter of interest in comparative psychology to trace as far as possible into detail the similarities of a mental faculty as it occurs in different groups of animals, and as the faculty of memory first admits of detailed study in the class which we are now considering, I shall here devote a paragraph to the facts concerning the exhibition of memory by birds where its mechanism best admits of being analysed; I refer to the learning of articulate phrases and tunes by talking and musical birds. The best observations in this connection with which I am acquainted are those of Dr. Samuel Wilks, F.R.S., and therefore I shall quote in extenso the portion of his paper which refers to the memory of parrots: other portions of this paper I shall have occasion to quote in my next work:—

The following is communicated to me by Mr. Venn, of Cambridge, the well-known logician:—

The celebrated parrot that belonged to the Buffon family and of which the Comte de Buffon wrote, exhibited in a strange manner the association of its ideas. For he was frequently in the habit of asking himself for his own claw, and then never failed to comply with his own request by holding it out, in the same way as he did when asked for his claw by anybody else. This, however, probably arose, not, as Buffon or his sister Madame Nadault supposed, from the bird not knowing its own voice, but rather from the association between the words and the gesture.

According to Margrave, parrots sometimes chatter their phrases in their dreams, and this shows a striking similarity of psychical processes in the operations of memory with those which occur in ourselves.

Lastly, parrots not only remember, but recollect; that is to say, they know when there is a missing link in a train of association, and purposely endeavour to pick it up. Thus, for instance, the late Lady Napier told me an interesting series of observations on this point which she had made upon an intelligent parrot of her own. They were of this kind. Taking such a phrase as 'Old Dan Tucker,' the bird would remember the beginning and the end, and try to recollect the middle. For it would say[270] very slowly, 'Old—old—old—old' (and then very quickly) 'Lucy Tucker.' Feeling that this was not right, it would try again as before, 'Old—old—old—old—old Bessy Tucker,' substituting one word after another in the place of the sought-for word 'Dan.' And that the process was one of truly seeking for the desired word was proved by the fact that if, while the bird was saying, 'Old—old—old—old,' any one threw in the word 'Dan,' he immediately supplied the 'Tucker.'

Emotions.

As regards emotions, it is among birds that we first meet with a conspicuous advance in the tenderer feelings of affection and sympathy. Those relating to the sexes and the care of progeny are in this class proverbial for their intensity, offering, in fact, a favourite type for the poet and moralist. The pining of the 'love-bird' for its absent mate, and the keen distress of a hen on losing her chickens, furnish abundant evidence of vivid feelings of the kind in question. Even the stupid-looking ostrich has heart enough to die for love, as was the case with a male in the Rotund of the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, who, having lost his wife, pined rapidly away. It is remarkable that in some species—notably pigeons—conjugal fidelity should be so strongly marked; for this shows, not only what may be called a refinement of sexual feeling, but also the presence of an abiding image in the mind's eye of the lover. For instance,—

Similarly, to give an instance or two with regard to other birds, Jesse states the following as his own observation:—

As evidence of the intensity of the maternal instinct[272] even in the case of barren birds, I may quote the following from the naturalist Couch. I do so because, although the instance is a trivial one, and also one of frequent occurrence, it is interesting as showing that a deeply rooted instinct or emotion may assert itself powerfully even in the absence of what may be termed its natural stimulus or object:—

As evidence of sympathy I shall quote in extenso an interesting case which has been communicated to me by a young lady, who desires her name withheld. There are several more or less corroborative cases in the anecdote-books,[150] so that I have no doubt as to the substantial accuracy of the account:—

The solicitude which most gregarious birds display when one of their number is wounded or captured, constitutes strong evidence of sympathy. As Jesse observes,—

The justice of these remarks may be better appreciated in the light of the following very remarkable observation, as an introduction to which I have quoted them.

Edward, the naturalist, having shot a tern, which fell winged into the sea, its companions hovered around the floating bird, manifesting much apparent solicitude, as terns and gulls always do under such circumstances. How far this apparent solicitude is real I have often speculated, as in the analogous case of the crows—wondering whether the emotions concerned were really those of sympathy or mere curiosity. The following observation, however, seems to set this question at rest. Having begun to make preparations for securing the wounded bird, Edward says: 'I expected in a few moments to have it in my possession, being not very far from the water's edge, and drifting shorewards with the wind.' He continues:—

According to Clavigero,[153] the inhabitants of Mexico utilise the sympathy of the wild pelican for the procuring of fish. First a pelican is caught and its wing broken. The bird is then tied to a tree, and being both in pain and captivity, it utters cries of distress. Other pelicans are attracted by the cries, and finding their friend in such a sorry case, their bowels of compassion become moved in a very literal sense; for they disgorge from their stomachs and pouches the fish which they have caught, and deposit them within reach of the captive. As soon as this is done the men, who have been lying in wait concealed, run to the spot, drive off the friendly pelicans, and secure their fish, leaving only a small quantity for the use of the captive.

The parrot which belonged to the Buffon family showed much sympathy with a female servant to whom it was attached when the girl had a sore finger, which it displayed by its never leaving her sick room, and groaning as if itself in pain. As soon as the girl got better the bird again became cheerful.

I shall conclude this brief demonstration of the keen sympathy which may exist in birds, by quoting the following very conclusive case in the words of its distinguished observer, Dr. Franklin:[154]—

The jealousy of birds is proverbial; and that they also manifest the kindred passion of emulation, no one can doubt who has heard them singing against one another. Mr. Bold relates that a mule canary would always sing at his own image in a mirror, becoming more and more excited, till he ended by flying in rage against his supposed rival.

The late Lady Napier wrote me, among other 'anecdotes of a grey parrot left on a long visit to the family of General Sir William Napier, at the time residing in Germany,'[277] the following graphic description of the exultation displayed by the bird when it baffled the imitative powers of its master. The bird was the same as that already mentioned under the head of 'Memory':—

Allied to emulation is resentment, of which the following, communicated to me by a correspondent, may be taken as an example. If space permitted I could give confirmatory cases:—

Several strange but mutually corroborative stories seem to show cherished vindictiveness on the part of storks. Thus, in Captain Brown's book there occurs an account of a tame stork which lived in the college yard at Tübingen,—

The curiosity of birds is highly developed, so much so, indeed, that in this and other countries it is played upon by sportsmen and trappers. Unfamiliar objects being[279] placed within sight, say, of ducks, the birds approach to examine them, and fall into the snares which have been prepared. Similarly, in oceanic islands unfrequented by man, the birds fearlessly approach to examine the first human beings that they have seen.

That birds exhibit pride might be considered doubtful if we had to rely only on the evidence supplied by the display of the peacock, and the strutting of the turkey-gobbler; for these actions, although so expressive of this emotion, may not really be due to it. But I think that the evident pleasure which is taken in achievement by talking birds can only be ascribed to the emotion in question. These birds regularly practise their art, and when a new phrase is perfected they show an unmistakable delight in displaying the result.

Play is exhibited by many species in various ways, and it seems to be this class of feelings in their most organised form which have led to the extraordinary instincts of the bower-birds of New South Wales. The 'playhouses' of the animals have been described by Mr. Gould in his 'History of the Birds of New South Wales.' Of course the play-instincts are here united with those of courtship, which are of such general occurrence among birds; but I think no one can read Mr. Gould's description of the bowers and the uses to which they are put without feeling that the love of sportive play must have been joined with the sexual instincts in producing the result. But, be this as it may, there can be no question that these bowers are highly interesting structures, as furnishing the most unexceptionable evidence of true æsthetic, if not artistic feeling, on the part of the bird which constructs them; and, according to Mr. Herbert Spencer, the artistic feelings are physiologically allied with those of play. It is a matter of importance to obtain definite proof of an æsthetic sense in animals, because this constitutes the basis of Mr. Darwin's theory of sexual selection; but as he has treated the evidence on this subject in so exhaustive a manner, I shall not enter upon so wide a field further than to point out that the case of the bower-bird, even if it stood alone, would be amply sufficient to carry the general conclusion[280] that some animals exhibit emotions of the beautiful. The following is Mr. Gould's description, in extenso, of the habits of the bird in question:—

It has now been clearly ascertained that these curious bowers are merely sporting-places in which the sexes meet, when the males display their finery, and exhibit many remarkable actions; and so inherent is this habit, that the living examples, which have been from time to time sent to this country, continue it even in captivity.[156] Those belonging to the Zoological Society have constructed[281] their bowers, decorated and kept them in repair, for several years. In a letter from the late Mr. F. Strange, it is said:—

I have said that if this case stood alone it would constitute ample evidence that some animals possess emotions of the beautiful. But the case does not stand alone. Certain humming-birds, according to Mr. Gould, decorate the outsides of their nests 'with the utmost taste; they instinctively fasten thereon beautiful pieces of flat lichen, the larger pieces in the middle, and the smaller on the part attached to the branch. Now and then a pretty feather is intertwined or fastened to the outer sides, the stem being always so placed that the feather stands out beyond the surface.' Several other instances might be rendered of the display of artistic feeling in the architecture of birds; and, as Mr. Darwin so elaborately shows, there can scarcely be question that these animals take emotional pleasure in surveying beautiful plumage in the opposite sex, looking to the careful manner in which the males of many species display their fine colours to the females. Doubtless the evidence of æsthetic feeling is much stronger in the case of birds than it is in that of any other class; but if this feeling is accepted as a sufficient cause, through sexual selection, of natural decoration in the members of this class, we are justified in attributing to sexual selection, and so to æsthetic feeling, natural[282] decoration in other classes, at least as low down in the scale as the Articulata. But, as I have said, Mr. Darwin has dealt with this whole subject in so exhaustive a manner that it is needless for me to enter upon it further than to say in general terms, that whatever we may think of his theory of sexual selection, his researches have unquestionably proved the existence of an æsthetic sense in animals.

The same fact appears to be shown in another way by the fondness of song-birds for the music of their mates. There can be no doubt that male birds charm their females with their strains, and that this, in fact, is the reason why song in birds has become developed. Of course it may be said that the vocal utterances of birds are not always, or even generally, musical; but this does not affect the fact that birds find some æsthetic pleasure in the sounds which they emit; it only shows that the standard of æsthetic taste differs in different species of birds as it does in different races of men. Moreover, the pleasure which birds manifest in musical sounds is not always restricted to the sounds which they themselves produce. Parrots seem certainly to take delight in hearing a piano play or a girl sing; and the following instance, published by the musician John Lockman, reveals in a remarkable manner the power of distinguishing a particular air, and of preferring it above others. He was staying at the house of a Mr. Lee in Cheshire, whose daughter used to play; and whenever she played the air of 'Speri si' from Handel's opera of 'Admetus,' a pigeon would descend from an adjacent dovecot to the window of the room where she sat, 'and listen to the air apparently with the most pleasing emotions,' always returning to the dovecot immediately the air was finished. But it was only this one air that would induce the bird to behave in this way.[158]

Special Habits.

Under this heading we shall have a number of facts to consider, which are more or less of a disconnected character.

Taking first those special habits connected with the procuring of food, we may notice the instinct manifested by blackbirds and thrushes of conveying snails to considerable distances in order to hammer and break their shells against what may happen to be the nearest stone,[159] and the still more clever though somewhat analogous instinct exhibited by certain gulls and crows of flying with shell-fish to a considerable height and letting them fall upon stones for the purpose of smashing their shells.[160] Both these instincts manifest a high degree of intelligence, either on the part of the birds themselves, or on that of their ancestors; for neither of these instincts can be regarded as due to originally accidental adjustments favoured and improved by natural selection; they must at least originally have been intelligent actions purposely designed to secure the ends attained.

An interesting instinct is that of piracy, which in the animal kingdom reaches its highest or most systematic development among the birds. It is easy to see how it may be of more advantage to a species of strong bird that its members should become parasitic on the labours of other species than that they should forage for themselves, and so there is no difficulty in understanding the development of the plundering instinct by natural selection. We find all stages of this development among the sea-birds. Thus the gulls, although usually self-foragers, will, as I have often observed, congregate in enormous numbers where the guillemots have found a shoal of fish. Resting[284] on or flying over the surface of the water, the gulls wait till a guillemot comes to the surface with a fish, and then wrest the latter from the beak of the former. In the robber-tern this instinct has proceeded further, so that the animal gains its subsistence entirely by plunder of other terns. I have often observed this process, and it is interesting that the common tern well knows the appearance of the robber; for no sooner does a robber-tern come up than the greatest consternation is excited among a flock of common terns, these flying about and screaming in a frantic manner. The white-headed eagle has also developed the plundering instinct in great perfection, as is shown by the following graphic account of Audubon:—

The frigate pelican is likewise a professional thief, and attacks the boobies not only to make them drop the fish which they have newly caught, but also to disgorge those which are actually in their stomachs. The latter process is effected by strong punishment, which they continue until the unfortunate booby yields up its dinner. The punishment consists in stabbing the victim with its powerful beak. Catesby and Dampier have both observed and described these habits, and it seems from their account that the plunderer may either commit highway robbery in[285] the air, or lie in wait for the boobies as they return to rest.

In antithesis to this habit of plundering other birds I may quote the following from 'Nature' (July 20, 1871), to show that the instinct of provident labour, so common among insects and rodents, is not altogether unrepresented in birds:—

It is a matter of common remark that in countries where vultures abound, these birds rapidly 'gather together where the carcass is,' although before the death of their prey no bird was to be seen in the sky. The question has always been asked whether the vultures are guided to the carcass by their sense of smell or by that of sight; but this question is really no longer an open one. When Mr. Darwin was at Valparaiso he tried the following experiment. Having tied a number of condors in a long row, and having folded up a piece of meat in paper, he walked backwards and forwards in front of the row, carrying the meat at a distance of three yards from them, 'but no notice whatever was taken.' He then threw the meat upon the ground, within one yard of an old male bird; 'he looked at it for a moment with attention, but then regarded it no more.' With a stick he next pushed the meat right under the beak of the bird. Then for the first time the bird smelled it, and tore open the paper 'with fury, and at the same moment every bird in the long row began struggling and flapping its wings.'[164] Thus there can be no doubt that vultures do not depend on their sense of smell for finding carrion at a distance. Nor is it mysterious why they should find it by their sense of sight. If over an area of many square miles there are a number of vultures flying as they do at a very high elevation, and if[287] one of the number perceives a carcass and begins to descend, the next adjacent vultures would see the descent of the first one, and follow him as a guide, while the next in the series would follow these in the same way, and so on.

Coming now to special instincts relating to incubation and the care of offspring, a correspondent writes:—

I am not aware that this curious display of forethought on the part of a caged bird has been hitherto recorded, and seeing, as my correspondent points out, that it has reference to the changed conditions of life brought about by domestication, it may be said to constitute the first step in the development of a new instinct, which, if the conditions were of sufficiently long continuance, might lead to an important and permanent change of the ancestral instinct.

I have several interesting facts, also communicated to[288] me by correspondents, similarly relating to individual variations of the ancestral instinct of incubation in order to meet the requirements of a novel environment. Thus Mr. J. F. Fisher tells me that while he was a commander in the East India trade he always took a quantity of fowls to sea for food. The laying-boxes being in a confined space, the hens used to quarrel over their occupancy; and one of the hens adopted the habit of removing the 'nest-eggs' which Mr. Fisher placed in one of the boxes to another box of the same kind not very far away. He watched the process through a chink of a door, and 'saw her curl her neck round the egg, thus forming a cup by which she lifted the egg,' and conveyed it to the other box. He adds:—

The explanation of the preference shown for the one box over the other may, I think, be gathered from another part of my correspondent's letter, for he there mentions incidentally that the box in which he placed the nest-egg, and from which the hen removed it, was standing near a door which was usually open, and thus situated in a more exposed position than the other box. But be this as it may, considering that among domestic fowls the habit of conveying eggs is not usual, such isolated cases are interesting as showing how instincts may originate. Jesse gives an exactly similar case ('Gleanings,' vol. i., p. 149) of the Cape goose, which removed eggs from a nest attacked by rats, and another case of a wild duck doing the same.

In the same connection, and with the same remarks, I may quote the following case in which a fowl adopted the habit of conveying, not her eggs, but her young chickens. I quote it from Houzeau ('Journ.,' i., p. 332), who gives[289] the observation on the authority of his brother as eye-witness. The fowl had found good feeding-ground on the further side of a stream four metres wide. She adopted the habit of flying across with her chickens upon her back, taking one chicken on each journey. She thus transferred her whole brood every morning, and brought them back in a similar way to their nest every evening. The habit of carrying young in this way is not natural to Grallinaceæ, and therefore this particular instance of its display can only be set down as an intelligent adjustment by a particular bird.

Similarly, a correspondent (Mr. J. Street) informs me of a case in which a pair of blackbirds, after having been disturbed by his gardener looking into their nest at their young, removed the latter to a distance of twenty yards, and deposited them in a more concealed place. Partridges are well known to do this, and similarly, according to Audubon, the goatsucker, when its nest is disturbed, removes its eggs to another place, the male and female both transporting eggs in their beaks.[165]

Still more curiously, a case is recorded in 'Comptes Rendu' (1836) of a pair of nightingales whose nest was threatened by a flood, and who transported it to a safe place, the male and the female bearing the nest between them.

Now, it is easy to see that if any particular bird is intelligent enough, as in the cases quoted, to perform this adjustive action of conveying young—whether to feeding-grounds, as in the case of the hen, or from sources of danger, as in the case of partridges, blackbirds, and goatsuckers—inheritance and natural selection might develop the originally intelligent adjustment into an instinct common to the species. And it so happens that this has actually occurred in at least two species of birds—viz., the woodcock and wild duck, both of which have been repeatedly observed to fly with their young upon their backs to and from their feeding-ground.

Couch gives some facts of interest relating to the mode of escape practised by the water-rail, swan, and some other aquatic birds. This consists in sinking under water, with[290] only the bill remaining above the surface for respiration. When the swan has young, she may sink the head quite under water in order to allow the young to mount on it, and so be carried through even rapid currents.

Sir H. Davy gives an account of a pair of eagles which he saw on Ben Nevis teaching their young ones to fly; and every one must have observed the same thing among commoner species of birds. The experiments of Spalding, however, have shown that flying is an instinctive faculty; so that when he reared swallows from the nest and liberated them only after they were fully fledged, they flew well immediately on being liberated. Therefore, the 'teaching to fly' by parent birds must be regarded as mere encouragement to develop instinctive powers, which in virtue of this encouragement are probably developed sooner than would otherwise be the case.

A few observations may here be offered on some[291] habits which do not fall under any particular heading.

The habit which many small birds display of mobbing carnivorous ones is probably due to a desire to drive off the enemy, and perhaps also to warn friends by the hubbub. It may therefore perhaps be regarded as a display of concerted action, of which, however, we shall have better evidence further on. I have seen a flock of common terns mob a pirate tern, which shows that this combined action may be directed as much against robbery as against murder. Couch says he has seen blackbirds mobbing a cat which was concealed in a bush, and here the motive would seem to be that of warning friends rather than that of driving away the enemy.

I have observed among the sea-gulls at the Zoological Gardens a curious habit, or mode of challenge. This consists in ostentatiously picking up a small twig or piece of wood, and throwing it down before the bird challenged, in the way that a glove used to be thrown down by the old knights. I observed this action performed repeatedly by several individuals of the glaucous and black-back species in the early spring-time of the year, and so it probably has some remote connection with the instinct of nest-building.

Nidification.

In connection with the habits and instincts peculiar to certain species of birds, I may give a short account of the more remarkable kinds of nidification that are met with in this class of animals. As the account must necessarily be brief, I shall only mention the more interesting of the usual types.

Petrels and puffins make their nests in burrows which they excavate in the earth. The great sulphur mountain in Guadaloupe is described by Wasser as 'all bored like a rabbit warren with the holes that these imps (i.e. petrels) excavate.' In the case of the puffin it is the male that does the work of burrowing. He throws himself upon his back in the tunnel which he has made, and digs it longer and longer with his broad bill, while casting out[292] the mould with his webbed feet. The burrow when finished has several twists and turns in it, and is about ten feet deep. If a rabbit burrow is available, the puffin saves himself the trouble of digging by taking possession of the one already made. The kingfisher and land-martin also make their nests in burrows.

Certain auks lay their single egg on the bare rock while the stone curlew and goatsucker deposit theirs on the bare soil, returning, however, year after year to the same spot. Ostriches scrape holes in the sand to serve as extemporised nests for their eggs promiscuously dropped, which are then buried by a light coating of sand, and incubated during the day by the sunbeams, and at night by the male bird. Sometimes a number of female ostriches deposit their eggs in a common nest, and then take the duty of incubation by turns. Similarly, gulls, sandpipers, plovers, &c., place their eggs in shallow pits hollowed out of the soil. The kingfisher makes a bed of undigested fish-bones ejected as pellets from her stomach, and 'some of the swifts secrete from their salivary glands a fluid which rapidly hardens as it dries on exposure to the air into a substance resembling isinglass, and thus furnish the "edible birds' nests" that are the delight of the Chinese epicures.'[166]

The house-martin builds its nest of clay, which it sticks upon the face of a wall, and renders more tenacious by working into it little bits of straw, splinters of wood, &c. According to Mr. Gilbert White:—

Other birds build in wood. The tomtit and the woodpecker excavate a hole in a tree, and carefully carry away the chips, so as not to give any indication of the whereabouts of their nests. Wilson says that the American woodpecker makes an excavation five feet in depth, of a tortuous form, to keep out wind and rain.

The orchard starling suspends its nest from the branches of a tree, and uses for its material tough kinds of grass, the blades of which it weaves together. Wilson found one of these blades to be thirteen inches long, and to be woven in and out thirty-four times.

We may next notice the weaver (Ploceus textor) and tailor (Prinia, Orthotomus, and Sylvia). The former intertwines slender leaves of grass so as to produce a web sufficiently substantial for the protection of its young. The tailor-birds sew together leaves wherewith to make their nests, using for the purpose cotton and thread where they can find it, and natural vegetable fibres where they cannot obtain artificial. Colonel Sykes says that he has found the threads thus used for sewing knotted at the ends.[167]

Forbes saw the tailor-bird of the East Indies constructing its nest, and observed it to choose a plant with large leaves, gather cotton which it regularly spun into a thread by means of its bill and claws, and then sew the leaves together, using its beak as a needle, or rather awl.

This instinct is rendered particularly interesting to evolutionists from the fact that it is exhibited by three distinct genera. For, as the instinct is so peculiar and unique, it is not likely to have originated independently in the three genera, but must be regarded as almost certainly derived from a common ancestral type—thus showing that an instinct may be perpetuated unaltered after the differentiation of structure has proceeded beyond a specific distinction. The genus Sylvia inhabits Italy, the other two inhabit India. Sylvia uses for thread spiders' web collected[294] from the egg-pouches, which is stitched through holes made in the edges of leaves, presumably with the beak.

The baya bird of India 'hangs its pendulous dwelling from a projecting bough, twisting it with grass into a form somewhat resembling a bottle with a prolonged neck, the entrance being inverted, so as to baffle the approaches of its enemies, the tree snakes and other reptiles.'

While this work is passing through the press I meet with the following, which appears to refer to some independent, and therefore corroborative observation concerning the above-stated fact, and in any case is worth adding, on account of the observation concerning the rats, which, if trustworthy, would furnish a sufficient reason for the instinct of the birds. The extract is taken from a letter to 'Nature' (xxiv., p. 165), published by Mr. H. A. Severn:

Sir George Grey measured one of these mounds, and found it to be 'forty-five feet in circumference, and if rounded in proportion on the top (it being at the time unfinished) would have been full five feet high.' The heat round the eggs was taken to be 89°.

A curious aberration of the nest-building instinct is sometimes shown by certain birds—particularly the common wren—which consists in building a supernumerary nest. That is to say, after one nest is completed, another is begun and finished before the eggs are laid, and the first nest is not used, though sometimes it is used in preference to the second.

As showing at once the eccentricity which birds sometimes display in the choice of a site, and also the determination of certain birds to return to the same site in successive years, I may allude to the case published by Bingley, of a pair of swallows which built their nest upon the wings and body of a dead owl, which was hanging from the rafters of a barn, and so loosely as to sway about with every gust of wind. The owl with the nest upon it was placed as a curiosity in the museum of Sir Ashton Lever, and he directed that a shell should be hung upon the rafters in the place which had been previously occupied by the dead owl. Next year the swallows returned and constructed their new nest in the cavity of the shell.[169]

The following is quoted from Couch ('Illustrations of Instinct,' p. 227 et seq.):—

We must not conclude these remarks on nidification without alluding to Mr. Wallace's chapters on the 'Philosophy of Birds' Nests,' in his work on 'Natural Selection.' This writer is inclined to suppose that birds do not build their nests distinctive of their various species by the teachings of hereditary instinct, but by the young birds intelligently observing the construction of the nests in which they are hatched, and purposely imitating this construction when in the following season they have occasion to build nests of their own. With reference to this theory it is only needful to say that it is antecedently improbable, and not well substantiated by facts. It is antecedently improbable because, when any habit has been continued for a number of generations—especially when the habit is of a peculiar and detailed character—the probability is that it has become instinctive; we should have almost as[299] much reason to anticipate that the nest of the little crustacean Podocerus, or the cell of the hive-bee, is constructed by a process of conscious imitation, as that this is the case with the nests of birds. And this theory is not well substantiated by facts because, if the theory were true, we should expect considerable differences to be usually presented by nests of the same species. Unless the construction of the nest of any given species were regulated by a common instinct, numberless idiosyncratic peculiarities would necessarily require to arise, and there would only be a very general uniformity of type presented by the nests of the same species.

A more valuable contribution to the 'Philosophy of Birds' Nests' is furnished by this able naturalist when he directs attention to a certain general correlation between the form of the nest and the colour of the female. For, on reviewing the birds of the world, he certainly makes good the proposition that, as a general rule, liable however to frequent exceptions, dull-coloured females sit on open nests, while those that are conspicuously coloured sit in domed nests. But Mr. Darwin, in a careful review of all the evidence, clearly shows that this interesting fact is to be attributed, not, as Mr. Wallace supposed, to the colour of the female having been determined through natural selection by the form of the nest, but to the reverse process of the form of the nest having been determined by the colour of the female.[170]

Another general fact of interest connected with nidification must not be omitted. This is that the instincts of nidification, although not so variable as the theory of Mr. Wallace would require, are nevertheless highly plastic. The falcon, which usually builds on a cliff, has been known to lay its eggs on the ground in a marsh; the golden eagle sometimes builds in trees or on the ground, while the heron varies its site between trees, cliffs, and open fen.[171] Again, Audubon, in his 'Ornithological Biography,' gives many cases of conspicuous local variations in the nests of the same species in the northern and[300] southern United States; and, as Mr. Wallace truly observes,—

In America the change of habits in this respect undergone by the house-swallow has been accomplished within the last three hundred years.

Closely connected, if not identical, with this fact is another, namely, that in some species which have been watched closely for a sufficient length of time, a steady improvement in the construction of nests has been observed. Thus C. G. Leroy, who filled the post of Ranger of Versailles about a century ago, and therefore had abundant opportunities of studying the habits of animals, wrote an essay on 'The Intelligence and Perfectibility of Animals from a Philosophical Point of View.' In this essay he has anticipated the American observer Wilson in noticing that the nests of young birds are distinctly inferior to those of older ones, both as regards their situation and construction. As we have here independent testimony of two good observers to a fact which in itself is not improbable, I think we may conclude that the nest-making instinct admits of being supplemented, at any rate in some birds, by the experience and intelligence of the individual. M. Pouchet has also recorded that he has found a decided improvement to have taken place in the nests of the swallows at Rouen during his own lifetime; and this accords with the anticipation of Leroy that if our observation extended over a sufficient length of time, and in a manner sufficiently close, we should find that the accumulation of intelligent improvements by individuals of successive generations would begin to tell upon the inherited[301] instinct, so that all the nests in a given locality would attain to a higher grade of excellence.

Leroy also says that when swallows are hatched out too late to migrate with the older birds, the instinct of migration is not sufficiently imperative to induce them to undertake the journey by themselves. 'They perish, the victims of their ignorance, and of the tardy birth which made them unable to follow their parents.'

Cuckoo.

Perhaps the strangest of the special instincts manifested by birds is that of the cuckoo laying its eggs in the nests of other birds. As the subject is an important one from several points of view, I shall consider it at some length.

It must first be observed that the parasitic habit in question is not practised by all species of the genus—the American cuckoo, for instance, being well known to build its nest and rear its young in the ordinary manner. The Australian species, however, manifests the same instinct as the European. The first observer of the habit practised by the European cuckoo was the illustrious Jenner, who published his account in the 'Philosophical Transactions.'[173] From this account the following is an extract:—

A writer in 'Nature' (vol. v., p. 383; and vol. ix., p. 123), to whom Mr. Darwin refers in the latest edition of 'The Origin of Species' as an observer that Mr. Gould has found trustworthy, precisely confirms, from observations of his own, the above description of Jenner. So far, therefore, as the observations are common I shall not quote his statements; but the following additional matter is worth rendering:—

Such being the facts, we have next to ask how they are to be explained on the principles of evolution. At first sight it seems that although the habit saves the bird which practises it much time and trouble, and so is clearly of benefit to the individual, it is not so clear how the instinct is of benefit to the species; for as cuckoos are not social birds, and therefore cannot in any way depend on mutual co-operation, it is difficult to see that this saving of time and trouble to the individual can be of any use to the species. But Jenner seems to have hit the right cause in the concluding part of the above quotation. If it is an advantage that the cuckoo should migrate early, it clearly becomes an advantage, in order to admit of this, that the habit should be formed of leaving her eggs for other birds to incubate. At any rate, we have here a sufficiently probable explanation of the raison d'être of this curious instinct; and whether it is the true reason or the only reason, we are justified in setting down the instinct to the creating influence of natural selection.

Mr. Darwin, in his 'Origin of Species,' has some interesting remarks to make on this subject. First, he is informed by Dr. Merrell that the American cuckoo, although as a rule following the ordinary custom of birds in incubating her own eggs, nevertheless occasionally deposits them in the nests of other birds.

The instinct would seem to be a very old one, for there are two great changes of structure in the European cuckoo which are manifestly correlated with the instinct. Thus, the shape of the young bird's back has already been noted; and not less remarkable than this is the small size of the egg from which the young bird is hatched. For the egg of the cuckoo is not any larger than that of the skylark, although an adult cuckoo is four times the size of an adult skylark. And 'that the small size of the egg is a real case of adaptation (in order to deceive the small birds in whose nests it is laid), we may infer from the fact of the non-parasitic American cuckoo laying full-sized eggs.' Yet, although the instinct in question is doubtless of high antiquity, there have been occasional instances observed in cuckoos of reversion to the ancestral instinct of nidification; for, according to Adolf Müller, 'the cuckoo occasionally[307] lays her eggs on the bare ground, sits on them, and feeds her young.'

In 'Nature' for November 18, 1869, Professor A. Newton, F.R.S., has published an article on a somewhat obscure point connected with the instincts of the cuckoo. He says that Dr. Baldamus has satisfied him, by an exhibition of sixteen specimens of cuckoos' eggs found in the nests of different species of birds, 'that the egg of the cuckoo is approximately coloured and marked like those of the bird in whose nest it is found,' for the purpose, no doubt, of deceiving the foster-parents. Professor Newton adds, however:—

Still, when so great an authority as Professor Newton expresses himself satisfied that there is a marked tendency to such imitation, which in some cases leads to extraordinary variations in the colouring of the cuckoo's egg, the alleged fact becomes one which demands notice. The question, of course, immediately arises, How is it conceivable that the fact, if it is a fact, can be explained? We cannot imagine the cuckoo to be able consciously to colour her egg during its formation in order to imitate the eggs among which she is about to lay it; nor can we suppose that having laid an egg and observed its colouring, she then carries it to the nest of the bird whose eggs it most resembles. Professor Newton suggests another theory, which he seems to think sufficient, but which I confess seems to me little more satisfactory than the impossible theories just stated. He says:—

Now, granting to this hypothesis the assumption that individual cuckoos have special predilections as to the species in whose nests they are to lay their eggs, and that some of these species require to be deceived by imitative colouring of the egg to prevent their tilting it out, there is still an enormous difficulty to be met. Supposing that one cuckoo out of a hundred happens to lay eggs sufficiently like those of the North African magpies (a species alluded to by Professor Newton) to deceive the latter into supposing the egg to be one of their own. This I cannot think is too small a proportion to assume, seeing that, ex hypothesi, the resemblance must be tolerably close, and that the egg of the magpie does not resemble the great majority of eggs of the cuckoo. Now, in order to sustain the theory, we must suppose that the particular cuckoo which happens to have the peculiarity of laying eggs so closely resembling those of the magpie, must also happen to have the peculiarity of desiring to lay its eggs in the nest of a magpie. The conjunction of these two peculiarities would, I should think, at a moderate estimate reduce the chances of an approximately coloured egg being laid in the appropriate nest to at least one thousand to one. But supposing the happy accident to have taken place, we have next to suppose that the peculiarity of laying these exceptionably coloured eggs is not only constant for the same individual cuckoo, but is inherited by innumerable generations of her progeny; and, what is much more difficult to grant, that the fancy for laying eggs in the nest of a magpie is similarly inherited. I think, therefore, notwithstanding Professor Newton's strong opinion upon the subject, that the ingenious hypothesis[309] must be dismissed as too seriously encumbered by the difficulties which I have mentioned. We may with philosophical safety invoke the influence of natural selection to explain all cases of protective colouring when the modus operandi need only be supposed simple and direct; but in a case such as this the number and complexity of the conditions that would require to meet in order to give natural selection the possibility of entrance, seem to me much too considerable to admit of our entertaining the possibility of its action—at all events in the way that Professor Newton suggests. Therefore, if the facts are facts, I cannot see how they are to be explained.

Cuckoos are not the only birds which manifest the parasitic habit of laying their eggs in other birds' nests.

Such are all the facts and considerations which I have to present with reference to the curious instinct in question. It will be seen that—with one doubtful or not sufficiently investigated exception, viz., that of cuckoos adapting the colour of their eggs to that of the eggs of the foster-parents—there is nothing connected with these instincts that presents any difficulty to the theory of evolution. We may, perhaps, at first sight wonder why some counteracting instinct should not have been developed by the same agency in the birds which are liable to be thus duped; but here we must remember that the deposition of a parasitic egg is, comparatively speaking, an exceedingly rare event, and therefore not one that is likely to lead to the development of a special instinct to meet it.

General Intelligence.

Under this heading I shall here, as in the case of this heading elsewhere, string together all the instances which I have met with, and which I deem trustworthy, of the display of unusually high intelligence in the class, family, order, or species of animals under consideration—the object of this heading in all cases being that of supplying, by the facts mentioned beneath it, a general idea of the upper limit of intelligence which is distinctive of each group of animals.

That birds recognise their own images in mirrors as birds there can be no question. Houzeau, who records observations of his own in this connection with parrots,[178] adds that dogs are more difficult to deceive by mirrors in[311] this way than birds, on account of their depending so much upon smell for their information. No doubt individual differences are to be met with in animals of both classes, and much depends on previous experience. Young dogs, or dogs which have never seen a mirror before, are not, as a rule, difficult to deceive, even though they have good noses. I myself had a setter with an excellent nose, who on many repeated occasions tried to fight his own image, till he found by experience that it was of no use. As to birds, I have seen canaries suppose their own images to be other canary birds, and also the reflection of a room to be another room—the birds flying against a large mirror and falling half stunned. I mention the latter circumstance because it afforded evidence of the superior intelligence of a linnet, which on the same occasion dashed itself against the mirror once, but never a second time, while the canaries did so repeatedly.

Mrs. Frankland, in 'Nature' (xxi., p. 82), gives the following account of a bullfinch paying more attention to a portrait of a bullfinch than to his own image in a mirror, which is certainly remarkable; and as the fact seems to have been observed repeatedly, it can scarcely be discredited:

That birds possess considerable powers of imagination, or forming mental pictures of absent objects, may be inferred[312] from the fact of their pining for absent mates, parrots calling for absent friends, &c. The same fact is further proved by birds dreaming, a faculty which has been noticed by Cuvier, Jerdon, Thompson, Bennet, Houzeau, Bechstein, Lindsay, and Darwin.[179]

The facility with which birds lend themselves to the education of the show-man is certain evidence of considerable docility, or the power of forming novel associations of ideas. Thus, according to Bingley,—

And many years ago there was exhibited a very puzzling automaton, which, although of very small size and quite isolated from any possibly mechanical connection with its designer, performed certain movements in any order that the fancy of the observers might dictate. The explanation turned out to be that within the mechanism of the figure there was a canary bird which had been taught to run in different directions at different words or tones of command, so by its weight starting the mechanism to perform the particular movement required.

The rapidity with which birds learn not to fly against newly erected telegraph wires, displays a large amount of observation and intelligence. The fact has been repeatedly observed. For instance, Mr. Holden says:—

Similar facts are given in Buckland's 'Curiosities of Natural History,'[182] and I have myself known of a case in Scotland where a telegraph was erected across a piece of moorland. During the first season some of the grouse were injured by flying against the wires, but never in any succeeding season. Why the young birds should avoid them without having had individual experience may, I think, be explained by the consideration that in birds which fly in flocks or coveys, it is the older ones that lead the way. This explanation would not, of course, apply to birds which fly singly; but I am not aware that any observations have gone to show that the young of such birds avoid the wires.

The following appeared in the 'Gardener's Chronicle' for Aug. 3, 1878, under the initials 'T. G.' I wrote to the editor requesting him to supply me with the name of his correspondent, and also to state whether he knew him to be a trustworthy man. In reply the editor said that he knew his correspondent to be trustworthy, and that his name is Thomas Guring:—

Livingstone's 'Expedition to the Zambesi, 1865,' p. 209, gives a conclusive account of the bird called the honey-guide, which leads persons to bees' nests. 'They are quite as anxious to lure the stranger to the bees' hive as other birds are to draw him away from their own nests.' The object of the bird is to obtain the pupæ of the bees which are laid bare by the ravaging of the nest. The habits of this bird have long been known and described in books on popular natural history; but it is well that the facts have been observed by so trustworthy a man as Livingstone. He adds, 'How is it that members of this family have learned that all men, white and black, are fond of honey? 'We can only answer, by intelligent observation in the first instance, passing into individual and hereditary habit, and so eventually into a fixed instinct.

Brehm relates an instance of cautious sagacity in a pewit. He had placed some horsehair snares over its nest, but the bird seeing them, pushed them aside with[316] her bill. Next day he set them thickly round the nest; but now the bird, instead of running as usual to the nest along the ground, alighted directly upon it. This shows a considerable appreciation of mechanical appliances, as does also the following.

Mrs. K. Addison sends me the following instance of the use of signs on the part of an intelligent jackdaw. The bird was eighteen months old, and lived in some bushes in Mrs. Addison's garden. She writes:—

As a still more remarkable instance of the display of intelligence by a bird of this species, I shall quote the following observation of Commander R. H. Napier, also published in 'Nature' (viii., p. 324):—

The following display of intelligence on the part of swallows is communicated to me by Mr. Charles Wilson.[318] It can scarcely be attributed to accident, and does not admit of mal-observation. My informant says:—

Another gentleman writes me of another use to which he has observed swallows put the artifice of building tunnels. Being molested by sparrows which desired to take forcible possession of their nest, a pair of swallows modified the entrance of the latter, so that instead of opening by a simple hole under the eaves of a house, it was carried on in the form of a tunnel.

Linnæus says that the martin, when it builds under the eaves of houses, sometimes is molested by sparrows taking possession of the nest. The pair of martins to which the nest belongs are not strong enough to dislodge the invaders; but they convoke their companions, some of whom guard the captives, whilst others bring clay, close up the entrance of the nest, and leave the sparrows to die miserably. This account has been to a large extent independently confirmed by Jesse, who seems not to have been acquainted with the statement of Linnæus. He writes:—

That birds sometimes act in concert may also be gathered from the following observations recorded by Mr. Buck:—

The following is extracted from Sir E. Tennent's 'Natural History of Ceylon,' and displays remarkable intelligence on the part of the crows in that island:—

This account, which would be difficult of credence if narrated by a less competent author, is strikingly confirmed by an independent observation on the crows of Japan, which has recently been published by Miss Bird, in whose words I shall render it. She writes:—

These two independent statements by competent observers of such similar exhibitions of intelligence by crows, justifies us in accepting the fact, remarkable though it be. As further corroboration, however, I shall quote still another independent and closely similar observation, which I find in a letter to me from Sir J. Clarke Jervoise, who says, while writing of rooks which he has observed in England:—

I shall next quote a highly interesting observation which seems to have been well made, and which displays remarkable intelligence on the part of the birds described. These are Turnstones, which, as their name implies, turn over stones, &c., in order to obtain as food the sundry small creatures concealed beneath. In this case the observer was Edward. Being concealed in a hollow, and unnoticed by the birds, he saw a pair trying to turn over the body of a stranded cod-fish, three and a half feet long, and buried in the sand to a depth of several inches. He thus describes what he saw:—

I shall now bring this chapter to a close by presenting all the evidence that I have been able to collect with regard to the punishment of malefactors among rooks.

Goldsmith, who used constantly to observe a rookery from his window, says that the selection of a site for the building of a nest is a matter of much anxious deliberation on the part of a young crow couple; the male and female 'examining all the trees of a grove very attentively, and when they have fixed upon a branch that seems fit for their purpose, they continue to sit upon it, and observe it very sedulously for two or three days longer:'—

Similarly, the Bishop of Carlisle writes in the 'Nineteenth Century' for July 1881:—

Lastly, Major-General Sir George Le Grand Jacob, K.C.S.I., C.B., writes to me that while sitting in a verandah in India, he saw three or four crows come and perch on a neighbouring house. They then cawed continuously with such peculiar sound and vigour as to attract his attention. His account proceeds:—

CHAPTER XI.

Marsupials.

In the 'Transactions of the Linnean Society,' Major Mitchell gives an interesting account of the structure reared by a small Australian marsupial (Conilurus constructor) for the purposes of defence against the dingo dog. It consists of a large pile of dry sticks and brushwood, 'big enough to make two or three good cart-loads.' Each stick and fragment is closely intertwined or woven with the rest, so that the whole forms a solid, compact mass. In the middle of this large structure is the nest of the animal.

The marsupials are as low in the scale of mammalian intelligence as they are in that of mammalian structure: so that, except the above, I have met with no fact connected with the psychology of this group that is worth quoting, except, perhaps, the following, which appears to show deliberation and decision on the part of the kangaroo. Jesse writes:—

Cetaceans.

Mr. Saville Kent communicates an article to 'Nature' (vol. viii., p. 229) on 'Intellect of Porpoises.' He says:—

Horse and Ass.

The horse is not so intelligent an animal as any of the larger Carnivora, while among herbivorous quadrupeds his sagacity is greatly exceeded by that of the elephant, and in a lesser degree by that of his congener the ass. On the other hand, his intelligence is a grade or two above that of perhaps any ruminant or other herbivorous quadruped.

The emotional life of this animal is remarkable, in that it appears to admit of undergoing a sudden transformation in the hands of the 'horse-tamer.' The celebrated results obtained by Rarey in this connection have since been repeated with more or less success by many persons in various parts of the world, and the 'method' appears to be in all cases essentially the same. The untamed and apparently untamable animal has its fore-leg or legs strapped up, is cast on its side and allowed to[329] struggle for a while. It is then subjected to various manipulations, which, without necessarily causing pain, make the animal feel its helplessness and the mastery of the operator. The extraordinary fact is that, after having once felt this, the spirit or emotional life of the animal undergoes a complete and sudden change, so that from having been 'wild' it becomes 'tame.' In some cases there are subsequent relapses, but these are easily checked. Even the truly 'wild' horse from the prairie admits of being completely subdued in a marvellously short time by the Gauchos, who employ an essentially similar method, although the struggle is here much more fierce and prolonged.[191] The same may be said of the taming of wild elephants, although in this case the facts are not nearly so remarkable from a psychological point of view, seeing that the process of taming is so much more slow.

Another curious emotional feature in the horse is the liability of all the other mental faculties of the animal to become abandoned to that of terror. For I think I am right in saying that the horse is the only animal which, under the influence of fear, loses the possession of every other sense in one mad and mastering desire to run. With its entire mental life thus overwhelmed by the flood of a single emotion, the horse not only loses, as other animals lose, 'presence of mind,' or a due balance among the distinctively intellectual faculties, but even the avenues of special sense become stopped, so that the wholly demented animal may run headlong and at terrific speed against a stone wall. I have known a hare come to grief in a somewhat similar fashion when hotly pursued by a dog; this, however, was clearly owing to the hare looking behind instead of before, in a manner not, under the circumstances, unwise; but, as I have said, there is no animal except the horse whose whole psychology is thus liable to be completely dominated by a single emotion.

As for its other emotions, the horse is certainly an affectionate animal, pleased at being petted, jealous of[330] companions receiving favour, greatly enjoying play with others of its kind, and also the sport of the hunting-field. Lastly, horses exhibit pride in a marked degree, as do also mules. Such animals, when well kept, are unmistakably pleased with gay trappings, so that 'in Spain, as a punishment for disobedience, it is usual to strip the animal of its gaudy coronal and bells, and to transfer them to another' (Thompson).

The memory of the horse is remarkably good, as almost every one must have had occasion to observe who has driven one over roads which the animal may have only once traversed a long time before. As showing the duration of memory I may quote the following letter to Mr. Darwin from the Rev. Rowland H. Wedgwood, which I find among the MSS. of the former:—

A few instances of the display of intelligence by members of the horse tribe may bring this section to a close.

Mr. W. J. Fleming writes me concerning a vicious horse he had which, while being groomed, frequently used to throw a ball of wood attached to his halter at the groom. He did so by flexing his fetlock and jamming the ball between the pastern and the leg, then throwing the ball backwards 'with great force.'

I myself had a horse which was very clever at slipping his halter after he knew that the coachman was in bed. He would then draw out the two sticks in the pipe of the oat-bin, so as to let all the oats run down from the bin above upon the stable floor. Of course he must have observed that this was the manner in which the coachman obtained the oats, and desiring to obtain them, did what he had observed to be required. Similarly, on other occasions he used to turn the water-tap to obtain a drink, and pull the window cord to open the window on hot nights.

The anecdote books contain several stories very much alike concerning horses spontaneously visiting blacksmiths' shops when they require shoeing, or feel their shoes uncomfortable. The appended account, vouched for as it is by a good authority, may be taken as corroborative of these stories. I quote the account from 'Nature' (May 19, 1881):—

In 'Nature,' also (vol. xx., p. 21), Mr. Claypole, of Antioch Cottage, Ohio, writes as follows:—

Houzeau (vol. ii., p. 207) says that the mules used in the tramways at New Orleans prove that they are able to count five; for they have to make five journeys from one end of the tramway to the other before they are released, and they make four of these journeys without showing that they expect to be released, but bray at the end of the fifth. This observation, however, requires to be confirmed, for unless carefully made we must suppose that the fact may be due to the mules seeing the ostler waiting to take them out.

Mr. Samuel Goodbehere, solicitor, writes me from Birmingham the following instance as having fallen under his own observation:—

The following is the only instance that I have met with in any of the horse tribe of that degree of sagacity which leads to the intentional concealment of wrong-doing. In the case of elephants, dogs, and monkeys we find abundant evidence on this head, which therefore renders the following instance more antecedently credible, and, as it is also narrated on good authority, I do not hesitate to quote it.

Concerning sympathy, Major-General Sir George Le Grand Jacob, C.B., &c., writes me of instances which he observed of doe ibexes raising with their heads the bucks which he shot, and supporting them during flight.

A vivid and intelligent class of emotions, in which sympathy and rational fear are blended, seem to be exhibited by cattle in slaughterhouses. Many years ago a pamphlet was written upon the subject, and more recently Mr. Robert Hamilton, F.C.S., without apparently knowing of this previous publication, wrote another pamphlet, conveying precisely similar statements. These are too long to quote in extenso; but from a letter which the latter gentleman writes to me I may make the following extract:—

Pride is well marked in sheep and cattle, as shown by the depressing effects produced on a 'bell-wether' or leading cow by transferring the bell to another member of the herd; and it is said that in Switzerland the beasts which on show days are provided with garlands, are evidently aware of the distinction thus placed upon them. With some amount of poetic exaggeration this fact is noted by Schiller, who says in 'Wilhelm Tell,'—

With regard to the general intelligence of ruminants I may first quote the following:—

The buffalo of the Old World manifests sagacity very similar. As Sir J. E. Tennent informs us,—

When tamed this animal is used for sporting purposes in a manner which displays the spirit of curiosity of deer, hogs, and other animals. Thus, Sir J. E. Tennent continues:—

Livingstone says of the African buffalo, that he has known the animal, when pursued by hunters, to 'turn back to a point a few yards from its own trail, and then lie down in a hollow for the hunter to come up,'—a fact[336] which displays a level of intelligence in this animal surpassing that which is met with in most Carnivora.[196]

This author also says that he has 'frequently observed the buffalo at the Zoological Farm on Kingston Hill' display the following proof of intelligence. Being of a ferocious disposition, a strong iron ring was fixed through the septum of his nose, to which a chain about two feet long was attached. At the free end of the chain there was another ring about four inches in diameter. 'In grazing the buffalo must have put his feet on this ring,[337] and in raising his head the jerk would have produced considerable pain. In order to avoid this the animal has the sense to put his horn through the lower ring, and thus avoid the inconvenience he is put to. I have seen him do this in a very deliberate manner, putting his head on one side while he got his horn through the ring, and then shaking his head till the ring rested at the bottom of the horn.'[200]

The following is quoted from Mrs. Lee's 'Anecdotes' (p. 366), and is rendered credible not only because her own observations are generally good, but also because we shall subsequently find unquestionable evidence of the display of similar intelligence by cats:—

P. Wakefield, in his 'Instinct Displayed,'[201] gives two separate cases of an intelligent manœuvre performed by goats. On both occasions two goats met on a ridge of rock with a precipice on each side, and too narrow to admit of their passing one another. One of these cases occurred on the ramparts of Plymouth Citadel, and was witnessed by 'many persons;' the other took place at Ardenglass, in Ireland. 'In both these instances the animals looked at each other for some time, as if they were considering their situation, and deliberating what was best to be done in the emergency.' In each case one of the goats then 'knelt down with great caution, and[338] crouched as close as it could lie, when the other walked over its back.' This manœuvre on the part of goats has also been recorded by other writers, and is not so incredible as it may at first sight appear, if we remember that in their wild state these animals must not unfrequently find themselves in this predicament.

Mr. W. Forster, writing from Australia, gives me the following account of the intelligence of a bull:—

Mr. G. S. Erb, writing from Salt Lake City, gives me an interesting account of the sagacity displayed by the wild deer of the United States in avoiding gun-traps, which, except for the cutting of the string, to which the teeth of the animal are not so well adapted, is strikingly similar to the sagacity which we shall see to be displayed in this respect by sundry species of Carnivora. He says:—

Pigs.

There can be no doubt that pigs exhibit a degree of intelligence which falls short only of that of the most intelligent Carnivora. The tricks taught the so-called 'learned pigs' would alone suffice to show this; while the marvellous skill with which swine sometimes open latches and fastenings of gates, &c., is only equalled by that of the cat. The following account of pigs in their wild state shows that they manifest the same kind of sagacious co-operation in facing an enemy as that which we have just seen to be manifested by the bison and the buffalo, although here it seems to be displayed in a manner still more organised:—

In Bingley's 'Memoirs of British Quadrupeds' (page 452) there is an account drawn up at his request by Sir Henry Mildmay, concerning the docility of the pig. The Toomer brothers were King's keepers in the New Forest, and they conceived the idea of training a sow to point game. This they succeeded in doing within a fortnight,[340] and in a few more weeks it also learnt to retrieve. Her scent was exceedingly good, and she stood well at partridges, black game, pheasants, snipes, and rabbits, but never pointed hares. She was more useful than a dog, and afterwards became the property of Sir Henry Mildmay. According to Youatt,[203] Colonel Thornton also had a sow similarly trained. The same author says that a sow belonging to Mr. Craven had a litter of pigs, one of which, when old enough, was taken and roasted, then a second and a third. These were necessarily taken when the mother returned in the evening from the woods for supper. But the next time she came she was alone, and, 'as her owners were anxious to know what was become of her brood, she was watched on the following evening, and observed driving back her pigs at the extremity of the wood, with much earnest grunting, while she went off to the house, leaving them to wait for her return. It was evident that she had noticed the diminution of her family, and had adopted this method to save those that remained.'[204]

The proverbial indifference to dirt attributed to the pig seems scarcely to be justified; the worst that can be said is that the animal prefers cool mud to dry heat, and the filth which swine often exhibit in their sty is the fault of the farmers rather than of the animals. Or, to quote from Thompson's 'Passions,'—

Cheiroptera.

Mr. Bates says of bats: 'The fact of their sucking the blood of persons sleeping is now well established; but it is only a few persons who are subject to this bloodletting. . . . . I am inclined to think many different kinds of bats have this propensity' ('Nat. on Amaz.,' p. 91). The particular species of bat, however, which has been most universally accredited with this habit, viz., the vampire, is perfectly harmless.

Mr. G. Clark ('A Brief Notice of the Fauna of Mauritius') gives an account of the intelligence displayed by a tame bat (Pteropus vulgaris). As soon as its master came into the room, it welcomed him with cries; and if not at once taken up to be petted, it climbed up his dress, rubbed its head against him, and licked his hands. If Mr. Clark took anything in his hand, the bat would carefully examine it by sight and smell, and when he sat down the bat would hang upon the back of his chair, following all his movements with its eyes.

Carnivora.

I shall here run together a few facts relating to the intelligence of carnivorous animals other than those to be considered in subsequent chapters.

Seals.—In their wild state these animals have not much opportunity for the display of intelligence; but when tamed it is seen that the latter is considerable. They are then affectionate animals, liking to be petted, and showing attachment to their homes. The most remarkable species of the order from a psychological point of view are the so-called Pinnipeds, whose habits during the breeding season are so peculiar that I think it is worth while to quote the best account that has hitherto[342] been published on the subject. This is the elaborate work of Mr. Joel Asaph Allen:[205]—

From the time of the first arrivals in May up to the 1st of June, as late as the middle of this month if the weather be clear, is an interval in which everything seems quiet; very few seals are added to the pioneers. By the 1st of June, however, or thereabouts, the foggy, humid weather of summer sets in, and with it the bull-seals come up by hundreds and thousands, and locate themselves in advantageous positions for the reception of the females, which are from three weeks to a month later, as a rule. The labour of locating and maintaining a position in the rookery is really a serious business for those bulls which come in last, and for those that occupy the water-line, frequently resulting in death from severe wounds in combat sustained. It appears to be a well understood principle among the able-bodied bulls that each one shall remain undisturbed on his ground, which is usually about ten feet square, provided he is strong enough to hold it against all comers; for the crowding in of fresh bulls often causes the removal of those who, though equally able-bodied at first, have exhausted themselves by fighting earlier, and are driven by the fresher animals back further and higher up on the rookery. Some of these bulls show wonderful strength and courage. I have marked one veteran, who was among the first to take up his position, and that one on the water-line, when at least fifty or sixty desperate battles were fought victoriously by him with nearly as many different seals who coveted his position; and when the fighting season was over (after the cows have mostly all hauled up) I saw him covered with scars and gashes, raw and bloody, an eye gouged out, but holding it bravely over his harem of fifteen or twenty cows, all huddled together on the same spot he had first chosen. The fighting is mostly or entirely done with the mouth, the opponents seizing each other with the teeth and clenching the jaws; nothing but sheer strength can shake them loose, and that effort almost always leaves an ugly wound, the sharp canines tearing out deep gutters in the skin and blubber, or shredding the flippers into ribbon-strips. They usually approach each other with averted heads and a great many false passes before either one or the other takes the initiative by gripping; the heads are darted out and back as quick as flash, their hoarse roaring and shrill piping whistle never ceases, while their fat[343] bodies writhe and swell with exertion and rage, fur flying in air and blood streaming down—all combined make a picture fierce and savage enough, and, from its great novelty, exceedingly strange at first sight. In these battles the parties are always distinct, the offensive and the defensive; if the latter proves the weaker he withdraws from the position occupied, and is never followed by his conqueror, who complacently throws up one of his hind flippers, fans himself, as it were, to cool himself from the heat of the conflict, uttering a peculiar chuckle of satisfaction and contempt, with a sharp eye open for the next covetous bull or 'sea-catch' (native name for the bulls on the rookeries, especially those which are able to maintain their position).

All the bulls, from the very first, that have been able to hold their positions have not left them for an instant, night or day; nor do they do so until the end of the rutting season, which subsides entirely between the 1st and 10th of August, beginning shortly after the coming of the cows in June. Of necessity, therefore, this causes them to fast, to abstain entirely from food of any kind, or water for at least three months; and a few of them stay four months before going into the water for the first time after hauling up in May. This alone is remarkable enough, but it is simply wonderful when we come to associate the condition with unceasing activity, restlessness, and duty devolved upon the bulls as heads and fathers of large families. They do not stagnate like bears in caves; it is evidently accomplished or due to the absorption of their own fat, with which they are so literally supplied when they take their positions on the breeding-ground, and which gradually diminishes while they remain on it.

They are noticed and received by the bulls on the water-line station with much attention; they are alternately coaxed and urged up on the rocks, and are immediately under the most jealous supervision; but owing to the covetous and ambitious nature of the bulls which occupy the stations reaching some way back from the water-line, the little cows have a rough-and-tumble time of it when they begin to arrive in small numbers at first; for no sooner is the pretty animal fairly established on the station of bull No. 1 who has installed her there, than he perhaps sees another one of her style down in the water from which she has just come, and in obedience to his polygamous feeling, he devotes himself anew to coaxing the later arrival in the same winning manner so successful in her case, when bull[344] No. 2, seeing bull No. 1 off his guard, reaches out his long strong neck, and picks the unhappy but passive creature up by the scruff of hers, just as a cat does a kitten, and deposits her on his seraglio-ground; then bulls Nos. 3, 4, 5, and so on in the vicinity, seeing this high-handed operation, all assail one another, and especially bull No. 2, and have a tremendous fight perhaps for half a minute or so; and during this commotion the cow is generally moved or moves farther back from the water two or three stations more, where, when all gets quiet, she usually remains in peace. Her late lord and master, not having the exposure to such diverting temptation as had her first, gives her such care that she not only is unable to leave did she wish, but no other bull can seize upon her. This is only one instance of the many different trials and tribulations which both parties on the rookery subject themselves to before the harems are filled. Far back, fifteen or twenty stations deep from the water-line sometimes, but generally not more than, on an average, ten or fifteen, the cows crowd in at the close of the season for arriving, July 10 to 14, and then they are able to go about pretty much as they please, for the bulls have become greatly enfeebled by this constant fighting and excitement during the past two months, and are quite content with even only one or two partners.

I have found it difficult to ascertain the average number of cows to one bull on the rookery, but I think it will be nearly correct to assign to each male from twelve to fifteen females occupying the stations nearest the water, those back in the rear from five to nine. I have counted forty-five cows all under the charge of one bull, which had them penned up on a flat table-rock near Kestaire Point; the bull was enabled to do this quite easily, as there was but one way to go to or come from this seraglio, and on this path the old Turk took his stand and guarded it well. At the rear of all these rookeries there is always a large number of able-bodied bulls, who wait patiently, but in vain, for families, most of them having had to fight as desperately for the privilege of being there as any of their more fortunately located neighbours, who are nearer the water than themselves; but the cows do not like to be in any outside position, when they are not in close company lying most quiet and content in the largest harems; and these large families pack the surface of the ground so thickly that there is hardly moving or turning room until the females cease to come up from the sea; but the inaction on the part of the bulls in the rear during the[345] rutting season only serves to qualify them to move into the places vacated by those males who are obliged to leave from exhaustion, or to take the position of fearless and jealous protectors for the young pups in the fall. The courage with which the fur-seal holds his position as the head and guardian of a family is of the very highest order compared with that of other animals. I have repeatedly tried to drive them when they have fairly established themselves, and have almost always failed, using every stone at my command, making all the noise I could, and finally, to put their courage to the full test, I walked up to within twenty feet of a bull at the rear and extreme end of Tolstoi Rookery, who had four cows in charge, and commenced with my double-barrelled breech-loading shot-gun to pepper him all over with mustard-seed or dust-shot. His bearing in spite of the noise, smell of powder, and pain, did not change in the least from the usual attitude of determined defence which nearly all the bulls assume when attacked with showers of stones and noise; he would dart out right and left and catch the cows which timidly attempted to run after each report, fling and drag them back to their places; then, stretching up to his full height, look me directly and defiantly in the face, roaring and spitting most vehemently. The cows, however, soon got away from him, but he still stood his ground, making little charges on me of ten or fifteen feet in a succession of gallops or lunges, spitting furiously and then retreating to the old position, back of which he would not go, fully resolved to hold his own or die in the attempt.

This courage is all the more noteworthy from the fact that, in regard to man, it is invariably of a defensive character. The seal, if it makes you turn when you attack it, never follows you much farther than the boundary of its station, and no aggravation will compel it to become offensive, as far as I have been able to observe.

The apathy with which the young are treated by the old on the breeding-grounds is somewhat strange. I have never seen a cow caress or fondle her offspring, and should it stray but a short distance from the harem, it can be picked up and killed before the mother's eyes, without causing her to show the slightest concern. The same indifference is exhibited by the bull to all that takes place outside of the boundary of his seraglio. While the pups are, however, within the limits of his harem-ground he is a jealous and fearless protector; but if the little animals pass beyond this boundary, then they may be[346] carried off without the slightest attention in their behalf from their guardian.

Early in August (8th) the pups that are nearest the water on the rookeries essay swimming, but make slow and clumsy progress, floundering about, when over head in depth, in the most awkward manner, thrashing the water with their fore-flippers, not using the hinder ones. In a few seconds, or a minute at the most, the youngest is so wary that he crawls out upon the rocks or beach, and immediately takes a recuperative nap, repeating the lesson as quick as he awakes and is rested. They soon get familiar with the water and delight in it, swimming in endless evolutions, twisting, turning, diving; and when exhausted, they draw up on the beach again, shake themselves as young dogs do, either going to sleep on the spot, or having a lazy frolic among themselves.

In this matter of learning to swim, I have not seen any 'driving' of the young pups into the water by the old in order to teach them this process, as has been affirmed by writers on the subject of seal life.

Otter.—The fact that otters admit of being taught to catch fish and bring them to their masters, shows no small degree of docility on the part of these animals. 'I have seen,' says Dr. Goldsmith, 'an otter go to a gentleman's pond at word of command, drive the fish into a corner, and, seizing upon the largest of the whole, bring it off in his mouth to his master.' And several other cases of the same kind are given by Bingley.[206]

Weasel.—'Mdlle. de Faister described her tame weasel to Buffon as playing with her fingers like a kitten, jumping on her head and neck; and if she presented her hands at the distance of three feet, it jumped into them without ever missing. It distinguished her voice amidst twenty people, and sprang over everybody to get at her. She found it impossible to open a drawer or a box, or even to look at a paper, without his examining it also. If she took up a paper or book, and looked attentively at it, the weasel immediately ran upon her hand, and surveyed with an inquisitive air whatever she happened to hold.'[207]

Polecat.—Professor Alison, in his article on 'Instinct,' in Todd's 'Cyclopædia of Anatomy,' quotes the following account from the 'Magazine of Natural History' (vol. iv., p. 206) touching a remarkable instinct manifested by polecats. 'I dug out five young polecats, comfortably embedded in dry, withered grass; and in a side-hole, of proper dimensions for such a larder, I picked out forty large frogs and two toads, all alive, but merely capable of sprawling a little. On examination, I found that the whole number, toads and all, had been purposely and dexterously bitten through the brain.' The analogy of this instinct to that which has already been mentioned as having been much more recently observed by M. Fabre in the sphex insect is noteworthy.

Ferret.—I once kept a ferret as a domestic pet. He was a very large specimen, and my sister taught him a number of tricks, such as begging for food (which he did quite as well and patiently as any terrier), leaping over sticks, &c. He became a very affectionate animal, delighting much in being petted, and following like a dog when taken out for walk. He would, however, only follow those persons whom he well knew. That his memory was exceedingly good was shown by the fact that after an absence of many months, during which he was never required to beg, or to perform any of his tricks, he went through all his paces perfectly the first time that we again tried him.

I strongly suspect that ferrets dream, as I have frequently seen them when fast asleep moving their noses and twitching their claws as if in pursuit of rabbits. Another fact I may mention as bearing on the intelligence of these animals. On one occasion, while ferreting rabbits, I lost the ferret about a mile away from home. Some days afterwards the animal returned to his home. Similar cases have been communicated to me by several sporting friends, but certainly the return of a ferret under such circumstances is the exception, and not the rule.

Wolverine.—Amazing tales are told concerning the intelligence of this animal, which for the most part are certainly exaggerations. Still there is no doubt that the creature does display a degree of sagacious cunning unsurpassed,[348] if not unequalled, in the animal kingdom. This may be shown by the two following quotations from the statements of trustworthy writers. The first is a letter kindly sent me by Dr. J. Rae, F.R.S., in reply to my request for information concerning the intelligence of this animal:—

Dr. Rae has also drawn my attention to the following account contained in the Miscellaneous Publications of the Geological Survey of the United States.[208] The writer of this account is Captain Elliot Cones:—

Bears.—There is no doubt that the intelligence of these animals stands very high in the psychological scale, although the actual instances which I have met of the display of their intelligence are few. The tricks which[351] are taught performing bears do not count for much as proof of high sagacity, as they for the most part consist in teaching the animals to assume unnatural positions, or display grotesque antics—performances which speak indeed for the general docility of the creatures, but scarcely for their high intelligence. Still even here it is worth while to remark that all species of bears would probably not lend themselves to this kind of education, for the emotional temperament manifested by the different species is unquestionably diverse. Thus, making all allowances for exaggeration, it seems certain that the grizzly bear displays a courage and ferocity which are foreign to the disposition of the brown bear, and indeed to that of most other animals. The polar bear likewise displays much bravery under the influence of hunger or maternal feeling, although under other circumstances it usually deems discretion the better part of valour. The following incident displays considerable intelligence on the part of this animal.

Scoresby, in his 'Account of the Arctic Regions,' gives the instance to which I allude:—

As the polar bear is not exposed to any enemies except man, this method of escaping is not likely to be instinctive, but was probably an intelligent adaptation to the particular circumstances of the case.

In corroboration of this most remarkable observation I quote the following from Mr. Darwin's 'Descent of Man' (p. 76), which is so precisely similar, that the fact of bears reaching the high level of intelligence which the fact implies can scarcely be doubted. 'A well-known entomologist, Mr. Westropp, informs me that he observed in Vienna a bear deliberately making with his paw a current in some water which was close to the bars of his cage, so as to draw a piece of floating bread within his reach.'

CHAPTER XII.

Rabbit.

Rabbits are somewhat stupid animals, exhibiting but small resources under novel circumstances, although inheriting several clever instincts, such as that of rapidly deciding upon the alternative of flight or crouching, which is usually done with the best judgment. I have, however, often observed that the animal does not seem to have sense enough to regard the colour of the surface on which it crouches, so that if this happens to be inappropriate, the rabbit may become conspicuous, and so its crouching a source of danger. I have been particularly struck with the fact that black rabbits inherit the crouching instinct as strongly as do normally coloured ones, with the effect of rendering themselves highly conspicuous. This shows that the instinct is not necessarily correlated with the colour which alone renders the instinct useful, but that both have developed simultaneously and independently, and by natural selection. The fact also shows that the crouching of rabbits is purely instinctive, and not due to any conscious process of comparing their own colour with that of the surfaces on which they crouch. No doubt the instinct began and was developed by natural selection placing a premium upon the better judgment of those individuals which know when best to seek safety in flight and when by crouching—protective colouring being added at the same time by the same agency.

Another fact, which every one who shoots must have observed, goes to show the stupidity of rabbits, or their inability to learn by experience. When alarmed they run for their burrows, and when they reach them, instead of entering they very frequently squat down to watch the enemy. Now, although they well know the distance at which it is safe to allow a man with a gun to approach, excess of curiosity, or a mistaken feeling of security in being so near their homes, induces the animals to allow a[355] man to approach within easy shooting distance. Yet that in other respects rabbits can learn much by experience must be evident to all who are accustomed to shoot with ferrets. From burrows which have not been much ferreted, rabbits will bolt soon after the ferret is put in; but this is not the case where rabbits have had previous experience of the association between ferrets and sportsmen. Rather than bolt under such circumstances, and so face the known danger of the waiting gun, rabbits will often allow themselves to be torn with the ferrets' claws and mutilated by their teeth. This is the case, no matter how silently the sportsmen may conduct their operations; the mere fact of a ferret entering their burrows seems to be enough to assure the rabbits that sportsmen are waiting outside.[209]

In its emotions the rabbit is for the most part a very timid animal, although the males fight severely with one another—having more strongly developed than any other animal the strange but effectual instinct of castrating their rivals. Moreover, even against other animals, rabbits will, when compelled to do so, stand upon the defensive. To show this I may quote a letter which several years ago I published in 'Nature:'—

The following observation of my own on a previously unnoticed instinct displayed by wild rabbits is, I think, of sufficient interest to render. Most people are aware that if a rabbit is shot near the mouth of its burrow, the animal will employ the last remnant of its life in struggling into it. Having several times observed that wounded rabbits which had thus escaped appeared again several days afterwards above ground, lying dead a few feet from the mouth of the burrow, I wished to ascertain whether the wounded animals had themselves come out before dying, possibly for air, or had been taken out by their companions. I therefore shot numerous rabbits while they were sitting near their burrows, taking care that the distance between the gun and the animal should be such as to insure a speedy, though not an immediate death. Having marked the burrows at which I shot rabbits in this manner I returned to them at intervals for a fortnight or more, and found that about one-half of the bodies appeared again on the surface in the way described. That this reappearance above ground is not due to the victim's own exertions, I am now quite satisfied; for not only did two or three days generally elapse before the body thus showed itself—a period much too long for a severely wounded rabbit to survive—but in a number of cases decomposition had set in. Indeed, on one occasion scarcely anything of the animal was left save the skin and bones. This was in a large warren.

It is a curious thing that I have hitherto been unable to get any bodies returned to the surface, of rabbits which I inserted into their burrows after death. I account for this by supposing that the stench of the decomposing carcass is not so intolerable to the other occupants of the burrow when it is near the orifice as it is when further in. Similarly, I find that there is not so good a chance of bodies being returned from an extensive warren of intercommunicating holes, as there is from smaller warrens[357] or blind holes; the reason probably being that in the one case the living inhabitants are free to vacate the offensive locality, while in the other case they are not so. Anyhow, there can be no reasonable doubt that the instinct of removing their dead has arisen in rabbits from the necessity of keeping their confined domiciles in a pure state.

Hare.

The hare is a more intelligent animal than the rabbit. Possibly its much greater powers of locomotion may be one cause of its mental superiority to its nearest congener. I have never myself observed a hare commit the mistake already mentioned in the case of the rabbit, viz., that of crouching for concealment upon an inappropriately coloured surface. But the best idea of the comparatively high intelligence of the hare will be gained by the following quotations. The first of these is taken from Loudoun's 'Magazine of Natural History' (vol. iv., p. 143):—

The following note, by Mr. Yarrell, is significant of a process of reasoning derived from observations of the course of nature, such as would do no discredit to a higher race of creatures:—

It is a remarkable thing that both hares and rabbits should allow themselves to be overtaken in the open field by weasels. I have myself witnessed the process, and am at a loss to account for it. The hare or rabbit seems perfectly aware of the dangerous character of the weasel, and yet does not put forth its powers of escape. It merely toddles along with the weasel toddling behind, until tamely allowing itself to be overtaken. This anomalous case may perhaps be akin to the alleged phenomena of the fascination of birds and small rodents by snakes; but in any case there seems to have been here a remarkable failure of natural selection in doing duty to the instincts of these swift-footed animals.

We must not close this account of the intelligence of the hare genus without alluding to the classical case of Cowper's hares. The following abstract is taken from Tegg's edition of 'The Life and Works of William Cowper,' p. 633:—

Rats and Mice.

Rats are well known to be highly intelligent animals. Unlike the hare or rabbit, their shyness seems to proceed from a wise caution rather than from timidity; for, when circumstances require, their boldness and courage in combat is surprising. Moreover, they never seem to lose their presence of mind; for, however great their danger, they seem always ready to take advantage of any favouring circumstances that may arise. Thus, when matched with so formidable an opponent as a ferret in a closed room, they have been known to display wonderful cunning in taking advantage of the light—keeping close under the window so as to throw the glare into the eyes of the enemy, darting forwards time after time to deliver a bite, and then as often retiring to their vantage-ground.[210] But the emotions of rats do not appear to be of an entirely selfish character. There are so many accounts in the anecdote books of blind rats being led about by their seeing companions, that it is difficult to discredit an observation so frequently confirmed.[211] Moreover, rats have been frequently known to assist one another in defending themselves from dangerous enemies. Several observations of this kind are recorded by the trustworthy writer Mr. Rodwell, in his somewhat elaborate work upon this animal.

Again, as showing affection for human beings, I may quote the following:—'The mouse which had been tamed by Baron Trench in his prison having been taken from him, watched at the door and crept in when it was opened; being removed again, it refused all food, and died in three days.'[212]

With regard to general intelligence, every one knows the extraordinary wariness of rats in relation to traps, which is only equalled in the animal kingdom by that of the fox and the wolverine. It has frequently been regarded as a wonderful display of intelligence on the part of rats that while gnawing through the woodwork of a ship, they always stop before they completely perforate the side; but, as Mr. Jesse suggests, this is probably due to their distaste of the salt water. No such disparaging explanation, however, is possible in some other instances of the display of rat-intelligence. Thus, the manner in which they transport eggs to their burrows has been too frequently observed to admit of doubt. Rodwell gives a case in which a number of eggs were carried from the top of a house to the bottom by two rats devoting themselves to each egg, and alternately passing it down to each other at every step of the staircase.[213] Dr. Carpenter also received from an eye-witness a similar account of another instance.[214] According to the article in the Quarterly Review, already mentioned, rats will not only convey eggs from the top of the house to the bottom, but from bottom to top. 'The male rat places himself on his fore-paws, with his head downwards, and raising up his hind legs and catching the egg between them, pushes it up to the female, who stands on the step above, and secures it with her fore-paws till he jumps up to her; and this process is repeated from step to step till the top is reached.'

'The captain of a merchantman,' says Mr. Jesse, 'trading to the port of Boston, in Lincolnshire, had constantly missed eggs from his sea stock. He suspected that he was robbed by his crew, but not being able to discover[362] the thief, he was determined to watch his store-room. Accordingly, having laid in a fresh stock of eggs, he seated himself at night in a situation that commanded a view of his eggs. To his great astonishment he saw a number of rats approach; they formed a line from his egg baskets to their hole, and handed the eggs from one to another in their fore-paws.'[215]

Another device to which rats resort for the procuring of food is mentioned in all the anecdote books, and it seemed so interesting that I tried some direct experiments upon the subject. I shall first state the alleged facts in the words of Watson:—

Lastly, Rodwell gives another case similar in all essential respects, save that the rat licked its own tail instead of presenting it to a companion.

The experiment whereby I tested the truth of these[363] statements was a very simple one. I recorded it in 'Nature' as follows:—

With regard to mice, the Rev. W. North, rector of Ashdown, in Essex, placed a pot of honey in a closet, in which a quantity of plaster rubbish had been left by builders. The mice piled up the plaster in the form of a heap against the sides of the pot, in order to constitute an[364] inclined plane whereby to reach the rim. A quantity of the rubbish had also been thrown into the pot, with the effect of raising the level of the honey that remained to near the rim of the pot; but, of course, the latter fact may have been due to accident, and not to design.[218] This is a case in which mal-observation does not seem to have been likely.

Powelsen, a writer on Iceland, has related an account of the intelligence displayed by the mice of that country, which has given rise to a difference of competent opinion, and which perhaps can hardly yet be said to have been definitely settled. What Powelsen said is that the mice collect in parties of from six to ten, select a flat piece of dried cow-dung, pile berries or other food upon it, then with united strength drag it to the edge of any stream they wish to cross, launch it, embark, and range themselves round the central heap of provisions with their heads joined over it, and their tails hanging in the water, perhaps serving as rudders. Pennant afterwards gave credit to this account, observing that in a country where berries were scarce, the mice were compelled to cross streams for distant forages.[219] Dr. Hooker, however, in his 'Tour in Iceland,' concludes that the account is a pure fabrication. Dr. Henderson, therefore, determined on trying to arrive at the truth of the matter, with the following result:—'I made a point of inquiring of different individuals as to the reality of the account, and am happy in being able to say that it is now established as an important fact in natural history by the testimony of two eye-witnesses of unquestionable veracity, the clergyman of Briamslaek, and Madame Benedictson of Stickesholm, both of whom assured me that they had seen the expedition performed repeatedly. Madame Benedictson, in particular, recollected having spent a whole afternoon, in her younger days, at the margin of a small lake on which these skilful navigators had embarked, and amusing herself and her companions by driving them away from the sides of the lake as they approached them. I was also informed[365] that they make use of dried mushrooms as sacks, in which they convey their provisions to the river, and thence to their homes.'[220]

Before leaving the mice and rats I may say a few words upon certain mouse- and rat-like animals which scarcely require a separate section for their consideration. Of the harvesting mouse Gilbert White says:—

Pallas has described the provident habits of the so-called 'rat-hare' (Lagomys), which lays up a store of grass, or rather hay, for winter consumption. These animals, which occur in the Altai Mountains, live in holes or crevices of rock. About the middle of the month of August they collect grass, and spread it out to dry into hay. In September they form heaps or stacks of the hay, which may be as much as six feet high, and eight feet in diameter. It is stored in their chosen hole or crevice, protected from the rain.

If we contrast the fearless disposition of the harvester with the timidity of the hare or rabbit, we observe that in respect of emotions, no less than in that of intelligence, the order Rodentia comprises the utmost extremes.

The so-called 'prairie-dog' is a kind of small rodent, which makes burrows in the ground, and a slight elevation above it. The animals being social in their habits, their warrens are called 'dog-towns.' Prof. Jillson, Ph.D., kept a pair in confinement (see 'American Naturalist,' vol. v., pp. 24-29), and found them to be intelligent and highly affectionate animals. These burrows he found to contain a 'granary,' or chambers set apart for the reception of stored food. With regard to the association said to exist between this animal and the owl and rattle-snake, Prof. Jillson says, 'I have seen many dog-towns, with owls and dogs standing on contiguous, and in some cases on the same mound, but never saw a snake in the vicinity.' The popular notion that the owl acts the part of sentry to the dog requires, to say the least, confirmation.

Beaver.

Most remarkable among rodents for instinct and intelligence unquestionably stands the beaver. Indeed, there is no animal—not even excepting the ants and bees—where instinct has risen to a higher level of far-reaching adaptation to certain constant conditions of environment, or where faculties, undoubtedly instinctive, are more puzzlingly wrought up with faculties no less undoubtedly intelligent. So much is this the case that, as we shall presently see, it is really impossible by the closest study of the psychology of this animal to distinguish the web of instinct from the woof of intelligence; the two principles seem here to have been so intimately woven together, that in the result, as expressed by certain particular actions, it cannot be determined how much we are to attribute to mechanical impulse, and how much to reasoned purpose.

Fortunately, the doubt that for many years shrouded the facts has been dispelled by the conscientious and laborious observations of the late Mr. Lewis H. Morgan,[221] whose work throughout displays the judicious accuracy of a scientific mind. As this is much the most trustworthy, as well as the most exhaustive essay upon the subject, I shall mainly rely upon it for my statement of facts, and while presenting these I shall endeavour to point out the psychological explanation, or difficulty of explanation, to which they are severally open.

The beaver is a social animal, the male living with his single female and progeny in a separate burrow or 'lodge.' Several of these lodges, however, are usually built close together, so as to form a beaver colony. The young quit the lodge of their parents when they enter upon the summer of their third year, seek mates, and establish new lodges for themselves. As each litter numbers three or four, and breeding is annual, it follows that a beaver lodge never or rarely contains more than twelve individuals, while the number usually ranges from four to eight. Every season, and particularly when a district becomes[368] overstocked, some of the beavers migrate. The Indians say that in their local migrations the old beavers go up stream, and the young down; assigning as a reason that in the struggle for existence greater advantages are afforded near the source than lower down a stream, and therefore that the old beavers appropriate the former. But although lodges may thus be vacated by the old beavers, they are not left tenantless; their lease is, as it were, transferred to another beaver couple. This process of transference of ownership goes on from generation to generation, so that the same lodges are continuously occupied for centuries.

These lodges, which are always constructed in or near water, are of three kinds—the island, bank, and lake lodge. The first are formed on small islands which may happen to occur in the ponds made by the beaver-dams. The floor of the lodge is a few inches above the level of the water, and into it there open two, or sometimes more entrances:

Upon the floor of the lodge there is constructed a house of sticks, brushwood, and mud, in the form of a circular or oval chamber, the size of which varies with the age of the lodge; for by a continuous process of repair (which consists in removing the decayed sticks, &c., from the interior and working them up with new material upon the exterior) the whole lodge progressively increases in size: eventually in this way the interior chamber may attain a diameter of seven or eight feet.

Lastly, the 'lake lodges' are constructed on the shores of lakes, which, being usually shelving and hard, require some further variation in the structure of the lodges. These, therefore, are of interest 'as illustrations of the capacity of the beavers to vary the mode of construction of their lodges in accordance with the changes of situation.' One-half or two-thirds of the lodge is in this case 'built out upon the lake for the obvious purpose of covering the entrance, as well as for its extension into deep water.'

except occasionally a small pile of beaver-cuttings a foot or more high. These, the trappers affirm, are purposely left there by the beavers to keep the snow loose over the ends of their burrows during winter for the admission of air.

Mr. Morgan adds the very probable suggestion that this habit of piling up cuttings for purposes of ventilation may have constituted the origin of lodge-building.

It is evidence of an important local variation of instinct, that in the Cascade Mountains the beavers live chiefly in burrows in the banks of streams, and rarely construct either lodges or dams. Dr. Newbury, in his report on the zoology of Oregon and California, says: 'We found the beavers in numbers, of which, when applied to beavers, I had no conception,' and yet 'we never saw their houses and seldom a dam.' Whether this local variation be due to a relapse from dam- and lodge-building instincts to the primitive burrowing instinct, or to a failure in the[371] full development of the newer instinct, is immaterial. Probably, I think, looking to the high antiquity of the building instinct, and also to its being occasionally manifested by the Californian beavers, their case is to be regarded as one of relapsing instinct.

In selecting the site of their lodges beavers display much sagacity and forethought.

On the upper Missouri, where the banks of the river are for miles together vertical, and rising from three to eight feet above its surface, the beavers resort to the device of making what are called 'beaver slides.' These are narrow inclined planes cut into the banks at intervals, the angle of inclination being 45° to 60°, so as to form a gradual descent from a point a few feet back from the edge of the bank to the level of the river. As Mr. Morgan observes, 'they furnish another conspicuous illustration of the fact that beavers possess a free intelligence, by means of which they are enabled to adapt themselves to the circumstances in which they are placed.'

Coming now to the habits of these animals in connection with the procuring and storing of food, it is first to be observed that 'the thick bark upon the trunks of large trees, and even upon those of medium size, is unsuitable[372] for food; but the smaller limbs, the bark of which is tender and nutritious, afford the aliment which they prefer.' To obtain this food, the animals, as is well known, fell the trees by gnawing a ring round their base. Two or three nights' successive work by a pair of beavers is enough to bring down a half-grown tree, 'each family being left to the undisturbed enjoyment of the fruits of their own toil and industry.' 'When the tree begins to crackle they desist from cutting, which they afterwards continue with caution until it begins to fall, when they plunge into the pond usually, and wait concealed for a time, as if fearful that the cracking noise of the tree-fall might attract some enemy to the place.' It is of much interest that the beavers when thus felling trees know how to regulate the direction of the fall; by gnawing chiefly on the side of the trunk remote from the water, they make the tree fall towards the water, with the obvious purpose of saving as much as possible the labour of subsequent transport. For as soon as a tree is down, the next work is to cut off the branches, or such as are from two to six inches in diameter; and then, when they have been cleared of their twigs, to divide them into lengths sufficient to admit of the beavers transporting them to their lodges. The cutting into lengths is effected by making a number of semi-sections through the branch at more or less equal distances as it lies upon the ground, and then turning the branch half round and continuing the sections from the opposite side. 'To cut it (the branch) entirely through from the upper side would require an incision of such width as to involve a loss of labour.' The thicker the branch, the closer together are the sections made, and consequently the shorter are the resulting portions—the reason, of course, being that the strength of the animal would not be sufficient to transport a thick piece of timber of the same length as a thin piece which it is only just able to manage.

The sinking is no doubt partly effected by mere soaking; but there is also some evidence to show that the beavers have a method of anchoring down their supplies. Thus they have been observed towing pieces of brush to their lodges, and then, while holding the large end in their mouths, 'going down with it to the bottom, apparently to fix it in the mud bottom of the pond.' A brush-heap being thus formed, the cuttings from the felled trees are stuck through the brushwork, without which 'protection they would be liable to be floated off by the strong currents, and thus be lost to the beavers at the time when their lives might depend upon their safe custody.'

Lastly, as a method whereby the beavers can save themselves the trouble of cutting, transporting, and anchoring all at the same time, they are prone, when circumstances permit, to fell a tree growing near enough to their pond to admit of its branches being submerged in the water. The animals then well know that the branches and young shoots will remain preserved throughout the winter without any further trouble from them. But of course the supply of trees thus growing conveniently near a beaver-pond is too limited to last long.

We have next to consider the most wonderful, and I think the most psychologically puzzling structures that are presented as the works of any animal; I mean, of course, the dams and canals.

The object of the dam is that of forming an artificial pond, the use of which is to afford refuge to the animals as well as water connection with their lodges. Therefore the level of the pond must in all cases be higher than that of the lodge- and burrow-entrances, and it is usually maintained two or three feet above them.

In external appearance there are two distinct kinds of dams, although all are constructed on the same principle. One, the more common, is the 'stick dam,' which is composed of interlaced stick and pole work upon the lower face, with an embankment of earth mixed with the same materials on the upper face. The other is the 'solid-bank dam,' which differs from the former in having much more brush and mud worked into its construction, especially upon its surfaces; the result being that the whole formation looks like a solid bank of earth. In the first kind of dam the surplus water percolates through the structure along its entire length; but in the second kind the discharge takes place through a single furrow in the crest, which, remarkable though the fact unquestionably is, the beavers intentionally form for this purpose.

In the construction of the dam, stones are used here and there to give down-weight and solidity. These stones weigh from one to six pounds, and are carried by the beavers in the same way as they carry their mud—namely, by walking on their hind legs while holding their burden against the chest with their fore-paws. The solid dams are much firmer in their consistence than the stick dams; for while a horse might walk across the former, the weight of a man would be too great to be sustained by the latter. Each kind of dam is adapted to the locality in which it is built, the difference between the two kinds being due to the following cause. As a stream gains water and force in its descent, it develops banks, and also a broader and deeper channel. These banks assume a vertical form in the level areas where the soil is alluvial. Thus, an open stick-work dam could not in such places be led off from either bank; and even if it could, the force and depth of the stream would carry it away. Therefore in such places the beavers build their solid-bank dams, while in shallow and comparatively sluggish waters they content[375] themselves with the smaller amount of labour involved in the building of a stick dam.

To give some idea of the proportions of a dam, I shall epitomise a number of measurements given by Mr. Morgan:—

The only other measurement is that of length, and this, of course, varies with the width of water to be spanned. Where this width is considerable the length of a dam may be prodigious, as the following quotation will show:—

It is truly an astonishing fact that animals should engage in such vast architectural labours with what appears to be the deliberate purpose of securing, by such very artificial means, the special benefits that arise from their high engineering skill. So astonishing, indeed, does this fact appear, that as sober-minded interpreters of fact we would fain look for some explanation which would not necessitate the inference that these actions are due to any intelligent appreciation, either of the benefits that arise from the labour, or of the hydrostatic principles to which this labour so clearly refers. Yet the more closely we look into the subject, the more impossible do we find it to account for the facts by any such easy method. Thus it seems perfectly certain that the beavers, properly and strictly speaking, understand the use of their dams in maintaining a certain level of water. For it is unquestionable that in the solid-bank dams, as already observed, a regular opening or trough is cut at one part of its crest to provide for the overflow; and now it has to be added that this opening is purposely widened or narrowed with reference to the amount of water in the stream at different times, so as to ensure the maintenance of a constant level in the pond. Similarly, though by different means, the same end is secured in the case of the stick dams. For 'in most of these dams the rapidity or slowness with which the surplus water is discharged is undoubtedly regulated by the beavers; otherwise the level of the pond would continually vary. There must be a constant tendency to enlarge the orifices through which the water passes,' when the stream is small, and vice versâ; otherwise the lodges would be either inundated or have their sub-aquatic entrances exposed.[223] Moreover, a very little consideration is enough to show that in stick dams the tendency to increased leakage from the effects of percolation, and to a settling down of the dam as its materials decay from underneath, must demand unceasing vigilance[377] and care to avert the consequences. And accordingly it is found that 'in the fall of the year a new supply of materials is placed upon the lower face of these dams to compensate this waste from decay.'

Now, it is obvious that we have here presented a continual variation of conditions, imposed by continual variations in the amount of water coming down; and it is a matter of observation that these variations are met by the beavers in the only way that they can be met—namely, by regulating the amount of flow taking place through the dams. It will therefore be seen that we have here to consider a totally different case from that of the operation of pure instinct, however wonderful such operation may be. For the adaptations of pure instinct only have reference to conditions that are unchanging; so that if in this case we suppose pure instinct to account for all the facts, we must greatly modify our ideas of what pure instinct is taken to mean. Thus we must suppose that when the beavers find the level of their ponds rising or falling, the discomfort which they experience acts as a stimulus to cause them, without intelligent purpose, either to widen or to narrow the orifices in their dams as the case may be. And not only so, but the conditions of stimulation and response must be so nicely balanced that the animals widen or narrow these orifices with a more or less precise quantitative reference to the degree of discomfort, actual or prospective, which they experience. Now it seems to me that even thus far it is an extremely difficult thing to believe that the mechanism of pure or wholly unintelligent instinct could admit of sufficient refinement to meet so complex a case of compensating adaptation; and, as we shall immediately see, this difficulty increases still more as we contemplate additional facts relating to these structures.

Thus it sometimes happens that in large dams the pressure of the water which they keep back is so considerable that their stability is endangered. In such cases it has been observed by Mr. Morgan that, at a short distance beneath the main dam, another and lower dam is thrown across the stream, with the result of forming a shallow pond between the two. This pond is[378]—

'Whether,' adds Mr. Morgan, with commendable caution, 'the lower dam was constructed with this motive and for this object, or is explainable on some other hypothesis, I shall not venture an opinion.' But as, he further adds, 'I have also found the same precise work repeated below other large dams,' we are led to conclude that their correlation cannot at least be accidental; and as it is of so definite a character, there really seems no 'other hypothesis' open to us than that of its having reference to the stability of the main dam. Yet, if this is the case, it becomes in my opinion simply impossible to attribute the fact to the operation of pure instinct.

Again, Mr. Morgan observed one case in which, higher up stream than the main dam, there was constructed another dam, ninety-three feet long, and two and a half feet high at the centre:—

As before, we have here to commend the caution displayed by the closing sentence; but, as useless dams are not found in other places, the inference clearly is that the dam in question, both as regards its exceptional position and exceptional height, can only be explained by supposing the structure to have been designed for the use which it unquestionably served. That is to say, if we do not entertain this explanation, there is no other to be suggested; and although in any ordinary or occasional instance of the display of animal intelligence in such a degree as this I should not hesitate to attribute the facts to accident, in the case of the beaver there are such a multitude of constantly recurring facts, all and only referable to a practical though not less extraordinary appreciation of hydrostatic principles, that the hypothesis of accident must here, I think, be laid aside. To substantiate this statement I shall detail the facts concerning the beaver-canals.

As Mr. Morgan, who first discovered and described these astonishing structures, observes,—

These canals are developed in this way. One of the principal objects served by a dam thrown across a small stream, is that of flooding the low ground so as to obtain water connection with the first high ground upon which hard wood is to be found, such connection being convenient, or even necessary, for the purposes of transport.

The canals, which are made by excavation, are usually from three to five feet wide, three feet deep, and perhaps hundreds of feet long—the length of course depending on the distance between the lodge and the wood supply. They are cut in the form of trenches, having perpendicular sides and abrupt ends. All roots of trees, under-brush, &c., are cleared away in their course, so as to afford an unobstructed passage. These canals are of such frequent occurrence that it is impossible to attribute them to accident; they are evidently made, at the cost of much labour, with the deliberate purpose of putting them to the use for which they are designed. In executing this purpose there is sometimes displayed a depth of engineering forethought over details of structure required by the circumstances of special localities, which is even more astonishing than the execution of the general idea. Thus it not unfrequently happens that when a canal has been run for a certain distance, a rise in the level of the ground renders it impossible to continue the structure further from the water supply or lodge-pond, without either incurring a great amount of labour in digging the canal with progressively deepening sides, or leaving the trench empty of water, and so useless. In such cases the beavers resort to various expedients, according to the nature of the ground.

Mr. Morgan gives an interesting sketch of one such case, where the canal is excavated through low ground for a distance of 450 feet, when it reaches the first rise of[381] ground, and throughout this distance, being level with the pond, it is supplied with water from this source. Where the rise begins a dam is made, and the canal is then continued for 25 feet at a level of one foot higher than before. This higher level reach is supplied with water collected from still higher levels by another dam, extending for 75 feet upon one side of the canal and 25 feet on the other, in the form of a crescent with its concavity directed towards the highlands, so as to collect all the drainage water, and concentrate it into the second reach of the canal. Beyond this larger dam there is another abrupt rise of a foot, and the canal is there continued for 47 feet more, where a third dam is built resembling the second in construction, only having a still wider span on either side of the canal (142 feet), so as to catch a still larger quantity of drainage water to supply the third or uppermost reach of the canal. We have, therefore, here presented, not only a perfect application of the principle of 'locks,' which are used in canals of human construction, but also the principle of collecting water to supply the reaches situated on the slope by means of elaborately constructed dams of wide[382] extent, and of the best form for the purpose. There is thus shown much too great a concurrence of engineering principles to the attainment of one object to admit of our attributing the facts to accident. On this structure Mr. Morgan observes:—

Again, in another case, also sketched by Mr. Morgan, another device is resorted to, and one which, having reference to the particular circumstances of the case, is the best that could have been adopted. Here the canal, proceeding from the pond to the woodland 150 feet distant, encounters at the woodland a rising slope covered with hard wood. Thereupon the canal bifurcates, and the two diverging branches or prongs are carried in opposite directions along the base of the woodland rise, one for a distance of 100 and the other for 115 feet. The level being throughout the same, the water from the pond supplies the two branch-canals as well as the trunk. Both branches end with abrupt vertical faces. Now the object of these branches is sufficiently apparent:—

One more proof of engineering purpose in the construction of canals will be sufficient to place beyond all[383] question the fact that beavers form these canals, as they form their dams, with a far-seeing perception of the suitability of highly artificial means to the attainment of particular ends, under a variety of special circumstances. Mr. Morgan observed one or two instances where the land included in a wind or loop of a river was cut through by a beaver canal across the narrowest part, 'apparently to shorten the distance in going up and down by water.' Judging from the figures which he gives, drawn to measurement, there can be no question that such was the object; and as these structures may be one or two hundred feet in length, and represent the laborious excavation of some 1,500 cubic feet of soil, the animals must be actuated by the most vivid conception of the subsequent saving in labour that is to be effected by making an artificial communication across the chord of an arc, instead of always going round the natural curve of a stream.

Regarding now together all these facts relating to the psychology of the beaver, it must be confessed, as I said at the outset, that we have presented to us a problem perhaps the most difficult of any that we have to encounter in the whole range of animal intelligence. On the one hand, it seems incredible that the beaver should attain to such a level of abstract thought as would be implied by his forming his various structures with the calculated purpose of achieving the ends which they undoubtedly subserve. On the other hand, as we have seen, it seems little less than impossible that the formation of these structures can be due to instinct. Yet one or other hypothesis, either singly or in combination, must be resorted to. The case, it will be observed, thus differs from that of the more wonderful performances of instinct elsewhere, such as that of ants and bees, inasmuch as the performances here are so complex and varied, as well as having reference to physical principles of a much more recondite or less observable nature. The case from its theoretical side being thus one of much difficulty, I think it will be better to postpone its discussion till in 'Mental Evolution' I come to treat of the whole subject of instinct in relation to intelligence.

I must not, however, conclude this epitome of the facts without alluding to the only other publication on the habits of the beaver which is of distinctly scientific value. This is a short but interesting paper by Prof. Alexander Agassiz.[224] He says that the largest dam he has himself seen measured 650 feet in length, and 3½ feet in height, with a small number of lodges in the vicinity of the pond. The number of lodges is always thus very small in proportion to the size of the dam, the greatest number of lodges that he has observed upon one pond being five. It is evident from this that beavers are not really gregarious in their habits, and that their dams and canals 'are the work of a comparatively small number of animals; but to make up for the numbers the work of succeeding inhabitants of any one pond must have been carried on for centuries to accomplish the gigantic results we find in some localities.'

In one case Prof. Agassiz obtained what may be termed geological evidence of the truth of an opinion advanced by Mr. Morgan, that beaver-works may be hundreds if not thousands of years in course of continuous formation. For the purpose of obtaining a secure foundation for a mill dam erected above a beaver dam, it was necessary to clear away the soil from the bottom of the beaver pond. This soil was found to be a peat bog. A trench was dug into the peat 12 feet wide by 1,200 feet long, and 9 feet deep; all the way along this trench old stumps of trees were found at various depths, some still bearing marks of having been gnawed by beavers' teeth. Agassiz calculated the growth of the bog as about a foot per century, so that here we have tolerably accurate evidence of an existing beaver dam being somewhere about a thousand years old.

The gradual growth of these enormous dams has the effect of greatly altering the configuration of the country where they occur. By taking levels from dams towards the sources of streams on which they occur, Agassiz was able ideally to reconstruct the original landscape before the growth of the dams, and he found that, 'from the[385] nature of the surrounding country, the open spaces now joining the beaver ponds—the beaver meadows where the trees are scanty or small—must at one time have been all covered with forests.' At first the beavers 'began to clear the forest just in the immediate vicinity of the dams, extending in every direction, first up the stream as far as the nature of the creek would allow, and then laterally by means of their canals, as far as the level of the ground would allow, thus little by little clearing a larger area according to the time they have occupied any particular place,' In this way beavers may change the whole aspect of large tracts of country, covering with water a great extent of ground which was once thickly wooded.

CHAPTER XIII.

Quitting, however, the enormous multitude of anecdotes, more or less doubtful, and which may or may not be true, I shall select a few well-authenticated instances of the display of elephant intelligence.

Memory.

As regards memory, several cases are on record of tamed elephants having become wild, and, on again being captured after many years, returning to all their old habits under domestication. Mr. Corse publishes in the 'Philosophical Transactions'[227] an instance which came under his own notice. He saw an elephant, which[387] was carrying baggage, take fright at the smell of a tiger and run off. Eighteen months afterwards this elephant was recognised by its keepers among a herd of wild companions, which had been captured and were confined in an enclosure. But when anyone approached the animal he struck out with his trunk, and seemed as fierce as any of the wild herd. An old hunter then mounted a tame elephant, went up to the feral one, seized his ear and ordered him to lie down. Immediately the force of old associations broke through all opposition, the word of command was obeyed, and the elephant while lying down gave a certain peculiar squeak which he had been known to utter in former days. The same author gives another and more interesting account of an elephant which, after having been for only two years tamed, ran wild for fifteen years, and on being then recaptured, remembered in all details the words of command. This, with several other well-authenticated facts of the same kind,[228] shows that the elephant certainly has an exceedingly tenacious memory, rendering credible the statement of Pliny, that in their more advanced age these animals recognise men who were their drivers when young.[229]

Emotions.

Concerning emotions, the elephant seems to be usually actuated by the most magnanimous of feelings. Even his proverbial vindictiveness appears only to be excited under a sense of remembered injustice. The universally known story of the tailor and the elephant doubtless had a foundation in fact, for there are several authentic cases on record of elephants resenting injuries in precisely the same way;[230] and Captain Shipp [231] personally tested the matter by giving to an elephant a sandwich of bread, butter, and cayenne pepper. He then waited for six[388] weeks before again visiting the animal, when he went into the stable and began to fondle the elephant as he had previously been accustomed to do. For a time no resentment was shown, so that the Captain began to think that the experiment had failed; but at last, watching for an opportunity, the elephant filled his trunk with dirty water, and drenched the Captain from head to foot.

Griffiths says that at the siege of Bhurtpore, in 1805, the British army had been a long time before the city, and, owing to the hot dry winds, the ponds and tanks had dried up. There used therefore to be no little struggle for priority in procuring water at one of the large wells which still contained water:—

Great trouble was experienced in extricating this elephant from the well—a task which would, indeed, have been impossible but for the intelligence of the animal itself. For when a number of fascines, which had been employed by the army in conducting the siege, were thrown down the well, the elephant showed sagacity enough to arrange them with his trunk so as to construct a continuously rising platform, by which he gradually raised himself to a level with the ground.

Allied to vindictiveness for small injuries is revenge for large ones, and this is often shown in a terrible manner[389] by wounded elephants. For instance, Sir E. Tennent writes:—

Many other cases of vindictiveness, more or less well authenticated, may be found mentioned by Broderip,[232] Bingley,[233] Mrs. Lee,[234] Swainson,[235] and Watson.[236] This trait of emotional character seems to be more generally present in the elephant than in any other animal, except perhaps the monkey.

Another emotion strongly developed in the elephant is sympathy. Numberless examples on this head might be adduced, but one or two may suffice. Bishop Huber saw an old elephant fall down from weakness, and another elephant was brought to assist the fallen one to rise. Huber says he was much struck with the almost human expression of surprise, alarm, and sympathy manifested by the second elephant on witnessing the condition of the first. A chain was fastened round the neck and body of the sick animal, which the other was directed to pull. For a minute or two the healthy elephant pulled strongly; but on the first groan given by its distressed companion it stopped abruptly, 'turned fiercely round with a loud roar, and with trunk and fore-feet began to loosen the chain from the neck.'

Lastly, allusion may be made to the celebrated observation of M. le Baron de Lauriston, who was at Laknaor during an epidemic which stretched a number of natives sick and dying upon the road. The Nabob riding his elephant over the road was careless whether or not the animal crushed the men and women to death, but not so the elephant, which took great pains to pick his steps among the people so as not to injure them.

The following account of emotion and sagacity is quoted from the Rev. Julius Young's Memoirs of his father, Mr. Charles Young, the actor. The animal mentioned is the one that subsequently attained such widespread notoriety at Exeter Change, not only on account of his immense size, but still more because of his cruel death:—

The elephant in many respects displays strange peculiarities of emotional temperament. Thus Mr. Corse says:—'If a wild elephant happens to be separated from its young for only two or three days, though giving suck, she never after recognises or acknowledges it;'[238] yet the young one knows its dam, and cries plaintively for her assistance.

Again, in the wild state, the spirit of exclusiveness shown by members of a herd (i.e. family) towards elephants of other herds is remarkable. Sir E. Tennent writes:—

The emotional temper, or rather transformation of emotional psychology, which is exhibited by the Rogues here mentioned, is as extraordinary as it is notorious. From being a peaceable, sympathetic, and magnanimous animal, the elephant, when excluded from the society of its kind, becomes savage, cruel, and morose to a degree unequalled in any other animal. The repulsive accounts of the bloodthirsty rage and wanton destructiveness of Rogues show that their actions are not due to sudden bursts of fury at the sight of man or his works, but rather to a[394] deliberate and brooding resolve to wage war on everything, so that the animal patiently lies in wait for travellers, rushing from his ambush only when he finds that the latter are within his power. As showing the cold-blooded determination of this murderous desire, I may quote the following case, as it was communicated to Sir E. Tennent:—

Another highly curious trait in the emotional psychology of the elephant is the readiness with which the huge animal expires under the mere influence of what the natives call a 'broken heart.' The facts on this head are without a parallel in any other animal, and are the more remarkable from the fact that, so far as natural length of life is any token, the elephant may be said to have more vitality, or innate power of living, than any other terrestrial mammal. Again, to quote from Sir E. Tennent:—

But this peculiarity is not confined to rogue elephants. Thus Captain Yule, in his 'Narrative of an Embassy to Ava in 1855,' records an illustration of this tendency of the elephant to sudden death. One newly captured, the process of taming which was exhibited to the British Envoy, 'made vigorous resistance to the placing of a collar on its neck, and the people were proceeding to tighten it, when the elephant, which had lain down as if quite exhausted, reared suddenly on the hind quarters, and fell on its side—dead!'

Mr. Strachan noticed the same liability of the elephants to sudden death from very slight causes. 'Of the[396] fall,' he says, 'at any time, though on plain ground, they either die immediately, or languish till they die; their great weight occasioning them so much hurt by the fall.'[242]

Nor is this tendency to die under the influence of mere emotion restricted to the effect of a 'broken heart;' it seems also to occur under the power of strong emotional disturbances of other kinds. For instance, an elephant caught and trained by Mr. Cripps is thus alluded to by Sir E. Tennent:—

General Intelligence.

The higher mental faculties of the elephant are more advanced in their development than in any other animal, except the dog and monkey. I shall, therefore, devote[397] some considerable space to the narration of instances of its display. The general fact that elephants are habitually employed in certain parts of India for the purposes of building, storing timber, &c., in itself shows a level of docile intelligence which only that of the dog can rival; but I shall here confine myself to stating special instances of the display of sagacity unusually high, even for the elephant.

Capt. Shipp, in his 'Memoirs,' gives the following incident, of which he was an eye-witness. During a march with guns in the mountainous districts of India, the force of which he was a member came to a steep ascent. A staircase of logs was prepared to enable the elephants to ascend the slope. When all was ready the first elephant was led to the bottom of the staircase:—

Something was then altered, the elephant was satisfied, and at last succeeded in mounting to the top of the staircase:—

After a performance similar to that of the previous elephant, however, he too neared the top, when 'the other, who had already performed his task, extended his trunk to the assistance of his brother in distress, round which the younger animal entwined his, and thus reached the summit.' There was then a cordial greeting between the two animals, 'as if they had been long separated from each other, and had just escaped from some perilous achievement. They mutually embraced each other, and stood face to face for a considerable time, as if whispering congratulations.'[244]

Mr. Jesse says: 'I was one day feeding the poor elephant (who was so barbarously put to death at Exeter Change) with potatoes, which he took out of my hand. One of them, a round one, fell on the floor, just out of reach of his proboscis.' After several ineffectual attempts to reach it, 'he at length blew the potato against the opposite wall with sufficient force to make it rebound, and he then without difficulty secured it.'[245]

This remarkable observation has fortunately been corroborated by Mr. Darwin. He writes:—

The fact that elephants exhibit this sagacious fortitude under surgical operations—thus resembling, as we shall afterwards observe, both dogs and monkeys—is corroborated by another instance given in Bingley's 'Animal Biography,'[249] and serves to render credible the following story given in the same work:—

Again, as still further corroboration of this point, I may quote the following from Sir E. Tennent's 'Natural History of Ceylon:'—

Major Skinner witnessed the following display of intelligent action by a large herd of wild elephants. During the hot season at Nenera Kalama the elephants have a difficulty in finding water, and are therefore[401] obliged to congregate in large numbers where water is to be obtained. Being stationed near a water supply, and knowing that a large herd of elephants were in the neighbourhood, Major Skinner resolved to watch their proceedings. On a moonlight night, therefore, he

Again, as Dr. Lindley Kemp observes,[252] 'the manner in which tame elephants assist in capturing wild ones affords us an instance of reasoning in an animal,' &c.; and similarly, Mr. Darwin observes: 'It is, I think, impossible to read the account given by Sir E. Tennent of the behaviour of the female elephants used as decoys, without admitting that they intentionally practise deceit.'[253]

The following is an extract from the more interesting of the observations to which Mr. Darwin here alludes, and I think it is impossible to read them without assenting to his judgment. Several herds of wild elephants having been driven into a corral, two tame decoys were ridden into it:—

Sir E. Tennent has also some observations on other uses to which tame elephants are put, which are well worth quoting. Thus, speaking of the labour of piling timber, he says that the elephant

Dr. Erasmus Darwin records an observation which was communicated to him by a 'gentleman of undoubted[408] veracity,' of an elephant in India which the keeper was in the habit of leaving to play the part of nurse to his child when he and his wife had occasion to go away from home. The elephant was chained up, and whenever the child in its creeping about came to the end of the elephant's tether, he used gently to draw it back again with his trunk.

My friend Mrs. A. S. H. Richardson sends me the following. The Rev. Mr. Townsend, who narrated the episode, is personally known to her:—

CHAPTER XIV.

As regards the wild species of the tribe in general, it may be said that they all exhibit the same unsocial, fierce, and rapacious character. Bold when brought to bay, they do not court battle with dangerous antagonists, but prefer to seek safety in flight. Even the proverbial courage of the lion is now known, as a rule, to consist in 'the better part of valour;' and those exceptional individuals among tigers which adopt a 'man-eating' propensity, snatch their human victims by stealth. That the larger feline animals possess high intelligence would be shown, even in the absence of information concerning their ordinary habits, by the numerous tricks which they prove themselves capable of learning at the hands of menagerie-keepers; though in such cases the conflict of nature with nurture renders even the best-trained specimens highly uncertain in their behaviour, and therefore always more or less dangerous to the 'lion-kings.' The only wild species that is employed for any practical purpose—the cheetah—is so employed by utilising directly its natural instincts; it is shown the antelope, and runs it down after the manner of all its ancestors.

Returning now to the domestic cat, it is commonly remarked as a peculiar and distinctive trait in its emotional character that it shows a strongly rooted attachment to places as distinguished from persons. There can be no question that this peculiarity is a marked feature in the psychology of domestic cats considered as a class, although of course individual exceptions occur in abundance. Probably this feature is a survival of an instinctive attachment to dens or lairs bequeathed to our cats by their wild progenitors.

The only other feature in the emotional life of cats which calls for special notice is that which leads to their universal and proverbial treatment of helpless prey. The feelings that prompt a cat to torture a captured mouse can only, I think, be assigned to the category to which by common consent they are ascribed—delight in torturing for torture's sake. Speaking of man, John S. Mill somewhere observes that there is in some human beings a special faculty or instinct of cruelty, which is not merely a passive indifference to the sight of physical sufferings, but an active pleasure in witnessing or causing it. Now, so far as I have been able to discover, the only animals in which there is any evidence of a class of feelings in any way similar to these—if, indeed, in the case even of such animals the feelings which prompt actions of gratuitous cruelty really are similar to those which prompt it in man—are cats and monkeys. With regard to monkeys I shall adduce evidence on this point in the chapter which treats of these animals. With regard to cats it is needless to dwell further upon facts so universally known.

General Intelligence.

Coming now to the higher faculties, it is to be noted as a general feature of interest that all cats, however domesticated they may be, when circumstances require it, and often even quite spontaneously, throw off with the utmost ease the whole mental clothing of their artificial experience, and return in naked simplicity to the natural habits of their ancestors. This readiness of cats to become feral is a strong expression of the shallow psychological influence which prolonged domestication has here exerted, in comparison with that which it has produced in the case of the dog. A pet terrier lost in the haunts of his ancestors is almost as pitiable an object as a babe in the wood; a pet cat under similar circumstances soon finds itself quite at home. The reason of this difference is, of course, that the psychology of the cat, never having lent itself to the practical uses of, and intelligent dependency on, man, has never, as in the[414] case of the dog, been under the cumulative influence of human agency in becoming further and further bent away from its original and naturally imposed position of self-reliance; so that when now a severance takes place between a cat and its human protectors, the animal, inheriting unimpaired the transmitted experience of wild progenitors, knows very well how to take care of itself.

Having made these general remarks, I shall now pass on to quote a few instances showing the highest level of intelligence to which cats attain.

As to observation, Mrs. Hubbard tells me of a cat which she possessed, and which was in the habit of poaching young rabbits to 'eat privately in the seclusion of a disused pigsty.' One day this cat caught a small black rabbit, and instead of eating it, as she always did the brown ones, brought it into the house unhurt, and laid it at the feet of her mistress. 'She clearly recognised the black rabbit as an unusual specimen, and apparently thought it right to show it to her mistress.' Such was 'not the only instance this cat showed of zoological discrimination,' for on another occasion, 'having caught another unusual animal—viz., a stoat—she also brought this alive into the house for the purpose of exhibiting it.'

Mr. A. Percy Smith informs me of a cat which he possesses, and which, to test her intelligence, he used to punish whenever her kittens misbehaved. Very soon this had the effect of causing the cat herself to train the kittens, for whenever they misbehaved 'she swore at them and boxed their ears, until she taught the kittens to be clean.'

Mr. Blackman, writing from the London Institution, tells me of a cat which he has, and which without tuition began to 'beg' for food, in imitation of a terrier in the same house whose begging gesture it must have observed to be successful in the obtaining of tit-bits. The cat, however, would never beg unless it was hungry;—

Coming now to cases indicative of reason in cats, Mr. John Martin, writing from St. Clement's, Oxford, informs me: 'I have a cat which a short time ago had kittens, and from some cause or other her milk failed. My housekeeper saw her carrying a piece of bread to them.' The process of reasoning here is obvious.

Mr. Bidie, writing from the Government Museum of Madras to 'Nature' (vol. xx., p. 96), relates this instance of reasoning in a cat:—

Dr. Bannister writes me from Chicago, of a cat belonging to his friend the late Mr. Meek, the palæontologist, who drew my correspondent's attention to the fact:—

Mr. T. B. Groves communicates an almost precisely similar observation to 'Nature' (vol. xx., p. 291), of a cat which, on first seeing his own reflection in a mirror, tried to fight it. Meeting with resistance from the glass, the cat next ran behind the mirror. Not finding the object of his search, he again came to the front, and while keeping his eyes deliberately fixed on the image, felt round the edge of the glass with one paw, whilst with his head twisted round to the front he assured himself of the persistence of the reflection. He never afterwards condescended to notice a mirror.

The following is communicated to me by a correspondent whose name I cannot obtain permission to publish. I am sure, however, that it is communicated in good faith, and the incident can scarcely be supposed to have been due to accident. After describing the cat and the parrot in their amiable relationship, my correspondent proceeds:—

I shall here introduce two or three cases to show the ingenious devices to which clever cats will resort for the purpose of capturing prey.

Mr. James Hutchings writes in 'Nature' (vol. xii., p. 330) an account of an old tom cat using a young bird, which had fallen out of its nest, as a decoy for the old birds. The cat touched the young bird with his paw when it ceased to flutter and cry, in order that, by thus making it display its terror, the old cock bird, which was all the while flying about in great consternation, might be induced to approach near enough to be caught. Many times the cock bird did so, and the cat made numerous attempts to catch it, but without success. All the while a kitten had to be kept from killing the young bird. As this scene continued for a long time—in fact, till terminated by Mr. Hutchings—and as there does not appear to have been any opportunity for errors of observation, I think the case worth recording.

The following case is communicated to me by Mr. James G. Stevens, of St. Stephen, New Brunswick:—

Again, I quote the following case communicated to 'Nature' by Dr. Frost, because, although it shows an almost incredible amount of far-sighted stratagem, I cannot on the one hand see much room for mal-observation, and on the other hand it is, as I shall show, to some extent corroborated by an independent observation of my friend Dr. Klein, and another correspondent:—

Although this account, as I have said, borders on the incredible, I have allowed it to pass, because up to a certain point it is, as I have also said, corroborated by an observation communicated to me by my friend Dr. Klein, F.R.S.

Dr. Klein satisfied himself that the cat he observed had established a definite association between crumbs already sprinkled on the garden walk, and sparrows coming to eat them; for as soon as the crumbs were sprinkled on the walk, the cat used to conceal himself from the walk in a neighbouring shrubbery, there to await in ambush the coming of the birds. The latter, however, showed themselves more wide awake than the cat, for there was a wall running behind the shrubbery, from the top of which the birds could see the cat in his supposed concealment, and then a long line of sparrows used to wait watching the cat and the crumbs at the same time, but never venturing to fly down to the latter until the former, wearied with waiting, went away. In this case the reasoning observation[419] of the cat—'crumbs attract birds, therefore I will wait for birds when crumbs are scattered'—was as complete as in the case of Dr. Frost's cat, but the reasoning in the latter case seems to have proceeded a stage further—'therefore I will scatter crumbs to attract birds.'

Now, in the face of the definite statement made by Dr. Frost, that his cat did advance to this further stage of reasoning, I have not felt justified in suppressing his remarkable observation. And, as lending still further credence to the account, I may quote the corroborative observation of another correspondent in 'Nature,' which is of value because forming an intermediate step between the intelligence displayed by Dr. Klein's cat and that displayed by Dr. Frost's. This correspondent says:—

Taking, then, these three cases together, we have an ascending series in the grades of intelligence from that displayed by Dr. Klein's cat, which merely observed that crumbs attracted birds, through that of the cat which exposed the concealed crumbs for the purpose of attracting birds, to that of Dr. Frost's cat, which actually sprinkled the crumbs. Therefore, although, if the last-mentioned or most remarkable case had stood alone, I should not have felt justified in quoting it, as we find it thus led up to by other and independent observations, I do not feel that I[420] should be justified in suppressing it. And, after all, regarded as an act of reason, the sprinkling of crumbs to attract birds does not involve ideas or inferences very much more abstruse or remote than those which are concerned in some of the other and better corroborated instances of the display of feline intelligence, which I shall now proceed to state.

In the understanding of mechanical appliances, cats attain to a higher level of intelligence than any other animals, except monkeys, and perhaps elephants. Doubtless it is not accidental that these three kinds of animals fall to be associated in this particular. The monkey in its hands, the elephant in its trunk, and the cat in its agile limbs provided with mobile claws, all possess instruments adapted to manipulation, with which no other organs in the brute creation can properly be compared, except the beak and toes of the parrot, where, as we have already seen, a similar correlation with intelligence may be traced. Probably, therefore, the higher aptitude which these animals display in their understanding of mechanical appliances is due to the reaction exerted upon their intelligence by these organs of manipulation. But, be this as it may, I am quite sure that, excepting only the monkey and elephant, the cat shows a higher intelligence of the special kind in question than any other animal, not forgetting even the dog. Thus, for instance, while I have only heard of one solitary case (communicated to me by a correspondent) of a dog which, without tuition, divined the use of a thumb-latch, so as to open a closed door by jumping upon the handle and depressing the thumb-piece, I have received some half-dozen instances of this display of intelligence on the part of cats. These instances are all such precise repetitions of one another, that I conclude the fact to be one of tolerably ordinary occurrence among cats, while it is certainly very rare among dogs. I may add that my own coachman once had a cat which, certainly without tuition, learnt thus to open a door that led into the stables from a yard into which looked some of the windows of the house. Standing at these windows when the cat did not see me, I have many times witnessed her[421] modus operandi. Walking up to the door with a most matter-of-course kind of air, she used to spring at the half-hoop handle just below the thumb-latch. Holding on to the bottom of this half-hoop with one fore-paw, she then raised the other to the thumb-piece, and while depressing the latter, finally with her hind legs scratched and pushed the doorposts so as to open the door. Precisely similar movements are described by my correspondents as having been witnessed by them.

Of course in all such cases the cats must have previously observed that the doors are opened by persons placing their hands upon the handles, and, having observed this, the animals forthwith act by what may be strictly termed rational imitation. But it should be observed that the process as a whole is something more than imitative. For not only would observation alone be scarcely enough (within any limits of thoughtful reflection that it would be reasonable to ascribe to an animal) to enable a cat upon the ground to distinguish that the essential part of the process as performed by the human hand consists, not in grasping the handle, but in depressing the latch; but the cat certainly never saw any one, after having depressed the latch, pushing the doorposts with his legs; and that this pushing action is due to an originally deliberate intention of opening the door, and not to having accidentally found this action to assist the process, is shown by one of the cases communicated to me (by Mr. Henry A. Gaphaus); for in this case, my correspondent says, 'the door was not a loose-fitting one by any means, and I was surprised that by the force of one hind leg she should have been able to push it open after unlatching it.' Hence we can only conclude that the cats in such cases have a very definite idea as to the mechanical properties of a door; they know that to make it open, even when unlatched, it requires to be pushed—a very different thing from trying to imitate any particular action which they may see to be performed for the same purpose by man. The whole psychological process, therefore, implied by the fact of a cat opening a door in this way is really most complex. First the animal must have observed[422] that the door is opened by the hand grasping the handle and moving the latch. Next she must reason, by 'the logic of feelings'—If a hand can do it, why not a paw? Then, strongly moved by this idea, she makes the first trial. The steps which follow have not been observed, so we cannot certainly say whether she learns by a succession of trials that depression of the thumb-piece constitutes the essential part of the process, or, perhaps more probably, that her initial observations supplied her with the idea of clicking the thumb-piece. But, however this may be, it is certain that the pushing with the hind feet after depressing the latch must be due to adaptive reasoning unassisted by observation; and only by the concerted action of all her limbs in the performance of a highly complex and most unnatural movement is her final purpose attained.

Again, several very similar cases are communicated to me of cats spontaneously, or without tuition, learning to knock knockers and ring bells. Of course in both cases the animals must have observed the use to which knockers and bells are put, and when desiring a door to be opened, employ these signals for the purpose. It betokens no small amount of observation and reasoning in a cat to jump at a knocker with the expectation of thereby summoning a servant to open the door—especially as in some of the cases the jump is not a random jump at the knocker, but a deliberate and complex action, having for its purposes the raising and letting fall of the knocker. For instance, Mr. Belshaw, writing to 'Nature' (vol. xix., p. 659), says:—

In such cases the action closely resembles that of opening thumb-latches, but clearly is performed with the purpose of summoning some one else to open the door. Wonderful, however, as these cases of summoning[423] by knockers undoubtedly are, I think they are surpassed by other cases in which the instrument used is the bell. For here it is not merely that cats perfectly well understand the use of bells as calls,[258] but I have one or two cases of cats jumping at bell-wires passing from outside into[424] houses the doors of which the cats desired to be opened.[259] My informants tell me that they do not know how these cats, from any process of observation, can have surmised that pulling the wire in an exposed part of its length would have the effect of ringing the bell; for they can never have observed any one pulling the wires. I can only suggest that in these cases the animals must have observed that when the bells were rung the wires moved, and that the doors were afterwards opened; then a process of inference must have led them to try whether jumping at the wires would produce the same effects. But even this, which is the simplest explanation possible, implies powers of observation scarcely less remarkable than the process of reasoning to which they gave rise.

As further instances corroborating the fact that both these faculties are developed in cats to a wonderful degree, I may add the following. Couch ('Illustrations of Instinct,' p. 196) gives a case within his own knowledge of a cat which, in order to get at milk kept in a locked cupboard, used to unlock the door by seating herself on an adjoining table, and 'repeatedly patting on the bow of the key with her paw, when with a slight pull on the door' she was able to open it; the lock was old, and the key turned in it 'on a very slight impulse.'

As a still further instance of the high appreciation of mechanical appliances to which cats attain, I shall quote an extract from a paper by Mr. Otto, which will have been read at the Linnean Society before this work is published.[425] After describing the case of a cat opening a thumb-latch in the same way as those already mentioned, this writer proceeds:—

To give only one other instance of high reasoning power in this animal, Mr. W. Brown, writing from Greenock to 'Nature' (vol. xxi., p. 397), gives a remarkable story of a cat, the facts in which do not seem to have admitted of mal-observation. While a paraffine lamp was being trimmed, some of the oil fell upon the back of the cat, and was afterwards ignited by a cinder falling upon it from the fire. The cat with her back 'in a blaze, in an instant made for the door (which happened to be open) and sped up the street about 100 yards,' where she plunged into the village watering-trough, and extinguished the flame. 'The trough had eight or nine inches of water, and puss was in the habit of seeing the fire put out with water every night.' The latter point is important, as it shows the data of observation on which the animal reasoned.

CHAPTER XV.

If we could subtract from the domestic dog all the emotions arising from his prolonged companionship with man, and at the same time intensify the emotions of self-reliance, rapacity, &c., we should get the emotional character now presented by the wolves and jackals. It is interesting to note that this genetic similarity of emotional character extends to what may be termed idiosyncratic details in cases where it has not been interfered with by human agency. Thus the peculiar, weird, and unaccountable class of emotions which cause wolves to bay at the moon has been propagated unchanged to our domestic dogs.

The intelligence of the fox is proverbial; but as I have not received many original observations on this head, I shall merely refer to some of the best authenticated observations already published, and shall begin with the instance narrated by Mr. St. John in his 'Wild Sports of the Highlands':—

Numberless instances are on record showing the remarkable cunning of foxes in procuring bait from traps without allowing themselves to be caught. These cases are so numerous, and all display so much the same quality of intelligence, that it is impossible to doubt so great a concurrence of testimony. I shall only give two or three specific cases, to show the kind of intelligence that is in[428] question. It will be observed that it is much the same as that which is displayed under similar circumstances by rats and wolverines, in which animals we have already considered it. In all these cases the intelligence displayed must justly be deemed to be of a very remarkable order. For, inasmuch as traps are not things to be met with in nature, hereditary experience cannot be supposed to have played any part in the formation of special instincts to avoid the dangers arising from traps, and therefore the astonishing devices by which these dangers are avoided can only be attributed to observation, coupled with intelligent investigation of a remarkably high character.

In connection with traps, my friend Dr. Rae has communicated to me a highly remarkable instance of the display of reason on the part of the Arctic foxes. I have previously published the facts in my lecture before the British Association in 1879, and therefore shall here quote them from it:—

Dr. Rae also informs me with, regard to wolves, that 'they have been frequently known to take the bait from a gun without injury to themselves, by first cutting the line of communication between the two.'[261] He adds:—

Mr. Murray Browne, Inspector of the Local Government Board, writes to me from Whitehall as follows:—

Couch says ('Illustrations of Instinct,' p. 178): 'Derham quotes Olaus in his account of Norway as having himself witnessed the fact of a fox dropping his tail among the rocks on the sea-shore to catch the crabs below, and hauling up and devouring such as laid hold of it.'

Under the present heading I must not omit to refer to an interesting class of instincts which are manifested by those species of the genus Canis, whose custom it is to hunt in packs. The instincts to which I refer are those which lead to a combination among different members of the same pack for the capture of prey by stratagem. These instincts, which no doubt arose and are now maintained by intelligent adaptation to the requirements of the chase, I shall call 'collective instincts.' Thus Sir E. Tennent writes:—

Again, Jesse records the following display of the same instinct by the fox, as having been communicated to him by a friend on whose veracity he could rely:—

Similarly, Mr. E. C. Buck records ('Nature,' viii., 303) the following interesting observation made by his friend Mr. Elliot, B.C.S., Secretary to Government, N.W.P.:—

Mr. Buck draws attention to another closely similar display of collective instinct of wolves in the same district observed by a 'writer of one of the books on Indian sport.'

With reference to this case I wrote to 'Nature' as follows. The friend to whom I allude was the late Dr. Brydon, C.B. (the 'last man' of the Afghan expedition of 1841), whom I knew intimately for several years, and always found his observations on animals to be trustworthy:—

A similar instance of the display of collective instinct is thus narrated by M. Dureau de la Malle:—

Again, among Mr. Darwin's MSS., I find a letter from Mr. H. Reeks (1871), which says that the wolves of Newfoundland adopt exactly the same stratagem for the capture of deer in winter as that which is adopted by the hunters. That is to say, some of the pack secrete themselves in one or more of the leeward deer-paths in the forest or 'belting,' while one or two wolves make a circuit round the herd of deer to windward. The herd invariably retreats by one of its accustomed runs, and 'it rarely happens . . . . that the wolves do not manage by this stratagem to secure a doe or young stag.' And Leroy, in his book on Animal Intelligence, narrates closely similar facts of the wolves of Europe as having fallen within his own observation.

CHAPTER XVI.

In my next work I shall treat of this subject with the fulness that it deserves—especially in its relation to the origin of instincts and the development of the moral sense; but to enter upon this topic at present would demand more space than can be allowed.

To do full justice to the psychology of the dog a separate treatise would be required. Here I can only trace a sketch.

Memory.

As regards memory, one or two instances will suffice. Mr. Darwin writes: 'I had a dog who was savage and averse to all strangers, and I purposely tried his memory after an absence of five years and two days. I went near the stable where he lived, and shouted to him in my old manner; he showed no joy, but instantly followed me out walking, and obeyed me, as if I had parted with him only an hour before.'[263]

It is not only persons or places that dogs remember for long periods. I had a setter in the country, which one year I took up with me to town for a few months. While in town he was never allowed to go out without a collar on which was engraved my address. A ring upon this collar made a clinking sound, and the setter soon learnt to associate the approach of this sound with the prospect of a walk. Three years afterwards I again took this setter up to town. He remembered every nook and corner of my house in town, and also his way about the streets, and the first time that I brought his collar, slightly clinking as before, he showed by his demonstrations of joy that he well remembered the sound with all its old associations, although he had not heard this sound for three years.

Emotions.

The emotional life of the dog is highly developed—more highly, indeed, than that of any other animal. His[439] gregarious instincts, united with his high intelligence and constant companionship with man, give to this animal a psychological basis for the construction of emotional character, having a more massive as well as more complex consistency than that which is presented even in the case of the monkey, which, as we shall afterwards see, attains to a remarkably high level in this respect.

Pride, sense of dignity, and self-respect are very conspicuously exhibited by well-treated dogs. As with man, so with the friend of man, it is only those whose lines of fortune have fallen in pleasant places, and whose feelings may therefore be said to have profited by the refining influences of culture, that display in any conspicuous measure the emotions in question. 'Curs of low degree,' and even many dogs of better social position, have never enjoyed those conditions essential to moral refinement, which alone can engender a true sense of self-respect and dignity. A 'low-life' dog may not like to have his tail pulled, any more than a gutter child may like to have his ears boxed; but here it is physical pain rather than wounded pride that causes the smart. Among 'high-life' dogs, however, the case is different. Here wounded sensibilities and loss of esteem are capable of producing much keener suffering than is mere physical pain; so that among such dogs a whipping produces quite a different and a much more lasting effect than in the case of their rougher brethren, who, as soon as it is over, give themselves a shake and think no more about it. As evidence of the delicacy of feeling to which dogs of aristocratic estate may attain, I shall give one or two among many instances that I could render.

A reproachful word or look from any of his friends would make a Skye terrier that I owned miserable for a whole day. If we had ever ventured to strike him I do not know what would have happened, for his sentiments were quite abreast of the age with respect to moral repugnance to the use of the lash. Thus, for instance, at one time when all his own friends were out of town, he was taken for a walk every day in the park by my brother, to whose care he had been entrusted. He enjoyed his walks very much, and was wholly dependent upon my brother[440] for obtaining them. Nevertheless, one day while he was amusing himself with another dog in the park, my brother, in order to persuade him to follow, struck him with a glove. The terrier looked up at his face with an astonished and indignant gaze, deliberately turned round, and trotted home. Next day he went out with my brother as before, but after he had gone a short distance he looked up at his face significantly, and again trotted home with a dignified air. After thus making his protest in the strongest way he could, the dog ever afterwards refused to accompany him.

This terrier habitually exhibited a strong repugnance to corporal punishment, even when inflicted upon others. Thus, whenever or wherever he saw a man striking a dog, whether in the house or outside, near at hand or at a distance, he used to rush in to interfere, snarling and snapping in a most threatening way. Again, when driving with me in a dog-cart, he always used to hold the sleeve of my coat every time I touched the horse with the whip. As bearing upon this sensitiveness of feeling produced in dogs by habitually kind treatment, I shall here give an extract from the letter of one of my correspondents (Mrs. E. Picton). It relates to a Skye terrier which had a strong aversion to being washed:—

This strong effect of silent coldness shows that the loss of affectionate regard caused the terrier more suffering than beating, starving, or even the hated bath; and as many analogous cases might be quoted, I have no hesitation in adducing this one as typical of the craving for affectionate regard, which is manifested by sensitive dogs.

In this connection I may point out the remarkable change which has been produced in the domestic dog as compared with wild dogs, with reference to the enduring of pain. A wolf or a fox will sustain the severest kinds of physical suffering without giving utterance to a sound, while a dog will scream when any one accidentally treads upon its toes. This contrast is strikingly analogous to that which obtains between savage and civilised man: the North American Indian, and even the Hindoo, will endure without a moan an amount of physical pain—or at least bodily injury—which would produce vehement expressions of suffering from a European. And doubtless the explanation is in both cases the same—namely, that refinement of life engenders refinement of nervous organisation, which renders nervous lesions more intolerable.

As evidence of the idea of caste in a dog, I shall quote only one instance, although many others might be[442] given: this also may be taken as typical. I extract it from St. John's 'Wild Sports of the Highlands,' where, speaking of his retriever, this very good observer states: 'He struck up an acquaintance with a ratcatcher and his cur, thoroughly entering into their way of business; but the moment he saw me he instantly cut his humble friends, and denied all acquaintance with them in the most comical manner.'[264]

Dogs likewise display in a high degree the feelings of emulation and jealousy. I once had a terrier which took great pains, and manifested paternal delight, in teaching his puppy to hunt rabbits. But in time the puppy outgrew his father in strength and fleetness, so that in the chase, in spite of straining every nerve, the father used to be gradually distanced. His whole demeanour then changed, and every time that he found his son drawing away from him he used in desperation to seize the receding tail of the youngster. Although the son was now much stronger than the father, he never used to resent this exercise of paternal authority, even though the rabbit were close under his nose.

Of jealousy in dogs innumerable instances might be given, but I shall merely quote one from my bulky correspondence on this head. It is sent me by Mr. A. Oldham:—

Akin to jealousy is the sense of justice. If a master is not equal in his ways towards his dogs, the dogs are very apt to discover the injustice and to resent it accordingly. The well-known observation of the great Arago may be taken as a typical one in this connection. Having been detained by a storm at a country inn, and having ordered a chicken for his dinner, Arago was warming himself by the kitchen fire, when he saw the innkeeper put the fowl on the spit and attempt to seize a turnspit dog lying in the kitchen. The brute, however, refused to enter the wheel, got under a table, and showed fight. On Arago asking what could be the meaning of such conduct, the host replied that the dog had some excuse, that it was not his turn but his comrade's, who did not happen to be in the kitchen. Accordingly, the other turnspit was sent for, and he entered the spit very willingly, and turned away. When the fowl was half roasted Arago took him out, and the other dog, no longer smarting under the sense of injustice, now took his turn without any opposition, and completed the roasting of the fowl.

Deceitfulness is another trait in canine character of which numberless instances might be given; but here, again, it seems unnecessary to quote more than one or two cases as illustrative of the general fact. Another of my correspondents, after giving several examples of the display of hypocrisy of a King Charles spaniel, proceeds:[444]—

The following instance, which I observed myself, I regard as more remarkable. It has already been published in 'Nature' (vol. xii., p. 66), from which I quote it:

This allusion to the marked effects of ridicule upon a dog leads to a consideration of the next emotion with which I feel certain that some dogs are to be accredited. I mean the emotion of the ludicrous. This same terrier used, when in good humour, to perform several tricks, which I know to have been self-taught, and which clearly had the object of exciting laughter. For instance, while lying on his side and violently grinning, he would hold one leg in his mouth. Under such circumstances, nothing pleased him so much as having his joke duly appreciated, while if no notice was taken of him he would become sulky. On the other hand, nothing displeased him so much as being laughed at when he did not intend to be ridiculous, as could not be more conclusively[445] proved than by the fact of his behaviour in pretending to catch the fly. Mr. Darwin observes: 'Dogs show what may be fairly called a sense of humour, as distinct from mere play; if a bit of stick or other such object be thrown to one, he will often carry it away for a short distance; and then squatting down with it on the ground close before him, will wait until his master comes close to take it away. The dog will seize it and rush away in triumph, repeating the same manœuvre, and evidently enjoying the practical joke.'[265]

General Intelligence.

I have very definite evidence of the fact that dogs are able to communicate to one another simple ideas. The communication is always effected by gesture or tones of barking, and the ideas are always of such a simple nature as that of a mere 'follow me.' According to my own observations, the dogs must be above the average of canine intelligence, and the gesture they invariably employ is a contact of heads, with a motion between a rub and a butt. It is quite different from anything that occurs in play, and is always followed by a definite course of action. I must add, however, that although the information thus conveyed is always definite, I have never known a case in which it was complex—anything like asking or telling the way, which several writers have said that dogs can do, being, I believe, quite out of the question. One example will suffice. A Skye terrier (not quite pure) was asleep in the room where I was, while his son lay upon a wall which separates the lawn from the high road. The young dog, when alone, would never attack a strange one, but was a keen fighter when in company with his father. Upon the present occasion a large mongrel passed along the road, and shortly afterwards the old dog awoke and went sleepily downstairs. When he arrived upon the door-step his son ran up to him and[446] made the sign just described. His whole manner immediately altered to that of high animation. Clearing the wall together, the two animals ran down the road as terriers only can when pursuing an enemy. I watched them for a mile and a half, within which distance their speed never abated, although the object of their pursuit had not from the first been in sight.

It is almost superfluous to give cases illustrating the well-known fact that dogs communicate their desires and ideas to man; but as the subject of the communication by signs will afterwards be found of importance in connection with the philosophy of communication by words, I shall here give a few examples of dogs communicating by signs with man, which for my purpose will be the more valuable the less they are recognised as unusual.

Lieutenant-Gen. Sir John H. Lefroy, C.B., K.C.M.G., F.R.S., writes me that he has a terrier which it is the duty of his wife's maid to wash and feed. 'It was her habit after calling her mistress in the morning to go out and milk a goat which was tethered near the house, and give "Button" the milk. One morning, being rather earlier than usual, instead of going out at once she took up some needlework and began to occupy herself. The dog endeavoured in every possible way to attract her attention and draw her forth, and at last pushed aside the curtain of a closet, and never having been taught to fetch or carry, took between his teeth the cup she habitually used, and brought it to her feet. I inquired into every circumstance strictly on the spot, and was shown where he found the cup.'

Similarly I select the following case from a great number of others that I might quote, because it is so closely analogous to the above. It is communicated to me by Mr. A. H. Baines:—

One more instance of the communication of ideas by gestures will no doubt be deemed sufficient. It is one of a kind which has many analogies in the literature of canine intelligence.

Dr. Beattie relates this case of canine sagacity, of which the scene was a place near Aberdeen. The Dee being frozen, a gentleman named Irvine was crossing the ice, which gave way with him about the middle of the river. Having a gun, he was able to keep himself from sinking by placing it across the opening. 'The dog made many fruitless efforts to save his master, and then ran to a neighbouring village, where he saw a man, and with the most significant gestures pulled him by the coat, and prevailed on him to follow. The man arrived on the spot in time to save the gentleman's life.'

Numberless other instances of the same kind might be given, and they display a high degree of intelligence. Even the idea of saving life implies in itself no small amount of intelligence; but in such cases as these we have added the idea of going for help, communicating news of a disaster, and leading the way to its occurrence.

Having thus as briefly as possible considered the emotional and the more ordinary intellectual faculties of the dog, I shall pass on to the statement of cases showing the higher and more exceptional developments of canine sagacity.

Were the purpose of this work that of accumulating anecdotes of animal intelligence, this would be the place to let loose a flood of facts, which might all be well attested, relating to the high intelligence of dogs. But as my aim is rather that of suppressing anecdotes, except in so far as facts are required to prove the presence in animals of the sundry psychological faculties which I believe the different classes to present, I shall here, as elsewhere, follow the method of not multiplying anecdotes further than seems necessary fully to demonstrate the[448] highest level of intelligence to which the animal under consideration can certainly be said to attain. But in order that any who read these pages for the sake of the anecdotes which they necessarily present may not be disappointed by meeting with cases already known to them, I shall draw my material mainly from the facts communicated to me by private correspondents, alluding to previously published facts only as supplementary to those now published for the first time. It may be well to explain to my numerous correspondents that I select the following cases for quoting, not because they are the most sensational that I have received, but rather because they either contain nothing sufficiently exceptional to excite the criticism of incredulity, or because they happen to have been corroborated by the more or less similar cases which I quote from other correspondents.

As showing the high general intelligence of the dog, I shall first begin with the collie. It is certain that many of these dogs can be trusted to gather and drive sheep without supervision. It is enough on this head to refer to the well-known anecdotes of the poet Hogg in his 'Shepherd's Calendar,' concerning his dog 'Sirrah.'

Williams, in his book on 'Dogs and their Ways,' says (p. 124) that a friend of his had a collie which, whenever his master said the words 'Cast, cast,' would run off to seek any sheep that might be cast, and on finding it would at once assist it to rise. He also knew of another dog (p. 102), which would perform the same office even in the absence of his master, going the round of the fields and pastures by himself to right all the sheep that he found to be cast.[266]

One of my correspondents (Mr. Laurie Gentles) sends me an account of a sheep-dog belonging to a friend of his (Mr. Mitchell, of Inverness-shire) which strayed to a neighbouring farm, and took up his residence with the farmer. On the second night after the dog arrived at the farm the farmer 'took the dog down to the meadow to see if the cattle were all right. To his dismay he found that[449] the fence between his meadow and his neighbour's had got broken down, and that the whole of his neighbour's cattle had got mixed up with his. By the help of the dog the strange cattle were driven back into their proper meadow, and the fence put into temporary repair. The next night, at the same hour, the gentleman started off to look after the cattle. The dog, however, was not to be seen. On arriving at the meadow, what was the gentleman's astonishment to find that the dog had preceded him! His astonishment soon changed into delighted approbation when he found the dog sitting on the broken fence between the two meadows, and daring the cattle from either side to cross. The cattle had during the interval between the first and second visits broken down the fence, and had got mixed up with each other. The dog had quietly gone off on his own account to see if all was right, and finding a similar accident to the one the previous evening, had alone and unaided driven back the strange cattle to their proper meadow, and had mounted guard over the broken fence as I have already indicated.'

Colonel Hamilton Smith says that the cattle-dogs of Cuba and Terra Firma are very wise in managing cattle, but require to display different tactics from the cattle-dogs of Europe:—

That this sagacity need not be due to special tuition, may be inferred from a closely similar display spontaneously[450] shown in the following case. It is communicated to me by a correspondent, Mr. A. H. Browning. This gentleman was looking at a litter of young pigs in their sty, and when he went away the door of the sty was inadvertently left unfastened. The pigs all escaped into his garden. My correspondent then proceeds:—

In Lord Brougham's 'Dialogues on Instinct' (iii.) there is narrated the story told to the author by Lord Truro of a dog that used to worry sheep at night. The animal quietly submitted to be tied up in the evening, but when everybody was asleep he used to slip his collar, worry the sheep, and, returning before dawn, again get into his collar to avoid suspicion. I allude to this remarkable display of sagacity because I am myself able fully to corroborate it by precisely similar cases. A friend of mine (the late Mr. Sutherland Murray) had a dog which was always kept tied up at night, but nevertheless the neighbouring farmers complained of having detected him as the culprit when watching to find what dog it was that committed nightly slaughter among their sheep. My friend, therefore, set a watch upon his dog, and found that when all was still be slipped his collar, and after being absent for some hours, returned and slipped his head in again.

A precisely similar case is given further back, and others are communicated to me by two correspondents (Mr. Goodbehere, of Birmingham, and Mr. Richard Williams, of Buffalo). The latter says:—

In Germany I knew a large dog that was very fond of grapes, and at night used to slip his collar in order to satisfy his propensity; and it was not for some time that the thief was suspected, owing to his returning before daylight and appearing innocently chained up in his kennel.

A closely similar case is recorded in Mr. Duncan's book on 'Instinct' of a dog belonging to the Rev. Mr. Taylor, of Colton. The only difference is that the delinquent dog slipped and afterwards readjusted a muzzle instead of a collar.

In connection with sly sagacity I may also give another story contained in my correspondence, although in this case I am specially requested by my correspondent not to publish his name. I can, therefore, only say that he occupies a high position in the Church, and that the dog (a retriever) was his own property:—

It is, of course, a well-known thing that dogs may easily be taught the use of coin for buying buns, &c. In the 'Scottish Naturalist' for April, 1881, Mr. Japp vouches for the fact that a collie which he knew was in the habit of purchasing cakes with coppers without ever having been taught the use of coin for such purposes. This fact, however, of a dog spontaneously divining the use of money requires corroboration, although it is certain that many dogs have an instinctive idea of giving peace-offerings, and the step from this to the idea of barter may not be large. Thus, to give only two illustrations, Mr. Badcock writes to me that a friend of his had a dog which one day had a quarrel with a companion dog, so that they parted at variance. 'On the next day the friend appeared with a biscuit, which he presented as a peace-offering.' Again, Mr. Thomas D. Smeaton writes to me of his dog that he 'has an amusing practice when he is restored to favour after some slight offence, of immediately picking up and carrying anything that is handiest, stone, stick, paper: it is a deliberate effort to please, a sort of good-will offering, a shaking hands over the past.'

I am indebted for the following to Mr. Goodbehere, of Birmingham; it may be taken as typical of many similar cases:—

I adduce this instance because it serves as a sort of introduction to the more remarkable faculty which I cannot have the least doubt is manifested by some dogs—the faculty, namely, of recognising portraits as representing persons, or possibly of mistaking portraits for persons.

Mr. Charles W. Peach also gives an account in 'Nature' (vol. xx., p. 196) of a large dog recognising his portrait:—

From this account it appears that when in the first instance the dog's attention was drawn to the picture it was on the floor in the line of the dog's sight; the behaviour of the animal then and subsequently was too marked and peculiar to admit of mistake.

Another correspondent in 'Nature' (vol. xx., p. 220), alluding to the previous letter, writes:—

Similarly, in the same periodical (vol. xx., p. 220), Mr. Henry Clark writes:—

Again, I learn from Dr. Samuel Wilks, F.R.S., that a friend of his, whom I shall call Mrs. E., has a terrier which recognised her portrait. 'The portrait is now (1881) hanging in the Royal Academy. When it first arrived home the dog barked at it, as it did at strangers; but after a day or two, when Mrs. E. opened the door to show the portrait to some friends, the dog went straight to the picture and licked the hand. The picture is a three-quarter length portrait of a lady with the hand at the bottom of the picture.'

Lastly, my sister, who is a very conscientious and accurate observer, witnessed a most unmistakable recognition of portraits as representative of persons on the part of a small but intelligent terrier of her own. At my request she committed the facts to writing shortly after they occurred. The following is her statement of them:—

It will have been observed that in all these cases the portraits, when first recognised as bearing resemblance to human beings, were placed on the floor, or in the ordinary line of the dog's sight. This is probably an important condition to the success of the recognition. That it certainly was so in the case of my sister's terrier was strikingly proved on a subsequent occasion, when she took the animal into a picture-shop where there were a number of portraits hanging round the walls, and also one of Carlyle standing on the floor. The terrier did not heed those upon the walls, but barked excitedly at the one upon the floor. This case was further interesting from the fact that there were a number of purchasers in the shop who were, of course, strangers to the terrier; yet he took no notice of them, although so much excited by the picture. This shows that the pictorial illusion was not so complete as to make the animal suppose the portrait to be a real person; it was only sufficiently so to make it feel a sense of bewildered uncertainty at the kind of life-in-death appearance of the motionless representation.

If, notwithstanding all this body of mutually corroborative cases, it is still thought incredible that dogs should be able to recognise pictorial representations,[268] we should[457] do well to remember that this grade of mental evolution is reached very early in the psychical development of the human child. In my next work I shall adduce evidence to show that children of one year, or even less, are able to distinguish pictures as representations of particular objects, and will point at the proper pictures when asked to show these objects.

Coming now to cases more distinctly indicative of reason in the strict sense of the word, numberless ordinary acts performed by dogs indisputably show that they possess this faculty. Thus, for instance, Livingstone gives the following observation.[269] A dog tracking his master along a road came to a place where three roads diverged. Scenting along two of the roads and not finding the trail, he ran off on the third without waiting to smell. Here, therefore, is a true act of inference. If the track is not on A or B, it must be on C, there being no other alternative.

Again, it is not an unusual thing for intelligent dogs, who know that their masters do not wish to take them out, to leave the house and run a long distance in the direction in which they suppose their masters are about to go, in order that when they are there found the distance may be too great for their masters to return home for the purpose of shutting them up. I have myself known several terriers that would do this, and one of the instances I shall give in extenso (quoted from an account which I published at the time in 'Nature'); for I think it displays remarkably complex processes of far-seeing calculation:—

Complicated as this train of reasoning is, it is the simplest one I can devise to account for the fact that slightly beyond the third milestone the terrier was awaiting me, lying right in the middle of the road with his face towards the town. I should add that the second two miles of the road were quite straight, so that I could easily have seen the dog if he had been merely running a comparatively short distance in front of the horses. Why this animal should never have returned to his former home on his own account I cannot suggest, but I think it was merely due to an excessive caution which he also manifested in other things. However, be the explanation of this what it may, as a fact he never did venture to come back upon his own account, although there never was a subsequent occasion upon which any of his former friends went to the town but the terrier was seen to return with them, having always found some way of escape from his intended imprisonment.

The Rev. J. C. Atkinson gives an account ('Zoologist,'[459] vol. vii., p. 2338) of his terrier, which, on starting a water-rat out of reeds into the running stream, would not plunge directly after it, knowing that the rat would beat him at swimming. But the moment the rat plunged, the dog ran four or five yards down the bank, and there waited till the water-rat, being carried down stream, appeared upon the surface, when he pounced upon it successfully.

Cases of this kind might be multiplied indefinitely, and they appear to show a true faculty of reason or inferring.

Professor W. W. Bailey, writing from Brown University to 'Nature' (xxii., p. 607), says:—

Couch gives the following, which is worth quoting, as showing the intelligence of dogs in attacking unusual prey:—

I myself know a large dog in Germany which used to kill snakes by dexterously tossing them in the air a great number of times, too quickly to admit of the snake biting. When the snake was thus quite confused, the dog would tear it in pieces. This dog can never have been poisoned by the bite of a snake; but he seems to have had an instinctive idea that the snake might be more harmful in its bite than other animals; for while he was bold in fighting with dogs, and did not then object to receiving his fair share of laceration, he was extremely careful never to begin to tear a snake till he had thoroughly bewildered it by tossing it as described.

The reasoning displayed by dogs may not always be of a high order, but little incidents, from being of constant occurrence among all dogs, are the more important as showing the reasoning faculty to be general to these animals. I shall therefore give a few cases to show the kind of reasoning that is of constant occurrence.

Mr. Stone writes to me from Norbury Park concerning two of his dogs, one large and the other small. Both being in a room at the same time,

Again, Mr. John Le Conte, writing from the University of California, tells me of a dog which used to hunt rabbits in an extensive pasture-ground where there was a hollow tree, which frequently served as a place of refuge for the rabbits when they were pressed:—

A somewhat similar instance is communicated to me by Mr. William Cairns, of Argyll House, N.B.:—

Dr. Bannister, editor of the 'Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases,' writes me from Chicago, that having spent a winter in Alaska, he 'had a good opportunity to study animal intelligence in the Eskimo dogs,' and he reports it as 'a fact of common occurrence,' when the dogs are drawing sledges on the ice near the coast, that[462] on coming to sinuosities in the coast-line, they spontaneously leave the beaten track and strike out so as to 'cut across the windings by going straight from point to point' of land. This is frequently done even when the leading dog 'could not see the whole winding of the beaten track; he seemed to reason that the route must lead around the headlands, and that he could economise travel by cutting across.'

It will be remembered in connection with these dogs, that Mr. Darwin in the 'Descent of Man' (p. 75) quotes Dr. Hayes, who, in his work on 'The Open Polar Sea,' 'repeatedly remarks that his dogs, instead of continuing to draw the sledges in a compact body, diverged and separated when they came to thin ice, so that their weight might be more evenly [and widely] distributed. This was often the first warning which the travellers received that the ice was becoming thin and dangerous.' Mr. Darwin remarks, 'This instinct may possibly have arisen since the time, long ago, when dogs were first employed by the natives in drawing their sledges; or the Arctic wolves, the parent stock of the Esquimaux dog, may have acquired an instinct, impelling them not to attack their prey in a close pack when on thin ice.'

Mr. W. F. Hooper writes me of a Newfoundland dog that was in the habit of accompanying the nursemaid and baby belonging to its mistress. On one occasion a keen wind began to blow, and the nursemaid drew her shawl over the child:—

I extract the following instance from Col. Hutchinson's 'Dog-breaking.' It is briefly alluded to in the 'Descent of Man.' The observer and narrator is Mr. Colquhoun:—

The following, communicated to me by Mr. Blood, is a closely analogous, and therefore confirmatory case. He was out shooting with a companion, and three wild ducks were simultaneously dropped into a lake—one falling dead and the other two winged. Mr. Blood sent in his spaniel to retrieve,

As showing in a higher, and therefore rarer degree, the ratiocinative faculty in dogs, I may quote a brief extract from my British Association lecture:—

As a confirmatory case, I may also quote an extract from a letter sent me by Mr. Percival Fothergill. Writing of a retriever which he has, he says:—

Mr. George Cook writes me that he recently had a pointer, which one morning, when the grass was covered with frost, dragged a mat out of his kennel, from which he had got loose, to the lawn beneath the house windows, where he was found lying upon the mat, which thus served to protect him from the frost. The distance over which he had dragged the mat for this purpose was about 100 yards. Mr. Cook adds: 'I have since frequently seen him bring this mat out of his kennel and lay it in the sunshine, shifting it if a shadow came upon the place where he had laid it.'

The following is sent me by the Rev. F. J. Penky. He gives me the name of his friend the canon, but does not give me express permission to publish it. In quoting his account, therefore, I leave this name blank. He says:—

Many anecdotes might be adduced of the cleverness which some dogs show in finding their way by train; but I shall give only three, and I select these, not only because they all mutually corroborate one another, but likewise because they all display such high intelligence on the part of the dogs.

Lastly, for the following very remarkable case I am indebted to my friend Mrs. A. S. H. Richardson:—

It would be easy to continue multiplying anecdotes of canine intelligence; but I think a sufficient number of instances have now been given for the only purpose that I have in view—namely, that of exhibiting in a connected manner the various psychological faculties which are presented by dogs, and the level of development to which they severally attain. I may again remark that I have selected these instances for publication from among many others that I could have given, only because they conform to one or other of the general principles to which I everywhere adhere in the quoting of facts. That is to say, these facts are either matters of ordinary observation, and so intrinsically credible; or they stand upon the authority of observers well known to me as competent; or they are of a kind which do not admit of mal-observation; or, lastly, they are well corroborated by similar accounts received from independent observers. I think, therefore, that this sketch of the psychology of the dog is as accurate as the nature of the materials admits of my drawing it. If it is fairly open to criticism on any one side, I believe it is from the side of[470] the dog-lovers, who may perhaps with justice complain that I have ignored a number of published facts, standing on more or less good authority, and appearing more wonderful than any of the facts that I have rendered. To this criticism I have only to answer that it is better to err on the safe side, and that if the facts which I have rendered are sufficient to prove the existence of all the psychological faculties which the dog can fairly be said to possess, it is of less moment that partly doubtful cases should be suppressed, where the only object of introducing them would be to show that some particular faculties were in some particular instances more highly developed than was the case in the instances here recorded.

CHAPTER XVII.

Emotions.

Affection and sympathy are strongly marked—the latter indeed more so than in any other animal, not even excepting the dog. A few instances from many that might be quoted will be sufficient to show this.

Again, Jobson says that whenever his party shot an orang-outang from their boat, the body was carried off by others before the men could reach the shore.

So, again, James Forbes, F.R.S., in his 'Oriental Memoirs,' narrates the following remarkable instance of the display of solicitude and care for a dead companion exhibited by a monkey:—

Of course it is not to be supposed from this instance that all, or even most monkeys display any care for their dead. A writer in 'Nature' (vol. ix., p. 243), for instance, says expressly that such is not the case with Gibbons (Hylobates agilis), which he has observed to be highly sympathetic to injured companions, but 'take no notice whatever' of dead ones.

Captain Hugh Crow, in his 'Narrative of my Life,' relates an interesting tale of the conduct of some monkeys on board his ship. He says:—

Here is a case which I myself witnessed at the Zoological Gardens, and published in the 'Quarterly Journal of Science,' from which I now quote:—

As a beautiful instance of the display of sympathy, I may narrate an occurrence which was witnessed by my friend Sir James Malcolm—a gentleman on the accuracy[475] of whose observation I can rely. He was on board a steamer where there were two common East India monkeys, one of which was older and larger than the other, though they were not mother and child. The smaller monkey one day fell overboard amidships. The larger one became frantically excited, and running over the bulwarks down to a part of the ship which is called 'the bend,' it held on to the side of the vessel with one hand, while with the other it extended to her drowning companion a cord with which she had been tied up, and one end of which was fastened round her waist. The incident astonished everyone on board, but unfortunately for the romance of the story the little monkey was not near enough to grasp the floating end of the cord. The animal, however, was eventually saved by a sailor throwing out a longer rope to the little swimmer, who had sense enough to grasp it, and so to be hauled on board.

The following account of the behaviour of a wounded monkey seems to suggest the presence of a class of emotions similar to those which we know as feelings of reproach. The observer was Capt. Johnson:—

This case is strikingly corroborated by the following[476] allusion to Sir W. Hoste's Memoirs, given by Jesse as follows:—

Mr. Darwin says that most persons who have observed monkeys have seen them show a sense of the ludicrous. Here is an instance which I have myself observed, and now quote from my article in the 'Quarterly Journal of Science:'—

But perhaps the strongest evidence of monkeys having an appreciation of the ludicrous is the same as that which we have seen to be presented in the case of certain dogs—namely, in the animals disliking ridicule. Abundant evidence on this head in the case of monkeys will be given further on.

That monkeys enjoy play no one can question who spends an hour or two in the monkey-house at the Zoological Gardens. According to Savage, chimpanzees congregate together for the sole purpose of play, when[477] they beat or drum with pieces of stick on sonorous pieces of wood.[273]

Curiosity is more strongly pronounced in monkeys than in any other animals. We all know the interesting illustration on this head furnished by the experiment of Mr. Darwin, who, in order to test the statement of Brehm that monkeys have an instinctive dread of snakes, and yet cannot 'desist from occasionally satiating their curiosity in a most human fashion, by lifting up the lid of the box in which the snakes were kept,' took a stuffed snake to the monkey-house at the Zoological Gardens. Mr. Darwin says:—

Allied, perhaps, to curiosity, and so connected with the emotions, is what Mr. Darwin calls 'the principle of imitation.' It is proverbial that monkeys carry this principle to ludicrous lengths, and they are the only animals which imitate for the mere sake of imitating, as has been observed by Desor, though an exception ought to be made in favour of talking birds. The psychology of imitation is difficult of analysis, but it is remarkable as well as suggestive that it should be confined in its manifestations to monkeys and certain birds among animals, and to the lower mental levels among men. As Mr. Darwin says:—

The same sort of tendency is often observable in young children, so that it seems to be frequently distinctive of a certain stage or grade of mental evolution, and particularly in the branch Primates. Other animals, however, certainly imitate each other's actions to a certain extent, as I shall have occasion fully to notice in my next work.

As for the sterner emotions, rage may be so pronounced as to make a monkey exhaust itself with beating about its cage, or a baboon bite its own limbs till the blood flows.[275] Jealousy occurs in a correspondingly high degree, while retaliation and revenge are shown by all the higher monkeys when injury has been done to them, as any one may find by offering an insult to a baboon. The following is a good case of this, as it shows what may be called brooding resentment deliberately preparing a satisfactory revenge. Mr. Darwin writes:—

General Intelligence.

Coming now to the higher powers, I shall give a few cases to show that monkeys certainly surpass all other animals in the scope of their rational faculty. Professor Croora Robertson writes me:—

Mr. Darwin writes: 'Rengger, a most careful observer, states that when first he gave eggs to his monkeys in Paraguay, they smashed them, and thus lost much of their contents; afterwards they generally hit one end against some hard body, and picked off the bits with their fingers. After cutting themselves only once with any sharp tool, they would not touch it again, or would handle it with the greatest caution. Lumps of sugar were often given them wrapped up in paper; and Rengger sometimes put a live wasp in the paper, so that in hastily unfolding it they got stung; after this had once happened, they always first held the packet to their ears to detect any movement within.'[277]

The powers of observation and readiness to establish new associations thus rendered apparent, display a high level of general intelligence. Mr. Darwin further observes that Mr. Belt 'likewise describes various actions of a tamed cebus, which, I think, clearly show that this animal possessed some reasoning power.' The following is the account to which Mr. Darwin here refers, and I quote it in extenso, because, as I shall presently show, I have myself been able to confirm most of the observations on another monkey of the same genus:—

I shall now proceed to state some further facts, showing the high level of intelligence to which monkeys of various kinds attain.

The orang which Cuvier had used to draw a chair from one end to the other of a room, in order to stand upon it so as to reach a latch which it desired to open; and in this we have a display of rationally adaptive action which no dog has equalled, although, as in the case before given of the dog dragging the mat, it has been closely approached. Again, Rengger describes a monkey employing a stick wherewith to prise up the lid of a chest, which was too heavy for the animal to raise otherwise. This use of a lever as a mechanical instrument is an action to which no animal other than a monkey has ever been known to attain; and, as we shall subsequently see, my own observation has fully corroborated that of Rengger in this respect. More remarkable still, as we shall also subsequently see, the monkey to which I allude as having myself observed, succeeded also by methodical investigation, and without any assistance, in discovering for himself the mechanical principle of the screw; and that monkeys well understand how to use stones as hammers is a matter of common observation since Dampier and Wafer first described this action as practised by these animals in the breaking open of oyster-shells. The additional observation of Gernelli Carreri of monkeys thrusting stones into the open valves of oysters so as to save themselves the trouble of smashing the shells, though not incredible, requires confirmation. But Mr. Haden, of Dundee, has communicated to me the following very remarkable appreciation of mechanical principles which he himself observed in a monkey (species not noted), and which would certainly be beyond the mental powers of any other animal:—

'A large monkey, confined alone in a large cage, had its sleeping-place in the form of a kind of hut in the centre of the cage. Springing near the hut was a tree, or imitation tree, the main branch of which ascended over the top of the hut, and then came forwards away from it. Whether the roof of the hut enabled this animal to gain any part of this branch, I did not observe, but only remarked its method at the time of gaining the part of the branch which led frontwards, and[482] away from the hut. This could be done by means of the hut door, which, when opened, swung beneath this part of the branch. The door, either by accident or by the design of its construction, swung to each time the animal opened it to mount upon its top edge. After one or two efforts to mount by it in spite of its immediate swinging to, the creature procured a thick blanket which lay in the cage, and threw it over the door, having opened the same, so that its complete swinging to was prevented sufficiently for the creature to mount upon its free edge, and so gain that part of the branch which ran above it.'

The following, which I quote from 'Nature' (vol. xxiii., p. 533), also displays high intelligence:—

According to D'Osbonville, certain monkeys that he observed in the wild state were in the habit of administering corporal chastisement to their young. After suckling and cleansing them, the mothers used to sit down and watch the youngsters play. These would wrestle, throw and chase each other, &c.; but if any of them grew malicious, the dams would spring up, and, seizing[483] their offspring by the tail with one hand, correct them severely with the other.

We have already seen that dogs and cats display the idea of maintaining discipline among their progeny.

According to Houzeau the sacred monkey of India (Semnopithecus entellus) is very clever in catching snakes, and in the case of poisonous species destroy the fangs by breaking them against stones.[279]

Of the fact that monkeys act in co-operation, many proofs might be given, but one will suffice.

I shall here bring to a close my selections from the literature of monkey psychology, because I wish to devote a good deal of space to detailing a number of observations which have not yet been published. Thinking it desirable for the purposes of this work that an intelligent monkey should be subjected to close observation for some length of time, I applied to Mr. Sclater for the loan of one from the collection of the Zoological Society. He kindly consented to my proposal, and I selected a specimen of Cebus fatuellus, which appeared to me to be the most intelligent monkey in the collection. Not having facilities for keeping the animal in my own house, I consigned him to the charge of my sister (who lives close by), with the request that she should carefully note all points of interest connected with his intelligence. Therefore, from the day of his arrival till that of his departure she kept a diary,[484] or note-book, in which all the observations that she made when I was absent were entered. It was originally my intention to make an abstract of this note-book; but on afterwards reading it through for this purpose, it seemed to me that I should rather spoil matters by attempting a condensation. There is a certain graphic effect incidental to the diary form and spontaneous style of diction—the notes, of course, not having been written with a view to verbatim publication; and besides, as the psychology of monkeys has been so little studied, I think it is well to give all the details of a continuous series of observations. It is desirable to add that on occasions subsequent to the taking of this or that particular note, I generally had the opportunity of verifying the observation myself; but I may state that I attach no more importance to this circumstance than I should to verifying an observation of my own; for as a careful observer of animals I have quite as much confidence in my sister as in myself. It only remains to explain that my mother, being an invalid, is confined most of the time to her bedroom; and that the monkey was kept there for the first six weeks of his stay at her house, partly in order that he might be under constant observation, and partly also to furnish her with an entertaining pet. The following are my sister's notes in extenso and without alteration:—

Brown Capuchin (Cebus fatuellus—Linn.), Brazil.

Diary, 1880.

December 18th. Arrived in box with keeper. Seemed rather frightened and screamed a good deal on being transferred from small box to a larger one.

19th. Took him out of the box he had been in all night and fastened chain on to collar. Was meek and subdued, hiding his face in my lap.

20th. Has become much more lively and somewhat aggressive, especially towards the servants. He has taken a fancy to my mother, and (she holding his chain) he plays with her in a gentle and affectionate manner in her bed, but flies angrily at any of the servants who come near the bed. I observed to-day that he breaks walnuts (which are too hard for him to crack with his teeth) by striking them with the flat bottom of a dish[485] he has for drinking out of. He is ceaselessly active all day, and at night covers himself very neatly with warm shawls, and sleeps soundly till about eight o'clock.

21st. I notice that the love of mischief is very strong in him. To-day he got hold of a wine-glass and an egg-cup. The glass he dashed on the floor with all his might, and of course broke it. Finding, however, that the egg-cup would not break for being thrown down, he looked round for some hard substance against which to dash it. The post of the brass bedstead appearing to be suitable for the purpose, he raised the egg-cup high over his head and gave it several hard blows. When it was completely smashed he was quite satisfied. He breaks a stick by passing it down between a heavy object and the wall, and then hanging on to the end, thus breaking it across the heavy object. He frequently destroys an article of dress by carefully pulling out the threads (thus unripping it) before he begins to tear it with his teeth in a more violent manner. If he gets hold of anything that he sees we do not care about, he soon leaves it again; but if it is an article of value (even if it be only a scrap of paper) which he sees we are anxious about, nothing will induce him to give it up. No food, however inviting, will distract his attention: scolding only makes him more angry, and he keeps the article until it is quite destroyed. To-day I gave him a hammer to break his walnuts with, and he uses it in a proper manner for that purpose.

22nd. To-day a strange person (a dressmaker) came into the room where he is tied up, and I gave him a walnut that she might see him break it with his hammer. The nut was a bad one, and the woman laughed at his disappointed face. He then became very angry, and threw at her everything he could lay hands on; first the nut, then the hammer, then a coffee-pot which he seized out of the grate, and, lastly, all his own shawls. He throws things with great force and precision by holding them in both hands, and extending his long arms well back over his head before projecting the missile, standing erect the while.

23rd. There is continual war between him and Sharp [a small terrier], but they both seem to have a certain mutual respect for each other. The dog makes snatches at nuts, &c., and runs away with them beyond the reach of his chain, and the monkey catches at the dog, but seems afraid to hold him or hurt him. He however pelts him with nuts or bits of carrot, and chatters at him. At other times he holds out his hand as if to make friends, but the dog is too suspicious to go near him. His hostility towards the servants (one especially) increases, so that he[486] will not even take a nut from her without catching fiercely at her hand; he also frequently throws things at her. On the other hand, he allows my mother to do anything with him.

24th. He bit me in several places to-day when I was taking him away from my mother's bed after his morning's game there. I took no notice, but he seemed ashamed of himself afterwards, hiding his face in his arms and sitting quiet for a time.[280] In accordance with his desire for mischief, he is of course very fond of upsetting things, but he always takes great care they do not fall on himself. Thus he will pull a chair towards him till it is almost over-balanced, then he intently fixes his eyes on the top bar of the back, and when he sees it coming over his way, darts from underneath and watches the fall with great delight; and similarly with heavier things. There is a washhand-stand, for example, with a heavy marble top, which he has with great labour upset several times, and always without hurting himself.[281]

25th. I observed to-day that if a nut or any object he wishes to get hold of is beyond the reach of his chain, he puts out a stick to draw it towards him, or, if that does not succeed, he stands upright and throws a shawl back over his head, holding it by the two corners so that it falls down his back; he then throws it forward with all his strength, still holding on by the corners; thus it goes out far in front of him and covers the nut, which he then draws towards him by pulling in the shawl. When his chain becomes twisted round the bars of a 'clothes-horse' (which is given him to run about upon), and thus too short for his comfort, he looks at it intently and pulls it with his fingers this way and that, and when he sees how the turns are taken, he deliberately goes round and round the bars, first this way, then that, until the chain is quite disentangled. He often carries his chain grasped in his tail and held high over his back to keep it from getting into the way of his feet. He is always rather excited in the morning when I loosen his chain preparatory to taking him to my mother's bed; jumps about and tugs at the chain. Sometimes, however, if the chain is entangled, and I am rather long in getting it unfastened, he sits quietly down beside me, and begins picking at the chain with[487] his fingers as if to help me to untie it. I cannot say, however, that he succeeds in helping me at all.

26th. He seems very fond of spinning things round. If he gets a whole apple or orange he generally sits spinning it on one end, before beginning to eat it. He eats an orange by biting off a tiny piece of the peel, and putting his long, thin finger deep into the fruit; he then lays the whole orange under a piece of wire netting he has near him, and, putting his mouth to the hole he has made, presses the wire netting down upon the fruit, thus squeezing the juice up into his mouth. When a good deal of juice begins to run out, he holds the orange up over his head and lets the juice run into his mouth.

27th. To-day he obtained possession of a rather valuable document, and, as usual, nothing I could do would persuade him to give it up. He neglected any kind of food I offered him, and only chattered when I coaxed him. When at last I tried threatening him with a cane, he only became savage and flew at me, chattering. My mother now came and sat down in a chair beside him. He immediately jumped into her lap, and remained quite still while she took the paper out of his hands. When, however, she handed it to me and I laughed at her success, he showed his teeth and screamed and chattered at me angrily. I find laughing generally irritates him. Thus, when he is playing with my mother in the bed in the best of humour, as long as I sit quietly on the bed all is well, but if I laugh, for example at any of his affectionate glances, he makes a dart at me to send me off, and then returns with renewed demonstrations of affection to my mother, tumbling head over heels and lying on his back, grinning in a most comical manner, and making a sound very like slight laughter.

28th. His chain is fastened to the marble slab of a washhand-stand, placed on the floor against the wall. It is too heavy for him to pull along by his chain without hurting himself, so when he desires to do any mischief which is beyond the reach of his chain, he deliberately goes to the marble and pushes an arm down between an upright part of it and the wall, until he has moved the whole slab sufficiently far from the wall to admit of his slipping down behind the upright part himself. He then places his back against the wall and his four hands against the upright part of the marble, and pushes the slab as far as he can stretch his long legs. He only does this, however, when he is bent on mischief, as the fact of food being beyond the reach of his chain does not furnish a strong enough inducement to lead him to take so much exertion. Thus to-day he began to[488] pull the glazed leather cover off a trunk which was near him. I pulled the trunk away, and when he found it was out of his reach he ran and pushed the marble towards the trunk in the manner I have described, and when he knew his chain was then sufficiently long to reach the trunk, he ran to the latter and hastily resumed his destructive process.

29th. I notice that nothing the person does who has hold of his chain offends him. I mean, although he is furiously angry at having anything taken away from him, he is not at all angry if he is pulled away by his chain. If he is trying to bite a person, and another person takes hold of his chain behind him and so prevents his spring forward, he does not turn to bite the person who has taken hold of his chain, as a dog would do under similar circumstances, but quietly submits to be thus held. He seems to look upon his confinement and management by a chain as a natural law against which it is useless to struggle. On the other hand, he seems to be quite aware of the place where his chain is fastened, and to know that if he were clever enough to undo it he would be free. After we found he could move about the marble slab of the washhand-stand in the way described, we had a ring sunk in the floor to tie him to. The moment the chain was fastened to that [282] he began to investigate its new connection, and continued to do so for hours, passing the chain rapidly backward and forwards through the ring. When he found this did not loosen it, he began to hammer it and the ring also with all his strength, and this he continued to do for the rest of the day.

30th. He still continues to work at the chain where it is fastened to the ring. He passed the whole of the chain through the ring so many times with his fingers that it became quite blocked up in the ring, which made it very short, and it took me a quarter of an hour to disentangle it. He was very much interested in this process, sitting quietly beside me and watching my fingers intently, sometimes gently pulling my fingers on one side in order to see better, and sometimes casting a quick intelligent glance into my face as if asking how I did it. After I had disentangled and lengthened the chain he worked at it again for hours, but took care not to twist it into the ring a second time.

31st. To-day he hurt himself by getting one of his toes caught in a hinge of the clothes-horse. He did not make any[489] fuss, although the accident must have been somewhat a painful one, nor did he try to pull the toe out, which would have been useless and only hurt him more; but he sat almost motionless, making slight complaining noises until I discovered that there was something wrong with him. When I began to extricate his foot, he remained perfectly passive—although I dare say I hurt him a good deal—and only looked at me gratefully.

January 1, 1881. He has now quite given up trying to loosen his chain himself; having tried every way and failed, he has evidently become hopeless about it. He now resents being tied up. When I loosen him he is quite pleased, and when I tie him he waits until he is quite sure he is being tied, and not loosened, and then he flies at me and bites me.

10th. As he is always tied up in the same place he has no new opportunities given him of showing his intelligence. His attachment to my mother has increased. When she goes out he immediately gives up all play and mischief, and does nothing but run round and round in a restless manner, making a peculiar sweet calling noise, such as he never makes when she is in the room, listening intently between times. As long as she remains away he takes no rest or amusement, nor does he ever, or hardly ever, become angry; but the moment she returns he begins all his old ways again, usually becoming more savage at other people than before.

My mother frequently takes things away from him, and he never resents it to her as he would do to any other person. He generally, however, chatters angrily at some one else when my mother removes anything he wishes to keep. At first I thought he was deceived in the matter—that he could not believe it possible that his best friend could deprive him of what he valued, and so thought someone else must have done it. But the same thing has now happened so frequently that I can hardly think he is not really aware of who takes the things away. He seems rather to think it politic to keep on good terms with one person, and that although he does see her remove the things, and feels angry in consequence, he thinks it more prudent to vent his anger upon someone with whom he has already quarrelled. He always shows more irritation when my mother gives anything to me after having taken it away from him, than when she keeps it herself (as mentioned on December 26), and this may be the reason partly why he resents these matters to me; he thinks when I obtain possession of anything he wants that it is a sort of triumph to me. In the same way my mother may laugh as[490] much as she likes whether he is with her or not, but if I laugh at all at anything it generally results in something being thrown at me. If my mother calls out to the servants—if, for instance, a servant has left the room and my mother calls her back—he becomes very angry at the servant, and salutes her on her return with a shower of missiles. Sometimes my mother pretends to scold or beat the servants, and then he joins with great energy, by way of supporting his friend. If I scold or beat the servants he does not mind so much. When my mother comes back after being out he does not show any great demonstrations of joy. He screams out with pleasure when he hears her voice approaching on the stairs, but does not make much ado when she enters the room. While my mother is out I can do anything I like with him, just as she can when she is at home. Perhaps being in low spirits he does not feel angry, or perhaps he thinks it prudent to be amiable when his best friend is away. When my mother comes back, all his ill-temper returns at once and even in an increased degree towards other people, and he immediately resumes playing with all his toys.

11th. When he throws things at people now he first runs up the bars of the clothes-horse; he seems to have found out that people do not much care for having things thrown at their feet, and he is not strong enough to throw such heavy objects as a poker or a hammer at people's heads; he therefore mounts to a level with his enemy's head, and thus succeeds in sending his missile to a greater height and also to a greater distance.

14th. To-day he obtained possession of a hearth-brush, one of the kind which has the handle screwed into the brush. He soon found the way to unscrew the handle, and having done that he immediately began to try to find out the way to screw it in again. This he in time accomplished. At first he put the wrong end of the handle into the hole, but turned it round and round the right way for screwing. Finding it did not hold, he turned the other end of the handle and carefully stuck it into the hole, and began again to turn it the right way. It was of course a very difficult feat for him to perform, for he required both his hands to hold the handle in the proper position and to turn it between his hands in order to screw it in, and the long bristles of the brush prevented it from remaining steady or with the right side up. He held the brush with his hind hand, but even so it was very difficult for him to get the first turn of the screw to fit into the thread; he worked at it, however, with the most unwearying perseverance until he got the first turn of the screw to catch, and he then quickly turned it round and round until it was screwed up to the end. The most remarkable[491] thing was that, however often he was disappointed in the beginning, he never was induced to try turning the handle the wrong way; he always screwed it from right to left. As soon as he had accomplished his wish, he unscrewed it again, and then screwed it in again the second time rather more easily than the first, and so on many times. When he had become by practice tolerably perfect in screwing and unscrewing, he gave it up and took to some other amusement. One remarkable thing is that he should take so much trouble to do that which is no material benefit to him. The desire to accomplish a chosen task seems a sufficient inducement to lead him to take any amount of trouble. This seems a very human feeling, such as is not shown, I believe, by any other animal. It is not the desire of praise, as he never notices people looking on; it is simply the desire to achieve an object for the sake of achieving an object, and he never rests nor allows his attention to be distracted until it is done.

16th. When he is angry, and has at hand only those things which he wishes to keep, he makes a great show of throwing them at people, but always retains a hold. Thus if he has had a plaything a long time and is tired of it, he throws it right at a person without the least hesitation; but if he has a new thing which he values, he goes through all the appropriate motions for throwing, but only brings the object down with a noise upon the ground, taking care not to let go his hold. He beats people with a long cane he has, and when he cannot reach people he strikes it with all his strength upon the ground to show what he would do if he had the chance. There is no more comical sight than to see him hurriedly climbing his screen in fierce anger, taking (not without great difficulty) his long and awkward stick up with him in order to be high enough to give a good blow to a person. The dog is quite afraid of the stick in the monkey's hands, although he is too petted to be afraid of it in a person's. The monkey is jealous of the dog lying in the arm-chair in which he sometimes seats himself with my mother, so he pokes the stick at the dog (as the chair is beyond the reach of his chain) and makes him get off.

18th. He was very angry to-day at a servant girl sweeping out his place with a long brush, and he seized the brush every time the servant attempted to sweep. My mother then took it, and he at once became not only quite good-tempered, but assisted her in sweeping, by gathering the rubbish in the corners of his place into little heaps with his hands, and putting the heaps into the way of the brush.

20th. To-day he broke his chain, and flew at a servant[492] savagely, but seeing my mother he immediately jumped into her lap. While another chain was being prepared he got to the trunk where his nuts are kept. I have long noticed that he looks upon that trunk as in some special sense his own property. There are other things kept in the trunk as well as the nuts, and if any person goes to the trunk for anything he becomes furiously angry. Indeed nothing makes him so angry as people opening the trunk, and this is not because he wants nuts out of it, for he always has more than he can eat beside him, and generally refuses to take any that are offered to him. Well, to-day, as soon as the breaking of his chain enabled him to get to the trunk, he began picking at the lock with his fingers. I then gave him the key, and he tried for two full hours without ceasing to unlock the trunk with this key. It was a very difficult lock to open, being slightly out of order, and requires the lid of the trunk to be pressed down before it would work, so I believe it was absolutely impossible for him to open it, but he found in time the right way to put the key in, and to turn it backwards and forwards, and after every attempt he pulled the lid upwards to see if it were unlocked. That this was the result of observing people is obvious, from the fact that after every time he put the key into the lock and failed to open the trunk, he passed the key round and round the outside of the lock several times. The explanation of this is that, my mother's sight being bad, she often misses the lock when putting in the key, and then feels round and round the lock with the key; the monkey therefore evidently seems to think that this feeling round and round the lock with the key is in some way necessary to the success of unlocking the lock, so that, although he could see perfectly well how to put the key in straight himself, he went through this useless operation first.

21st. To-day I gave him a wooden box with the lid nailed on, and an iron spoon, to see if he would use the latter as a lever wherewith to raise the lid. The experiment was somewhat spoiled by my mother putting the handle of the spoon into the crack between the lid and the box to show him how to do it. Therefore I cannot tell whether or not he would have taken this first step himself, if he had had time to do so. However, when the handle of the spoon was in he certainly used it in the proper manner, pulling it down with all his strength at the extreme end, thus drawing the nails out of the box and raising the lid.

22nd. He was sitting on my mother's knee, and she washing his hands with a little sponge, a process of which he is[493] very fond; she tried to wash his face, and that he disliked very much. Every time she began, the expression of his face became more angry; at last he suddenly jumped off her knee, and made a violent attack on one of the servants who is usually his favourite, although she was doing nothing at all to anger him. This is a good instance of his habit of venting his anger at my mother on other people. He always eats vigorously when he is angry, or after a fit of passion. After a prolonged fit of passion he always lies down on his side as if dead, probably from exhaustion.

30th. He quite understands the meaning of shaking hands. He always holds out his own hand when he wishes to be friendly, especially when a friend is entering or leaving the room. To-day he had been a long time playing with his toys, taking no notice of any one. Suddenly my mother remembered that to-day was my birthday, and (for the first time since he came to the house) shook hands with me in congratulation. He immediately became very angry with me, screamed and chattered and threw things at me, being evidently jealous of the attention my mother was paying me.

February 1st. He has now been moved down to the dining-room, where he is chained between the fireplace and the window. He seems quite miserable on account of the change, as he does not see so much of my mother.

4th. His low spirits continue, and threaten to make him ill. He will not play with anything, but sits moping and shivering in a corner. To-day I found him very cold and unhappy, and warmed his hands for him. He is very meek and gentle, and seems to be getting fond of me.

8th. He has quite recovered his spirits since he took a fancy to me. He likes me now apparently as well as he used to do my mother; that is to say, he allows me to nurse him, and walk about in his place, and even take things away from him. When, however, my mother comes to see him, he does not care for me, although he shows none of his old hostility. To the servants, however, he continues to do so when my mother is present.

10th. We gave him a bundle of sticks this morning, and he amused himself all day by poking them into the fire and pulling them out again to smell the smoking end. He likewise pulls out hot cinders from the grate and passes them over his head and chest, evidently enjoying the warmth, but never burning himself. He also puts hot ashes on his head. I gave him some paper, and, as he cannot, from the length of his chain,[494] quite reach the fire, he rolled the paper up into the form of a stick, and then put it into the fire, pulling it out as soon as it caught light, and watching the blaze in the fender with great satisfaction. I gave him a whole newspaper, and he tore it in pieces, rolled up each piece as I have described, to make it long enough to reach the fire, and so burnt it all piece by piece. He never once burnt his own fingers during the operation.

13th. He can open and shut the folding shutters with ease, and this seems to be an amusement to him. He also unscrewed all the knobs that belong to the fender. The bell-handle beside the mantelpiece he likewise took to bits, which involves the unscrewing of three screws.

15th. He is so amiable to me now that he constantly gives me bits of things that he himself is eating, evidently expecting me to share his repast with him. Sometimes this attention on his part is not altogether agreeable. For instance, to-day he thrust into my hand, when I was not looking, a quantity of sopped bread and milk out of his pan, no doubt thinking himself very kind-hearted thus to supply me with food.

17th. He offered the dog a bit of toast which he himself was eating, and the dog took a part of it. I think, however, that he had at the same time a sly design of catching the dog with the other hand, but he did not do so—perhaps because I was looking on, and he knows the dog is a friend of mine; but he had a wicked look in his eye while feeding the dog, which he has not when he extends his bounty to me.

19th. When I was brushing him to-day he took the brush away from me. Playthings are especially valuable to him now, as he is not allowed to have any lest he should break the windows with them. For this reason I was afraid to leave the brush with him, but found he was not at all disposed to give it up. I threw other things within his reach, but he carried the brush in his hind hand while going after the other things. At last I sat down and called him gently, when he mildly came up to my lap and put the brush into my two hands, evidently resolving that he would not now quarrel with his only friend.

22nd. His manner of showing his humours is interesting, as illustrating the principle of antithesis. Thus when he is angry he springs forward on all four hands with tail very erect and hair raised, so making himself look much bigger. When affectionate he advances slowly backwards with his body in the form of a hoop, so that the crown of his head rests on the ground, face inwards. He walks on three hands (hair very smooth), and puts the fourth fore-hand out at his back in advance[495] of his body. He expects this hand to be taken kindly, and he then assumes his natural attitude. In that manner of advancing it is obviously impossible that he could bite, as his mouth is towards his own chest, so it is the best way of showing how far he is from thinking of hostility.

February 28, 1881.

The above account may be taken as fully trustworthy. Most of the observations recorded I have myself subsequently verified numberless times. From the account, however, several observations which I happened to make myself in the first instance are designedly omitted, and these I shall therefore now supply.

I bought at a toy-shop a very good imitation of a monkey, and brought it into the room with the real monkey, stroking and speaking to it as if it were alive. The monkey evidently mistook the figure for a real animal, manifesting intense curiosity, mixed with much alarm if I made the figure approach him. Even when I placed the figure upon a table, and left it standing motionless, the monkey was afraid to approach it. From this it would appear that the animal trusted much more to his sense of sight than to that of smell in recognising one of his own kind.

I placed a mirror upon the floor, and the monkey at once mistook his reflection in it for a real animal. At first he was a little afraid of it; but in a short time he gained courage enough to approach and try to touch it. Finding he could not do so, he went round behind the mirror and then again before it a great number of times; but he did not become angry, as the monkey of which Prof. Brown Robertson wrote me. Strange to say, he appeared to mistake the sex of the image, and began in the most indescribably ludicrous manner to pay to it the addresses of courtship. First placing his lips against the glass he rose to his full height on his hind legs, retired slowly, and while doing so turned his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder at the image, and, with a preposterous amount of 'pinch' in his back, strutted up and down before the glass with all the appearance of the most laughable foppery. This display was always gone through[496] when at any subsequent time the mirror was placed upon the floor.

From the first time that he saw me, this monkey took as violently passionate an attachment to me as that which he took to my mother. His mode of greeting, however, was different. When she entered the room after an absence, his welcome was of a quiet and contented character; but when I came in, his demonstrations were positively painful to witness. Standing erect on his hind legs at the full length of his tether, and extending both hands as far as he could reach, he screamed with all his strength, in a tone and with an intensity which he never adopted on any other occasion. So loud, indeed, were his rapidly and continuously reiterated screams, that it was impossible for any one to hold even a shouting conversation till I took the animal in my arms, when he became placid, with many signs of intense affection. Even the sound of my voice down two flights of stairs used to set him screaming in this manner, so that whenever I called at my mother's house I had to keep silent while on the staircase, unless I intended first of all to pay a visit to the monkey.

It has frequently been noticed that monkeys are very capricious in forming their attachments and aversions; but I never knew before that this peculiarity could be so strongly marked as it was in this case. His demonstrations of affection to my mother and myself were piteous; while towards every one else, male or female, he was either passively indifferent or actively hostile. Yet no shadow of a reason could be assigned for the difference. My sister, to whom animals are usually much more attached than they are to me, used always to be forbearingly kind to this one—taking all his bites, &c., with the utmost good humour. Moreover, she supplied him with all his food, and most of his playthings, so that she was really in every way his best friend. Yet his antipathy to her was only less remarkable than his passionate fondness of my mother and myself.

Another trait in the psychology of this animal which is worth observing was his quietness of manner towards my mother. With me, and indeed with every one else, his[497] movements were unrestrained, and generally monkey-like; but with her he was always as gentle as a kitten: he appeared to know that her age and infirmities rendered boisterousness on his part unacceptable.

I returned the monkey to the Zoological Gardens at the end of February, and up to the time of his death in October 1881, he remembered me as well as the first day that he was sent back. I visited the monkey-house about once a month, and whenever I approached his cage he saw me with astonishing quickness—indeed, generally before I saw him—and ran to the bars, through which he thrust both hands with every expression of joy. He did not, however, scream aloud; his mind seemed too much occupied by the cares of monkey-society to admit of a vacancy large enough for such very intense emotion as he used to experience in the calmer life that he lived before. Being much struck with the extreme rapidity of his discernment whenever I approached the cage, however many other persons might be standing round, I purposely visited the monkey-house on Easter Monday, in order to see whether he would pick me out of the solid mass of people who fill the place on that day. Although I could only obtain a place three or four rows back from the cage, and although I made no sound wherewith to attract his attention, he saw me almost immediately, and with a sudden intelligent look of recognition ran across the cage to greet me. When I went away he followed me, as he always did, to the extreme end of his cage, and stood there watching my departure as long as I remained in sight.

In conclusion, I should say that much the most striking feature in the psychology of this animal, and the one which is least like anything met with in other animals, was the tireless spirit of investigation. The hours and hours of patient industry which this poor monkey has spent in ascertaining all that his monkey-intelligence could of the sundry unfamiliar objects that fell into his hands, might well read a lesson in carefulness to many a hasty observer. And the keen satisfaction which he displayed when he had succeeded in making any little discovery, such as that of the mechanical principle of the[498] screw, repeating the results of his newly earned knowledge over and over again, till one could not but marvel at the intent abstraction of the 'dumb brute'—this was so different from anything to be met with in any other animal, that I confess I should not have believed what I saw unless I had repeatedly seen it with my own eyes. As my sister once observed, while we were watching him conducting some of his researches, in oblivion to his food and all his other surroundings—'when a monkey behaves like this, it is no wonder that man is a scientific animal!' And in my next work I shall hope to show how, from so high a starting-point, the psychology of the monkey has passed into that of the man.

INDEX.

ACCOUCHEUR, fish, 246;
toad, 254

Acerina cernua, 246

Acinia prehensa, 233

Actinia, 233, 234

Actinophrys, apparent intelligence of, 20

Adamsia, 234

Adaptive movement, as evidence of mind, 2, 3

Addison, his definition of instinct, 11

Addison, Mrs. K., on gesticulating signs made by a jackdaw, 316

Ælian, on division of labour in harvesting ants, 98

Æsthetic emotions of birds, 279-82

Affection, sexual, parental, and social, of snails, 27;
of ants, 45-9 and 58, 59;
of bees, 155, 156, and 162;
of earwig, 229;
of fish, 242-6;
of reptiles, 256, 258, 259;
of birds, 270-6;
of kangaroo, 326, 327;
of whale, 327;
of horse, 329;
of deer, 334;
of bat, 341;
of seal, 341-6;
of hare, 338-40;
of rats, 340;
of mice, 341;
of beaver, 367;
of elephant, 387-92;
of cat, 411, 412;
of dog, 437, 440, 441;
of monkeys, 471-5 and 484-98

Agassiz, Professor A., on instinct of hermit-crab, 232;
nest of fish, 242-3;
on beaver-dams, 384, 385

Agassiz, Professor L., on intelligence of snails, 26

Alison, Professor, on curious instinct of polecat, 347

Allen, J. A., on breeding habits of pinniped seals, 341-6

Alligators, 256-8 and 263

Alopecias vulpes, 252

Amœba, apparent intelligence of, 21

Anemones, sea, 233, 234

Anger, of ants and bees, see under;
of fish, 246, 247;
of monkeys, 478, 479 and 484-96

Angler-fish, 247, 248

Annelida, apparent intelligence of, 24

Antennæ, effects of removal in ants, 142;
in bees, 197

Antithesis, principle of, in expression of emotions by monkeys, 494, 495

Ant-lion, 234, 235

Ants, powers of special sense, 31-37;
of sight, 31-33;
of hearing, 33;
of smell, 33-37;
sense of direction, 37, 38;
memory, 39-45;
recognition of companions and nest-mates, 41-45;
emotions, 45-49;
affection, 45-48;
sympathy, 48, 49;
communication, 49-57;
habits general in sundry species, 57-93;
swarming, 57, 58;
nursing, 58, 59;
education, 59, 60;
keeping aphides, 60-64;
making slaves, 64-68;
wars, 68-83;
keeping domestic pets, 83, 84;
sleep and cleanliness, 84-7;
play and leisure, 87-89;
funeral habits, 89-93;
habits peculiar to certain species, 93-122;
leaf-cutting, 93-96;
harvesting, 96-110;
African, 110, 111;
tree, 110, 111;
honey making, 111-114 and 142;
[500]ecitons, or military, 114-122;
general intelligence, 122-142;
Sir John Lubbock's experiments on intelligence, 123-128;
intelligence displayed in architecture, 128-130;
in using burrows made by elater larvæ, 130;
in artificial hives, 130;
in removing nest from shadow of tree, 131;
in cutting leaves off overshadowing tree, 131, 132;
in bending blades of grass while cutting them, 132, 133;
in co-operating to glue leaves together, 133, 134;
in getting at food in difficult places, 134, 135;
in making bridges, &c., 135-139;
in tunnelling under rails, 140;
anatomy and physiology of nerve-centres and sense organs, 140-2

Apes, see Monkeys

Arachnidæ, 204-225, see Spiders and Scorpions

Arago, his observation regarding sense of justice in dog, 443

Arderon, on taming a dace, 246

Argyroneta aquatica, 212

Arn, Capt., on sword- and thresher-fish, 252, 253

Articulata, see under divisions of

Ass, general intelligence of, 328 and 333

Association of ideas, see under various animals

Ateuchus pilularius, 226

Athealium, apparent intelligence of, 19-20

Atkinson, the Rev. J. C., on reasoning power of a dog, 458, 459

Audubon, on ants making beasts of burden of bugs, 68;
plundering instincts of white-headed eagle, 284;
variations in instinct of incubation, 299, 300

Auk, nidification of, 292

Automatism, hypothesis of animal, 6

BABOON, sympathy shown by Arabian, 474;
rage of, 478;
revenge of, 478

Badcock, on dog making peace-offerings, 452

Baer, Van, on organisation of bee, 241

Backhouse, R. O., on dog being alarmed at a statue, 453

Bailey, Professor W. W., on dog stopping a runaway horse, 459

Baines, A. H., on dog communicating wants by signs, 446, 447

Baker, on sticklebacks, 245

Baldamus, Dr., on cuckoo laying eggs coloured in imitation of those of the birds in whose nests they lay them, 307

Ball, Dr. Robert, on commensalism of crab and anemone, 234

Banks, Sir Joseph, on intelligence of tree-ants, 133;
fish coming to sound of bell, 250

Bannister, Dr., on cat trying to catch image behind mirror, 415, 416;
on intelligence of the Eskimo dogs, 461, 462

Barrett, W. F., on instincts of young alligator, 256

Barton, Dr., on alleged fascination by snakes, 264

Bastian, on termites, 198

Bates, on ants' habit of keeping pets, 84;
cleaning one another, 87;
play and leisure, 88, 89;
leaf-cutting, 93-95;
tunnelling, 99;
ecitons, 114-21;
on sand-wasp taking bearings to remember precise locality, 150;
mygale eating humming-birds, 208;
on nidification of small crustacean, 232, 233;
habits of turtles, and alligators, 257, 258;
intelligence of vultures, 314;
bats sucking blood, 341

Batrachians, 254, 255

Bats, 341

Baya-bird, nidification of, 294

Bears, 350-352

Beattie, Dr., on dog communicating desires by signs, 447

Beaver, 367-85;
breeding habits, 367, 368;
lodges, 368-73;
dams, 373-79;
canals, 379-83;
general remarks upon, 368, 377, 379, 383;
age of their buildings, 384;
effects of their buildings on the configuration of landscapes, 384, 385

[501]Bechstein, on birds dreaming, 312

Bee, mason, 178, 179;
tapestry, 179;
carpenter, 179;
rose, 179;
carding, 179, 180

Bees, sense of sight, 143, 144;
of smell and hearing, 144;
of direction, 144-51;
remembering exact locality of absent hive, 148-49;
following floating hives, 149;
memory, 151-55;
sympathy, 155, 156;
distances over which they forage, 150;
powers of communication, 156-60;
economy of hive, 160-8;
food and rearing, 160-163;
swarming and battles of queens, 163, 164;
drone-killing, 164-68;
plunder and wars, 168-170;
architecture, 170-8;
way-finding, 181, 182;
instinct of neuters, 181;
recognising companions, 183, 184;
barricading doors against moths, 184, 185;
strengthening combs in danger of falling, 185, 186;
mode of dealing with surfaces of glass, 186;
with strange hives, 186, 187;
evacuating fallen hive, 187;
ceasing to store honey in Barbadoes and California, 187, 188;
recognising persons, 188, 189;
biting holes in corollas, 189;
ventilating hives, 191, 192;
covering slugs, &c., with propolis, 190, 191;
effects of removing antennæ, 197

Beetles, see Coleoptera

Belshaw, on cat knocking knockers, 422

Belt, on ants, duration of memory in, 39, 40;
sympathy, 48;
division of labour, 99;
ecitons, 114-19 and 138;
tunnelling under rails, 140;
on sand-wasp taking precise bearings to remember locality, 150, 151;
struggle between wasps and ants for secretion of frog-hoppers, 194, 195;
intelligence of spiders in protecting themselves from ecitons, 219, 220;
beetles undermining stick supporting a dead toad, 228;
intelligence of monkeys, 480

Benedictson, on navigating habits of Iceland mice, 364, 365

Bennet, on birds dreaming, 312

Bennett, on conjugal fidelity of duck, 270, 271

Berkeley, G., on beetle storing its food, 228, 229

Bettziech-Beta, on termites, 199

Bidie, on suicide of scorpion, 222, 223;
on reasoning power of cat, 415

Bingley, on intelligence of ants, 133;
carpenter-bees, 179;
account of alleged training of bees, 189;
co-operation of beetles, 226, 227;
ant-lion, 230, 235;
domestication of toad, 255;
fascination by snakes, 264;
sympathy in birds, 272;
eccentricity of nest building instinct, 295;
education of birds, 312;
pigs pointing game, 339, 340;
intelligence of otter, 346;
memory of elephant, 387;
vindictiveness of elephant, 387, 389;
elephants enduring surgical operations, 399, 400

Bird, Miss, on combined action of crows in obtaining food from dogs, 320

Birds, 266-325;
memory of, 266-70;
emotions, 270-82;
special habits of procuring food, 283-6;
of incubation and taking care of offspring, 287-310;
general intelligence, 310-25;
dreaming and imagination, 311-12;
learning to avoid telegraph wires, 313;
recognising painting of birds, 311;
submitting to surgical operation, 313-14;
honey-guide, 315-16;
appreciation of mechanical appliances, 315-16;
concerted action, 318-322

Birgus latro, 233

Bison, 334-5

Blackbirds, breaking shells against stones, 283;
removing eggs, 289;
mobbing cat, 291

Blackburn, Professor H., on distances over which bees forage, 150

[502]Blackman, on cats learning to beg for food, 414-15

Blackwall, on early display of instincts by spiders, 216

Blanchard, on mason-bee, 178

Blood, on reasoning power of a dog, 464

Boa-constrictor, really a Python, which see

Bodley, W. H., on dogs crossing a river to fight undisturbed, 451-2

Bold, on canary singing against own image in mirror, 276

Bombyx moth, larva of, 238-40

Bonnet, on spider following her eggs into pit of ant-lion, 205;
his experiments on instincts of caterpillars, 236;
observations on ditto, 238

Boobies, plundered by frigate pelicans, 284

Bosc, on migrating fish, 248

Bower-bird, instincts of, 279-81, 325

Bowman, Parker, his cat opening swivel of window, 425

Boys, C. V., his experiments with a tuning-fork on spiders, 206, 207

Brehm, on wasps recognising persons, 188;
intelligence of lapwing, 315, 316;
curiosity of monkeys, 477

Broderip, on vindictiveness of elephant, 389

Brodie, Sir B., his definition of instinct, 15;
on bees strengthening their combs, 185, 186

Brofft, Herr L., on powers of communication in bees, 160

Brougham, Lord, on hexagonal form of bees' cells, 172;
on intelligence of a dog, 450

Brown, Capt., on vindictiveness of a stork, 277-8

Brown, W., on a cat extinguishing fire by water, 425

Browne, Dr. Crichton, on cat ringing bell, 423

Browne, Murray, on fox allowing itself to be extricated from trap, 431

Browning, A. H., on intelligence of a dog, 450

Brydon, Dr., on collective instinct of jackals, 434

Buchanan, Dr., on climbing perch, 249;
on nidification of baya-bird, 294

Büchner, Professor,
on ants:
nursing habits, 59;
stocking trees with aphides, 63;
warfare, 71-9;
play, 87-88;
leaf cutting, 95-96;
intelligence in making a bridge of aphides over tar, 136;
of themselves over a space, 136-37;
and of a straw over water, 137;
ecitons, 139;
anatomy and physiology of brain, 141-42.
On bees and wasps:
powers of communication, 158-60;
swarming habits, 168;
wars and plunder, 169;
cell-building, 177-78;
evacuating dangerous hive, 187;
keeping hives clean, 190;
carrying dead from hive and burying them, 191;
ventilating hives, 191-92;
hornet and wasp dismembering heavy prey, and carrying it to an eminence in order to fly away with it, 196.
On termites, 198-202.
On spiders:
web-building, 211-12;
wolf spider, 213;
trap-door spiders, 217-18;
intelligence of a spider habitually fed by Dr. Moschkau, 218-19;
spiders weighting their webs, 221.
On beetles:
co-operation of, 227-28

Buck, E. C., on intelligence of crocodiles, 263;
on collective instinct of wolves, 433;
on combined action of pelicans, 319

Buckland, F., on pigeon remembering voice of mistress, 266;
crows breaking shells by dropping them on stones, 283;
birds avoiding telegraph wires, 313

Buckley, on harvesting ants, 103

Buckton, G. B., on caterpillars, 236

Buffalo, 335-37

Buffon, on hexagonal form of bees' cells, 171-72;
association of ideas in parrot, 269;
sympathy in ditto, 275;
goat sucker removing eggs, 289

Bufo obstetricans, 254

[503]Bull, intelligence of, 338

Burmeister, on powers of communication in ants, 49

Byron, Lord, lines on alleged tendency to scorpion to commit suicide, 222

CADDIS-WORMS, 240

Cairns, Mr. W., on reasoning power of a dog, 461

Campbell, Mrs. G. M. F., on intelligence of goose, 316

Canary, jealousy of, 276;
modification of incubating instinct in cage, 287;
flying against mirror, 311;
trained, 312

Canning, J., his dog knowing value of different coins, 452-3

Carassius auratus, 246

Carbonnier, M., on telescope-fish, 246

Carlisle, Bishop of, on congregation or court held by jackdaws, 324

Carpenter, Dr., on intelligence of rats, 361

Carreri, Gernelli, on monkeys thrusting stones between oyster-shells to keep them from closing, 481

Carter, H. J., on apparent intelligence of athealium, 19;
of actinophrys and amœba, 20-1

Carus, Professor, on spiders weighting their webs, 221

Cat, the, 411-25;
general remarks upon, 411-14;
emotions of, 412-13;
general intelligence of, 413-25;
showing zoological discrimination, 414;
punishing kittens for misbehaviour, 414;
begging for food, 414-15;
feeding kittens on bread when milk fails, 415;
carrying kittens to be protected by master, 415;
trying to catch image behind mirror, 416;
communicating by signs, 419;
devices for catching prey, 417-20;
appreciation of mechanical appliances, 420-25;
extinguishing fire by water, 425

Caterpillars, instinct of assisted by intelligence, 236-8;
migrating, 238-40

Catesby, on co-operation of beetles, 226, 227;
on frigate-pelican plundering boobies, 284

Cattle, fear exhibited by in slaughterhouses, 334;
pride of, 334

Cebus fatuellus, observations on intelligence of, 484-98

Cecil, H., on tactics displayed by hunting wasps, 194

Cephalopoda, intelligence of, 29-30

Cetacea, 327-28

Challenge, mode of, in gulls, 291

Charming of snakes, 264

Cheiroptera, 341

Chelmon rostratus, 248

Chimpanzee, play of, 476-77

Chinese swallow, nidification of, 292

Chironectes, 243

Choice, as evidence of mind, 2

Clark, G., on intelligence of a bat, 341

Clark, Rev. H., on harvesting ants, 99;
on dog recognising portrait, 454-5

Clarville, on co-operation of beetles, 228

Clavigero, on sympathy of pelicans for wounded companions, 275

Claypole, on intelligence of horse, 331-2

Cnethocampii pitzocampa, 244

Cobra, sexual affection of, 256;
charming, 265;
intelligence of, 262

Cock, domestic, killing hen upon hatching out eggs of other birds, 278

Cœlenterata, movements of, and question concerning their intelligence, 22

Coleoptera, 226-9;
co-operation of, 226-8;
other instances of intelligence, 228-9

Colquhoun, on reasoning power of a dog, 463-4

Commensalism, between crab and anemone, and between mollusk and anemone, 233

Communication, see Co-operation

[504]Concerted action, see Co-operation

Cones, Captain Elliot, on intelligence of wolverine, 348-50

Conilurus constructor, 326

Conklin, W. A., on elephants thatching their backs, 409

Consciousness, as evidence of mind, 2;
gradual dawn of, 13

Conte, John Le, on reasoning power of a dog, 460-1

Cook, Capt., on tree ants, 111;
intelligence of tree-ants, 133

Cook, George, on dog dragging mat about to lie upon, 466

Co-operation,
of ants, 48-49, 51-59, 64 et seq.
(in making slaves and waging war), 85-96;
(in sundry occupations), 96-100;
(in harvesting), 108-10, 111-14;
(of apparently different species), 114-122;
(of military ants), 127-30, 132-4, 136-40;
of bees, 159-74;
(in general work, wars, and architecture), 177, 178, 184-6, 190-2;
of termites, 198-203;
of beetles, 226-8; of birds, 318-22;
of horses and asses, 333;
of bison and buffalo, 335;
of pigs, 339;
of rats, 361, 362;
of mice, 364;
of beavers, 367-83;
of elephants, 401;
of foxes, 433;
of wolves, 433 and 436;
of jackals, 432-5;
of baboons, 483

Corse, on memory of elephant, 386, 387;
emotions of elephant, 393

Couch, on maternal instinct of hen, 272;
mode in which guillemots catch fish, 285;
mode of escape practised by swan, 290;
birds removing dung from neighbourhood of their nests, 290;
blackbirds mobbing cat, 291;
nidification of swan, 296-8;
crows punishing offenders, 323-4;
intelligence of hare, 359;
cat unlocking door, 424;
fox avoiding trap, 428;
catching crabs with tail, 432;
mode by which a dog killed crabs, 459

Corvus cornice, punishing offenders, 323, 324

Cowper, on intelligence of hare, 359, 360

Cox, C., playhouses of bower-birds presented by him to Sydney Museum, 280

Crabs, 231-4

Craven, on intelligence of a sow, 340

Crehore, on foxes avoiding traps, 428, 429;
on dog recognising portrait, 453

Cripps, his elephant dying under emotional disturbance, 396

Criterion of mind, 4-8

Crocodiles, 263

Crow, Capt. Hugh, on sympathy shown by monkeys for sick companion, 473, 474

Crows, memory of, 266;
breaking shells by dropping them on the stones, 283;
punishing offenders, 323-5

Cruelty, of cat, 413

Crustacea, 231-34

Cuckoo, parasitic instincts of, 301-7;
eggs of coloured like those of the bird in whose nest they are laid, 307-9;
American, 305, 306

Curiosity, of fish, 247;
of birds, 278, 279;
of ruminants and swine, 335;
of monkeys, 477

Curlew, nidification of, 292

Cuvier, his orang drawing chair to stand upon to reach a latch, 481;
on birds dreaming, 312

DACE, tamed, 246

Daldorff, on climbing perch, 248, 249

Dampier, on frigate-pelicans plundering boobies, 284;
on monkeys hammering oyster shells with stones, 481

Daphnia pulex, seeking light, especially yellow ray, 23

Darwin, Charles, on apparent intelligence of worms, 24;
of oyster, 25;
of snail, 27;
Mr. Hague's letter to, on powers of communication in ants, 54-7;
observations on ants keeping aphides, 60, 61;
on ants making slaves, 64, 66, 67;
communications of Lincecum to, on harvesting ants, 103, 107;
on proportional size of ants' brain, 140;
[505]communication of Müller on powers of communication in bees, 157;
origin and development of cell-making instinct, 173-7;
instincts of neuters, 181;
quotation in MS. from Sir B. Brodie on bees supporting their combs, 185-6;
his 'law of battle' in relation to spiders, 205;
intelligence of crab, 233;
his theory of sexual selection, 279-82;
sense of smell in vultures, 286;
on Wallace's theory of correlation between colour of sitting birds and form of their nests, 299;
instincts of cuckoo, 304-6;
birds dreaming, 312;
Gauchos taming wild horses, 329;
memory of horse, 330;
intelligence of bear, 352;
of elephant, 398, 402;
collective instinct of wolves, 436;
duration of memory in dogs, 438;
intelligence of Eskimo dogs, 462;
reasoning of retriever, 463-4;
maternal care and grief of monkey, 472;
sense of ludicrous in monkeys, 476;
curiosity and imitativeness of monkeys, 477;
imitativeness of man, 477-8;
intelligent observation displayed by monkeys, 479, 480

Darwin, Erasmus, on bees ceasing to store honey in Barbadoes, 187;
wasp dismembering fly to facilitate carriage, 195;
unmoulted crab guarding moulted, 233;
crows breaking shells by dropping them on stones, 283;
bird shaking seed out of poppy, 286;
elephant acting nurse to young child, 408

Darwin, F., on bees biting holes through corollas, 189

Davis, on instincts of larvæ of bombyx moth, 239

Davy, Dr., on instincts of alligators, 256, 257;
taming cobra, 265;
performing operation on elephants, 400

Davy, Sir H., on eagles teaching young to fly, 290

Day, F., on intelligence of fish, 244-52

Deceitfulness, of elephant 410;
of dog, 443, 444, 450-52, 457, 458;
of monkey, 494

Deer, intelligence of, 336, 338, 339

De Fravière, on powers of communication in bees, 158;
their scouts, 168

Descartes, his hypothesis of animal automatism, 6

Dicquemase, on intelligence of oyster, 25

Dipterous insects, intelligence in finding way out of a bell-jar, 153, 154;
gad-fly, 230;
house-fly, 230, 231

Division of labour, see Co-operation

Dog, ringing bell, 423;
knocking knocker, 423;
collective instinct of, 435, 436;
general remarks on psychology of, as influenced by domestication, 437, 438;
memory of, 438;
emotions of, 438-45;
pride and sensitiveness, 439-42;
intolerance of pain, 441;
emulation and jealousy, 442, 443;
sense of justice, 443;
deceitfulness, 443, 444;
sense of ludicrous and dislike of ridicule, 444, 445;
general intelligence of, 445-70;
communicating ideas, 445-7;
instances of reason, 447-69

Dolomedes fimbriata, 213

Doras, 248

D'Osbonville, on monkeys administering corporal chastisement to their young, 482, 483

Dreaming, of birds, 269, 312;
of ferrets, 347

Duchemin, M., on toads killing carp, 254

Duck, conjugal fidelity of, 270, 271;
conveying young on back, 289

Dugardin, on communication among ants, 49;
in bees, 156

Duncan, on cunning of a dog, 451

Dzierzon, on cause determining sex of bees' eggs, 162;
[506]bees repairing injuries to their cells, 186

EAGLE, plundering instinct of white-headed, 284;
teaching young to fly, 290;
variations in nest-building, 299;
submitting to surgical operations, 313, 314

Earwig, 229, 230

Ebrard, on co-operation of ants, 132

Echinodermata, movements of, 23

Edmonson, Dr., on crows punishing offenders, 323, 324

Edward, on intelligence of frogs, 255;
sympathy of terns for wounded companion, 274, 275;
crows breaking shells by dropping them on stones, 283;
co-operation of turnstones, 321

Edward, H., on honey-making ants, 111-14

Eimer, Dr., on voluntary and involuntary movements of Medusæ, 22, 23

Elephant, general remarks upon, 386;
memory of, 386, 387;
emotions of, 387-96;
vindictiveness, 387-9;
sympathy, 389-90;
rogue, 393, 394;
dying under effects of emotion, 395, 396;
general intelligence of, 396-410;
enduring surgical operations, 399-400;
vigilance, 401;
formation of abstract ideas, 401, 402;
intelligence of tame decoys, 402-6;
of tame workers, 306-8;
thatching their backs, 308, 309;
removing leeches, and fanning away flies, 309, 310;
concealing theft, 410

Ellendorf, Dr. F., on leaf-cutting ants, 95, 96;
on ants making a bridge, 137

Elliot, on collective instinct of wolves, 433

Emery, J., on powers of communication in bees, 157

Emulation, of birds, 277;
of dogs, 442

Encyclopædia Britannica, on bees following floating hives, 149;
battles of queen-bees, 163, 164;
parasitic instincts in birds, 306

Endurance, of pain by wild dogs, 441;
of surgical operations by eagle, 313, 314;
by elephants, 399, 400;
by monkey, 482

Engelmann, on Daphnia pulex seeking yellow light, 23

Epeira aurelia, Mr. F. Pollock on perfection of web built by young, 217

Erb, G. S., on intelligence of deer, 338, 339

Esox lucius, 246

Espinas, on co-operation of ants, 130

FABRE, on instincts of sphex-wasp, 180, 181

Faister, Mdlle de, her tame weasel, 346

Falcon, variations in nest-building, 299

Faraday, J., on intelligence of skate, 251

Fascination, alleged, by snakes, 263, 264

Fayrer, Sir J., on fascination by and charming of snakes, 264

Fear, in horses, 329;
in ruminants, 334;
in rabbits, 355;
in rats, 360
excited in dogs by portraits, 455-7;
in monkey by snakes, 477,
and by imitation monkey, 495

Ferret, 347

Fire-flies, stuck on nests by baya-birds, 294

Fish, 241-53;
comparison of brain with that of invertebrata, 241;
emotions, 242-7;
nidification, courtship, and care of young, 242-6;
pugnacity, and social feelings, 242;
anger, 246, 247;
play, jealousy, curiosity, 247;
angler, 247, 248;
jaculator, 248;
travelling over land, 248;
climbing trees, 248, 249;
migrations, 249, 250;
general intelligence, 250-53

Fisher, J. F., on hen removing eggs with her neck, 288

Fleeson, Captain B., on honey-making ants, 111-14

Fleming, W. J., on intelligence of horse, 330

[507]Fleury, Cardinal, on intelligence of ants in making bridges, 135

Forbes, on nidification of tailor-bird, 293

Forbes, James, on monkey begging for dead body of companion, 472

Forel, on ants;
recognising slaves, 43;
and fellow-citizens, 44;
swarming habits, 58;
experiment in rearing together hostile species, 59, 60;
tunnelling to obtain aphides, 61;
warfare, 68-77;
play, 88;
intelligence shown in architecture, 129

Forsteal, on termites, 198

Forster, W., on intelligence of a bull, 338

Fothergill, Percival, on reasoning power of a dog, 466

Fouillouse, J. de, on intelligence of hares, 357, 358

Fox, 426-33;
lying in wait for hares, 426, 427;
avoiding traps, 427-30;
allowing itself to be extricated from trap, 431;
catching crabs with tail, 432;
collective instinct in hunting, 433

Fox, C., on intelligence of porpoises, 328

Frankland, Mrs., on cock bullfinch recognising portrait of hen, 311

Franklin, on powers of communication in ants, 49

Franklin, Dr., on sympathy in parrots, 276

Frogs, 254, 255

Frost, Dr., on cat sprinkling crumbs to attract birds, 418, 419

Furniss, J. J., on elephants thatching their backs, 408, 409

GAD-FLY, instinct of, 230

Gander, see Goose

Gaphaus, H. A., on cat opening thumb-latch, 421

Gardener, on intelligence of crab, 233

Garraway, Dr., on beetle concealing its store of food, 229

Gasteropoda, intelligence of, 26-29

Gasterosteus pungitius, 243;
G. spinachia, 243

Geer, M., on earwig incubating young, 229

Gelasimus, 233

Gentles, W. Laurie, on intelligence of a sheep-dog, 448, 449

Geoffrey, on pilot fish, 252

Gibbons, their sympathy for suffering companions, 472, 473

Gleditsch, on beetles undermining stick supporting a dead toad, 228;
on spiders weighting their webs, 221

Glutton, 347-50

Goat, intelligence of, 337, 338

Goat-sucker, removing eggs, 289;
nidification of, 292

Goldfinch, trained, 312

Goldsmith on habits of rooks, 322, 323

Goldsmith, Dr., on intelligence of otter, 346

Gollitz, Herr, on co-operation of beetles, 227

Goodbehere, S., on intelligence of a pony and ass, 332, 333;
on cunning of sheep-killing dogs, 450;
on dog knowing value of different coins, 452, 453

Goose, affection and sympathy of, 272, 273;
removing eggs from rats, 288;
noting time, 314;
opening latch of gate, 316

Gosse, on commensalism of crab and anemone, 234

Gould, on bower-bird, 279-81;
on humming-birds, 281;
on talegallus, 294, 295

Graber, Titus, on proportional size of ant's brain, 141

Grapsus stringosus, 231

Gray, Sir George, on nidification of talegallus, 295

Gredler, Vincent, on division of labour among leaf-cutting ants, 99, 100

Green, on intelligence of pigs, 339

Green, Seth, on tactics displayed by hunting wasps, 193

Griffiths, on intelligence of elephant, 388, 389

Grosbeak, nidification of, 295, 296

Grouse, learning to avoid telegraph wires, 312, 313

[508]Groves, J. B., on cat trying to catch image behind mirror, 416

Guana, see Reptiles

Guerinzius, on wasps recognising persons, 188

Guillemots, plundering of by gulls, 283, 284;
mode of catching fish, 285

Gulls, plundering guillemots, 283, 284;
mode of challenge, 291;
nidification, 292

Guring, Thomas, on intelligence of geese, 314, 315

HAGEN, on termites, 202

Hague, on powers of communication in ants, 54-7

Hamilton, R., on fear exhibited by cattle in slaughterhouses, 334

Hancock, Dr., on fish quitting water, 248;
crows breaking shells by dropping them on stones, 283

Harding, S., on intelligence of a pig, 340

Hare, 357-60

Hartmann, Von, his definition of instinct, 15;
on fondness of spiders for music, 206

Harvesting-ants, 96-110;
mice, 365, 366

Hawkshaw, J. Clarke, on limpet remembering locality, 28-9

Hayden, on monkey keeping door open with blanket, 481

Hayes, Dr., on intelligence of Eskimo dogs, 462

Helix pomatia, intelligence of, 26, 27

Hemerobius chrysops, 240

Hen, maternal instinct of, 272;
removing eggs with neck, 288;
and young chicken on back, 288, 289

Henderson, on navigating habits of Iceland mice, 364, 365

Heron, variations in nest-building, 299

Hogg, on intelligence of his sheep-dog, 448

Holden, on starlings learning to avoid telegraph wires, 312, 313

Hollmann, on intelligence of octopus, 30

Homarus marinus, 233

Hooker, Sir Joseph, on navigating habits of Iceland mice, 364

Hooper, W. F., on intelligence of a dog, 463

Horn, Mrs., on reasoning powers of a dog, 462

Hornet, carrying heavy prey up an elevation in order to fly away with it, 196

Horse, emotions of, 328-30;
memory, 330;
general intelligence, 328, 330-3

Horse-fly, tamed, 230, 231

Horsfall, on dog finding his way about by train, 467, 468

Hoste, Sir W., on wounded monkey showing its blood to the sportsman, 476

Houzeau, on hen transporting young chicken on her back, 288, 289;
parrots not being deceived by mirrors, 310, 311;
birds dreaming, 312;
mules counting their journeys, 332;
monkeys destroying poison-fangs of snakes, 483

Hubbard, Mrs., on intelligence of a cat, 414

Huber, Bishop, on sympathy of elephant, 389

Huber, F. and P., on instinct, 16.
On ants:
sense of smell in, 33;
recognising companions, 41;
powers of communication, 49, 50;
observations on slave-making instinct, 65;
on warfare, 76;
play, 87, 88;
harvesting, 97;
carrying one another, 109;
intelligence shown in architecture, 128, 129.
On bees:
sense of hearing in, 144;
duration of memory, 155;
powers of communication, 156, 159;
manipulation and uses of propolis, 161;
battles of queen-bees, 164, 165;
form of cells, 173;
building cells, 177, 178;
barricading doors against moths, 184;
strengthening combs, 185;
biting holes in corollas, 189;
ventilating hives, 191, 192;
effects of removing antennæ of bees, 197

Hudson, on habits of Melothrus, 309, 310

[509]Hugen, on termites, 198

Humboldt, on instincts of young turtles, 257

Humming-birds, æsthetic instincts of, 281

Hutchings, J., on intelligence of a cat, 417

Hutchinson, on alleged tendency of scorpion to commit suicide, 225

Hutchinson, Col., on reasoning power of a dog, 463, 464

Hutchinson, Dr. H. F., on wolf-spider stalking own image in mirror, 213

Hutchinson, S. J., on intelligence of polar bear, 351, 352

Hutton, Mrs., on ants burying their dead, 91, 92

Hydrargrza, 248

Hymenoptera, see Ants and Bees

IBEX, does assisting wounded buck to escape, 334

Idealism, cannot be refuted by argument, 6

Ideas, see Association

Imitation, shown by talking birds, monkeys, and idiots, 477, 478

Instinct, defined and distinguished from reason and reflex action, 10-17;
of medusæ, 23;
of worms, 24;
of mollusca, 25;
of ants with reference to colour, 32, 33;
to smell, 33-7;
to sense of direction, 37-9;
to recognising friends, 41-5;
to swarming, 57, 58;
to nursing, 58;
to education, 59, 60;
to keeping aphides, 60-4;
to making slaves, 64-8;
to wars, 68-83;
to keeping pets, 83, 84;
to sleep and cleanliness, 84-7;
to play and leisure, 87-9;
to treatment of dead, 89-93;
of leaf-cutting species, 93-6;
of harvesting species, 97-110;
of tree-inhabiting species, 110, 111;
of honey-making species, 111-14;
of ecitons, 114-22;
of driver and marching species, 121-2;
of bees and wasps, with reference to colour, 143-4;
to sense of direction, 144-51;
to food-collecting and wax-making, 160-2;
to propagation, 162-8;
of queens, 162-5;
of killing drones, 165-8;
with reference to wars, 169, 170;
to architecture, 170-80;
of sphex-wasp, 180, 181;
of termites, 198-203;
of spiders, 204-18;
of scorpion, 222-5;
of beetles, 226-9;
of earwig, 229, 230;
of flies, 230, 231;
of crustacea, 231, 232;
of larvæ, 234-40;
of fish, 242-53;
of batrachians, 254;
of reptiles, 256-9;
of birds, with reference to procuring food, 283-7;
to incubation, 287-91;
to nidification, 291-301;
of cuckoo, 301-10;
of marsupials, 320;
of whale, 327;
of ruminants, 335;
of swine, 339;
of bats, 341;
of seals, 341-8;
of wolverine, 348-50;
of rodents, 353, 354;
of rabbit, 354-7;
of hare, 354-9;
of rats, 360;
of mice, 364-5;
of rat-hare, 365, 366;
of beaver, mixed with intelligence, 367;
with reference to propagation and lodges, 367-71;
to procuring food, 371-3;
to dams, 373-80;
to canals, 380-4;
of cat, 411-12;
of dog, 437, 438;
of monkey, 471

JACKAL, 426;
collective instinct in hunting, 432-35

Jackdaw, gesticulating signs made by, 316;
congregation for court held by, 324

Jacob, Sir G. Le Grand, on crows punishing offender, 324-5;
ibexes assisting wounded mate to escape, 334

Japp, on dog spontaneously learning use of coin, 452

Jealousy, of fish, 242;
of birds, 276-7;
of horse, 329, 330;
of dogs, 442, 443;
of monkey, 493

Jenkins, H. L., on formation of abstract ideas by elephants, 401, 402

[510]Jenner, on instinct of young cuckoo, 301-4

Jerdon, Dr., on harvesting-ants, 97;
on birds dreaming, 312

Jervoise, Sir J. C., on bee biting hole in a corolla, 189;
on combined action of rooks in obtaining food from pheasants, 321

Jesse, on intelligence of bees in adapting their combs to smooth surface, 186;
spider protecting eggs from cold, 219;
tame house-fly, 230, 231;
affection of male for female pike, 246;
attachment between alligator and cat, 258, 259;
conjugal fidelity of swan, and pigeon, 271;
sympathy of rooks, 273, 274;
lapwing stamping on ground to make worms rise, 285;
goose removing eggs from rats, 288;
birds removing dung from neighbourhood of their nests, 290;
swallows killing and imprisoning hostile sparrows, 318, 319;
kangaroo throwing young from pouch when pursued, 326, 327;
stag shaking berries from trees, and manifesting intelligence in escaping from dogs, 336;
intelligence of buffalo, 336, 337;
intelligence of rats, 360-2;
of elephants, 398;
collective instinct of foxes, 433;
wounded monkey showing its blood to the sportsman, 476

Jillson, Professor, on habits of the 'prairie-dog,' 366

John, St., on intelligence of fox, 426, 427;
idea of caste in dog, 442

Johnson, on termites, 198;
on orang-outangs removing their dead companions, 472

Johnson, Capt., on wounded monkey showing its blood to the sportsman, 475

Johnson, Dr., his definition of reason, 14

KANGAROO, throwing young from pouch when pursued, 326, 327

Kaup, on fish, 246

Kemp, Dr. L., on battles of queen-bees, 164;
robber bees, 170;
on intelligence of decoy elephants, 402

Kent, Saville, on intelligence of porpoises, 327, 328

Kesteven, Dr. W. H., on cat knocking knocker, 424

Kingfisher, nidification of, 292

Kirby, on water-spider, 212;
shore crabs, 232;
migration of salmon, 249, 250;
intelligence of carp, 250

Kirby and Spence, on powers of communication in ants, 49;
sense of direction in bees, 148;
hexagonal form of bees' cells, 172;
ceasing to store honey in tropics, 188;
co-operation of beetles, 226;
caterpillars, 236, and 238, 239

Klein, Dr., on intelligence of a cat, 418, 419

Kleine, Herr, on behaviour of bees when finding empty combs substituted for full ones, 186, 187

Klingelhöffer, Herr, on co-operation of beetles, 227-8

König, on termites, 198

Kreplin, Herr H., on ecitons, 139

LABRUS, 247

Lacepède, on fish coming to sound of bell, &c., 250

Lacerta iguana, 255

Lagomys, provident habits of, 365

Landois, on powers of communication in bees, 158

Langshaft, on bees recognising hive companions, 183;
on robber bees, 183-4

Lapwing, stamping on ground to make worms rise, 285;
intelligence of, 315, 316

Larvæ, of insects, intelligence of, 234-40

Latreille, on ants, sympathy of, 47

Lauriston, Baron, on sympathy of elephant, 390

Layard, Consul, on intelligence of cobra, 262;
on nidification of baya-bird, 294;
[511]on cat pulling bell-wire, 424

Lee, Mrs., on intelligence of robin, 314;
of goats, 337;
of rats, 361;
on vindictiveness of elephant, 389

Leeches, apparent intelligence of, 24

Lefroy, Lieut-Gen, Sir John, on terrier communicating wants by signs, 446

Lehr, Herr H., on bees draining their hive, 190

Leroy, C. G.,
on nidification of birds, 300;
on migration, 301;
on collective instinct of wolves, 436

Lespès,
on ants:
slave-making instinct, 65, 66;
warfare, 68, 69;
division of labour, 98, 99;
on termites, 198

Leuckart, Prof., on intelligence of ants in surmounting obstacles, 135

Lever, Sir Ashton, his experiment on eccentricity of nest-building instinct, 295

Limpet, remembering locality, 28, 29

Lincecum, Dr., on harvesting ants, 97 and 103-7;
carrying one another, 109

Lindsay, Dr. L., on birds dreaming, 312

Linnæus, on swallows imprisoning sparrows, 318

Linnet, intelligence of in not flying against mirror, 311;
trained, 312

Liparis chrysorrhaca, 238

Livingstone, Dr., on certain ants of Africa, 110;
honey-guide, 315;
intelligence of buffalo, 335, 336;
reasoning power of dog, 457

Lobster, 233

Lockman, J., on fondness of pigeon for a particular air of music, 282

Lonsdale, on intelligence of snails, 27

Lophius piscator, 247-8

Lophobranchiate fish, incubating eggs in mouth, 245-6

Loudoun's 'Magazine of Natural History,' quotations from, 357

Love-bird, conjugal affection of, 270

Löwenfels, Herr H., on a wasp dismembering a fly to facilitate carriage, 196.

Lubbock, Sir John,
on ants:
sense of sight in, 32;
of hearing, 33;
of smell, 33-7;
of direction, 37-8;
recognising companions and nest-mates, 41-3 and 44-5;
deficiency of affection and sympathy, 45-7;
powers of communication, 50-3;
collecting hatching eggs of aphides, 61-2;
keeping pets, 84;
general intelligence, 123-8.
On bees and wasps:
sense of sight in, 143;
of smell and hearing, 144;
of direction, 144-8;
memory, 151-4;
taming wasps, 153;
experiment on comparative intelligence of wasp and fly in finding way out of a bell-jar, 153-4;
experiments to test sympathy, 155-6;
way-finding, 181-3;
recognising one another, 183-4.
On co-operation of beetles, 226.

Ludicrous, sense of,
in dogs, 444-5;
in monkeys, 476, 485, 487, and 490

Lukis, F. C., on limpet remembering locality, 29

MACLACHLAN, on caddis-worms, 244

Maclaurin, on mathematical principles observed by bees in constructing their cells, 171

Macropodus, 244

Malcolm, Sir James, on sympathy shown by monkey, 474-5

Malle, Dureau de la, on dog knocking knocker, 423-4;
collective instinct of dogs, 435-6

Mammals, 326-498

Mann, Mr. and Mrs., their tame snakes, 256, 260-2

Mansfield, nest of fish, 242-43

Marsupials, 326-7

Martin, nidification of house, 292;
of land, 292

Martin, John, on reasoning power of cat, 415

MacCook, the Rev. Dr.,
on ants: recognising fellow-citizens, 44;
[512]feeding comrades with aphides-secretion, 63-4;
keeping cocci and caterpillars, 64;
warfare, 78, 81-3;
sleep and cleanliness, 84-87;
play, 88;
funeral habits, 89-91;
agricultural, 97, 103-10;
modes of mining, 108;
swarming habits of agriculturals, 108-9;
carrying one another, 109-10;
removing nest from shade of tree, 131;
cutting leaves from shading tree, 131-2;
co-operation in cutting grass, 132

M'Crady, on larva of Medusæ sucking nutriment from parent, 34

Meek, his cat trying to catch image behind mirror, 415-16

Meenan, on a wasp carrying heavy prey up an elevation in order to fly away with it, 197

Melanerpes formicivorus, 285

Melia tessellata, 233-4

Melipona domestica, form of its cells, 173-6

Melothrus, 309-10

Memory,
of mollusca, 25-9;
of ants, 39-45;
of bees, 151-5;
of beetles and earwig, 226-30;
of batrachians, 255;
of reptiles, 259 et seq.;
of birds, 266-70;
of horse, 330;
of elephant, 386-7;
of dog, 438;
of monkey, 497

Menault,
on eagle submitting to surgical operation, 313-14;
on mason bee, 178-9

Merian, Madame, on ants of visitation, 130;
mygale spider eating humming-birds, 208

Merrell, Dr., on instinct of American cuckoo, 305-6

Mice, 360-4

Migration,
of caterpillars, 238;
of crabs, 232;
of fish, 248-50;
of reptiles, 257-8;
of birds, 266;
of mammals, 341-50, and 368

Mildmay, Sir Henry, on pigs learning to point game, 339-40

Mill, John S., on instinct of cruelty in man, 413

Miller, Prof., calculations regarding form of bee's cell, 173

Mind, subjective and objective analysis of, 1;
evidence of, 2;
criterion of, 4-8

Mischievousness, fondness of, shown by monkeys, 485 et seq.

Mitchell, on fish removing eggs from disturbed nest, 251

Mitchell, Major, on habits of Conilurus constructor, 326

Mivart, on instincts of sphex-wasps, 181

Mobbing instinct in birds, 291

Möbius, Prof., on commensalism between crab and anemone, 233

Moggridge,
on ants:
sympathy of, 48;
suggestion to Mr. Hague, 56;
warfare of, 79-81;
keeping pets, 83;
harvesting, 97-8 and 100-2;
division of labour, 98;
harvesters using burrows made by elater, 130;
intelligent adaptation to artificial conditions, 130;
co-operation in cutting grass, &c., 133.
On trap-door spiders covering trap-doors with moss, &c., 214-15;
making trap-door at exposed end of accidentally inverted tube, 215-216;
perfection of dwellings built by young spiders, 216-17;
manner in which instinct of making trap-doors probably arose, 217-18

Mollusca, intelligence of, 25-30

Monboddo, Lord, on snake finding way home, 262

Monkeys, 471-98;
general remarks on psychology of, 471 and 497-98;
emotions of, 471-8;
affection and sympathy, 471-5;
reproach, 475-6;
ludicrous, 476, 485, 487, 490;
play, 476-77;
curiosity, 477;
imitation, 477;
rage, jealousy, and revenge, 478;
memory of, 497;
general intelligence of, 478;
behaviour with mirror, 478-9 and 495-6;
picking shells off eggs, and taking care not to be stung by wasps in paper, 479;
intelligence of Mr. Belt's, 480;
disentangling chains, 480 and 486-8;
raking in objects with sticks or cloths, 480 and 486;
[513]drawing chair to stand upon, 481;
using levers, 481 and 492;
using hammers, 481 and 485;
divining principle of screw, 490-91;
keeping door open with blanket, 481-2;
allowing tooth to be drawn, 482;
punishing young, 482-3;
destroying snake's fangs, 483;
concerted action, 483;
love of mischief, 485 et seq.;
throwing things in rage, 485 et seq.;
pushing slab to which tied, 484-7;
capricious attachments and dislikes, 484 et seq.;
trying to unlock a box, 492;
playing with fire, 493-4;
expression of emotions, 494-5;
dread of imitation monkey, 495

Morgan, L. A., on spider conveying insect to larder, 220

Morgan, L. H., on the beaver, 367-83

Moschkau, Dr., on intelligence shown by a spider which he habitually fed, 218-19

Moseley, Lewin, performing operation on a monkey, 482

Moseley, Prof., on intelligence of crabs, 231-2

Mossman, Rev. J. W., on wasps coming out of small aperture backwards, 192-3

Mule, alleged counting by, 332;
intelligence of, 333-4

Müller, Adolph, on instinct of cuckoo, 306-7

Müller, F.,
on powers of communication in bees, 157;
on termites, 198 and 201

Murray, S., intelligence of his dog, 450

Music, fondness of spiders for, 205-7;
of parrots and pigeon, 282

Mygale spider eating humming-birds, 208

Myriophyllum spicatum, 243

Myrmeleon formicarium, 234-5

NADAULT, Madame, the association of ideas shown by her parrot, 269

Napier, Commander, on pigeon making a horse shake oats from nose-bag, 317

Napier, Lady, recollection in parrot, 269, 270;
emulation in parrot, 276, 277

Nest, see Nidification

Newall, R. S., on wasp dividing caterpillar to facilitate carriage, 195, 196

Newbury, on absence of beaver dams in California, 370, 371

Newton, Professor A., on instincts of cuckoo, 306-9

Nichols, W. W., on intelligence of pigeons, 317

Nicols, A., on reasoning power of a retriever, 464, 465

Nicrophorus, 228

Nidification,
of crustacean, 232, 233;
of fish, 242-5;
of birds, 291-301;
petrels and puffins, 291, 292;
auks, curlew, goatsucker, ostrich, gulls, sandpipers, plovers, kingfisher, Chinese swallow, house-martin, 292;
tomtit, woodpecker, starling, weaver, 293;
baya, talegallus, 294;
grosbeak, 295, 296;
swan, 296-8;
Wallace's theories concerning, 298, 299;
variability of, 299-301;
of harvesting mice, 365

Nightingales, removing nest, 289

Niphon, Professor, on intelligence of a mule, 333, 334

Noctua Ewingii, 238

Noctura verbasci, 236

North, the Rev. W., on intelligence of mice, 361, 362

Nottebohm, Herr, on ants stocking trees with aphides, 63

OBSTETRIC-FISH, 246;
toad, 254

Octopus, intelligence of, 29, 30

Œcypoda ippeus, 231

Oldham, A., on jealousy in dog, 442, 443

Orang-outang, removing dead companions, 472;
sense of humour in, 476;
drawing chair to stand upon to reach high places, 481

[514]Orthotomus, 293

Ostrich, conjugal affection of, 270;
nidification, 292

Otter, 346

Oyster, intelligence of, 25

PALLAS, on provident habits of Lagomys, 365

Parrot, memory of, 267-9;
recollection, 269, 270;
talking, &c., 267-70;
sympathy, 275, 276;
exultation on baffling imitative powers of master, 277;
vindictiveness, 277;
fondness of music, 282;
difficult to deceive by mirrors, 310, 311

Parry, Captain, on instincts of wild swan, 297

Partridge, removing eggs, 289

Peach, C. W., on dog recognising portrait, 453, 454

Peal, G. E., on elephants removing leeches and fanning away flies, 409, 410

Pearson, Colonel, the reasoning power of his dog, 466, 467

Peeweet, see Lapwing.

Pelicans, sympathy of for wounded companions, 275;
frigate, 284;
combined action of in fishing, 319

Penky, the Rev. Mr., on reasoning power of a dog, 466, 467

Pennant, on navigating habits of Iceland mice, 364

Pennent,
on domestication of toad, 255;
on fascination by rattle-snake, 263

Perca scandens, 248, 249

Perception, 9

Perch, climbing, 248, 249

Percival, Dr., on cock killing hen when she hatched out eggs of partridge, 278

Petrels, nidification of, 291, 292

Phillips, J., his portrait-painting recognised by a dog, 454

Picton, Mrs. E., on sensitiveness of a terrier, 440, 441

Pieris rapæ, 236

Pigeon, memory of, 266;
conjugal affection and fidelity, 270, 271;
fondness for a particular air of music, 282;
intelligence in avoiding turtles, 317;
in making horse shake oats from nose-bag, 317

Pigs, 339-41

Pike, affection of male for female, 246

Pilot-fish, 251, 252

Pinnipeds, breeding habits of, 342, 346

Pipe-fish, 246

Piracy, instinct of, in birds, 283, 284, 301-7

Pisces, see Fish

Play,
of ants, 87, 89;
of fish, 242;
of birds, 279;
of porpoise, 327, 328;
of dogs, 445;
of monkeys, 476, 477

Pliny, on ants burying their dead, 91;
sexual affection of snakes, 256;
on intelligence of elephant, 386;
on memory of elephant, 387

Ploceus textor, 293

Plover, see Lapwing;
nidification of, 292

Plutarch, on intelligence of elephant, 386

Podocerus capillatus, 232

Polar bear, 352, 353

Polecat, curious instinct of, 347

Polistes carnifex, taking precise bearings to remember locality, 150, 151

Polistes Gallica, tamed by Sir John Lubbock, 153;
robber, 169

Pollock, F., on perfection of webs built by young spiders, 217

Pollock, W., on association of ideas in parrot, 269

Polydectes cupulifer, 233

Pope, on instinct and reason, 15

Porpoise, intelligence of, 327, 328

Portraits, recognised by birds, 311;
by dogs, 453-7

Pouchet, on improvement in nidification of swallows, 300, 301

Powelsen, on navigating habits of Iceland mice, 364

Prairie dog, 366

Pride,
of birds, 279;
of horse, 330;
of ruminants, 334;
[515]of dog, 439-42

Prinia, 293

Protozoa, movements of, 18;
apparent intelligence of, 19-21

Provident instincts,
of ants, 97-110;
of bees, 160-162;
of a bird, 285;
of rodents, 353, 354, and 365, 366;
of beaver, 368-70

Puffins, nidification of, 291, 292

Pugnacity,
of ants, 45;
of bees, 165-70;
of spiders, 204-5;
of fish, 242;
of seal, 341-6;
of rabbits, 355;
of rat-hare, 365, 366;
of canine animals, 426

Python, tame, affection of, &c., 256 and 260-2

QUARTERLY REVIEW, on intelligence of rats, 360, 361

Quatrefages, on termites, 198

RABBIT, 354-7

Rabigot, on fondness of spiders for music, 206

Rae, Dr. John, on intelligence of horse, 331;
of wolverine, 348;
of wolves and foxes, 429, 430;
of dog, 465, 466

Rae, on dog ringing bell, 423

Ransom, Dr., on sticklebacks, 245

Rarey, his method of taming horses, 328, 329

Rats, 360-3

Rattlesnake, alleged fascination by, 263

Ravens, breaking shells by dropping them on stones, 283

Razor-fish, intelligence of, 25

Reason, definition of, and distinguished from instinct, 13-17;
exhibitions of, by various animals, see under sections headed 'general intelligence'

Réaumur, on intelligence of ants, 128;
sympathy of bees, 156;
carpenter-bee, 179;
encasing snail with propolis, 190;
conveying carrion out of hive, 191;
experiments on instincts of caterpillars, 237;
on larvæ chasing aphides, 240

Reclain, Professor C., on spider descending to violin-player, 205, 206

Recognition of persons,
by bees, 188;
by snakes and tortoises, 259-61;
of places, by mollusca, 27-9;
by ants, 33 et seq.;
by bees, 144 et seq.;
of offspring, by earwig, 229;
of portraits, see Birds and Dogs;
of other members of a hive by ants and bees, see Ants and Bees

Reeks, H., on collective instinct of wolves, 436

Reflex action, 2-4

Reid, Dr., on mathematical principles observed by bees in constructing their cells, 171

Rengger, on maternal care and grief of a cebus, 472;
monkeys displaying intelligent observation, 479;
using levers, 481

Reproach, shown by gestures of monkeys 475-478

Reptiles, 255-265;
emotions of, 255, 256, and 260-2;
incubating eggs, sexual and parental affection of, 256;
general intelligence of, 256-263;
fascination by, 263, 264;
charming of, 264, 265

Reyne, his observations on snake-charming, 264, 265

Rhizopoda, apparent intelligence of, 19-21

Richards, Captain, on pilot-fish, 252

Richardson, Mrs. A. S. H.,
on elephant concealing theft, 410;
on dog finding its way home by train, 468, 469

Ridicule, dislike of, by dogs and monkeys, see Ludicrous

Risso, M., on habits of pipe-fish, 246

Robertson, Professor G. Croora, on behaviour of an ape with a mirror, 478, 479

Robin, intelligence of, 314

Rodents, 353

Rodwell, on intelligence of rats, 360-2

[516]Rogue-elephants, see Elephant

Romanes, Miss C.,
on dog recognising portrait, 455, 456;
on intelligence of cebus, 484-95

Romanes, G. J., on movements of rotifer, 18, 19;
of medusæ, 22;
of echinodermata, 23;
emotions of stickleback, 246, 247;
piracy of terns and gulls, 283-4;
mode of challenge practised by gulls, 291;
birds deceived by mirrors, 311;
grouse learning to avoid telegraph wires, 313;
intelligence of horse, 330;
intelligence of ferrets, 347;
instincts of rabbits, 354;
intelligence of rabbits, 354, 355;
rabbits fighting rats, 355;
drawing dead companions out of holes, 356, 357;
intelligence of hare, 357;
hares and rabbits allowing themselves to be caught by weasels, 359;
rats using their tails for feeding purposes, 363;
cat opening thumb-latch, 420, 421;
collective instinct of jackals, 434, 435;
of dogs, 435;
duration of memory in dog, 438;
pride and sensitiveness in dog, 439, 440;
intolerance of dog towards pain, 441;
emulation and jealousy in dog, 442;
deceitfulness and dislike of ridicule in dog, 444;
sense of ludicrous in dog, 444, 445;
dogs communicating ideas, 445, 446;
dogs slipping into their collars to conceal their sheep-killing, &c., 435 and 450, 451;
dog recognising portrait, 456, 457;
reasoning of dog, 457, 458;
caution of a dog in killing snakes, 460;
sympathy of an Arabian baboon, 474;
sense of ludicrous and dislike of ridicule in monkey, 476;
intelligence of Cebus fatuellus, 484-98

Rooks, sympathy of, for wounded companions, 273, 274;
concerted action of, in obtaining food from dogs, 319, 320;
from pheasants, 321;
nesting habits and punishment of culprits, 322-5

Rotifera, movements of, 18

Ruminants, 334

Russell, Lord Arthur, witnessing tameness of snakes, 261

SAGARTIA parasitica, 234

Salmon, migration of, 249, 250

Salticus scenicus, 213

Sandpipers, nidification of, 292

Sarsia, seeking light, 23

Saunders, S. S., on trap-door spiders, 215

Savage, on play of chimpanzees, 476, 477

Schiller, on pride of bell-wether steers, 334

Schipp, Lieut., on combined action of baboons, 483

Schlosser, on jaculator-fish, 248

Schlüter, Herr A., on a hornet carrying heavy prey up an elevation in order to fly away with it, 196

Schneider, on intelligence of octopus, 29, 30;
on fish guarding eggs, 242;
jealousy of fish, 247

Sclater, Dr., on instincts of cuckoo, 325;
lending a cebus for observation, 483

Scoresby, on maternal affection of whale, 327;
on intelligence of polar bear, 351

Scorpion, alleged suicide of, when surrounded by fire or heat, 222-25

Sea-anemones, 233, 234

Seals, intelligence of, and breeding-habits of pinnipeds, 341-6

Seebohm, on instincts of cuckoo, 325

Semnopithecus entellus, destroying poison fangs of snakes, 483

Sensation, 8

Severn, H. A., on nidification of baya-bird, 294

Severn, W., on snakes, 260, 261

Sheep, pride of leaders, 334

Shelley, lines on curiosity of fish, 247

Shipp, Capt.,
on vindictiveness of elephant, 387, 388;
on intelligence of elephant, 397, 398

Siebold, on robber-wasps, 169

[517]Sieur, Roman, his trained birds, 312

Signs, made by ants, 49 et seq.;
by bees, 157 et seq.;
by termites, 200;
by birds, 315, 316;
by elephants, 391 and 401;
by cat, 416;
by dog, 445-7;
by monkey, 472, 475, 476

Simiadæ, see Monkeys

Simonius, on fondness of spiders for music, 206

Sinclair, W., on intelligence of horse, 33

Skate, supposed intelligence of, 251

Skinner, Major,
on intelligent vigilance of elephants, 400, 401;
on training of cobra, 265

Slingsby, his experiment in training a house-fly, 230, 231

Smeathman, on termites, 198-203

Smeaton, Th. D., on dog making peace-offerings, 452

Smiles, Dr. S.,
on observation of Stephenson, 247;
on observations of Edward, 255, 275, 283, 321

Smith, A. P., on intelligence of a cat, 414

Smith, Colonel, on pilot-fish, 252

Smith, Colonel Hamilton, on intelligence of cattle-dogs, 449

Smith, Sir Andrew, on revenge of a baboon, 478

Snails, intelligence of, 26-28

Snakes, incubating eggs, sexual and parental affection of, 256;
tamed, 256, 260-3, 265;
finding way home, 262;
intelligence of, 262-3;
fascination by, 263-4;
charming of, 264-5

Social feelings, see Sympathy and Affection;
habits common to Hymenoptera and termites, 202

Sow, pointing game, 339, 340

Sparman, on termites, 198

Spencer, Herbert,
on migration of salmon, 249;
on play as allied to artistic feeling, 279

Sphex, see under Wasp

Spiders, emotions of, 204-7;
courtship, 204, 205;
strength of maternal instinct, 205;
fondness of music, 205-7;
web-building, 207-12;
geometric, 209;
water, 212;
wolf or vagrant, 213;
trap-door, 213-18;
admit of being tamed and distinguish persons, 218-19;
protecting eggs from cold, 219;
protecting themselves from ecitons, 219;
conveying prey to larder, 220;
suspending weights to steady web, 220-2;
wide geographical range of trap-door spiders, 216

Stag, intelligence of, 336

Starlings, nidification of, 293;
learning to avoid telegraph-wires, 312-13

Stephenson, on curiosity of fish, 247

Stevens, J. G., on intelligence of a cat, 417-18

Sticklebacks, 243-5, 246-7

Stickney, on bees remembering in successive years the position of a disused hive, 154

Stodmann, on wasps recognising persons, 188

Stone, on reasoning power of a dog, 460

Stork, vindictiveness of, 277-8

Strachan, on elephants dying under emotional disturbance, 395-6

Strange, F., on habits of bower-bird, 281

Strauss, on co-operation of beetles, 228

Street, J., on blackbirds removing their young, 289

Strickland, on intelligence of a mare, 332

Swainson, on vindictiveness of elephant, 389

Swallows, memory of, 266;
improvement in their nidification and adopting new modes of, 300;
migration, 301;
making tunnels, 318;
killing imprisoned hostile sparrows, 318-19

Swan, conjugal fidelity of, 271;
mode of escaping with young, 290;
nidification, 496-8

Swine, 339-41

Sword-fish, 252-3

Sykes, Colonel,
on harvesting ants, 97;
on tree ants, 110-11;
intelligence of ants in getting at food in difficult situations, 134, 135;
[518]on nidification of tailor-bird, 293

Sylvia, 293

Sympathy,
of ants, 46-9;
of bees, 155-6;
of fish, 242;
of birds, 270-6;
of horse, 331-2;
of ruminants, 334;
of elephants, 387-92, and 397, 398;
of cat, 416;
of monkeys, 471-5

TAIT, LAWSON, on cat signing to have bell pulled, 423

Talegallus, nidification of, 294

Taylor, the Rev. Mr., cunning of his dog, 451

Tegetmeier, on amount of sugar required by bees to make honey, 176

Telescope-fish, 246

Tennent, Sir E., on apparent intelligence of land-leeches, 24;
intelligence of tree-ants, 134;
mygale eating humming birds, 208;
climbing-perch, 249;
sexual affection of cobra, 246;
snake-charming, 264, 265;
taming of cobra, 265;
nidification of baya-bird, 294;
combined action of crows, 319, 320;
of buffaloes, 335;
use of tame buffalo, 335;
on emotions and intelligence of elephant, 389, 390, 393-6, 400-8;
collective instinct of jackals, 432, 433

Tepper, Mr. Otto, on intelligence of a cat, 424

Termites, 198-203;
architecture, 198, 199, and 201, 202;
workers and soldiers, 200, 201;
swarming, breeding, &c., 202;
remarkable similarity of instincts to those of Hymenoptera, 202;
instincts detrimental to individual but beneficial to species, 202, 203

Terns, sympathy of, for wounded companions, 274, 275;
robber, 284;
mobbing robber-terns, 291

Theda isocrates, 238

Theuerkauf, Herr G., on intelligence of ants in making a bridge of aphides over tar, 136

Thompson, E. P.,
on bees remembering exact position of absent hive, 149;
on garden-spider's mode of web-building, 210, 211;
ant-lion, 234, 235;
emotions of guana, 255, 256;
fascination by snakes, 264;
nidification of sociable grosbeak, 295, 296;
birds dreaming, 312;
maternal affection of whale, 327;
bisons defending themselves from wolves, 334, 335;
pigs defending themselves from wolves, 339;
cleanliness of pig, 340, 341;
intelligence of weasel, 346;
of mouse, 361;
harvesting-mice, 365, 366

Thomson, Dr. Allen, on scorpions committing suicide, 223-5

Thornton, Colonel, his sow trained to point game, 340

Thresher-fish, 252, 253

Thrushes, breaking shells against stones, 283

Tinea, 237

Toads, 254, 255

Tomtit, nidification of, 293

Topham, Dr. J., on spiders weighting their webs, 222

Topham, Mr. J., on bees remembering exact position of absent hive, 149

Tortoises, knowing persons, 259

Townsend, the Rev. W.,
on elephant concealing theft, 410;
on dog finding its way about by train, 468-9

Truro, Lord, on intelligence of a dog, 450

Turner, George, on bees remembering exact position of absent hive, 149

Turnstones, intelligence of, 321

Turtles, 257, 258, and 262

VAILLANT, Le, on fascination by tree-snake, 263, 264

Valiant, L., on nidification of sociable grosbeak, 296

Venn, on association of ideas in parrot, 267, 268

Vigot, Dr., on snake finding way home, 262

[519]Villiers, De, on instincts of larvæ of bombyx moth, 240

Vindictiveness,
of birds, 277, 278, and 318-25;
of horse, 330, 331;
of elephant, 387-9;
of monkeys, 478, and 484-96

Virchow, on difficulty of distinguishing between instinct and reason, 12

Vogt, Karl, on duration of memory in ants, 41;
bridge-making, 136

Vultures, finding carrion by sight and not by smell, 286, 287;
intelligence, 314

WAFER, on monkeys hammering oyster-shells with stones, 481

Wakefield, P., on intelligence of goats, 337, 338

Wallace, A. R., on philosophy of birds'-nests, 298-300

Warden, on frogs going straight to nearest water, 254

Wasp-mason, 180;
butcher, 180, 181;
sphex, 181;
hunting, 193, 194;
common, tamed by Sir John Lubbock, 153

Wasps, sense of direction in, 147;
teaching themselves, 154;
killing larvæ, 167, 168;
making cells, 180;
instincts of neuters, 181;
recognising persons, 188;
coming out of small aperture backwards, 192, 193;
struggles with ants for secretion of frog-hoppers, 194, 195;
dismembering heavy prey for convenience of carriage, and mounting eminences for same purpose, 195, 197

Wasser, on nidification of puffins, 291

Waterhouse, on hexagonal form of bee's cell, 173

Water-rail, its mode of escape, 289

Waterton, on nidification of swan, 295, 296

Watson, on spiders weighting their webs, 221;
cock killing hen on her hatching out eggs of other birds, 278;
intelligence of rats, 360-62;
vindictiveness of elephant, 389;
elephant enduring surgical operation, 399;
intelligence of sheep-dogs, 448;
of cattle-dogs, 449

Weasel, 346, 347

Weaver, nidification of, 293

Web, see Spider

Web-building, see Spiders

Webb, Dr., performing operation on elephant, 399

Weber, Professor E. H., on spiders weighting their webs, 221

Wedgwood, the Rev. R. H., on memory of horse, 330

Westlecombe, on reasoning power of a dog, 462, 463

Westropp, on intelligence of bear, 352

Westwood, on instinct of caterpillars, 288

Weygandt, on robber-bees, 170

Whale, maternal affection of, 327;
attacks on, by sword- and thresher-fish, 252, 253

Whately, Archbishop, on cat ringing bell, 423

White ants, see Termites

White, the Rev. Gilbert, on nests of harvesting-mice, 365;
on nidification of house-martin, 292, 293

White, W., on intelligence of snails, 26

White, the Rev. W. W. F., on sympathy of ants, 49;
keeping pets, 84;
burying dead, 92, 93

White-headed eagle, see Eagle

Wildman, his alleged training of bees, 189

Wilks, Dr. S., observations on talking of parrot, 267, 268;
on dog recognising a portrait, 455

Williams, on intelligence of sheep-dogs, 448

Williams, B., on cunning of sheep-killing dogs, 450, 451

Wilson, on memory of crow, 266

Wilson, Dr. Andrew, on reasoning power of a dog, 460

Wilson, Charles, on intelligence of swallows, 318

Wilson, Dr. D., on elephant enduring surgical operation, 399

[520]Winkell, Dietrich aus dem, on intelligence of fox, 428

Wolf, 426-36; avoiding gun-traps, 431;
drawing up fish-lines to take fish, 431;
collective instinct in hunting, 433, 436

Wolverine, 347-50

Wood, Rev. G. J., on spiders weighting their webs, 221

Woodcock, conveying young on back, 289

Woodpecker, ant-eating, its instinct of storing food, 285;
nidification, 293

Words, understanding of,
by bees, 189;
by talking birds, 267-9

Worms, apparent intelligence of, 24

Wright, his portrait-painting recognised by a dog, 454-5

YARRELL,
on fish, 246;
on intelligence of hare, 358-9

Youatt, on pigs learning to point game, 340

Young, the Rev. Charles, on emotions and intelligence of elephant, 390-92

Young, Miss E., on dog finding his way about by train, 468

Yule, Captain, on elephants dying under emotional disturbance, 395

"My object in the work as a whole is twofold: First, I have thought it desirable that there should be something resembling a text-book of the facts of Comparative Psychology, to which men of science, and also metaphysicians, may turn whenever they have occasion to acquaint themselves with the particular level of intelligence to which this or that species of animal attains. My second and much more important object is that of considering the facts of animal intelligence in their relation to the theory of descent."—From the Preface.

"Unless we are greatly mistaken, Mr. Romanes's work will take its place as one of the most attractive volumes of the International Scientific Series. Some persons may, indeed, be disposed to say that it is too attractive, that it feeds the popular taste for the curious and marvelous without supplying any commensurate discipline in exact scientific reflection; but the author has, we think, fully justified himself in his modest preface. The result is the appearance of a collection of facts which will be a real boon to the student of Comparative Psychology, for this is the first attempt to present systematically well-assured observations on the mental life of animals."—Saturday Review.

"The author believes himself, not without ample cause, to have completely bridged the supposed gap between instinct and reason by the authentic proofs here marshaled of remarkable intelligence in some of the higher animals. It is the seemingly conclusive evidence of reasoning powers furnished by the adaptation of means to ends in cases which can not be explained on the theory of inherited aptitude or habit."—New York Sun.

"The high standing of the author as an original investigator is a sufficient guarantee that his task has been conscientiously carried out. His subject is one of absorbing interest. He has collected and classified an enormous amount of information concerning the mental attributes of the animal world. The result is astonishing. We find marvelous intelligence exhibited not only by animals which are known to be clever, but by others seemingly without a glimmer of light, like the snail, for instance. Some animals display imagination, others affection, and so on. The psychological portion of the discussion is deeply interesting."—New York Herald.

"The chapter on monkeys closes this excellent work, and perhaps the most instructive portion of it is that devoted to the life-history of a monkey."—New York Times.

"Mr. Romanes brings to his work a wide information and the best of scientific methods. He has carefully culled and selected an immense mass of data, choosing with admirable skill those facts which are really significant, and rejecting those which lacked sustaining evidence or relevancy. The contents of the volume are arranged with reference to the principles which they seem to him to establish. The volume is rich and suggestive, and a model in its way."—Boston Courier.

"It presents the facts of animal intelligence in relation to the theory of descent, supplementing Darwin and Spencer in tracing the principles which are concerned in the genesis of mind."—Boston Commonwealth.

"One of the most interesting volumes of the series."—New York Christian at Work.

"Few subjects have a greater fascination for the general reader than that with which this book is occupied."—Good Literature, New York.

"This volume contains the record of various experiments made with ants, bees, and wasps during the last ten years, with a view to test their mental condition and powers of sense. The principal point in which Sir John's mode of experiment differs from those of Huber, Forel, McCook, and others, is that he has carefully watched and marked particular insects, and has had their nests under observation for long periods—one of his ants' nests having been under constant inspection ever since 1874. His observations are made principally upon ants because they show more power and flexibility of mind; and the value of his studies is that they belong to the department of original research."

"We have no hesitation in saying that the author has presented us with the most valuable series of observations on a special subject that has ever been produced, charmingly written, full of logical deductions, and, when we consider his multitudinous engagements, a remarkable illustration of economy of time. As a contribution to insect psychology, it will be long before this book finds a parallel."—London Athenæum.

"These studies, when handled by such a master as Sir John Lubbock, rise far above the ordinary dry treatment of such topics. The work is an effort made to discover what are the general, not the special, laws which govern communities of insects composed of inhabitants as numerous as the human beings living in London and Peking, and who labor together in the utmost harmony for the common good. That there are remarkable analogies between societies of ants and human beings no one can doubt. If, according to Mr. Grote, 'positive morality under some form or other has existed in every society of which the world has ever had experience,' the present volume is an effort to show whether this passage be correct or not."—New York Times.

"In this work the reader will find the record of a series of experiments and observations more thorough and ingenious than those instituted by any of the accomplished author's predecessors. . . . . Sir John has been a close observer of the habits of ants for many years, generally having from thirty to forty communities under his notice, and not only watching each of these in its carefully isolated glass house, but, by the use of paint-marks, following the fortunes of individuals. . . . . One notable result of this system has been the correcting of previous theories as to the age to which ants attain: instead of living merely a year, as the popular belief has been, some of Sir John's queens and workers are thriving after being under observation since 1874 and 1875."—New York World.

"Sir John Lubbock's book on 'Ants, Bees, and Wasps' is mainly devoted to the crawlers, and not the fliers, though he has some observations upon honey-bees and more interesting ones upon the unpopular wasp, which he fondly deems to be capable of gratitude. Darwin made a strong case for the monkeys, but Lubbock may yet make us out to be, as Irishmen say, 'The sons of our ants.' For he begins his entertaining book thus: 'The anthropoid apes no doubt approach nearer to man in bodily structure than do any other animals, but, when we consider the habits of ants, their large communities and elaborate habitations, their roadways, their possession of domestic animals, and, even in some cases, of slaves, it must be admitted that they have a fair claim to rank next to man in the scale of intelligence.'"—Springfield Republican.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Letters may be addressed to me directly at 18 Cornwall Terrace, Regent's Park, London, N W.

[2] Of course it may be said that we have no evidence of prompting in either case; but this is the side issue which concerns the general relation of body and mind, and has nothing to do with the guarantee of inferring the presence of mind in particular cases.

[3] I.e., ancestral as well as individual. If the race had not always had occasion to close the eyelids to protect the eyes, it is certain that the young child would not so quickly learn to do so in virtue of its own individual experience alone; and as the action cannot be attributed to any process of conscious inference, it is not rational; but we have seen that it is not originally reflex; therefore it is instinctive.

[4] Psychological Researches, p. 187.

[5] H. J. Carter, F.R.S., Annals of Natural History, 3rd Series, 1863, pp. 45-6.

[6] For an account of the natural movements of the Medusæ and the effects of stimulation upon them, see Croonian Lecture in Phil. Trans. 1875, and also Phil. Trans. 1877 and 1879.

[7] See Croonian Lecture, 1881, in forthcoming issue of Phil. Trans.

[8] Natural History of Ceylon, p. 481.

[9] This fact is also stated by Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. iii. p. 454, and is now turned to practical account in the so-called 'Oyster-schools' of France. The distance from the coast to Paris being too great for the newly dredged oysters to travel without opening their shells, they are first taught in the schools to bear a longer and longer exposure to the air without gaping, and when their education in this respect is completed they are sent on their journey to the metropolis, where they arrive with closed shells, and in a healthy condition.

[10] Bingley, loc. cit., vol. iii. p. 449.

[11] De l'Espèce et de la Classe, &c., 1869, p. 106.

[12] A Londoner's Walk to Edinburgh, p. 155 (1856).

[13] Descent of Man, pp. 262-3.

[14] The facts, however, in order to sustain such conclusions, of course require corroboration, and it is therefore to be regretted that Mr. Lonsdale did not experimentally repeat the conditions.

[15] Journal Linn. Soc. vol. xiv. p. 406 et seq.

[16] Mag. Nat. Hist. 1831, vol. iv. p. 346.

[17] Thieresche Wille, § 78.

[18] Leben der Cephalopoden, s. 21.

[19] While this MS. is passing through the press Sir John Lubbock has read another paper before the Linnæan Society, which contains some important additional matter concerning the sense of direction in ants. It seems that in the experiment above described, the hat-box was not provided with a cover or lid, i.e. was not a 'closed chamber,' and that Sir John now finds the ants to take their bearings from the direction in which they observe the light to fall upon them. For in the experiment with the uncovered hat-box, if the source of light (candle) is moved round together with the rotating table which supports the box, the ants continue their way without making compensating changes in their direction of advance. The same thing happens if the hat-box is covered, so as to make of it a dark chamber. Direction of light being the source of their information that their ground is being moved, we can understand why they do not know that it is being moved when it is moved in the direction of their advance, as in the experiment with the paper slip.

[20] It is to be noted that although ants will attack stranger ants introduced from other nests, they will carefully tend stranger larvæ similarly introduced.

[21] The Naturalist in Nicaragua, 1874, p. 26.

[22] See Leisure Hour, 1880, p. 390.

[23] Introduction to Entomology, vol. ii. p. 524.

[24] Vol. vii. pp. 443-4.

[25] Büchner, Geistesleben der Thiere, pp. 66-7.

[26] Origin of Species, 6th ed. pp. 207-8.

[27] Loc. cit. p. 121.

[28] Loc. cit. p. 123.

[29] Origin of Species, 6th ed. p. 218.

[30] Geistesleben der Thiere, pp. 145-9.

[31] Loc. cit.

[32] Loc. cit. p. 337.

[33] Loc. cit. p. 97.

[34] Harvesting Ants and Trap-door Spiders, London, 1873 and Supplement, 1874.

[35] Journal Linn. Soc., vol. vi. p. 29, 1862.

[36] Agricultural Ant of Texas, Philadelphia, 1880.

[37] Trans. Ent. Soc. Lond., i. 103, 1836.

[38] Madras Journ. Lit. Sc., 1851.

[39] For this see Moggridge, loc. cit. pp. 6-10, where, besides Prov. iv. 6-8, and xxx. 25, quotations are given from Horace, Virgil, Plautus, and others.

[40] Proc. Phil. Acad. Nat. Sci., xii. p. 445.

[41] Agricultural Ant of Texas (Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, 1880).

[42] Missionary Travels, p. 328.

[43] Animal Biography, 'Ants.'

[44] Büchner, Geistesleben der Thiere, English translation, p. 49.

[45] While this work is passing through the press, an interesting Essay has been published by Mr. MacCook on the Honey-making Ant. I am not here able to refer to this Essay at greater length, but have done so in a review in Nature (March 2, 1882.)—G. J. R.

[46] Vol. ix. p. 484.

[47] Passions of Animals, p. 53.

[48] Vol. xii. p. 68.

[49] 'Three months' in the Journal of the Linnæan Society, but Sir John Lubbock informs me that this is a misprint.

[50] See Kirby and Spence, vol. ii. p. 591.

[51] Letter to Mr. Darwin, published in Nature, vol. x., p. 102.

[52] Vol. xii., pp. 25-6.

[53] Loc. cit.

[54] Art. 'Bees,' Encycl. Brit.

[55] Dr. Kemp, Indications of Instinct.

[56] The Bee, 1877, No. 1.

[57] Dr. Lindley Kemp, Indications of Instinct.

[58] Handcock on Instinct, p. 18.

[59] Introd. Ent., ii, p. 465.

[60] Origin of Species, 'Cell-making Instinct.'

[61] Origin of Species, p. 225.

[62] Mind in Animals, pp. 252-3.

[63] For a complete account of these habits see Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. iii., pp. 272-5.

[64] Mém. sur les Insectes, tom. vi., p. 39.

[65] Vol. i., pp. 22-3 (3rd ed.).

[66] Vol. xvii., p. 373.

[67] See Brehm, Thierleben, ix., p. 252.

[68] An exactly similar case is recorded by Stodmann in his Travels in Surinam, ii., p. 286.

[69] Nature, ix., p. 189.

[70] See Kirby and Spence, vol. ii., p. 229.

[71] Loc. cit., p. 189.

[72] Ibid., p. 119.

[73] Geistesleben der Thiere, pp. 194 and 199-200.

[74] Phil. Trans., loc. cit.

[75] Body and Mind, p. 275.

[76] Nature, xxiii., pp. 149-50.

[77] Naturalist on the Amazon, p. 83.

[78] For many other confirmations see Sir E. Tennent, Nat. Hist. Ceylon, pp. 468-69.

[79] Kirby, vol. ii., p. 298.

[80] Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 145.

[81] Loc. cit., p. 316 et seq.

[82] Hist. Habits and Inst. of Animals, vol. ii. p. 296.

[83] Nature, vol. xx., p. 581.

[84] Harvesting Ants and Trap-door Spiders, p. 120.

[85] 'The History and Habits of Epeira aurelia,' in Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist. for June 1865.

[86] Harvesting Ants and Trap-door Spiders, p. 126. This admirable work, with its appendix, contains a very full account of the whole economy of the interesting animals with which it is concerned.

[87] Loc. cit., p. 319.

[88] Gleanings, vol. i., p. 103.

[89] Naturalist in Nicaragua, p. 19.

[90] Quoted by Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. iii., p. 118.

[91] Loc. cit., p. 344.

[92] Büchner, loc. cit., p. 344.

[93] Quoted in Strauss, Insects, s. 389.

[94] Kirby and Spence, loc. cit., pp. 321-2.

[95] Life and Recollections, vol. ii., p. 356.

[96] Quoted by Bingley, loc. cit., vol. iii., pp. 150-51.

[97] Gleanings, vol. ii., pp. 165-6.

[98] American Journ. Sc. and Art, vol. x., Oct. 1875.

[99] Animal Biography, vol. iii., pp. 244-5.

[100] Nature, vii., p. 49.

[101] Intr. to Ent., ii., p. 475.

[102] Ibid., p. 475.

[103] Œuvres, ix., p. 370.

[104] Trans. Ent. Soc., vol. ii.

[105] Introd. Ent., Letter xi.

[106] Westwood, Trans. Ent. Soc., vol. ii., p. 1.

[107] Kirby and Spence, Entomology, Letter xvi.

[108] Trans. Ent. Soc. France, vol. i., p. 201.

[109] Introduction to Entomology, Letter xxvi.

[110] Phil. Frags., translated by Huxley, Taylor's Mag., 1853, p. 196.

[111] Silliman's American Journal, Feb. 1872.

[112] Ransom, Ann. and Mag. Nat. Hist., 1865, xvi., p. 449.

[113] Quoted from Francis Day, F.L.S., 'Instincts and Emotions of Fish,' Journ. Linn. Soc., vol. xv., pp. 36-7, where see for other cases of nest-building among fish.

[114] Ibid.

[115] Kaup, Catal. Lopho. Fish in Brit. Mus. 1856, p. i.

[116] Yarrell, Brit. Fishes, 2nd ed. ii. p. 436.

[117] Compt. Rend., Nov. 4, 1872, p. 1127.

[118] Phil. Trans. Royal Society, 1747.

[119] F. Day, loc. cit.

[120] Shelley, Lines written in the Bay of Lerici.

[121] See Smiles, Lives of Engineers, vol. iii., p. 69.

[122] See 'On the Jaculator-Fish,' by Schlosser, Phil. Trans. 1764.

[123] Natural History of Ceylon, p. 351.

[124] Kirby, Hist. Habits and Instincts of Animals, vol i. p. 119.

[125] F. Day, loc. cit.

[126] Hist. des Poiss., Introd., cxxx.

[127] For sundry other similar cases see Mr. Day's excellent paper already quoted.

[128] Cuv., Anim. Kingd. x. p. 636.

[129] F. Day, loc. cit.

[130] Account of the United States, vol. ii., p. 9.

[131] April 11, 1870.

[132] See Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 406.

[133] Smiles, Life of Edwards, p. 124.

[134] Passions of Animals, p. 229.

[135] Naturalist on the Amazon, pp. 285-6.

[136] Ibid. The astonishing facts relating to the migration of turtles in the laying season will be treated under the general heading 'Migration' in my forthcoming work.

[137] Gleanings, vol. i., pp. 163-4.

[138] The tortoise which has gained such immortal celebrity by having fallen under the observation of the author of the Natural History of Selborne, likewise distinguished persons in this way. For 'whenever the good old lady came in sight, who had waited on it for more than thirty years, it always hobbled with awkward alacrity towards its benefactress, whilst to strangers it was altogether inattentive.'

[139] This gentleman was Lord Arthur Russell.

[140] The Times, July 25, 1872.

[141] See Annas. and Mag. of Nat. Hist., 2nd series, vol. ix., p. 333.

[142] Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 118; see also Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., pp. 447-8.

[143] Natural History of Ceylon, p. 314.

[144] Tennent, loc. cit., p. 299.

[145] Curiosities, &c., p. 126. Wilson also, in his American Ornithology, gives the following sufficiently credible account of the memory of a crow:—'A gentleman who resided on the Delaware, a few miles below Easton, had raised [reared] a crow, with whose tricks and society he used frequently to amuse himself. This crow lived long in the family, but at length disappeared, having, as was then supposed, been shot by some vagrant gunner, or destroyed by accident. About eleven months after this, as the gentleman one morning, in company with several others, was standing on the river shore, a number of crows happened to pass by; one of them left the flock, and flying directly towards the company, alighted on the gentleman's shoulder, and began to gabble away with great volubility, as one long-absent friend naturally enough does on meeting another. On recovering from his surprise the gentleman instantly recognised his old acquaintance, and endeavoured, by several civil but sly manœuvres, to lay hold of him; but the crow, not altogether relishing quite so much familiarity, having now had a taste of the sweets of liberty, cautiously eluded all his attempts; and suddenly glancing his eye on his distant companions, mounted in the air after them, soon overtook and mingled with them, and was never afterwards seen to return.'

[146] Journal of Mental Science, July 1879.

[147] Couch, Illustrations of Instinct, p. 165.

[148] Gleanings, vol. i., pp. 112-13.

[149] Couch, Illustrations of Instinct, p. 232.

[150] See especially Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., pp. 327-29.

[151] Gleanings, pp. 58-9.

[152] Smiles, Life of Edward, p. 240.

[153] History of Mexico, p. 220.

[154] Zoologist, vol. ii.

[155] Watson, Reasoning Power of Animals, pp. 375-76, where see also some curious cases of male storks slaying their females upon the latter hatching out eggs of other birds. He gives an exactly similar case as having occurred with the domestic cock; and in Bingley (loc. cit., vol. ii., p. 241) there is quoted from Dr. Percival another case of the same kind, in which a cock killed his hen as soon as she had hatched out a brood of young partridges from eggs which had been set to her.

[156] See Darwin. Descent of Man, pp. 92, 381, 406, 413.

[157] Gould, Birds of Australia, vol. i., pp. 442-45.

[158] Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 220.

[159] For full information, see Buckland, Curiosities of Natural History, p. 183.

[160] Of the crow (carrion and hooded), Edward says: 'He goes aloft with a crab, and lets it fall upon a stone or a rock chosen for the purpose. If it does not break, he seizes it again, goes up higher, lets it fall, and repeats his operation again and again until his object is accomplished. When a convenient stone is once met with, the birds resort to it for a long time. I myself know a pretty high rock, that has been used by successive generations of crows for about twenty years!' Also, as Handcock says, 'a friend of Dr. Darwin saw on the north coast of Ireland above a hundred crows preying upon mussels, which is not their natural food; each crow took a mussel up into the air, twenty or forty yards high, and let it fall on the stones, and thus breaking the shell, got possession of the animal. Ravens, we are told, often resort to the same contrivance.'

[161] Couch, Illustrations of Instinct, pp. 192-93.

[162] Gleanings, &c., vol. i., p. 71.

[163] Ibid.

[164] Voyage of a Naturalist, &c., p. 184.

[165] Orn. Biog., i., p. 276.

[166] Newton, Encycl. Brit., art. 'Birds.'

[167] Catalogue of Birds, &c., p. 16.

[168] Gould, Birds of Australia, vol. ii., p. 155, where see for further description.

[169] Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 204.

[170] See Descent of Man, p. 452 et seq.

[171] See Newton, Ency. Brit., art. 'Birds.'

[172] Natural Selection, pp. 232-3.

[173] Phil. Trans., vol. lxxviii., p. 221 et seq.

[174] The young cuckoo is generally hatched first.

[175] Allusion is here made to the fact that the cuckoo lays her eggs at intervals of two or three days, and therefore that if all were incubated by the mother, they would hatch out at different times—a state of things which actually obtains in the case of the American cuckoo, whose nest contains eggs and young at the same time.

[176] It is worth while to observe, as bearing on this theory of the origin of this parasitic habit, that even non-parasitic birds occasionally deposit their eggs in nests of other birds. Thus, Professor A. Newton writes in his admirable essay on 'Birds' in the Encyclopædia Britannica, 'Certain it is that some birds, whether by mistake or stupidity, do not unfrequently lay their eggs in the nests of others. It is within the knowledge of many that pheasants' eggs and partridges' eggs are often laid in the same nest; and it is within the knowledge of the writer that gulls' eggs have been found in the nests of eider-ducks, and vice versâ; that a redstart and a pied flycatcher will lay their eggs in the same convenient hole—the forest being rather deficient in such accommodation; that an owl and a duck will resort to the same nest-hole, set up by the scheming woodman for his own advantage; and that the starling, which constantly dispossesses the green woodpecker, sometimes discovers that the rightful heir of the domicile has to be brought up by the intruding tenant.'

[177] Origin of Species, p. 215.

[178] Tom. i., p. 130.

[179] See Birds of India, i., p. 21; Passions of Animals, p. 60; Fac. Men. des Ani., tom. ii., p. 183; Mind in Lower Animals, vol. ii., p. 96; and Descent of Man, p. 74.

[180] Animal Biography, vol. ii., p. 173.

[181] Nature, xx., p. 266.

[182] Vol. i., p. 216. See also Descent of Man, p. 80.

[183] Menault, Wonders of Instinct, p. 132.

[184] Nat. on Amazons, p. 177; Anecdotes, p. 135.

[185] Gleanings, vol. ii., p. 96.

[186] Ibid., p. 99.

[187] Nature, vol. xiii., p. 303.

[188] Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, vol. ii, pp. 149-50.

[189] Smiles, Life of Edward, pp. 244-6.

[190] Passions of Animals, p. 154.

[191] See Mr. Darwin's account in Naturalist's Voyage round the World, pp. 151-2.

[192] Nature, vol. xx., p. 21.

[193] Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 308.

[194] Natural History of Ceylon, p. 54.

[195] Ibid., p. 56.

[196] Missionary Travels, p. 328.

[197] Ibid., p. 280.

[198] Gleanings, &c., vol. i., p. 20.

[199] Ibid., vol. ii., p. 20.

[200] Ibid., pp. 226-7.

[201] Pp. 66 and 97.

[202] Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 308.

[203] On the Pig, p. 17.

[204] Ibid.

[205] History of the North American Pinnipeds. The quotations are taken from pp. 348 to 361.

[206] Animal Biography, vol. iii., pp. 301-2.

[207] Thompson, Passions in Animals, p. 337.

[208] Vol. viii., Washington, 1877: 'A Monograph of the North American Mustelidæ.'

[209] It is particularly remarkable that if under these circumstances a rabbit bolts and, seeing the sportsman, doubles back into its burrow, being then certain that the sportsman is waiting, it will usually allow itself to be slowly and painfully killed by the ferret rather than bolt a second time. This is remarkable because it proves the strength of an abiding image or idea in the mind of the animal.

[210] See Watson's Reasoning Power in Animals, and Quarterly Review, c. i., p. 135.

[211] See especially Jesse, Gleanings, &c., iii., p. 206; and Quarterly Review, c. i., p. 135.

[212] Thompson, Passions of Animals, p. 368.

[213] The Rat, its Natural History, p. 102.

[214] Mrs. Lee, Anecdotes of Animals, p. 264.

[215] Jesse, Gleanings, &c., ii., p. 281.

[216] Reasoning Power in Animals, p. 293.

[217] Loc. cit.

[218] Jesse, Gleanings, iii., p. 176.

[219] Introduction to Arctic Zoology, p 70.

[220] Dr. Henderson, Journal of a Residence in Iceland in 1814 and 1815, vol. ii., p. 187.

[221] The American Beaver and his Works (Lippincott & Co. 1868).

[222] To obviate this possibility, they often select as their site a place where a spring happens to rise in the bottom of the lake or pond.

[223] In times of considerable 'freshet' the former case sometimes occurs; the beavers not being able to provide for a very considerable overflow through their dams, the latter become then wholly submerged. When again exposed, the animals take great pains in repairing the injuries sustained.

[224] Note on Beaver Dams (Proc. Boston Soc. Nat. Hist., 1869, p. 101, et seq.).

[225] Plin., Hist. Nat., viii. 1-13.

[226] De Solert. Anim., c. 12.

[227] Philosophical Transactions, 1799, p. 40.

[228] See Bingley, loc. cit., vol. i., pp. 148-51.

[229] Hist. Nat., viii., 5.

[230] For these and other cases of vindictiveness, see Bingley, loc. cit., vol. i., pp. 156-8.

[231] Memoirs, vol. i., p. 448.

[232] Zoological Recreations, p. 315.

[233] Animal Biography, i., pp. 156-8.

[234] Anecdotes of Animals, p. 276.

[235] Habits and Instincts of Animals, p. 37.

[236] Reasoning Power of Animals, chap. iv.

[237] Quoted in Animal World, March 1882.

[238] Philosophical Transactions, 1873.

[239] Natural History of Ceylon, p. 114.

[240] Natural History of Ceylon, p. 140.

[241] Natural History of Ceylon, p. 196.

[242] Phil. Trans., A.D. 1701, vol. xxiii., p. 1052.

[243] Loc. cit., p. 216.

[244] Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 64 et seq.

[245] Jesse, Gleanings in Natural History, vol. i, p. 19.

[246] Descent of Man, p. 96.

[247] See Animal Kingdom, vol. iii., p. 374.

[248] Reasoning Power of Animals, pp. 54-5.

[249] Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. i., p. 155.

[250] Bingley, Animal Biography, vol. i., p. 155.

[251] See his letter to Sir E. Tennent in Nat. Hist. of Ceylon, pp. 118-20.

[252] Indications of Instinct, p. 129.

[253] Descent of Man, p. 69.

[254] Natural History of Ceylon, pp. 181-94.

[255] Natural History of Ceylon, pp. 181-94.

[256] Nature, vol. xix., p. 519.

[257] Nature, vol. xx., p. 197.

[258] Some of my correspondents tell me of pet or drawing-room cats jumping on chairs and looking at bells when they want milk—this being their sign that they want the bell pulled to call the servant who brings the milk; and Mr. Lawson Tait tells me that one of his cats—of course without tuition—has gone a step further, in that she places her paws upon the bell as a still more emphatic sign that she desires it pulled. But Dr. Creighton Browne tells me of a cat which he has that goes a step further than this, and herself rings the bell. This is corroborative of Archbishop Whately's anecdote. 'This cat lived many years in my mother's family, and its feats of sagacity were witnessed by her, my sisters, and myself. It was known, not merely once or twice, but habitually, to ring the parlour bell whenever it wished the door to be opened. Some alarm was excited on the first occasion that it turned bell-ringer. The family had retired to rest, and in the middle of the night the parlour bell was rung violently; the sleepers were startled from their repose, and proceeded downstairs with poker and tongs, to intercept, as they thought, the predatory movements of some burglar; but they were equally surprised to find that the bell had been rung by pussy, who frequently repeated the act whenever she wished to get out of the parlour.' The cases, however, mentioned in the text are more remarkable than any of these, which, nevertheless, all tend to lead up to them as by a series of steps. Dogs attain to the level of asking by gesture their masters to ring bells. One instance will be sufficient to quote. Mr. Rae says in 'Nature' (vol. xix., p. 459): 'A small English terrier belonging to a friend has been taught to ring for the servant. To test if the dog knew why it rang the bell he was told to do so while the girl was in the room. The little fellow looked up in the most intelligent manner at the person giving the order (his master or mistress, I forget which), then at the servant, and refused to obey, although the order was repeated more than once. The servant left the room, and a few minutes afterwards the dog rang the bell immediately on being told to do so.'

It must also be added that dogs sometimes attain to the level of knocking knockers—though I should think this must be very rare with these animals, as I have only met with one case of it. This, however, is a remarkably good case, not only because it rests upon the authority of a famous observer, but also because it is so very definite as proving an act of reason. Dureau de la Malle had a terrier born in his house. It had never seen a knocker in its native home, and when grown up it was taken by its master to Paris. Getting fatigued by a walk in the streets, the animal returned to the house, but found the door shut, and it endeavoured vainly to attract the attention of those within by barking. At length a visitor called, knocked at the knocker, and gained admittance. The dog observed what had been done, and went in together with the visitor. The same afternoon he went in and out half a dozen times, gaining admittance on each occasion by springing at the knocker.

Lastly, Dr. W. H. Kesteven writes to 'Nature' (xx., p. 428) of a cat which used to knock at a knocker to gain admittance, in the way already described of so many other cats; but as showing how much more readily cats acquire this practice than dogs, it is interesting to note that Dr. Kesteven adds that a dog which lived in the same house ascertained that the cat was able to gain admittance by knocking, and yet did not imitate the action, but 'was in the habit of searching for her when he wanted to come in, and either waiting till she was ready to knock at the door, or inducing her to do it to please him.'

[259] Consul E. L. Layard gives in Nature (xx., p. 339) a precisely similar case of a cat habitually and without tuition ringing a bell by pulling at an exposed wire.

[260] I have requested Dr. Rae to write out all the particulars of these remarkable observations, and the following is the response which he has kindly made:—'When trapping foxes in Hudson's Bay it sometimes happens that certain of these acute animals, probably from having seen their companions caught, studiously avoid the ordinary steel and wooden traps, however carefully set. The trapper then sets one or more guns in a peculiar manner, having a line 15 or 20 yards long uniting the trigger with a bait, on taking hold of which the fox sets the gun off, and commits suicide. The double object of the bait being placed so near the gun is that the fox may be certainly killed—not wounded only—and that the head alone should be hit, and the body not riddled all over with shot, which would spoil the skin. It is also necessary to mention that four or five inches of slack line must be allowed for contraction of the line by change from a dry to a moist atmosphere, which otherwise would cause so great a strain on the trigger that the gun would be discharged without the bait being touched. So as to conceal as far as possible all connection between bait and gun, that part of the line next the bait is carefully hid under the snow.

'When the fox takes the bait, he will have lifted it five inches (the length of the slack line) from its normal position before the gun goes off; consequently, instead of pointing the gun at the bait, it is aimed fully eight or nine inches higher, at the probable position of the brain of the animal when the gun is discharged.

'For reasons which scarcely require explanation, foxes very generally go about in pairs (long before the snow disappears), not necessarily always close together, because they have a better chance of finding food if separated some distance from each other.

'After one or more foxes have been shot, the trapper on visiting his guns perhaps finds that a fox has first cut the line connecting the bait with the gun, and then gone up and eaten the bait; or, if the gun has been set on a drift bank of snow, he or she has scraped a trench ten or twelve inches deep up to the bait, taken hold of it whilst lying in the trench, set the gun off, and then trotted coolly away with the food (taken, one may say, from the gun's mouth) safe and uninjured, as is clearly evinced by there being no mark of blood on the tracks.

'In pulling the bait whilst in the trench, the fox would drag it five inches, or the length of the slack line, downwards, and therefore his head and nose would be completely out of harm's way, both because of the snow protection, and also these parts of his body being twelve or thirteen inches below the line of aim.

'In the cases seen by myself, and by a friend of greater experience, the trench was always scraped at right angles, or nearly so, to the line of fire of the gun. This at first sight may appear erroneous, but on reflection it really is not so, for if the trench is to be a shelter one—thinking, as the fox must have done, that the gun or something coming from it was the danger to be protected from or guarded against—it must be made across the line of fire, for if scratched in the direction of fire it would afford little or no protection or concealment, and the reasoning power or intelligence of the fox would be at fault.

'My belief is that one of these knowing foxes had seen his or her companion shot, or found it dead shortly after it had been killed, and not unnaturally attributed the cause of the mishap to the only strange thing it saw near, namely, the gun.

'It was evident that in all cases they had studied the situation carefully, as was sufficiently shown by their tracks in the snow, which indicated their extremely cautious approach when either the string-cutting or trench-making dodge was resorted to, in attempting to obtain the coveted bait without injury to themselves.'

[261] It will be remembered that, from evidence previously detailed, both the wolverine or glutton and certain deer have been shown capable of similarly obviating the danger of gun-traps.

[262] Nat. Hist. of Ceylon, p. 35.

[263] Descent of Man, p. 74.

[264] So many cases are on record of large dogs (especially of the Newfoundland breed) throwing troublesome curs into the water, and again rescuing them if they show danger of drowning, that we can scarcely fail to accept them as true. Such cases exhibit a wonderful play of human-like emotions.

[265] Descent of Man, p. 71.

[266] For many other instances of sheep-dog sagacity, see Watson, Reasoning Power of Animals, under 'Shepherd's Dog.'

[267] Naturalist's Library, vol. x., p. 154 (quoted by Watson).

[268] Since my MS. went to press I have myself met with a striking display of the recognition of a portrait by a dog. The portrait was one of myself, and the dog a half-bred setter and retriever of my own.

[269] Missionary Travels, chap. i.

[270] Illustrations of Instinct, p. 179.

[271] Descent of Man, p. 70.

[272] Gleanings, vol. iii. pp. 86-7.

[273] Boston Journal of Nat. Hist., iv. p. 324.

[274] Descent of Man, p. 72.

[275] Descent of Man, 71.

[276] Ibid., p. 69.

[277] Descent of Man, pp. 77-8.

[278] Naturalist in Nicaragua, p. 119.

[279] Loc. cit., vol. i., p. 305.

[280] On subsequent observation (January 14, 1881), I find this quietness was not due to shame at having bitten me, for whether he succeeds in biting any person or not he always sits quiet and dull-looking after a fit of passion, being, I think, fatigued. He has bitten me often since December 24, and seems to enjoy the fun on the whole.

[281] These heavy objects he overturns with exceeding caution, balancing them several times carefully, and studying them before finally throwing or pulling them over.

[282] January 14, 1881. The marble slab was left with him after the chain had been fastened to the ring; but since that time he has never attempted to move the marble.

			She was	away therefore	9	minutes.
9.50	back to the honey	9.53	away,	this time straight.	11	"
10	"	10. 7	"	"	11	"
10.19	"	10.22	"	"	12	"
10.35	"	10.39	"	"	13	"
10.47	"	10.50	"	"	9	"
11. 4	"	11. 7	"	"	14	"
11.21	"	11.24	"	"	14	"
11.34	"	11.37	"	"	10	"
11.49	"	11.52	"	"	1	"[148]
12. 3	"	12. 5	"	"	11	"
12.13	"	12.15½	"	"	8	"
12.25	"	12.28	"	"	10	"
12.39	"	12.43	"	"	11	"
12.54	"	12.57	"	"	11	"
1.15	"	1.19	"	"	18	"
1.27	"	1.30	"	"	8	minutes,'
&c., &c., the way being now clearly well learnt.

	Feet
Height of structure from base line	2 to 6
Difference in depth of water above and below dam	4 to 5
Width of base or section	6 to 18
Length of slope, lower face	6 to 13
Length of slope, upper face	4 to 8

	PAGE
Introduction	1
CHAPTER I.
Application of the Foregoing Principles to the Lowest Animals	18
CHAPTER II.
Mollusca	25
CHAPTER III.
Ants	31
CHAPTER IV.
Bees and Wasps	143
CHAPTER V.
Termites	198
CHAPTER VI.
Spiders and Scorpions	204
CHAPTER VII.
Remaining Articulata	226
CHAPTER VIII.
Fish	241
CHAPTER IX.
[xiv]Batrachians and Reptiles	254
CHAPTER X.
Birds	266
CHAPTER XI.
Mammals	326
CHAPTER XII.
Rodents	353
CHAPTER XIII.
Elephant	386
CHAPTER XIV.
The Cat	411
CHAPTER XV.
Foxes, Wolves, Jackals, &c.	426
CHAPTER XVI.
The Dog	437
CHAPTER XVII.
Monkeys, Apes, and Baboons	471
Index	499